by James Raven
‘Oh my God,’ Maggie screamed.
But thankfully Laura wasn’t hurt. No sooner had she struck the floor than she was on her feet again, frantically looking up at us and holding out her arms.
The relief blotted out the crippling pain I felt in my arm and chest.
‘The light,’ I said. ‘Go to the switch next to the door and turn it on.’
I had to say it several times before Laura finally got the message that we weren’t going to pull her back into the loft. She stood there for a few seconds, looking around the bedroom, her body stiff with fear.
‘The light,’ I said again. ‘Switch it on.’
At last she hurried over to the door and turned on the light. Blinking into the sudden glare, I took in as much detail as possible. It was a small room with dark furniture. The carpet was threadbare and there was a wicker chair in the corner.
Laura stood with her back to the door, her eyes wide and her face flushed. She looked so small and helpless and frightened. I forced myself to ignore the wave of guilt that washed over me. ‘That’s great, sweetheart. Now you can see that the room is empty. There’s no one in the house other than us. So what you have to do next is open the door and go out on to the landing. Find the light out there and turn it on.’
But she didn’t move. She was frozen to the spot.
So I switched back into angry father mode.
‘Open the frigging door and go outside,’ I yelled.
She moved quickly then. She turned around and gripped the bulb of the door handle with trembling hands. Then she pulled it open and looked out on to the landing, her little body framed by the doorway. Thankfully it wasn’t dark out there on the landing. The curtains must have been open.
‘Go on, sweetheart,’ I urged. ‘Go out on to the landing.’
But suddenly she took a step back and started shaking her head.
‘It’s OK, Laura,’ I said. ‘You can do it.’
She turned her head to look up at me and her terror-stricken face caused my heart to lurch.
‘Don’t make me.’
‘Just do it, Laura.’
She choked back more tears and ventured out on to the landing.
Once she was out of the room, I shouted to her, ‘Now go downstairs and look for a phone. If there isn’t one, then go outside. See if there’s another house close by.’
‘Supposing the front door is locked,’ Maggie said.
‘What?’
‘The front door. If it’s locked from the outside then she won’t be able to open it.’
I hadn’t thought of that.
‘Let’s just wait and see,’ I said.
Then I called out. ‘Are you OK, sweetheart?’
She replied instantly.
‘I’m on the stairs, Daddy. I’m scared.’
‘I know you are, babe. But the worst is over.’
Maggie rested a hand on my back.
‘Do you think we can do it?’ she asked. ‘Do you really think we can get out of here before he gets back?’
‘We’ll know soon enough,’ I said.
We waited anxiously as Laura went downstairs. We heard nothing for at least five minutes. Then she suddenly appeared in the doorway to the bedroom below.
‘I can’t open the front door,’ she said. ‘I tried but it won’t open.’
‘OK,’ I said. ‘What about the phone? Did you check the kitchen and the living room?’
‘The doors were shut,’ she said. ‘I was scared to open them. Max said the man might be behind them.’
I was becoming impatient now. We had come this far and there was no going back.
‘Don’t listen to Max,’ I said. ‘Just go back downstairs and look for a phone. And see if there’s a back door that’s open. Please, Laura. Hurry up.’
She went back down and I made a silent promise to myself that if we got out of this I would buy her anything she wanted. A noise reached us from down below. I couldn’t make out what it was but it sounded like something being knocked over.
‘Laura, can you hear me?’ I shouted. ‘Are you all right?’
I strained my ears to listen, but the only sounds now were the normal groans and creaks of an old house. Floorboards shifting. Water rushing through rusty pipes. The wind sneaking through the eaves around us. Then I heard footfalls on the stairs. Laura was coming back up. My body tensed. A moment later she came bursting into the bedroom, panting. She came and stood directly below us and looked up.
‘There’s no phone,’ she said between gasps. ‘But I found these. They were on the kitchen table. The man used them to put the chain on Mummy. I saw him.’
She held up a small bunch of keys and an overwhelming sense of elation swept through me. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t doubt for a single second that they were the keys to the handcuffs. Small and silver, they were the miracle I’d been praying for.
‘You’ll have to throw them up to me,’ I said. ‘I’ll catch them.’
It took two attempts before I actually had the keys in my sweaty palm. There were three pairs in all and I wasted no time checking to see if they fitted the cuff on my wrist.
The first one didn’t. The second one didn’t.
With a high degree of apprehension I tried the third.
Bingo!
The cuff snapped open with a loud click.
‘Jesus, we’ve done it,’ Maggie shrieked as I handed her the keys. Within seconds she’d removed her cuff and was rubbing her sore wrist.
Together we scrambled over to the hatch. I found the internal lock mechanism and realized why Laura had not been able to open it. There was a metal clasp that had to be raised and then turned. A tiny bit complicated for a six-year-old. But I had it undone in seconds. The hatch opened downwards, taking the ladder with it.
I let Maggie descend first and by the time I stepped on to the landing she had Laura wrapped up in her arms.
It was a sight to behold and I waded straight into the embrace. Despair had turned to delight, thanks to our astonishingly brave little girl. We were almost home and dry now. All we had to do was get the hell out of the house.
‘You’ve been terrific, sweetheart,’ I said to Laura. ‘You’re so good and brave and I’m so sorry I had to shout at you.’
I picked her up and kissed her on both cheeks. The salty tang of her tears mingled with the warm sweetness of her sweat.
‘We’ll make it up to you,’ I said. ‘When we get home I’m going to buy you lots of presents.’
She smiled weakly and pressed her face against my neck.
‘We’d better go,’ I said to Maggie. ‘Follow me downstairs.’
My body throbbed, my eyes stung with fatigue and the cut on my forehead was prickling. But I was driven now by a sudden boost of energy and hope.
The house was old and creaky. There were damp patches on the walls, dust everywhere.
We passed a window and through it I could see an area of woodland beneath a grey, oppresive sky. It was the middle of the afternoon but the day was already losing its lustre. It wouldn’t be long before it was dark.
We reached the downstairs hallway and I tried the front door. It was locked, just as Laura had said.
We went into the kitchen. The curtains were closed and although it wasn’t dark I switched on the light anyway. There were wooden beams and wooden floorboards. It was a large kitchen with all the usual stuff: fridge, dishwasher, cooker. Everything looked old, but clean.
‘There’s no side door here,’ Maggie said.
‘Look for a key,’ I said. ‘And a phone.’
But just then I heard a noise outside. Like a car crunching over gravel.
Panic seized me. I grabbed Laura’s arm and switched off the light.
‘Oh my God,’ Maggie said. ‘He’s back.’
43
The house was easy to find. It was set back from a road that clung to the southern perimeter of a small wood. The front had open views over fields that rolled towards the ancient city of Winchester.<
br />
Temple was in the lead patrol car as it swept up the short driveway. He quickly took in the scene. A large detached property that looked grey and uninviting. Trees surrounded it. There was an outbuilding to the left that might once have been a barn or a stable. There were no cars in sight and this caused Temple’s heart to sink. But there was a garage attached to the house, its wooden doors painted a dull green.
Tyres crunched over stones as the three patrol cars slowed to a halt. Temple climbed out, cold air snapping at his flesh. The sky was a sullen shade of grey and the promise of rain had given way to a thin drizzle. He strode towards the front door, signalling to others to go round the back. The curtains inside the downstairs windows were closed, but through the cracks he could see that there were lights on. He rang the doorbell and braced himself for the unexpected. Whoever was in the house must have seen or heard the cars approach. So they would be ready to respond. But how?
He rang the bell again. No answer. He was about to give the order for an officer to ram the door open, but at that moment there came shouts from the back of the house.
Temple pointed to the uniforms behind him. ‘You stay here and cover the front.’
Then he dashed round the back to where an officer was standing in the rear garden. The officer pointed towards the woods and Temple saw two armed officers in padded jackets running across a small area of open land.
‘We spotted people entering the woods,’ the officer said. Then he gestured towards a rear door that was open. ‘Looks like they just left the house in a hurry.’
Temple broke into a run towards the densely packed gloom of the woods. He scrambled through clumps of low bracken, the ground soft and heavy going. Mud spattered his suit trousers and it wasn’t long before he was panting like a dog.
He just made it to the woods before he was forced to stop and catch his breath. He leaned up against a large oak, a cold sweat prickling his forehead as he took big gasps of air. And that was when he heard the shots. Two of them in quick succession. He pushed himself away from the tree and hurtled into the woods, dodging branches and leaping over fallen logs. His stomach was cramping with exhaustion. Voices came at him from out of the gloom. He saw movement ahead, lumbered towards it.
He came to a small clearing. Three armed officers were pointing their guns at the ground. Temple stopped, his eyes following the direction of the weapons. He saw three figures lying face down in the dirt.
‘They’re not hurt,’ one of the officers told him. ‘We fired warning shots.’
Temple stared down at the three bodies sprawled on the ground. The one in the middle cranked his head to the left, exposing his face.
It was Joe Dessler.
‘Have you searched them?’ Temple asked.
‘Yes, sir. They’re clean.’
He wiped a sleeve across his sweaty brow.
‘Then get them up and march them back to the house. Let’s find out what they have to say for themselves.’
44
Five minutes had elapsed since the car drew up outside the house. The three of us were now huddled behind the sofa in the living room. The patio doors were locked, blocking our exit.
The lights in the kitchen and hallway would have alerted the kidnapper to the fact that something was wrong. I reckoned he was out there, circling the house, trying to determine whether we were still in the loft or someone else had broken in.
The sofa lay square across the room, facing the glass doors that gave access to the garden. It shielded us from the gap in the curtains which allowed the fading light of the winter afternoon to filter into the room. I should have had the presence of mind to close the curtains all the way after checking the locks. But I’d been in too much of a panic, not knowing what to do or how best to protect my family.
There was something else I should have done in those few crucial seconds after we heard the vehicle outside. I should have armed myself before rushing out of the kitchen. A knife. A rolling pin. Even a fucking saucepan. Anything that could be used to defend us against the maniac in the ski mask. As it was I had nothing. Crouched down between the sofa and the living room wall, we were like lambs hiding from the big bad wolf.
Maggie and Laura were either side of me. I could feel their bodies trembling. Feel their hearts pumping. My skin was hot. There was a heaving in my chest and stomach. I had a real urge to vomit. We held our breaths, listened to the oppressive silence of the house. Where was the bastard? Did he have his gun? Had he come back to kill us?
Maggie turned to look at me, her eyes sending me a question.
Aren’t you going to do something?
But what could I do other than wait it out? The kidnapper was still in control. He had the power, the weapon, the advantage of knowing we couldn’t make a run for it without his seeing us. And who was to say he wouldn’t shoot the first chance he got?
The situation was different now. We posed a serious threat. We’d put at risk his plan to claim the lottery winnings. He was—
We all stiffened at an indeterminate sound that came from beyond the glass doors. It could have been a shoe scuffing across the concrete patio, or a side gate opening.
‘Oh God, he’s out there,’ Maggie said in a hushed voice.
Laura started to shake more violently. I sensed that she was about to cry out.
‘I’ve got to get a weapon of some kind,’ I said.
‘Don’t leave us,’ Maggie pleaded.
‘Just stay put. I’ll crawl to the kitchen. If I keep low he won’t see me from outside.’
There was no carpet, just floorboards. That made it easier for me to slide my body towards the open door into the hallway. Here I was more exposed. I glanced up at the front door. There was no one outside it. I crawled across the hall into the kitchen. It was still empty and the curtains were closed.
I jumped up and looked around. I saw stainless-steel knives in a rack on the counter. I grabbed one with a big, serrated blade and squeezed the handle until my knuckles turned white. I moved back into the hall and paused for a second to listen. The house stayed silent and the front door remained closed. I got back on the floor, crawled into the living room. Maggie and Laura were just where I’d left them. Maggie’s eyes widened at the sight of the knife.
‘Have you heard anything more?’ I said.
Maggie shook her head.
I raised myself up and peered over the top of the sofa. I could see the sky through the gap in the curtains. Below it a wall of dark trees. Then suddenly the view was obscured by the man in the mask. He appeared as if out of thin air and stared at me through the window, his head and body black as the darkest night.
Instinctively I tightened my grip on the knife. In that same instant there was a crash of glass as the kidnapper put a boot through one of the doors. Maggie screamed and my stomach lurched. I watched the tall, dark figure step through the shattered door as though in slow motion. I stood up quickly and stretched out my right arm, displaying the knife in a threatening gesture. But it did not stop the kidnapper from striding towards me, his boots crunching over fragments of glass.
‘Put the knife down,’ he yelled.
I could barely hear him. Maggie was still screaming and the explosion of broken glass was ringing in my ears.
‘If you don’t drop it I’ll fucking shoot you.’
He was now directly on the other side of the sofa, both hands holding the revolver that was pointing straight at my chest. My heart thumped so hard it resonated across my ribs. I felt sure he would pull the trigger if I didn’t comply. But if I did we’d be back where we started. At the mercy of this lunatic.
Maggie was shouting at me.
‘Do as he says, Danny. Please.’
I ground my teeth together and slowly lowered my arm.
‘Drop it on the sofa.’ His voice was quieter now, with a measured menace.
I loosened my grip, let the knife fall on the cushion.
‘Now don’t move a muscle,’ he said.
Stepping f
orward, he picked up the knife with his free hand and put it into his jacket pocket. Then, without warning, he reached out and grabbed my jumper and pulled me across the back of the sofa. I tried to stop myself falling, but it happened too fast. As I landed face down on the cushions, I felt a blow to the back of the head.
Then another.
I heard him swear. I heard Maggie yell for him to stop. I heard Laura scream. And then I felt the explosion of pain behind my eyes. It sent me hurtling into oblivion.
45
Temple stood with his back to a wide brick fireplace. The fire had burned itself out and there was a pile of ash in the grate.
It was the focal point of a large, L-shaped living room. Like the rest of the house the room was packed with furniture. There was a glass-fronted bar at one end, stacked with drinks. Two white leather sofas faced each other across a black glass-topped coffee table. Temple had noticed that the same light and dark theme was evident throughout the rest of the house. He had looked in all the rooms. Four bedrooms. Two bathrooms. Kitchen. Utility room. Dining room.
There were two cars in the garage. One belonged to Dessler, the other to his minder, Noakes.
The third man had identified himself as Tony Weekes, another of Dessler’s henchmen, who had been living in the house.
The preliminary search had revealed that the property was not just used for outlandish parties. One of the bedrooms was like a mini studio with two video cameras mounted on tripods on either side of a king-size bed. There were also a couple of arc lamps on stands. In the converted loft they found a digital editing suite and a stack of DVDs, all with the same label; it read Sluts and Slappers.
It seemed that Dessler wasn’t only into loan sharking and prostitution. He was also in the business of producing his own brand of porn.
Now the three men who had fled into the woods were seated on one of the sofas, their wrists cuffed, their faces suffused with righteous indignation. Dessler was in the middle, head and shoulders above the other two. Noakes was a short, stout man in his thirties with a square face and blotchy skin. Weekes was bald and powerfully built, everyone’s idea of a punch-drunk boxer. Temple had listened to their protestations and their demands to know what was going on. He’d refused to allow Dessler to phone his lawyer and had told him they would shortly be taken to Southampton central police station to be formally interviewed.