Lethal Ties

by Christmas, Helen

  Even in February the daylight hours were short with long shadows stretching across the lawn. I was nonetheless glad of the exercise.

  “I’m sorry to hear about the nightmares,” Mandy muttered. She cast me a sad smile. “Maybe this is a good reason to keep up the psychotherapy. Confront your demons and maybe you can move on.”

  I let my mind empty as I focussed on the environment. We were ambling around a lake where the only trees were the weeping willows, a curtain of soft green foliage drooping over the water’s edge.

  “How is it going, then?” asked Stewart.

  “Okay,” I said. “I was reminiscing about my friend, Joe, last time.”

  “Oh yes,” he blustered. “Joe! You used to talk about him a lot...”

  But Mandy turned to him sharply, stalling his words in a single stare.

  “What do you remember about Joe, Maisie?”

  I gazed across the lake, absorbing the tranquility. Ripples raced over the surface but an icy nip in the air made the hairs on the back of my neck tingle.

  “Joe was the strong one and looked out for us. Not just me but Sam...”

  It occurred to me we had stopped walking.

  “It was a hostile environment, the man in charge really creepy, but Joe was the one who suffered. He tried to protect me from something but I can’t recall what.”

  “Who was Sam?” Mandy pressed.

  “Sam disappeared,” I concluded darkly. “We never did find out what happened to him, but Joe and I swore we would resolve the mystery one day.”

  Was it too late?

  A tiny part of my brain could not suppress the news Stewart had imparted. What if he had said it for a reason?

  Victims were taken out of care homes.

  Nothing else was said, but in some way, the walk had been pleasantly cathartic, the crisp cold air bringing a glow to my cheeks.

  But the day wasn’t quite over. Strolling back to our car, we were about to return home when a familiar face swayed into our path. I heard a woman laugh.

  “I thought I recognised that coat! I would have spotted you a mile off. How are you, Mandy?”

  “Good thanks!” she laughed back. “What are you doing in Swanley?”

  “Just passing through...”

  Both women embraced, exchanging kisses, before she turned her attention to me. A glow of wonderment lit up her face.

  “Maisie? My God, what a beauty you’ve blossomed into.”

  “Hello, Sarah,” I answered, feeling a smile touch my lips.

  Sarah was one of Mandy’s closest friends and with a history of infertility, they had attended the same clinic - yet when Mandy and Stewart applied to foster me, they had succeeded - whereas Sarah and her husband had encountered barriers. After three years campaigning to adopt an autistic boy, only now did they know where they stood.

  “How are things at work?” she quickly sidetracked.

  “Work is fine.” I gazed deep into her eyes, uncomfortably aware that it was largely thanks to her, and her role as an adoption reunion counsellor, that I had even landed myself in that job. “I-I’ve just been a little exhausted and in need of a break.”

  “Then why don’t you and I catch another time,” she soothed. “We could book a spa day if you like, it’ll do you good. Have you ever been to Champneys?”

  “I would love that,” I heard myself sigh. “Will you text me?”

  ******

  “I have a report. There is something you need to know about Maisie Bell...”

  Thank God for pay-as-you-go mobiles, nothing the police could trace at a later date and no way to link his name to any conspiracy.

  There was precious little chance of anyone seeing him here, either. A glimmer of moonlight peered through the clouds but not enough to penetrate the heavy darkness. Lurking on the edge of Binstead Wood, an area steeped in folklore, Cornelius could think of no better place to be having this discussion.

  There were even whispers of satanic worship.

  “Go on,” his associate probed. “I’m intrigued.”

  That they had tailed her to a specific address on two occasions was not unusual. Only after some research, though, did he discover that house served another purpose: none other than the premises of a practitioner known as Hannah Adams.

  He exhaled a long, painful sigh. “Miss Bell is having psychotherapy. You must know how the process works, if she’s raking over childhood memories...”

  If only she knew. Twenty years had passed since she had been fostered, yet never once had he stopped monitoring her. Now, finally, the tide appeared to be turning.

  “What’s the problem?” the voice on the other end of the phone mocked. “Don’t tell me you’re scared she might remember you, Cornelius?”

  A cold smile curled his lips as he gazed into the billowing dark woods.

  “She might if she talks to the police.”

  “Oh, come on!” A sniff emanated from the speaker. “There are so many allegations in the news, who’s going to know what’s true and what’s fiction?”

  Staring up at the night sky, the man watched the clouds part, allowing a splinter of moonlight to escape. It shone through the trees, as if fated to throw a spotlight on him, and he felt a shiver of fear pass over him.

  Chapter Four

  I should have been looking forward to coming home. Parking in Annandale Avenue, I saw the imposing brick and cream house awaiting me. Split into four roomy flats, mine was on the ground floor, the door just feet away from where I sat, but at first I couldn’t drag myself from my car. Knots of tension gripped me as I stared at it, the light behind the windows mocking me.

  What was causing all this anxiety?

  Anyone would think a few relaxing days with my foster parents would chase the gloom away but if anything, my world felt bleaker. Mandy was right. I should be settled in a relationship. Yet without even the glimmer of a boyfriend on the horizon, I’d grown accustomed to being single.

  I took a deep breath before letting myself into the house. The black and white floor tiles emitted a coolness, the sound of folk music from next door uplifting. Vlodek and Anna had moved here six months ago, a pleasant young Polish couple who spoke little English. Yet somehow we found a way to communicate.

  Only as my eyes lifted to the stairs did my muscles turn to ice.

  The people here were a mixed bunch; and whilst I had established some rapport with the Polish couple, I had nothing in common with Paula. A single mum on benefits, not only was she grossly overweight but wore a permanent scowl in my presence. Regrettably, it was her three-year old toddler, Jade, whose screams I had reported. But given some of the creeps Paula invited back here, I could not dispel the fear that one of them might be hurting her child.

  Fumbling with my keys, I turned away from the stairs.

  Over-reacting to Jade’s screams was one problem, but I had to consider the repercussions, given my work status. If I hadn’t reported the screaming and Jade had been abused, the outcome would have been far worse.

  Whereas the evil looks Paula fired me I could live with.

  This called to mind one final neighbour. An older gentleman lived upstairs too, a man who loathed Paula without question and had not been afraid to voice it.

  Safe in the seclusion of my flat, I wondered whether to phone Jess.

  Jess was my best friend. Blonde, bubbly and as extrovert as I was introvert.

  Jess would never forget the day we had encountered Mr Lacey. How the crash of a suitcase being dragged upstairs had halted us in our tracks. But there were no words to describe that frail, spidery old man struggling to lift it. His shoulders shook, the breath exploding from him in loud, laboured gasps.

  “Hey! Do you need some help with that?” I called up to him.

  Jess had looked at me as if I were crazy, but how could I turn a blind eye?

  He was gaunt to the point of emaciation yet his neatly trimmed beard and mane of gold hair gave him a look of refinement. Neither of us could figure out how ol
d he was, either. His tanned, heavily lined complexion suggested a considerable time spent in hotter climates, his eyes nearly hidden in the leathery folds of loose skin.

  “I’ll grab one end,” Jess relented, “and you hang on tight to the other.”

  It weighed a ton.

  “Blimey! What have you got in here, gold bars?”

  “Old books,” he muttered. “One forgets how heavy they are. I’m a collector.”

  His eccentric attire comprised a tweed jacket worn with brown cords and most unusual of all, a silk cravat around his neck. He reminded me more of a country squire than a city man.

  But that was before he started coughing, a fit so violent, we nearly dropped the handles of the suitcase.

  I asked if he was okay, the poor man bent double and groping in his pocket for a handkerchief.

  “It’ll pass,” he spluttered, dabbing his slack lips.

  The coughing had subsided but even as he folded his hankie away, a peppering of stains glued our eyes to it.

  Rusty red in colour. Blood.

  “Are you not well?” I gulped.

  “I’ve not long had treatment for cancer... but please don’t repeat that. I was lucky to get this flat, now all I want to do is to move on...”

  I don’t know who out of the two of us was more shocked, but the atmosphere shifted. Only then did I catch the intensity of his gaze, his dark eyes glinting under his bushy brows.

  “You seem like nice people. I don’t know much about your neighbours but it would help if they could be bothered to speak English!”

  “They’re okay!” I protested. “They work in the fields with lots of other East European workers. They’re bound to communicate in their own language.”

  “I admire your tolerance but as for that creature next door...” His gaze flickered to Paula’s flat. “You’re not friends with her are you?”

  “Um, we don’t really see eye to eye,” I whispered.

  “No, I can’t imagine you would,” he smirked. “You do know she entertains men? Call me old fashioned but I deplore people with such low moral standards. Not the sort of environment to bring up a child in. I’m surprised she hasn’t been put into care...” An unpleasant laugh followed. “She had the cheek to invite me in. Asked if I fancied a bit of company if you know what I mean.”

  My cheeks turned warm as I battled to figure out how we could escape.

  “As if I’d associate myself with the likes of that tart!”

  If only Jess hadn’t burst out laughing. I could have died, mortified to imagine Paula might be in earshot.

  “I’m sorry,” he relented, “I can tell I’ve shocked you. What are your names by the way?”

  I felt the scorch of his gaze again.

  “Maisie... Maisie Bell and this is my friend, Jessica.”

  “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Maisie and Jessica. My name is Mr Lacey. Or Richard if you prefer.”

  Oh God. How Jess had giggled in the aftermath of that strange meeting, referring to him as a ‘creepy old weirdo.’

  If only I could forget the whole ugly business, but the things he’d said about Paula... a shiver of cold swept over me. Baleful and intolerant he might be, although on the other hand, he had endured a dreadful illness, and with no evidence to suggest he was better, perhaps this might account for his sourness.

  Tonight, though, my flat felt too large and empty. Something about the hollow sofa screamed for another human to be sitting there and I was missing my foster parents. So I dialled Jess’s mobile.

  Hearing it go straight to voicemail, I felt another chokehold of bitterness but gulped the feeling back.

  It had to be a new man.

  With looks to die for, Jess couldn’t help being a magnet; her highlighted golden hair tumbled in ripples around her shoulders, complimented by the bluest of eyes. Pushing aside my envy, I just hoped it would work out for her this time.

  It didn’t matter.

  I had a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc chilling in my fridge, but first I needed to unpack. Resigning myself to the task, I dumped my holdall on my bed and unzipped it. There at the top nestled the last portion of Mandy’s lasagne, which she had lovingly packed into a box for me. The sight made me smile but as I slid it into the freezer, a heaviness tugged my heart.

  With everything in its proper place, I was hankering to unwind now.

  So I reached for the wine. A film of dew clung to the bottle, a satisfying glug of liquid as I poured it... and oh, how it slipped down my throat, juicy and fresh, bursting with notes of passionfruit.

  Next I switched the TV on, hoping to find entertainment. Catching the tail end of some drama, I stared at the screen blankly without taking in any of it.

  The programme merged into the 10:00 News, the usual mundane politics... until one poignant story snapped my head upright.

  ‘A police watchdog is investigating claims that the Metropolitan Police covered up child abuse... allegations are centred on an apartment block near parliament, where it is alleged that boys in nearby care homes were taken for violent sex parties.’

  This had to be the case Stewart had mentioned.

  My hands shook unsteadily as I tipped more wine into my glass.

  What was it about these allegations that brought a dark shadow rolling into my mind? Something embedded deep in my psyche flashing up images of trees; the boy by the roadside, the cluster of oaks on my train journey...

  Trees. Somehow it always came back to trees.

  Nothing could fend off the fear snaking through me. That story seemed to depict everything abhorrent in my dark world, from Sam’s disappearance to the cruelty Joe had endured. I couldn’t kick out the memories.

  So why did they haunt me now?

  It had happened twenty years ago, for Christ’s sake!

  That night, I endured one of my nightmares.

  They always started the same way. Trapped in a dark forest, I saw a spidery outline of trees circled above my head.

  Next came the voices; a slither of whisperings, rising to a chant, and I started to panic. I sensed an evil encroaching presence.

  An icy wind coiled its way through the trees, followed by a procession of hooded figures... but this was the point at which the dream always ended, as if a door guarding my innermost thoughts had been slammed shut; as if whatever lay on the other side was so horrific, even the psychotherapy had failed to extract it.

  Chapter Five

  Texting Sarah, we agreed to book our spa break before the week was up, yet since bumping into each other in Swanley, she must have detected my low mood. Proposing a day at Champneys was the very escape I needed, a chance to offload, but away from the ever mindful watch of my foster parents.

  Drawn to the Hampshire Hills, I was relying on my Sat Nav to direct me to the health spa. Eventually I spied it in the distance; an idyllic expanse of countryside where despite the winter gloom, the honey coloured walls gleamed invitingly.

  To my increasing delight, Sarah was in reception waiting for me.

  “Maisie!” she called over. “It’s lovely to see you! All you need do is check in and we can go straight through to the changing rooms.”

  “Wow!” I breathed, observing my surroundings, “it’s amazing!”

  Unable to resist, I pulled out my phone to take some photos. For even the reception displayed perfect symmetry with spotlights twinkling in the ceiling under a glass lantern roof. It highlighted the natural stone flooring, the clusters of sofas arranged in squares around tables, and an abundance of blushing orchids.

  “I knew you’d love it,” Sarah commented.

  She watched in amusement as I took shots from every angle, zooming in on an orchid to capture its intricate beauty.

  “That’s definitely going on Instagram later.”

  “Come on, this way,” she smiled at me. “Let’s get changed and into that pool. It’ll be lovely and relaxing in there.”

  There were even flowers in the changing rooms. Slipping into a complimentary robe,
I relished the embrace of ultra-soft fluffy towelling. It made me feel like a child again. Then following Sarah into the corridor, I caught a glimpse of the pool. The crystal blueness took my breath away, and dropping my robe onto a lounger, I could not wait to slide my body into the warm water and start swimming.

  Only as I sank into the bubbles of the jacuzzi afterwards did I let my guard slip. Sarah’s eyes glittered like emeralds as she observed me. Even in her fifties, she glowed with energy.

  “Are you happy doing what you do?” she asked me

  “Of course,” I placated her.

  Closing my eyes, I rolled back my head to let the bubbles swirl around my shoulders, thinking of the opportunities she had presented me with. By the age of eighteen, I was studying for a diploma in marketing but with no clue what I wanted to do for a living. At the turn of the new millennium though, it seemed that business and commerce were the favoured career sectors; the only route for ambitious young people like me to maximise our successes in life.

  But there lay the problem. Too money-orientated. I had no desire to be propelled around some faceless company whose only goal was to make profit.

  “I can never thank you enough for taking me to that ‘Child Protection Conference’ in 2005,” I added. “If it wasn’t for you, I might never have met Margaret. Or applied to work for West Sussex County Council.”

  Margaret Jones, my current boss, was just one of the many social workers Sarah had befriended. Being part of a huge support network, she knew dozens of like-minded people, including the family liaison officer who had dealt with my own case.

  “I’ve even started helping out at their fostering information evenings. There was one the other week...” An unsettling fear filled my mind as I spoke but it must have shown in my face.

  “So why the visit to Swanley?” Sarah probed. “Tell me to mind my own business, but I couldn’t help noticing how spooked you looked that day.”

  “Can I tell you something?” I mumbled. Risking a sideways glance, I shifted over to her side of the tub. “I feel as if I’m going crazy but I called the police on my way home, the other day. I-I haven’t even told my folks yet... but I thought I saw someone. A boy stranded on the edge of the woods, who I recognised.”