by Bill Kitson
‘Are you all right?’
‘I’ve got a lousy headache.’ Her voice sounded hoarse, little better than a croak.
‘That’ll be the after-effect of the drug.’
‘What drug?’ Naomi stopped dead, staring at him.
‘One of them emptied a sachet of powder into your drink as he walked past. You were looking the other way.’
The stranger ushered her into a pleasantly furnished living room with a dining alcove at one end.
‘Where am I? Whose place is this? What happened to those men? Who are you?’ The questions tumbled out, matching the chaos of her thoughts.
‘Hang on, one question at a time. First off, you’re in a flat in Helmsdale; my flat, to be precise. As to what happened, those three scrotes were about to rape you until I discouraged them.’
‘Discouraged them?’ she echoed. ‘How did you do that?’
He shrugged. ‘I have my methods. Sit down, and I’ll put the kettle on.’
Naomi chose an easy chair and sat pondering what he’d said; which was very little. What did he mean by ‘I have my methods’? And she still didn’t know his name. She wondered about him. The flat was well furnished. The curtains matched the suite, perhaps decorated with a woman’s touch. Was he married? Not that it mattered. Naomi knew she owed him, if not her life then certainly a huge debt of gratitude. She shivered as she recalled her narrow escape.
‘I put sugar in. It’s supposed to be good for shock.’
She hadn’t heard him enter the room. He seemed to have the ability to move swiftly and silently, despite being neither small, nor slim. She accepted the coffee and sipped it. ‘Tell me what you meant when you said you discouraged them.’
He looked slightly uncomfortable. After a moment, he said, ‘If you mention this to anyone, I’ll deny it happened, deny I ever met you. I’m not supposed to get into fights, or trouble of any kind.’
‘I won’t say a word. Why would I?’
‘Some people would disapprove of what I did.’
‘You think I’d object? After you saved me from goodness knows what? Look, Mr Whoever-you-are, I owe you so much. I’m certainly not going to cause trouble for you. Unless you slit their throats of course?’ Her eyes widened at the thought. ‘You didn’t, did you?’ He smiled slightly and shook his head. ‘Good,’ she added with relief. ‘If you want it to remain secret, I’m quite happy to go along with that.’ She leaned forward and rested her hand briefly on his knee. ‘But don’t ask me to forget meeting you. That I can’t do.’
He smiled again, and Naomi realized that he was quite good-looking.
‘The thing is, I’m a serving soldier. If my CO got to learn of what happened I might be on a disciplinary, even a court martial. Taking it to the extreme, I could even be booted out.’
‘Then I won’t tell anyone what you did.’ Naomi grinned. ‘That’s not difficult, because I don’t actually know what you did. You can tell me because I won’t be able to confirm or deny it.’
‘I knocked out the one who was standing guard. That was easy. We’re trained to do that sort of thing. The one who was about to force you to have oral sex – I stabbed with a biro.’
‘Stabbed him? Where?’
‘Where do you think? You’ve heard the expression “lead in his pencil”? He’s probably got ink in his. He staggered off down the ginnel howling like a timber wolf. As to the third one, I broke a couple of his fingers then roughed him up a bit. Once they’d scarpered I brought you here. Carried, actually, but it isn’t far. Just as well, because you were unconscious. Luckily, you’re not a heavy girl.’
Reaction took over and Naomi began to weep. He was across the room instantly, placing a consoling arm about her shoulders. ‘Don’t cry, Naomi.’ Her distress caused his anger to resurface. ‘It’s OK, you’re safe now.’
She blinked away her tears and smiled slightly. ‘How do you know my name?’
He pointed towards the table, on which was her handbag. He’d even rescued that.
‘I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you and I don’t even know your name.’
‘Dean.’ He smiled and added, ‘And maybe one day you’ll think of something.’
An hour later, when she was well enough to manage the journey, he escorted her to the bus station. At the depot, she asked casually, ‘Will I see you again?’
‘Are you sure the sight of me won’t bring back bad memories?’
‘I don’t think so. Tell me, though, are you married?’
He stared at her, caught out by her question. ‘No, whatever made you think that?’
‘Then who was responsible for the decor of the flat? Not you, I guess.’
‘My … er … my sister.’ His answer was curt, rude almost; nevertheless, she noticed the hesitation.
‘You didn’t answer my other question,’ she reminded him.
‘About seeing you again? I’d like to, but I don’t want to make any promises. I’m going overseas in a few days. But I’ll call you when I get back, if you don’t mind.’
‘That’ll be nice. I’d better give you my number.’
‘No need, I already made a note of it. I had to go through your bag to see if there was anyone I could call. I phoned myself from your mobile so I could keep the number. In the army, we call that strategy.’
‘Well, Dean, just make sure you do phone me.’
The bus pulled up alongside them and Naomi reached forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. ‘Take care, Dean, and come back safe. I’ll be waiting for your call.’
He watched her board the bus and returned her wave as it drew away. It would be something to look forward to during his overseas tour of duty. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and looked at the picture on screen; stared at Naomi’s red-haired beauty. She really was a lovely-looking girl. He’d taken the photo surreptitiously when she was sitting in his lounge. He would treasure it. And he would certainly call her.
Naomi stared out of the slightly grimy window of the small Dales single-decker bus. She felt a warm glow of satisfaction, relief and pleasure, mingled. Her one doubt was that momentary hesitation when he’d answered her question as to who had decorated the flat. Was he really single? Or had she escaped from the frying pan of attempted rapists into the fire of an adulterer?
She dismissed the idea. Apart from the furnishings, there was nothing to indicate a woman’s presence. The bathroom told her that. There were none of the usual ladies’ toiletries in there. No waxing or depilatory creams, no shampoo or conditioner, merely shower gel and wet shaving gear. And aftershave. Of course, he could be married to the bearded lady, but somehow Naomi didn’t think so.
chapter two
A discussion between the victims of Dean’s assault and the bouncer resulted in the wounded trio visiting Helmsdale police station. There, they gave the version of events the nightclub employee had coached them to produce. It varied significantly from the actual facts. No mention was made of Naomi Macaulay. They alleged that they had left the nightclub to return home, but being caught short, two of them had decided to use the passageway as a urinal. Whilst acknowledging that this was wrong, they claimed that the attack was both unprovoked and unwarranted. When asked for independent verification of their account, they suddenly remembered that the nightclub bouncer had been outside the club at the time, and that he might have seen something.
After they had left, DS Clara Mironova and DC Viv Pearce headed back to their office to compare notes. As they crossed reception the uniformed sergeant, Jack Binns, called to Clara, ‘How did the weekend go, did you dissuade your father?’
‘I’m not sure, but we tried,’ she replied.
‘Is he still intent on going back to Belarus?’ Viv asked as they headed for the stairs.
‘He might be, but until the regime over there changes, it wouldn’t be wise. I think, after all these years, he’s feeling his age and missing his brother.’
The tall West Indian took the stairs two at a time ahead of Clara. ‘Well
if my father wanted to return to Antigua, he’d be welcome to it. But I wouldn’t go, only for a holiday. I’m a Yorkshireman and proud of it.’
The office door swung shut behind them. ‘Anyway, what do you reckon to those two alleged victims?’ Pearce asked.
Mironova frowned. ‘The expression that springs to mind is one Jack uses. “I wouldn’t trust them with the office cat.”’
‘Yes, whatever they were doing in that alley, I’ll bet they didn’t go there for a pee. Buying or using drugs would be my guess. Maybe this bouncer they all seemed so keen for us to talk to might shed some light on the reason for the attack. Do you want me to talk to him tonight?’
‘Would you, Viv? But in view of the fact that they all suggested him, I’d take what he has to say with a pinch of salt. If there is anything worth following up, we’ll talk to Mike about it.’
The following day, DI Mike Nash listened to his detectives relating the story of the assault. They presented it without comment, the factual account giving no clue as to their scepticism. ‘The bouncer saw the tail end of the assault,’ Pearce concluded. ‘He recognized the attacker as someone he was at school with, a man he describes as “a vicious thug, even in those days”. His words, not mine. He gave the man’s name as Dean Wilson. I checked and found only one Wilson who matched the age criteria. He’s a serving soldier who flew out to Afghanistan this morning.’
‘In that case, we’d better put it on the back burner until we have chance to interview him. How long is his tour of duty, did you find out?’
‘Six months, or so they said at the barracks.’
‘OK, diarize it for after his return and we’ll interview him then. Oh, and see if you can get a piece in the local paper. Someone else might have seen something.’
The article in the Netherdale Gazette wasn’t exactly rich in detail. Under the headline MEN ASSAULTED OUTSIDE CLUB, the piece merely stated that police were appealing for witnesses after an attack in Helmsdale town centre. Their injuries were not thought to be serious. Fortunately for their peace of mind, neither Dean nor Naomi had seen the item in the paper.
Naomi hadn’t told her parents about the incident, or about her saviour. For one thing, she wanted to keep Dean to herself until she got to know him. More to the point, Naomi knew her parents wouldn’t understand and certainly wouldn’t approve. They would be shocked that she had visited a nightclub anyway. It didn’t fit with their narrow, puritanical ways. These, Naomi knew, her father had inherited from his father. Her grandfather had terrified her as a child, but now, although she respected his beliefs, she was under no illusions about either him or her own parents. Her mother was careful, prim and easily shocked.
Naomi was painfully aware of the problems her father and grandfather had endured in business. They had lost money some years ago when Bishopton Investment Group collapsed. However, their wealth was too great for this to be other than an annoying inconvenience, unlike many of the other victims of the huge fraud. Listening to the seemingly endless debates on the subject, Naomi soon learned to revile the name of Linda Wilson, and to detest the wicked and heartless deception the woman had carried out.
The lurid speculation about the missing woman and her possible motives, which seemed to be centred about her rumoured infatuation with a fellow employee who had also vanished, did little to lessen Naomi’s revulsion with the whole topic. As a less involved observer, she noticed that the topic caused her father much more distress than either her mother or grandfather, who seemed almost to salivate over each titbit of salacious gossip.
Dean couldn’t remember ever having looked forward to returning to England before. When their overseas tour of duty was announced, most of his colleagues had been dismayed or at best non-committal at the prospect. Few of them were as happy to be leaving the country as Dean was, although right at the last moment, when he was all but ready to go, his meeting with Naomi had changed his view somewhat. It was refreshing to have something to look forward to when he returned home after six long months.
As he travelled from York to Helmsdale, Dean examined the photo of the girl on his phone, reminding himself, as he had often done during his spell abroad, of how attractive Naomi was.
His first act on reaching the flat would be to call her. He resisted the temptation to do it from the train, where others could listen in. Dean had little experience with girls and was desperately keen not to get it wrong.
Having stowed his kit in the flat, Dean was indecisive, unsure of the reception he would get. He opted to visit Good Buys supermarket first and stock up on supplies. By the time he returned and put the shopping away it was teatime, and he thought it would be unwise to risk disturbing Naomi when she might be dining. Instead he made something to eat, and by the time he’d finished his dinner, felt it was too late to call her that evening. He would phone the following day.
It was late morning before Dean plucked up enough courage to make the call. Naomi sounded happy enough to hear from him, but said she would be returning to university in a couple of days so it wouldn’t be possible to go out with him before then.
He was beginning to wonder if this was a polite brush-off, until she added, ‘I have to come into Helmsdale tomorrow to do some shopping. I could call round at your flat at lunchtime if you’re about, and then we might be able to sort out something for when I’m at uni. As long as you don’t mind travelling to York to visit me, that is?’
‘I’d go much further than York for the chance of seeing you.’ Dean was aghast at his own temerity, but Naomi seemed cheered by the statement.
‘Oh good; until tomorrow, then.’
When Dean opened the door to let her into the flat, his first thought was to take his phone back to the shop and complain about the camera. The photo he had been admiring for so long completely failed to do justice to Naomi’s looks. He reached forward to shake hands, but Naomi ignored the gesture, choosing instead to kiss him, lightly. Dean returned the kiss, surprised and delighted, before ushering her into the lounge.
She went automatically to the armchair she had used on her previous visit, and sat waiting as Dean went to make coffee. As she looked round the room, remembering the familiar objects, she heard the letterbox click and looked down the hallway. There were two envelopes on the mat. ‘Postman’s been,’ she called through, ‘shall I get it for you?’
‘Yes, please.’
She walked over and picked up the mail. Without thinking, she glanced at the envelope, realizing that she didn’t even known Dean’s surname. She stood, rooted to the spot as she read the details. It couldn’t be. Surely not. He couldn’t be a relative, could he? Not of that person. It had to be an unpleasant coincidence.
Naomi walked back into the lounge just as Dean entered with the mugs. She held out the envelopes, her hands shaking. Two red spots of anger stained her cheeks, matching the flame in her hair. ‘Lance Corporal Wilson? Is that you?’
‘Yes, that’s me.’
‘Tell me you’re not related to that woman. Tell me it’s only the name that’s the same.’
‘Sorry, what do you mean?’ He knew exactly to what she was referring, but was playing for time. Here it was again, a past he had no control over, rising up to spoil something he hoped was going to be good. At first, he couldn’t understand why Naomi was so angry. Then he remembered her surname, and felt a rising swell of nausea.
‘Tell … me … you’re … not … related … to … Linda … Wilson.’ Naomi spat the words out as if each one was poison.
‘I’m afraid I can’t do that. I had no control over which bed I was born in. Yes, Linda Wilson is my sister. But I have had absolutely no contact with her since she ran away. And I had nothing to do with what happened before then.’
‘Since she ran away? You mean ran away with the millions of pounds she stole from her employers and all the poor, gullible people who invested in the company, believing she was honest?’
‘That was none of my doing, so why are you angry with me?’
&nb
sp; ‘My name is Macaulay, as in Wilson Macaulay Industries.’
She looked at the coffee mugs Dean was still holding. ‘You can keep those, Lance Corporal Wilson. A drink from you would stick in my throat.’
She flung the envelopes at him, spun on her heel and stormed down the hallway. The door didn’t splinter behind her as she slammed it, but then it was a very sturdy piece of timber.
Dean’s first week of leave had been miserable. During the months he’d been abroad, the prospect of seeing Naomi had been increasingly alluring. The disastrous outcome of that encounter had a shattering effect on the young soldier. For the rest of the week he remained inside the flat, nursing his self-pity until his mood of gloomy introspection bordered on depression. He had drunk more than was good for him, and the hangovers merely worsened his despair. His life seemed to stagger from one misfortune to a worse one.
On the Wednesday morning, he had just finished a belated breakfast when the doorbell rang. He wasn’t expecting callers, nor was he expecting a postal delivery. Could it be Naomi? The wild idea buoyed up his hopes, if only slightly.
He opened the door to find a man and woman standing there. Dean blinked, still taking in this unexpected sight when the woman spoke.
‘Dean Wilson?’
He nodded.
‘I’m Detective Sergeant Mironova and this is DC Pearce. May we come in?’
Dean held the door wide. ‘What’s this about?’
‘We want to talk to you about an assault outside a nightclub before you were posted abroad.’ She glanced down at the paper in her hand and quoted the date. ‘We need you to go along with us to the police station, where we will conduct a formal interview.’
A short time later, Dean found himself in an interview room at Helmsdale. When asked to comment under caution, he felt trapped. He could see his army career ending ingloriously with a dishonourable discharge. His nature would not allow him to deny responsibility, nor would his moral code tolerate lies. At the same time, his sense of honour would not allow him to drag Naomi into the sordid affair, even as part of his defence.