by Mel Sherratt
She put a hand to the side of her face; felt chunks of what used to be long hair. Her beautiful hair. She sobbed. She must look like a scarecrow.
As soon as she was on the main road again, she ran.
Chapter Thirteen
Jess froze as the van slowed. She heard what sounded like a garage door going up, then the van moved forward again and the engine was killed. Her heart racing, she gulped down air in an attempt to stop the panic from building up. She couldn’t breathe properly with the scarf around her mouth.
The van door opened and slammed shut. The garage door was pulled down. Everything sounded so loud.
When the rear door to the van opened, bright light stung her eyes. She squinted until she could see the face of her abductor. He had removed his hat and his hair was short, fair. His skin was pale, dark rings around his eyes. He seemed mid-forties at a guess.
He reached a hand inside. Jess screamed but it came out as a groan because of the scarf. He pulled her out of the van by her arms, keeping a firm grip on her. She placed her taped feet on the floor carefully and submitted. For now. She tried not to panic because she couldn’t defend herself.
‘You’d better behave,’ the man said, ‘or I have something to knock you out with. Do you understand?’
Jess nodded.
He slammed the van door and kept hold of her arm. ‘I’m not removing the scarf from your mouth until I know you won’t scream the place down.’
A tear rolled down her cheek. He was going to keep her here, wherever here was. She glanced around. She was right: she was in a garage. He could do anything to her and no one would know.
He pushed her forward as her eyes flicked around her surroundings. Shelving on one wall, containing lots of detritus. There was a door in front of them. As he tugged her towards it, she tried to see if there was anything useful to pick up if she could get away from him. Paint tins, paint brushes in turpentine, screws.
He opened the door and pushed her forward. When she missed the step because her eyes were trained on a hammer she’d spotted, he cursed as he pulled her upright again and switched on a light.
They were in a kitchen. It was a cheap but modern Formica job, units to three sides and a table on the far wall. Double doors led through to a living room and another door to their left was closed. A window over the sink had a roller blind pulled down. The worktops were covered in newspapers, leaflets, letters. There were dishes piled up in the sink, and the table was laden with food containers, a packet of cereal, a bottle of milk and the carcass of a cooked chicken left out to rot. The smell assaulted her. It was the odour of grunge, as if the room hadn’t seen air for weeks. Behind the scarf, she gagged.
‘This way.’ He took her arm again.
Jess had no choice, but still her eyes combed every surface, trying to remember things to grab if she had the chance. She spotted a knife sticking out of the sink, a saucepan that could do some harm if she could whack it across his face. There was a kettle she could pull off its base and throw at him.
He opened the door on the left and dragged her into a hallway. This too was dark, a strip of wallpaper peeling off in a corner at the skirting board. At the bottom of the stairs he turned to go up, but she froze. She could see her reflection in the long hall mirror. A pale, petrified young girl, her face covered in blood. She couldn’t let him take her up the stairs. She tried to pull her arm away but his grip tightened.
‘I need you out of sight,’ he said, pushing her again. ‘No one will see you up here. Besides, I have a special room for you.’
Jess pulled away from him, kicking out with all her might.
‘Calm down!’ he cried.
She resisted again, and he pushed her forward. She fell on the stairs, hitting her head on the banister. Groaning didn’t make any difference as he dragged her up the last few steps and into a room at the back of the house.
He pushed her down onto a bed. The room was in darkness. She couldn’t see a thing. Was this a holding room? Somewhere to keep her before moving her to somewhere else? But then he flicked on a lamp.
‘The house next door is empty,’ he told her. ‘So there’s no point banging on the walls, and there’s nothing behind except a field. So no silly tricks.’
Jess never said a word as she watched him get up and leave. She heard a lock being fastened before she began to whimper. She glanced around the room. The walls were a pale shade of pink, the carpet grey, the wardrobe in front of her a pale grey too. The duvet cover and curtains were swirls of pinks and purples, whites and greys, a modern take on a sixties design. By the side of the bed, a book, The Girl on the Train, sat on a bedside cabinet next to an alarm clock, a postcard in the middle of it to mark the page it had been read up to. She spotted a bucket in the corner of the room and gasped again.
She curled up on the bed and burst into tears. She couldn’t even get under the covers, as she couldn’t pull them over her. The light in the room was dim, and there was no bulb in the main fitting above her head.
It was nearing 6.30 p.m. Four and a half hours until her mum got home from work. She would miss her then. She would start looking for her. Or maybe Cayden would have got fed up of waiting, unable to get an answer from her on his phone. He would call for her, alert Sarah, who would get in touch with Mum. She would contact Eden and then everyone would start to look for her.
She lay shivering, again looking around the room for something to use if he ever untied her hands. There was a dressing table too, with a large mirror, but there was nothing else.
She stared at herself, seeing the mess he had made of her with his fist. Oh God, what was he going to do to her?
Tears poured down her face as she drew her knees into her chest. No one knew where she was.
Chapter Fourteen
He went back downstairs after locking the door. He paced the living room, running a hand over his head. The bitch had to learn a lesson. It was her fault everything had gone wrong. Everything he had lived for had been lost on that night and nothing he did could ever bring her back. She was locked away in his memory.
It had taken brute strength to stay sober enough to keep his wits about him. Now he had the girl, he could catch up on what he’d missed. He poured a glass of whiskey. Only a little bit, mind. He needed to stay on alert.
He took her phone from his pocket and scrolled through it. There were messages from Stacey, Ruby, Claire mostly and Cayden – was that the boy he’d beaten up?
As he read through each feed to try to capture her tone, he found out she was popular, that she had a sister called Sarah, and there were lots of texts from her mum and someone called Eden.
He took a look through the photos. There were so many of the girl doing that trout-pout thing. Why did young women do that? It was the most unsightly thing he could think of.
Then he came across the boy. Photo after photo of the two of them together. Yes, that was Cayden, although he might not have too perfect a nose now. He smirked. Having said that, it was nothing to be proud of. He was old enough to be his father, and he had taken him by surprise. Doing him over that hard hadn’t been the plan, but he had been bigger than he’d expected and had youth on his side. He looked at his bruised hands, ran a finger over his knuckles.
After reading a few more messages, he now had the right tone to send a text when necessary. He went through to the kitchen, opened the fridge and took out a can of lager. Opening it, he drank a good half of it in one go, cocking his ear up to the ceiling to see if she was making any noise. It was quiet.
He banged his fist down onto the worktop, knocking a cup and a plate as he did so. The noise made a jolt in the silence. He banged his fist again and kicked out at the kitchen unit.
My beautiful girl. Why did you leave me?
Squeezing his eyes shut tight, he clung onto the worktop and groaned loudly through gritted teeth. He needed to keep his anger inside, locked away until Monday. Because if he didn’t, Lord knows what he would be capable of.
Chapter
Fifteen
Jordan drove through the gated entrance of The Cavendales, an estate that he had big ambitions to live on in the future. The estate smacked of being someone, doing well in life and generally having money. He loved the individual designs of some of the larger properties at the back, with their top-of-the-range vehicles parked outside, or hidden away inside double or triple garages.
The Trents’ residence was one of the smaller houses on The Cavendales, built before the larger executive houses had been erected, and was at the head of a pleasant cul-de-sac. The branches of the nearest tree were taking a good battering in the storm that was gathering momentum. Jordan held on to his car door as he got out, for fear of it coming away from its hinges if a gust of wind caught it.
Maxine Trent opened the door before he had a chance to knock. She ushered him inside.
‘It’s horrible out there,’ she said, closing the night out for a while. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’
‘Yes, thanks. Black, no sugar, please.’
Jordan didn’t want a drink, only ever finished a few mouthfuls, but he found it a great way to build up a rapport. Many a good conversation had been had over a cuppa of some sort.
Maxine showed him through into the living room. It was a large open-plan space with a dining area at the rear and seating around a television and fire at the front. While he waited for her to come back, he scanned the images of a young girl and boy that were everywhere: over the fireplace, on the back wall, sitting on a small table. It was sad to think of them separated for so long.
It wasn’t the first time he’d visited. Over the past six months, since their daughter, Katie, had been sent to a secure unit, Jordan had been called out several times for reports of harassment and anti-social behaviour. He’d got to know Maxine and her husband well, and had played football in the garden with their son, Matty.
Maxine came in and placed a tray with three mugs on the coffee table.
‘What happened?’ Jordan asked, taking a seat on the settee when asked to do so.
‘Oh, it’s nothing now.’ Maxine waved a hand dismissively in the air. ‘I just felt a bit threatened by Travis Barker, but now I think I overreacted. Everything is bound to be raw for their family with the trial coming up next week.’
‘Even so,’ said Jordan, ‘it doesn’t give anyone the right to threaten you. What did he say?’
Maxine sat down in an armchair and relayed the incident to him. She was a lovely woman, warm and family orientated, and Jordan couldn’t help pitying her. It had been sad to watch her deterioration over the past few months. She had lost more weight, he noticed. Her jeans and jumper were practically hanging off her small frame, and her hair had lost its shine. She looked as if she was ready to shrink into herself, make herself as small as possible.
But Jordan knew she had a fighting streak too. She had shown so much courage so far, and his gut feeling was that she would survive the outcome of the trial, as well as get through what had happened this evening.
‘Would you like me to have a word with Travis?’ he asked after she had finished talking. He was met with the shake of a head.
‘I don’t want to make matters worse.’ Maxine clenched and unclenched her hands into fists as she spoke.
‘He shouldn’t be allowed to intimidate you, no matter what.’ Jordan paused. ‘It’s up to you though.’
A noise at the door and he turned to see Phil Trent standing in the doorway. Phil looked as if he had just come out of the shower – his hair was wet and he wore casual clothes.
Jordan had got to know him too, found him a straight and fair man. He loved the dynamic between him and his wife. They were a team, and they seemed to be in a happy relationship, despite the trouble they’d been thrust into.
‘Hi, Jordan,’ Phil greeted him as if he were an old friend.
‘Mr Trent.’ Jordan nodded his acknowledgement.
‘I’ve just been telling Jordan that I overreacted,’ Maxine explained as Phil came into the room.
‘No, you didn’t.’ Phil shook his head.
‘He wasn’t going to harm anyone, least of all Matty,’ she replied.
‘Travis Barker is an arrogant idiot, but no one threatens my wife.’
Jordan’s heart went out to Phil. He couldn’t begin to imagine how he must feel being unable to protect his family.
‘I agree but —’ Maxine paused for a moment. ‘Let’s just leave it for now.’
Phil sighed. ‘If you wish.’
‘You know I’m right.’
Phil perched himself on the arm of the chair Maxine was sitting on. He pulled her near, giving her shoulder a squeeze.
‘I know,’ he told her, giving Jordan a look of frustration.
Jordan put his notebook away and stood up. ‘I hope everything goes well for you next week,’ he said, looking down at them both. ‘Neither of you deserve what you’ve been through.’
‘Thanks. Do you have children?’ Maxine asked him.
Jordan shook his head. ‘Sadly not yet. I was hoping to by now, but I have the broken heart that comes before settling down.’
Maxine gave him a faint smile.
Once in his car again, Jordan rang the control room, signed off and headed home. Part of him wanted to curl up on the sofa and be safe and warm in his own world. Part of him wanted to go out and party, because life’s too short.
He hoped that the life’s-too-short version won by the time he had come out of the shower and washed the day away.
Chapter Sixteen
Eden hadn’t managed to start any paperwork. Several staff members had come over to ask her to look into or check out things, the DI had emailed asking for some stats about the last SWAPs meeting she’d been at and the cleaner had started on the hoovering in their office already. The drone was driving her mad, even though she loved Margaret, who had been working there as long as she could recall.
Eden had wanted to shift most of the paperwork from her desk to someone else’s all week, but even if she did do it all tonight, which wasn’t a possibility, there would be another pile to take its place by the following weekend. The job was paperwork, paperwork, paperwork, and now she had staff management, strategies and red tape to contend with as well.
‘You still here?’
Eden looked up to see Sean standing next to her. Sean had been a police constable for as long as she had but had joined CID three years before her and had been promoted to inspector early last year.
A bear of a man in his late-forties with short and neat hair, he towered over her even though she was above average height at five foot nine. He wore sharply cut navy trousers and a white shirt, the knot in his multi-coloured tie fastened as tight as it had been that morning. Sleeves rolled up to the elbow were the only thing that showed a bit of dishevelment. Even at this late hour she could smell a faint whiff of his aftershave as he pulled up a chair to sit next to her. Much better than eau de sweat.
‘I’m all yours if you need me, boss.’ Eden smiled.
‘Oh, it’s nothing important.’ He sat down and removed the glasses he hated but had to wear for close-up work. ‘I was just wondering how you were getting on? It’s been a month since you started in the role. Your mumsy skills seem to be coming on just fine.’
If anyone else had said that, Eden would have felt insulted but, coming from Sean, it was acceptable. To say she loved her job would make her sound weird. Who would want to deal with insolent people, moaners of the first degree, violent crimes and the day-to-day drudgery that she and her officers had to put up with?
But Eden did love it all. She enjoyed being in the thick of things, especially when she had helped either prevent a situation from escalating or made someone feel better by doing something small that had a huge impact for that individual.
It wasn’t so much job satisfaction but job contentment. Of course some days were worse than others, as with any other job. And the times she had been assaulted had evened out now. You’d expect anti-social behaviour and low-level dom
estic violence on a regular basis from the two social housing estates in Stockleigh, but even residents in the larger houses, such as those on The Cavendales, caused just as much trouble behind closed doors. Often, despite their wealth, they seemed more devious in their attempts to get away with things.
‘I can’t help it if I want to nurture my staff rather than drag them up to do things the old and often naughty way,’ she acknowledged.
Sean slid over the box of Jaffa Cakes, looking disappointed that there were only two left.
‘I won’t tell if you don’t,’ Eden urged. ‘I’ll get some more in this weekend. Talking of weekends, you got anything good planned?’
‘I’m due out with Lucy this evening. Another fiftieth bash that reminds me of my advancing years.’
‘Don’t remind me. I’ve my big four-o next year. Is Lucy organising you a party?’
‘She’d better not be or else there might be a murder.’
‘Ah, you know you love her, boss.’
‘Speaking of which – how are you getting on with this new fella? Joe, isn’t it?’
‘It is, and. . .’ she looked at him from the corner of her eye, ‘it’s none of your business.’
‘I’m only trying to show I care. . .’
Eden shook her head. ‘You’ve never been good at the “how are you doing” thing, have you?’ She rolled her eyes in jest. ‘The job is fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. You don’t need to worry.’
Sean slapped his thigh before standing up. ‘In that case, I’m off. And don’t forget to get your photo taken for the new ID card.’
‘I won’t,’ she said over her shoulder.
Actually, Eden had been putting off changing the current photo for a while now. On that one she was nine years younger, keen and eager with a huge grin to prove it. Her blonde hair had been long, with a full fringe that had framed dark brown eyes, still twinkling. Her face was slightly thinner. She’d always tried to keep herself in shape.