The Eyes of the Accused: A dark disturbing mystery thriller (The Ben Whittle Investigation Series Book 2)

by Mark Tilbury

  ‘We could go for a meal sometime if you like.’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘There’s a nice little Indian down by the bridge. Do you like Indian?’

  ‘I prefer Chinese.’

  ‘I wouldn’t trust them buggers not to put dog meat in their curry.’

  Maddie swallowed hard and drained her orange juice. ‘That’s disgusting.’

  ‘The one on Creswell Street got done for it about ten years back. Alsatian, if I remember right.’

  Bald guy came over to the table and rescued Maddie. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce us, Frank?’

  Crowley grinned. ‘What for? You know me already.’

  ‘You’re so funny, Frank. I’m splitting my sides here.’

  ‘Hi, I’m Maddie.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Mick.’

  ‘That’s one name for him. I know another one that rhymes with Mick.’

  ‘And I know one that rhymes with Frank, but I wouldn’t dare to repeat it in front of a lady.’

  ‘Did you want anything in particular?’ Crowley said. ‘Because this is a private conversation.’

  Mick stared at Crowley for a few seconds, as if weighing up whether to respond. He then mumbled something under his breath and walked back to the bar. Maddie thought it sounded like ‘watch him’, but that might have just been her mind playing tricks and trying to spook her.

  Crowley drained his beer. ‘Ready?’

  Maddie had never been less ready in her life.

  Go to the toilet and call Ben. Tell him what you’re going to do.

  No. Ben would only panic and tell her not to do it. She didn’t want anything to destroy her fragile confidence.

  Crowley stood up. ‘Come on, then. Let’s go.’

  Maddie followed him to his car. She tried not to think about what he might be guilty of. What he might be capable of. Unfortunately, her mind seemed determined to give her detailed descriptions of imaginary scenarios. At one point, she saw herself chained to a bed, staring at his leering bloated face as he prepared to mutilate her with a huge kitchen knife.

  He drove out to the main roundabout at Feelham and took the third exit towards the tiny village of Lower Pewsey. Which wasn’t really a village. No shops. No services. Just a few houses scattered here and there amongst miles of sprawling countryside. Maddie gripped the edge of her seat and tried to keep her mind focussed. Alert to the first sign of trouble. At times, the road narrowed to what seemed like nothing more than a towpath. Skeletal trees and tall hedgerows flanked the road on either side.

  After about half an hour, Maddie asked, ‘How much further?’

  ‘Five minutes, tops.’

  By the time they pulled up outside a large detached bungalow, Maddie had never felt so alone and vulnerable in her life. The building was set back about fifty feet from the road. A block-paved path cut through the middle of a neatly manicured lawn. A security light partially illuminated the garden, casting eerie shadows across it. A large stone ornament of an angel was placed in the middle of the garden. It reminded Maddie of something you might find at a graveside.

  Crowley switched off the engine. ‘What do you think?’

  Maddie thought it looked a good place to hold someone captive. ‘It’s lovely.’

  Crowley grinned. ‘It’s mine.’

  From a mobile home to this. How on earth did you do it, Crowley? ‘Wow!’

  He wound down his window and took a deep breath. ‘I love the countryside. Makes me feel alive.’

  Makes me feel isolated, Maddie thought. ‘It’s… lovely.’

  ‘I’m still dotting the I’s and crossing the T’s, but it’s just a formality now.’

  Maddie looked at the light shining in the front room window. ‘So who’s living there now?’

  Crowley seemed thoughtful for a few moments. And then: ‘The Target.’

  ‘The Target? Sounds like someone in a spy novel. Does this person have a proper name?’

  Crowley shrugged. ‘Several. But I can’t tell you right now. Maybe one day.’

  ‘I thought—’

  ‘You know what thought did; followed a muck cart and thought it was a wedding. Mother’s words, not mine.’

  Maddie didn’t like the look that had crept into his eyes. She decided to change the subject. ‘Your mother sounds like an interesting lady.’

  ‘More like bitter and twisted, if you ask me. You can meet her soon. If you want to, that is?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Would you like to?’

  Maddie looked away from his bloated face. ‘Maybe when we get to know each other a bit better.’

  ‘Is “maybe” your favourite word?’

  Maddie laughed. The sound was swallowed up by the wind whipping through the trees. ‘Maybe.’

  Crowley looked back at the bungalow. ‘What that place needs is dragging into the twenty-first century.’

  The bungalow looked modern enough to Maddie. ‘I’m sure you’re just the man to do it.’

  Crowley grinned. ‘Nah. I’ve got bigger fish to fry.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Crowley tapped the side of his nose.

  After a few moments silence, Maddie asked him to take her back to Feelham. She didn’t want to push too hard and shove him over the edge. Not in a place where no one could hear you scream.

  Crowley saluted. ‘Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Maddie stood in the office the following morning and recounted her meeting with Crowley to Ben and Geoff.

  ‘The Target?’ Geoff said. ‘Who the hell is the Target?’

  ‘Search me.’

  ‘Didn’t you ask him?’

  ‘I did. But he wasn’t saying. I didn’t want to push him too hard. Not in the middle of nowhere. I felt vulnerable.’

  ‘You can’t just shy away from something because you feel a bit twitchy.’

  ‘At least she had the guts to go out there,’ Ben said. ‘What do you expect her to do, demand an answer?’

  ‘The bloke must be cuckoo,’ Geoff concluded. ‘The bloody Target. Who does he think he is, John Le Carrè?’

  ‘He thinks he’s something, all right,’ Maddie said. ‘And he stinks to high heaven.’

  Geoff stroked his beard. ‘He’s clearly got multiple personalities. I arrested a bloke once, and he swore blind he was the head of MI5. Reckoned he’d spent years in Russia disguised as a stone pillar in Red Square. Claimed to be gathering evidence against the Commies.’

  Ben turned to Maddie. ‘You shouldn’t have gone out there on your own with him. Why didn’t you call me first?’

  ‘Because you’d have only told me not to go.’

  ‘And with good reason. Anything could have happened.’

  ‘Well, it didn’t,’ Geoff said. ‘One thing’s as clear as day: Crowley’s hiding something. Something big.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean it’s got anything to do with Hannah Heath,’ Ben said. ‘The bloke sounds like a fantasist to me.’

  Geoff turned to Maddie. ‘Where exactly is this bungalow?’

  ‘Out in the countryside somewhere. Right up past Lower Pewsey.’

  ‘And he reckons he owns it?’

  ‘Says he’s going to.’

  ‘How does someone like that get his grubby mitts on a place like that?’ Geoff asked. ‘Not by honest means.’

  ‘He might be bullshitting,’ Ben said. ‘Showing off to impress Maddie.’

  Maddie disagreed. ‘He seemed pretty convincing to me.’

  ‘Liars always do,’ Ben said. ‘I’ve met enough of them to know.’

  ‘But why would he pick that house?’ Maddie said. ‘It’s just too random.’

  Ben rubbed the back of his neck. ‘It probably belongs to someone he knows. Someone he’s done work for in the past.’

  ‘Could belong to his mother,’ Geoff said. ‘He might have Hannah locked up there, right underneath the old girl’s nose.’

  ‘I don’t think so,�
� Maddie said. ‘He offered to take me to meet her.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean much,’ Geoff said. ‘Psychopaths play games. The mother might even be dead. Like in that Hitchcock film, Psycho.’

  ‘I think you’re letting your imagination run away with you,’ Ben said.

  ‘Am I? It’s not beyond the realms of possibility.’

  ‘In a horror film.’

  Geoff turned back to Maddie. ‘I think you should take him up on the offer to meet his mother. See what transpires.’

  Maddie shuddered and imagined Crowley’s mother propped up in a chair, face decorated with copious amounts of make-up to disguise the pallor of death. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Next time you meet up with him, get him to take you back to his mobile home. See if you can get the R27 secreted somewhere.’

  ‘But what if he catches me planting it?’

  ‘Wait for him to go to the toilet or something.’

  Maddie didn’t feel comfortable with the plan. ‘It’s too soon. I need to get him to trust me first. Get my bearings. I don’t want to focus on too many things at once.’

  Geoff relented. ‘Okay. Whatever suits you, love. Let’s give him a ring tonight and arrange another meeting at The Three Horseshoes. See if you can get him to take you home. Give you chance to familiarise yourself with the place and plan somewhere to put the R27.’

  Maddie liked that idea better. ‘Okay.’

  ‘I could follow her,’ Ben offered. ‘Park up just around the corner.’

  ‘No. You can wait at the bottom of Constitution Hill. You can be at the mobile home site in a matter of minutes if Maddie needs you.’

  ‘What if Crowley buggers off again? Takes Maddie halfway around the world?’

  ‘He took me into the countryside, Ben. Not “halfway around the world”.’

  ‘Might as well be,’ Ben argued, ‘if you got into trouble.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘You’ve got a crystal ball now, have you?’

  Maddie smiled. ‘Yep. What would you like to know? The lottery numbers?’

  ‘I’d like to know when you’re going to take your safety seriously?’

  Maddie tightened her ponytail. ‘I do take it seriously. I won’t let Crowley do anything I don’t want him to.’

  ‘I wish I shared your optimism.’

  ‘You just make sure you’re on standby,’ Geoff said. ‘If Maddie needs your help, she can text you.’

  ‘And who will tell Pastor Tom if it all goes tits up?’

  ‘It’s not going to go wrong,’ Maddie said. ‘I’m going to meet him for a drink and go home with him. I’m hardly heading off into the jungle with him, am I?’

  Ben walked to the door. ‘We nearly died at Penghilly’s Farm. If you ask me, we ought to take that as a bloody warning.’

  ‘I’m well aware what happened at Penghilly’s Farm,’ Maddie said. ‘I was there, remember?’

  Ben looked about to say something else and then closed his mouth. He walked out of the office and banged the door behind him.

  Geoff touched Maddie’s arm. ‘He’s just trying to protect you, love.’

  ‘He doesn’t need to.’

  ‘I know that. But he’s just… you know...’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do you need me to spell it out to you?’

  ‘I know he cares about me. But that’s no reason to keep digging his heels in every time I try to make a decision. All I want to do is find out what’s happened to Hannah.’

  ‘And that’s good. So do—’

  ‘If Crowley’s holding her somewhere, I want to find out where. Not keep worrying about what might happen.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more. But Ben’s carrying a torch for you. He wants to be, you know, more than just friends.’

  ‘Ben?’

  ‘That’s him. The gangly git with all the grace of a new-born giraffe.’

  ‘But I—’

  ‘Never thought of it like that?’

  ‘Never thought of it at all. I mean, I know he—’’

  ‘You two need to have a chat. Get it straight.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Lay your cards on the table. If you don’t feel the same, then tell him.’

  Maddie walked out of the office. In all honesty, she didn’t know how she felt. She’d always looked upon Ben as a friend. Someone she could talk to. Someone she could trust. Someone who made her laugh.

  Isn’t that enough?

  Maybe. Maybe not.

  Ben was waiting in the hallway with his back pressed against the wall. ‘I’m sorry, Maddie. My head’s all over the place.’

  ‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.’

  ‘I just don’t want you to get hurt.’

  ‘I don’t want me to get hurt, either,’ Maddie said. ‘I’m quite fond of me.’

  ‘Crowley isn’t.’

  ‘I’m certainly not going to let the likes of Frank Crowley get the better of me.’

  ‘But what if it gets out of hand?’

  ‘Then I’ll call you straight away.’

  ‘And if he smashes your phone?’

  ‘I know you’re only trying to look out for me, Ben. And it’s really sweet of you. But I’m going to do this, whatever you say.’

  Ben looked at the floor. ‘It’s just… I don’t want you messing up.’

  ‘Thanks very much.’

  ‘I’m sorry. That came out wrong.’

  ‘Then make it come out right.’

  ‘I think I…’

  Maddie waited. There was a funny tingling sensation in her tummy.

  ‘I think I love you,’ Ben blurted.

  Maddie’s heart jumped through a hoop. ‘You... love me?’

  Ben looked away. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘Do you mean it?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Look at me.’

  Ben looked up and then looked away again. ‘You must think I’m a right weirdo.’

  ‘Actually, I think it’s really sweet.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘No one’s ever said that to me before.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘I am only twenty-one. Hardly a woman of the world.’

  ‘I thought…’

  ‘What? That I’ve had a stack of boyfriends?’

  Ben shrugged. ‘No, I—’

  ‘I’ve never even kissed a boy. Not properly.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘You sound surprised.’

  ‘It’s just... you’re s-so…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘P-pretty.’

  ‘Is that a compliment, Ben Whittle?’

  ‘I g-guess.’

  Maddie took his hand. ‘You can be the first one to kiss me. If you want?’

  Ben looked as if he’d just been invited to skydive without a parachute. ‘R-really?’

  She pulled him towards her and kissed him gently. His lips were so soft. So giving. So beautiful.

  When they broke apart, Ben grinned. A daft lopsided grin that melted Maddie’s heart.

  ‘And make sure you buy me a Christmas card if you want to be my boyfriend. I want a nice big soppy one with love hearts all over it.’

  Ben laughed. ‘I’m on it. I’m right on it.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Frank Crowley parked in the street outside his mother’s house and switched off the engine. He still couldn’t quite believe he’d pulled a bird like Maid Madeline. After all these years, he’d finally hit the jackpot. Picked a winning ticket. Struck oil. Rolled a double six.

  Don’t get too carried away, Frankie-boy. She hasn’t even given you her phone number yet, or told you where she lives.

  Okay. So there was an element of truth in that. But it was important to give a girl some breathing space. Let the implications of what he’d told her sink in and settle.

  And she hasn’t called you since you dropped her off at Dalton’s Bakery. That’s three nights ago by my reckoning.

  She�
��s probably been busy washing her hair and doing all the things girls have to do. Like reading soppy romance novels and dreaming of happy-ever-afters.

  Or fucking her boyfriend.

  Shut up! She hasn’t got a boyfriend.

  And you know that for certain, do you? A pretty girl like that, all by her lonesome when she has most of the male population to choose from.

  Madeline’s not a slut.

  We’ll see. If you want my opinion, most women are.

  Frank ignored Doubting Voice. He rang his mother’s doorbell. It was parky enough to turn nipples to icicles. The snow looked like it might even settle this year. He couldn’t think of anything better than spending Christmas Day with Maid Madeline. They could walk in the snow. Have playful snowball fights. Build a snowman. He imagined Madeline turning her head towards him, her lips inviting him to dine at the kissing table.

  ‘Who is it?’ His mother shouted through the letter box, destroying Frank’s beautiful imaginary landscape.

  He jumped back. ‘It’s me, Mother. Frank.’

  ‘What’s your middle name?’ Agnes Crowley asked, resorting to the security question they’d agreed to implement after the break-in.

  Frank leaned closer to the letter box. ‘Arthur.’

  ‘What’s your date of birth?’

  ‘It’s me, Mother! Who else is going to know my middle name? Let me in, for God’s sake. I need to take a leak. This bloody weather always upsets my bladder.’

  ‘You ain’t coming in until you answer my question.’

  ‘The third of July,’ Frank hissed. ‘Half past bloody three at the John Radcliffe hospital. Happy now?’

  Agnes wasn’t. ‘What year?’

  Frank felt like reaching through the letter box and poking her in the eye. ‘1960.’

  She opened the door and looked Frank up and down like he was part of a police line-up. ‘You look haggard, boy.’

  He stepped inside the dingy hallway. ‘Thanks. You certainly know how to cheer someone up.’

  Agnes followed her son into the lounge. ‘I’ve got a bit of lamb for supper. It’s only one of those Bernard Matthews Pot Roast things.’

  Frank’s tummy rejoiced. ‘Sounds great.’

  ‘Wash your hands. I’ll see how it’s getting on.’

  ‘I thought I might go upstairs first.’

  ‘Why?’

  To check my money and the Golden Egg, you nosy old bat, Frank thought. ‘Because—’