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

by Mark Tilbury

  ‘Then say a prayer.’

  ‘Since when have you been religious?’

  ‘I’m not. But we all have to call on God sometimes. Even the non-believers.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Connie closed the garage door. She looked at the pathetic excuse for a man sitting on the floor. ‘You sicken me.’

  ‘Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with?’

  ‘I would if it was up to me. Believe me.’

  ‘What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Shut up. Move over there and sit in front of the bench. Then put your hands behind your back.’

  Crowley slithered into position, leaving a trail of blood on the garage floor. ‘I’m going to bleed to death at this rate.’

  ‘Don’t be so melodramatic.’

  He might be right, Sweetcakes. We don’t want him running out of juice just yet, do we? You’d better bandage that wound once you’ve secured him to the bench.

  Connie opened a drawer beneath the bench and took out a set of cuffs. ‘Right, I want you to sit still while I put these on. If you move, I’ll put a hole in your other leg.’

  Crowley didn’t resist. Instead, he chose to waste his breath by begging for painkillers.

  She cuffed his left wrist to the iron leg of the bench. ‘You don’t need painkillers. You just need to atone.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Do you really need it spelling out to you?’

  ‘I’ve suffered enough for my mistakes.’

  ‘Thanks to the Wolf, you haven’t suffered half as much as you should’ve. Believe me.’

  ‘Who the fuck is the Wolf?’

  Connie put a finger to her lips. She walked through a side door and into the kitchen. She switched on the light. Home at last.

  ‘Hey? Where are you going?’

  Connie sighed. ‘Be quiet.’

  ‘My leg.’

  Connie slammed the door and walked over to the sink. She swallowed three paracetamol tablets with a glass of water and then leaned back against the drainer. It had been a long day. A draining day. But at least the Three Little Piggies were all at home now.

  You need to dress that wound in Crowley’s leg. If he pegs it now, the coppers won’t have a prime suspect when they start sniffing around the Heath girl and the whore.

  Connie ignored the Wolf. Crowley could wait awhile. At least until her head had settled down a bit. She walked out the front door and retrieved the bag of films, the crash helmet and the whore’s handbag from the car. She stood by the boot and listened for a while. At least the whore quiet. Unlike that cowardly lump of jelly mewling in the garage. Crowley could learn a lot from a whore like the whore. If Connie had her way, she’d have them handcuffed together, and be damned with it. The Wolf was right to be cautious, but they could hardly cook up any nasty surprises if they were both immobilised.

  She walked back into the bungalow and went through to the front room. She tossed the whore’s handbag in the fire grate. It could burn when she lit the fire on Christmas Day. The one day of the year that she brought Da home. Roasted chestnuts and toasted marshmallows. Pulled crackers and cooked a turkey with all the trimmings. Made a real fuss of him before taking him back to his prison cell at Sunnyside.

  But that was all about to change. He wouldn’t be sitting in that nursing home for much longer. He was coming back to her. Back where he belonged. And then she would sell Fourwinds and return to the Northeast. Da could see out his final days in familiar surroundings.

  She put the bag of films on the floor near the TV. She then poured herself a large brandy from a decanter sitting on a walnut sideboard and took it over to her leather armchair. She sat down and swallowed the brandy in three large gulps.

  Within a few minutes, the throbbing in her head had subsided to a dull ache. She put the empty glass on a small side table and took off her leather boots. All in all, it had been a good day. Crowley was incarcerated in the garage, she had custody of the films, and the whore was in the boot.

  You can’t just leave her in there all night.

  Connie didn’t see why not.

  What if she hears the postman or the milkman in the morning and bangs on the boot lid? You need to get her down in the basement.

  Connie didn’t want to. She was dog-tired. Wolf-tired, even.

  Don’t get sloppy, Sweetcakes.

  Connie groaned. Couldn’t she just tie the whore up and put her in the garage with Crowley for the night?

  You must keep them apart.

  ‘I’m knackered. I need to watch the films, yet. And take a bath.’

  So pace yourself. Phone in sick tomorrow and have a lie-in. Recharge your batteries.

  ‘I need to see Da tomorrow. He hasn’t been well since that idiot investigator upset him.’

  There’ll be plenty of time for Da. He’s not going anywhere.

  ‘He needs me.’

  Don’t you think I know that? But you aren’t going to be much use to him locked away in Holloway Prison with a bunch of butch lesbians for company, are you?

  Connie wished the Wolf would go away and leave her alone. He might be making perfect sense, but she was too exhausted to care.

  Let the bath and the films be your reward.

  ‘How in damnation can trawling through Crowley’s filthy films be any sort of reward?’

  Okay. Point taken. But you only need to check out the one marked ‘Golden Egg’ for now. Don’t make a mountain out of an anthill.

  ‘For your information, it’s a molehill. Anyway, I want to see if there’s any of Da in there.’

  And if there are?

  ‘If there’s so much as one minute in that stockpile of filth, I’ll make Crowley beg me to kill him. I’ll take out his eyes. I’ll cut out his tongue. I’ll—’

  Stop fantasising, Sweetcakes. Why don’t you go the whole hog and bury him alive?

  Connie considered this for a while. The idea seemed appealing. ‘But you said I need to make his death look like a suicide. I can see how he might dig his own grave, but how the hell’s he meant to have filled it in?’

  And how exactly is he meant to gouge out his own eyes and cut out his own tongue?

  Connie closed her eyes. She didn’t need this right now. Her head was thumping again. If this turned into a migraine, she wouldn’t be in any fit state to do anything.

  I understand the need for revenge, Constance. I understand it better than most. Unfinished business can eat away at the mind like a plague of parasites. But sometimes you’ve got to realise that you can’t have it all.

  ‘I want what is mine.’

  And you will get it. But you have to show restraint. Remember what this is really all about.

  ‘Crowley made my life a living hell for weeks.’

  Trust me, he’s going to pay.

  ‘Shit!’

  What is it?

  ‘I still need to put the Christmas decorations up for when Da comes home.’

  He’ll be really proud of you, Sweetcakes. His heart will be fit to burst.

  Tears glistened in her eyes. ‘That’s all I want. To make him proud.’

  So get the whore down in the basement. Gag Crowley and bandage his leg. Then have a nice long soak in the bath.

  Connie nodded. Aye, that’s what she would do. She thanked the Wolf. He was her Bridge Over Troubled Water. Her Lone Voice in the wilderness. Her Scales of Justice. And she loved him with all her heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Maddie tried to keep her breathing even. To relax. She didn’t want to panic and waste what little energy she had left. Her chest felt as if someone was sitting on top of it. Darkness crept into her head and played tricks with her mind. Shapes formed behind her eyes. One turned into Tweezer, her chief tormentor at Penghilly’s Farm. Tweezer had tried to rape her when she’d been chained to a bed. In her mind, Tweezer grinned. He then whispered something in her ear. ‘I knew you’d come to no good.’

  Maddie kicked out and stubbed her t
oe. A shaft of pain lanced her foot and travelled up to her knee. She cried out and tried to sit up. She banged her head on the boot lid and slumped back down. Something jabbed into her back. Something metal. Perhaps it would make a good weapon.

  There you go again. Not thinking things through. How are you going to overpower anyone? The woman’s got a gun, in case you’ve forgotten.

  Footsteps walked around the side of the car and stopped. The boot lid creaked open to reveal the leather-clad woman. She reached in and ripped the tape off Maddie’s mouth. Maddie’s lips felt as if they’d been torn from her face.

  ‘Get out.’

  ‘Can you take the tape off my hands?’

  ‘No.’

  Maddie sat up slowly. ‘My arms are dead.’

  ‘My heart bleeds for you, whore. Now get out of the boot. Move. I haven’t got all night.’

  It took Maddie several attempts to get out of the boot with her hands taped behind her back. She stood on the gravel driveway and tried to adjust her eyes to the glow of the security lights. The place looked remarkably similar to the bungalow Crowley had taken her to.

  The woman aimed the gun at Maddie. ‘You look smart enough to me. Smart enough to listen. Am I right, whore?’

  I’m not a whore. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Smarter than that useless idiot chained to the bench, I hope?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘He must have paid you a king’s ransom for your services.’

  Maddie looked at the ground. Away from the woman’s eyes. There was something disconcerting about those eyes. Familiar, even. ‘Why are you doing this?’

  ‘It’s nothing personal. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. If you do as you're told, we’ll get along fine.’

  ‘Why don’t you just let me go? I don’t know who you are. I don’t care what your problem is with Crowley. I don’t even like him. I won’t tell anyone about—’

  ‘Shut up. You’re not in any position to bargain. If you want to stay alive, you’ll do as I say. Now walk along the side of the bungalow to the back door. Nice and slow. Don’t get any ideas that this is the movies. Wannabe heroes die in real life. Do you understand?’

  Maddie did. She had no intention of trying anything stupid. It was as much as she could do to put one foot in front of the other. She stopped outside the back door.

  ‘Open the door and go inside.’

  Maddie stepped inside. She stood near a large pine table and looked around the kitchen. She was immediately struck by the neatness of the room. There wasn’t a single item on the worktops. No kettle. No toaster. No tea, coffee and sugar jars. No biscuit barrel. No washing up in the sink. No blood up the walls! Nothing. It was like a show home.

  The woman closed the back door and pointed the gun at Maddie. ‘I still find it hard to believe anyone would go anywhere near Crowley. Even a whore.’

  Maddie didn’t answer.

  ‘What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you know what the Wolf says?’

  Who the hell’s the Wolf? ‘No.’

  ‘Crowley might have been telling the truth when he said you was a cop.’

  Maddie’s knees weakened. ‘I’m not a cop.’

  ‘No, I don’t think you are. You aren’t carrying any cop stuff, for starters. Not so much as a whistle or a pair of handcuffs. But here’s the problem I’ve got with the whore story. You don’t have any whore stuff in your bag, either. No makeup, no phone, no condoms, no money, no drugs. That strikes me as strange.’

  Maddie shrugged.

  ‘How much do you charge?’

  ‘I don’t want to discuss that with you.’

  ‘Come on. How much for sex?’

  Maddie looked at the floor. What the hell was she supposed to say?

  ‘How much did you charge Crowley for tonight?’

  ‘It’s private.’

  ‘Shall I go into the garage and ask him?’

  Maddie’s whole body started shaking. ‘If you want.’

  ‘You don’t even sound like a whore.’

  ‘And what exactly is a whore supposed to sound like?’

  ‘A bit more tarty than you do.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m touched.’

  ‘So who are you really?’

  ‘I’m his girlfriend.’

  ‘Rubbish. You wouldn’t look twice at him. An absolutely desperate woman, with only one chance left to save the human race from extinction, wouldn’t look twice at him.’

  ‘Do you think all relationships are based on looks? People fall in love for all sorts of reasons.’

  ‘Yes; they do. But Crowley hasn’t even got a personality. Not unless you want to call sexual deviancy a worthy trait.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re jealous.’

  ‘Don’t get smart with me. Unless you want the Wolf to get his claws into you?’

  Maddie didn’t.

  ‘No, you don’t. Anyway, I’m bushed. We can talk about this another time when my mind is in a better state to tolerate your lies and fabrications. See that door over there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There’s a key in the lock. I want you to unlock the door and go inside. But leave the key in the lock. Clear?’

  Maddie nodded.

  ‘Once inside, I want you to walk down the steps. Go!’

  Maddie opened the door and stepped inside. The room was lit by a single lightbulb hanging from a short length of flex. The stench of damp and excrement was overbearing. The door suddenly slammed shut behind her, followed by a loud click. Maddie spun around. The door had no handle on the inside. All the strength drained out of her legs.

  Now look what you’ve done. Why do you never listen to anyone else? Why? Why? Why?

  But here was the million-dollar question: why hadn’t the woman just killed her?

  Perhaps she’s saving you for the Wolf.

  Who the bloody hell was the Wolf? How did he fit in with Crowley? The more Maddie thought about it, the more confusing it became. She peered into the dimly lit basement. A black bucket sat at the bottom of the steep stone steps. There was a table supporting a microwave pushed against the far wall, and an airbed covered by a duvet next to a two-bar electric fire. There appeared to be someone beneath the duvet.

  The mound beneath the duvet moved. A head appeared, the face partially obscured by a mop of tangled brown hair.

  ‘Hello?’ Maddie called.

  She watched a woman free herself from the bedding and prop herself up on one elbow. ‘Who the hell are you?’

  ‘Maddie. Maddie White.’

  ‘Don’t tell me: you’re pregnant as well?’

  ‘I’m a private investigator.’

  The woman struggled to her feet. ‘You’re a what?’

  ‘Oh my God! Hannah? Is that you?’

  ‘How do you know my name?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Did Connie send you?’

  ‘Connie?’ The name tasted like broken glass on her lips. ‘Connie Sykes?’

  Hannah nodded. ‘The one and only.’

  Maddie hobbled down the steps. ‘Your mother hired us to find you.’

  Hannah grinned, revealing a huge gap between her two front teeth. ‘My mother hired you? When?’

  ‘A few weeks ago.’

  Tears shimmered in Hannah’s eyes. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Turn around. I’ll get that tape off your wrists.’

  ‘I can’t believe I’ve actually found you. I thought you were…’

  ‘Dead?’

  Maddie nodded. ‘It didn’t look too good. Not after four months.’

  Hannah released the tape. ‘How’s my mother?’

  Maddie massaged her aching wrists. She thought long and hard before answering. ‘She’s coping.’

  ‘And Robert?’

  ‘As well as can be expected.’

  Hannah’s bottom lip trembled. Tears spilled onto her cheeks. ‘I miss them all so much.’

  M
addie reached out and pulled her close. Well, as close as a heavily pregnant stomach would allow. They remained that way for several minutes as Hannah spilled a tidal wave of grief onto Maddie’s shoulder.

  When she was spent, Hannah broke away and looked deep into Maddie’s eyes. ‘I can’t believe you’re actually here. This must be a dream.’

  ‘It’s not a dream. And we’re going to get out of here.’

  ‘I’d love to know how.’

  Maddie decided not to elaborate. Truth to tell, she didn’t have a clue. ‘Why did Connie Sykes kidnap you?’

  Hannah wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve. ‘The crazy bitch wants my baby.’

  ‘Why?’

  Hannah shrugged. ‘Who knows what goes on in her fucking head? She reckons she’ll let me go once the baby’s born. But she’s lying. Why would she let me go? She knows full well I’d go straight to the cops.’

  Maddie felt as if she’d fallen down the rabbit hole in Alice in Wonderland. ‘But why on earth would she want your baby?’

  ‘Like I said, she’s fucking crazy.’

  ‘I won’t let her take your baby. I promise.’

  ‘And how do you plan to stop her?’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’

  ‘Appeal to her better nature?’

  ‘No, I—’

  ‘Use some good old-fashioned detective work?’

  Maddie had no answers. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Hasn’t got you very far up to now, has it?’

  ‘I need time to think. Try to get my head straight.’

  ‘So, how come you wound up here?’

  Maddie told her the story. How they’d zoned in on Crowley. How Connie Sykes had turned up at the mobile home, demanding he hand over a film.

  ‘What film?’

  ‘I don’t know. But he’s been blackmailing her.’

  ‘Where’s Crowley now?’

  ‘I think she shot him and locked him in the garage. At least that’s what it sounded like when I was shut in the car boot.’

  Hannah shook her head. ‘Jesus Christ! What a bloody mess. Does she know you’re a private investigator?’

  ‘No. She thinks I’m a prostitute. She couldn’t see any other reason why I’d be with Crowley.’

  Hannah hacked a small, humourless laugh. ‘The bitch has a point.’