The Controller

by Linda Coles

Pam didn’t leave her telephone number, not on a public site, but she did add a recent photograph of her pet. All she could do now was keep searching and wait for any comments of news and hope that someone had already taken her in while they found her rightful home. Though she was desperately tired, she knew she’d never sleep a wink tonight. She was right.

  Chapter Six

  The pretty blonde wasn’t paying anyone any attention, and that was just as well. He’d watched her before, had already singled her out, and today he was double-checking the facts he already knew. She’d only be in her late 20s, Pete thought, with bouncy blonde hair that he’d like to run his fingers through on another day. He wondered if it smelled of Pears shampoo, like his mother’s did when he was a young boy, before his dad had gone and beat her to death in a drunken frenzy one night. The man was still inside and would be for some considerable years to come.

  Now, as a 19-year-old man, Pete had left the system and was making his way in the world on his own, working scams with Vic and Niles – not exactly what he’d dreamed of as a lad but it brought money in. Back then he’d wanted to write books, become a famous author like Dickens or Child or Rowling. He saw them as all the same – as people really good at their craft. His mum used to tease him about his books – he always had his nose stuck in one, an adventure moving around in his head like a play being played out for only him to see. He wondered as he watched the pretty blonde if she liked to read, and what she did with her days. After all, if she wasn’t at work at this time of the morning, or the time he saw her yesterday, she must be a young housewife or something like that, because why else wouldn’t she be at work?

  He took the drone out of its backpack and began its set-up. If this pretty blonde was going to be their next target, he needed to confirm where she lived and that the white toy poodle was actually hers. Using his small screen as the control pad he set things in motion. The propellers started to turn and whir and he launched the drone into the air, a bird’s-eye view on the screen in front of him. This thing could fly up to 400 feet high, well out of earshot of most people, but he wanted detail so he usually flew at 50 or 100, which was about right, and if he kept it back a bit most people didn’t know it was there. And today, neither did she.

  The toy poodle trotted obediently alongside her and as the drone followed them back along their upper-class street to their house The Controller once again felt pleased with his find. All the houses up on The Heath were massive, with huge green leafy gardens and well-to-do neighbours, nobody short of a bob or two. Investment bankers and the like bought a home there, those well off that commuted to London, to the City each day and had expensive long lunches with clients and celebrities. Nah, she could afford it all right, or more likely her husband could, and since he got a cut of the money, he thought they should charge this one more. It was the same risk whoever they dealt with, so the upper echelons should pay more to balance out those lower down the food chain. Like the old lady. And it made up for the odd one that fell through – it wasn’t often their scam went wrong, but it had. Last time, they’d had to move town rather quicker than they’d planned on, and that was always inconvenient, and costly.

  He watched his screen as she unlocked and entered the front door of her huge red brick house and went inside – again. Yes, she definitely lived here and that white poodle was definitely her beloved dog. Let’s hope she loved it a lot. He called the drone back to base and, after putting it away, headed back to his car to call the details through to the others. Niles would handle the rest from here.

  Chapter Seven

  The following morning there was still no sign of Pam’s beloved Gemma. Pam made herself a pot of tea as usual and gazed outside to the empty garden, where normally Gemma would be going about her own routine but today it was sadly empty. With a heavy heart she slotted a single piece of bread into the toaster. She’d missed dinner last night, the deep empty feeling in the pit of her stomach making her too sick to eat anything, and she doubted that a single slice of toast was going to be any easier. As she’d laid in her bed last night listening for any sounds of Gemma’s return, she’d decided that she wouldn’t be going in to work today and instead would spend her time searching the streets and parks and asking folks if they had seen her. She couldn’t just sit around hoping, she had to do something. The toaster popped and the sound returned her thoughts to having to eat something. She smeared butter and strawberry jam on the slice, trying to make it more palatable, and sat out on the porch to eat it. June popped her head over the garden fence, two large pink curlers visible on the top of her head.

  “Still no sign I see?” June herself looked forlorn at Gemma’s disappearance.

  “No June, nothing. I barely slept a wink last night listening for her coming home, I’d so hoped she’d wander back in as though nothing had happened.” June could see the anguish the little dog’s absence was causing her friend but didn’t know what to do or say, everything seemed so pointless.

  “You going in to work today?”

  “No, I’ll let them know in a minute. I’m going out to look again.”

  “Well I’m coming with you, two sets of eyes are better than one and we’ll cover more ground. What time are you heading out?”

  “When I’ve got dressed, so say thirty minutes?”

  “You’ve got it. I’d better get my skates on then myself. Toodle!” June always made Pam smile when she said ‘toodle’, it was part of her sunny personality, but not today, though she was extremely grateful to her friend for the help and for the company. Last night searching on her own had worn her spirits out, not just her feet.

  Thirty minutes later, both June and Pam were making their way into the village centre when Pam spotted Ruth coming towards them on the pavement. She stopped to say hello.

  “Morning Ruth, how are you?” Pam asked, not quite as jovial as she usually was, she sounded flat to her own ears. She had taught Ruth a good 10 years ago when Ruth had been a student in her English Literature class, and still saw her occasionally when she visited her father and step-mother who also lived in the village, though Ruth herself now lived in South Croydon. Ruth was also the founder and administrator of the online community site The Daisy Chain, something she’d started up some months back to help solve community problems and raise awareness of petty crimes for people to be watchful of. An avid crossword doer, she loved a good local conundrum though she hated some of the issues that arose, particularly the more serious ones. They’d had things like the underwear snatcher, petty thieves, a missing person, and now a missing dog. The missing person had been found safe soon after their disappearance and Ruth hoped the same for her Gemma.

  “Hello Pam, I’m good thanks. I saw the post about Gemma last night on The Daisy Chain, any news yet?”

  “I’m afraid not Ruth, no. And no comments from anyone seeing her either, I checked before I came out. I can’t think where she’s gone, only that someone has taken her.” She stopped and remembered her manners. “Sorry Ruth, how rude of me, this is June, my neighbour, she’s helping me look for her.” The two women exchanged pleasantries and Ruth gave her attention back to Pam, who was visibly upset at the whole thing. Pam continued, “And the police say it’s not for them, no evidence she’s been taken, but it’s so unlike her, it’s all I can think has happened to her, someone’s got her.” Tears started to well in Pam’s eyes and she fought to control them but they spilled down her cheeks in thin wet streaks. June passed her a tissue and put her thin cardigan-covered arm around her friend’s shoulders in comfort.

  “Look Pam, I’m not sure what else I can do but I’ll keep an eye out and re-post your message again later today to make sure as many people see it as possible. Let’s hope it stirs something up, and whoever may have her returns her, and soon.” Pam smiled weakly at Ruth and thanked her for her concern, though Ruth wished she could have done more.

  “Well I hope you get lucky today and find her, let me know if I can do anything else, and keep me posted when she comes home
.” Ruth could only be positive outwardly, though inside she felt less sure, but didn’t say anything. She watched as Pam and June slowly strolled on together, noting that Pam looked tired out already and it was still early on in the day. She crossed her fingers for the dog’s safe return.

  Chapter Eight

  Pam was resting in her chair in the lounge all by herself – the day had almost been too much for her. If she’d retired last year instead of hanging on, Gemma would never have been left on her own and would still be here now. Instead, she was missing and Pam’s spirit was as flat the carpet she walked on, but when the shrill ring of her telephone in the hall called out, she bolted out of her chair, saying a quick prayer, hoping that it was good news, that someone had found her. In a way it was.

  “Hello, Pam speaking,” she said breathlessly.

  “Listen carefully. Consider this a ransom call. We have your dog.” The male voice was curt and direct in its approach and as rough as an emery board in its sound. Pam took a moment to take the words in, let them circle around and compute inside her head before she realised what exactly the voice was telling her. She openly gasped out loud, her blood chilling in her veins.

  “Oh my lord.”

  “I see I have your attention now. If you want to see your dog alive again, here’s what you’ll do.”

  “Yes. I’m listening, please, tell me.” Her trembling voice gave away just how worried and scared she was. She had no control over her emotions and the thought of some stranger with Gemma made her head spin. As she listened to the man through the receiver, she could hear a faint barking in the background. Was that her? Was that her Gemma? She struggled to listen for more but she couldn’t be sure, it was too far away.

  “Tomorrow night, the park where you walk her each day, bring £500 in an envelope, put it in a Sainsbury’s carrier bag and drop it all in the bin by the seat in the middle of the park. Then head for the bench by the water fountain after the drop and if you’ve done exactly as I’ve asked, you’ll find her. You’ll be watched. If you call the police or we see them about, she’s gone. Understand? 6pm on the dot.” Then the line went dead, he didn’t wait for an answer.

  Pam stood frozen still in the hallway, the receiver still in her hand, the dial tone replacing the rough voice that was there only moments ago. Her legs gave way and she fell to the floor – the thought of some heartless stranger holding Gemma for ransom, was all too much on top of the strain and worry of the last couple of days. She closed her eyes and slipped into darkness.

  “Pam! Pam! Come on love, Pam, wake up.” She could hear the sound of June’s voice but she couldn’t answer, and was vaguely aware she was lying on the floor but couldn’t understand where or why. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open and she regained her senses, one at a time.

  “Oh Pam, there you are! Thank god, what happened? Are you hurt?”

  Pam took a moment to collect her thoughts and remember what had happened. But when was that? How long had she been out?

  “What time is it?”

  “What? It’s just gone 8pm, why?”

  She’d been out a while. She struggled to sit up. June gave her friend a hand and helped her to her chair in the lounge where she flopped down, exhaustion emanating from every pore. June waited for her to speak and wasn’t expecting what she finally said.

  “Someone’s got Gemma. They have her.”

  “Who? Who’s got her, what do you mean?”

  “A man called, he has her. He wants money, tomorrow.” She turned to her best friend before adding, “June, it’s a ransom demand, they want £500 for her safe return tomorrow night.”

  “Holy hell. A ransom eh? We must tell the police.”

  “No!” Pam shouted. “No, they said I’d never see her again if I told the police. I can’t risk it, June, I have to pay them, but I don’t have that much. What will I do?” Fresh tears started to roll down her face once more, her eyes still red and puffy from lack of sleep and worry. Pam’s distress was evident and June felt so sorry for her friend.

  “How much short are you?”

  “I have £300 in the bank, that’s all until payday.”

  “No matter, I have the rest. What are the instructions?”

  Pam filled June in on what they demanded and the more she told her friend, the better she began to feel – it was all coming to an end, like a bad dream. At least Gemma was alive, that’s all that mattered.

  “Excellent Pam, we can do that. Look at it this way, by this time tomorrow night, Gemma will be safely back here with you. We’ll do as they say, drop the money and bring her home.” She smiled at her friend to give her hope and was encouraged to see her visibly relax a little. June changed the subject, her voice concerned.

  “I’m betting you haven’t had anything to eat again eh? That’s why you collapsed. I’m going to make you a sandwich, you need to keep your strength up, or you’ll be no good tomorrow night,” and left the room to go to the kitchen and make it for her. Pam stayed in her chair, the stress really too much for her, her body feeling like a dead weight. But at least she now knew when Gemma would be home; it was just one more night without her.

  Chapter Nine

  “Come on Bubbles, let’s go.” Lorna could hear her dog yap at the prospect of going outside and watched, smiling, as she came bounding down the hallway ready. The little white poodle never needed to be asked twice. Lorna stood with her leash, ready to attach it before they headed out and on to the park.

  “Walkies first then I’ve errands to run, you want to come?” She gave her a scratch behind the ears as she spoke. Bubbles’ ears pricked up in doggy response to something that sounded far better than lazing around the back garden all day.

  As usual at this time in the morning, they entered the park and, after one quick check around from Lorna that no big dogs were nearby, she let Bubbles off her leash. The little poodle took off like a rocket and Lorna marvelled at just how fast her legs could go for the size of her. Lorna followed behind at a distance, watching her dog fly in and out of the bushes, sniffing round fence posts and the bottom of trees, thoroughly enjoying herself.

  “Bubbles!” she called, and from a bush to her right the dog sprang out like a jack-in-a-box. Lorna took the rubber ball out of her pocket and tossed it her way. The games began, with Lorna, like most dog walkers, taking and throwing the ball and their charge retrieving it. That’s all dogs wanted, wasn’t it? For you to just throw the ball? Want a treat? Throw the ball. Want a scratch? Throw the ball. Want some water? Throw the ball. The thought amused her, the dog was happy as long as she threw the ball. After fifteen minutes she’d had enough and they both stopped to drink from the water fountain.

  “It’s going to be a warm one today, Bubbles,” she said to her dog, who was sitting by her feet for a moment. “I’m going to sit here for a few minutes, so go and play then we’ll go off and do our errands.” The little dog looked up at her, ears pricked, and she trotted off towards the shade of the bushes, her tongue hanging out of her mouth, panting hard. Lorna watched her wander off and sniff around then sat back to enjoy the warm sun on her face, closing her eyes. Ten minutes later she was ready to go and called Bubbles. But the dog didn’t return.

  Lorna called and called, but she never came back. She asked other dog walkers if they’d seen her that morning but no one had, and the longer she shouted, the more concerned she got. After an hour and a half of searching and calling, she decided to head back home in the hope Bubbles had got bored and had made her way back on her own.

  “Yes, that’s what’s happened, she’s waiting for me at home, poor thing must be too hot.” She said it out loud so she could hear the affirmation and it made her feel better, the volume adding a sense of certainty. She wasn’t thinking about what she’d do if the dog wasn’t there. She picked up her walking pace and hurried back towards The Heath, scanning gardens and side roads as she walked, expecting to see the white ball of curly wool peeing up a tree base where she shouldn’t be.

  By the time
she got to her own front door, she was extremely worried. Bubbles wasn’t there. And what was she going to tell the family if she didn’t come back? She decided to go back out and have another look after lunch, figuring Bubbles was probably hiding someplace like the mischievous dog she was, and she would eventually wander home when she got bored of waiting for Lorna to finally find her. She hoped.

  Chapter Ten

  Pam had to go in to work the following morning. The school relied on her to deliver lessons for waiting students and not stay at home waiting for her dog, no matter how valuable she was to her, nor how worried she was. She’d had to fib yesterday to cover her absence, something that really went against her grain, and told them she’d had a migraine. She couldn’t have done the same again though she wished she could. Today, tonight actually, she would get her beloved friend back and she couldn’t wait, wait nor concentrate. One thing this whole episode had galvanised was that she was finally going to retire, and never leave Gemma again. She glanced around the room, her students’ heads all bent as they worked on their essays, and she was glad of the quietness this classroom brought.

  She glanced at her wristwatch; it was nearly 2pm, only four more hours to go. Her mind kept wandering off to what would happen later that evening. She’d got the money ready as asked for, all wrapped neatly in a Sainsbury’s carrier bag, and she knew which bin to drop it in. Since the man with a sandpaper voice had not called back again, she assumed Gemma would somehow appear or be returned, though never having been in a ransom situation before, she was only guessing. In movies, someone always seemed to escort the captive person at a switch-over point on a deserted road someplace, but this was a small village south of London not the Bronx or rural Germany, and Gemma was a dog.