by G D Sanders
Although she never greeted his arrival, she watched him come into the central room. He had a parcel cradled in his left arm and a plastic shopping bag in his right hand. As he crossed the room, one of the bag’s handles gave way and the contents began to spill onto the floor. He swung to his right, bending his knees, trying to put the bag down as quickly as possible. The unexpected movement threw him off balance and he stumbled. The parcel was dislodged from his arm and fell against the wire partition. The wrapping split as it landed with a wet splat in the pool of light thrown by Lucy’s lamp.
There was blood on the wrapping paper and she caught a glimpse of raw flesh. With a shock, her deep-seated fear that he might kill her returned. She’d tried to suppress it, to believe his reassurances, but it always returned.
With a cry of anguish, distorted by his Mr Punch voice, he left the shopping bag where it had fallen and dropped to one knee. Cupping the wrapping and its contents in his hands, he carried them into the far room.
He’d removed the parcel from Lucy’s sight, but the sound of its impact and the image of it on the floor were imprinted on her brain. In an attempt to block darker images, Lucy thought of her father’s special treat, calf’s liver, and the day her mother dropped his supper on the kitchen floor. The same wet splat and splash of blood. Her mother had washed the liver and put it in the fridge. ‘Don’t say a word. It’s our little secret.’
The abductor stayed in the other room for several minutes. Lucy wondered what he was doing. She had once heard liquid being poured and there had been an acrid smell but she really had no idea what he had in there. Of course, he had her things: her phone and purse. He also had her clothes, her last connection with the world she knew. She’d been stripped of all that was hers. Now all she had were the things he had given her. The last time she’d had this thought Lucy had been overcome by a feeling of great despondency. This time she felt a surge of resentment and a determination to get something of his, to have her own secret.
The first thing he did when he returned from the far room was to clean the remaining mess at the base of the wire mesh partition with a wet cloth. Lucy could tell he was upset and she tried to ignore him, concentrating instead on her book. Neither of them spoke. He threw the cloth into a waste bin, picked up the fallen shopping and prepared their supper. It was boil-in-the-bag kippers with peas and mash. Lucy wondered when they would have the liver.
It was his habit never to speak while eating and, this evening, he’d said nothing other than to tell her to come to the slot in the partition so he could unlock her handcuff. He appeared tense. Dropping the parcel had upset him. Lucy matched his silence, leaving her questions unasked. As soon as she’d finished eating she put her plate and beaker on the shelf by the slot and held the handcuff in place so that he could lock it. Still without speaking, he washed the dishes, switched off the lights and left.
Alone in the dark, chained on the bed, Lucy swapped her book for music. She tried several tracks but none would keep the wet splat of the fallen parcel and its trickle of blood from her thoughts. What was it? If it was liver, surely he would’ve cooked it for their supper. There was no fridge in the building. If it wasn’t liver it must be some other meat. It had to be fresh because of the blood. Lucy was finding it increasingly difficult to keep dark images at bay. She shivered at the next thought which entered her head, a flashback to an English class at school. They were studying Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice. She’d been asked to read Portia’s lines: ‘This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood; the words expressly are a pound of flesh.’
Where did he get his pound of flesh? If it wasn’t to eat, why bring it here where he was holding her captive? Was there a link between her and the blood-soaked parcel? Images and questions tumbled in her thoughts. She remembered the first time she’d lain chained on the bed. She’d woken desperate for air in a physical panic close to suffocation but she’d survived. She’d overcome that horror by retreating into her mind, using thought and imagination to create the freedom and cool air she craved. If the power of thought had rescued her then, it should rescue her now. She replayed the evening in her mind.
When he came in carrying the parcel, he had a bag of shopping in his other hand. It was logical that the parcel was part of the same shopping trip but that didn’t mean all the food was for them. Her first thought when the parcel hit the floor had been correct: it was liver or some other meat but it wasn’t for her, it was for him to eat at home. He must have taken it with him when he left.
For a moment Lucy was calm but then she remembered how upset he’d been when he dropped the parcel. If it had nothing to do with her why should he have been so agitated? Why did he take the parcel to the other room? Why was he trying to hide it from her? This new thought was disturbing but then everything became clear. He was being kind. The meat wasn’t for her so he wanted to keep it from her sight. When he was away he always left food and drink on the shelf by the slot in the mesh partition. Everything else he kept in the cupboards so she wouldn’t be tempted by the sight of something she couldn’t reach. She could relax; the meat had nothing to do with her.
Lucy turned onto her side to sleep, but sleep didn’t come. She remembered the sound of liquid being poured, the faint acrid smell she couldn’t place, and she couldn’t shake off a feeling of unease. Both the sound and the smell had come from his private room. What was he doing in there? What had it to do with her? Why was he holding her captive? Alone in the dark, Lucy was conscious of the handcuffs which held her chained to the wall. She started at each animal cry marking the end of another living creature. The sounds were so like the cries of a frightened baby, piercing until they became a thin whimper and weakened to the silence of death. A silence broken each time a predator struck elsewhere in the wood. Lucy lay cold and isolated. Under the duvet she wrapped her arms around her body, but no matter how hard she clasped herself, the shaking wouldn’t stop.
26
Ed arrived at the school early to speak to the Head before morning assembly.
‘Thank you for seeing me so promptly. I’m here about the abduction of Lucy Naylor. We’re trying to eliminate people from our inquiries.’
‘When one of our students is involved we want to co-operate fully with the police.’
‘It isn’t just one of your students but three.’
‘Ah yes, Kimberley Hibben, that was during my first year at the school. But Teresa Mulholland—’ the Head paused, as if reflecting ‘—all that was way before my time. Are you sure it’s the same man?’
‘One line of inquiry suggests similarities. For the moment we’re keeping an open mind.’
‘Of course, how may I help?’
‘I should like access to your staff files in order to identify people of interest.’
‘As I’m sure you’ll appreciate, Sergeant, the staff files are confidential.’
‘Ms Greenock, I am investigating a serious crime. I could return shortly with a warrant to search your files. I could also insist on interviewing every member of your staff.’
A flicker of alarm crossed the Head’s face.
‘You misunderstand me. I have no intention of obstructing your investigation. I was merely alluding to the confidential nature of staff files, which I am sure you will treat as privileged information.’
‘That’s how we operate,’ said Ed, thinking that, but for a few rotten apples, what she’d said was true. ‘Perhaps you could arrange for the staff files to be transferred to a lockable room that we could use for the rest of the day.’
‘You can use the small meeting room adjacent to this office. When would you like to look at the files?’
‘In 15 minutes. That will give my colleague, DS Michael Potts, time to get here.’
Ms Greenock handed Ed a key from her desk drawer. ‘Would you prefer tea or coffee?’
‘Thank you. Coffee will be fine.’
Mike went straight to the coffee and poured himself a cup. At the central table, Ed had just started
on one of two boxes of files. Mike sat beside the second box.
‘So, what are we looking for?’
‘We’re assuming the same guy abducted all three girls, Teresa Mulholland in 2002, Kimberley Hibben in 2008, and Lucy Naylor 12 days ago. To cover staff who would have known all three girls, we’ll start with men who joined the school in January 2002 or earlier and are still here.’
‘Have you found any yet?’
‘I’ve started with “L” and so far I’ve got one, Ray Leaman, a games master.’
‘Ah, Ray, he took my son for rugby.’ Ed didn’t pick up on the comment so Mike continued, ‘I’ll make a start with A to K.’
When they’d finished, Ed had found one more and Mike had three who met the criteria.
‘Okay, Mike, get yourself some lunch. I’ll contact you when I’ve agreed interview times.’
When Ed returned to the Head’s office Ms Greenock had a fountain pen in her hand. She signed a letter with a wide-nibbed sweep and dropped it to join others in a wooden out tray.
‘Sergeant …?’
‘Thank you for your co-operation, Ms Greenock.’ Ed sat in the chair she’d occupied earlier that morning. ‘You have a fair turnover of staff but when—’
‘Our staff turnover is no greater than similar schools in the country. I and the School Governors actively welcome new blood.’
Ed ignored the Head’s defensive outburst and continued.
‘As I was saying, you have a fair number of new faces among your staff but, on the basis the abductor is a man and the two cases, Teresa Mulholland and Kimberley Hibben, are linked with Lucy Naylor, we’ve concentrated on male staff who joined the school in January 2002 or earlier. Only one of the men on your ancillary staff falls into that category, the caretaker, Tomasz Podzansky. In addition, there are four teachers.’
‘Which of our teachers do you suspect?’
‘It is not a case of suspicion. As I said, at this stage we’re eliminating people from our inquiry.’ Ed passed a list of names across the desk. ‘These are the people we’d like to see today.’
‘Seeing the caretaker, Thomas, will not be a problem but the others will be teaching.’
‘I appreciate that and, of course, we wish to disrupt the smooth running of your school as little as possible but surely staff must have some free periods.’
‘I’ll get my PA to draw up a schedule. You can use the room you were in this morning.’
‘Thank you. We’ll need 30 minutes with each member of staff and we have to leave at four today so I’d like to make a start at one o’clock, half past at the latest. Please ask your PA to ring this number with the scheduled times.’ Ed placed one of her cards on the Head’s desk.
At 13.20, ten minutes before their first interview, Ed and Mike entered the PA’s office.
‘DS Ogborne and DS Potts, we are here to interview some of the staff.’
‘Yes, Ms Greenock explained what she wanted. Unfortunately, Mr Grieves is unavailable today; as Head of Sixth he’s running a university application event for the students this afternoon and their parents this evening. However, he’s agreed to come to your office tomorrow morning if that’s convenient.’
‘Nine o’clock at the Station would be good for us,’ said Ed, looking at Mike who nodded.
‘I’ll see that Mr Grieves gets that message.’ The PA scribbled a note and then stood to hand Ed a sheet of paper. ‘Here are the appointment times. You can use the meeting room next to Ms Greenock’s office. I’ve put water, paper and pencils on the table. If you’d prefer I could arrange tea or coffee.’
‘Water’s fine and we know the room.’ Ed glanced at the list. ‘So, Tomasz Podzansky at one-thirty followed by Mr Leaman at two o’clock.’
‘Thomas has been told to arrive five minutes early. He’ll be outside the room any minute – he’s very reliable.’
The caretaker was standing by a chair in the corridor when the detectives arrived.
‘We’ll be with you shortly, Mr Podzansky. Just give us a few minutes to get settled.’
Ed suggested Mike handle the introductions before she took the questioning and he kept notes.
‘Let’s get him in.’
Mike showed the caretaker to a chair at the table.
‘I’m Detective Sergeant Potts and my colleague’s Detective Sergeant Ogborne. You’re Tomasz Podzansky, the school caretaker?’
‘Krzysztof …’
‘I’m sorry, I thought …’
‘Tomasz Krzysztof Podzansky.’
‘Thank you Mr Podzansky,’ said Ed. ‘We’re investigating the disappearance of Lucy Naylor, a student in the Upper Sixth. In the past, two other students, Teresa Mulholland and Kimberley Hibben, disappeared in similar circumstances. Did you know any of these three girls?’
‘Yes, I know them. I know many students.’ Podzansky sat upright in his chair with his hands resting in his lap. He looked directly at Ed with an open expression suggesting he was happy to help and not unduly concerned. By way of explanation he added. ‘I am good with names and faces.’
‘In case you’re wondering, I should point out that you’re not under suspicion. At this stage we’re eliminating people from our inquiries. What can you tell us about the three students: Teresa, Lucy, and Kimberley?’
‘They were good girls. Like the other students, all good girls. They treat me with respect. Good morning, Mr Podzansky. Goodbye, Mr Podzansky. Not like the teachers. With them it is always Thomas this and Thomas that.’
‘You’ve been the caretaker here for some time?’
‘Nearly 15 years. I joined the school in September 1997.’
‘You enjoy your work?’
‘I am responsible. I do my work well. I treat the school like my home. I know what needs to be done and when it should be done. Miss Greenock, she trusts me. I am content.’
‘Your name is Polish. When did you come to the UK?’
‘I am British. I was named for my grandfather. He was a Polish airman in ’39. He flew a Hurricane in 302 Squadron during the Battle of Britain. Thirteen kills, almost triple ace.’
Ed tried to see the caretaker as the grandson of a handsome World War II flying ace but any resemblance had been overlaid with sallow flesh induced by a poor diet and lack of exercise.
‘Tell me, Mr Podzansky, where were you on the evening of Friday, 15 June this year?’
‘Fishing.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘In season, I fish every weekend, Friday evening, Saturday and Sunday.’
‘Where were you fishing?’
‘Fordwich, one of the lakes by the river – I’m a member, probably Stour Lake.’
‘Could anybody confirm you were there on Friday the 15th?’
‘Most people come Saturday and Sunday, but I’ll have a record in my notebook. It’s in my locker.’
‘One more thing, Mr Podzansky, you live in Hersden, how do you get to your fishing from there?’
‘Same as to work, I use my scooter, a Honda 125.’
‘Thank you. DS Potts will come with you to look at your notebook.’
Mike returned with the caretaker’s notebook in his hand. ‘Podzansky was happy for us to borrow this. It lists all his fishing expeditions chronologically. The entry for Friday the 15th this year records Stour Lake, three bream and a tench.’
‘Right. Is Leaman outside?’
‘I didn’t see him.’
There was a knock, the door opened and a middle-aged man with a ruddy complexion strode into the room.
‘Hello, Mike, long time no see. Is your boy still playing rugger?’
‘No, stopped when he went to university.’ Mike turned his head towards Ed. ‘Ray, this is Detective Sergeant Ogborne, she’ll be asking the questions.’
Ray Leaman took a step forwards, ready to extend his hand. ‘Good to meet—’
‘Please take a seat, Mr Leaman.’ Without pausing while he pulled out a chair, Ed continued. ‘We’re at the school as part of our in
vestigation into the disappearance of Lucy Naylor. We’re here because in the past, two other students, Teresa Mulholland and Kimberley Hibben, disappeared in similar circumstances. In case you’re wondering, I should point out that at this stage we’re eliminating people from our inquiries. What can you tell us about those students?’
‘Teresa, you say. It must be the best part of ten years. I don’t remember the girl but I do remember the name because it was a bit of a mystery.’
‘Mystery?’
‘She didn’t finish her A levels.’
‘And the other two?’ prompted Ed.
‘I wasn’t closely involved with either Kimberley or Lucy. They weren’t particularly interested in sports.’
‘Weren’t you Kimberley’s form teacher?’
‘Was I …?’ The teacher cocked his head to one side, thinking. ‘Yes, you’re right, I was, in the second year. I’m afraid I don’t remember much about her. In my mind, for both positive and negative reasons, she didn’t stand out from the group.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘She didn’t cause trouble and she wasn’t strong academically.’
‘What about Lucy?’
‘Very different, she appeared shy and self-effacing but in discussions she really stood her ground. Quite a star of the school debating society, I’m told.’
‘Where were you on the evening of Friday, 15 June this year?’
‘Friday the 15th … that was the night before England played South Africa in Jo’burg. I dropped into the rugby club for an end-of-week drink and stayed for a bar meal.’
‘What time did you arrive and leave?’
‘I must have got there about six, maybe six-fifteen, and left around ten. It was going to be a busy Saturday.’
‘This is just routine, Mr Leaman. Could anybody vouch for your movements that night?’
‘There were a lot of us there, lots of comings and goings, milling around between different groups of people. I also went outside several times for a smoke. I doubt that anybody would know for certain the times I arrived and left.’