M. Arlidge: The Doll's House

‘Nothing to do with me.’

Shanelle was quick to deny any involvement in Ruby’s disappearance.

‘But you don’t deny having had contact with her recently?’

‘Might have done.’

Shanelle had the weary experience of a professional chancer, determined not to admit responsibility for anything.

‘We can check your phone records, Shanelle, so let’s cut the bullshit, shall we?’ Sanderson continued.

‘Ok. I seen her on and off for the last two years. She used to like coming here. I’m a bit less stuck up than the other lot.’

‘Her parents?’

‘If that’s what they like to call themselves. Always on at her they were, telling her what to do, how to be. It’s no way to live.’

‘And this is?’ Sanderson responded.

‘Yeah, it’s easy to look down your nose at me, but at least I let her be,’ Shanelle spat back. ‘Instead of coming round here pointing the finger, why don’t you ask him about it?’

‘Who?’

‘Her “dad”.’

‘Why would Mr Sprackling know anything about it?’

‘Got a temper on him. Likes to get his own way. Doesn’t like naughty little girls. He used to get very… cross with Ruby.’

Sanderson said nothing.

‘He came round here once. Called me all sorts, threatened to take my head off. I stood my ground, but I don’t mind telling you I was bricking it. I was alone, I didn’t have anything to hand, nothing to stop him…’

‘So what happened?’

‘Neighbour came out. Told us to keep the noise down. He didn’t like that. Didn’t like being caught somewhere like this. I don’t think he’d told his wife he was coming.’

This was said gleefully, retrospectively enjoying his discomfort.

‘So why don’t you ask him about Ruby? Ask him what he wanted to do to the little girl that turned on him?’

Sanderson was irritated by Shanelle, but also disquieted. Most disappearances were the products of domestic disharmony and Sanderson knew there was no reason why this should be any different. Could Jonathan Sprackling be involved? Could he be punishing her for disloyalty and disobedience?

‘Have you seen Ruby in the last week?’

‘No. Last time was about a month ago.’

‘Did she ever stay here overnight?’

‘Yeah, so what?’

‘Just the two of you.’

For the first time, Shanelle hesitated. Sanderson was quick to press home the advantage.

‘Who else was here?’

‘Nobody…’

‘Don’t make me arrest you, Shanelle.’

‘It was just a guy.’

‘What guy?’

‘He came round once in a while. To smoke a bit. I think he was here once when Ruby stayed. He liked the look of her. I told him I’d cut his balls off if he even looked at her.’

‘Name?’

More hesitation, then:

‘Dwayne something. That’s all I got,’ she added in response to Sanderson’s evident irritation.

‘How often did he come round?’

‘Once or twice a month.’

‘Where can I find him?’

‘Like I know or care.’

‘Had a falling out, have we?’

‘I threw the little shit out.’

‘Because?’

‘Because he stole from me. I knew he was a freeloader. All he did was sit on his arse smoking dope and watching porn, but then he half inched two hundred notes from me. Said he didn’t, but I wasn’t born yesterday. So I kicked him out. Told everyone on the estate he was a paedo and I ain’t seen him since.’

She smiled at her own wit and invention.

‘Have you had any contact since?’

‘Not face to face.’

‘Meaning?’

‘A brick through the window and some dog shit through the door – is that “contact”? Next time he does it, I’ll have him.’

It wasn’t much to go on, but it was a start. She knew of cases where embittered exes had kidnapped and imprisoned children of former lovers. It seemed unlikely that a low-rent crook could be responsible for something like this – but Sanderson knew she had to pursue it.

The clock was ticking.

He didn’t like the look of this guy. Not one little bit.

The man had come to the door cursing, reeking displeasure. He was sweating and seemed keen to avoid eye contact, as if visitors were somehow contagious. When he did eventually look up, his expression was full of suspicion, as if the courier were here to rob him, rather than deliver the goods that he had ordered.

The courier held out the package and asked the man to sign for it. As he did so, he looked over his shoulder, curious to see what sort of hole this guy inhabited. It was a bombsite. Broken furniture, cardboard boxes, dustsheets, discarded pizza boxes. The tall Victorian property had presumably once been a rich gent’s townhouse; now it was a stinking hovel. The courier jumped at the sight of a rat scurrying out from among the pizza boxes.

He raised his gaze to find the man staring right at him. His piercing aquamarine eyes silently chastized him for his nosiness.

‘Goodbye,’ the man said, offering an abortion of a smile. Always polite, for once the courier didn’t respond, simply turning and hurrying away, as the front door shut firmly behind him.

Inside the house, the man listened to the van depart, peeking through the dirty curtains to check that he had really gone. Then, sweeping some old newspapers off the sideboard, he set the box down. Ripping off the tape that bound the lid together, he delved inside. He had cursed himself for his stupidity, for his oversight, but the precious contents of this box would rectify matters.

And his new friend would thank him for it.

The pain was horrible. It coursed through her eye sockets straight into her brain. Her nerve endings screamed in protest, her head throbbed violently. She buried her face in the bed sheets, praying that it would end.

She had been lying in bed when it happened. The approaching footsteps had not alarmed her, as they had before. She was ravenously hungry and wanted company – even his company – after a long and cold night. The wicket hatch slid open, then shut and Ruby had expected to hear the key turn in the lock next – already a strange kind of routine was developing.

Instead, she was suddenly and unexpectedly blinded. The main lights in her small cell snapped on without warning. She had clamped her eyelids shut, but the damage had already been done. Her eyes, which had grown used to the darkness, were suddenly assaulted by the three heavy-duty sodium lights that were fixed to the ceiling.

Her eyes crept open, clamped shut again, then very slowly opened once more. Weird shapes and lights danced in front of her as her startled retinas scrabbled for some kind of focus.

He was standing over her.

‘Don’t touch me.’

‘Did you sleep well?’

‘No. I bloody froze to death, you stupid freak. I’m going to die down here, is that what you want?’

‘I’ll get you an extra blanket.’

‘Please let me go home.’

‘Get up.’

He barked out this order, his tone suddenly impatient and unfriendly. Ruby realized that she knew nothing about this guy or how his mind worked. Could he turn violent? Could he be reasoned with? Was he insane?

‘Take off your clothes.’

‘Please…’

‘Take off your clothes,’ he repeated, raising his voice.

He wouldn’t look at her. Oddly, his hands were trembling. Ruby tried to speak but her heart was beating too fast, making her breathless and panicky.

‘I don’t want to’ she managed eventually.

‘Do it now or God help me…’

As he took a step towards her, Ruby scrambled off the bed.

‘I’m doing it. I’m doing it.’

Still he wouldn’t look at her. Sobbing quietly, Ruby took off the thin cotton pyjama top that he’d given her in place of her own night gear. She hated the feel and the smell of it, but it kept her from freezing to death. Now she shivered, her naked skin exposed to the cold air. Hesitating, another sob escaping her, she removed her pyjama bottoms, placing them on the bed next to her.