Cath Staincliffe - Go Not Gently

He opened the door. Why not Agnes? Half-smile. ‘Miss Kilkenny.’

Ms actually.

‘Do come in.’

I stepped into the hall, gloomy without the lights on. His bulk made me feel small and vulnerable.

‘Where’s Agnes?’ I demanded.

‘We’re in the back,’ he said.

I headed along to the back room.

‘Jesus Christ!’

Agnes sat in her armchair by the gas fire. Her wrists were bound in front of her, her mouth taped up. The creel with its washing lay broken in the corner.

‘I had to restrain her.’ He spoke calmly. ‘She became distressed. I could have used a sedative,’ he patted his pocket, ‘but she’d have been out for the count. She had the carpet tape out when I arrived.’ He motioned to the table where the roll of heavy-duty tape lay.

Agnes’ eyes glittered furiously. I was appalled. I turned on him. ‘Untie her, now. What the hell do you think you’re doing? This is assault. Are you mad? Untie her.’

He made no move. ‘We’ve got to talk,’ he said. ‘I’m taking you both to the hospital. We need to see Mr Simcock, the consultant. I realise you’ve had some concerns about Mrs Palmer.’ The man was cracked, going on about the need to clear things up while he’d bound and gagged Agnes.

‘Untie her,’ I insisted.

He looked at me, wearily.

‘This is ridiculous. I’m ringing the police.’ I snatched up the phone, my heart galloping. The line was dead. He’d ripped out the wires. The realisation brought with it a kaleidoscope of images, mainly from the movies. None of them pretty. A wave of panic. He really was off his trolley. I felt the buzz of fear froth my blood. I relived the endless moment of terror from my past, waiting for the knife to slide in, watching the blob of spittle dance.

He smiled thinly. ‘The hospital.’ He stooped to lift Agnes, his thick, straight blond hair falling forward.

‘Wait!’ I tried to steady my voice. ‘Take those things off her first. We’ll come to the hospital but not like that. Untie her.’

‘Get on with it.’ He brushed past the pair of us and opened the door. I moved to step outside, his arm shot out and he grabbed my hair. Used it to bang my head against the door frame. The sickly pain made me reel, reminding me of childhood falls. His other hand still held the kitchen knife.

Agnes cried out.

‘Don’t mess me about,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘You’ve caused enough trouble, you silly bitch. You, you wait here till she’s in the car. You come when I say, understand?’

I did.

He glared at me, considered for a moment. ‘If she screams…’

‘She won’t.’

He twisted round and before I could draw breath yanked the tape from her mouth. Agnes yelped in pain, then pressed her lips together. A band of red bloomed round her mouth where the tape had been.

‘Don’t!’ I swallowed hard. He ignored me. He fumbled with the rough cord around her wrists for a minute before cursing in exasperation. He went into the little kitchen, rummaged in a drawer and returned with a small vegetable knife. He sawed at the cord; the knife was sharp and cut through it quickly. Agnes rubbed at her wrists.

‘Come on,’ he snapped, ‘in the car.’ He made to take Agnes’ elbow but she twisted away and pushed herself to her feet.

‘Go on.’ He jerked his head. We went down the hall to the door.

‘She’ll need her coat,’ I said. ‘It’s freezing out there.’

‘Get it,’ he hissed at Agnes. She reached for it from the hooks in the hall, put it on, taking her time.

He motioned for Agnes to come and stand in front of him so I could see the knife pointing at her kidneys. ‘Don’t mess me about,’ he repeated.

I stood in the doorway watching as he steered her to the passenger door and into the car. My mind scrabbled for routes of escape but I couldn’t come up with anything that wouldn’t jeopardise Agnes. At any rate we’d have more chance of attracting attention at the hospital than we would here. I firmly suppressed the idea that Goulden might not be taking us to the hospital once he had us in his car. At least if Ray tried to ring Agnes he’d find the phone wasn’t working and realise something was wrong.

He signalled for me to come to the car. I left the front door slightly ajar – if the wind opened it wider it might alert a neighbour. My legs were unsteady as I walked the few steps to the Volvo. I was at sea and the pavement lurched. I slid into the back seat beside him. The car was impeccable and smelled of some pine air-freshener. Goulden looked into the mirror, his pale blue eyes held mine. I could see he had a large freckle on his lip.

‘We’re going to the hospital. Don’t do anything stupid.’ He held up the knife. ‘I wouldn’t like to have to use this on Mrs Donlan here.’

‘Miss Donlan.’

Oh, Agnes. I braced myself but he didn’t seem to notice her correction. He used the central locking system to seal us in and started the engine.

We were soon caught up in the traffic jam. I could sense his impatience rising. He began to mutter under his breath, the back of his neck reddened. He put the handbrake on and fished in his pocket for something. Drew out a bottle of tablets, unscrewed the lid and slipped two into his palm. Swallowed them. We crawled forward a few feet. The streetlights came on, red that would soon brighten to orange. A gust of wind spattered rain across the windscreen. I reminded myself to breathe.

What on earth did he intend to discuss with us once he’d got us to the hospital? Did he really think we’d sit down and chat after this violent abduction? We crawled forward a little more. Was Ray back yet? How long before he began to wonder about me, try the number? A siren sounded and gradually an ambulance made its way through the traffic on the other side of the road.

Very slowly I moved my arm and inched my hand towards the door lock. I hadn’t a coherent plan in mind but I wanted to see if I could get out of the car if an opportunity arose. I pushed hard with my thumb praying the lock would move quietly. It wouldn’t move at all. Childproof.

The bleeping of the car-phone made me squeal. My hand shot back to my lap. Goulden didn’t pick the thing up, just jabbed at it with his fingers.

A woman’s voice, cultured, low-pitched. ‘Ken, the police have been here asking about the tablets. How the hell did they find out?’

‘What did you tell them?’ He was anxious.

‘I didn’t know anything about it. I showed them the records, no entry for that prescription. I told them I’d no idea where they’d come from.’

‘They believe you?’

‘I don’t know. They said they’d want to talk to me again. Oh, Ken, we never should have used Malden’s. You should have used a false label, invented a pharmacy.’

Way too late the penny dropped as I recalled the tiny bit of information that Harry had passed on to me: Angela Montgomery was a qualified pharmacist (BPharm, MRPharmS). The letters after her name had meant nothing when Harry had reeled them off. She’d know everything there was to know about making the tablets.

‘Bit bloody late for such penetrating insight now, isn’t it?’ He was scathing.

‘If you hadn’t lost them none of this-’

‘I didn’t bloody lose them. Look, I can’t talk now.’

‘What do you mean? Where are you, Ken? The police want to see you. We need to sort our story out.’

‘I know they want to see me,’ he spoke through clenched teeth, ‘of course they want to see me. I was the prescribing physician, wasn’t I? Christ!’

‘What are you going to say?’

‘Well, if the pharmacy cocks it up, wrong dosage…’

‘You don’t think they’ll believe that?’ Her voice was shrill now. ‘They’re bound to wonder why you used my lab. They’ll keep on snooping and sooner or later they’ll start to ask about other things. Don’t you see, we have to talk? Come home, I’ll meet you there, or here. They won’t come back here today. And we need to talk to Matthew. I bet he could come up with something. Tell them it was a blind trial, part of a study.’