Alex Gray - A Pound Of Flesh

As the bell rang once again for the start of the first lesson, Maggie’s sixth years left the room, some giving her a tired smile and a nod, acknowledging the beginning of another school week. Maggie brightened and smiled back. It was as though they were suddenly aware of her as a person rather than as a teacher. Well, that was life, wasn’t it? The kids came and went, hopefully better equipped to face the big, bad world, and then a new lot would arrive after the summer, kids who were at present the big boys and girls of primary seven but who would be small fry all over again once they’d entered the gates of Muirpark Secondary.

Maggie’s smile deepened. Life wasn’t too bad, was it? Tomorrow she would have the pleasure of surprising her husband for his birthday. Wednesday might see her far more tired and jaded than her sixth years on a Monday morning but it was going to be well worth it to see Bill’s face when the lights went up and he saw all his friends there in the restaurant. She shivered suddenly. He would like it, wouldn’t he? And surely nothing would happen to spoil the evening?

The sound of the boot opening woke Barbara from a confused dream where she was being held underwater. Her eyes flew open, blinking against the artificial light but just at that moment the boot slammed shut and she was confined to darkness once more.

As the noise of the engine began Barbara could hear another sound, a grating metallic hum that could only be the garage shutters sliding upwards. Then her whole body was jolted sideways as the car turned and moved off.

Heart thumping, Barbara struggled against her bonds once again, panic lending her renewed strength. If she could only get her hands free, reach the mobile phone that was zipped inside her man-sized coat pocket then maybe someone would come to her rescue.

The big man had secured her wrists with plastic binding tapes, the sort that were used for packing newspapers or for thieves getting into cars, and the more Barbara had struggled against them the deeper they had cut into her flesh. Now she could feel the slipperiness of blood making further struggle useless. Tears began to roll down the policewoman’s face. If she wasn’t so bloody fat, then perhaps she’d have been able to slither out of her bonds. A fleeting memory of Diana’s slim fingers came to her mind and the tears fell hotly against her cheeks. Where was the woman now? Had she been missed over the weekend or had Diana Yeats consigned Barbara to the past as they all did eventually?

‘Tom, where’s Knox?’

‘Don’t know. Haven’t seen her this morning.’

‘But she’s always in early.’

‘Well, you know the drill. Give her a call on her home number,’ Tom Armstrong replied.

‘Right.’

DI Monica Proctor riffled through the pages of personnel files until she came to a small section under K. Picking up the nearest telephone, the DI dialled her colleague’s home number. She listened to the ringtone for a few moments then an automated voice invited her to leave a message.

‘Barbara, DI Proctor here. Are you okay? Call in and let us know if you’re sick, will you? Thanks.’

Monica Proctor put the phone back down, frowning. DC Knox was punctilious about being at her desk before anyone else. Annoying as her over-efficiency could sometimes be, the fact remained that it was quite out of character for the girl not to let her workplace know if she was unwell. Monica studied the paper again. She’d try Barbara’s mobile, just in case there had been some major hold up en route to work. But here again there was no answer and the DI felt a sudden sense of disquiet.

‘Tom, there’s no reply from either her landline or her mobile. I don’t like it,’ Monica said slowly, making DI Armstrong turn in his chair and stare at her.

‘D’you want me to make calls round the local hospitals? She lived alone, didn’t she?’

Monica shrugged. ‘Don’t know. She was one of Mumby’s lot. Don’t know much about her at all.’

‘She’s a car nut,’ DS Martin Gray offered. ‘We went up to see the start of the rally a wee while ago. Don’t know much else about her, except … ’ He bit his lip as he let the rest of his words tail off. Barbara’s sexuality wasn’t a matter for discussion but they had all guessed that the detective constable had no interest in men.

‘Any family or girlfriend we should know about?’ DI Proctor asked briskly.

‘Sorry, can’t help you there. She’s a very private sort of person,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘Takes her work terribly seriously. Don’t know if she ever has much time for any fun.’

‘Well, I think we should ring round the hospitals. See if she’s been admitted anywhere in the Glasgow area, maybe start with the Royal Alexandra. That’s the nearest to where she lives, isn’t it?’

As Detective Superintendent Lorimer scrutinised the latest memo from the deputy chief constable he shook his head, wondering at the way a simple decision could affect so many people’s lives. Politics had never been his strong suit and he had expected his position of greater authority to carry some sort of weight when it came to deciding the future of his officers. But now that he had been in this job a few weeks, Lorimer could see that he was entirely wrong about that.

What was it that ‘Desiderata’ said? Something about there always being greater and lesser peoples than yourself? He still hadn’t had time to fix his pictures to the wall and the framed prayer sat with all the rest of his stuff in a box behind the office door. He wasn’t a conventionally religious man, Lorimer would admit to anyone who asked, but ‘Desiderata’ had the sort of wisdom that spoke to any sort of heart.

He sighed, wondering when he ought to call a staff meeting. They were all up to high doh right now, preparing for the surveillance operation tomorrow night. It wasn’t the time to drop a bombshell like this in their midst, was it? In less than two months all of them would be deployed into different divisions throughout Strathclyde, with the options of selecting a post in another force if it could be managed. Joyce Rogers had warned him that the squad might be disbanded within the year but even she had admitted a degree of surprise at the news when he’d called her this morning.

It’s been taken out of our hands, Lorimer , she’d told him. All to do with streamlining. It’s the in word, apparently . Lorimer had been only slightly mollified to hear the disgust in her voice.

So, here he was on this Monday morning, with the notification that the officers who had worked their butts off in recent weeks were to come off whatever case they were working on and leave Pitt Street in a measly eight weeks’ time. Only Rita Livingstone would be kept here, intelligence being an integral part of the setup at headquarters.

And he hadn’t come anywhere near solving this damned case, he thought, clenching his teeth together.

‘Sir?’

Lorimer turned as the door was knocked and as he caught sight of DI Proctor, his hand slipped the memo under another set of papers.

‘It’s about DC Knox, sir,’ his DI began.

Barbara lay as still as the motion from the car allowed, her teeth gnawing against the duct tape. Breathing was becoming more difficult, especially as the smell of exhaust fumes mingled with the stink from her own urine was beginning to make her feel nauseous. She had managed to grip a bit of the tape between her teeth and could feel an edge of something as she chewed. Her tongue probed, examining and then she experienced a small moment of triumph as it penetrated the tape completely.

Blowing her breath out through the tiny hole felt like a major achievement. But there was still so much to do, she thought, moving her wrists feebly against their bonds. Her head ached and Barbara knew she must be dehydrated by now. How long was it a human could carry on without water? She cursed softly, thinking of the last drink she’d had back at the garage.