G.D. Sanders - The Victim

‘No matter, I’ll find them myself.’

Two rings and then that reassuring voice: ‘Which service do you require? Fire, police, or ambulance?’

‘Police. And please …’

The line went dead. Gina froze and began to panic until the connection went through.

‘Canterbury Police Station: please state your name and address.’

‘There’s a man in my apartment. He won’t leave. Please, send somebody – quickly!’

‘Calm down, Miss. First, your name, you are …?’

‘Ms Hamilton, Georgina Hamilton. There’s a man here and he—’

‘Let’s take it slowly, Miss Hamilton. Your address is …?’

‘Apartment 32, Great Stour—’

‘Apartment 32, Great Stour Court, Canterbury, CT2 7US.’

‘Yes. There’s a man—’

‘You say there’s a man in your apartment—’

‘Yes, and—’

‘—and he refuses to leave. He’s used copies of your keys to access your home and—’

‘Yes, how did you know?’

‘—he’s offering you a glass of champagne.’

Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Gina felt her body turn cold. Her mind struggled to grasp what was happening. Words continued to come from the receiver. She recognized the voice. The phone slipped from her hand to the floor. She heard glasses clink in the kitchen. He came into the hall. Her feeling of disbelief turned to horror as he walked towards her. She had to get away. She had to get out of the flat.

Gina rushed to the front door, turned the latch and pulled. The door remained shut. She grabbed her keys from the hall table. He made no move to stop her. Back at the door she searched frantically for the correct key. She felt her panic increasing with each fumble, and the cold tension between her shoulder blades returned. She had turned her back on him. Any second, he could attack her. At last, Gina got the right key and pushed it into the internal lock. It wouldn’t turn. She pulled it out, checked it was the right key and tried again. Still it refused to turn. The feeling between her shoulder blades was unbearable. Tearful and shaking with fear and frustration Gina turned to face the intruder.

‘What’s happening? What’s happened to the lock? What have you done?’

Standing calmly in front of her, he held out a glass of champagne. ‘All in good time. Have a drink. There’s nothing to be afraid of.’

‘I’m not afraid. Open this door!’

‘Come –’ he gestured with the champagne glass ‘– let’s take it slowly.’

That voice … let’s take it slowly … the telephone. It was the same voice as the policeman. How could he do that? She had dialled 999! Gina turned back to the door and tried the key again. No use. She pulled frantically at the latch but in vain. The door remained shut. She dropped her useless keys and beat on the door with her fists.

‘Help! Help! In here. Please, somebody, help me! ’

‘Nobody will hear you.’

Gina pulled off her shoe and hammered on the wall. The heel dug into the plaster. She screamed uncontrollably, beating at the wall with her shoe. Gradually her blows became weaker and her screams were broken by sobs.

He stood calmly, holding the two glasses of champagne.

The strength to scream deserted her and she convulsed with sobbing. The shoe fell from her hand. Her shoulders slumped and she leant against the wall.

He remained at a distance, still making no move to approach her. Again, he proffered the glass of champagne.

Gina continued to lean against the wall, her fear and panic joined by a feeling of total powerlessness. Vulnerable and defenceless, she forced herself to look at him, pleading.

‘What do you want?’

‘You … you to drink a glass of champagne with me. Come, let’s sit in the kitchen.’

‘Why are you doing this?’

‘Come, let’s have a drink. We’ll go to the kitchen and talk about it.’ He held out the glass. ‘We’ll talk as we drink the champagne.’

Gina remained leaning against the wall. Although she barely had the strength to stand, her mind sought frantically for an escape.

‘My neighbours … they’ll be back soon.’

He smiled. ‘Your neighbours are away for two weeks.’

‘I’m due to check in at Gatwick tomorrow. The tour company will miss me and raise the alarm.’

‘I cancelled the holiday. You’re here until I decide to let you go.’

Gina barely registered what he said. She was flustered, desperate to convince him. ‘You can’t keep me here indefinitely. If I don’t turn up for work, my boss will raise the alarm.’

‘Come now, have a drink. Rachael won’t miss you for a fortnight. You must have told her that you were going on holiday for two weeks.’

Rachael? Holiday? Renewed fear and panic made speaking difficult.

‘How – how do you know?’

At first her arms and legs, but then Gina’s whole body, began to shake. She crumpled and slipped to the floor. He put the champagne glasses down next to the telephone and bent to pick up the receiver. She flinched away from his movement. He replaced the receiver, turned and stepped towards her.

‘Come, let me help you.’

Threatened, her strength and voice returned. ‘Don’t touch me! Stay where you are!’

‘Okay …’ He picked up the glasses. ‘I’ll put your glass by your feet.’

Drained and defeated, Gina was immobilized by an overwhelming sense of helplessness. She stared blankly at an unsightly mark on the opposite wall and remembered she’d meant to ask the decorators to retouch that blemish.

Decorators!

If only she hadn’t contacted them, invited them into her home, he wouldn’t be here now, she wouldn’t be trapped in her own home. She must escape, but the door – her key wouldn’t work. She’d tried to call the police, but the phone wouldn’t work. All of these thoughts tumbled in the back of Gina’s mind as if behind a veil. She didn’t have the strength to bring them into focus. The power to concentrate and think clearly had deserted her. Gina’s eyes glazed; her brain, as if protecting her from the horror of her plight, fixed her eyes on the wall and held on to that one single thought: the blemish should be repaired.

In Deakin’s, still musing on the men in her life, Ed Ogborne took another sip of water.

‘I’ve got us a bottle of Picpoul and some olives.’

Lost in her thoughts, Ed had not seen her friend arrive.

‘Verity!’

‘Sorry I’m late, my new reporter had a bit of a run-in with a drunken husband on the Hersden estate.’

Ed didn’t want to go there. Hersden was where the abductor’s sister lived. Looking up at Verity, she smiled a welcome.

‘Thanks. A cold glass of white is just what I need.’

‘You seemed very engrossed.’

‘Haunted is probably a more appropriate word.’

Verity quickly poured two glasses of wine and moved one towards Ed.

‘The abductions?’

‘Yeah …’ Ed sighed. ‘We’ve done our job and the CPS say it’ll come to trial next year. I’ve almost finished tying up final loose ends.’

‘If you’ve put it to bed, why the brooding?’

‘I can’t get the images out of my head – thoughts of what those girls went through.’

Verity reached out to cover Ed’s hand with her own and squeezed it reassuringly.

‘You’ve a tough job, but I’d have thought you saw worse during your years with the Met.’

Ed nodded.

‘Somehow, they weren’t the same. At every turn this case has reminded me of lost children. I thought the pain would ease with time but I’m still waiting.’

‘You need a break.’ Verity sipped her wine. ‘If you’ve wound up the case, you must be due at least a long weekend. Let’s go away for two or three nights. I know the perfect place, it’s on the South Coast, about an hour’s drive from here. Rye, have you been there?’