Shaun Hutson - Captives

'More tea?' Carol asked in an effort to change the subject.

He shook his head, leaning back slightly, watching as she drew one shapely leg up beneath her on the chair.

From the sitting room he could still hear Plummer speaking.

'You used to go out with Jim Scott, didn't you?' Hitch asked.

She nodded slowly.

'I'll bet he'll miss you inside,' said Hitch. 'Only his right hand for company when he used to have you to get his rocks off.' Hitch smiled again. 'Are you moving in with Ray, then?'

'It's not really your business, is it?' she said, glaring at him.

He shrugged.

'I just wondered what was going to happen to your little flat if you did move out,' he said, his gaze never leaving her. 'Dollis Hill, isn't it?'

'How do you know?' she demanded.

'My business to know,' he told her. 'You're mixed up with Ray, Ray's my boss, I have to look out for him. I just did some checking, that's all.' He took a swig from his mug, pushing the empty receptacle towards her. 'I think I will have that cup of tea.'

She took the mug and moved across to the worktop, aware of Hitch watching her every move.

'You must have done a thing or two working in that club,' Hitch said, still looking at her. 'I've seen some of the acts.'

She pushed the mug towards him and sat down again, trying to avoid his gaze.

He glanced towards the door, still able to hear Plummer on the phone.

'Did you used to get off on what you were doing?' he enquired. 'I mean, especially with other girls?' He smiled.

Carol looked directly at him.

'If all the blokes I knew were like you then I'd be better off with another girl, wouldn't I?' she said scornfully.

Hitch held her gaze until he heard Plummer heading back towards the kitchen. He sat down and prodded his breakfast.

Hitch finished his tea and got to his feet.

'I'd better go,' he said. 'I'll pick you up in an hour, Ray. I've got a couple of things to do.'

'All right, John,' Plummer said. 'Carol, see John out, will you?'

Hitch smiled thinly.

'It's okay, I can manage,' he said, looking again at Carol's breasts. 'See you later, Ray.' He held her stare this time. 'See you around, Carol.' His smile broadened and he walked out. She heard the door close behind him.

'Are you going to work tonight?' Plummer asked.

'I wasn't planning to,' she said, still uneasy about Hitch. 'I thought we could stay in and…'

'I've got business to take care of tonight,' he said. Carol regarded him impassively, 'I'm going to have a bath before Hitch picks me up,' he told her. He waved an expansive hand around the kitchen. 'Tidy this place up a bit, will you?' Then he was gone.

SEVENTY-THREE

He'd been dozing in his sitting room when the noise from upstairs woke him.

Doctor Robert Dexter sat forward quickly, sucking in a deep breath as he regained his senses. He looked around the large sitting room, catching sight of the clock on the mantlepiece. The hands had crawled around to 1.26 A.M.

Again the noise from upstairs.

Footsteps.

Dexter got to his feet, glancing up at the ceiling. He swallowed hard and headed for the door that opened out into the hall. Outside the wind was blowing strongly. The house stood on top of a low hill, joined to the main road by a narrow driveway flanked on both sides by dwarf conifers. As he moved into the darkened hallway he could see those conifers bowing deferentially to the strong breeze.

Dexter stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up into the gloom at their head. He reached across to the bank of switches at his right hand and flicked a couple. The darkness at the top of the stairs was dispelled swiftly by bright lights.

He put one foot on the bottom step and prepared to ascend.

The crack came from behind him.

A sharp slap of wood on glass. He spun round to see that a skeletal branch from one of the bushes beneath the hall window had been blown against the pane.

Dexter felt his heart beating a little faster as he began to climb the stairs.

From above him the sounds of movement had all but ceased; only the creak of a solitary floorboard broke the silence now. As he reached the landing he paused, looking around at the five closed doors that faced him.

He knew which one the sounds were coming from.

Dexter sighed and made his way across to the third door, halting outside it.

He found that he was shaking.

After all these years he was still afraid.

Afraid of the occupant of that room, afraid of what he might find, yet, simultaneously, knowing exactly what he would find. The same sight would confront him that had confronted him for the past fifteen years.

He stood by the door, listening for movement, and again heard the slow footsteps, pacing back and forth over the carpet. The creak of the one loose board.

Dexter closed his eyes for a moment. Perhaps it would just be best to walk away this time. Go to bed. Go back downstairs.

He heard breathing on the other side, close to the door. As ever, he was aware that the occupant was listening for him, was perhaps aware even now of his presence there. The time to turn back had passed. He knew he must enter.

Dexter unlocked the door, turned the knob and walked into the room.

His heart was thudding hard against his ribs and he felt the first droplet of perspiration pop onto his forehead.

The occupant of the room was sitting in one corner. Dexter closed the door behind him.

PART THREE

Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.

- Romans 12:19

… in this last and final hour,

You can't hide.

There's nowhere now that you can run…

- Black Sabbath

SEVENTY-FOUR

The door crashed shut, the loud clash of metal on metal reverberating inside the cell.

James Scott stood in the centre of the small room for a moment, looking round, then sat down on the edge of the bottom bunk.

He felt numb, as if his entire body had been pumped full of novocaine. There was a lead weight where his heart should have been. He felt as if every last drop of feeling had been sucked out of him. The past two days had passed quickly, so quickly in fact that the events of those four days were somewhat hazy. And yet still he retained memories of that time. Like splinters in his mind.

The journey to the court. The police had brought a suit he'd requested from his flat and he'd changed into that, shaved and smartened himself up.

The trial.

He had decided, as advised, to plead guilty and proceedings had moved with dizzying speed. The gun had been produced as evidence. Pictures of the dead men had been circulated around the jury. Scott could remember one of the jurors in particular. She had been in her mid-forties, a smart, efficient-looking woman who had hardly taken her eyes off him throughout the trial. And he had seen hatred in those eyes. When sentence -had been passed he glanced at her and was sure he could see the trace of a smile on her lips.

Scott had heard little of the Judge's summing up or, indeed, of his comments after the life sentence had been passed. Just the odd word here and there, like 'horrendous', 'brutal', 'cold-blooded' or 'dangerous', had filtered through the screen that seemed to have erected itself around him. He felt as if he'd been inside a cell ever since his arrest, imprisoned within his own mind.

He had spent much of the trial gazing around the court room particularly into the public gallery, but not once did he see Carol.

Bitch.

God, how he needed her now.

If only he could have spoken to her one last time before he'd been taken down. Touched her. Kissed her. But that was not to be. She was gone now, out of his life as surely as if she were dead.