Go Not Gently (22 page)

When I spoke to Agnes she still hadn’t managed to get through to Charles. She would ring me when she had.

I was ravenous. The children had polished off spaghetti hoops but I wanted something more substantial – stir-fried vegetables and rice. I’d just started slicing things up when the phone went. The police?

‘Sal, this is Agnes.’ She paused.

‘Hello. Did you speak to Charles?’

‘Dr Goulden is here. I think you better come over. He wants to talk to us.’ Her voice sounded strained, shaky. The phone went dead before I could respond.

Ray wasn’t back, Sheila was out. I couldn’t leave the children and I didn’t want to take them with me. I rang Jackie Dobson, whose eldest daughter, Vicky, sometimes babysat. She was saving for a car and every little helped. She was round in five minutes. I asked her to explain to Ray when he got in and I left Agnes’ phone number in case there was a crisis. Digger leapt to his feet, inspired by all the rush of activity; was this his big chance?

‘No, Digger. You’re not coming. Stay.’ He slumped. As I left Maddie and Tom were competing for Vicky’s attention by diving off the sofa.

The traffic was snarled up along Wilmslow Road. The delay gave me plenty of opportunity to worry. Goulden must have got Agnes’ address from the phone book, or maybe it was in Lily’s notes at Homelea. Presumably he had heard from the police. I wished I’d been able to talk to DS Wignall before I’d set out. Had they actually interviewed Goulden yet? Why did he want to talk to Agnes and me? More threats?

I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. It was freezing. The heater in the car worked but gave out an ominous stench of burning rubber that caught at the back of my throat. I turned it off. Gazed out at the people walking by: clusters of students in a range of clothing styles – grunge, Joe Bloggs, mod, high street – making their way back from the universities; a large party of women and children in saris and shalwar-kameez, the vivid-coloured, silky material flapping in the wind; an old woman bundled in layers of faded dark clothes peering in a litter bin; a man teetering on the kerb edge, arms wheeling, shouting at the sky.

‘Come on,’ I muttered. I inched forwards till we reached the junction. The lights were out. A traffic cop was just arriving. Two drivers had managed to collide and were out of their cars, one red-faced, screeching at the other. At last I wheeled right and drove on to Agnes’ house. There were no lights on even though the day was fading. There was a Volvo parked directly outside which I assumed was Dr Goulden’s. I rang the bell.

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.’

‘They won’t swallow that,’ he scoffed.

‘Ken, I don’t know what to do.’ The fight had gone from her. ‘I’m scared, come home–’

He cut her off. He took another of his tablets. Then he thumped the steering wheel several times.

At last we reached the main road. He swung on to it, accelerated too fast and had to brake sharply to avoid a cyclist. ‘Get off the fucking road,’ he cursed. The phone bleeped again, he poked it.

‘Ken,’ she pleaded, ‘don’t be like this.’

‘Don’t be like this.’ His mimicry was savage.

‘You used me,’ she complained.

‘Hah!’ he snorted. ‘That’s rich. I used you. You were up to your eyeballs in it, darling, and don’t pretend you weren’t. You could see Malden’s up there with the big boys, couldn’t you? Patents left, right and centre. When we found the lesions on this last one you were over the bloody moon. You couldn’t wait to get your hands on those tissue samples.’ He swerved violently again to avoid a bollard and fell back behind a bus. ‘Couldn’t wait to get those under your microscope, could you? Well, it’s all over now, sweetie –just when we seemed to be getting somewhere, finito.’ He cut her off again, gunned the engine and overtook the bus. He caught the wing mirror on the orange and white paint, it bounced back but didn’t shatter. I could see Agnes’ hand, white knuckles gripping the edge of her seat.

I was uncomfortably aware that we’d been privy to the conversation, as if he didn’t care, as if we’d never get the chance to tell anyone about it. I tried to steady my breathing. The worst thing of all would be to panic.

The hospital entrance was in sight. He parked in a reserved bay in the car park near to the entrance. ‘You,’ he turned to face me, ‘you walk beside us. I’ll keep this handy.’ He showed the knife. Would he have the guts to use it? He had a temper, all right, and he’d not hesitated to smack my head against the door, but would he stab Agnes? It wouldn’t be that easy through her clothes. I didn’t dare call his bluff yet but it might come to that.

He manoeuvred Agnes in front of him, then let me out. I shivered. I’d been sweating in the car and the cool air chilled me. We went straight in the main entrance, past a security guard who was enjoying a joke with a cleaner. I was praying that our awkward gait and the aura of fear around us might provoke some interest. Nothing. This guard was not the intuitive type. I could sense trouble before I saw or heard it, pheromones, sixth sense whatever. I thought it was a fairly universal trait. Obviously it hadn’t been on his job description.

‘Excuse me,’ I called out at exactly the same moment as the two of them erupted with laughter. My voice went unheard. Goulden grabbed my wrist and thrust the knife point into Agnes’ clothing. She stiffened.