Someone To Save you (13 page)

The man stepped out from a doorway, just a few feet ahead of him. Eric stopped dead. The guy in his path was well built, pushing six three, with a skinhead and pit-bull facial features.

‘Have you got the time, mate?’

The accent was pure South London.

Eric nodded, relieved but still scared, and glanced down at his watch.

‘It’s half past...’

But before he had chance to finish, someone charged him from behind, knocking him to the floor. His attackers let fly several kicks to the back and stomach, as Eric tried but failed to protect himself.

The pain was crushing.

‘Stop,’ he heard a voice that he recognised say. ‘We don’t want to kill him.’

His gamble hadn’t worked. The man hadn’t been able to deliver what he promised.

Eric grimaced with pain, afraid to open his eyes, as he lay on the hard cobbles. He could taste blood and alcohol. From the floor he heard a vehicle approach and stop.

‘Pick him up,’ the voice said. ‘Let’s get going.’

Two sets of hands grabbed him under each arm, yanking him upright. Now he did open his eyes. Two men – the one who had blocked his path and the man from the pub were on either side of him.

They dragged him to the back of the waiting white van. Another man thrust open the back doors.

The man who he already knew was just watching.

Eric looked across to him. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Put him in the van.’

And with that Eric was launched into the back of the vehicle, slamming headfirst against the metal floor.

‘Drink some of this.’

Eric took the litre bottle of whiskey from the man, who was sitting on the opposite bench that ran along the back of the van. They’d been driving around for ten minutes or so, and without the aid of any windows he had no idea where he was heading. And little idea why.

‘Go on,’ he pressed. ‘Drink. I hear you’ve been getting a real taste for alcohol recently.’

Eric glanced at the other two men in the back of the van, who smiled in amusement. He brought the bottle to his lips and took a couple of gulps, feeling the burn down the back of his throat. He looked across to the man for a reaction.

‘Don’t be polite. Have some more.’

‘I’m okay.’

‘Drink some more,’ the man insisted, releasing the words slowly.

Reluctantly, Eric slugged back several more gulps. This time it scorched his throat like liquid fire. He’d drank a quarter of the bottle.

‘More than that.’

Eric shook his head.

Within a split second the man was upon him, squeezing his cheek bones so hard that he thought they would crack. He felt the bottle on his lips and the whiskey gush down his throat. ‘Swallow.’

Eric did as requested. Now there was no burning; only numbness. His assailant pulled back and sat back down, holding the now half-empty bottle. ‘That’s better.’

The half a litre of whiskey had already worked its magic, going off like a nuclear bomb in Eric’s head. The inside of the van and its occupants were rising and falling in an alcoholic swell.

‘Please, let me go,’ Eric heard himself saying.

‘Not yet. You still haven’t given me what I want, Eric.’

Eric put a hand to his head, trying to steady himself. ‘I can’t do it, I just can’t do it. I’ve tried, but it’s impossible.’

‘You will do it, Eric.’

‘I will, I promise I will. Just please, leave my family alone, please.’

A cruel smile flickered across his lips. ‘How is Jane?’

Eric looked up at him, trying not to break down. ‘You must know.’

If he did, his expression didn’t give anything away. ‘Know what?’

‘She’s dead, she, she killed herself, because of what you did.’

His facial expression didn’t change. ‘I’m sorry that she suffered because of your actions.’

Eric put his head into his hands and started to sob. He was right. It was all down to him. He had caused all this.

‘You give me what I want, and no-one else will get hurt.’

‘Just hurt me, not my family,’ Eric slurred.

The man scoffed. ‘I just want what’s owed to me, Eric, that’s all.’

‘I’ll get you want you want, I swear, I swear I will get it, please.’

‘Good. Now cover his eyes.’

The two other men moved towards him. One put on the blindfold with the other held him firm. Eric didn’t struggle.

‘Now we’re ready,’ the man said, as a gush of air rushed into the van through the open doors. Eric hadn’t even noticed that they’d stopped moving. ‘Get up, Eric.’

Eric tried to get up from the bench, but fell back down. His balance had gone AWOL. He tried again, this time really focussing on staying upright. But he straightened up too early, smacking the top of his head into the van’s roof.

‘Watch it. I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink, haven’t you?’

Eric heard laughs as he was guided out of the van and down onto ground level. He swayed in the darkness, before being led, legs-buckling, to a lock-up garage. He heard the door being opened, and was pushed inside. The door was closed behind them and his blindfold removed. Blinding light exploded from a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. The inside was spinning. The garage reeked of petrol and was ringed by shelves filled with car accessories. Then Eric’s vision cleared slightly and he saw something on the ground.

A large sack, and it was moving.

‘We don’t like being messed around, Eric.’

He couldn’t keep his eyes off the sack. Was it really moving, or was he imagining it?

Within seconds his question was answered, as the man brought his heel down hard on the object. The sack seemed to spasm and Eric heard a muffled cry.

‘People have to learn,’ the man said, stamping on the sack with full force. ‘That no-one messes with me. No one tries to ruin my plans.’ He took a few steps back, wiping saliva from his mouth like an animal going in for the kill.

‘Now you take over,’ he gestured to Eric. ‘Kick the bastard.’

Eric felt the bile rise as he contemplated the act. He stood, swaying.

‘Do it now!’ he shouted. ‘Or the next person in that sack will be your wife, and then your grandchildren.’

Eric shook his head, taking a stumbling step back. ‘Please, let me go, please, don’t hurt my family.’

‘Do this now,’ the man said, ‘or they will suffer.’

Eric didn’t doubt it. He took a step forward, muttering a silent prayer for forgiveness as he kicked out at the unknown person. He felt his shoe against bone. It was the worst feeling, and he found himself crying.

‘Harder.’

Eric kicked out again and again. The person in the bag stopped moving and became an inanimate object. It was easier now. He kicked and stamped as the world spun around him.

‘It’s finished,’ the man said, as Eric stumbled backwards. ‘Congratulations, Eric, you’ve done a good job.’

Hyperventilating, Eric tried to steady himself against the shelving, but dislodged an oil can. It fell to the floor and the lid flipped off, spilling out the dark liquid onto the concrete. He watched the sack as the men untied the rope. There was still no movement from whoever was inside.

They removed the sack and Eric caught his breath.

His plan, his one last hope, had failed.

The man who he had met two days ago was unmoving, blood staining his teeth. There was a deep red gash along his right eye. His nose had collapsed; flattened by Eric’s blows.

‘Now don’t try anything like that again, Eric, and everything will be alright.’

15

‘Why would she say that?’

Cullen shrugged. ‘I was hoping that you might be able to answer the same question.’

Sam looked off to the left. ‘Why would she say that?’ he said out loud, but this time directed at himself. He couldn’t see any rationale for Alison’s actions – why would she want to implicate him in that way?

‘She might just be looking for someone to blame,’ Cullen offered. ‘And you’re the person she’s chosen.’

Sam looked back at him. ‘Did she say anything else?’

Cullen shook his head. ‘Not according to Shirley Ainsley. She just said that and put the phone down.’

‘So you still don’t know where she is?’

‘No.’

‘But at least she’s safe.’

He nodded. ‘Are you certain that you don’t remember anything else that might explain what Alison said?’

‘No,’ Sam replied without hesitation. Why was Cullen not letting go of this? ‘You don’t believe it was my fault, do you?’

‘Like I said, suicide looks the most likely option, but we can’t and shouldn’t rule anything out at this stage.’

‘So you do think I could be involved?’

‘Personally no. I think that Jane Ainsley wanted to die, and drove down onto that line. You just happened to be in the right place at the right time. I’d be a fool to think anything different.’

‘But you just have to cover your bases.’

‘Exactly.’

It was reasonable from Cullen’s perspective to consider all the possibilities, and Sam had no divine right to be believed without question. ‘So what next?’

‘We hope that Alison gets back into contact very soon. She’s the one person who really does know what happened.’

He was in the room before Louisa even noticed. She’d been facing the door, rooting through her filing cabinet for one of her patient’s records.

‘Miss Owen, I wanted to see you.’

Louisa spun around. Richard Friedman was stood in front of the closed door, and moved a pace towards her.

‘Stay there,’ Louisa heard herself say. Her voice was shaky. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’

‘I had to see you,’ he replied, staying on the spot. ‘Please, I’m sorry. I need to talk to you. Please, talk with me, Miss Owen, please.’

Louisa ran through her options. She couldn’t phone for help without making things worse. And she wasn’t prepared to just push past him and fight her way out of the office. So talking was the only way.

She gathered herself as much as she could, trying to calm down inside so her fear wouldn’t leak out and risk antagonising the situation. ‘Okay, sit down, Richard. But I can’t be long. I have to see another client in a few minutes.’

It was a lie but a worthy one.

He nodded, and almost fell into the seat as Louisa took her place opposite. ‘Thank you, thank you, Miss Owen, thank you so much.’

Louisa met his eyes. They were blood red, and he was looking right through her, as if focussing on some distant point.

Was he drugged up?

She tried to pretend that this was just another consultation, taking a deep, steadying breath. ‘How are you, Richard?’

He shook his head, his eyes closing. ‘Not good, not good at all. I’m sorry, so sorry.’ He brought a shaking hand up to his head.

Louisa didn’t really want to ask the question, but she had to. ‘What are you sorry for, Richard?’

‘For what I’ve done to you,’ he said, his head now buried in his hands.

Maybe he had come to admit it all. If it had been him who had done all those things, she would be relieved. ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’

He nodded.

Louisa took a chance, pulling out her new mobile from the desk drawer and holding it below the level of the table. She pressed speed dial 1 and placed the phone on her lap.

‘I’ve done bad things, bad, bad things.’

She waited.

‘I’m sorry, so sorry.’

‘You’re sorry for coming to my home?’

He nodded vigorously. ‘I’m sorry. So sorry for everything. Please, I just needed to be close to you, I needed to be close.’

‘But coming around to my house, you know that’s not right, don’t you? We agreed that there are boundaries – we have to keep a distance outside of the hospital.’

‘I know, I know, I’m just so sorry.’

‘I asked you not to do it, Richard, but you keep coming. Like now, just turning up at my office when you know you shouldn’t do it.’

‘I know. But please, please Miss Owen, can I still see you here, at the hospital?’

Louisa shook her head as he looked on with pitiful child-like expectancy. ‘I’m really sorry, Richard, but it’s for the best that you see Karl instead. He’s a very nice man, Richard, and a very experienced counsellor.

‘No, please,’ he pleaded. ‘I need to see you. I can’t cope without you.’

Louisa glanced down at the phone. It was still connected.

‘Karl will really be able to help you. I’ve made sure that he knows all the background.’

Richard shook his head. ‘No, please, I want to see you.’ This time there was force behind the statement.