The Eyes of the Accused: A dark disturbing mystery thriller (The Ben Whittle Investigation Series Book 2) (3 page)

Hannah Heath didn’t know how long she’d been incarcerated in her stinking basement prison; there was no natural light to allow her to distinguish between night and day. But the swell of her stomach told her that the baby wasn’t far away from being born. She lay on an airbed, staring at ceiling. A solitary lightbulb cast an eerie glow across the room, turning shadows into figures. Dark entities with sinister poses. Animals baring huge sharp teeth. A vulture waiting for her to die so as it could strip her flesh and reduce her body to nothing but a memory.

The baby moved inside her. A tiny life dependent on its mother. But Hannah could never nurture it. Never watch it grow. Never even hold it. She reached down and caressed her tummy, as if casting her hands over the most delicate crystal ball in the world. She wanted to tell the baby how sorry she was. That she loved it more than anything else in the world. But words seemed as empty and hollow as the stinking basement.

Her tummy felt fit to burst. Skin stretched tight. Veins running across its surface like tiny red rivers. There was a bottle of Bio oil at home in the medicine cabinet, along with her folic acid tablets. A woman had to watch out for iron deficiency and stretch marks – in the normal world.

Hannah had made about a dozen plans to escape, all of which had seemed reasonable until you factored in the fact that she was pregnant and about as nimble as an elephant. One idea that had merited a certain level of excitement was to fake a miscarriage. Take away the one thing her captor wanted. But it soon became apparent that she could never get away with it. For starters, she would need blood. And a fair bit of it, too. And what she was supposed to do with the bump in her belly? Breathe in? 

Another idea, a slight improvement on some of the others, was to feign illness. A stomach virus. One that might threaten the baby. This had seemed good enough to run with. Perhaps her captor might panic. Take her to a hospital or get a doctor to call at the house. Her initial optimism had been crushed within a day of declaring her illness. She’d been put on a diet of bottled water and porridge and told to take regular exercise to help keep her body in shape.

How had she been dumb enough to expect otherwise? The only way out of here was in a coffin. No, not a coffin. She wouldn’t be afforded such dignity. Perhaps a refuse sack. Buried out in Hadley Woods or tossed over a bridge into the river. No one would ever find her. Her family would have no grave to attend. Nowhere to go to and pay their respects. Lay flowers. Just a huge black hole in their lives.

She tried not to think about dying, but it was like trying not to think about food when you were starving hungry. Sometimes she would dream she was out of the basement. Walking across a lush green stretch of grass. Or the soft golden sands of a beautiful beach. Always bare foot. The wind in her hair. The sun on her face. It was such a wonderful feeling not to be walking on the ragged concrete floor. But dreams were cruel. They leaked into your waking hours and taunted you with their whispers of freedom. 

As soon as the baby was born, she would be murdered and erased from the world. Life would go on. The sun would still rise in the morning. The stars would still shine at night. People would eventually stop talking about her. It would be as if she’d never even existed. Robert would move on and meet someone else. Have children and do all the things parents got to do with kids. Simple stuff like watching their first steps and taking them to school. Things most parents took for granted.

What had she done to deserve this? She’d always tried her best. Been good at school. Worked hard. Never been in trouble. It was as if none of these things counted for anything. Victims were victims, irrespective of their worth. It was as if fate somehow conspired to bring them into contact with evil people. A missed bus here, a snapped shoelace there, just to ensure they would be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

A spider crawled across the ceiling, weaving its thread around the lightbulb. Hannah didn’t mind spiders. Some of the girls at the nursing home were terrified of them, but she couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. Spiders were clever. Their webs were so intricately woven. So beautiful on a frosty morning, decorating the hedgerows with dozens of miniature white veils.

She watched the spider working. And then a thought struck her: what if she took the bulb out of the holder and smashed it. She could use it as a weapon. Wait at the top of the steps and strike when the door opened.

Stupid idea. The basement will be pitch black. How you gonna see?

‘I’ll have the light from the kitchen when the door opens.’

You won’t get time to adjust your eyes.

The baby kicked. A sign perhaps?

A warning more like! You’re only a few weeks away from giving birth.

Hannah watched the spider drop away from the bulb and hang a few feet above her face. At least she would have one advantage with this new plan: surprise.

And if you miss?

‘What does it matter? I’m going to die anyway.’

It matters if you end up getting shoved down the basement steps. That’s both you and the baby done for.

Hannah tried not to dwell on that. She rolled over on the airbed and pushed herself up into a kneeling position. She backed onto the concrete floor and forced herself to stand. Her swollen ankles throbbed. The bottom of her back ached from the weight of the baby pulling her forward.

Don’t tell me you’re going to go ahead with this stupid idea?  

Hannah arched her back. She kicked the airbed out of the way to allow access to the bulb. She then walked over to a small wooden table with a microwave oven sitting on top of it. The table didn’t sit too well on the uneven concrete floor, but it would probably be strong enough to support her weight.

And if you lose your balance?

Hannah laughed. A tiny sound gobbled up by the empty basement. ‘I’m about to lose everything. Losing my balance is the least of my worries.’

The baby moved again, as if to remind her what was at stake. She imagined him rolling over and sucking his thumb, oblivious to the hell he was about to be born into. She crawled under the table and unplugged the microwave. She then struggled back to her feet, put the microwave on the floor, and dragged the table across the basement, positioning it directly beneath the bulb.

How are you going to take the bulb out? It will be red hot.

There was a hand towel draped over a metal rail leading up the basement steps. It was for drying herself on when she was afforded the occasional luxury of a bucket of warm water and a bar of soap to wash with. She fetched it and climbed onto the table. It took several attempts to release the bulb. Apart from being hot, the damn thing was slippery. To make matters worse, she had to grip the holder at the same time as the bulb to stop the whole thing turning around.

Finally, the bulb popped from the bayonet holder. Darkness consumed the basement. The table no longer had edges. There was nothing for her to gauge distance with. No walls, no celling, no floor. She wrapped the bulb in the towel and dropped it onto the floor. It landed with a soft plumph sound. She knelt down and waited for her eyes to adjust.

After a short while, she could just about make out random shapes cast by the faint glow of the electric fire. She edged backwards and pushed herself off the table. Back on solid ground. Slightly more confident. At least she was no longer in danger of falling and hurting the baby. She waited for the bulb to cool and smashed it against the floor.

Hannah made her way slowly up the steps, gripping the handrail with one hand and holding the bulb out in front of her with the other. For what seemed like hours, she sat at the top of the steps preparing herself for the fight of her life.

In her mind’s eye, she watched the bulb strike home, rendering her captor helpless. Watched herself running out of the basement. Out of the house. Finding the nearest neighbour and raising the alarm. Police lights. The open back door of an ambulance. Robert. Her parents. A hospital bed. Freedom.

You need to move about. Keep warm. If that door opens now, you’ll take forever to get up!

Hannah fumbled for the handrail and hauled herself up. She walked back and forth on the tiny patch of concrete like a caged animal marking its territory. Pins and needles tattooed her legs. She gripped the remains of the lightbulb in her right hand. She reached down with her free hand and rubbed her stomach, as if reassuring the tiny life inside her she would do all she could to protect him.

A loud click. The door unlocking.

Hannah’s breath froze in her throat.

Forget it! Get back down in the basement.

The door creaked open and flooded the basement with light. Hannah didn’t have time to think about what she was going to do. She rushed forward and thrust the jagged remains of the lightbulb at her captor’s face. 

A scream rolled around the basement. Harsh enough to break lightbulbs, you might say. Hannah’s makeshift weapon got to within a few inches of its target, but was thwarted as a tea tray, containing a foil dish of lasagne and a bottle of Highland Spring water, slammed into her face.

Hannah dropped the bulb and staggered backwards.

‘You dirty little bitch.’

Hannah groped for the handrail and just steadied herself before she tumbled down the steps. The door slammed, once more plunging the basement into darkness. Her legs turned to marshmallow. She struggled to breathe. Tiny white stars popped before her eyes. Using the rail for support, she eased herself down onto the concrete floor and peered into the dark abyss of the basement.

Now look what you’ve gone and done.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream and beat her fists against the wall, but there was no strength left inside her. Maybe she ought to retrieve the jagged remains of the lightbulb and slash her wrists.

The baby kicked, hard, as if to say, Hey, I’m still here.

‘I tried,’ she whispered.

Trying counts for nothing. The world’s full of suckers who think it’s better to try and fail than to not try at all. But is it? Is it really?

Hannah Heath didn’t think it was.

Friday morning found Geoff Whittle in what appeared to be quite a congenial mood, considering his wife had burned his breakfast after being interrupted by a phone call from Aunt Mary. Ben didn’t trust his father’s mood; he’d seen the results of his mother’s ineptitude too many times to be comfortable with it.

Geoff looked at Maddie as if appraising her. ‘You look tired, love. Out clubbing last night?’

Ben sighed. ‘Maddie doesn’t go clubbing.’

‘How do you know? Did you get married in a secret ceremony?’

‘Very funny.’

‘I’m fine,’ Maddie said. ‘I just need to get going.’

‘Glad to hear it, because we’ve got a busy day ahead. I’ve just had a call from Monica Heath, and she says she’s got a cheque for a thousand pounds waiting to be picked up.’

Ben now realised the reason for his father’s amiable mood. ‘At least we can make a start now.’

Geoff nodded. ‘Yep. By the way, Andy at Oxford nick got back to me earlier. Seems that they had a suspect at the time Hannah went missing.’

Ben’s mind snapped to attention. ‘Who?’

Geoff pulled a photo from the drawer. He laid it on the desk. The guy in the photo was wearing a black tee-shirt and black jeans. His stomach hung over the waistband of the jeans, and his thinning black hair was greased back. There was a bootlace tied around his neck. ‘Francis Arthur Crowley. This is his Facebook profile picture. He’s the maintenance man at Sunnyside. Andy said he raised a red flag.’

‘Why?’ Maddie asked. ‘What did he do?’

‘Nothing solid enough to haul him in for questioning. But staff at Sunnyside reckon he’s a right creep.’

Ben looked at Crowley’s photo. ‘Why?’

‘Always hanging about like a bad smell.’

‘Well, he would if he works there, wouldn’t he? That’s just tittle-tattle.’

Geoff shook his head. ‘He’s also got history.’

‘We’ve all got history. That doesn’t mean he’s capable of—’

‘Our friend Crowley exposed himself to a schoolgirl. That makes him capable of anything.’

‘When?’ Maddie asked.

‘About twenty years back.’

‘Was he charged?’ Ben asked. ‘Convicted?’

‘Yeah. Claimed he was pissed when he did it and doesn’t remember a thing. Another year later and the bugger would have been on the Sex Offenders’ Register. He had a lucky escape. The law was still quite lenient with perverts back then. Anyway, he’s our number one suspect.’

Ben wasn’t so sure. ‘Just because he flashed to a woman?’

‘Schoolgirl,’ Geoff corrected. ‘A kid barely in her teens.’

‘That doesn’t mean he’s done anything to Hannah Heath, though, does it? That’s like saying just because someone bought a box of matches on the day of a fire they had to be the one who set it.’

‘It’s nothing of the sort. Crowley works – worked – with Hannah. He’s got previous for flashing to a kid. That marks him down as a filthy pervert. What more do you want?’

Ben thought some proof that Crowley had actually abducted Hannah might be good. ‘Evidence.’

‘Then let’s get some. The sooner we find out what our Mr Crowley’s been up to, the better.’

Maddie asked Geoff what else the police had found out about Hannah.

‘Not a lot. They’ve done all the usual searches. Hotels, guest houses, taxis, buses – zilch. It seems like she’s been abducted by a UFO.’

‘Maybe she has,’ Ben said. ‘Anyway, if the cops reckon this Crowley dude is so suspicious, why don’t they arrest him?’

‘Because they haven’t got a single stitch of evidence,’ Geoff said. ‘And, just for the record, we’re in England. Crowley is a man, not a “dude”. Next thing, you’ll be calling the pavement a “sidewalk” and the tap a “faucet”.’

Ben ignored him. ‘Why didn’t the cops put him under surveillance?’

‘You’ve been watching too many police dramas. They don’t have the resources to follow any Tom, Dick or Harry.’

‘And we do?’

‘No. But as long as the Heaths stump up the cash, we can afford to follow Francis Arthur Crowley to the ends of the earth.’

‘Where does Crowley live?’ Maddie asked.

‘The mobile home site on Constitution Hill. Fifty-three River Walk.’

‘What about Hannah’s mobile?’ Maddie asked. ‘Has she used it since she went missing?’

‘Andy said they checked the records and there hasn’t been a single call made from it. The last one was to her mother at lunchtime the day she went missing.’

‘Sounds ominous,’ Maddie said.

Geoff agreed. ‘Yes, but it’s not conclusive. There are other options to consider.’

Like she phoned ET to take her home
, Ben thought. ‘Such as?’

‘It’s possible she wanted to disappear. Ran off with someone and disabled her phone.’

Ben didn’t buy that. ‘She was about to get married. Why would she run off with someone else?’

‘Who knows? Women are unfathomable at the best of times. And while we’re on the subject of possibilities, it’s not inconceivable that she went somewhere and took her own life.’

Ben didn’t believe that for one moment. ‘Her mother gave no indication that Hannah was depressed.’

‘Mothers don’t know everything.’

‘Monica would know how Hannah was feeling,’ Maddie said. ‘She seemed really close to her.’

Geoff looked at Ben. ‘Does your mother know what’s going on inside your head?’

Ben sincerely hoped not. ‘I doubt it.’

‘Would you tell her if you were depressed?’

‘Probably not.’

‘Would you tell me?’

‘It’s not me who’s vanished, though, is it?’

Maddie rescued Ben from a hypothetical depression. ‘Anyway, Hannah was pregnant. She had everything to live for.’

‘I agree,’ Geoff said. ‘But women’s hormones are all over the place when they’re up the duff. I caught Anne trying to get out of the bedroom window once when she was carrying Ben. Reckoned she was dreaming. I’m not so sure.’

Ben could fully understand his mother wanting to jump out of a bedroom window to escape his father. Especially when he was droning on and on about what was wrong with the world.

‘Anyway, I’m not saying she has done away with herself. It’s just an option. Write Hannah’s name and age at the top of the whiteboard. Beneath it divide the board into three columns. Suspects, Possibilities and Miscellaneous.’

Shall I write hormone imbalance in the Possibilities column
, Ben thought.

‘Put Frank Crowley in the suspects’ column and Blu-Tack his ugly mug to the board,’ Geoff said. ‘We don’t need to look much further than him.’

Ben did as he was told. Perhaps his father would have fared better in medieval England when it was perfectly legal to conduct witch-hunts.

‘Right. Let’s write down a few possibilities,’ Geoff said. ‘First off, abduction. Then murder. Then suicide. And, last but not least, elopement.’

After Ben had finished, Geoff asked Maddie if anything jumped out at her.

Maddie studied the board. ‘I reckon Crowley is definitely the best place to start.’

‘Without doubt,’ Geoff agreed. ‘I don’t like the look of him one bit.’

You don’t like the look of anyone
, Ben thought. ‘I thought you shouldn’t judge a book by—’

Geoff flapped a hand, as if swatting fly. ‘When you speak to the boyfriend, see if you can’t build up a better picture of Hannah’s state of mind. Monica Heath’s bound to be biased. It wouldn’t be the first time history’s been re-written by a mother’s love.’

‘What’s the point?’ Ben said. ‘We’ve already tried and convicted Crowley.’

‘It’s called covering all the bases. Then I want you to go to Sunnyside Nursing Home and talk to the care manager. See what she knows about Crowley. It might also be an idea to go and have a look around his mobile home while he’s at work.’

‘Is that legal?’ Ben asked. ‘We can’t just break in.’

Geoff reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a bunch of keys. ‘No one’s suggesting we break in. These babies fit anything.’

‘And what do we do if someone sees us? Wave the keys in their face and say, don’t worry, my dad runs a private investigation business and he gave us a set of keys?’

Geoff rolled his eyes. ‘You say you’re site maintenance. You’re carrying out work on the caravan.’

Ben shook his head. ‘No way. I’m not breaking in. If we get caught that’s the whole operation up the swanny.’

‘Can’t we just interview Crowley at work?’ Maddie suggested. ‘On more neutral ground.’

‘I don’t want him to know he’s in our thinking. Which reminds me, you’re not going to Sunnyside with Ben.

‘Why?’

‘I don’t want Crowley seeing you. I’ve got plans for you.’

‘What plans?’ Ben said. ‘Or dare I ask?’

‘I think Maddie should get close to Crowley. See if she can get him to open up.’

Ben’s heart missed a beat. ‘What do you mean, “close”?’

‘Get friendly with him. Make him think she’s interested in him. Andy said he drinks in The Three Horseshoes.’

‘What’s Maddie supposed to do? Buy him a drink and ask him what he’s done with Hannah?’

Maddie cut Ben an impatient glance and then looked back at Geoff. ‘Do you really that would work?’

‘It’s worth a try, love. I reckon he’ll start blabbing.’

Ben didn’t like the sound of this at all. ‘Like one of those honey-trap things?’

Geoff nodded. ‘Sort of.’

‘But you can’t get evidence that way. It’s illegal. Look what happened when the cops tried that with that bloke on Wimbledon Common.’

‘Colin Stagg?’

Ben didn’t remember the name. ‘That stuff won’t stand up in court. Even if Crowley’s guilty, the court will throw it out. Any half-decent lawyer will say Maddie was leading the witness. You should know that better than anyone.’

Geoff took a deep breath and sighed. ‘We’re not trying to make it stand up in court. We’re trying to find out if he’s done anything to Hannah. Anyway, the Wimbledon Common case was already a murder enquiry. This isn’t.’

‘What’s the difference? It’s still obtaining information under false pretences.’

‘I don’t give a tuppenny tit what words you dress it up in. If Crowley’s holding Hannah somewhere, we need to find out where. And quick. Who know what that sick bastard might be doing to her.’

Ben turned to Maddie. ‘You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.’

‘She does if she wants to continue working for me,’ Geoff said. ‘This isn’t a game of pick and choose.’

Maddie tilted her head up. ‘It’s all right. I want to do it.’

Geoff grinned. ‘Good. It’s nice to see enthusiasm for once.’

‘What if Crowley twigs?’ Ben said. ‘What if he attacks Maddie? What do we do, then? Tell Pastor Tom we let his daughter get intimate with a madman?’

‘We’ll put a wire on her. That way we can get everything recorded and keep tabs on what’s happening at the same time. The R27’s got a good range.’

Ben didn’t feel any more confident. ‘It sounds too risky to me.’

‘You’d find something amiss in a lottery win, boy. Stop faffing and fussing. You sound like your mother.’

I’d rather sound like my mother than like you
, Ben thought. ‘And if Crowley finds the wire?’

‘The R27’s no bigger than a five pence piece. Unless Crowley’s trained in surveillance, he won’t find it. As long as you stay within five miles of Maddie, you’ll be on hand if anything goes wrong.’

‘I suppose everyone’s forgotten about what happened at Penghilly’s Farm?’ Ben said. ‘What happens when you mess around with crazy people?’

‘We’re all still here,’ Maddie reminded him. ‘I’ll be fine.’

Ben’s heart spoke up. ‘I’m just looking out for you.’

‘I know. And it’s really sweet, Ben. But I’m a big girl. I can look after myself.’

‘We’ll discuss it in more detail later,’ Geoff said. ‘First things first, go and speak to the boyfriend. See if you can’t drill down further into Hannah’s state of mind. Then I want you to drop Maddie off at the Paddocks while you go to Sunnyside and interview the care manager.’

‘Why do I have to drop Maddie at the Paddocks?’

‘To check along the grass verges for clues. When you’re finished at Sunnyside, you can walk back towards Feelham and meet up in the middle.’

‘What are we looking for?’ Ben said. ‘An incriminating thistle?’

‘Don’t be flippant. If she’s been forced into a car, something might be left behind at the roadside.’

‘Wouldn’t the police have checked all that?’ Maddie said.

‘In a murder investigation, yes. But this is a missing-persons case. There isn’t even any evidence of foul play. Like I told you before, they won’t have the manpower or the resources to do that level of search for an adult.’

‘But it’s freezing outside,’ Ben protested. ‘We’ll end up with hypothermia walking all that way.’

Geoff looked out the office window at the light dusting of snow on the ground. ‘Order a taxi after you meet up.’