The Eyes of the Accused: A dark disturbing mystery thriller (The Ben Whittle Investigation Series Book 2) (7 page)

Hannah Heath lay in the darkness of her living tomb. She’d not eaten for days. Not since being stupid enough to believe she could actually escape this shit-hole. Thankfully, the baby was still moving about inside her, but she didn’t know how much longer it could survive without sustenance.

The bottom of her back hurt like murder. Trying to sleep on the semi-inflated airbed was like trying to sleep on a park bench. To make matters worse, she could only lie on her back because of her condition. The stench in the basement was overbearing. Damp, excrement and piss. A vile cocktail. It was also freezing cold, with the two-bar electric fire her only source of heat.

She only got up to use the toilet bucket. Thankfully, nature had rendered her constipated, so it was just about possible to pee in the dark and make her way back to bed without too many mishaps. She spent most of her time under the duvet, begging God to help her. God seemed otherwise engaged. Once, when she was about six, she’d asked God to bring her daddy back. Not because she didn’t like being on her own with her mother, but because most of the other kids at school had daddies. She just wanted to be normal. Have a big strong daddy to sweep her up in his arms and hoist her onto his shoulders.

God hadn’t brought him back. Her daddy had gone to Australia. To start a new life, apparently. Why would he want a new life? She’d found Australia on the globe. It was right around the other side of the world. Why would he go that far away? Her mother said he was selfish. Why couldn’t he have just stayed at home and been selfish?

Her selfish daddy still sent her a birthday card and a Christmas card each year, with a cheque inside for mummy to pay into the bank. Mummy said she was saving the money for when Hannah reached eighteen. Then she could spend it on whatever she liked. Hannah thought eighteen seemed like a lifetime away. 

But God had granted her a new daddy. A different daddy. Vic. A funny name, like the vapour rub mummy put on her chest when she had a blocked nose. Vic looked funny, with his bald head and podgy tummy. Vic was nice. He was always happy to help her with her reading and writing. He also took her swimming with mummy every Sunday at the Splash swimming pool in Aldercot. Before long, Hannah stopped thinking about her real daddy; apart from when he sent her a card with a cheque inside.

The baby kicked inside her. A reminder. Hey, I’m still here, mum. I still need you. Hannah reached beneath her sweatshirt and rubbed her stomach. The skin was stretched tight. She wanted to hold the tiny life growing inside her, reassure it that mummy would do everything in her power to make sure it had a happy life, but she couldn’t make promises any more. Promises were for all those lucky people in the outside world who had normal lives. 

A teacher at secondary school had once told the class that everyone had a life-lesson to learn. As usual, no one had been interested in what he was saying. Everything seemed so short-term back then. Most kids were more concerned with who was dating whom. Now, as Hannah sat in the dark stinking basement with nothing but her thoughts for company, she believed that the teacher was right. And her lesson was loss. She’d lost her father. Her freedom. And now she was going to lose her baby.

Her thoughts turned to Robert. She missed him so much. They’d been so happy together. Hannah couldn’t have wished for a better man to spend the rest of her life with. They were going to have three children. A nice semi-detached house. A garden for the kids to play in. Holidays abroad. One day Robert would take over his father’s business. A perfect landscape for a perfect life.

Except there was no such thing as a perfect life, was there? Dreams were for fools. She tried to imagine what Robert was doing. Where he was. What he was thinking. One thing was for certain: she would never see him again. They would never have their perfect house, their perfect marriage, their perfect life.

She closed her eyes and imagined his arms around her. Resting her head on his chest. The hairs tickling her face. The smell of Boss aftershave. The rise and fall of his chest. His heart beating, slow and rhythmic. The warmth of his body. The faint smell of mouthwash on his breath. Sometimes they would talk until the early hours of the morning, effortless conversation that could switch from serious to goofing around in the blink of an eye. It was what Hannah liked to call comfortable love.

The baby shifted position and kicked again. Hard.

‘I know you’ll never get to know me. But please remember that I love you. Do you hear? I love you more than anything else in the world.’

The bump in her belly twitched.

‘Whatever you do, wherever you go, mummy will always be watching over you. When you go to school. When you get your first girlfriend.’

Another twitch. Maybe a protest.
Hey, I might be a girl!

‘Your dad thinks you’re a boy. I reckon he just wants someone to take to watch Arsenal. Personally, I don’t see what all the fuss is about. A load of overpaid men kicking a ball around a field and acting as if it’s a matter of life and death. They ought to spend some time locked in this shitty basement to find out the true meaning of life and death.’

The baby declined to comment. Twitch, kick or otherwise.

‘I want you to know that if you ever have any problems, ever need to talk to someone, I’ll always be here for you.’

Of course the kid will have problems; it’s going to be raised by a lunatic.

Hannah tried not to think about that. She clung to the vague hope that the baby might be sold to a childless couple. Parents who would raise it in a loving environment and treat it as their own.

The basement door opened. A sudden shaft of light pierced the darkness. And then a voice. Hannah’s first human contact in what felt like weeks. ‘I’m putting a torch and a bulb on the floor for you. Though God knows you don’t deserve it. I want you to replace the bulb.’

Hannah squeezed her eyes shut. ‘I need food and water.’

‘You’re in no position to make demands.’

‘Please. The baby…’

‘What about it?’

‘It’s going to die if you don’t let me have—’

‘Don’t be so melodramatic. A few days without food and water isn’t going to hurt it. If that was the case, a child would never be born in Africa.’

‘I don’t feel well.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with you. What you’re suffering from is called shame. Get over it. If you replace the bulb, then we’ll see about food. And don’t get any more clever ideas about ambushing me. You fooled me once, so more fool me. You won’t do it again.’

‘Please…’

The door slammed shut. And then the worst sound of all: the audible click of the lock. Hannah could see a small circle of light at the top of the steps where the torch had been left on.

Better go and get it before the batteries go dead.

She shoved the duvet out of the way and climbed slowly off the airbed. Just the thought of being able to see properly again was enough to motivate her to walk across the freezing cold basement and up the steps.

Ben parked in The Three Horseshoes car park and kept the engine running. ‘Even if Crowley
has
abducted her, the chances of her still being alive are next to zilch.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘For starters, where the hell would he keep a pregnant woman? He lives in a caravan up on Constitution Hill. Don’t you think someone might have seen her?’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘And the cops have spoken to him. More than once. Where do you think he put her? Under the bed?’

‘Don’t be sarcastic, Ben. It doesn’t suit you. Anyway, he could have moved her somewhere.’

‘Where, for God’s sake? The bloke’s got limited means.’

‘I don’t know. That’s what we need to find out. We’re not going to get anywhere speculating, are we?’

Ben drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘If you ask me, she’s long dead. We’ve got more chance of finding Lord Lucan.’

‘Lord who?’

‘Some bloke who went missing years ago. Tried to kill his wife. Murdered his children’s nanny by mistake.’

‘Bloody hell. Didn’t he know what his wife looked like?’

Ben smiled. ‘Makes you wonder.’

‘Look, Ben, if anything goes wrong, I’ll get out. I promise.’

‘And if you can’t?’

‘I’m resourceful.’

‘Not if you’re tied to a chair or chained to a radiator.’

‘I won’t be.’

‘At least take the R27.’

‘Not until I get him to trust me. If he finds it, that’s it. And then what will we do?’

‘I’d rather know what’s going on.’

‘And I’d rather Crowley didn’t.’

‘Shall I come into the pub with you?’

‘What for?’

‘To keep an eye on you.’ A slight pause, and then: ‘To keep an eye on him.’

‘No. You go home and wait. I’ll call a cab when I’m ready to leave.’

‘Please, Maddie. I don’t want to leave you alone with him.’

‘I’ll be fine. I promise.’

‘I’m not going home. Not with the old man. It’s more than my sanity could stand. I’ll park up somewhere. If you need me, text me.’

Maddie was about to protest, but something in Ben’s eyes stopped her. He looked so lost and frightened. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Okay. I’ll text if I need you.’

Ben touched his cheek. ‘Promise?’

Maddie straightened up. ‘I promise.’

‘I…’

‘What is it?’

‘I c-care about you.’

Maddie smiled. ‘I care about you, too.’

‘I mean, I r-really care.’

Maddie opened the door. ‘If Crowley’s not in the pub, I’ll give it about an hour to see if he shows.’

‘Please be careful.’

Maddie stepped out of the car. She closed the door and took several deep breaths. She put her bag over her shoulder and walked towards the pub. She didn’t see Ben pull out of the car park, or see him watching her so intently that he almost collided with a concrete bollard.

Maddie hadn’t expected the pub to be so busy on a Sunday evening. There were four men sitting on stools at the bar, a couple playing pool, and about a dozen or so others parked on seats around four wooden tables. At first glance, Crowley didn’t seem to be among them.

She went to the bar and ordered an orange juice. She then took her drink and sat by a window looking out onto the car park. She checked the time on her phone. 8:30 p.m. Right now, her father would be conducting a service at the Pentecostal church. He would be missing her every bit as much as she missed him, but she needed to do something positive with her life. Something worthwhile. 

Maddie was certain that Rhonda and Bubba would more than fill the space left by her departure. In fact, she was willing to bet that Rhonda and her father would be an item before long. Rhonda was clearly in love with him, and her father seemed defensive whenever Maddie mentioned Rhonda.

She closed her bag, took a sip of orange juice and looked around the bar. She would give it until half nine and then text Ben to come and pick her up.

He’s sweet on you.

Her father’s voice. Maddie almost denied the thought out loud. Ben was a friend. A good friend. Penghilly’s Farm had cemented a bond between them that could never be broken.

Why did he stammer after you kissed him on the cheek?

He’s just worried about me.

More than worried, I’d say.

At least it shows he cares.

Perhaps you feel the same way about him?

She’d never really considered it before. She liked him. He was a good friend. But…

Now you’re sounding as defensive as your father when he talks about Rhonda.

A voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘Hey, Frank, wanna play the winner? Ten quid a game?’

Maddie looked towards the pool table. She saw a small bald guy greeting another man. A man with a bootlace tied around his neck and his hair slicked back with enough grease to make it glisten. Francis Arthur Crowley. Maddie’s mouth went dry.

‘I need a beer first,’ Crowley said. ‘I’ve had a shit day to end all shit days.’

Bald guy laughed. ‘What’s the matter, Frank, been to confession?’

‘Worse.’

Both the lads at the pool table laughed. Bald guy hit the cue ball so hard it almost bounced off the table. ‘God ain’t got enough time to listen to all his sins.’

Crowley returned to the pool table a few minutes later with a pint of lager. He drank half of it without pause, belched, and put the glass down on a nearby table.

‘So, what’s rattled your cage?’ bald guy asked.

‘I had to go into work and unblock the bogs. On a fucking Sunday! There was a turd the size of a torpedo lodged in the waste pipe.’

Bald guy laughed. ‘No shit, Frank.’

‘Do you know what that bitch Sykes said?’

‘She asked you to marry her?’

‘I’d rather marry my own mother.’

‘Now that is sick.’

Crowley didn’t seem to care. ‘She told me if I ever turned up for work again without my maintenance overalls on, she would sack me. Sack me for what? Working on my day off? My overalls were in the bloody wash, for Christ’s sake.’

‘You mean you actually wash your clothes, Frank?’ the other guy asked. In contrast to bald guy, this one had a good head of hair and a ponytail to boot.

Crowley ignored him. ‘I’m going to have a few beers and a kebab. Then, first thing in the morning, I’m going to quit that fucking shit-pipe job.’

‘Smart move, Frank,’ bald guy said. ‘What are you going to do? Become a gigolo?’

Crowley reached into his jeans’ pocket and put several notes on the edge of the table. ‘I’ll play you for fifty quid.’

Bald guy whistled. ‘Have you robbed a bank or something?’

Crowley puffed out his chest. ‘I’ve got money.’

‘You don’t normally have a pot to piss in, Frank,’ ponytail said.

‘Fifty quid. Are you two ginks playing or what?’

Ponytail shook his head. ‘Not me, Frank. I’ve got a wife and kids at home. More than my life’s worth.’ He walked off to the bar and ordered a fresh drink.

Crowley and bald guy finally reached an agreement to play for ten pounds a game. Maddie watched them shoot pool for the next half an hour. Crowley beat his opponent three times straight before the man threw his cue on the table and walked off to the bar like a petulant child. Crowley tucked his winnings in his pocket and looked around the room as if seeking a fresh opponent.

Maddie took her chance. She put her bag over her shoulder and wandered over to the pool table. By the time she reached Crowley, her heart was bouncing around in her chest like a kid on a trampoline. ‘I’ll give you a game.’

Crowley looked at Maddie as if she’d just materialised from an alien spaceship. ‘Huh?’

‘I’ll play you at pool, if you want?’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Unless you don’t play girls?’

‘I’ll play anyone who wants a game. Are you any good?’

‘Nope. But it’s just a bit of fun, right?’

‘That depends on what’s at stake.’

‘I don’t play for money.’

‘Fine by me. I wouldn’t want to take money off a lady.’

Maddie ignored the patronising nature of his remark. ‘Glad to hear it.’

Crowley stroked the stubble on his chin. ‘Haven’t seen you in here before.’

Maddie resorted to the script Geoff had given her. ‘I’ve never been in here before. I was meant to be meeting someone. It looks as if he’s not going to show.’

‘Boyfriend?’

‘Just a mate.’

‘He must be mad.’

‘Huh?’

‘Standing up a lovely girl like you.’

Maddie ignored his weak attempt at flattery. ‘He’s not standing me up.’

‘I’m Frank.’

‘Maddie.’

‘Nice name. Is it short for Madam?’

She was momentarily confused. And then she acknowledged his lame joke. ‘Yes. Proper little madam, me.’

‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘I wouldn’t mind an orange juice.’

She watched Crowley amble over to the bar. How in God’s name was she going to pretend to like him, let alone lead him on?

Crowley returned with drinks. ‘What do you do for a living?’

Maddie switched to her rehearsed back story. ‘I work in an office.’

‘Whereabouts?’

‘Oxford.’

‘What do you do?’

‘Secretary.’

‘Do you like your job?’

‘It’s okay. What do you do?’

‘I’m a maintenance man.’

‘Sounds interesting.’

Crowley downed half of his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘About as interesting as mud. I work in a nursing home. I don’t wish to blow my own trumpet, but I’m wasted there.’

‘You must be good at fixing things? Good with your hands?’

Crowley looked pleased. He grinned and exposed a row of chipped yellow teeth. ‘I can fix anything.’

‘I’m hopeless with stuff like that.’

‘I’ve got a mechanical brain.’

‘I can’t even make a jigsaw puzzle.’

Crowley didn’t seem to hear her. ‘Mother always got me to fix things. Even when I was little. Which is just as well, seeing as Ronnie couldn’t fix a drink and dad buggered off when I was a kid.’

‘Ronnie?’

‘My smart arse brother.’

Maddie sensed contempt in his voice. ‘I’m sorry to hear about your dad.’

‘Don’t be. Bugger was about as much use as a garden hose in the desert. Do you want to play pool, then?’

‘Just one game. I can’t stay long.’

‘I’ll tell you what: if you win, I’ll buy you a drink. If I win, you can owe me a drink.’

‘Okay.’

Crowley looked as if Maddie had just announced their engagement. He set up the table, broke, and then cleared most of the balls. The nearest Maddie got to scoring was when she almost potted the black by mistake.

After the game, Maddie laid her pool cue down on the table. ‘I need to practise.’

‘It’s all about seeing the whole picture. Looking at all the angles. Imagining where the ball will land up after you’ve hit it.’

‘Sounds difficult.’

‘Not really. It helps to have an eye for it, but it’s not rocket science. I could teach you, if you want?’

‘Not now. I really have to get going.’

‘Some other time?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Can I give you a lift anywhere?’

‘No. I’ll get a taxi.’

Crowley took a small business card out of his wallet and handed it to her. ‘That’s my number.’

‘Frank Crowley Maintenance? I thought you worked at a nursing home?’

‘That’s my day job. I do other stuff on the side. Anyway, I’m leaving soon. I’ve got bigger and better things to do.’

‘I’d be afraid to leave my job. I like the regular money too much.’

Crowley grinned. ‘Doesn’t matter to me. I’ve got money coming. Big bucks.’

‘Really?’

Crowley nodded, like a man in possession of the world’s biggest secret. ‘Yep.’

Maddie tried to look nonchalant. ‘Have you won the lottery?’

‘Nope.’

‘Robbed a bank?’

‘Earned it. Fair and square.’

‘By fixing things?’

‘You could say that.’

‘Wow. A man of means,’ Maddie said, the words at odds with her thoughts. She opened her bag and dropped the card inside. ‘I’ve got to go.’

‘Will you call me?’

She walked towards the door on legs that didn’t feel as if they belonged to her body anymore. ‘I’ll think about it.’