“I see. In that case, I’d better take some details down.” The sergeant tapped at his computer keyboard for a few seconds before lifting his gaze back to Lisa. “I’ll take your details first, Miss, if I may…Name?”
“Lisa. Jenkins. Lisa Jenkins.”
“Address?”
She gave him her address and postcode details.
“And your relationship to the missing person?”
“He’s my partner.”
“Partner…hmm, is that business partner or life partner?”
“Umm…life partner?” She’d been hoping that Roger would be her life partner, but now – she didn’t know what to think or what to hope for. Tears began to well in her eyes and she sniffed them back before carrying on. “He’s my boyfriend.”
She continued answering the sergeant’s questions, filling him in on the details of how they’d woken the previous morning and everything seemed fine but then Roger had suddenly run to the bathroom and retched a few times before getting dressed and rushing out of the house.
“Did your boyfriend take his wallet, keys, mobile phone?”
“No. He left them all on the bedside table.”
“Hmm…when he left the house – did he take a vehicle or was he on foot?”
“On foot. We only have the one car – mine – and he doesn’t drive it. He was involved in a bad car accident eighteen months ago, nearly lost his life. He…doesn’t like cars anymore...”
“An accident, you say. Is he fully recovered now?”
“Yes, he’s fine now…oh, apart from his knee. His knee sometimes plays him up if he’s spent too much time on his feet.”
“What about medication? Is he on any tablets?”
“No. Just over the counter pain killers now and then.”
“Hmmm…well it seems to me,” the officer darted a glance at his computer screen as if double-checking the name, “Miss Jenkins that Mr Davies is a grown man who doesn’t seem to fit the criteria of being vulnerable in any way. “
Lisa pressed against the desk, leaning slightly forward, “So what are you saying? That you’re not going to look for him?”
“The thing is, Miss - as I said, he’s a grown man who’s free to come and go as he pleases.” The sergeant noted the look of dejection on Lisa’s face and softened his voice a little, “Are you sure you’ve not had any problems at home that might be playing on his mind?”
“No, nothing like that. We’re happy!”
“Could Mr Davies have been worried about something, perhaps? Maybe he needed to get away for a bit and get things straight in his mind before coming home to tell you. Money worries, maybe?”
Lisa shook her head in despair, the tears she had valiantly sniffed to defeat a few moments previous suddenly flowing freely down her cheeks.
The officer pulled a tissue from a box on his desk and offered it to her.
“In my experience, Miss Jenkins, most people who take off like that usually return within a day or two, but I’ll put the word out – as he’s on foot it’s possible he hasn’t got too far…do you have a photo of Mr Davies at all?”
“Oh, yes…” She dug a hand into a rear pocket of her jeans and pulled out a snapshot from the previous Christmas. “He’s got a paper hat on – is that ok?”
The sergeant scanned the photo. “This’ll do nicely. As I said, I’ll put the word out, check the local hospitals - just in case… “
Lisa took a step back, feeling suddenly sick at the mention of the word ‘hospital’.
“I’ve got your phone number so I’ll contact you if we find him – but, I must warn you, if he doesn’t want us to tell you where he is then all I can do is let you know that he’s safe…”
Lisa nodded her head forlornly, acknowledging the possible outcome.
“And if you hear from him, please let us know so that we can ‘stand down’ as it were.”
17
When Bob woke and his senses began to clear a little the first thing he was aware of was the soft hiss of burning gas and the bubbling of water in a pan, but only as he raised his throbbing head to look towards the source of the sounds did he begin to realise his predicament.
He suddenly remembered opening his kitchen door.
Remembered the bacon sandwich.
Then what?
He screwed his eyes tight as he attempted to drag the memory from the groggy recesses of his concussed brain.
Oh, yeah – the stranger; with the piece of wood…
His head pounded harder as if confirming the recollection. Attempting to raise a soothing hand to his throbbing temple, Bob found his arms were held fast. He raised his head once more.
Roger was leaning against the stove, staring at his captive, waiting for him to speak. He had already decided that he wasn’t going to utter a single word in return to the fat fuck secured to the table. No matter how much Bob begged, pleaded or screamed Roger wasn’t prepared to waste a single breath on explanations - he was just going to take care of business – inflicting excruciating agonies on the twisted heap of blubber before despatching his sick soul straight to Hell. He smiled as he watched Bob tug at the bonds that secured his limbs, and, as he saw the dawning of reality creep across the flabby face, he knew it was time to get to work.
Leaving the pan of boiling water bubbling merrily on the hob, Roger flicked the cigarette lighter he had found in Bob’s trouser pocket. Twisting the little cog to turn the flame up to the max, he grinned as he held it in front of Bob’s eyes. The fat man twisted his head to one side, fearful that his captor was going to thrust the flame into his face.
Roger released the switch and the flame died away.
“Who are you?
