‘Right! Shepherds, yes, if you say so. To me it’s more like his shirt. That or Hell’s mouth! I need a pint.’
‘You always do and besides, that was more pink than red. Did you see Carlos’s expression when I asked about the last time they’d seen Carla?’
Tony looked at his partner and shook his head, chewing at his thumbnail before spitting the removed section onto the pavement. ‘Why?’
‘Well, he never actually answered it. He shook his head did our Brian, but he also looked at his boss for guidance.’
‘And the point is?’
‘A copper’s nag, Tony. But what would you know about that? You only care about snagged bloody nails. Filthy ones at that. Don’t forget briefing at eight. You can drive me back to the station. I need home, shower and relaxation.’
‘I need to give these to Michael. He’ll have them processed for the briefing.’ Tony held up his phone and the memory stick.
Skeeter smiled inwardly. He might be uncouth but he was very efficient.
Chapter 5
He gently removed the drinking straw from the side of Carla’s lips. ‘It’s time, Carla. Did you enjoy the drink?’
Carla nodded. The light entering the room had slowly diminished rendering the far corners dark and invisible. The only bright spot in the room came from an angled torch standing on end some distance in front of the chair. With it came the silhouette and shadows. By her feet was a pair of wellington boots.
‘I want you to put these on. They will fit. I’ll help if you need me to.’ Once on, he taped her arms to the chair again. ‘I’ll only be a moment.’ His words were soft and encouraging. Maybe all this was about to stop. The idea brought a slight flush of excitement to her stomach.
Carla watched as he raised the garage door, the electric motor offering a slight whir. The growing entry allowed the last rays of the day’s warm coloured light to slowly creep along the concrete floor into the space. They were welcome. Her captor moved outside ducking below the rising door. It was then that she focused on the car as it reversed into the garage. The smell from the exhaust filled her nostrils. The brightness of the reversing light hurt her eyes as she waited for the brake lights to appear. Only one red light winked on momentarily. Within those few seconds the idea flashed into her mind that this all might be a silly hoax. Were friends playing a joke on her? Would someone suddenly jump out holding a camera and call ‘Surprise!’? The thought arrived and disappeared as swiftly as the flash of red light. She watched the driver return. Although she had no idea who this man was, he had, in a strange way, always been considerate and kind. If this was someone’s idea of a bloody joke then they’re in for a right bollocking, she muttered to herself.
The torch light flashed on the blade. Carla watched as it quickly sliced through the tape and she was escorted to the rear passenger seat. He pulled the seat belt over her shoulder before slipping an electrician’s tie round her wrist and then through the passenger restraining handle just above the door.
‘Comfy? We’re going for a ride and then, if you do as you’re told I’m going to leave you. Someone will find you because I’ll send your friends the message you recorded from your phone. I wonder who’ll be the first to come to your rescue? You’ve been a good girl, Carla. I hope they all come at once.’ He smiled and patted her knee again with his gloved hand. ‘Retribution you understand. You know the word?’
Carla shook her head.
‘I thought not. I know it can seem wrong to seek retribution after the event. I’m sure you’re aware that time can heal and it often does, after all, they say it’s the universal healer. I’m not so sure. I’ve thought long and hard about all of this. I want you to know that. Both have a purpose – retribution and time – both can heal, Carla, but one, I feel, will always leave a scar. Healing and being healed is how we survive as human beings … it’s how we move on. You have to destroy to create. You know that saying? Anyway, let’s not worry about the rights and wrongs. We’ve come this far; we should see it through.’
The drive took twenty minutes. The roads grew narrow and twisting and Carla felt the car slow as it pulled to the side of the road and onto a rough track. Beads of sweat had formed beneath the rim of the cap as nausea crept into her stomach owing to the car’s motion.
‘Do you see him yet, your twin?’ The interior was dark but she could sense his excitement.
She watched as his arm pointed to the right side of the car. There appeared to be nothing visible. Allowing her eyes to focus and acclimatise to the dark conditions she could slowly make out a figure towards the centre of the small field. She prayed it would be the person with the camera.
‘Do you see him?’ He turned and looked at her, an eagerness in his question that was almost childlike. ‘No? This will help you. Look now!’
Lifting the small but high-powered torch he shone it through the glass. The focused beam illuminated the object, the figure. At first Carla thought it was a real person, maybe a friend but her optimism soon waned as she realised it was a scarecrow. It was not like you imagine a typical scarecrow to look; as if crucified, arms out, no feet, old clothes blowing in what breeze there was. This was far more sophisticated. It was probably a shop mannequin. The arms were positioned to look as though they were holding a shotgun across the front of their body. The clothes were vivid and bright. Goggles covered the eyes and a scarf the mouth. The red
