The detective paused unsurely; using the junction ahead as an excuse for his hesitant attention. “She was tied up,” he said eventually, his eyes on the road ahead. “Her wrists and ankles were tied; she was fixed to a mattress in the flat.”
“Why tie her up so tightly though?” Howard asked, “She’s just,
was
just, a little girl.”
“The rope was loose when her body was found. Chances are the rope was over-tied at one point or another, causing the bruising, but generally she seemed well looked after.”
“
Well
looked after
?” Howard gasped. “She was kidnapped and tied to a fucking bed!”
“I’m sorry Mr Price,” he apologised meekly. “That wasn’t the right way of explaining it. You see, in cases such as this; the kidnappers take little, if any, care over the safety of their hostage. They normally strap them up with tape, tie them down and gag them. They force them into damp, dark rooms; cover their eyes, mouth and even their ears. Often the hostages are beaten in sadistic outbursts.”
“You’re not helping.”
“What I am trying to say is that Lisa was well looked after,
considering
. We believe she was fed and given water during her detainment.”
“How could you know that?”
“Bottles and wrappers found at the scene,” the detective spoke at a calm and leisurely pace. “They made sure she was kept alive and well. They may have initially hurt her when snatching her from the school or dragging her into the flat as minor marks were found on her feet and legs, but she wasn’t beaten. Another thing worth noting is that her eyes and ears were not covered, only her mouth. She could have easily seen and heard her intruders, a fact that clearly didn’t bother them.”
“What does that mean?” Howard demanded to know.
“It could suggest that the two men didn’t have any previous convictions. And they probably weren’t locals. There is also a good chance they were involved in the criminal world, we found a number of illegal weapons on them. It’s safe to suggest that they’re well known in the underworld and had already hatched a plan to leave the country after the kidnapping.”
Howard shook his head, he wasn’t hearing what he wanted to hear but he let the detective continue nevertheless. “You know all of this yet you can’t find two men jumping onto a bus with a bag full of money?”
The detective shot Howard a weary glance. “That matter is still being looked into Mr Price. The reason we know so much about the kidnappers is because the scene has been fully scrutinised. Forensics are giving the flat a full check over as we speak. Fingerprints of both the executed men have been found in various places around the flat, on Lisa’s restraints and on the mattress where she lay. It’s clear they were the people we were looking for. The description given to us by the young girl at the school, although vague, fits both the men.”
“So who killed them?” Howard’s voice had sunk with his mood as a sombre wave washed over the car, with both men absorbing it.
The detective shrugged. “If they
were
involved in the criminal underworld, there’s a good chance that another gang found out about the kidnapping and hijacked it. Criminals fight criminals; thieves steal from thieves, it’s common place.”
Howard pushed himself back on the chair and let his head loll to one side. He watched out of the side window as the car raced along a dual-carriage way, bypassing a number of other vehicles at a pace only an unmarked police car could get away with.
The image of his daughter lying cold and dead played on his mind. Inside he felt hollow; a part of him had died, cried out in a spasm of despair. Only the thought of vengeance remained.
He slowly turned his attention back towards the driver as something niggled away at him. He was carrying a weight which was growing heavy inside him.
“You say she was treated well?”
“Not first class care, but as far as kidnappers go they seemed to treat her okay.”
“Did she--” Howard paused; he was frightened to ask. “You said you found marks on her skin.”
“That’s right.”
Was she sexually abused in any way?” he quizzed, his voice fluctuating heavily as he asked.
The detective immediately shook his head, “Highly unlikely,” he was quick to reply. “We found nothing to indicate such a thing. She was still fully clothed in her school uniform when we found her.”
Howard breathed a sigh of relief but before the sigh fully escaped he questioned his reason for doing it. He had lost his daughter, she had been strapped to a bed for twenty-four hours and then executed. It was nice to know she didn’t spend her time being raped, but either way, she had suffered.
“We will conduct a post-mortem on her body tomorrow,” the detective added. “Then we’ll know for sure. In the meantime,” he swung the car right down a small country road which would eventually lead back to Howard's home. “I suggest you tell your wife. She may want to see the body.”
Howard’s heart sank again, just when he felt he couldn’t feel any lower he felt the barrier for ground level break. He had forgotten about Elizabeth, she didn’t know if Lisa was dead or alive and it was his job to tell her.
89
Michael Richards and Johnny Phillips were stuck in the middle, between a rock and a hard place, happiness and despair.
“So what do we do?” Phillips had settled on the sofa, his mind was tired. At the start of the afternoon it had been overcome with excitement, now it was flooded with doubt.
Richards, sitting on the floor beside the two metallic cases -- filled with cash and securely locked -- looked up at his friend, an expression of wonder creased his face, “We wait I guess.”
“Wait for what?”
Richards looked across at the television which was tuned onto a twenty-four hour news channel. A short woman in her mid-thirties stood near the London Underground, talking to the many people who were rushing on and off the trains. Her words were not fully audible but Richards heard the word: ‘
Anniversary’
blurt from the set a few times. “The news,” he stated with his eyes still on the television. “If this is a kidnapping and we did steal the ransom money, surely it’ll be on TV.”
“Do the police publicise kidnappings to the press?” Phillips wondered in disbelief. “Wouldn’t that be a dumb thing to do? What if the real kidnappers saw the broadcast? They’d go berserk.”
“Maybe they already have,” Richards realised. “If Howard was there to drop off some ransom money and we ran away with it, there’s a bloody good chance the kidnappers would be pissed off.”
“But they’d just demand more right?”
“Probably,” Richards nodded. “But by then the police will get suspicious. Either way, they’ll be looking for us.”
“We ran away with the money,” Phillips agreed. “You don’t think they think
we
did it, do you?”
Richards looked at his friend. Their eyes locked for several seconds “Let’s hope not,” he said finally.
They watched the television as the broadcast changed to local football results. “I think we need to get the fuck out of here,” Phillips said. “If they were tracking us they’ll be down on us any minute. They could be watching the place right now.”
“Where would we go?”
“We could head back to the house.”
“It’s not exactly safe. The neighbours know what we look like. If a news channel publicises our faces it’ll take minutes for one of the nosey fuckers to phone the police on us. We need to go somewhere safe, secluded. Wait this thing out.”
Phillips nodded and they both looked at each other, expecting the other to speak.
90
Elizabeth was asleep when Howard found her. Still in her drug-induced dream world, her head resting lightly on plush pillows, her body covered with a thin silk sheet. She had a smile on her face as she slept, she always smiled when she slept.
Howard stared at her for a while, lightly touching her cheek and running his fingers through her hair. When she woke she was unsure of her surroundings. Part of her had hoped that the whole kidnapping had been a dream and she had woken to a world where her daughter was safe. Howard told her the unfortunate truth.
She had asked where Lisa was. She had seen the sorrow in Howard’s eyes; she had seen the streaks of red -- she knew he had been crying. She could practically smell the despair and emptiness that reeked from his soul.
She began to cry before he had the chance to tell her what had happened.
He told Elizabeth that Lisa had been killed whilst he held his wife in his arms. He whispered, sobbing, that he had identified the body whilst his face was nestled in her hair.
After a while he could feel the damp on his shoulder where her tears soaked into his shirt. She didn’t speak, she just cried and held him tight.
After more consoling, something Howard had no experience in, he lay her back on the bed and gave her more tablets. She sobbed herself back to sleep where her dreams would do the consoling before the waking world dragged her back to despair.
He headed for his office and opened up his drinks cabinet. Inside he found half a bottle of thirty year old whiskey and a slightly dusted tumbler, he took them both to the desk.
He filled his first glass and drank it immediately. He did the same after refilling it. He continued until only a quarter of the bottle remained, then the telephone rang.
“Hello?”
“Mr Price,” the voice on the other end of the phone was marbled with static. “This is Detective Inspector Brown.”
“Hello detective,” Howard said bleakly. “What can I do for you today?” he said sarcastically.
“I’m outside your house. I’ve been ringing the doorbell for ten minutes.”
He could never hear the front or back door from the office, which was why he chose it as a study. He hated being disturbed.
“Really,” he said bluntly, disheartened that the effects of the alcohol hadn’t diminished his despair but had made him hollow and apathetic.
“When I dropped you off I received a phone call from headquarters,” the detective explained.
“Really,” Howard said again, his tone dull and uncaring. “Did they want to know what topping you wanted on your pizza?”
The detective paused, “Mr Price,” he said through the thick coat of static, “Some interesting leads have developed on the case. I thought you would like to know about them.”
“Case?” Howard said with confusion. “What case? My daughter is dead. The kidnappers are dead, there is no case Mr Brown.”
“Don’t you want them found?” the detective persisted. “Don’t you want justice? These people murdered your daughter. They shot her in cold blood, beat you up and then ran away with the money. Don’t you feel anger for what they did?”
Price paused and downed another glass of whiskey before hanging up the phone.
He stared at the desk for a moment. It was filled with scattered papers, random sticky notes and pens, pencils and business cards from people he didn’t even know.
He thought about what the detective said and remembered his own anger when he had seen his daughter dead. The detective was right, he did want justice, but he wanted a different kind of justice. He wanted vengeance, an eye for an eye. If he could hold her killers by their throats and watch them die he would be satisfied that justice had been served. Real justice.
They took away his daughter’s life; he wanted to take away theirs.
91
The detective was ushered into the living room, but before he could speak Howard retreated from the room.
He returned seconds later with the bottle of whiskey and his glass. He offered the detective a drink which was politely declined. Howard filled another tumbler full of the amber fluid and flung himself onto a chair opposite his guest.
“Well?” he started
The detective shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “We have some vital evidence regarding the kidnappers.”
“That much has already been established,” Howard said without compassion. “Tell me more.”
“A bus driver came forward,” he stated after some minor deliberation. “We missed him initially because he was covering for a friend, taking a route he shouldn’t have been taking.” Brown looked at Price but the features of the grieving father didn’t even flicker. “He was driving the bus that picked up the suspects. He provided us with detailed descriptions and mentioned that they were carrying a large duffel bag with them.”
Howard was somewhat impressed, but sarcasm fuelled his expression.
The detective continued after a short silence, “We also have another witness, an elderly gentleman who was on the bus at the time. With his, and the driver’s, descriptions we now can complete an accurate photo fit of the two suspects.”
Howard nodded.
“We’d like to run the photos in tomorrow’s papers and on the local news channels,” he added, grabbing Howard’s attention. “And we’d like you to give an interview, a plea if you like. We just need you to stand in front of the cameras and tell your grief to the world and ask that the killers hand themselves in.”
Howard was already shaking his head. “No chance,” he said.
“May I ask why?”
“You want me to appear on live television--”
“It doesn’t have to be live.”
“You want me to appear on
television
,” Howard corrected, “the morning after I lose my daughter?”
“I know it sounds--”
“Fucking ridiculous.”
“Excuse me?”
“It sounds fucking ridiculous and it won’t happen. You have my permission to run photographs of the bastards that killed my daughter and I would be willing to sit for a newspaper interview later in the week, but I will not go on television and plead to the fuckers who shot her.”
Brown nodded, “I understand,” he said softly.
“I want to be with you on this one,” Howard said.
“What do you mean?”
“The case, I want to be involved.”
“I’m afraid we can’t--”
“Of course you can,” Howard disagreed. “I’m not asking to hold your hand through it all, I just want to be kept informed.”
“You
will
be kept informed Mr Price.”
Howard nodded and smiled wryly.