Time to Play (North East Police) (18 page)

Squirting a huge blob of shower gel onto the scrubber, she started rubbing it hard over her skin again. This was her fourth shower: maybe this one would get rid of the stench.

Suddenly, the door to the bathroom opened, and she stilled, listening.

‘Hello?’ she called out, turning the shower off and pulling her towel from the hook on the back of the door. She heard footsteps retreating, soft footsteps, not like those from police issue boots.
What the fuck?

Marlo was the only female diver: no one else would be in the nick at that time of night. Pulling open the cubicle door, she stepped into the bathroom and grabbed her mobile phone from the sink. Quickly dialling, she waited for the control room to answer.

‘This is 5402 Buchanan from the dive team. I’m at HQ in South Shields. Everyone has gone home, and I think there’s an intruder in the building. I’m going to do a walk-through but don’t have my radio on me. I’ll leave this line open.’

She pulled on her sweat pants and t-shirt, and softly padded out of the bathroom and into the canteen area. It was almost in darkness, the street lights from the car park outside the only glow. Listening intently, she heard nothing. But she was certain someone had opened the bathroom door.
Or did they? I am tired. Maybe I just thought they did?
Doubt trickled in and suddenly she felt like an idiot for immediately ringing comms.

‘What you doing sneaking about?’ came Sharpie’s voice from behind her. Marlo jumped about twenty feet in the air and turned, punched him on the arm and then put her hand to her chest. ‘You bloody idiot! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?’

Sharpie backed away, his hands held out in front of him. Unable to stop himself, he started laughing loudly, tears springing to his eyes as he held his sides. ‘Priceless…’ he gasped, ‘your face was a picture. Jesus, I wish I’d recorded that! Would’ve got me £250 on You’ve Been Framed, that bad boy.’

‘Jackass. Did you come in the bathroom too, just to get me all on edge? I thought you’d left with the guys?’

‘I did, forgot my mobile though, and then started working on a report. Besides, you know I don’t like the idea of a female being left in the nick on her own. Didn’t come in the bathroom, though.’

‘Yeah, you don’t like that idea, yet you’re willing to scare said female half to death,’ grumbled Marlo.
I must have imagined the door opening. How weird. What a dufus.
Deciding she would get her own back at a later date, she turned back towards the bathroom. ‘I’ll be ready to go in a sec. Let me grab my bag.’

10
^th
November, 2100 hours – Dive Team HQ, South Shields

Elvie had almost died when she had walked in the bathroom and heard the woman in the shower. She’d pegged it into the canteen and hidden beneath a pile of jackets and the like, certain that her luck was out and that she’d be caught now.

She’d jumped herself when the man had come into the room and spoken to the woman. She really needed to learn to check people had gone before coming out from under the stairs. When he’d started laughing though, for a moment Elvie had wondered if maybe these police weren’t the same as back home. Maybe she could ask them for help and not be punished.
I just don’t know what to do. I need some help. I miss you, Noni. You’d know what to do.

She stayed hidden beneath the coats until she heard the cars leave, then slowly emerged. The pile consisted of jackets, waterproofs and kit. Most stations had one similar somewhere. Since the dive team’s headquarters didn’t have locker rooms, it accumulated in a corner of the recreation room.

Elvie felt a stab of guilt as she pulled open the fridge. No matter how much she tried to sugar-coat it, stealing was wrong. But she had to eat.

She opened the top of a Tupperware box that had been left on the shelf and sniffed suspiciously. It was a rice dish, with lumps of chicken and vegetables. Grabbing a fork from the draining board, she tucked in, her mouth watering as she tasted the tang of chilli. When she was done, she flicked through the magazines left on the table. One thing she could say about being holed up with no one to talk to was that it gave her time to read. And her reading skills were improving rapidly. She was even starting to understand some of the slang terms used. She made a conscious effort to listen whenever she heard conversation, then when everyone had gone home, she’d been practising her words.

She wanted to be able to leave the station, venture out and find help, but to do that she knew she had to be able to speak. Noni had taught her, but she wanted to be better, and reading helped her learn. Besides, there wasn’t a whole lot else that she could do cooped up in the police station.

10
^th
November, 2105 hours – Ryhope, Sunderland

Nita was confused. The whole situation was just surreal. One minute the man who came in was hurting her, then the next he was stroking her face, talking softly and feeding her painkillers.

In the time she’d been there, he’d gotten her off the drugs she never even wanted to be on, broken bones, beaten her and then dressed her wounds to alleviate her discomfort. She had no idea what he wanted, or why he was keeping her there. And she was losing track of time: the lack of natural light made the days indistinguishable from the nights.

The last few times he’d visited, he’d taken to staring at her, his gaze what she could only describe as compassionate. It was unnerving. She’d tried talking to him, but he never understood. He seemed pleased when she didn’t show the pain she felt, so she’d started not crying out when he hit her, not whimpering and crying despite the fact the fear kept her chest so tight she thought it might burst at times.

Right now the room was pitch black, even the portable heater wasn’t giving off any light that she could see. She couldn’t hear a thing either, except the ticking of the clock on the wall above the workbench. Not that she could see it: she remembered its position from the times the lights had been on. She hated the clock: it ticked so loud that sometimes she found herself twitching in time with it. Given half the chance, she’d rip the horrid thing off the wall and smash it to smithereens.

Nita had taken to trying to sleep whenever he wasn’t there, but it was uncomfortable. Even now she could feel the metal bars of the cage digging into her skin, causing bruises on bruises. She couldn’t stretch out fully, couldn’t even stretch her legs out if she sat up. Her neck ached permanently from being bent at an angle, and many of the grooves to her skin off the cage had started getting sore and weepy.

She was lucky if he was in the room for a couple of hours over the day, and she felt like she was slowly going insane. She had full conversations with herself, dreaming about when she would escape, then arguing with herself and saying that it would never happen and that he would kill her in this little dark room.

Truthfully, she didn’t know what to think. She knew he had had plenty of opportunity to kill her if that was what he wanted, and she had no idea why he kept her alive.

Turning slightly, Nita repositioned herself on the other side, and fumbled in the dark for the water bottle she knew was somewhere near the cage door. Taking hold of it in the crook of her bad hand she used the other to subconsciously rub at the welts on the leg that had been against the base of the cage.

There’s only me, no one knows I’m here. No one will ever find me. If I’m going to get out of here, I need to do something.

She fought as tears of desperation threatened to fall again. The tears did no good, they couldn’t help her.

Angrily, she swiped at the salty rivers on her cheeks. No more. Whatever happened, this situation was down to her to resolve. If she didn’t help herself she would die. It was that simple.

Next time he comes in, I’ll be friendly; I’ll make him understand that I won’t tell anyone. I’ll look for an opportunity to escape. Maybe when he puts me in the chair I might be able to distract him.

Resolve made, she took a sip of the water then curled herself into a tight ball to preserve what warmth she had. Slowly, she dropped off into an uneasy sleep, her fingers tapping on her leg with the ticking of the clock.

11
^th
November, 1910 hours - Connor’s parent’s residence, Sunderland

Connor screeched to a halt outside his parent’s house and ran inside. He’d had an absolute nightmare of a day. He’d ended up being nominated lead diver with Marlo and had spent the better part of three hours in the freezing cold north sea, alternating being in the water with a little time on the boat to warm up.
God damn training exercises.
Just once he’d like to have a day where training consisted of sitting inside, with a cup of coffee and his feet up.

He sighed as he reached the front door, his body shivering slightly. Even now, a couple of hours since they’d gone back inside the nick, he was bitterly cold. He had been looking forward to a nice, hot bath and a couple of beers, and had just got in his car when his phone had rang.

His mother screaming down the phone had chilled him more than the temperature of the sea water could, and he’d broken every speed limit getting to the house.

Hearing his mum scream again from inside, he pushed the door open and practically ran inside.

Racing into the living room, he found his dad towering over his mum, his fist raised. His mum already blood streaming from her nose and a bruise forming on her cheek. She had an arm raised, trying to protect herself as her husband brought his fist towards her again.

‘Dad!’ screamed Connor, pushing himself between his parents. ‘Stop it!’ He felt his face burn as the blow meant for his mum glanced off the side of his chin.

Immediately his dad looked distraught and devastated as the red haze lifted and he realised what he’d done. He took in the pain-filled incomprehension on his wife’s bruised face, and he started to sob, falling to his knees and putting his hands over his face. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. What have I done?’

Connor was torn.

What the hell was he supposed to do? His dad loved his mum, he knew he did, but that couldn’t excuse this behaviour. He could have killed her. Connor knew how hard it was when his mum wasn’t lucid: heck, he had the fading bruises and scabbed scratches to prove it. But his dad was supposed to look after her and protect her; not lose it and beat the crap out of her.

He sighed deeply as he pulled out his mobile phone. He knew what he needed to do.

‘Wouldn’t do that if I were you, lad. I’ll take care of this mess.’ Fred’s voice came from the doorway to the hall. ‘You ring this in and your dad will be arrested for domestic assault. Your mum will be shipped off to some God-forsaken home where she’ll wither away in a pool of her own piss.’

‘He hit her, Fred. I can’t just do nothing. I’ve got an obligation to report –’

‘You have an obligation to your family,’ said Fred, grabbing Connor’s arm and pulling him into the hallway, and shutting the living room door with a soft click. ‘You’re not doing this, Son. He might get off, he might not – but you’re not getting my brother arrested. Your mother will stay here at home where she belongs. You owe her at least the comfort of her own home, not a council run shit-hole.’

Connor was ready to argue his point, but Fred continued, ‘Look, I’m here every day as it is. I’ll come more often, make sure your dad has some time to himself so this doesn’t unravel again. You know he loves Sheila. Taking her away will break him. God knows she doesn’t make it easy, but he loves her. Don’t you want your mum to be looked after?’

Connor nodded slowly. ‘Yes, but not at the expense of everyone else. It’s time she was in a home, Fred. It’s not up to you to look after her, and I work too much to be here more than I am now. It’s safer for her, and better for Dad that she goes in one – and the sooner the better.’

‘He’s my brother dammit, we take care of our own.’

‘Adopted brother,’ Connor corrected, getting frustrated.

‘Besides, imagine how bad it would look if you reported it. Your mum always could spin a yarn. What if she mentioned to one of the social workers, or one of your cop friends that her precious son gives his uncle information on raids and the like. I can’t imagine being exposed as a rat would go down all that well at work, Son.’

‘You bastard,’ spat Connor, clenching his fists.

‘Like father like son,’ said Fred, his eyes cold as he flashed a glance down to Connor’s hands. ‘You wouldn’t know a set of balls if they jumped up and bit you on the arse, you jumped-up little shit. And you definitely don’t have the cojones needed to take me on. I’ve enough dirt on you to have you put away for three life-times, and don’t think I wouldn’t squeal to high heaven if you don’t do what I say. You… Will… Not… Tell… A… Soul.’ He punctuated each word by jabbing a finger into Connor’s chest, his face so close that Connor could smell the stale stench of cigarettes and whiskey.

‘I’ll deal with it. You can go.’ Fred dismissed him with a nod towards the front door.

‘You can’t just kick me out of my parent’s home.’ Connor tried to sound certain, but he knew it was already a foregone conclusion. He would be leaving any second. Fred was right, there was no way he could report this. It would mean his job.

‘I believe I just did.’ Fred turned his back on Connor and entered the living room, closing the door firmly behind him.

Connor stood still for a moment, his mind reeling from the exchange. He couldn’t report it. He’d been guilty of passing so much information that there was no solution with work. If professional standards found out, they would bury him. But he wouldn’t do it anymore, he wouldn’t feed Fred any information. Family or not. But even as he thought it, he knew he was fooling himself. For one, what Fred wanted Fred got, and for two, everything they had as a family depended on Fred continuing to pay the bills.