CHAPTER FIVE - FRIDAY 24th DECEMBER

7:00 am.

Christmas Eve saw yet another early morning start for the young Malcolm Smith. It appeared to be coming a habit with him. The digital alarm glowed seven o'clock in big red numbers as it crackled into life. On this occasion however it was the voice of a newscaster and not heavy pop music that awakened the teenager. The radio was still tuned to 'South Coast FM'. He sat up and immediately began to listen to what was being said.
There was something about a missing girl being announced: '....she has been named as Wendy Bartlett, a seventeen year old from Castle Point, Littlesea. She has been missing since Wednesday evening when she failed to turn up to a dinner party at the Royal Hotel in the centre of the town. Police are combing the cliffs near to her home and at present no foul play is suspected. With the current fog and bad weather conditions it is thought most likely that she may have lost her way and stumbled. Fog is still hampering with the search operations and the Coast Guard Service has been put on full alert…,'
That, in effect, was the sum total of the morning news informing the public of the disappearance of Wendy Bartlett. Malcolm decided to purchase both the daily and local evening newspapers in order to keep abreast of developments, but apart from the little he had heard the news sounded pretty encouraging. As long as the police did not suspect foul play, then he had very little to worry about.
He waited for the weather forecast to finish before getting out of bed. Apparently the fog was to linger around for much of the day, with the sun trying to break through in the afternoon. After that however it was forecast to clear, with a complete change in the weather coming along for Christmas Day. Apparently much milder conditions were spreading in from the west, with heavy rain at first followed by periods of sunshine and occasional showers. Malcolm felt disappointed. With all the cold weather experienced lately he had been hoping for a White Christmas!

8:00 am.

As on the previous morning Malcolm prepared two breakfasts, ate one himself, and at sometime around eight o'clock set off for the basement with a tray in his hand. Wendy Bartlett was sat huddled in the corner of the cell, her arms clutching drawn-up knees, and dark sunken eyes staring blankly down at the floor. Her once neatly cropped, short blonde hair was now dishevelled, and her naked body glistened unnaturally with streaks of glossy red paint smudged all over her breasts and arms. In contrast her hands were a rainbow of black, blue and purple, and her thumbs disfigured into something totally unrecognisably as a part of the human anatomy. At no point did she look up or show any signs of recognition to her abductor as he opened out the cell door. She had not touched the food left her the night before.
Malcolm laid down the fresh breakfast tray alongside yesterday evening's offering. "You'd better eat something" he told her whilst pressing the corner of the tray against the chains that secured her feet in order to attract some kind of attention.
Her response however was to cower further into the corner, dragging the chains with her, and to shy away from the tray as if it were poison.
"Come on, eat! You didn't have anything last night," he told her, and having another go at gaining her attention.
But still there was no response. After being let down from the winding gear and returned to the cell the previous evening she had been in no fit state to do anything.
Malcolm wondered if there was anything he could do to alleviate the situation. "Let's take a look at those hands," he told her, and he knelt down by her side to see exactly what damage had been done.
The girl's thumbs were almost unrecognisable. They were fat and swollen, with the tips bright purple and the bases red-raw from the rubbing of the clamps.
"I'll get the first-aid kit, and see what we can do to help," he informed her.
The nearest first-aid station was situated next to the fire hydrants adjacent to the main stairs. Malcolm went away and collected a large green box from a cupboard on the wall. Returning to the cell, he placed the first-aid kit down by the girl's feet and removed the lid. He had never received any kind of medical training so did not know quite what to expect, or how best to treat the injury. However he did his best. Inside he recognised most of the usual things, namely; lint and bandages; a large roll of surgical tape; an assortment of plasters; a tube of antiseptic cream; and a small pair of scissors. Gently he applied lashings of germicidal cream to the rawest parts, applied a covering of lint, then bandaged up the hands and thumbs the best he could without putting too much pressure on them.
"There! That's much better isn't it?" he asked when he was done and packing the box away.
She stared blankly down at the swathe of bandages. Her captor, if anything, had gone overboard with the amount of wrapping. Still, the cream did help, and if anything, the pain had eased slightly.
"Please, you're not going to hurt me anymore are you?" she begged meekly and looking up at him for the first time.
Malcolm shook his head. "No, I'm not," he said trying to assure her. "You were a very good girl yesterday, and I got all I wanted... You posed for me nicely….. and there'll be no more sittings,... I promise!"
Wendy Bartlett remained unconvinced, and continued to cower in the corner. Malcolm picked up a still warm mug of tea from the breakfast tray and held it to her lips. She took a sip but could not manage any more.
"Good girl!" he said giving her a bit of encouragement. But she could neither drink nor eat anything at present. She felt sick with pain.
Malcolm put all the food on one tray and left it by her feet.
He would leave her to sulk.

9:00 am.

On returning to the kitchen, Malcolm made plans for the rest of the day. Since today was Christmas Eve, it would be his last chance to shop and he needed to make one final trip to the town centre before he could relax and enjoy the holiday. He wanted to buy something very special for Katie and at the same time collect the morning newspapers.
Dressed in a warm anorak, Malcolm stepped out of the building and onto the drive. Looking about him he considered the fog to be denser than it ever had been. He recalled that the day before he could just about make out the railings and the main gates as he stepped out of the building. All he that he could see now was a grey wall of fog in front of him.
Quickly he strode down the drive towards the big iron gates. As he approached he could see two headlights shining through the bars. At first he thought the lights to be coming from Jimmy's Jaguar: The vehicle was parked in the very same spot as yesterday. But as he drew closer he could see that it was not the same car. In fact it turned out to be a dark blue estate, which in itself led to a minor flutter of the heart, since Richard Davies owned a car very similar to this one. For a while he wondered if perhaps he had come looking for Katie. Then he remembered that the young man in question was in no fit state to do anything at present, and he relaxed a little. As it turned out the car was not even the same model. This was a Japanese make of much older years.
Once through the gates he peered into the car on passing. The vehicle was empty. Somebody had had the cheek to leave it there, right next to his Company's 'PRIVATE  - NO PARKING' sign, and on double yellow lines too.
"How dare they!" he thought as he wandered across the road.
The main coastal road was very busy, with a lot of traffic moving along it despite the dense fog. There were also a dozen or more cars parked illegally along the promenade. If anything the traffic situation was even worse now than on the previous day. He glanced back at the parked car in the entrance to the complex. It was quite obvious to him now that someone had taken advantage of the empty spot and parked their car there, then forgot to switch off their lights. He wondered whether he should do something about it, then decided that he did not care. Bad luck to them if the car did not start on their return. That was their problem, not his. Without giving it any more thought he strode off towards the town centre.
This was to be a morning of little incidents. Halfway down the promenade Malcolm spotted a dark blue estate car crawling out from the centre of town. This time it looked far more familiar. He stood at the kerb and waited for it to pass. Suddenly his blood began to boil and he clenched his fists. Tracy Goodyear was behind the wheel, and she was alone. He followed the vehicle's slow progress down the road until it disappeared from sight into the fog before moving on. She was obviously using Richard Davies's car whilst he was in hospital.

11:00 a.m.

The time was approaching eleven o'clock when Malcolm finally stepped into Alf's café. In his arms he carried four National Daily Newspapers and two carrier bags. To his surprise Jimmy was seated at his usual table. "Where's your car?" he asked as he slid along the bench seat to sit facing the chauffeur.
"Miles up the road somewhere!… I eventually managed to find a spot I could squeeze into," bemoaned Jimmy supping his drink.
"Traffic's much worse than yesterday!" remarked Malcolm. "There's someone even gone and parked in our drive."
"I know!" replied Jimmy pensively. "Took my bleeding spot didn't they? That car's been there since at least eight o'clock this bleeding morning. They must be doing a lot of bleeding shopping!"
"It's still over there now, with its lights on," the teenager pointed out.
"Serves 'em right! The battery will be flat when they get back! Hope the fuck it doesn't start!" cursed Jimmy.
"Yeh! I agree! It serves 'em right!" echoed Malcolm.
That was to be the end their idle chit-chat. Jimmy had some very important news to tell him. Leaning forward he whispered: "The latest news on Katie's ex-lover! Do you want to hear it?"
Malcolm nodded his head. "Yeh!… Go on then,… tell me!" he said and at the same time trying not to sound too enthusiastic.
Jimmy took a deep breath like he always did when he was about to tell a story. "Well the latest news is this… He's got to stay in over Christmas and possibly well into the New Year... Apparently the damage is far worse than first thought," said the chauffeur breaking the news with a somewhat cheeky grin upon his face.
Malcolm chuckled. Anything nasty that happened to Katie's ex-boyfriend was a bonus. "Really bad then hey!" he said gleefully, but trying hard not to show his emotions.
Jimmy nodded his head. "Balls as big as coconuts apparently, and further complications setting in! They might even have to operate!" he added with an even broader grin across his face.
"You mean cut 'em off?" asked Malcolm curiously.
Jimmy nodded. "They say they might have to go! It's fifty-fifty at the moment!" he confirmed.
Malcolm winced at the thought. "It must all be very painful for him!" he remarked.
"Got what he deserved from what I gather," continued Jimmy. "Apparently he was two-timing our sweet little Katie something rotten before she got to find out."
"What!… With that err... what's her name? Big... Big Bouncer.. The one you were telling me about?" asked  Malcolm. He already knew all about it, and a lot more besides, but was not letting on.
"That's the one!.. Tracy Goodyear, or Big Bouncy as she's better known!.. Apparently she'd only been working in the Lab a few days when he started knocking her off. Quick worker that girl. Mind you, with tits that size I say good luck to the man… Grab it while you can I always say!" expounded the chauffeur on his theories relating to big boobs and quick bonks.
The news cheered Malcolm up somewhat, but he refrained from pressing Jimmy further on the subject, considering that to show too much interest would possibly give the game away. A little while later the chauffeur had to go anyway, leaving the teenager to continue eating at the table alone. This gave him the opportunity he needed to scan through all the daily newspapers. In all four he could find nothing written about a missing girl from Castle Point. He decided to return to the paper shop later that day, sometime around five o'clock, and purchase the local evening newspaper. Hopefully they would have something to report by then.

1:00 pm.

Malcolm's mind was in turmoil. Seated at the kitchen table with what he considered his six best sketches of Wendy Bartlett spread out before him, he shook his head in disappointment and closed his eyes. There was no way he could present any of these to Mr. McTavish. They depicted a thin slip of a girl still in her adolescent years. This was innocent youth being persecuted and the paying public would never go along with this conception. All the subjects depicted in the brochure would have to appear far more mature and deemed worthy of punishment. Of course these were his own personal opinions, but he had talked often enough with his boss on the subject and had a good appreciation of the end product wanted.
He rose from his chair in a sombre mood to stand at the sink and stare out of the kitchen window. He considered what he should do next. His mind told him to return to the basement and have another go. He had the talent to overcome such difficulties. Yet somehow his heart was not in it. The girl's hands were in a bad way and he had promised her no more punishment. What he really wanted was a fresh subject. A woman of the right age group, with bigger bodily proportions and a natural blonde hair style to pose for him. He wondered if he could hire a professional model, but had not got a clue as how to go about it. He also briefly considered venturing out and abducting someone else specifically for this purpose, but dismissed the idea out of hand. There could be no more cock-ups. He had enough problems still on his hands concerning the future welfare of Wendy Bartlett, to double up on that would be just insane. At present he was safe. The police were combing the cliffs and not looking for anybody in connection with the disappearance at present. It was safer just to leave things the way they were for the time being.
After great deliberation he decided to forget the sketches and get on and do something else for the rest of the afternoon. He ran his mind through the list of things he had to do. Mr. McTavish's car needed cleaning but on looking out of the window the weather was against that at present. He decided to choose an inside job. The ropes on the rack needed finishing. He decided to return to the dungeon and at least complete one of the tasks set him by Mr. McTavish before he went away. As for Wendy Bartlett, he would just ignore her presence. She was becoming a hindrance and probably best just to leave her to sit and sulk.

5:00 p.m.

The fog, although still dense, was beginning to swirl when Malcolm set out for the second time that day. Darkness had already fallen and visibility was as poor as ever as he walked down the long drive. To his surprise the blue Japanese estate car was still parked on the other side of the gates. By now the lights were dim and the battery almost flat. He wondered if he should do something about it, but the last thing he wanted was to get involved with the police. Leaving well alone, he crossed the road, purchased the local evening newspaper, then popped into Alf's for a quick cup of tea and a read.
Jimmy, on this occasion was not there, and neither was anyone else that he recognised. He sat down and opened out the evening newspaper. The headlines read: 'MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL OUR READERS'. The news cheered him up. He had half expected to read some horrific banner headings concerning himself and Wendy Bartlett.
There was however a little bit on the front page relating to the missing girl, but only in a short column down the side which continued further on page five. To be truthful there was not a lot more to be said than he had already heard on the morning news. A taxi driver had been held overnight for questioning but later released; the police were still searching the cliffs but were being hampered by the bad weather conditions; and at this point in time they considered there to be no suspicious circumstances. There was a little write-up on the girl. She was seventeen years of age and had worked since leaving school in August as a filing clerk for a company of local printers. She had an elder brother of twenty-one who was away in the Far East at present, and her father was the manager of a firm based in Brownsands, five miles down the coast. With no more local newspapers for at least the next three days Malcolm considered this to be all the news he was going to get. But, taking everything into account the picture thus far was very encouraging.
Malcolm left the café feeling a little less depressed and crossed the road to the complex with a spring to his step. As he reached the kerb on the other side, through the fog, he saw someone standing next to the vehicle abandoned in his drive. He carried on walking towards the service gate, and trying hard to ignore what was going on. A woman in her mid-thirties, wearing a long, light coloured raincoat, white leather boots, and a long white scarf about her neck, was standing by the car with the bonnet up. He felt like telling her that she was wasting her time, but decided to ignore her completely and make his way around the car to the service gate.
He was just putting the key in the lock and thinking how closely this woman resembled the one in his deliberations, when he heard a female voice behind him call: "Err... excuse me please? I wonder if you could help me?"
The teenager turned around. The woman was looking in his direction and awaiting a response. "What's the matter?" he called, then added: "Got a flat battery?"
The woman pulled a distorted face. "I forgot the lights this morning," she told him woefully. "I was wondering, can you tell me where the nearest telephone is? I need to call my husband?"
He tried to think. As far as he could recall the nearest public telephones were either, back in the town centre about half a mile away, or further up the road and way past Katie's old flat. Then he had an idea. There was a small wooden hut about ten paces inside the grounds where the Gatekeepers' took the entrance money during the Summer and also sold putters for the crazy golf course. There was a telephone in there, but whether it was working or not, he was not sure.
He rubbed his chin. "Back in the town centre's the nearest, I think!" he told her, but sounded uncertain: Littlesea was not his home town and he was still finding his way around. However, pointing to the hut just the other side of the gates, he went on to add: "But if you like, there's a phone in there. You can use that one if you like."
"Oh yes please, if you don't mind," she said stepping forward to join him. "My husband keeps some jump leads in his car. If I can get him here we can start it."
The woman was in her mid-thirties, reasonably tall, quite good looking, and had long blonde hair that was brushed straight back and tied in a ponytail. The strong resemblance between this woman and the one in his fantasies was uncanny to say the least. He unlocked the gate and led her towards the hut. Selecting another key from Mr. McTavish's large ring, he opened the wooden door, found the light-switch, then stepped aside so that the woman could enter and get to the phone.
"Err... you dial nine first for an outside line,… then err… dial the number you want after that," he explained to her.
Whether the things he told her were true or not he had no idea, because since first meeting the woman a more sinister plot had formulated in his mind. The telephone hung against the back wall of the hut. The woman put down her handbag and car keys on a bench, then peeled off her gloves before setting about dialling the number. With her back to the door, Malcolm took one step up into the hut and placed his evening newspaper on a bench. Silently he extracted a putting iron from a large tub in the corner and raised it above his head. With barely half the numbers dialled, he brought the putter down squarely onto the back of the woman's head. She crumpled to the floor, and he struck her again on the temple just to make certain she was rendered unconscious.
Hastily he discarded the putter and took down the first aid box from off the wall. Opening a similar box that morning, and knowing what the contents were, had given him the idea. Inside would be a roll of surgical tape. He took it out and quickly set about binding the woman's arms behind her back. Then, without cutting the tape, he secured the feet with the same winding, bending up the knees behind her and strapping the boots together about the ankles. When he was done he cut the tape, and set about covering up her eyes and gagging the mouth with what was left on the roll.
Leaving the woman lying bound hand and feet on the floor of the hut, Malcolm grabbed the car keys and gloves and made quickly for the vehicle parked on the other side of the gates. Putting on the gloves as he walked; they were a little tight but fitted; he returned to the woman's car, closed down the bonnet, put the lights back on, and locked all the doors. Quickly he returned to the hut, locking the gates behind him. Throughout every hazardous moment of this manoeuvre he was careful not to be seen. The fog was thick anyway, but as far as he was aware no-one had been around to witness what had been done. For all intents and purposes the car had been there all day, and no-one had come to collect it. The owner had just disappeared without a trace, as did Wendy Bartlett two days ago, and now the police would have a real double mystery on their hands.
On his return to the hut, the woman was groaning, not loudly, that was impossible through all the tape about her mouth, but enough to suggest that she had regained consciousness. Malcolm placed a hand upon a shoulder so that she should recognise his presence and spoke to her: "If you know what's good for you, you'll keep very still and very quite!… Do you understand?"
The woman gurgled something in response and tried to roll over from her stomach, but Malcolm held her down and told her: "Don't move a muscle. Just stay where you are and nothing will happen to you!… Is that clear?"
She mumbled something else, but it was obvious that she took her assailant's threats very seriously. She settled down to remain motionless on her stomach with arms taped behind her back and legs raised up to meet them.
Malcolm tested the woman's body weight by raising her up at the shoulders. It was only a token gesture. Just by looking at her he guessed that it would be almost impossible for him to carry her all the way back to the main building on his own. On the other hand it was far too risky to force her to walk all that distance. There was always the possibility that they would be seen together despite the poor visibility. He thought for a moment. As far as he could see, the only way to get her into the main building safely would be to use the Company's van.
He reminded the woman of his threat: "Lie perfectly still and don't move a muscle, and nothing will happen to you!… Is that understood?"
A stifled murmur came from beneath the lashings of surgical tape wrapped about the woman's mouth, but other than that she made no other noticeable response.
"Good!" he remarked, and set off at a pace to collect the van.
About five minutes later he was back, pulling up just past the hut to leave the back of the van in line with the door. He switched off the engine and lights, opened up the back doors, and moved quickly into the hut to rejoin the woman. She had not moved, and was still lying on her stomach exactly how he had left her.
Quickly he set about dragging her bodily, knees first, out of the hut. Then with a sort of compromised fireman's lift he raised and dumped her into the back of the van. She rolled over with a thump to end up once again lying on her stomach. Not waiting to see that she was comfortable, he slammed the doors shut and returned to the hut to gather up all her belongings. He wanted to cover up his tracks the best he could. Firstly he wiped the telephone clean of prints, next he polished the head of the putting iron and returned it to its barrel, then he switched off the lights and finally locked the door behind him. It was not a thorough going over, but for the time being he was content to leave things exactly as they were. Tomorrow, when there was a bit of daylight, he would return to do a proper job.
Climbing back into the van, he tossed the woman's belongings onto the floor by the passenger seat and placed his own newspaper upon the dashboard. He started the engine. In a hurry to get back, he slammed the gearbox into reverse and switched on the headlights. In the beams shining through the gates at the abandoned car beyond, it was noticeable that the fog was beginning to clear. The mist was no-longer still, damp and clinging, but swirling about under a light breeze. The forecasters had been right: There was going to be a complete change for Christmas Day. He could see the traffic bollards on the small roundabout shining quite clearly now, something that only fifteen minutes earlier he was quite unable to do.
At that point Malcolm's heart missed a beat. From out of the mist, circling the roundabout, appeared a small police patrol car. He hoped that it would continue moving and go away, but instead it came to a halt right behind the abandoned vehicle. He told himself not to panic and knocked the gearshift back into neutral as a woman police officer got out of the passenger door and began to walk around the car. He was unsure what best to do. But he was certain that to back away now would be suicidal. Instead he took the bull by the horns and decided to confront the officer face on. Trying to look absolutely calm, he stepped down out of the cab and walked up to the gate to greet the woman police officer through the bars.
A beam from a large and powerful torch was shining against the poster on the side railings announcing the forthcoming arrival of the 'Littlesea Castle Dungeon'. Malcolm stood peering through the bars as the beam shot past him to illuminate the name 'LAPWAM' on the front of the brightly painted van. Slowly the circle of light moved upwards to shine on the newspaper propped against the windscreen, then edge forwards to shine directly into the teenager's face.
Under the spotlight the female officer greeted him with the obligatory: "Good evening Sir!" then asked: "Is this your vehicle Sir?"
The police were only doing their duty. All patrols had been asked to keep an eye open for any abandoned dark coloured vehicles. That was the best description they had of the car spotted by the taxi driver at the turn-off to Castle Point on the night of the disappearance of Wendy Bartlett. As yet they had not even taken up a murder enquiry, mainly because no body had been found, and extensive cliff-top searches were still going on. So Malcolm need not have worried. Finding this car abandoned in the entrance to the Amusement Park was simply part of their on-going, routine investigations.
The teenager shook his head. "No it's not... It's been parked there all day....," then he thought that he had better get his bit in first, so he added: "I was just popping out to get myself a take-away from the Chinese... I thought the car would have gone by now... Who's is it anyway?… Any ideas?"
The female officer moved right up to the gate to confront him head-on through the bars. Despite wearing a police uniform, Malcolm could see that she was a pretty lass beneath it all. She was about twenty-seven maybe twenty-eight years of age, of medium build, with oval face and short-cut brunette hair beneath a round, short brimmed, black-and-white chequered hat.
"We're just checking the ownership now sir," she informed him with a bob of the head towards the patrol car.
He looked across. The officer that remained in the car was on the intercom trying to establish the identity of the owner.
"The lights have been on all day… The battery's flat now," pointed out Malcolm as the female officer's attention was momentarily drawn away whilst she watched her male colleague step out of the patrol car.
She lowered her gaze to the dim, and by now almost no-existent glow of the headlights behind her, then nodded as if to affirm the apparent validity of Malcolm's statement.
"You say this car has been parked here all day with the headlights on sir?" she queried and awaited confirmation.
Malcolm nodded. "From at least eight o'clock this morning," he confirmed.
Inwardly he glowed. Jimmy the chauffeur had given him this bit of information, and he guessed that there would be no harm in having a second witness to back up what he was saying.
He took little time in adding: "I personally did not see it at that time. I went into town about ten o'clock. But someone in the café opposite told me eight o'clock, so I know it's been parked here since at least that time, and maybe even before then."
A male officer arrived to stand next to the bonnet of the abandoned vehicle. He was a towering young man of slender build, almost beanpole like, and dwarfed his female colleague.
She looked up at him and asked: "Have you managed to traced the owner?"
The giant of a figure nodded and held his torch up to his notebook. He read from it: "It's registered in the name of someone from Canterford: A Mrs. Davina Barbara Townsend. Station's checked with the address. Her husband answered and didn't sound too concerned. Say's his wife's been working at her sister's shop all day, helping out with the Christmas rush. He suspects that she could be leaving about now and will shortly be moving the car. Anyway he's going to phone the shop and find out."
The policewoman pointed to the dim lights. "She'll have trouble. She left the lights on this morning. The battery's gone flat," she said, bringing the fact to her colleague's attention.
"And I'm needing to get out," added Malcolm who had been listening to their conversation through the gate.
The tall officer turned his gaze to the teenager stood on the opposite side of the bars. "Is this car blocking your way sir?" he asked stating the obvious.
"I was wanting to pop down the town to get a Chinkie... It was parked here this morning but I thought it would be gone by now,…" Malcolm told him, adding with a shrug to the shoulders: "So what am I meant to do now?"
"You've just arrived here then sir?" he asked.
"Yes! To get out and get a Chinkie!" confirmed Malcolm.
"And you've not seen the owner of this vehicle all the while it's been here?" continued the officer.
"No!… Not at all!" lied the boy.
"I see!… I'll report the flat battery then... I'll get the station to report to the husband. Hopefully we can get it moved for you soon sir," consoled the officer.
Malcolm held out his arms in a gesture of hopelessness, expecting something better from them, but he could see that he was sadly mistaken. They were not going to do a thing other than contact the husband. The policewoman shone her touch against her watch. The time was approaching six o'clock. She looked to her towering colleague. "What shall we do then? Come back in an hour's time, see if it's gone?"
"Yes sir, we'll do that… We'll come back in about an hour's time… See if it's gone," repeated the senior partner of the patrol whilst addressing Malcolm through the bars of the gate.
"But what about me?… I still want to get something to eat!" protested Malcolm.
The woman turned to face the young man stood the other side of the gate. "Isn't there another gate at the back you can use sir?" she asked.
She knew that there was, but had put the question politely. She lived with her parents in one of the old Victorian houses to the rear of the complex and knew about the gates and the private drive between two of them. As a young girl she used to play there with friends, and had even squeezed through the fence into the Amusement Park on numerous occasions.
Malcolm felt himself becoming boxed in. In reality he did not want to go out anyway, and even less so under a police escort. Instead of answering the question he replied: "Don't worry, I'll get something to eat inside. But please can I have it moved as quickly as possible. It's a bit inconvenient having it parked there all the time."
"We'll do that for you sir, we'll keep our eye on it and see that it's moved as quickly as possible," confirmed  the policeman.
"Thank you," said Malcolm.
"We'll be back in an hour. If nothing's happened by then, we'll be on to it right away sir," assured the male officer.
"Good," added the boy.
"Goodnight  sir," came the final word from the policewoman, and with that the two officers left, walking one each side of the abandoned vehicle back to their own smaller patrol car.
Malcolm returned to the van and waited. He watched through the windscreen as the patrol car departed, then knocked the gearshift into reverse and backed all the way down the drive to the loading bay. Once safely negotiated and inside the building he brought down the roller shutter doors and opened up the back of the van. He had a lot on his mind and was not exactly sure what to do with the woman now that he had her. He had nothing prepared.
He decided, for the time being at least, she would just have to remain in the back of the van. Quickly he re-checked her bonds to satisfy himself that escape was impossible, then resealed the van doors and locked them up. As a double precaution he decided to set the burglar alarm for this sector of the building. Then, if she did somehow manage to get free of her bonds and get out, then it would go off, and he would be back down like a shot. He did not like to do this, but needed time to think. His actions had all been on the spur of the moment. Now he wanted time to think: To sit down and reflect over a cup of tea exactly what best be done from now on.

8:00 p.m.

Malcolm remained in the kitchen until sometime around eight o'clock. He had not done much except think, eat and read the evening newspaper several times over. But at least after a few hours deep contemplation he had some sort of plan formulated in his brain.
Feeling happier at knowing roughly what to do with Davina Townsend, he set off to check on Wendy Bartlett. She had not eaten anything he had left her. Which in a way was good thing, since he had not prepared a further meal for her. The tray at her feet was still piled high with the food from her previous two offerings. He considered that she would have to get through that lot first before he brought down anything else.
All throughout the visit not a word passed between them, and he left her there to continue with her sulk.
It served her right! Silly bitch!

10:00 p.m.

Malcolm was ready for bed. On passing Mr. McTavish's room he looked in to find everything laid out all neat and tidy just as Katie had left it on the morning of her departure. The only evidence of anyone ever being in the room was a large case propped against the foot of the bed. His aim was to collect the folder on the Dungeon project. He would take it to his own room and do a bit more reading and research before going to sleep.
He gathered up the bulging folder from the cabinet and made for the door. He was feeling tired and considered a good nights' sleep in order. Perhaps he would read just a little tonight. Over the past three or four days he had suffered far too many late nights and early mornings, so for a change he would give himself a treat and switch off the alarm before retiring in order to have a decent lie-in before breakfast.
With a great yawn and stretch he headed out of the room. Then something on the floor caught his eye. Just behind the door lay a small object. He bent down and picked it up. It was nothing much, just a key ring with several keys on it. He presumed it to be Katie's since he already had Mr. McTavish's in his possession. On further investigation he considered them to be the keys to her old flat and her boyfriend's car, probably dropped in the rush to get away early on Wednesday morning. He tossed them onto the bed. They would be waiting for her when she got back.
The find however triggered off another wave of thought, and by the time he entered his own room and flopped down upon the bed, his mind was churning over all sorts of new possibilities. Perhaps the abduction of Tracy Goodyear was still on the cards after all? Who know? But at least it had revitalised a few fresh possibilities.

End of Chapter Five