10:30 am.

Inspector Hawkins stubbed out a cigarette and immediately lit another one. He was seated at his desk in Littlesea Police Station and was a very worried man. His list of local perverts had come to nothing. Everyone was either out of the country or appeared to have a decent alibi. He flipped his way through the great pile of documents once more. At the very bottom of the pile rested the statement from the caretaker at the local Amusement Park. He placed it to one side. This statement should not have been in with this lot, and that young Detective Constable Rawlingson had got it all wrong again. Rising to his feet he crossed the room to a local map of the area on the wall. There were pins stuck in at numerous places.
There came a knock on the door.
"Come in," called the Inspector.
PC David Grantham entered.
"Morning sir," he said on closing the door.
"WPc Watkinson's still not shown up then?" enquired Inspector Hawkins.
The police officer shook his head and replied: "No sir, she's not turned up overnight, and I'm afraid there's nothing to go on at the hospital either. No births, no deaths, no casualties or anything to connect her with a past friend or colleague. It looks like we've draw another blank sir."
"I guess it's another official 'Missing Persons' then," he said thoughtfully, and adding: "We'd best get Forensics in to look her place over. Have we had any luck on what she might have been wearing?"
"Mrs. Watkinson thinks she might know. She thinks her daughter may have gone off wearing a black one-piece leather cat-suit. At least she say's its missing and she can't find it anywhere," briefed the policeman on the latest news.
"Why would she be wearing something like that?" asked Hawkins.
"Beats me sir," replied Grantham honestly.
"Dressed to do a bit of snooping maybe?" suggested the Inspector.
"Could be sir!" agreed the officer. "Her mother also thinks she was wearing a pair of knee-length leather boots."
The boots helped to re-enforce the Inspector's theory on snooping. With his mind churning over all the fresh possibilities, he busied himself by removing several yellow pins from the board. These were the addresses of the perverts in the area. With these pins gone there were not a great deal left. There were three red pins to indicate the homes of the three missing woman. One was stuck out by the old castle, the other in the quiet avenue to the rear of the Amusement Park, and the third placed in Canterford, a small village to the north. There were just three other pins in the board. These were blue for sightings. One was stuck somewhere in the town's main shopping centre were Davina Townsend worked, another at the front gates to the Amusement Park, and a final one at the turn-off to Castle Point. This last one being the sighting of a dark coloured saloon by the taxi driver.
Stubbing out his cigarette, Inspector Hawkins moved to his desk. Picking up a statement from the pile, he handed it to Pc Grantham.
"This shouldn't be here," he told him. "File it away with the statements from the shop and the husband will you please?"
The officer took the document and looked at it to see exactly what he was being asked to take away.
"Is this the statement taken from Malcolm Smith the caretaker at the Amusement Park sir?" he queried on reading the top of the page.
Inspector Hawkins lit up another cigarette. "Yes! Why do you ask?"
"Oh nothing much! It's just that I saw him again at the hospital last night. He was driving his van away at the time," said Grantham simply making an observation.
"He could have been visiting a sick friend or relative," suggested the Inspector.
"I know sir, but at the time I recall thinking what's he doing here? It was about halfway through visiting time and there was not many people about in the car parks, that's all sir," related the officer.
Hawkins shrugged his shoulders. An eye witness visiting the local hospital did nothing to solve the case of three missing women in the area.
Pc Grantham cast his eyes over the rest of the short statement and felt he ought to point something out.
"This statement taken by Dc Rawlingson isn't strictly true sir," he informed his chief.
Hawkins cocked an eye. "Why?… What's wrong?" he asked.
"Well it says here that 'two police officers were present at the scene when he arrived'. As I recall it sir, it was the other way around. The boy was waiting in his van by the gate when we arrived. I stayed in the patrol car to contact headquarters whilst WPc Watkinson got out to inspect the vehicle. I'm pretty sure that I did not confront this person until we were about to go," said the officer explaining the apparent differences.
Inspector Hawkins paced the room. He was trying to put what he had just heard into some sort of perspective. DC Rawlingson who took the statement was a rookie and could quite possibly have got it all wrong. It was also quite common to have differing points of view even on the simplest of matters. So was this discrepancy relevant anyway? This was simply a statement made by a member of the public to confirm the sighting of the missing woman's car, and beyond that held no real significance to the ongoing investigation.
Or did it?
The Inspector stopped at the map and stared at the sparse number of tangible facts. Gathering up two discarded yellow pins he stuck one firmly into the hospital and the other into the main building of the vast Amusement Park complex. If anything was to be gained from his actions, then it was simply to establish that the hospital stood on one side of the town and that the boy in question lived on the other. However, one interesting fact did arise from his actions, and that was to establish that Malcolm Smith resided at exactly the midpoint between a blue pin and a red one. He personally had not met this person. He had spoken to him on the phone and seen him crossing the courtyard through a pair of binoculars, but that was all. So to be quite honest he really did not know what sort of person he was dealing with. He traced a finger down the line of pins, starting at WPc Watkinson's home and carrying on until he was past the third pin and way out to sea.
Then suddenly he recalled an event at the house.
"The binoculars!" he exclaimed.
"The one's on the bedroom windowsill sir?" asked Pc Grantham.
"Yes!" replied the Inspector. Then thoughtfully he asked: "Did not Mrs. Watkinson say that her daughter used them to look out to sea at the passing ships?"
The constable nodded and answered: "Yes, I think she did sir."
The Inspector elaborated on his reasoning: "Well if her eyesight is the same as mine, then they were not focused on the sea. They were set to observe something much closer. Something from about here to here."
As he spoke he traced a short line with a finger from a red pin to a yellow pin.
"Do you think sir, she may have seen this Malcolm Smith doing something suspicious from her bedroom window?" asked the policeman.
"It's a possibility isn't it?" suggested the Inspector.
"It could also explain the cat-suit. If she wanted to do some creeping about and take a closer look then maybe she would dress like that," surmised Pc Grantham.
"Come on, we're going back to the bedroom. I want to take another look from that window," said the Inspector grabbing his coat.

10:45 am.

Malcolm returned to the kitchen and crossed the room to the sink. For some unknown reason his head had been spinning. But having left the dungeon and climbed the four flights of stairs he was beginning to feel a little better. He filled the electric kettle and switched it on. He would have a cup of tea, take a couple of aspirins and go and have a lie down. Perhaps he would feel better after that.
Whilst waiting for the kettle to boil Malcolm placed his hands on the side of the sink and looked out to sea. The weather was awful and large waves were crashing in on the beach. There was also a few drops of sleet and rain in the air, and the wind if anything the wind was picking up. Slowly his tired gaze dropped from the choppy waves out at sea to the railings and the main gates. At that precise moment a bright red van circled the small roundabout and pulled into the drive. Suddenly the morose lifted as a man got out of the van and walked across to the letterbox. It was the postman delivering the morning mail. This just had to be the long awaited postcard from Mr. McTavish.
Like a shot Malcolm was off down the many flights of stairs and out of the front of the building. On reaching the box he opened up the back and looked inside. Strangely the delivery was not a postcard but an envelope, and by the size and shape of it, most probably a belated Christmas card. In that instance the boy's mood returned to one of disappointment. He removed it from the box and looked at the postmark. Suddenly he was smiling again. The card had been posted in Lancashire and could only have come from Katie. He wanted to open it there and then, but with the wind blowing so strongly and drops of rain and sleet in the air, he decided it best to return to the complex before looking inside.
Malcolm entered through the front door of the building and standing in the spacious foyer opened up the envelope. He peered inside. It was what he thought. It was a Christmas card with an old fashion scene with coach and horses galloping in the snow. He opened it up and suddenly began to wonder what this was all about. For starters there were two twenty pound notes tucked inside and an excessive amount of writing within the card. This was obviously not just a Christmas greeting but something a bit more substantial. He glanced at the end of the massage first to see who it was from. At least this gave him some reassurance. The card was most definitely from his beloved Katie. Her name, written in big letters, was scrawled across the bottom along with several kisses.
He read what she had to say and his heart sunk.

The message read:

Here's wishing you a merry Christmas Malcolm.
Thanks for putting me up and looking after me the way you did. I had a lovely time and I really appreciated everything you did for me.
Sweetheart, I've got some exciting news. I've found myself another job. I'd only been back a day when I bumped into an old school friend. He's offered me a job in the offices where he works. He's now the General Manager there and says I can start straightaway as soon as the holidays are over. So I won't be coming back to Littlesea after all.
Once again Malcolm, thank you for your generous offer of somewhere to stay. I really did appreciate it. Perhaps if I get enough holiday time this Summer then I'll make an effort come down to the south coast and look you up, and maybe I can see that place of yours with all the dummies set up like we decided.
Anyway sweetheart, I was wondering if you could do one more little thing for me. Please find enclosed forty pounds. Could you please parcel up all my clothes and things and send them to the address on the back of this card. Don't bother about the suitcase. It wasn't mine anyway. You can keep it for yourself.
There should be enough money over to buy yourself a few drinks on New Years Eve, so go out and enjoy yourself.
Sweetheart, If you do this for me I'll love you for ever and a day.
Once again many, many thanks for everything. You and your dungeon were absolutely wonderful.

Love and kisses,

Katie

XXXXXXXXXX

Malcolm read through the message a second time in total disbelief. For what seemed like ages he was totally lost for words. Certainly none of this was meant to happen. It just did not fit into his plans. He and Katie were meant to be together for ever and a day. She had promised him it would be so if he delivered Tracy Goodyear to her. He had kept his part of the bargain and now it had all gone wrong.
Tears began to form in Malcolm's eyes. Surely Katie would not do such a thing to him. It had to be a mistake. They were a great couple with so much in common. The card just had to be a hoax. Somebody was playing a trick on him. It just had to be a nasty joke. His beloved Katie was coming back to Littlesea tomorrow he was certain of that. She had promised him that she would be back on the four o'clock train from London on the twenty-ninth. She would never let him down. And anyway, she had not had her Christmas present from him yet. Tracy Goodyear was waiting for her down in the basement, so she had to come back!
He read the letter again. Suddenly Katie's words came back to him. She would love him forever and a day if he did this for her. These were definitely her words. But surely it just could not be true. He prayed that she was lying and that she would return tomorrow.
There was no longer any logic to Malcolm's thoughts or clinical calculations to his actions. As far as he was concerned this was all Tracy Goodyear's fault. If she had not poached Richard Davies in the first place from his beloved Katie then she would still be working down here, and he would at least have been able to see her everyday in Alf's café. What an evil girl that Tracy Goodyear was. He would inform her of everything so that she was in no doubt as to the misery she had caused. And after that he would take revenge by doing exactly what Katie proposed. He would keep on turning the wheel until her arms popped out of their sockets, and protest as much as she liked, he just would not care.
Sobbing with emotion Malcolm staggered down the wide staircase to the basement below.

11:00 am.

Inspector Hawkins raised the binoculars to his eyes and looked out of WPc Watkinson's bedroom window. His gazed focused on the courtyard of the Amusement Park and the small chimney billowing clouds of black smoke into the air. He had played around with the focus settings on his previous visit so he could not be certain, but he was convinced that he now had the correct distance. The missing policewoman could very well have looked out and observed precisely the same scene, and, just like him, began to wonder what on Earth was the boy burning? His eyes dropped to the garden fence below the window. Was it possible she scaled the fence and got into the grounds to investigate?
In the room behind the Inspector stood Mrs. Watkinson. He turned to her and asked: "Did your daughter ever get into the grounds of the park from here?"
"When she was little she did. George and I had terrible trouble keeping her out. She and a few school friends used to get through that fence practically every evening after school. In the end we had to ban them from playing in the garden," explained Mrs. Watkinson.
Hawkins put down the binoculars and looked out of the window to the lawn below. Two men from the Forensic team had arrived and were waiting outside on the patio below. He opened up the window and called down: "Can you do something for me? Go carefully. I want you to take a look at the bottom of the garden for a hole in the railings."
Through open window he watched the two men cross the lawn. Without stepping from the grass it became obvious that they had found something. Both men stooped and began to point to the soil below. They stood up and turned to face the house.
"There are fresh footprints here," one of the men called back, "and it looks like whoever made them got through the railings somewhere over there."
Inspector Hawkins swung round into the room.
"Come! We're going to take a look at those railings," he said addressing Pc Grantham stood by the door.

11:05 am.

Malcolm staggered into the dungeon and made straight for the rack. On arrival he cast the black cape about his shoulders and pulled the leather hood down upon his head. He was now in charge and no-one had any authority to stop him. He was the Dungeon Master and the girl stretched out before him was the sinner that had to be punished and made to suffer for her evil ways. He leant over the wheel and looked down at the naked body of Tracy Goodyear lying on the boards. She appeared to be awake. At least her eyes were partially open and looking in his direction. But that was nowhere near good enough. She had to be fully awake to appreciate what was going to happen to her. Grabbing a nipple he squeezed and distorted the flesh in order to gain her fullest attention.
"Wake up!" he called down in his sternest voice.
Tracy Goodyear screamed and opened her eyes wide. Suddenly she was wide awake. Her head throbbed, and the roof of her mouth and back of the throat stung with a dry soreness that prevented any swallowing. She also realised for the first time that she could not move. Something was pinning her down by the arms and legs. Suddenly panic set in and she tried to break free. But everything was so tight very little movement was achieved apart from a wiggle of the toes and a shake of the hands.
Malcolm watched with interest and waited for the initial hysteria to die down before speaking. Eventually she ceased to struggle and turned her head towards him.
"Miss Tracy Goodyear, welcome to my dungeon!" he informed her after gaining her attention.
She tried to speak but could only manage a feeble grunt. Her mouth was so dry it was impossible to utter even the faintest word that would make any sense. Bewildered, confused and very frightened, she wanted to plead for her life, but try as she might, nothing audible passed her lips.
Malcolm took this as a sign that she was listening. But before applying the pain he wanted her to know the deep sorrow and bitter heartbreak she had caused. She had to know the way he felt and the reasons why all this was happening.
"Do you know why you have been brought here?" he asked.
There was no response. She did not know the boy or comprehend any reason why she should be abducted and imprisoned.
On receiving no obvious reply Malcolm continued by putting a second question. "In that case do you know someone by the name of Katie Brown?"
Of course she knew Katie Brown. She was the one that had put her boyfriend in hospital. The redhead was an evil and sadistic woman that did not deserve her gentle Richard. Slowly but surely the truth came home to her. So this is what it was all about? Katie Brown was behind all this! She was into all that weird sado-masochism stuff and had arranged this awful stunt with the aid of one of her crones. She had threatened retaliation and this is how she had gone about it! She was going to get her own back by applying a little bondage and humiliation. After appraising the situation in such a way somehow she did not feel so much scared any longer. No-one ever really got hurt at this game and this was probably one of those seedy clubs she was in. But where was Katie Brown now? Somehow she felt certain that sooner or later she was bound to turn up, and then what could she do? Not a lot that could debase and humiliate her any further. She closed her eyes and turned her head away in disgust. Somehow she was beyond caring anymore. Katie Brown would turn up shortly, have her say, and then let her go.
Malcolm saw what he considered to be a relapse and spun the wheel wildly. On the floor beneath the bench a large gear wheel turned and snagged against the side of a cardboard box. Slowly the box lifted and toppled to its side. At the same time a lid slipped from a large tin of glue and the contents began to seep slowly out onto the floor.
"Wake up!" he called as the last click echoed about the chamber.
For the first time there was noticeable tension on the girl's arms and legs and she re-opened her eyes and returned her gaze. Suddenly she was in pain and this was not meant to be. But that was not all. There was something else. She could smell those horrible fumes again. The boy must have prepared that awful face mask again and was about to put her to sleep again.
"That's better!" Malcolm told her on regaining the girl's attention.
She raised up her head from the boards in order to get her message across. She wanted to tell him no more fumes. They were horrible and in order to avoid being put to sleep again she would co-operate with his every command whilst waiting for Katie Brown to turn up.
Malcolm too could sense something weird was happening. But it was not the smell of glue. His cold prevented him from sensing anything via his nasal passages. He tried to think what was amiss. Somehow he had been through all this once before and there was touch of deja-vu about everything. The girl had croaked a reply but nothing she said had made any sense. In fact if anything the words could very possibly be in French.
He looked about the chamber. He had most definitely been through all this once before. The woman in the first cell was on her feet and staring at him through the bars. His eyes moved along the back wall to the second cell. The young girl inside was also and standing and staring out through the bars at him. He swung around to look behind him. The third woman hung suspended by the thumbs on the end of a long chain. She too was gazing in his direction. In fact all three prisoners were watching him. But were they moving? They all looked so still and stationary to him. Perhaps these were not real people. Perhaps they were just dummies and this was all part of the dungeon scene as it was meant to be laid out for the paying public. Even the girl on the rack looked genuine and just as he had envisaged. So what about himself? He looked down. He was dressed in a cape and hood. He was the Dungeon Master, and he was in charge. This was the scene as it was meant to be. But where was the public?
The suddenly he heard footsteps approaching along the entrance cave. They were heading in his direction. The public were coming to see him and all that he had created. They would have his brochures with them and would be wanting to see the spectacle for themselves. But how was he meant to stand? He had to be positioned leaning over the wheel something like this. That was it, holding the wheel and staring down at the girl on the bed.
Now all he had to do was remain perfectly still and let them all slowly walk around the exhibit. It must appear such a wonderful sight and he was proud to be the centre attraction. He tried not to look as the first of the party appeared. Instead he looked the girl in the face and set his mouth as if asking a question. He would hold this pose as long as it took.
It was absolutely marvellous that so many should want to turn up and see him and his exhibition.

End of Chapter Nine