CHAPTER FIFTEEN - MONDAY 3rd JANUARY

8:00 am

Malcolm entered the main bedroom of Cuckoo Cottage to find Katie awake. At least she stirred and blinked her eyes when he leaned over to check on the health of his patient. He had brought with him a breakfast tray which he placed alongside the bed.
"Can you sit up Katie?" he asked. "I've brought you something to eat."
Katie felt both pressure and pain around her head. She raised up her hands to investigate. Someone had swathed her head in makeshift bandages and tied everything tightly about the forehead. She touched the her brow and fingered the bandages.
"You banged your head Katie, and I bandaged it up for you," Malcolm explained.
Katie blinked again. Someone was speaking to her. But who was it? She tried to focus on the blurred figure leaning over her.
"Brian?… Is that you?" she asked.
"No, it's me… Malcolm," he told her.
"Malcolm?… Where's Brian?" she asked and felling totally confused.
"Brian's gone to visit his parents, and I'm looking after you," he explained.
Katie tried to make one image out of the two she was seeing.
"You're Malcolm?" she asked. The image was still not very clear.
"Yes, it's me," he answered softly.
It was obvious that she was still unsure of her surroundings.
"Where am I?" she asked and trying to look around the room.
"You're at my place," he informed her.
Katie tried to sit up. Malcolm helped and propped her up on the pillows. He then drew up the blankets to shield her naked breasts from view. She looked about the room. The sloping walls and ceilings reminded her of the room she once slept in at the place where Malcolm once worked.
"Is this that Scotsman's room?.. Mr. Mac!.. Mac… something?" she asked. She could not remember his name.
"Mr. McTavish?" Malcolm said the name for her, then explained. "No Katie, you're not there… You're somewhere else... This is my home… This is where I live."
Katie looked around the room. Slowly the differences became apparent and she accepted that she was someplace else. She tried to sit up further but the chain around her ankle prevented it. She tried to look under the blankets but Malcolm placed a hand on the top to prevent it.
"What's holding my leg Malcolm?" she asked.
"It's a chain," he told her. "I was afraid that you might start walking about in the night and fall down the stairs again. You're very ill and must stay in bed."
Katie appeared to accept the presence of the chain about her one ankle and felt her head again.
"How did I get this Malcolm?" she asked.
"You fell down stairs," he told her.
"Stairs?.. What stairs?" she asked.
"Vicky's stairs," he explained.
"Vicky's?… I fell down Vicky's stairs?" she asked and sounding rather bemused.
"Yes, that's right," he affirmed.
Katie felt the back of her head. Her scalp was extremely sore and she winced at the slightest touch.
"And I did this to the back of my head?" she enquired.
"It was a nasty fall," he replied.
Katie looked around the room again.
"Where's Vicky then?" she asked.
"She's here… She's in the next room… but she's sleeping now… She'll probably see you later," he told her.
Katie still looked very confused and tried hard to recall the events, but nothing was there. The trouble was, her head throbbed too much. If only the pain would go away, then maybe she would be able to think.
Malcolm lifted up the breakfast tray and placed it on her lap.
"Here, try and eat something Katie," he told her. "You need to build up your strength."
Katie saw the mug of tea and picked it up in both hands.
"Thank you Malcolm," she said and took a sip.
Malcolm was pleased to see her looking so much better this morning. At one time he was extremely worried and had stayed by her side to comfort her and to bathe her head wound. But there was a plus side to everything. Katie's recovery also fitted in well with his plans. Hopefully he could leave her on her own tomorrow whilst he returned the Volvo and collected his motorcycle.
So what was he going to do today to pass the time away?
Well he had already thought of that. He was going to alternate his day between paying frequent checks on Katie, and doing a spot of drawing.
And his subject?
Well that was going to be Vicky.
And the place?
Why, the dungeon of course!

8:30 am

With a second breakfast tray all loaded up with food and a hot drink, Malcolm entered the dungeon. With Katie looking a whole lot better he was in a very boisterous and benevolent mood. He was even going to be nice to Jenny for a change.
Jenny was lying face down on the mattress when he arrived, and even though awake, it was obvious that she wanted nothing to do with him. He had seen this same attitude develop over a number of days with Wendy Bartlett when she was being held in a cell at Littlesea, so Jenny's actions came as no surprise. Anyway, it did not particularly bother him. In fact it fitted in well with his current plans. A quiet Jenny was a good Jenny, and therefore he could bring Vicky down here to do a spot of drawing without being disturbed.
Malcolm opened up the cell door, pushed the tray inside so that it rested on the floor besides the mattress, then closed up the door again.
Calling through the bars he told her: "Jenny, there's a tray of food and a hot drink on the floor beside you. Try not to spill or knock anything over will you?"
Jenny lifted up her head. She knew that it was Malcolm when she heard his footsteps coming through the steel door. With this damn hood covering her head and locked about her neck she had been in darkness for two maybe three days now, but it had also highlighted her senses, and knowing that it was him she had not bothered to move. She only expected insults and a total lack of sympathy, so why bother anyway? But suddenly he was being nice to her. But why? Up till now he had left her a loaf of bread and nothing else. Even to have a drink she had to cup water with her hands from the toilet pan and sip it through this horrible zip across her mouth.
"What do you want?" she asked suspiciously,
She considering there to be some ulterior motive behind this sudden change of attitude towards her.
"Nothing," replied Malcolm. "Nothing except you remain quiet and not make a nuisance of yourself."
"And if I do make a nuisance of myself?" she asked and turning around to sit up on the mattress.
As the hooded Jenny turned to face him, Malcolm saw the mess he had made of her body. She had obviously bathed and cared for her wounds with water from the toilet whilst he had been away. The redness of the sores, and the blood had gone, but her body was still covered in stripes from neck downwards to as far as the knees. And these were not just little thin stripes, but thick brown ridges of raised scabs and welts. On seeing this he realised just how angry he must have been at the time. But even with the passing of time, he still considered that she deserved every stoke of the whip. She had ruined a whole day's work and a brilliant masterpiece had been lost forever.
He answered her question with a threat: "Make a nuisance of yourself and I'll do the same to the back of your body as I did the front. So just keep quiet and speak to no-one and I'll keep bringing you decent food as a reward. The choice is yours Jenny, food or the whip!.. What is it to be?"
"And if I am good, can I have this hood off?" she asked.
Malcolm thought for a while.
"Maybe!… maybe!… But let's see how you get on first… You prove that you're going to be good, and maybe I'll consider it," he told her.
Jenny put out a hand towards the tray and began to feel around the contents. Her fingers dipped into a bowl of cornflakes and milk, and she felt the hotness of a mug alongside. She was hungry and in need of some decent food and drink. She decided to go along with Malcolm's requests for the time being. Her plan was to gain his confidence and get the hood removed. She reckoned that if she could see, then she might have a better chance of escaping.
"Thank you," she said and picking up the hot cup of tea. "I will try not to be a nuisance, and talk to no-one," she promised.
"Good girl," responded Malcolm with a smile. "I'll leave you to enjoy your breakfast then… Have a nice day!"
And with that Malcolm turned and departed the dungeon.
He had yet one more breakfast tray to prepare.

9:00 am

Malcolm entered the smaller bedroom with another tray of food. This was his third breakfast call today having served both Katie and then Jenny in the dungeon below. He was in a boisterous mood and this showed in his mannerisms and generosity towards all of the girls.
Malcolm placed the tray on the floor and sat down on the edge of the bed next to Vicky. Here he lifted up the flaps that covered her eyes and drew open the zip that covered her mouth.
"Breakfast time slave," he told her.
"Good morning my Master," answered Vicky after several blinks to the eyes in adjustment to the light.
She too was very happy, although still a little confused as to why Malcolm had brought her to this place of his. But he had told her that he owned the property; that Katie too was acting out a fantasy; and that he would keep his promise and return her home well in time for Nick's return. She believed every word. Katie trusted him, and that was a good enough reason for her.
Malcolm helped Vicky sit up and placed the breakfast tray on her lap. Her hands were still handcuffed together at the front, and she clung on doggedly to a vibrator in her hands. Under Malcolm's instructions she had used this several times during the night and his last instructions to her was not to let it go. He had threatened that if it was not in her hands in the morning then she would be severely punished.
He smiled at the way she gripped the vibrator tightly. Vicky would make anybody a good slave. She was so obedient and would do anything she was instructed to do. He decided to put that theory to the test. But first he would let her eat and drink, and do whatever she must do with a visit to the toilet. After all, it might be a long time before she was allowed this little luxury again.
Malcolm took the vibrator from her and removed the handcuffs.
"You won't be needing these for a while," he told her. "You've been such a good slave I've got a little treat install for you today. But first eat your breakfast and go to the loo, and then when you've finished, I'm going to take you to some place special."
Vicky took hold of the mug of tea in one hand and a piece of toast in the other. She had not eaten all day yesterday and was starving. But she was also eager to finish off everything quickly. Malcolm's surprises were always something special, and she wondered what he had planned for her today. She hoped that it included some very tight bondage.
Malcolm could not read Vicky's thoughts. But he could see that she was most obviously enjoying this little escapade, and he was sure that what he had in mind for her was not going to disappoint.

9:30 am

Malcolm called a halt at the steel doors to the dungeon. Vicky stood and waited as instructed. She was naked, and the hood remained over her head, but she had the luxury of not wearing handcuffs. He pulled the zip shut across her mouth and closed down the flaps.
"Right slave, I don't want to hear a word from you after we've passed through this door," he told her.
Vicky knew the rules, and besides, the zip was pulled across her mouth, so speaking was forbidden anyway. Furthermore, the steel door fascinated her and she wondered what lay beyond. She guessed it to be a dungeon. At least she hoped that it was and that Malcolm was going to make full use of it on her. She was getting a bit fed-up with ropes and was looking for something more exciting. Perhaps whatever lay on the other side would be something that she could really enjoy. She prayed that it would be so.
Malcolm unbolted the door and led Vicky through to the other side. He tried to ignore Jenny in the cell. She was lying on her mattress anyway, but he did notice that most of the breakfast he had brought her earlier had been consumed. He thought that by being nice to her, and at the same time warning her that to talk to anybody else in the chamber would be punishable by more whippings, then hopefully having been warned of the consequences, she would remain silent throughout the day. At first glance it appeared that his little carrot and stick strategy was working.
He had thought long and hard during the night on exactly what sort of study he would make with Vicky as his subject. In the end his most preferred option was a return to the X-frame. The chair was never a serious contender. It was far too dull. The hoist he had also rejected on account of the movement it afforded. She could swing to-and-fro, whether it be voluntary or not, and this made bad subject matter. So his choice in the end came down to either the chains against the back wall or the X-frame once again.
The final deciding factor that made him opt once again for the X-frame was possibly his own ego, and the fact that he had something to prove. He wanted to complete a drawing of the same excellent quality as his previous attempt, then present this to Jenny with Vicky in earshot. He wanted to show the so-called 'Art Student' just how well-behaved girls should pose and also react to the finished article. After all Vicky was no trouble at all, and no doubt would turn out to be the perfect artist's model. He felt certain that she would raise no objections to anything he did to her. Unlike Jenny that was. This miserable bitch had proven to be nothing but trouble from start to finish, and unfortunately his remarkable talents had been very much wasted on her.
Vicky was led to the X-frame and made to stand with her back to the wooden structure. Malcolm compared just how much easier this was than with Jenny. On that occasion he had struggled with an unconscious body and the work had been totally exhausting.
Malcolm buckled the wide strap about Vicky's waist, then made her spread her legs and raise up her arms in readiness. She did as instructed without objection and held that position whilst he buckled all the remaining straps about her limbs. Firstly he did the wrists, and then the upper arms. He then dropped down to his knees and strapped her ankles and thighs to the frame.
When he was done, Malcolm stepped back to survey the scene. Vicky was naked and spread helplessly to the frame. He compared this image to the one of Jenny in the same position. There were differences off course. For one thing Vicky was somewhat taller, with much longer legs and arms. Also her pubic region was far lighter in texture and colour, with just that small tuft of fuzz gracing her mound. Lastly, her face was obscured by a hood instead of ball-gag and blindfold. But in all other respects the two images were very similar, both girls had well proportioned breasts and quite shapely figures. He liked the image that Vicky projected and could think of no reason why he should not be able to turn out at least one perfect drawing.
He nodded his head in approval. This would do nicely for his first sketch. Today he had decided to use pencil sketching as his medium. It was easier that way, and it afforded him two things. One; he could keep popping back to see how Katie was getting on, and two; he could move the easel around and make several drawings throughout the day. At the end he would choose just one and add the more detailed work later. This would be the one he would eventually present to Jenny, and show her just how perfectly behaved models should pose and react.
Malcolm set up the easel to the right and sat down. He gave the scene one final critical eye. Perhaps just one minor adjustment was needed, but that was all.
"Lower your head slave," he ordered.
She dropped her head to her chest as instructed.
"A little lower," he added.
Vicky obliged.
Malcolm smiled. That was much better. Now the two images were very similar and could be compared quite easily.
"That's it… now keep it like that slave," he told her.
Vicky would do as she was told and remain in that position until instructed to do otherwise. She was a faithful slave and would always obey her Master's command. She was also on a high. Being strapped spreadeagled like this was one position that always turned her on. Now all she needed was the return of the vibrator and she would be in paradise.
Malcolm looked to his watch. The time was a quarter to ten. He would spend about one hour, maybe an hour and a half sketching Vicky from this perspective and then go and check on Katie. He would then return to move the easel and start another sketch.
This was going to be his pattern for the rest of the day.

10:00 am

The phone rang precisely at ten o'clock as arranged.
Georgina answered: "Hello, Georgina Watkinson speaking."
"Hello Georgina, it's me, Davina," came the answer.
"Hi Davina... how are things going then?" she asked.
"Not a lot, Malcolm Smith's not shown up and the motorcycle's still stuck in the corner of the car park. We're beginning to think we're at a dead end here and considering returning to stake out Katie Brown's place as originally intended. We might even do both. One of us here and one over there. But we're not too sure whether that's a wise thing to do or not. What do you think Georgina?" asked Davina.
Georgina thought for a moment or two.
"I think you should stay right where you are for a little bit longer Davina," suggested Georgina. "What you don't want to do is split up. That would be fatal. Whatever happens you must stay together. That way you stand a chance of fighting him off if he ever gets to find you out... Is that clear? You stick together at all costs. That's an order."
Georgina had taken it upon herself to be the boss of this operation, and what she said went. Even though many miles away she still felt in charge. She hoped that Davina and Tracy would listen to what she had to say and not go off and do anything silly without consulting her first.
"I guess you're right," answered Davina. "We'll stay together, don't worry."
Georgina breathed a little sigh of relief. Davina had taken her advice. She hoped that it would stay that way.
"Good!… Now just stick with it and report back again tonight. Shall we say nine o'clock again? Otherwise the accommodation's okay is it? And the landlady's not still giving you amorous advances is she?" asked Georgina.
Davina laughed. "She's noticed that neither of us is wearing a wedding ring… I didn't like to tell her that mine had been taken from me by Malcolm Smith and that I hadn't got it back yet… Anyway, we're both getting extra portions with our meals and she's being extremely kind to us. I feel sorry to disappoint her really," she giggled.
Georgina laughed too.
"Right, hear from you at nine o'clock tonight then Davina, and sooner if you've got something to report," said Georgina signing off.
"Yeh, okay,… speak to you tonight then, bye Georgina…" replied Davina and the line went dead.
Georgina put the phone down. She did hope that they were not going to do anything silly like split up. That would be fatal. They just had to stick together at all times and she hoped that she had stressed that fact enough. She hoped that she had anyway.

12:30 pm

Dr. Gabriel Lang entered the side ward were Wendy Bartlett lay resting in the single bed. Since the departure of Georgina she had been moved from the bigger four-bedded ward to a much smaller single-bedded private ward. A television was switched on in one corner and she was watching some midday chat show. On seeing the arrival of the doctor she switched off the television using the remote.
"Hello Wendy, and how are you feeling today?" asked Dr. Lang as he drew up a chair and sat down beside the bed.
"I'm fine doctor… Look, I can use my thumbs now," she told him. And with that she switched the television back on and then off again.
The large swathe of bandages had gone and only a thin dressing remained around the base of each thumb and about the palms of her hands.
"Good girl," praised the psychologist and waited for her to settle.
Basically, Wendy Bartlett's physical condition was not of his concern. The medical doctors had said that she was fit to go home, and that was fine. But they were unsure as to the girl's mental stability. They needed to know that if released too quickly into the outside world, would this have any adverse effect on her? They were unsure, and as a result Dr. Lang had been consulted. Thus the reason for his visit. Like it or not, he had been given the final say on whether Wendy Bartlett should be given the all clear and allowed to go home.
Dr. Lang came straight to the point. "Wendy?" he said. "When the other two girls return in a few days time, then the police are going to be asking a whole lot of questions about what happened. Are you aware of that?"
Wendy nodded. "Yes,.. I guess so!" she answered timidly.
Malcolm Smith had been beastly towards her. He had hurt her thumbs and kept her chained and locked up in a cell for many days. Somehow she just did not want to talk about it.
"We know that you were the first one to be captured, and we're aware of the ordeal he put you through. It's my job to prepare you for imparting that ordeal to the police. I'm going to help you through the difficult days ahead.. Is that okay?" he informed her.
Wendy nodded her head again but said nothing.
Dr. Lang recognised the symptoms. He had expected this reaction. Reticence was all too common with rape victims and woman who had violent crimes perpetrated against them. He realised that a great number of hours counselling would probably be necessary in this case. He had seen the other three girls briefly and they did not appear too bad. His diagnosis had been that group therapy would suffice in their case, but Wendy was a timid little soul and obviously not as hardened as the rest. Of course she had to be present when he spoke to the other three, but he was also resigned to the fact that extra counselling sessions would be necessary in this case.
"Are you willing to talk to me about what happened?" he asked. "It may become a little easier once you have spoken about your ordeals for the first time. It will certainly help you get over the first difficult hurdles and help the police with their enquiries later. So would you like to tell me all about it?"
Wendy nodded again. "I'll try," she said demurely.
Dr Lang got her to lie back on the bed and make herself feel comfortable.
"Now just relax, close your eyes and listen to my voice," he told her.
Dr. Gabriel Lang considered a little bit of hypno-therapy to be in order.
Perhaps he would get her to stay in the hospital for another day or two. In his opinion she was not quite ready for release yet.
However he would not push her too far today. He just wanted her to feel relaxed in his presence and accept hypnosis as an aid to recovery.
Maybe tomorrow, if all went well, he would get her to relate some of those dreadful experiences suffered at the hands of that crazed psychopath.
But he would not push her. Just a little further forward each day was all that was required.

3:00 pm

Malcolm returned to the dungeon after spending a little time with Katie. She was looking a lot better, but still could not remember a thing. Even the events at the club the night before proved to be a complete gap in the memory. At least whilst she remained like this he considered himself safe, and perhaps this condition would be a permanent fixture. He hoped so for both their sakes. For if it did, then he would have no worries as to the future, and maybe, given time, they would settle down to live together at Cuckoo Cottage.
A happy Malcolm moved the easel to a more centralised position. He had already sketched Vicky from both the left and the right. Standing up and looking over the top and with a fresh blank sheet of paper resting on the easel, he surveyed the scene. It was the same as it had always been, both with Jenny and now with Vicky strapped to the frame. He wondered if he could do something that would add a little drama to the details. Something that showed punishment as opposed to straight bondage. He initially considered whip marks, but dropped the idea almost straightaway. Somewhere along the line Vicky was going to meet up with Katie, and he did not want to give the impression that he had been brutal to her best friend. He decided to walk to the cupboard and see if that would give him any fresh ideas or inspirations.
Searching through the cluttered contents, Malcolm came across the clamps and weights. He considered their possible use. He pictured the weights attached to Vicky's nipples. The image in his mind held a certain amount of possibility, but all the same, he was still not totally satisfied with weights alone. With Vicky's face covered entirely by a black leather hood it was impossible to show the pain. So what else could he do? His proposed new set of pictures needed that little something extra that turned an ordinary picture into a masterpiece. Something that highlighted the total degradation of the subject rather than merely depicting pain. But exactly what? He was still lost for ideas. Deep in thought, he collected two weights from off the middle shelf and bounced them in his hands. They were quite heavy. He thought back to an earlier time when he had first stumbled upon these weights and recalled those images of his mother strapped to the very same X-frame. Mr. Mortimer had on that occasion taken two Polaroid photographs, one showing his mother before being shaved, and the other taken afterwards. This was the inspiration Malcolm's fertile imagination needed. Suddenly he knew exactly what to do. Quickly he gathered up four weights from off the shelf and took them back to the easel. Now there was only one vital piece of equipment missing, and that was up in the bathroom. Leaving the four weights resting on his chair he set off upstairs to collect his shaving tackle from his travel bag.
Returning with everything he needed, he set to work. His shaving cream was in an aerosol can.  Bending down he sprayed the white foam against Jenny's mound then continued on down and between her legs. Then with his shaving brush he set about working the foam into her light blonde hairs. Once satisfied that every hair in sight, no matter how light and fluffy it may be, had been duly covered in a layer of thick soap, he set to work with the razor.
Slowly he scrapped away the hairs on her mound then followed their path down between her legs to remove what little there was on each side of her virgina. Finally, once satisfied that there were no hairs left to remove, he wiped everything clean with a towel.
Vicky's mound sparkled smooth and white in the defused light from the fluorescent tubes. Malcolm took two paces back and rubbed his chin. The sight that greeted him looked even better from this short distance. The dark shadowy line of Vicky's crack stood out strongly against the bald and shining pale surround.
Malcolm was very pleased with what he saw and was keen to start drawing. But first he had one more thing to do. Taking the weights from the chair he dropped them on the floor between Vicky's outstretched legs and knelt down before her. Fingering her virgina he took hold of a labia lip and pulled down the skin. Gripping the damp pink flesh firmly between thumb and forefinger he attached a crocodile clip to the flap of skin and let the weight fall. The pear-shaped lump of lead dropped and began to swing gently to-and-fro. As if mesmerised by the swaying, he watched its movements gradually decrease and finally settle into a small gyrating circular motion before continuing.
Vicky gasped an involuntary intake of air as the weight dropped from Malcolm's hand. He considered castigating her, but then decided against it. The uncontrolled outburst had not lasted long, and he felt that a little recognition of what he had done to her was in order anyway.
Malcolm's hand returned to finger Vicky's moistened slit and draw down the second labia lip. With a little more care and attention being shown on this occasion, he attached another weight and gradually let it slip from his grasp. He watched with interest as the heavy pear-shaped lump of lead slowly stretched down the second flap of skin to match and balance with the already extended labia lip running alongside. As the two weights touched they remained locked together and began to gently swing in unison.
Malcolm ran a finger along her slit, sliding it between the two clips and entering her virgina. Everywhere was wet and dripping, and his finger moved about easily within her passage. He worked his finger around inside for a moment or two, then withdrew and sniffed the collected juices. The musty yet fragrant smell brought a smile to his face.
However Malcolm realised that these little indulgences were not going to get any drawings done. Quickly he collected the last two weights from off the floor and rose to his feet. Standing up with the last two remaining weights in his hand, he attached first one to Vicky's left nipple, and then one to the right. Once again she took in a sharp intake of breathe and whimpered loudly as the sharp crocodile teeth dug into her most sensitive parts. But Malcolm let the outbursts pass without comment, and besides he was more eager to draw than tell her off for making a noise.
Quickly he returned to stand behind the easel and look over the top at the fresh scene that greeted him. This was much better now. The picture had some life to it and a focal point between the legs. Yes, this was going to be his best sketch ever. He could feel the brilliance coming on.
He sniffed at his dampened finger one last time and sat down on the chair. Then with a new enthusiasm he set to work.

5:00 pm

For once Inspector Hawkins found himself to be a busy man, and just at a time when he did not want to be. Since the publication of the article in the Sunday newspaper reported sightings of Malcolm Smith had been flooding in all day. The daily newspapers, following on from yesterday's scoop by one of the Sunday papers had also taken up the cause, and calls from the public had been flooding in all day. From his office desk in Littlesea he had tried to oversee operations and also motivate other police forces from around the country to follow up all the various leads.
His main area of concentration had focused on London. Malcolm Smith's last known sighting had been here, and having been born and bred there, it was a fair bet that he was in hiding somewhere in the area.
However the Inspector, throughout the day, had kept one eye on the East Midlands and the Muddle Valley area, but as yet nothing of any significance had materialised. Earlier in the day a report on the missing girl's car had appeared on his desk which disturbed him slightly. Apparently a brake pipe had been found to be fractured and the car declared unsafe to drive. This raised other possibilities. She could have walked away and gone for help. He was not sure what to think. It was still most likely that the disappearance of Jennifer Stansfield would turn out to be a red herring. But all the same, after extensive searching, strangely no body had yet been recovered. The police were gradually moving down the river and were now looking some five to six miles downstream. He had been informed that they would give up the search after about ten miles, at a point where the Muddle tributary joined with a much larger river. The local police had reasoned that if the body had got that far, and with all the recent rain swelling the rivers, then there was nothing to stop the body being washed all the way out to the North Sea. Therefore no-one could see the point in searching after that. It was simply a matter of nature taking its course and waiting for the body to turn up on a beach somewhere.
The Inspector looked to the clock on the wall in his office. It was five o'clock and he was going home. Today was meant to have been a Bank Holiday. With the first of January falling on a Saturday then the public holiday always fell on the following Monday. He had promised so much that he would spend some time with his family over the Christmas and New Year period and this had come to nothing. He just hoped that tomorrow might bring him some luck in his search for Malcolm Smith. At least it had been promised that his home address would be forthcoming.
The Inspector stubbed out his cigarette and departed the office.
Malcolm Smith could wait until the morning, he was going home to see his wife and children.

9:00 pm

The telephone in the home of Georgina Watkinson rang in the hallway. Georgina looked to the clock on the mantelpiece above the fire in the lounge and guessed it to be one of the girls reporting in. Her mother and father were in the room with her. They had all been watching the television together and the BBC Nine o'clock evening news was just starting.
"I'll get it," said Georgina pushing herself up with her one good arm from the comfortable chair beside the fire. "It's probably one of the girl's phoning me from Blackpool."
She moved to the hallway and closed the lounge door behind her. She picked up the receiver with her one good arm.
"Hello, Georgina Watkinson speaking," she answered.
"Hi Georgina, Tracy here," came the reply.
"Hi Tracy, Davina's turn at taking watch then?" she asked.
"Yes, she's sat outside in the car at the moment keeping one eye on the motorcycle and listening to the radio at the same time. But it doesn't look hopeful Georgina. We're rapidly coming to the conclusion that the motorcycle's been abandoned," said Tracy and sounding a little despondent.
"Never mind Tracy, just keep watching and hoping, and maybe he'll turn up," said an equally dejected Georgina.
"How much longer do you think we shall have to wait here?" asked Tracy.
Georgina thought before giving an answer. Perhaps if the two girls moved back to staking out Katie Brown's home, they might have better luck?
"Tell you what Tracy, report in tomorrow at ten o'clock as usual. If nothing has happened by then, and he still hasn't turned up, then I suggest you take a trip to Katie Brown's place and see if anything different has happened there," she replied.
It was the best she could think of. If only she was mobile and could drive again, then she would be winging her way up there to join them. She flexed the fingers of her left hand protruding from the end of the sling about her neck, then raised up her elbow. She could move everything without much difficulty and she considered the arm to be in good working order. The sling was nothing but a damn nuisance. But she had been told not to use the arm until after her next appointment, and she had promised the doctors faithfully to obey.
Tracy broke her train of thoughts. "Okay Georgina," she replied. "I'll let Davina know, and maybe tomorrow we'll move away from here. I for one will be glad anyway. The sooner we get away from the landlady here the better."
"Still having trouble then Tracy?" enquired Georgina.
"Oh, you wouldn't believe it Georgina!… The woman keeps coming into our room several times a day… She says she's either got to vacuum the floor, or change the sheets, or change the pillowcases, or do something… Davina thinks the only way to stop her entering all the time is tell her we're not gay... but then she'll want to know why we specifically asked for this room and not taken the bigger room at the front that's got two single beds… So we just don't know what to do for the best,.. but we can't tell her the real reason for wanting this room was to keep an eye on the motorcycle… so what can we do?" explained a forlorn sounding Tracy.
Georgina decided that for everyone's sake it was probably best that they moved on.
"Tell you what, if the motorcycle's still there by say, midday tomorrow, move on back to our original plan and keep a watch on Katie Brown's house. And maybe you can find another place to stay with a less troublesome landlady," Georgina suggested.
"Davina will like that," responded Tracy. "I'll go and tell her the good news. Maybe it'll cheer her up a bit."
"You do that Tracy, and don't forget to report in again tomorrow morning at ten o'clock. I'll be waiting," she told her.
"Will do, speak to you in the morning then," answered Tracy.
"Bye then," said Georgina.
"Bye," said Tracy putting the receiver back.
Georgina replaced her own phone and removed her arm gently from the sling. Slowly she began to flex the arm about the shoulder. There was a stiffness there and a few twinges, but nothing to worry about. She reckoned that if she really had to, then driving a car would be no problem.
Just then the door to the lounge opened and she returned the arm quickly to the sling.
Georgina's mother entered the hallway.
"Cup of tea Georgina?" she asked.
"Yes please mum," she answered.
Hopefully she had not seen her with her arm out of the sling.

9:30 pm

Malcolm decided to call it a day and returned to the kitchen. He had not done anything about Vicky. He had left her in the dungeon still strapped to the X-frame. In fact his thoughts were not on Vicky at all, but on far more important and pressing matters. Brian Bensen would be back sometime tomorrow night and it was imperative that the Volvo be found close to Katie's and Vicky's home town. He was planning on an early start tomorrow and was hoping to get away by six o'clock. He was intending to avoid the motorways and keep well away from as much traffic and people as possible. Having done the route once, and knew a little more about how to get there. He was expecting the journey to take about six hours. His plan was roughly six hours there in the Volvo, and six hours back on his motorcycle. Therefore, if he left at six o'clock, then he could be there by midday and back again by six in the evening.
Malcolm, deep in thought, carried a freshly made mug of tea across to the kitchen table and sat down. There were already three drawings spread out and covering most of the surface, so there was no place to put the mug. Instead he kept it in his hands. Since shaving Vicky and adding the weights he had completed another three almost perfect drawings of her, and it was proving very difficult to choose which one was best. His initial sketches, the ones without the weights, he had discarded and left in the dungeon. He eyed the three fresh drawings and admired the quality work laid out before him.
It was very difficult to know which one to choose. They were all equally as good as one another. He decided to leave everything until tomorrow evening. Hopefully by then he would be back safely and in a position to think more clearly.
As for the present, he would finish his tea, take one final check on Katie, then get an early night's sleep.
Hopefully, without an alarm clock, he could manage to wake himself up sometime around half past five and be on his way.

End of Chapter Fifteen