CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - Sightseeing

The following day … Saturday 8th April …

12:10 am

Tracy was worried. Midnight had come and gone, a new day had arrived, and, as yet, Wendy had not returned to the flat in North Park Avenue. Tracy decided to give Wendy another hour, and if she was not back by one o'clock, then she would telephone Georgina and call for help. Agitated, she looked to her watch. The time was about ten minutes past midnight.
No sooner had Tracy checked on the time, when suddenly she breathed a big sigh of relief. Standing at the lounge window of the flat in North Park Avenue, she saw Tim's sports car pull up in the road opposite. She looked down from the first floor window and waited. She was expecting to see Wendy get out the moment Tim's car pulled up, but that was not to be the case, the car just sat there with its engine ticking over and its sidelights on. Tracy strained her eyes to see what was happening, but it was dark, with only a couple of street lights lit, so it was difficult to see what was going on inside the car.
About half an hour later the passenger door opened and Wendy got out. On seeing this, Tracy moved to the top of the stairs to greet her. As she looked down from the landing above, the front door opened and Wendy stepped into the hallway below. Outside, through the partially open door there could be heard the powerful roar of a sports car just leaving.
Wendy entered the hall, closed up the door and looked to the top of the stairs. Clutched tightly in her hands was a model of a bright red racing car. She saw Tracy waiting on the landing above and smiled.
Tracy, from the top of the stairs looked down and returned the smile.
"I'm so glad you're back Wendy," said Tracy with a huge sigh. "You were giving me such a fright."
Wendy scaled the stairs to the top and Tracy threw her arms about her. For several seconds they embraced and kissed.
Once the kissing and cuddling was over, Wendy explained the reason for her lateness.
"Sorry Tracy, but Tim just wouldn't let me go… he wanted me to stay at his place all night," she explained.
Tracy hugged Wendy close to her body. It was such a relief to have her back safely.
"Are you going to tell me all about it then?" she asked.
Wendy yawned.
"Tim's innocent… He drove straight home from the club… he didn't do it," she announced, but gave no further explanation.
Tracy smiled at the news, however brief and simple. Somehow she always thought it not to be Tim and was convinced that her own investigation into finding the Mercedes owning photographer from Littlesea would prove more productive.
"What did you find out then Wendy?" she asked. "What makes you so certain?"
Wendy yawned once more.
"Can't it wait till morning Tracy?" she asked. "I'm so tired, I could do with some sleep."
Tracy kissed Wendy on the forehead. It was true that it was getting late and she too was tired.
"Yeh! Sure thing Wendy," she replied. "I guess I'm tired too… let's go to bed then shall we? and we'll discuss it fully in the morning."
Wendy looked to Tracy and batted her big blue tired eyes.
"Do you mind if I sleep in my own room again tonight Tracy?" she asked. "I'm sorry, but I just want to be alone for a while."
Tracy kissed her again on the forehead and gave a little smile.
"No problem Wendy," she replied. "I guess a good night's sleep is what's required all round."
Wendy kissed Tracy on the lips, then, still clutching the model racing car, she set off for her own bedroom.
"Goodnight Tracy," she said with yet another yawn as she entered the bedroom.
"Goodnight Wendy," Tracy echoed back across the landing.
Tracy waited for the door to close before heading off to her own bedroom. She pulled a nervous smile. She was so relieved to have Wendy back, and also thinking how brave Wendy must have been to stick with Tim all this time.

9:00 am

The clock on the bedside table told Tracy that it was nine o'clock in the morning. She had wanted to get up much earlier but having waited for Wendy to return the night before she was not particularly surprised at the time. She yawned, stretched and got out of bed. She then put on a dressing gown and made her way to the door.
Sleepily Tracy crossed the landing to Wendy's bedroom. She opened up the door just a fraction and peeped inside. Wendy was asleep on top of the bed. She had not even bothered to get undressed. She must have simply laid down, put her head on the pillow and gone to sleep, and what was even more remarkable, she was still clutching that model of a racing car in her hands.
Tracy closed up the bedroom door, yawned and stretched, then made her way to the kitchen. She had plenty of things to do, and Wendy could remain asleep for a little while longer. She considered the current situation as she saw it. She had not spoken fully to Wendy on the subject, but since it appeared most likely that Tim was about to be ruled out as a suspect, then she could get stuck into her own personnel project. What she needed to find out, and pretty quickly too, was the address or telephone number of FotoPix Studios in London. With time marching on, and with still no news of Gayle Jackson's whereabouts, then it was important that she made contact with the studios as quickly as possible.
With a strong cup of black coffee in one hand and a piece of toast in the other, Tracy moved into the lounge and sat herself down by the telephone. For a few minutes she flicked through the London Area Yellow Pages - there were several volumes - but she could find nothing remotely resembling the name she was looking for. Somehow she was not surprised. She guessed FotoPix Studios to be a seedy underground organisation dealing entirely in pornography and not the sort of place you would expect to find in the Yellow Pages.
Tracy considered her next line of investigation. There was an outside chance that Directory Enquiries would know, but all the same, she did not hold out much hope there either. The sort of establishments she was looking for all tended to be ex-directory. All the same she tried the operator. After a long wait she finally got through. The woman on the line proved helpful, but, as Tracy suspected, the name drew a blank. She spelt the name of the studios out with the 'F' at the start and the capital 'P' in the middle, and also tried other variations, but all came to nothing.
Tracy placed the phone down and began to consider what other angles were available. However, she did not get much chance to think. Immediately on replacing the receiver the phone rang. It was not expected, but she guessed the call to be from either Davina or Georgina with some news of their own.
Quickly she picked up the receiver and answered.
"Hello, Tracy Goodyear speaking," she said.
There was a pause.
"Err… is Wendy there?" a hesitant male voice asked.
It took a few seconds for Tracy to place the voice. Then she realised it was Tim Walker calling.
"Is that Tim?" she asked just to make certain.
Tim cleared his throat before answering.
"Yes, it is… I was wondering if Wendy was awake yet. I'd like a word with her if I may," said Tim.
Tracy listened to see if she could hear movement in Wendy's bedroom, but all remained silent.
"She's still sound asleep Tim," Tracy informed him. "Can I get her to ring you as soon as she wakes up?"
There was a pause.
"Err… no… I'll just call back later," said Tim eventually.
It was obvious Tim only wanted to talk to Wendy, and Tracy was about to put the phone down when she considered something else. There was just the off chance Tim might be able to help with her own little problem.
"Tim, before you go," she asked, "do you know of any good photographic agencies in London?… You know, the pornographic sort?… I'm trying to earn a bit of money on the side… and Chloe Chambers at the club told me she regularly does a bit of modelling for one… but she's off on her Easter break right now, so I'm a bit stuck at finding anyone who can help me."
Tim thought for a moment. When he was going out with Gayle Jackson, she and Chloe Chambers used to go to someplace in the city's East End to do a bit of modelling, but he was not aware of any more details.
"Sorry Tracy, I know Chloe used to go somewhere with Gayle, but exactly where I just couldn't tell you… Have you tried Walter?.. He should know… If I remember rightly, the photographer they went to turned up at one of our meetings and handed out his calling cards to anyone that was interested, but that was quite sometime ago, and that's about all I can tell you," Tim explained.
Tracy smiled. At least it was something.
"Thank you Tim," replied Tracy, "I'll try Walter then, and as soon as Wendy wakes up I'll tell her you phoned and that you'll be calling back later."
"Thanks Tracy,… bye," said Tim.
"Bye Tim," said Tracy and the phone went dead.
Tracy moved to her handbag and took out a scrap of paper. There was a phone number written on it. It was the number to the Dom Domingo club. Either by a fortuitous stroke of luck or by good detective work, she did not know which, she had written down Walter's telephone number on her last visit. At the time she did not think that she would ever need it, but how valuable it had turned out to be now.
She returned to the telephone and dialled the number.
After several rings Walter answered.
"Hello, Walter Henderson," he said simply.
"Walter, it's me Tracy," she said.
"Ah! Tracy… I hear you let Chloe out and looked after her properly," he said. "Chloe phoned me on Thursday night to say everything was just fine with her. So many thanks for helping out Tracy... it was much appreciated."
Tracy felt slightly embarrassed by the compliment.
"It was nothing Walter… I was only too glad to help," she replied.
Walter chuckled.
"Anyway, I think you made a big friend there," he said.
Tracy felt flattered as well as embarrassed.
"Actually Walter, it was Chloe I wanted to talk to you about," said Tracy. "She was telling me that she did some photographic modelling work to earn a bit of money on the side… but she's gone away for the Easter holidays and I can't contact her for a while, so I was wondering if you could help me… Do you happen to have the address or the telephone number of the place she used to go to?… I'd appreciate it if you did."
Walter thought for while.
"Hang on a minute Tracy," he replied, "I still might have a card in my desk somewhere… we had a guy drop in on us once looking for potential models, and I took one from him whilst he was handing out the rest."
Tracy heard the phone being placed down on the hall table and waited. Eventually it was picked up again.
"Yes, I've got it here Tracy," said Walter and giving out the good news.
Tracy hoped and prayed that the card would read FotoPix Studios.
Walter began to read from the card: "It says FotoPix Studios, Sixth Floor, The Old Wharf Buildings, Dockside, London. The man's name is Lenny Blackmore, and there's a phone number here too. Do you want to take it down?"
Tracy wanted to scream for joy, but refrained.
"Yes please Walter," she said and trying hard not to let the excitement bubble over.
Tracy took down the man's name, the full address and telephone number, then thanked Walter for his help.
"Thanks Walter, that's just great," she said.
Walter gave another of his little chuckles.
"Only too pleased to help Tracy," he replied.
Wendy smiled.
"Well thanks again Walter," she said. "I'll get on to them straightaway and see if they've got any modelling work going."
"Best of luck then Tracy," said Walter, "bye… see you Wednesday night probably."
"Yes, see you on Wednesday Walter," echoed Tracy just before the phone went dead.
Tracy put her own phone down and punched the air. She had the name and address of FotoPix Studios. Now all she had to do was wangle herself in there somehow.
Tracy finished off her coffee and toast before dialling the number Walter had given her. In those few minutes she had managed to compose herself and also think up a good reason for phoning the number. The only problem she could foresee now was the day. Today was a Saturday, and there might not be anyone there at weekends.
She dialled the number anyway, and waited. The phone seemed to ring for ages with no one answering. Then, just when she was about to hang up, someone spoke. It was a man's voice.
"Hello, FotoPix Studios," the man answered.
"Err… I'm looking for a Mr. Lenny Blackmore," said Tracy.
"That's me… Lenny Blackmore speaking… what can I do for you?" he asked.
"My name is Tracy… Tracy Goodyear… and I'm a friend of Chloe Chambers… she said that you might be looking for models to do some photographic work," she told him.
"Ah!… Chloe hey!… nice girl… and you're a friend of hers you say?" asked Lenny.
"Yes I'm a friend… we go the Dom Domingo club together… and she gave me this number to ring," explained Tracy.
"So you're familiar with the type of work we do here?" enquired Lenny and not specifically mentioning pornography or bondage by name.
"Yes, I've been a member of one club or another for a couple of years now, and know the ropes sort of speak!" Tracy told him and filling in the missing lines.
"Well how old are you?" asked Lenny. "Not under eighteen are you?"
"No… I'm twenty-one," said Tracy and telling the truth.
"And your figure? Describe yourself to me," asked Lenny.
This question took Tracy a little by surprise, but she did her best to answer honestly.
"Young and fit,… good figure,… large breasts,… I don't think I'll disappoint," she said describing herself the best she could and in as few a words as possible.
Lenny took his time in considering what he had just heard before giving a reply.
"Well if you are as you describe yourself, and you know Chloe, and she recommends you, then I guess I can find you some work… can you come along on Monday to the studios?.. do you know where to find us?" enquired Lenny.
Monday was just fantastic, and Tracy tried hard not to let her joy show over the phone.
"I can make Monday… most certainly, and I can find the place… no problem," replied Tracy. "So, at about what time?… Morning or afternoon?"
"Morning's best… will ten o'clock be all right?" asked Lenny.
"Ten o'clock is fine by me," confirmed Tracy.
"Then I'll see you then,… we're right on the top floor… oh, and what did you say you're name was… Tracy was it?" asked Lenny.
"Yes,… Tracy Goodyear," she said.
"Okay Tracy… ten o'clock Monday morning… see you then," said Lenny signing off.
Tracy put her own phone down and screamed loudly: "YES… YES… YES…" then realised that Mr. and Mrs. Covington lived down below and placed her hand over her mouth.
Tracy turned her mind to the missing student in an effort to calm herself down. Getting an appointment with FotoPix Studios may be all well and good, but along with it came an agonising wait. It would be another two days before she could progress any further on the case, and another two days without hope for poor Gayle Jackson.

9:30 am

Roger was at Carrowbank Farm and just about to leave the building when the telephone rang. He was wearing overalls and about to do a bit of work on his day off. He returned to the hall and picked up the receiver.
"Hello Roger Downton speaking," he answered.
"Och! Good morning laddie," came the reply.
Roger smiled on recognising the voice. It was his boss, Mr. McTavish calling from work. Even though today was a Saturday and Roger's day off, the amusement park remained open for business seven days a week.
"Good morning Hamish," replied Roger.
Roger and Mr. McTavish were on first name terms now, although the Scotsman was not averse to calling Roger laddie from time to time.
"Och Roger, I've a wee change of plans," he told him. "I'm a'warr to London on Monday… head office is putting together a new long term plan and they want me there all week."
Roger did not mind. He was quite capable of keeping the Littlesea operation going whilst Mr. McTavish was away.
"That's all right Hamish, I'll hold the fort," he told him.
"Och, but it's noo as simple as that laddie," responded Mr. McTavish. "We need yee there at one meeting… I've suggested Tuesday… can yee be there on Tuesday Roger?… yee'll need to be there early though… we've scheduled the start for eight o'clock."
Roger was delighted. This was the good news he was waiting for. Mr. McTavish was up for retirement shortly and Roger was earmarked to take over his job as boss of Littlesea Amusement Park. This meant promotion and a good pay rise, and the ability to purchase a decent home for himself and Mimi in the area.
"I'll be there Hamish… eight o'clock on the dot," he assured the Scotsman. "I'll probably come down on Tuesday then and stop somewhere overnight so as to be there on time."
"Och that's just grand laddie," responded Mr. McTavish on hearing Roger's plans.
"Okay then Hamish, I'll be there early on Tuesday morning, and don't worry about anything at this end, I'll get everything organised at work on Monday morning," said Roger.
"That's just grand Roger… see yee on Tuesday then… bye," said the Scotsman and signing off.
Mr. McTavish was never one for making long and expensing phone calls.
"Bye," said Roger putting his own phone down.
Roger rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He needed to change a few plans of his own in order to accommodate this sudden and unexpected call from his boss. He also had to finish off a current project he was working on pretty quickly, otherwise things would not be ready on time.

10:00 am

Gayle Jackson was in her tenth day of captivity. However, she had no idea that this was the case. She was not even aware that it was daylight outside. Great swathes of tape remained wound about her head, blotting out all light and leaving her to exist in a land of permanent darkness.
As a consequence, Gayle had long since lost her willpower to resist. She had come to terms with her captivity and readily willing to accept whatever fate befell her. She had told her captor that she was willing to capitulate totally, and in a rare conversation she had promised faithfully not to remove the tape about her head, and with this promise came its rewards. For the past three days life had become a lot easier. She was back against the wall now, the collar and chain about her neck. But now her hands were to the front, held together by manacles and a short chain linked between them. What a pleasure these manacles gave. They allowed her freedom of movement she had never dreamt of before. Now she could lie down on the hard floor, spread herself out and sleep comfortably. The manacles also afforded her one other great luxury. They permitted her the freedom to feed herself with the food and water provided.
Gayle sat with her back against the cold stone wall and listened intently to her captor sawing and hammering away. He had been going at it for about thirty minutes now.
Over the past three to four days, it was impossible to say for sure, Gayle was aware that her captor had taken up a brand new cause. Instead of continuously molesting her, he had switched to dedicating his time to the construction of something on the chamber floor. At first she had heard the material arriving. It took several visits, and probably an entire day to deposit what sounded like planks of wood and heavier beams being dropped to the floor. The chamber also echoed to the arrival of several metal objects, along with chains and boxes.
At first Gayle had only been curious as to the reasons behind this sudden switch of allegiance and exuberant burst of activity. But now, as she listened to the winding of gears and rattling of chains for the first time, that nonplus curiosity that had surrounded her up until now, turned rapidly to fear. Could it be that whatever her captor was constructing was something intended for her? She hoped and prayed it not to be so, but deep down she knew that it inevitably would be the case.
As Gayle sat listening to the winding and clanking of gears, and wondering what it was all about, there came a sort of sudden grinding and crunching sound and the noise stopped abruptly.
"Shit!" she heard her captor exclaim from somewhere across the echoing chamber.
Gayle assumed that something in the winding mechanism had either jammed or broken, but not being able to see what was happening, it was impossible to tell.
For a second or two she listened to the sound of footsteps heading her way, and she cowered against the wall. When those footsteps moved right past her and kept on walking, she breathed a sigh of relief. Thankfully her captor was leaving the chamber.
As the footsteps faded into the distance, Gayle wondered what the future held for her now. The good news was, the contraption, whatever it might be, was not working and therefore she was safe for the time being. The bad news was, the ranting and raving of her captor suggested she was in for a rugged time anyway.

11:00 am

Roger crossed the courtyard to Carrowbank Farm, climbed into his Mercedes and set off down the track. He was no longer wearing his overalls, and was dressed in casual jacket and trousers. On reaching the road he turned right in the direction of Carrowton village. He needed to get to Littlesea to make a few last minute unexpected purchases.
He was also mindful of making a detour on the way. He had planned to do this next Monday evening whilst on his way back from work, but Mr. McTavish's earlier phone call had changed all that. Roger needed to call at a house in Canterford and get something moving on the burglar alarm for the farm. He had called at the place the day before on his way back from house hunting only to find no one at home. A neighbour had told him that the owner of the house, John Townsend was out at work, and that his wife Davina was stopping at a friend's place in London for a few days, but both were expected to return that evening.
On reaching the small village of Carrowton, Roger turned left towards Canterford. Under normal circumstances he would have carried straight on to join the main coastal road into Littlesea, but this detour would only take him a few miles out of his way, and by doing so it meant that he could resolve the burglar alarm issue with John Townsend and leave the rest of the day free to do other things. Apart from making a few necessary purchases in Littlesea, he had in mind to do a spot of further house hunting and take another look at that cottage for sale on Castle Point. In his quest for an ideal home for both himself and Mimi, he had failed to get there yesterday, and somehow the allure and romanticism of owning property next to the old castle still appealed to him despite all the work needed to make the place inhabitable.
Roger pulled up his Mercedes in the road outside a house in Canterford. A Japanese estate car was parked in the driveway suggesting that someone was home. On his visit the previous day the drive had been empty, so the signs were looking good. He walked up the drive to the house and rang the doorbell.
Davina Townsend answered the door. She smiled as she recognised the caller. Roger was the man that had returned her lost wedding ring. An act she was eternally indebted to Roger for.
"Roger,… how nice to  see you,.. do come on in," she said and opening the door wide.
Roger had many things to do, and as it seemed likely that John Townsend was out, since his vehicle was missing from the driveway, he had no intentions of staying any longer than was necessary. He decided not to take up the invitation and enter the house.
"Is your husband in?" he asked and not moving from the spot.
Davina shook her head.
"No, sorry, he's out working today… he's got to get a job finished for this weekend," she told him.
"Oh!" remarked Roger. "I just thought I'd drop by on passing… I'm on my way to Littlesea and I thought I'd call in and see John about that burglar alarm for the farm. We've discussed it before, but somehow never got round to doing anything."
Davina shook her head again.
"Sorry Roger," she apologised once more, "but John won't be back until late tonight… you could phone him then,.. or call back on Monday I guess if you need to speak to him personally… It's like I say, he's busy all this weekend working in Brownsands."
Roger shrugged his shoulders. The burglar alarm would have to wait. It was not that important anyway. He would probably call again sometime in the week on his way back from work. Monday was out as Davina had suggested, and probably so too was Tuesday since he did not know what time he would be back after his meeting in London.
"I'll pop by again sometime later in the week, possibly Wednesday," he told Davina after considering his movements for the week. "It's not that important and it can wait until you husband's not too busy."
Davina frowned. There was not a lot she could do to rectify the situation. Her husband John was particularly busy at the moment, but all the same she did so much want to help Roger. She owed him one for returning her wedding ring.
"I'll tell John you called anyway," said Davina and sounding a little sad that she could not help.
Roger turned to walk away.
"Yes, see you again sometime," he said.
Then, just as Roger was about to step away, Davina spoke again.
"Did you say you're off to Littlesea now?" she asked.
Roger turned to face Davina once more. He nodded his head.
"Yes, I need to buy a few things in Littlesea and I was also planning on making a trip to Castle Point to see an old cottage that's for sale up there," he explained, then asked: "Why?.. Is there something I can do to help?"
Davina nodded her head in response.
"If you don't mind Roger, could you run a friend of mine into town? I was just about to, then come back here afterwards since I've got things of my own to do… but if you wouldn't mind it would save me a journey," Davina explained.
Roger smiled and nodded his head. He had no objections whatsoever. In fact he would be only too grateful to help out.
"Yes, sure, as long as your friend's ready for a lift now, I'll do it," he told her.
Davina smiled.
"That's very kind of you Roger," she said. "She's ready now… she's just got to put a coat on… I'll give her a call." Davina then turned and shouted up the hallway inside the house. "Sylvia, I've got you a lift into Littlesea… can you come now please?"
Roger, on hearing the name Sylvia, suddenly became very curious. On his last visit to this house he had met Davina and a friend in the driveway. That friend had been Sylvia Sparelli, the woman from the Cropwatch organisation. He wondered if this was the same Sylvia, and if so, he had a score to settle with her.
"Yes, sure Davina, I'm coming," called a voice from somewhere inside the house. "Just give me a few seconds to put my coat on."
Roger waited, and looking down the hallway from the front doorstep he saw the figure of a woman approaching. She was putting her arms into the sleeves of her coat as she moved. She arrived in the open doorway pulling her collar straight, and with her hands half shielding her face, but immediately Roger recognised her. This was the same Sylvia he had met once before in the driveway to this house. This was the hated Sylvia Sparelli, chairperson of Cropwatch, the organisation that killed Godfrey and put Mimi in hospital. He collected his thoughts. He had not made plans, and it would be impossible to do anything today, since Davina knew Sylvia was with him. He needed to play along with this for a while. Possibly get to know Sylvia a little better, and try to find out her movements over the next few days.
Roger smiled at Sylvia. "I gather you want a lift into Littlesea?" he said.
Sylvia returned the smile.
"Yes please," she answered.
Sylvia Sparelli joined Roger outside on the path.
"Give me a ring Sylvia when you need a lift back," said Davina from the doorstep.
"Don't worry about me Davina, I'll get a taxi back," answered Sylvia as she began to walk away.
Davina smiled and waved. She was also relieved that Sylvia was out of the way for a while. Now she could get on to Georgina and discuss the current situation regarding the Mercedes driving photographer they were looking for.
"And thanks Roger," called Davina as the couple descended the drive to the road.
Roger waved back.
"Tell John I'll probably call round again on Wednesday night," he said loudly in order to be heard.
Davina waited until Sylvia and Roger were in the car before returning to the house. For the first time since returning home from London she was on her own. She picked up the phone and rang Georgina. They had a lot to talk about.

12:00 midday

Roger had not planned any of the current situation he now found himself in, but was rather pleased with the way everything was working out. As he headed for Littlesea with Sylvia Sparelli sat beside him, he was surprised to discover that she originally came from the area. She had lived in Littlesea until in her teens, then moved to London with her parents when her father had a change of jobs. Sylvia and Davina were old school friends and had kept in touch ever since. She explained that she had come down to the south coast for a short break. The pressure of city life was getting on top of her and she needed to be away from it all for a while. She had come down to Littlesea with Davina in her car and planning on catching a train back to London on Monday morning.
Along with a résumé of all her family history, Sylvia Sparelli told Roger that she was not too bothered where she was dropped off, she just wanted to walk around the town, visit the old places she remembered, see what was still there and what had changed, spend some time on the beach, perhaps have a paddle in the sea if the water was warm, and simply reflect on the nostalgia that was once her childhood.
With all this in mind, as the Mercedes reached the outskirts of Littlesea, Roger made a change to his plans. He would suggest to Sylvia that they visit the old castle first. It would then give them a little more time together and perhaps reveal a few more insights into Sylvia's current movements and behaviour patterns. Perhaps he could even get her address in London, or find out just what time she was planning to leave on Monday. In fact he was looking for anything that might be of assistance in formulating a plan.
"Tell you what Sylvia," he said. "If you're only interested in sightseeing, then why not come with me first to Castle Point? There's a property there I want to take a look at… it's something I'm thinking of buying… and whilst I'm there perhaps you'd like to have a wonder around the castle or something… how's that sound?"
Sylvia liked the idea and nodded her consent.
"Why not?… that would be just great Roger," she answered. "I was thinking of getting a taxi to the castle a bit later on anyway."
As Sylvia spoke the Mercedes was just approaching the turning off to Castle Point. Roger smiled and set the indicator to turn right. So far so good he was thinking. It was now time to turn on the charm and hopefully gain a little of Sylvia's affection. He guessed the quiet setting around the old castle would be the perfect place to do this. The only problem he could foresee was the age difference. He was trying to court somebody ten years older than himself and he had never done that before. In fact, since meeting Mimi at the beginning of the year, he had not turned on the charm to anyone. He began to wonder if he was still capable of doing it.
Five minutes later the Mercedes crested the top of the hill to Castle Point. Looking directly ahead through the windscreen, parts of the tumbled down walls of the old castle could be seen glistening in the sunlight. To the right lay three old cottages, all spaced out in their own grounds. Roger was interested in the first cottage, number 1 Cliff Top Cottages was the address, but as soon as he came over the brow of the hill he saw something that made him feel a little downcast. The 'Property For Sale' notice outside the cottage had the word 'Sold' written upon it. Also, outside the gate, a van was parked. He read the words on the side of the van and immediately guessed who the new owner of the property would be. Clive Carter, his old mate from the 'Littlesea Castle Trust' had beaten him to it.
Roger pulled up the Mercedes some way behind the van and switched off the engine. Sylvia, for a moment, wondered why they had come to a sudden stop. She had been expecting Roger to carry on to the castle car park. Then she spotted the estate agent's sign next to the gate and understood. She tried to look for the cottage, but there was not much else to see. The cottage itself was hidden behind a dense hedgerow, and the car was parked some distance from the gateway entrance so that she could not look up the garden path. All the same she was curious and wanted to know more.
"Behind the hedge… Is this the place you were thinking of buying?" she asked.
Roger nodded his head.
"Yes, this is the place," he told her, "but by the looks of it, I'm a little too late… the cottage has already been sold."
Sylvia glanced at the 'Sold' sign once more then shook her head in sympathy.
"I guess this sort of property gets snapped up pretty quickly doesn't it Roger," she remarked.
"Normally it does, but I thought this one might take a little bit of selling… the local surveyors got wind of a network of tunnels beneath and were afraid of subsidence," explained Roger.
Sylvia pulled a face.
"And are there really tunnels beneath?" she asked.
Roger shook his head from side to side.
"No… well nothing that's going to make the place collapse anyway," he informed her, "but it does seem like the instigator of the rumour has become the beneficiary."
Sylvia frowned. She did not understand what Roger was suggesting.
"Instigator?… Beneficiary?.. What's that all about?" she asked.
Roger tried to explain.
"Oh, just someone I know very well spread the rumour that beneath this cottage the place was absolutely riddled with catacombs," he said, "and now it looks like he's gone and bought it… that's his van parked up in front of the gate."
Sylvia's eyes turned to the van and read the name painted on the back doors.
"He works for the Castle Trust then does he?" she asked.
Roger nodded his head.
"Yes, he's their chief surveyor, and he knows the tunnels down below like the back of his hand," he told her.
Just then the gate to the cottage was heard to click and a young man in his mid-twenties stepped out. He was dressed in overalls and looked like he was doing a spot of handiwork. For a moment he glanced to the Mercedes parked behind his own vehicle, seemingly did not recognise it, then carried on to open up the back doors of his van.
Still seated at the wheel of his car, Roger wound down his electric window and tooted his horn.
"Clive Carter," he shouted through the open window.
The man looked up as the horn sounded and a voice called his name, then slowly the look on his face turned from one of bewilderment to a big, broad beaming smile.
"Roger Downton… you son of a bitch!" he exclaimed as he recognised the car and its occupant.
On seeing the smile, Roger got out to greet his old friend.
Sylvia, from the other side of the car did the same. She had no interest in meeting Roger's friend, it was in her nature to be totally independent. She was far more interested in seeing the old cottage for herself, even if it was only from a distance. As the two men met to speak some mid-distance between the two parked up vehicles, she strolled on a few more paces to look up the garden path.
"What brings you here this time?" asked Clive to Roger, then looking towards the slim figure of Sylvia ambling slowly past, he remarked: "And who's the pretty lass this time?.. It seems that every time I meet you up here you've got a fresh girl with you."
Roger saw the irony in the statement and smiled. It did seem that way, though none of it was intended. This was his third encounter with Clive on Castle Point since his return to working in Littlesea, and on each occasion he had a different girl by his side. He recalled the first visit. Then it had been Mimi with him, and Clive had taken them below the castle ruins and shown them around the catacombs. On the next visit Chloe had been with him. He had just picked her up from the railway station and they were killing time before going to Godfrey's funeral. And now it was Sylvia's turn to be with him. Ironically she was only here by chance too, although a little devious manipulating of his own had come into play somewhere along the line. However, later in the day he was going to drop her off in Littlesea, do his own shopping, then head off back to the farm alone.
Roger wondered whether to be honest and explain all this to Clive, but decided it just was not worth it. The story was all too long and complicated. Instead he did the manly thing and made a joke of it.
"Well, you know me Clive,… one night stands and no complications," he told him.
Clive continued to turn his head in Sylvia's direction. He was thinking she was a bit out of the ordinary this one, no common little university student like the last girl. This woman looked smart, her make-up was expensive, as was her jewellery, also her clothes were designer fashion, and she walked with the air and graces of someone not adverse to moving around in high circles.
"Well you've certainly found a good one this time Roger," he announced.
Roger felt embarrassed but he did not know why. Sylvia was not really with him and he still loved Mimi very dearly. He decided it best to change the subject quickly.
"I see you've gone and bought the cottage then?" he queried.
Clive began to grin and he nodded his head.
"Yes,… I went and bought it," he admitted. "Got it cheap as well… on account that they all think it's about to tumble down."
Roger laughed. He had got over the initial disappointment of seeing the place sold and was now back to thinking that a modern semi in a quiet cul-de-sac was the ideal place for him anyway. He had forgotten about all the hard work involved.
"I thought you'd end up buying the place… so what's happening now?… are you moving in?" he asked.
Clive shook his head.
"Perhaps in a month or two's time… I've only just got the keys and I'm decorating at the moment," Clive told him.
Roger placed a hand on Clive's shoulder.
"Well Clive, I think you've got a beautiful place here… I only wish that if I'd had the time and energy, then I would have bought it for myself," he said.
Clive appreciated the compliment.
"Tell you what," he said, "as soon as the place is ready, then I'll hold a house warming party… and you'll be first to be invited… and maybe even ask you to bring your new girlfriend with you… this one's very tasty… I like the look of her."
Roger laughed at Clive's taste for older women. If only he knew the truth behind bringing Sylvia up here then he would have quite a shock. He decided to bring their conversation to an end and whisk Sylvia away to the castle.
"Look Clive, we'd best be going and leave you to your decorating… but I'll take up what you say about the house warming party… just let me know when the date is and I'll be here," said Roger.
Clive nodded his head.
"Okay Roger," agreed Clive, "I'll see you again sometime… and perhaps we can have a drink together… and have a good time tonight with your new woman… slip her one from me will you."
Roger laughed. If only Clive knew the truth. All the same he did not disappoint his friend.
"I'll do just that Clive… I'll give her one extra just for you," he told him.
Clive laughed out loudly at the thought, enough to make Sylvia turn her head and look away from gazing up the garden path.
"Come on Sylvia, we're going to the castle now," Roger called to her.
Sylvia returned to the car. She smiled gracefully at Clive on passing but did not say anything. Roger shook hands with Clive, said his farewells, then returned to his car.
Clive waited for the Mercedes to pull away, gave a little wave on passing, then moved to the back of his van to collect his things. He was a busy man too.

1:00 pm

Wendy had slept all morning. At sometime around one o'clock in the afternoon, after taking a shower and slipping on a dressing gown, she finally made it to the lounge. With head still wet and wrapped in a towel she came in contact with Tracy for the first time that day. She still looked bedraggled and exhausted, suggesting that yesterday had been a very tiring and harrowing ordeal for her.
"God! What happened to you!" remarked Tracy on seeing Wendy shuffle into the room and flop down in an armchair next to her.
"Tim just wouldn't let me go," answered Wendy.
This in reality was far nearer the truth than Tracy realised. Wendy had been handcuffed to the bed for most of the afternoon and well into the evening, and only released when Tim's parents finally put in an appearance. But she considered the statement sufficient enough to explain away the reasons for her tardy return last night and current exhausted condition. Other than that she was not willing to reveal any more of the intimate details that went on between herself and Tim in that long, drawn-out all seven hour session.
"Tim's been phoning you all morning," stated Tracy.
Wendy simply yawned.
Just then the telephone rang.
"I bet that's him now… you'd better answer it," said Tracy.
"He want's me to go out with him again," Wendy explained. "He wouldn't let me get out of the car last night until I agreed to see him again."
"And did you?" asked Tracy.
"No I didn't… not until I'd spoken to you," answered Wendy. "I didn't know what stage the investigation was at… I needed to find that out what we were doing before agreeing anything."
Tracy considered all the implications. As far as she was concerned she had her own personal investigations to follow and she did not particularly want to get Wendy involved. Tracking down the Mercedes owning photographer from Littlesea had turned into her own private pet project. She concluded that it would be best to keep Wendy pre-occupied on some other mission of her own. Furthermore she wanted it to sound important.
"Best stick with Tim," she told Wendy after giving the matter some thought. "You never know, you might come up with something useful… and besides we don't want him getting suspicious and wondering what we're up to… so play along with him for a little while longer… go on, answer the phone, and tell him you'll see him again."
Wendy smiled, but not too much, she did not want to show her pleasure. She rose and hurried to the phone. It had been ringing for quite some time now.
"Hello, Wendy speaking," she answered.
"Hello Wendy, Tim here," came the reply. "I've been trying to get you all morning."
"I've been asleep," Wendy answered truthfully.
"What are you doing tonight Wendy?" asked Tim. "I was thinking we might go to the local night club together… there's a disco on there every Saturday night… what do you think Wendy?… would you like to go?"
Wendy looked across the room to Tracy and covered the mouthpiece of the phone with her hand.
"He wants me to go to a disco tonight," she told Tracy in a low voice.
Tracy nodded her head in consent.
"Tell him yes," she whispered back, "tell him you'll go."
Wendy smiled.
"Yes I'd love to Tim," she told him. "What time are you going to pick me up?"
"About seven o'clock, will that do?" suggested Tim and sounding delighted on the other end of the line.
"Seven o'clock is fine by me Tim," she confirmed. "Are you going to pick me up outside?"
"I'll be there at seven o'clock Wendy," he assured her, "and wear that short skirt and blouse again… you'll be a knockout."
Wendy tried not to let her reactions show, but needless to say she was delighted at the thought of meeting Tim again. It was just that she did not want to let the pact down. The pact still came first and Tim second despite the way she felt about him.
"Yes, okay, see you at seven o'clock tonight then Tim," she said, then added a quick: "Bye…" and put the phone down.
"Tim's coming for me at seven o'clock to night," Wendy told Tracy.
"Well done Wendy," replied Tracy.
Tracy felt happy enough with the arrangement. Everything seemed to be going according to plan, and with Wendy having something to do to occupy her time, it all fitted quite well into the overall scheme of things. The only problem now for Tracy was the awful wait. Her own investigations had come to a grinding halt and she could do nothing more until Monday morning. However, she considered it in her own interests to keep the Wendy and Tim relationship going for a little while longer. Especially if it would get Wendy out of the way on Monday morning.

7:00 pm

Wendy was looking out of the first floor window of the flat when she saw Tim's red sports car pull up outside. She looked to her watch. He was dead on time.
"Tim's here," she called to Tracy who was somewhere in the kitchen.
Tracy came to see her off. They met on the top of the stairs.
"Good luck," she wished as they hugged and gave each other a little kiss.
"How do I look?" asked Wendy stepping back a little way.
She had a different skirt and top on to those she wore the day before, but in style and skimpiness there was very little difference.
"You look a knockout," Tracy told her.
Wendy smiled and turned to go down the stairs.
"I'll try not to be too late tonight Tracy," she told her.
Tracy understood and nodded her head.
"That's all right Wendy… I doubt if I'll wait up this time," she answered, "just find out all there is to know about Gayle Jackson… it doesn't matter how small or insignificant it may seem at the time, but it could prove vital to the investigation later… so go to it, and don't worry about being late... what you're doing is really important."
Wendy smiled nervously and headed off down the stairs.
At the bottom she called: "See you later Tracy," then headed out through the front door.
As the door closed behind her, Tracy moved to the window and watched Wendy cross the road and get into the car. As the car roared away she was thinking what a brave girl Wendy was turning out to be. Going out with a young man must be proving doubly hard for her, yet she had not complained once about the heavy burden thrust upon. She was doing all this for the pact and not herself.
As the car disappeared from view Tracy was thinking what an unselfish girl Wendy truly was.

8:00 pm

Gayle Jackson listened to the returning footsteps of her captor. He had been gone for several hours now and guessed that it was meal time.
At regular intervals, and at presumably the same time everyday, the man would appear with plate of something to eat and fill up her plastic tumbler with water. Normally he would then go away only to return not long afterwards.
It was not this first visit, but his second appearance she dreaded most. For it was on this latter occasion that he would physically abuse her. Sometimes it was not too bad and his touch would be gentle, but at other times he could be quite rough, and then it really hurt. Her breasts still ached and everywhere between her legs remained tender and sore from the man's cruel and painful handling.
Sometimes her captor would simply run a finger along her crack and gently caress her womanhood, on others he would thrust his fingers deep into her fanny and thrash away harshly. It was the same with her tits. Sometimes he would be most gently and comforting, at others he would grab and twist the flesh, and squeeze her nipples so hard it brought tears to her eyes. But strangely, on every occasion he had never once sought to enter her. He was simply content to masturbate and relieve himself all over her. She hated the sticky mess and had never been given anything to clean herself up with afterwards. She could not see herself, the blindfold prevented it, but she could feel the filth of several days deposit of caked semen smeared all over her body.
Gayle waited for her captor to walk up to her and present her with her food, but instead, from somewhere at the centre of the chamber there began the ceaseless echoing of a tapping hammer. She sighed deeply. The man was back at work on his contraption.
She felt compelled to remove her blindfold, to unwind all those lashings of tape about her head, and to see exactly what it was he was constructing. But she could not. She was far too aware of the fateful consequences if she even attempted to raise up her hands and touch the blindfold. If he was to catch her doing it, then he would punish her even more harshly than before. Reluctantly she just sat with her back against the wall, manacled hands resting on her lap, and listening to the work going on. It was the only thing she could do.
A little while later the constant hammering stopped only to be replaced by the churning of cogs accompanied by a sharp but constant clicking of a ratchet. These were the same sounds she had heard just prior to the grinding crunch that brought everything to a sudden standstill last time. Gayle remained quizzical, but at the same time turned extremely worried. By the fresh sounds now issuing from the centre of the chamber, her captor had finally managed to get his mysterious contraption working.
After a few more whirr's and clicks all went quiet. Gayle listened intently and concluded that her captor had completed his construction. Then came the sound of approaching feet. Suddenly she cowered herself up into a ball. The footsteps were coming her way. However there was absolutely nothing she could do to prevent the inevitable. She felt her captor's somewhat greasy hands brush against the side of her neck as at first he fiddled with the padlock, then released the ring of steel that encircled her neck and held her captive to the wall. She heard the heavy collar and chain drop to the ground, then felt a strong hand grab her by the arm and raise her to her feet. With the grip still intact she was forced to walk. To be frog-marched across the chamber floor. She did so without protest even though the man was hurting her arm badly.
Gayle was brought to a sudden halt. Immediately two big powerful arms took hold of her body and raised her up from the floor. Within seconds of being tossed upwards through the air she found herself being dropped back down, only to land heavily on her back on a hard wooden bench. Nothing gave way, and the sudden jolt, followed by the harsh slap of naked flesh thumping down on a bare wooden surface suggested that the boards were thick and the construction solid.
Strong hands grabbed Gayle by the ankles and dragged her bodily down the bench. Her legs were then pulled apart so that her heels touched the two bottom corners. She did not resist and retained her legs in the open position even after the hands had departed.
At this stage Gayle remained confused and with little idea as to what was happening. It was only after first one stout leather belt was strapped about an ankle, and then a second about the other, that she began to fully appreciate the predicament she was in. She was being strapped to a bench with legs held apart, and that clicking noise she had heard previously had sounded ominously like winding mechanism in motion. Only as the second buckle became threaded and drawn tightly about the ankle did it finally dawn upon her exactly what the man had been building all this time. It was a rack of torture. Something that would stretch her limb from limb, and she was to be its first victim.
Suddenly she felt fear.
"No!… please!… don't!.." she screamed, "please don't do it!… please... no!"
But her pleas for mercy went unheeded. A hand took hold of the short chain affixed between her manacled hands and raised up her arms above her head. A hook, or some other device was then attached to the chain and the winding gear set in motion. It sounded like he was turning a wheel affixed to the side of the bench. Soon Gayle felt her arms being drawn upwards along the bench. She listened to the smooth and constant whirring of the gears and the rhythmical clicking of the ratchet, and wondered just how much further there was to go. There was no pain as yet, but she could feel her muscles stretching and the tension building all along her body.
Then suddenly the winding ceased abruptly and a strange silence befell the chamber.
"That's far enough," her captor informed her.
These were the first words spoken by the man in days. Normally he said nothing, and this was probably his longest sentence to date. But how comforting these words were to the long suffering Gayle. She could just about live with the current tension to her limbs, and there were still parts of her body she could control. Her head, hands and feet could all move freely. So, in and effort to test out the exact amount of movement afforded her she flexed her fingers, waggled her toes and moved her head from side to side.
"Thank you," she said on finishing her little experiment.
"The pain I'm saving for someone special," said the man.
An unusually long and informative sentence from someone normally so reticent and meagre with the facts, but Gayle did not care. On hearing these words she breathed a big sigh of relief. The man was not going to hurt her after all.
However the respite was to be short lived. A solitary finger touched her lightly between the legs and started to dance in small circles amongst the light fuzzy hairs of her mound. The finger moved down to continue its circling, this time to play and hover around the area of the clitoris. It toyed and teased on the spot for a little while longer, waiting for a dampness to form, then moved on down a little way further, this time to part her labia lips and caress around the entrance to her virgina. Slowly the finger entered her cavity and began to twitch and move around inside. At the same time a tongue touched a nipple and licked lightly at the very tip. The tongue then traced a ring around the red cherry a few times before finally engulfing the nipple between two strong lips and sucking it deep into the mouth.
The combined actions of frigging and sucking caused Gayle to draw in a deep volume of air. She grimaced and turned her head away. Instinct told her to lock her legs tightly together and to push the man's head away with her hands, but both actions were denied of her. Stretched out the way she was made all movement of the limbs impossible. There was nothing she could do but let him get on with it.
Gayle listened to the man's breathing. It was getting heavier and more laboured as the seconds passed by. It was obvious that he was masturbating himself, pumping away with his one free hand. She hoped and prayed that it would all be over very quickly and that today would be one of his more gentler days.

End of Chapter Twenty-three