* * *

FOREWORD TO PART THREE

A reminder of where we got to:-

Part Two ended with the ‘New Caretaker’, Roger Downton being taken into custody. He was arrested at Carrowbank Farm by Chief Inspector Hawkins under the suspicion of abducting two females from the Cropwatch Organisation; namely the chairperson, Sylvia Sparelli, and the London area delegate, Gayle Jackson.

Sylvia Sparelli disappeared the day before Roger Downton’s arrest, on Monday 10th April, having been abducted from her Chelsea apartment by some unknown caller offering flowers. Thirteen days prior to that, on Wednesday 29th March, Gayle Jackson disappeared. She was last sighted walking late at night through the gates of a north London park and had not been seen since.

Roger Downton’s arrest had been down to some careful and painstaking detective work carried out by a group of four young women. Together they called themselves ‘The Pact’. Their solemn vow being to rid the world of the wicked men that took pleasure from the abduction and torture of defenceless women.

As Part Two came to a close, three of these girls were in Littlesea, on the south coast of England, and were directly responsible for Roger Downton’s arrest. These three were; Georgina Watkinson, a woman police officer; Davina Townsend, a housewife and now pregnant; and Tracy Goodyear, a one time laboratory technician, but now on extended sick leave. The fourth member of the Pact, Wendy Bartlett, a filing clerk and likewise on extended sick leave, remained in London, residing at a flat rented by ‘The Pact’ for surveillance over the park where Gayle Jackson had been abducted.

Two members of ‘The Pact’, Wendy Bartlett and Tracy Goodyear, were lesbian lovers, and had been for quite some time, but as Part Two came to a close it was becoming clear that this relationship was under strain. Eighteen year old Wendy now had eyes for the opposite sex in the form of Tim Walker, a one time boyfriend of the missing girl Gayle Jackson, and at one point a prime suspect in the case.

The story ended with Georgina Watkinson from ‘The Pact’ informing Chief Inspector Hawkins of their findings. As a result the Inspector was waiting at Carrowbank Farm for Roger Downton to appear. On his arrival he was promptly arrested and taken to Littlesea Police station where he was questioned for about two hours before being sent down to the cells for the night. In all that time he vehemently protested his innocence.

At nine o’clock the following morning, on Wednesday 12th April, Chief Inspector Hawkins was ready to resume his questioning.

It is at this point Part Three begins:
 

* * *
 

The day following Roger Downton’s arrest … Wednesday 12th April

9:00 am

Roger Downton was taken from the cells and brought to the interview room at Littlesea Police Station. The time was nine o’clock in the morning. He had not slept for worry.
The interview room was bare, just a table and four chairs. There was a tape recorder and an ashtray on the table. On one side of the table sat Roger Downton, opposite him sat Chief Inspector Hawkins along with Police Constable David Grantford. As ever, the Inspector was smoking a cigarette. He had no pen or notepad in his hands, he was leaving the making of notes to the officer sat next to him and a tape recorder by his side.
The Inspector blew a smoke ring in the air and looked Roger Downton in the eyes.
“Right Roger, are we ready to resume?” he asked.
Roger rubbed his tired, sleepless eyes and shook his head slowly from side to side.
“I’ve nothing else to tell... I told you yesterday everything I know,” he replied, then added: “It wasn’t me… honestly Inspector… you’ve got the wrong person.”
From a briefcase by his side, Inspector Hawkins removed and placed a desk diary on the table before him. This had not been present at the interview the night before. It was the diary used at the reception desk of the ‘Intensive Care Unit’ at Littlesea General Hospital. There were two sets of bookmarks inserted between the pages. He opened the diary at the first bookmark. This was a big desk diary and both sides of the open pages showed entries for a single day. The left hand side had times up to midday, the right hand side from midday onwards. The diary was opened at the date ‘Tuesday 28th March’.
The Inspector tapped a solitary finger on an entry made in the 8:00 am section of the first page.
“This is the desk diary from the hospital,” he informed Roger. “This entry here concerns you.”
Roger just nodded his head. He knew exactly where the book had come from and what was written on the page.
The Inspector read from the diary: “Roger Downton in London for the next three days. Can be contacted on the follow numbers.”
The Inspector read out the three telephone numbers then looked across the table to Roger.
“We’ve checked out these telephone numbers… One is for a flat you once owned in London… the number is now unobtainable… another is for a London estate agents... they’re still in business… and the third’s a place called FotoPix Studios… they too are in existence.”
Roger nodded his head. He knew the numbers and the reason they were there.
“That’s what I told you yesterday,” he confirmed.
“So you are not denying that this message entered in the hospital diary was instigated by you? And that you were in London for the three days stated? That’s the twenty-eighth, twenty-ninth and thirtieth of March this year?” asked the Inspector.
Roger nodded his head.
“Yes, I told the receptionist I was going to London and I gave her those telephone numbers, and I watched her write everything in the book… Later that day I went to London and I stayed there for those three days,” he confirmed.
Inspector Hawkins looked thoughtful. He stubbed out his cigarette and re-lit another one.
“Roger… can you go over your movements for those three days just one more time please?… Starting from the time you left the hospital,” enquired the Inspector.
Roger shook his head in despair.
“I told you all this yesterday,” he reminded the Inspector.
Inspector Hawkins gave a little sympathetic smile.
“Just one more time,… please Roger,… tell me your movements for those three days?” he said. “Perhaps you’ve thought of something you may have overlooked yesterday.”
Roger shook his head once more.
“My story’s exactly the same. I’ve nothing more to tell,” he told the Inspector with a deep sigh.
“Then please Roger,… let’s hear it all once again,… exactly as you told me yesterday,” insisted Hawkins.
Roger composed himself. There was not really much to tell.
He began: “After leaving the hospital I went first to the place of my work. I told my boss, Mr. McTavish, my plans. I told him I was having the next few days off to finalise the sale of my flat in London. After that I went back to Carrowbank Farm to pack a few things. That was about ten o’clock in the morning.
“I then set off for London. I probably left sometime around midday. I went directly to FotoPix Studies in London and stayed there for a couple of hours. After that I went to my old flat and stayed there for the rest of the night. I did not go out at all that evening. I stopped in and watched a video.
“The next day I visited my estate agent and solicitors. I signed a few documents and agreed for the sale of my property to go ahead. I then returned to my flat, cleaned my old car, charged the battery and got it started. I then drove around the garages looking for a quick sale. I eventually managed to sell the car. Having done all that, it was getting late, so I returned to my flat and stopped there the second night. The next morning I loaded up my car with the remaining items from my flat and drove back to Carrowbank Farm. I spent the rest of the day at the farm. And those Inspector were my movements for the three days in question.”
Inspector Hawkins made no comment. He had heard the same explanation several times when interviewing Roger the previous evening. He made no mention of the Mercedes car spotted near to the park where Gayle Jackson was abducted. He left this for the London police to check out, knowing that to mention it at this stage would only prejudice any future investigations. Instead he turned the pages of the diary to the second book marker. His finger tapped on a entry this time made between nine and ten o’clock on the morning of the 10th April. That date was just two days ago.
The Inspector read the entry to Roger: “For the next two days Roger Downton can be contacted at his Company Headquarters in London.”
There was a telephone number present, but the Inspector did not read it out.
The Inspector look across the table to Roger. Today was the twelfth of April and Sylvia Sparelli’s reported disappearance was only two days old. He reasoned that this, if anything, should still be fresh in the mind of the man being questioned.
“You do not deny then Roger, that you were in London for the two days mentioned here? That’s the tenth and eleventh of April,” asked the Inspector.
Roger shook his head in grief.
“Yes, I was in London yesterday and the day before that,” he confirmed.
“Then go over your movements on this second visit just one more time please Roger,” asked Inspector Hawkins.
Roger steeled himself before giving an answer. He realised that it was all damning evidence against him.
He cleared his throat and began to speak: “After visiting Littlesea hospital and recording that entry in the diary, I drove straight to London. I spent the entire day at work. I was involved in several management meetings. After work I went to my hotel. I no longer owned a flat, so my Company booked me into a hotel. I had an evening meal there and went back to my room immediately afterwards. I was tired. The next morning I drove to work for a second day. We held several more meetings and I managed to get away sometime around four o’clock. I then drove straight back to Carrowbank Farm only to find you waiting for me. The rest you know.”
After listening intently to what was said, the Inspector took his time before giving a response. The trouble was, this was not his case, the dual abductions of Gayle Jackson and Sylvia Sparelli were very much in the hands of the London police. Detectives from London were already on their way to Littlesea. Within the next hour Roger would be whisked away to London for further questioning, and that would be the end of the matter as far as he was concerned.
However, before this interview ended, Inspector Hawkins had one more piece of evidence to put to Roger. From his briefcase he extracted a weather-worn news sheet. The Cropwatch heading at the top was clearly visible. However, the photograph underneath was a little faded. The Inspector placed the news sheet on the table and turned it around for Roger to see.
“This leaflet was taken from a fence post at Carrowbank Farm,” he told Roger. “I want you to tell me whether you recognise anyone in this picture.”
Roger stared blankly at the photograph. Despite the faded appearance the faces remained visible. This was a picture of seven young women standing side by side. At the centre stood a smiling Sylvia Sparelli, and by her side stood Gayle Jackson. Roger knew this was more damning evidence against him, but realised that to deny that he had never set eyes on the two girls would only be refuted by those that knew the truth.
Roger extended a trembling finger and touched the picture.
“I know this woman at the centre… and this girl by her side,” he told the Inspector.
The Inspector watched the finger tap on the faces of the two missing females. He remained thoughtful for a few seconds and lit up another cigarette.
“Tell me how you got to know them?” he asked.
Roger shook his head in despair.
“Look, I know they’re the missing girls, but I had nothing to do with it, honestly Inspector,” Roger told him.
Inspector Hawkins nodded his head. His pan face giving little away.
“Just tell me how you came to meet these two women?” he repeated.
Roger swallowed hard. He wanted to deny it all, but deep down inside he knew that he must tell the truth. He tapped a finger on the face at the centre of the photograph.
He explained: “This woman I’ve met twice before. Her name is Sylvia Sparelli. I met her both times in Canterford, a village not far from Littlesea. She was at the home of someone that’s fitting burglar alarms for me at Carrowbank Farm. On the first occasion I just came in contact with her on the driveway to the house. I’m not even sure we spoke. On the second occasion I drove her to Castle Point and then on to Littlesea. I dropped her off near the town centre. She told me she originated from the area and wanted to indulge in a spot of nostalgia.”
“And the other young woman? The one stood next to her?” asked the Inspector.
Roger thought hard before answering.
He then explained: “This girl I gave a lift to along with another girl called Chloe Chambers. I drove the two of them from outside Chloe’s university to a house a couple of miles away. I dropped them both off and carried on to my flat. This girl remained in the back of my car all the time and I only ever spoke; ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ to her. Those were the only two words spoken, and I’ve never met or seen her since.”
Inspector Hawkins remained thoughtful. The evidence was damning. The suspect was not only in London when both girl’s were abducted, but he also admitted to having personally met them. At present all the evidence pointed to Roger and he had no option but to hand him over to the London police for further questioning. However, he had to ask just one more question.
“Roger… where are the missing girls?” he asked.
Roger shook his head vigorously.
“I’ve told you before… I don’t know where they are… I didn’t do it,” he told the Inspector.
This was the answer the Inspector was expecting. He said nothing more and rose from his chair.
“Roger, I’m going to conclude this interview at this point. I’ve nothing more to ask,” he told Roger. He then went on to explain; “very soon detectives from London will arrive here at the station. They will ask you to accompany them back to London for further questioning.”
Roger dropped his head into his hands. His thoughts were very much for Mimi.
“Can you get someone to keep an eye on Mimi for me? She needs to be visited every day,” asked Roger.
Inspector Hawkins was well aware that Roger’s fiancée was in hospital and lying in a coma. She had fallen from the roof of a barn back at Carrowbank Farm some two month’s back. A second person, a farmer named Godfrey Brookes had died in the same fall.
The Inspector was full of sympathy and wanted to help.
“Who shall I ask then?” he enquired.
Roger looked up from the table. He had two people in mind.
He told the Inspector: “My boss… Mr. McTavish… from the amusement park,… and can you also get a message to one of the doctors at the hospital?… Please ask Dr. Lang to keep an eye on Mimi for me… He used to treat Godfrey Brookes before he died… I’m sure he’ll keep an eye on my Mimi for me.”
Inspector Hawkins nodded his head. It was the least he could do.
“I’ll do that for you Roger,” he promised.

10:00 am

Sylvia Sparelli lay stretched out on her back; her manacled wrists pulled taught above her head; she lay naked with her legs drawn open and held there by wide leather straps about her ankles.
Beneath her body hard wooden boards pressed uncomfortably against her naked flesh. For relief she wanted to move the pressure points to some other parts of the body, but the tension that racked her limbs made even the slightest movement impossible. She could move her toes, flex her fingers and roll her head from side to side, but little else.
After feeling comfortably numb when first subjected to this harsh treatment, now she lay in deep pain. It was difficult to tell which parts of her body hurt the most. She lay in agony from the tips of her fingers to the end of her toes. She was also aware that her wrists were bleeding from the abrasions caused by the iron manacles. The palms of her hands felt sticky, yet not from sweat, but from thin trickles of blood flowing from her wrists and dripping onto the boards beneath.
A cool draft of air blew constantly across Sylvia’s naked body. Being blindfolded she could only imagine the conditions she was being kept in. Several layers of medical tape had been wound about her head, muffling her ears and deadening the sound, but her nose and mouth remained free. She could smell and taste the bitter chilling air. It felt cold and dank as if from some underground cellar or chamber. She manipulated her jaws. With the circulation in her hands and feet almost cut off, her mouth and lips were the only parts of her body she could move with ease. She decided it was time to make herself heard.
Through a parched dry mouth she croaked: “Help!…. is there anybody there?… can anybody hear me?”
Through taped up ears Sylvia listened to the echoing hall about her. It sounded as if she was in some sort of underground chamber of seemingly enormous proportions.
She called out her message once more, this time a little louder, then listened to the fading echo. This confirmed her suspicions. She was in a cave or cavern, surrounded by high walls and ceiling. She tried to visualise the scene that lay about her, and the only conclusion she kept coming to was, that she was alone and a prisoner in some madman’s dungeon.

Yet unbeknown to Sylvia Sparelli, she had a listener.

No more than a dozen paces away, a Cropwatch colleague of hers, Gayle Jackson, sat motionless with her back against a cold stone wall. A short chain ran between an eyebolt in the wall and a steel collar about her neck. She too was naked; with her body soiled; her hair dishevelled; her hands manacled to the front; and her head swathed in layers of grubby white medical tape. She was further hampered by a rag in her mouth and tape about her lips. Even the echoing sounds of the cavernous environment with which she shared, were muted by the many layers of tape that shrouded her ears.
Despite the many layers of tape, Gayle cocked an ear and listened closely to the muffled calls. There was something about that dry, struggling voice she recognised.
“Is there anybody there?… Can anybody hear me?” croaked the voice once more.
On this occasion Gayle became convinced that she recognised the distant calling voice. It surely had to be the voice of Sylvia Sparelli, a colleague of hers from the Cropwatch Organisation.
Gayle considered what best to do? With her hands manacled to the front, it was possible to work loose the tape about her lips and extract the foul tasting oily rag from within her mouth. But she lived in fear of what her captor might do to her if caught in the act. She had learnt from past experience that to be found out would only lead to the most drastic and severest of punishments imaginable. She had learnt the hard way and knew exactly what sort of evil deeds her captor was capable of inflicting upon both her and Sylvia if either one of them fell out of line.
She decided it best for both of them if she remained silent and still.
Moments later she realised that she had made the correct decision.
Gayle cocked an ear.
Muffled footsteps were approaching and they were heading towards her and not Sylvia. The footsteps stopped in front of her and she held her breath in fear. She listened as her captor placed a dish and drinking bottle by her feet. She sighed with relief. It was feeding time and she was both hungry and thirsty.
Rough hands grabbed at the side of Gayle’s head and pulled the binding away so that it hung down beneath her chin. She pushed the filthy rag in her mouth forward with her tongue and waited for it to be taken away. This was all a set routine now and becoming second nature to her.
As expected a hand removed the rag from between her teeth.
The moment the rag was gone, Gayle blindly fumbled with her manacled hands on the floor immediately before her. She located the drinking bottle and placed it in her mouth. The water was cold and refreshing. She swilled it round her mouth to take away the lingering taste of the oily rag, then swallowed deeply. After that she leant back again the wall, drained the bottle dry, then sighed with relief. It was so nice to have the mouth free and moist again, she even felt like thanking the man. But she did nothing of the sort. She had long since learned not to speak or make the slightest sound. She was only too aware of the consequences. To be a good prisoner and not say a word was to remain safe and unharmed.
Gayle listened to her captor’s footsteps moving away, and as they did so the calling voice of Sylvia Sparelli echoed once more about the chamber.
“Hey!… You out there?… Who are you?… Can you hear me?” she called.
The footsteps stopped after about a dozen paces. There was silence for a few seconds followed by a number of distant metallic clicks. For a while nothing more could be heard. Then something happened to make Sylvia squeal. It was a horrible piercing squeal that suggested she was really in pain.
Gayle put her manacled hands to her face and prayed that Sylvia was a quick learner. Those clicks she had heard had been the wheel of the rack tightening, but she did not know what else the man had done to her. However she was well aware of his thinking and intentions. This was just the beginning of a slow process of degradation. Sylvia was about to be broken into submission just as she herself had once been.

2:00 pm

Dr. Gabriel Lang crossed from one hospital block to another. He was on his way to the ‘Intensive Care Unit’ of Littlesea General Hospital. Earlier that day he had received a rather unusual telephone call from Chief Inspector Hawkins who had explained the circumstances. As a result the doctor had promised to go over and see the patient immediately his morning surgery was over.
The doctor was a little confused as to why he had been selected to keep an eye on a patient over in the Intensive Care block, but considered it his duty to do so. He knew the patient only by name, but knew of her fiancé Roger Downton. As far as he could remember he had met Roger on a couple occasions: But as for meeting Mimi, he could not recall ever seeing or speaking to her.
As the doctor crossed between the towering hospital blocks he reflected on what little he knew. He had been treating Godfrey Brookes for depression before a tragic accident occurred at Carrowbank Farm. Godfrey had fallen from a barn roof and was killed; and Mimi, the patient he was now about to visit, was also involved in that fall. She now lay in coma and showed little signs of recovery.
As regards to the circumstances surrounding Roger Downton’s arrest, the doctor was even more in the dark. The life of a hospital consultant was a busy one and keeping up with the outside news never rated high on his priority list. However, when he could grab the chance, he did listen to the radio and watch television, and he was aware of the disappearance of two girls; one two weeks ago, the second just a couple of days ago. However, both incidents had taken place in London, many miles from the south coast of England, and the news had merely been absorbed with passing interest and nothing more.
The doctor reflected on all these things as he approached the Intensive Care Unit at the hospital where he worked. On his way through the reception area, and still deep in thought, he collected a dossier waiting for him on the desk. These were the patient’s medical records. An earlier phone call to the doctor in charge of Mimi’s welfare had cleared the visit and made the medical records available.
Dr. Lang entered the side ward where Mimi lay. She was lying on her back with arms by her side. Her eyes were closed and she showed no signs of movement. Feeding pipes entered her nostrils and drip-feeds penetrated veins in her arms.
The doctor drew up a chair and sat down by the side of the bed. He then placed the dossier down on his lap and started to flick through the various loose leaf pages.
Midway through the dossier, medical records dated Tuesday 28th March were of interest to him. He stopped and read the hand written entries more carefully. Mimi’s fiancé, Roger Downton, on this day had reported eye movement in response to certain questions and voice stimulants. However, this was not verified when the experiment was repeated in front of the medical staff. The doctor in charge however did mark this down as something encouraging and a positive note for the future.
Dr. Lang counted the days. Today was Wednesday. The incident took place two weeks ago yesterday. That was fifteen days ago. He flicked on through the pages. Since that date, all medical notes on the patient’s progress were of a positive nature. Mimi was recovering physically and the damage to her internal organs were all but healed. He flicked back to the beginning to assess the extent of those injuries. On admittance Mimi had received major surgery to her lower abdomen. At the time of the operation it was discovered that she was having a baby, but the child could not be saved and the pregnancy had been terminated.
The doctor rubbed his chin thoughtfully. It was well over a month now since that operation. He was of the opinion that, if body tissue recovered and rebuilt itself at the same rate, then any damage to the brain would re-establish itself in a similar manner.
The doctor leaned forward and raised one of Mimi’s eyelids. He shone his small pocket torch into the eye and looked for any reaction. He felt encouraged. The pupil dilated under the beam. He closed up the eye and put his torch away.
For a while Dr. Lang reflected on what he had observed. He decided to do a little experiment. It was time to speak to Mimi again. But not the general chit-chat of the nurses. The weather outside, and having nice flowers in the room were not the stimulants required. More drastic measures were needed. The time had come to introduce a little shock treatment to the patient’s mind. He recognised that there was a strong bond between Mimi and Roger, and Roger’s daily presence was probably keeping her mind rested and sedated. He wondered what Mimi’s reactions would be if that bond was to become suddenly snapped? After all, that was precisely what was happening. Roger was under arrest and right this minute being whisked away to London for further questioning.
The doctor leaned forward and put his mouth close to Mimi’s ear.
“Mimi!… Listen to my voice… and listen carefully… I’ve got something important to tell you,” he said in a loud and deliberate tone.
He waited a few seconds and looked carefully for any reaction.
Nothing moved.
Nothing stirred.
Dr. Lang moved in a little closer to Mimi’s ear and spoke in the same forceful yet enchanting voice.
“Mimi!… listen to my voice,… and listen carefully,” he began again, “Roger’s no longer here to see you… This is Doctor Lang speaking… he asked me to come and speak to you instead… Roger’s in deep trouble with the police and he needs your help Mimi… he needs your help badly… you must wake up Mimi… do you hear me?… Roger needs your help badly…. Mimi, you must wake up and help him.”
Dr. Lang moved away and looked intensely at Mimi’s closed eyes. Beneath the lids her eyeballs rolled. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and smiled. He was of the opinion that the patient had received the message loud and clear. Now all he could do was wait and hope that the message would stir the mind back to consciousness.

6:00 pm

Gayle Jackson heard footsteps approaching and cowered against the cold stone wall.
After partaking in her meal - this time a meagre offering of fish paste sandwiches - her gag had once more been replaced. That horrible oily rag being forced into her mouth and the tape wrapped about her jaws and lips. She had hoped her mouth would remain free, and be able to convey at least one simple message of hope to her colleague from Cropwatch. She wanted to inform Sylvia of her presence, and warn her of the man’s evil intentions. But all that had proven just wishful thinking, and all she could do was sit and agonise in silence.
Gayle cowered against the wall. Her captor had returned and she dreaded his coming. The man, whomever he may be, was evil and capable of anything. Her only consolation in all this was the presence of Sylvia Sparelli. She knew it would not be her that was going to suffer, but her colleague from Cropwatch. It was Sylvia’s turn to bear the brunt of this man’s cruel and perverted actions.

Not very far away Sylvia Sparelli heard the same approaching footsteps.

Basic instincts told her to cower, but any form of movement was impossible. Her tormentor, on his last visit, had increased the tension in the rack to the point were it felt like every joint in her body was about to pop.
After distorting her nipples to a point where it hurt so badly she just had to scream, the man had left her to suffer unmercifully for what seemed like hours. She prayed that he had come to release her from that suffering, and then go away again and leave her in peace. It was so little to ask. Surely he could show her some decency? She decided to ask the man politely, not antagonise him, and hope that her wishes would be fulfilled.
Sylvia waited for the footsteps to cease. They did so and she sensed the man’s presence leaning over her naked body and looking down on her.
“Please sir… please let me go… I’ll do anything you say,… anything you want… just please let me go,” she begged; her voice dry and croaking as she spoke.
The man just laughed. It was a childish menacing cry that echoed about the chamber.
Sylvia felt a hand touch her between the legs and solitary finger run up and down her open and exposed crack. For a while afterwards he toyed with her clitoris, before finally two fingers came together to give a little sharp tug to her pubic hairs. After that the lone finger returned to trace a path along her body, passing over her bellybutton and continuing on to the breasts. On arrival each nipple in turn became pinched, then rolled and rotated between thumb and fingers. Her captor eventually took to doing this with both hands. He also seemed to be enjoying the experience. Those high-pitched harsh cackles of before, had, for a while, turned to short sharp gasps of delight.
Sylvia held her breath and prayed that the torment would be short and no harsher than this. Compared with the pain that racked her limbs, and the onslaught on her nipples the time before, this was almost a delight. She could put up with this treatment, at least for a little while longer.
Beneath her blindfold she closed her eyes tightly and tried not to show any emotion. She then gritted her teeth. It was the only way of showing her defiance.
The playful fondling continued for quite some time before the man eventually released his grip. But they did not go away. Strong, rough hands cupped Sylvia’s left breast top and bottom and pressed together until the flesh was almost squashed flat.
This action hurt, and Sylvia was forced squeal. But her tormentor took little notice of her suffering. He just continued, repeating this action several times, alternating between each breast as if testing the extent to which they could become squashed together: And all the time chuckling to himself as he did so.
Eventually the hands moved away, and Sylvia listened intently to her captor’s movements. From somewhere beneath the bench on which she lay she heard the clunk of wood and the rattle of screws. It was like two planks knocking together. She wondered what the man was going to do to her next? But whatever it was he was planning, she did not like the sound of it.
It did not take long for Sylvia to find out what was in store for her. Soon everything became most apparent. Wooden boards were placed top and bottom across her breasts, then screws began to turn and bring the boards together. Now she knew why the man had been testing her flesh. As the screws tightened, her breasts became more and more squeezed between the boards. Soon the pressure was beginning to hurt and she screamed her displeasure. Now her stretched-out body not only ached from fingers to toes, but her breasts also stung with a deep biting pain.
Sylvia decided to keep on screaming. It was her only outlet, and her only means of letting the man know that he was hurting her badly. However, the man did not stop. She knew that he would not stop. She could tell by the gasps of pleasure issuing from his mouth that this was the case.
There were screws to either end of the wooden boards. The man’s fingers alternated between them, giving each screw half a turn at a time before moving back to the other. As the boards inched closer together, naked flesh bulged from the top of the boards and nipples began to turn blue as the circulation ceased. Yet Sylvia’s tormentor showed little sign of letting up, and only stopped when the screws, under finger pressure, would tighten no more.
Finally, and to bring the torment to an end, two flattened and badly distorted blue nipples were given a final goodbye squeeze. Then, without saying another word, the man was off. His footsteps fading quickly into the distance.
However, the man’s departure did not prevent Sylvia from squealing and venting her displeasure. This lament was to carry on for several more hours, and even after that, a few more hours were to pass before an uneasy calmness was to befall the cavernous space in which she was housed.

Not far from the prolonged outcry, Gayle Jackson sat quietly against a cold stone wall. All she could do was hope and pray that Sylvia’s torment would soon be over, and that they would be left alone in peace together.

7:00 pm

Woman Police Officer, Georgina Watkinson, phoned Davina Townsend at her home. These were considered the two most senior members of the Pact. It was time to talk.
Davina answered. She confirmed that she was alone and it was all right to speak.
“Listen Davina,” said Georgina, “Inspector Hawkins wants statements from both of us. He wants to know your relationship with Sylvia Sparelli and the time Sylvia went off with Roger Downton from your house. You’d better think of a story that sounds good and doesn’t implicate the Pact.”
Davina considered the matter.
“That’s fine Georgina,” she replied, “I’ll tell him the truth… I’ll tell him Sylvia’s an old school friend of mine and that she was stopping with me when Roger Downton called to see my husband on business… He took her into Littlesea, dropped her off in the town, and she caught a taxi back... I’ll keep it as simple as that.”
“That’s fine Davina, just stick to the story… keep it nice and simple… but just don’t mention the Pact,… that’s important,” insisted Georgina.
Davina understood. Georgina was a police officer and risked her career if anyone was to find out what the four of them had been up to.
“I won’t say a word Georgina,” she confirmed, “but what about you?… What are you going to say?… It was you that shopped Roger Downton to Inspector Hawkins,… he’ll want to know how you came about suspecting him.”
“I’ll stick to my story when I reported my suspicions… I’ll tell the Inspector that when I was called to that tragic accident at Carrowbank Farm,… the time when those two people fell from the barn roof… it was then that I saw the stocks and pillories in the adjoining barn… and then later, when walking the road, I saw that Cropwatch poster pinned to the fence… I recognised Sylvia Sparelli and Gayle Jackson on the photograph… after that I scaled the railway embankment and saw the field of damaged crops,… I then put two and two together… It was of my opinion that Roger Downton had the motive and the means to kidnap and imprison those two girls,… so I reported my findings to the Inspector… and that’s basically it… so there’s no need to mention the Pact.”
“It sounds good enough to me Georgina,” answered Davina.
“Okay then Davina,… let’s just stick to our stories and hopefully everything will turn out fine,” said Georgina.
Davina had another thought.
“What about Tracy and Wendy?” she asked.
“Their names have not been mentioned,… and as far as I know they’ll not be implicated,” Georgina assure Davina.
Davina nodded her head.
“That’s fine then Georgina,… Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she said.
“We’d better meet up anyway… Wendy needs bringing back from London and the flat emptying… Let’s say we meet up tomorrow morning at the bench to discuss the matter… I’ll phone Tracy after this and organise something,” said Georgina.
The bench in question was on Castle Point. It was situated on the top of the cliffs next to the old castle and looked out to sea. It was the place where the Pact always met.
“Okay Georgina, you do that and I’ll see you tomorrow morning… at the bench… about what time?” asked Davina.
“Let’s make it early… say ten o’clock,” suggested Georgina.
“Ten o’clock it’ll be then,” agreed Davina.
“Fine… see you then,…. bye,” answered Georgina.
“Bye…,” ended Davina and put down her receiver.
Davina concentrated for a while on what she should put in her statement to the Inspector.
Having got her story straight she turned her mind to her friend Sylvia Sparelli. Her old school friend was still unaccounted for. Roger Downton was in custody, so why was he not confessing? Surely the police would have come up with something by now?

* * *

End of Chapter Twenty-six