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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE - Another Door Slams

The following day … Saturday 15th April…

8:30 am

Dr. Gabriel Lang raced between hospital blocks. April showers had turned to ferocious squalls. Hailstones bounced about his feet; and the wind swirled and bushes rocked as he darted for cover. The morning sun was shining brightly as he set out. At a gentle pace the walk would normally have taken about five minutes. He did the distance in two minutes flat. In the reception area he stood on the mat and shook away the lodged hailstones from his hair and white doctor’s coat.
“Bit rough out there Dr. Lang,” observed the nurse behind the reception desk.
The doctor turned to look back through the glass plated doors. The wind and rain had stopped and the sun was bursting out from behind a scudding dark cloud. He shook his head in disbelief then turned to answer the receptionist.
“I guess I should have waited a couple of minutes; it’s calm again now,” he replied and left it at that.
The doctor moved along the corridor and entered a side ward. He smiled the moment he saw Mimi out of bed. She was sitting in a large leather armchair alongside the bed. She was also free of feeding tubes.
Mimi looked up, saw the doctor standing in the doorway and gave a little wave.
The doctor smiled and waved back.
“You look radiant this morning,” he told her.
Mimi returned the smile.
“Look doctor I can walk a little now,” she said, and pushed herself up from the chair with her arms.
Mimi rose slowly to her feet. She teetered and looked a little unsteady, but all the same this was a remarkable improvement on yesterday. She took a few paces, stumbled slightly, then reached out and clung to the bottom of the bed.
The doctor came to the rescue. He took hold of her arms for support, walked her back to the armchair and settled her down.
“That’s wonderful Mimi,” he praised, “we’ll have you running the marathon next.”
With Mimi returned to the chair, Dr. Lang extracted a large folder from the inside of his white coat. He had put it there to keep dry as he dodged the hailstones. These were photocopies of the originals documents sent to him by Inspector Hawkins. It was the doctor’s intention to leave these copies with Mimi to scrutinise in the hope that she might spot something that had been overlooked.
“Mimi, I’ve got the transcripts of Roger’s interviews with the police here. I’d like to go through some of them with you if you don’t mind,” he explained as he sat down beside her on the edge of the bed.
Mimi looked keen and would have grabbed the transcripts from the doctor’s hands if she had half the chance.
The doctor recognised the eagerness.
“Mimi, these copies are for you… you can have them all when I leave… but first I want to go over a few points with you… I want to hear if Roger told you anything that may have been overlooked… if he did so, then please tell me,… it may prove important,” he explained.
Mimi pushed herself upwards to sit on the edge of the chair.
“Go ahead doctor,” she told him, “tell me what Roger has said.”
Dr. Lang flicked through the photocopied sheets and extracted Davina Townsend’s statement made to Inspector Hawkins.
“This isn’t from Roger… but it concerns him… it’s a statement made by someone called Davina Townsend… do you know her?… have you heard that name before?” asked the doctor.
He gave no other clues and waited.
The doctor was aware that Mimi and Davina must have met on at least one occasion. He himself had instigated the meeting. The occasion being Wendy Bartlett’s birthday party. Mimi, in an earlier interview, had alluded to the fact that she once followed his Land Rover up the steep hill to Castle Point. He had checked on the date of Wendy’s birthday. It was on Saturday 22nd January this year. But he remained reticent. He wanted to hear what Mimi had to say without being prompted.
Mimi thought hard and long. She had heard the name Davina before, but was not certain when and where. Then it came to her. She and Roger were up on Castle Point. The two of them were seated on a bench close to the old castle ruins when a party of four approached them. Davina Townsend, along with her husband and another couple had come to thank Roger.
She thought again and the reason for that visit came to her. Earlier that day Roger had found a wedding ring that belonged to Davina and handed it in at Littlesea Police Station. She recalled the occasion. It had been the day of the wedding. Godfrey’s daughter had been married at Carrowton church that morning, and Roger had dropped the wedding ring in at the police station on the way to the reception. After a little more thought she also remember the exact date of the wedding. It was January 22nd this year, and it was a Saturday.
Mimi nodded her head slowly and thoughtfully as all these memories flooded back to her.
“Yes doctor, I remember her,… we met at Castle Point… me and Roger were seated on a bench overlooking the cliffs when Davina and her husband approached us… they wanted to thank Roger for handing back a wedding ring,… I can even give you the date,” she told him, ”it was the 22nd of January this year… I know because we’d just been to a wedding.”
Dr. Lang absorbed the answer with great pleasure, but kept a straight face and gave nothing away. Mimi was recalling an incident that occurred some four months back, and more remarkably she knew the exact date. This was all the confirmation needed. Now he knew for certain that there was absolutely nothing wrong with Mimi’s memory: And this is precisely what he had set out to achieve.
Dr. Lang set about summarising Davina’s statement to the police into a few words. Mimi could read the full transcript later.
He explained: “Mimi,… Davina Townsend in her statement says that Sylvia Sparelli, the second missing girl, was a lifetime old school friend of hers. Sylvia was stopping at Davina’s home when Roger called on Saturday 8th April, that was exactly two weeks ago today. He was wanting to speak to her husband about fitting a burglar alarm at Carrowbank Farm. Davina told Roger that her husband was out working somewhere. As Roger turned to leave, Davina asked if he could run Sylvia into town, and he agreed. Davina watched them go off together, and later that day Sylvia returned by taxi. Davina also explains that she never quizzed Sylvia as to what went on between her and Roger whilst they were together. Mimi, what I want to know is this?… did Roger ever mention anything about this to you?”
Mimi thought hard and long before giving an answer. She recalled Roger mentioning something whilst lying in a coma.
“Roger did say something about it whilst I was asleep,” Mimi confirmed. “I think he took her to Castle Point first before dropping her off in Littlesea… Roger was interested in buying a cottage up there, but I think he said that it had been sold when he got there.”
The doctor was delighted to hear this from Mimi. He had Roger’s statement in front of him and Mimi’s reply confirmed the one thing he had set out to achieve this morning. He needed to prove beyond any shadow of doubt that, whilst in her coma, Mimi really was being receptive to Roger’s voice. That fact, as far as he was concerned, was now proven: There was no way Mimi could have known these facts otherwise.
Dr. Lang read Roger’s version of events out to Mimi. He started at the point were he crested the hill to Castle Point.
“This is what Roger says on reaching Castle Point with Sylvia Sparelli in the car with him,” he told Mimi.
He began to read the transcript: “I [Roger] stopped outside Number One, Cliff Top Cottages. At one time I was interested in buying the cottage for myself, and thought that it might still be up for sale. I must admit I was a little disappointed in finding a ‘Sold’ notice on the sign outside. I was about to drive away when I spotted something else. When I pulled up I’d parked behind a van. The van had the words ‘Littlesea Castle Trust’ written on the back so I recognised the owner. He was someone I worked with a year before when researching the catacombs below the castle. He just happened to come out to his van whilst I was parked. I got out of the car. Sylvia got out with me. I think she had a quick look around whilst I chatted to my friend for a few minutes. We then got back in the car. I then turned around and headed for Littlesea. I dropped Sylvia off in the main market square, and that was the last of saw of her.”
Mimi nodded her head.
“That would be Clive Carter… He took me and Roger on a sightseeing tour of the catacombs once… he’s a great chap and a great friend of Roger’s… I remember Roger mentioning to me that Clive had bought the cottage, and I don’t think he was that disappointed… I think deep down Roger would prefer a modern executive home on a housing estate somewhere on the edge of town… old cottages are nice to look at, but very difficult to maintain,” explained Mimi.
Dr. Lang put the transcripts away. He was totally satisfied with all that he had heard. At least Mimi had confirmed beyond doubt that she really was listening to Roger whilst lying in a coma. And therefore, as a result, the doctor was more convinced than ever that Roger was telling the truth.
However this triggered off many other unanswered questions. The main question being; If Roger Downton did not do it, then who did? That was the question that now nagged his mind. He had a feeling that the answer was very close. But where exactly where? And just how close? He did not know.
Something else also puzzled him. There was also something not quite right about a second statement contained in the envelope: The one made by the policewoman Georgina Watkinson. Why should she take it on herself to go prying around Carrowbank Farm when all she had to go on were stocks and pillories stored in a barn there? Either she was a brilliant detective or hiding something; the doctor thought the latter.
The doctor concluded that there must be a link somewhere between Davina and Georgina. But what was it?
He decided that his next step should be to speak to both Davina and Georgina. He also needed to speak to two other girls abducted by Malcolm Smith. These were Wendy Bartlett and Tracy Goodyear. He was sure they were implicated in all this too. But exactly how he was not at all certain.
The doctor looked to his watch. The time was approaching nine o’clock. He had to go. Despite it being a Saturday he had a full surgery. But tomorrow was Sunday and he had the day off. So tomorrow he could do something about it. He intended to trace Georgina’s footsteps according to her statement, then take a trip to Canterford and pay Davina a visit.
The doctor kissed Mimi on the cheek, said his farewells and set off back to his surgery.
Midway between hospital blocks the doctor looked to the skies. The sun was shining but a big black cloud threatened. He quickened his pace. He did not want to get caught again.

9:00 am

Back in London, the canteen at the university was just ticking over. Just two members of the kitchen staff were on duty and all but a handful of students were taking advantage of the out-of-term facilities.
Chloe and Tracy sat themselves down at a table next to a window and set about eating their toast and supping their mugs of coffee. It was a light breakfast all round. Both girls were conscious of their modelling figures.
Outside in the quadrangle the sun scudded behind a dark, rain laden cloud and the university buildings immediately became enveloped in an eerie darkness. Suddenly the skies opened and large hailstones began to crash against the canteen window.
“Look at that outside!” remarked Tracy. “The sun was shining brightly just a few seconds ago!”
Chloe joined Tracy in looking out of the window. The pathways and lawns of the quadrangle were turning white under a blanket of hailstones. Several trees, all in spring blossom, rocked and swayed from the strong gusts of wind. Pink petals swirled about in the violent air before merging with the white on the ground.
Inside the canteen no one could hear themselves speak for the noise on the windows, and the occupants stared transfixed at the weather outside. Then as quickly as the squall came, it disappeared again, and within seconds all was calm and the sun shining again.
“Wow!.. that was quite some storm,” stated Tracy once it was all over.
Chloe nodded her head. She had listened to the weather report on the radio that morning and knew what to expect.
“It’s forecast to last all day according to the weather report; starting in the south and moving north,” she told Tracy.
Tracy hoped that this un-seasonal weather front would move north quickly. In a short while she would be in her car and driving across London to FotoPix Studios and with Chloe on board. Another burst like that and she could foresee a whole lot of problems on the roads.
Tracy turned her attention to her breakfast and Chloe’s company, telling herself there was no point brooding over the weather: And besides, the sun was out now; the wind had dropped; and even the white layers of hailstones were quickly turning to puddles of water. As far as she was concerned this was typical English weather. The spectacle was over and might not return again.
Tracy turned her mind to more trivial matters. She wanted to strike up a conversation with Chloe.
“So what brings you back to the university this early Chloe?” she asked as she nibbled away at the corner of a piece of toast.
It was not a soul searching question and asked with only a passing interest.
“I had to come back Tracy… the police wanted to interview me once more over the disappearance of Gayle,… they’ve arrested someone,… somebody I know quite well actually,… they wanted to ask me more questions relating to things he’d told them,” explained Chloe.
Tracy raised an eyebrow, but tried not to reveal any emotion. Obviously she had more than a passing interest in the disappearance of Gayle Jackson. But she remembered the Pact and could not give their secret away. Chloe must never get to know that it was she, along with the other three members of the Pact, that had ultimately led to the arrest of Roger Downton.
Tracy recalled that it was Chloe that had led her to Roger Downton in the first place. Chloe had told her all about recognising a Mercedes car parked near to the place where had Gayle disappeared, and that subsequently had led to the tracking down of Roger Downton, a part time pornographic photographer from Littlesea.
“What did the police want to know then?” asked Tracy and trying hard to sound most casual over the matter.
Chloe took a swig of coffee before answering.
“They wanted to know more about the car I saw parked down a side street  whilst Gayle and myself walked to Walter’s house on the evening of her disappearance,” she told her.
“A Mercedes wasn’t it?” queried Tracy.
Chloe nodded her head. She recalled that she had once before spoken to Tracy about the car.
“Yes, the Mercedes,” she confirmed.
“What did they want to know this time?” asked Tracy.
Chloe took another sip of coffee.
“Well they wanted to know what it was that made me think I knew the owner,” she explained.
“And what did you tell them?” asked Tracy.
Chloe pondered for a while with cup held to her lips.
“That’s the problem Tracy,… I just can’t remember,” she said, “there was definitely something there… something on the back seat of the car that made me think I knew the owner… but my mind’s been blank ever since… no matter how hard I try, I just can’t recall what it was I saw.”
Tracy shook her head in sympathy.
“Do the police think it’s important?” she asked.
Chloe nodded her head.
“That’s the trouble, they consider it vital,” she said, “if that sighting can be linked for definite then they consider they’ve got a case… but if not, then they might have to let him go,.. they say it could have been anybody’s car parked there,.. they say positive proof is needed,.. it’s that important to them,… I had to tell them I was sorry… and that I just couldn’t remember… it’s so awful isn’t it Tracy!… the whole case depends on me remembering what I saw on the back seat of that car… and I for the life of me I just can’t remember.”
Tracy was taken aback at the revelation but tried not to show it.
“Chloe,… it sounds awful,” she agreed after pulling herself together.
For a while Tracy pondered over what Chloe had said. For one thing this was bad news for the Pact, and after all the hard work they had put in too. She was wondering if anything could be done to jog Chloe’s memory. She remained convinced that Roger Downton was the guilty person, and she did not want to see him getting away because of lack of evidence.
In the light of what she had just heard Tracy revised her plans for the day. Torn between stopping with Chloe for another night at the university and returning to Littlesea, she opted for a return and a hastily arranged meeting of the Pact.
As soon as today’s photo-shoot was over, it was Tracy’s intention to head straight back to Littlesea and report her findings to Davina and Georgina.

10:15 am

Judi and Lenny were ready for the two girls the moment they arrived at the studios. If anything they were a little late. Ten o’clock had been the agreed time. It was quarter past ten when they arrived. They all met up in the doorway to the studios.
“Girls?… can we get down to it straightaway?” asked Lenny, “I must be away by twelve o’clock… I’ve got to see a publisher… and he likes his Saturday afternoons off.”
Tracy looked to Chloe, and both nodded their heads.
“Yes, sure Lenny,” answered Tracy, “what do you want us to do then?”
“I want us to carry on where we left off yesterday,” explained Lenny, “both of you go along with Judi and get yourselves ready, and I’ll go and get my equipment.”
Tracy and Chloe were both keen to get started and followed Judi through the various areas of the studio to the mock dungeon away in the far corner. Lenny in the meantime headed back to the office.
Once there both Tracy and Chloe stripped themselves of all their clothes. Judi then put everything neatly away in an adjoining area. Tracy remained naked and stood and watched for a while whilst Chloe put on the same high-heeled, thigh-length boots as yesterday; strapped a belt about her waist; buckled a wide studded collar about her neck; and finally donned a peeked leather cap.
Whilst Tracy stood watching, Judi spoke to her. Lenny would be here soon and there was a little matter of urgency about today’s photo-shoot.
“Right Tracy,… let’s get going… let’s get you strapped back in the chair shall we?” she said.
On command, and with Judi by her side, Tracy paced quickly across the room to the big high-backed wooden chair against the far wall. She settled herself down and waited for Judi to strap her down. At least one thing had improved; the chair had been cleaned since yesterday and she no longer sat in a pool of sticky shaving cream.
Judi set about fastening the leather straps about Tracy’s limbs. To begin with she knelt down to concentrate on the ankles; securing them to the base of the chair legs. Once done she moved upwards to the thighs; strapping them to the base of the arms of the chair, and in so doing spreading Tracy’s legs apart and exposing her womanhood to the centre of the room. Lastly Judi rose to her feet and made Tracy raise up her arms. She then buckled the wrists to the two top outer corners of the high back wooden chair.
As the last buckle tightened about a wrist, Lenny appeared on the scene. He was loaded down with his usual array of cameras and light meters. The semi-circle of floodlights remained in position from the day before. He switched them all on, and Tracy, sitting in the full glare of the lights, blinked and squinted her eyes. Suddenly she felt embarrassed. Lenny was staring at her and eyeing her naked body up and down. Instinct made her want to close up her legs and shield her breasts with her hands, but with all the leather straps in place there was nothing she could do to protect her modesty. Her breasts were exposed and legs spread wide apart for all to see.
However, Lenny was not interested in her nakedness nor her venerability. He was a professional photographer and had seen it all before. It was Tracy’s flashing eyelids that were of more concern to him, and he was not a happy man.
“Where’s the blindfold?” he snapped at Judi. “I said I wanted this scene to be exactly the same as yesterday.”
Judi immediately realised the error. Throughout the whole of yesterday’s photo-shoot Tracy had worn a blindfold. She scurried away behind a partition and returned within a few seconds. Quickly she placed a blindfold over Tracy’s head and pulled it down over her eyes.
Judi then turned to Lenny and gave a little smile.
“Is that better?” she asked.
Lenny looked to Tracy through the view-finder of a camera and tried to recall yesterday’s photo-shoot. Finally, and after a little thought, he nodded his head in approval. This was how he remembered the scene from the day before. He was now ready to get the session underway.
“That’s much better Judi,” he told her, “now hand Chloe the shaving equipment, and let’s get started shall we?”
Judi disappeared once more behind the partition curtain. She returned holding a large pressurised can of shaving cream in one hand; a safety razor and brush in the other; and a small hand towel draped across one arm. She then handed all the items to Chloe.
“You know what to do don’t you Chloe?” she asked at a whisper.
Chloe nodded her head slowly but not very convincingly. The truth was, she had never actually shaved anyone before. But on the other hand, she had shaved herself in the bath on a couple of occasions and found the whole experience very exhilarating. Even now, fresh from yesterday’s shaving of her own pubic hairs, she could feel the tingle of excitement raking through her body.
Chloe nodded her head.
“Yes, don’t worry, I know what to do Judi,” she assured her.
Lenny was stood in front of the chair with camera in hand. He was getting impatient. He was a busy man.
“Come on girls!… let’s be having some action,” he called.
Chloe appeared from behind a floodlight, crossed the floor and stood next to Tracy seated in the chair.
Immediately Lenny gave his orders.
“Chloe, I want you to kneel down to Tracy’s right,” he instructed, “like yesterday I want you to keep out of the way as much as possible… remember always to leave me a good view of what’s happening… and keep looking to Tracy and concentrate on what you’re doing… don’t look at me.”
Chloe knelt down as instructed and placed all the items handed to her on the floor alongside the chair.
“Right, let’s get the shaving cream going shall we?,” called Lenny.
Chloe picked up the large aerosol can and began to shake it vigorously. She then gave it a little test by squirting a small amount of foam into the palm of her hand. The can hissed and spluttered and a large blob of white cream filled her hand. Not knowing quite what to do with it, she extended her hand and wiped the foam all over Tracy’s mound.
“That’s good… that’s good,” shouted Lenny amidst the continuous flashing of camera bulbs.
These remarks took Chloe a little by surprise. As far as she was concerned she had not even started yet.
However, she was ready now and she set to work on the real thing. Holding the can upright between Tracy’s splayed legs she took aim at her mound and pressed the button on the top. Foam gushed out in a continuous white stream, and she turned and twisted the nozzle in order to cover every pubic hair in sight.
With the cream liberally applied and in more than sufficient quantity, Chloe put down the can and swapped it for the shaving brush. Whether this was really necessary was doubtful, but it added to the collection of erotic snapshots, so Lenny was all for it.
“Good Chloe,… that’s good,… now get to work with the brush,… let’s just have some gentle teasing… play around for a while,” he instructed.
 Chloe did as she was told. Slowly she traced the tip of the brush up and down between Tracy’s wide open legs, and in doing so, spreading out the excess cream that had seeped down from the main target area. Slowly and gradually she moved upwards, stayed a while longer to toy with the clitoris, before moving on to the main objective which was Tracy’s bushy mound of thick black hair.
Slowly and deliberately Chloe worked the shaving cream into every strand of Tracy’s pubic hairs.
At this point Lenny came to the end of a film.
“Right Chloe,… that’s enough with the brush… now let’s see you doing some shaving,” he called.
Chloe put down the brush and collected the razor. It was a safety razor, the sort you buy in packs. This one was brand new and never been used. It still had a plastic cover protecting the blade. She removed the cover and moved the razor to hover for a moment above the patch of gleaming white foam.
“Slowly,… do everything slowly,” instructed Lenny, “l want everything done slowly and deliberately… and let me get plenty of shots.”
Chloe, started at the top and a little to the right. Here she touched the blade against Tracy’s skin and scraped downwards. Curly black hairs sheared and a line of shaving cream disappeared to reveal an oblong patch of pink smooth skin. She wiped the razor clean on the towel and returned the razor to the left of the barren patch. She then scrapped downwards again. Once again pubic hairs were sliced away right next to the flesh, and an even larger area of pink smooth skin appeared.
Lenny liked what was happening.
“That’s great Chloe… keep it going… let’s have all the hair off,” he enthused.
Chloe obliged. This time scrapping away from all angles, and after each scrape moving away to wipe the blade clean of a mixture of shaving cream and mass of curly black hairs. Finally, when she could scrape no more, she picked up the towel and wiped away the excess foam. She then stepped back to admire her handiwork.
Tracy’s mound shone brightly under the intensity of the floodlights. Chloe considered she had done well and not one pubic hair was left standing. In the darkness between two floodlights Judi clapped her appreciation and Lenny nodded his head in acknowledgement.
“That was beautifully done Chloe,” praised Lenny, “now just stand well away whilst I finish off the rest of this film.”
The camera clicked and lights flashed for another half dozen shots before the film came to an end.
“That’s fine… action over,” called Lenny the moment he was through.
Chloe moved back to Tracy and lifted the blindfold from her eyes.
She kissed her on the lips, and in doing so whispered: “There you are lover… now we’re both clean shaven… let’s say we make the most of it for one more night… hey?… what do think Tracy?”
For Tracy this was a heart rending moment. How nice it would be to go back to the university with Chloe for one more night. But business with the Pact beckoned. It was such a harsh decision to make and she was nearly in tears.
Tracy shook her head slowly from side to side. She was still strapped to the seat and could not hug the one she loved. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she told Chloe the bad news.
“Sorry Chloe,” she said, “but I must get back to Littlesea… I’ve got an important meeting to attend… I just can’t stay with you tonight… Oh Chloe… I’m so sorry.”
Chloe put on a brave face and began to unbuckle a strap about Tracy’s wrist.
“Perhaps another night then Tracy,” she sighed.
Tracy sighed too.
“Yes Chloe… perhaps another night… and soon… very soon,” she replied. Then, in an even lower voice, she whispered the words that were on the very tip of her tongue. “I love you Chloe,” she said.
Chloe took a little bite of her lower lip, then whispered back in Tracy’s ear: “And I love you too Tracy… I really do!”

3:00 pm

Many miles to the north, and somewhere in the East Midlands, Wendy and Tim strolled hand in hand. They were walking the banks of the River Muddle. The sun was shining and only a few grey clouds scudded across the skies. The bad weather to the south had not reached them yet, and neither were aware of any impending storms since neither had seen nor heard any weather forecast for a number of days. The truth was they were too engrossed in one another to care about anything that was happening in the outside world.
Tim and Wendy came to the end of a broad tourist footpath that followed the course of the river down steam. They came to a stile and Tim helped Wendy over. On the other side there was a small pull-in for a couple of cars, but there was nothing parked. A small humped road bridge crossed the river close by. It was their plan to return to the village of Muddleton Morton via the road and in doing so complete a full circle and end their afternoon stroll. On their way they intended to picnic somewhere along the banks of the river. Mrs. Trubshaw, the landlady at the ‘Shoulder of Mutton’ Inn had been kind and packed them sandwiches and also thrown in a large bottle of cider for good measure. These items Tim carried in a small rucksack on his back.
Over the other side of the bridge and standing on the outside of a sharp bend in the narrow lane was a small cottage. Wendy knew this cottage. She had been here once before. This was Cuckoo Cottage. The place where she and Georgina had finally tracked down and captured Malcolm Smith, the original Caretaker.
Wendy and Tim joined hands and traversed the bridge towards the cottage. Four months had passed since Wendy was last here. At that time, even though the time of year was January, the cottage had appeared neat and tidy and gave an aura of being cared for.
What a difference those four months had made. With Spring came warmth and growth, and now everywhere looked overgrown, unkempt and not cared for. Cuckoo Cottage was now a cottage in decay. Vandals had broken all the windows and the front door was hanging by only one hinge.
Wendy came to a halt on the very hump of the bridge and gazed across an unkempt hedgerow and overgrown lawn in disbelief.
Tim stopped by her side and Wendy shook her head in despair.
“What a pity!” she said with a sigh, “it was such a nice cottage once.”
Tim was not aware of the Pact’s little escapade at the cottage. The only thing he was aware of was, that Wendy had been here once before. He assumed on holiday with her parents and had not quizzed her further on the subject.
However, what neither Wendy nor Tim knew was the true reasoning for the dereliction. Yet the truth was quite simple. When the owner, Judge Mortimer died from a massive heart attack at the home of Malcolm Smith’s mother, no one in the Judge’s family knew of, or even suspected the existence of this secret hideaway. The police did not help much either. With the kidnapper dead - his body flattened beyond recognition beneath tons of rock in the catacombs below Littlesea Castle - there was seen no need for further investigation and the case was closed within days. It therefore came about that the ownership of Cuckoo Cottage was never even considered, and the matter simply got brushed aside in an effort to close the case quickly.
Yet Cuckoo Cottage had played a major part in that case. It was to here that Malcolm Smith had fled and taken refuge; and the place where he had severely tormented and tortured several young girls; including, let it be said, Davina and Tracy from the Pact. It was also the place where the Judge had played out his own fantasies - Malcolm Smith’s mother for one had been a weekend guest at the cottage - but the Judge did so in the safe knowledge that no one from his immediate family would ever get to know of his weird perversions.
Since the Judge’s death the cottage had been ransacked on several occasions, furniture had been taken and much mindless vandalism had occurred. Cuckoo Cottage was now a sorry sight, and until its ownership discovered, would probably remain just another falling down cottage in the heart of the English countryside.
Tim nodded his head in response to Wendy’s sigh.
“It’s a bit of a wreck Wendy,” he agreed, “I would have thought someone would have snapped up a property like this by now and made a decent home of it.”
Wendy agreed, but did not go as far as giving the Pact away.
“The last time I was here, this was a nice cottage,” she told Tim simply.
As Wendy spoke a big dark cloud sped across the sky. Immediately a darkness fell and the wind picked up. Within seconds large hailstones were bouncing all around them. Quickly they headed for shelter. There was nowhere to hide except for the cottage. Tim and Wendy looked to the threatening skies, and, without consulting each other set off hurriedly towards Cuckoo Cottage; and as they raced giant hailstones, as big as marbles, began to crash against the ground all about them.
Wendy and Tim took refuge in the front porch of the cottage. Outside the sky turned black, and darkness fell as if it was the dead of night. From the sanctuary of the porch, giant hailstones, even bigger now, battered the gravel drive and thundered against the wooden roof above them.
Tim raised his voice in order to be heard above the terrific din.
“Phew!… what a storm!” he remarked.
As he spoke a gust of wind blew past the cottage. Trees and bushes rocked and bent under the force of the gale. Caught unawares by the ferocity of one sudden blast, Wendy was sent reeling backwards. Tim made a grab for her as she stumbled against him. He lost his footing and reeled backwards against the door. The door was partially off its hinges anyway. Tim’s shoulder thudded against the door. The last of the hinges gave way and the door fell inwards with a crash. Following the momentum of the impact, Tim and Wendy stumbled inwards into the cottage. Somehow they managed to keep their footing and ended up standing on a flattened door inside the hallway of the cottage.
Then, as quickly as the storm began, a sudden calmness returned. The swirling wind dropped within seconds; brightness burst back on the scene, and the sun re-appeared to shine down brightly on the ice covered drive and lawn to the front of the cottage.
Time shook his head in disbelief.
“I don’t believe it!” he exclaimed, “just look at it now Wendy!… There’s hardly a cloud in the sky!”
Wendy looked upwards to the blue sky and could only agree, and thankful that they were dry and safe.
Then curiosity took over. She was standing next to an open door that led through to the living room of the cottage. An armchair inside the room had been knifed and lay in tatters. The hearth rug and other furniture had gone.
Wendy stepped off the fallen door and into the room. She looked about her. She had been in this room once before. On that occasion there had been a welsh dresser behind the door that concealed a secret entrance. It was now gone. All that remained was a small square hole in the wall just big enough for a person to pass through. This was once the secret entrance to the Judge’s dungeon; but it was a secret no longer.
Wendy moved to the hole in the wall, stooped down, put her head through the gap and peered down the steep steps to the cellar below.
Wendy’s curiosity heightened. The spot where she now stood was the farthest she had got to the dungeon she knew to exist at the bottom of these steep steps. She flicked a switch just inside the entrance. She was not expecting anything to happen and was surprised when a light bulb at the bottom of the steps came on.
Wendy turned to Tim who was looking on in bewilderment at her antics.
“Tim, come down with me please,” she said as she stooped low and stepped through the small cramped entrance.
Tim shrugged his shoulders. He had no idea what lay down below, nor for that matter did Wendy. She had heard tales of the dungeon from the rest of the Pact, and thus the reason for this macabre intrigue.
They held hands and Wendy led the way down. At the bottom they came face to face with a heavy steel door. There was a small hatch that looked inside. Originally there was a door handle, but now it was missing. However, the door was slightly ajar and she pushed it open. It was dark inside and very little could be seen. Tim, who was stood behind Wendy, spotted switches against the wall. He flicked them all on and immediately the room beyond the door burst into light.
Hand in hand they stepped into the chamber and looked around. The room was almost bare and there was very little to see, though evidence of a police presence was visible. White fingerprint dust had been painted all over the walls and to the bars of a small cell to the right of the steel door.
Wendy, on her one and only previous visit to Cuckoo Cottage, had remained at the top of the stairs and not come this far. She was therefore unaware that several items had been taken away by the police for forensic tests. The police had entered the dungeon just minutes after the Pact’s hasty departure, only to find three very distressed naked girls at the bottom of the stairs. One had been strapped to a chair; the other to an X-frame; and the third locked away in a small cell. The chair and X-frame had subsequently been taken away, as had a cabinet from behind the door which held all the dungeon’s BDSM equipment. Also chains and manacles from the far wall, and a pile of heavy weights from one corner had been removed. In fact, the only items to remain were a mattress still on the floor of the cell, and an electric hoist located at the centre of the room.
Wendy and Tim looked around the empty chamber. There was a large circular opening in the roof at the centre where a cable from a winch came down. Tim walked across and stared upwards. Apart from the winch motor he could see air filters and a large extraction fan set high in the opening. It looked like the filters were blocked from above, but there was still enough space for a small amount of light and air to filter through. Nothing was working and the fan beneath was rotating slowly under the force of a gentle down-draft of air. Beyond the fan and filters there was a glimpse of light. This was a circular shaft that led to an imitation wishing-well at the centre of a garden lawn above, but Tim was unaware of this as he stared upwards through the circular opening.
As Tim looked upwards into the air shaft, the skies darkened and what little daylight was present quickly disappeared. Another squall was imminent. Wendy joined Tim, clung on to his arm and together they stared upwards at a fan whose rotation was speeding up.
“Another storm’s on its way,” stated Tim.
Wendy could only agree and she nodded her head.
“Let’s get out of here Tim,” she told him.
The fan was beginning to make a horribly ghostly sound as the rotating blades sped faster and faster.
Tim agreed too. The place spooked him as much as Wendy and he did not want to stay down here a moment longer. They linked arms and turned for the door.
As they turned a strong gust of wind howled through the chamber. For a second or two they had trouble keeping their feet.
A downward blast of icy air entered the shaft, sent the extractor fan rocketing round, then exited up the stairs to the lounge above. With the front door to the cottage gone, and the steel door to the dungeon wide open, the wind, for the first time, had a natural passage not enjoyed on previous occasions. The blast of air howled up the stairs, swirled about the walls of the room above, then departed through the front door and out of the cottage.
The blast in passing caught the steel door. There came a mighty crash as the door slammed shut. In the same second the room turned calm; the raging wind’s passage stopped dead in its tracks; and the howling, speeding fan began to slow down to a gentle rotation once more.
Tim had seen the door closing and raced to prevent it doing so, but he was too late and the door slammed shut. He tried to open it, but the handle was gone and the door firmly sealed. Frantically he clawed at the edge of the steel frame, but nothing moved. They were trapped. The door was sealed and there was no way out.
“Shit!” exclaimed Tim, “Oh shit!…  Wendy!… we’re locked in!”
Wendy put her hands to her mouth and screamed.
“Tim!… get us out of here!” she called in a frenzy, “Tim,… you’ve got to get us out of here!”

5:00 pm

Lying naked and stretched out on the rack, Sylvia Sparelli had long since given up hope. Her body ached badly. She also had very little idea of time and was unaware that twenty-four hours had passed since receiving those vicious lashings of a bullwhip the day before. She knew there to be serious welts across her breasts, but could do nothing to ease the pain. Her hands were drawn taught above her head, and her feet were strapped apart at the foot of the bench.
Sylvia’s heart sunk as she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. What was he going to do to her this time? She wanted to scream but her throat was too dry and sore. It had come to the point when it was even too painful to scream.
She waited and listened. There was nothing else she could do. Sounds were becoming familiar now. Her captor was laying down food and drink for another prisoner. These were the sounds of a plate and bottle being placed on the floor. He always did this before coming across to her. She counted the footsteps. There were thirteen in all before her abductor came to stand over her. Even the number thirteen held ominous undertones and she held her breath in fear.
Then a small flicker of hope appeared. She listened firstly to the sound of a bottle being unscrewed, then a trickle of cold refreshing water fell upon her dry parched lips. She opened out her mouth as wide as she could manage and just let the water pour in. She swallowed with her mouth open and felt the sting as water passed over the back of a dry sore throat. Ignoring the stabbing pain she took in everything that was offered and gulped it down.
More amazingly, when the bottle became empty, her captor bestowed upon her an even more kinder gift. The winding gear that kept her body taught across the boards, was released and relaxed by a good six notches. This felt like sheer heaven, and for the first time in days she discovered that she could move her arms slightly.
She wanted to say thank you, but nothing more than a croak issued from the back of her throat.
Then, as quickly as he came, the man’s fading footsteps could be heard returning to the other prisoner. Once again Sylvia counted thirteen steps, and followed by activity. The sound of rattling chains appeared for a few seconds, then the man was on his way again.
Soon silence fell and he was gone.
Sylvia shuffled her body. How wonderful it was to be able to move once more. If she really exerted herself it was possible to flex an elbow a good half inch.
This was luxury; sheer luxury. She now realised the error of her ways and vowed not to antagonise her captor anymore. She would be as quiet as a mouse from now on. She was determined to show him just what a good girl she could be.

6:00 pm

Tracy arrived at her home on Castle Point and unloaded her car. After that the first thing she did was phone Davina. Her parents were out and there was no chance of being overheard.
“Hello, Davina speaking,” came the reply after several rings.
“Davina, it’s Tracy… can we speak?” she asked.
Davina breathed a sigh of relief. Tracy had finally made contact.
“John’s watching telly… it’s okay… go ahead Tracy,… where are you anyway?” asked Davina.
“I’m at home,” Tracy told Davina.
“That’s good, I was getting a worried,” admitted Davina.
Tracy was impatient and wanted to get straight down to business.
“Where’s Georgina?… Is she still working?” she asked.
“She’s on afternoons… she comes off duty at ten o’clock,” replied Davina.
Tracy considered this to be bad news.
“I want to call a meeting… I’ve got something important to tell you,” she explained.
Davina thought for a moment.
“I can organise a meeting for ten o’clock tomorrow morning,” she said.
Tracy thought for a moment, then conceded that tomorrow morning it would have to be.
“Okay Davina… on the bench… ten o’clock… can you get Georgina to be there?” asked Tracy.
Davina nodded her head.
“I can do that,” she confirmed.
“Good… and please don’t be late,” urged Tracy.
“We won’t be… and what about Wendy?… will she be with you?… has she come back too?” queried Davina.
On the other end of the line Tracy shook her head. As far as she was concerned Wendy was old news and no longer part of the Pact.
“No… I left her in London with Tim,” she said simply.
“She’s okay though isn’t she?” queried Davina.
“Oh, yes she’s fine,” agreed Tracy.
Davina relaxed at the news. Somehow she had a feeling that something was wrong. How silly of her.
“See you tomorrow then Tracy,” said Davina.
“Yes… see you tomorrow Davina,” echoed Tracy and put down the phone.
She wanted the meeting to take place that evening, but with Georgina working she knew this not to be possible. So tomorrow it would have to be then.

10:00 pm

Tim dragged out a thin threadbare mattress from the small prison area and set it down on the floor of the dungeon.
“Well this looks like our bed for the night,” he told Wendy.
They lay down on the mattress and Tim held Wendy in his arms.
“Tim, will someone find us?” asked a tearful Wendy.
Tim nodded his head and kissed Wendy on the forehead.
“Sure Wendy… as soon as the landlady discovers we’ve not returned they’ll come looking for us… they’ll find us… don’t worry Wendy,” Tim said and trying to assure her.
Wendy snuggled up in Tim’s arms.
Tim gripped her tightly.
He just hoped that he was right.

* * *

End of Chapter Twenty-nine