Captives (12 page)

    She looked away from the picture, feeling her stomach churn.

    'I see things like that every day and every night,' he continued vehemently. 'And you expect me to forget them? Have you any idea what goes through my mind? What thoughts are in here?' He prodded his temple with his index finger. 'No, you haven't. You could never understand.'

    'Then make me understand,' she said, tears welling in her eyes.

    'You really want to know? You really want to hear about my work?' His eyes were blazing now, fixing her in an unflinching stare.

    'You should talk about it more often. You bottle things up too much, Frank.'

    'Okay, where would you like me to start?' he said, glaring at her. 'Would you like me to tell you what the inside of that bank looked like after that fucking maniac had finished using the shotgun? How there were brains spread over the road when he shot the motorcyclist? Or perhaps you'd be more interested in another case. The one where the woman killed her husband with a carving knife because she'd found out he was having an affair. There were so many knife wounds in him it took us over an hour to count them all. And blood. You want to hear how much blood there was? She severed both his carotid arteries, you see. The ones in the neck. Nearly cut his fucking head off, in fact. She said later that all the time she was stabbing him he kept saying he was sorry. He kept saying he didn't want to die.'

    Gregson was sucking in breath through clenched teeth now.

    'What else would you like to hear?' he taunted. 'About the four-year-old who'd been sexually abused by her stepfather? He'd used a bottle on her. A beer bottle. Shoved it up her arse. The only problem was he didn't expect it to break. He didn't expect her to scream quite so loudly, so he jammed the rest of the bottle into her face until she shut up. That would have been bad enough but she'd been dead for three days when we found her. He'd put her in the attic. She was blue where she'd lost so much blood, apart from the bits of her that had turned gangrenous. Jesus, it stank in that fucking attic.'

    Tears were rolling down Julie's cheeks now as she looked at her husband, the words pouring forth from him with a kind of monstrous glee.

    'Is this what you want to hear?' he chided. 'Is this what you want to know about my job? What about the drunk that was mugged in Piccadilly the other night? I mean, there was nothing for them to take so they just beat him to death. They used his head like a football, took runs at him. Two would hold him down while the other one kicked him. Kicked him so hard that three of his front teeth were driven up into the roof of his mouth.'

    She got to her feet.

    'That's enough,' she sobbed, wiping her eyes.

    'I've hardly started,' he said, looking at her. 'I thought you wanted to hear all about my work.' He smiled humourlessly.

    'I wanted to help you,' she told him, sniffing.

    'How can you help?'

    'You should talk to me more.'

    'I've just been talking to you and you can't fucking take it. You ask me what I do, you ask me to tell you what goes through my mind, and when I do you can't take it.'

    She wiped more tears from her face.

    'Can't you see what it's doing to you, Frank?' she asked.

    'That's my problem, not yours.'

    'It's not just yours. I can't stand to see what this job is doing to you.'

    'Why?'

    'Because I love you,' she snapped, a note of anger joining the despair in her voice. 'Christ knows why, but I do. Let me help.'

    He shrugged.

    'You want to help me? Leave me alone. That would be a great help. Get off my fucking back.' The words were spoken without a flicker of emotion.

    She turned and headed for the door, turning as she reached it to look angrily at him.

    'I tried. Don't ever say I didn't try to help you,' she said tearfully.

    'Who asked you to help? Mel No.' He shook his head.

    'Frank, please…'

    He cut her short. 'You want to help? Then leave me alone.' He looked away from her. He didn't see her leave the room, only heard the door slam.

    Gregson took another swallow from the glass. Then he picked the photos up and carefully began to go through them again, one by one.

    

    

    He watched her writhing on the bed, hardly aware of the music that roared out of the speaker above his head.

    
'… Lady Red light, rock me tonight…'

    James Scott leant against the doorframe, peering through the gloom towards the bed where Carol Jackson was naked, a vibrator clutched in one hand. She was running the gleaming phallus up and down her body, pausing occasionally to look at the members of the audience.

    There were two men dressed in suits sitting in chairs on one side of the bed, both of them chuckling as they watched Carol's rehearsed gyrations. Every few moments one of them would rub the erection he sported. They continued laughing, nodding towards Carol as she turned to face them, the vibrator between her legs.

    Scott sighed as he watched the display.

    He'd tried to talk to her when she arrived but she'd been late and she'd had to hurry off and change. She said she'd talk to him later. It offered some ray of hope, at least. He had so much to ask her. Before she'd arrived he had been angry, had told himself he would be firmer with her; but as soon as he'd seen her the anger had evaporated. She was here, that was all that mattered. She was near him.

    He watched the display for a moment longer, glaring at one of the customers who whistled appreciatively when she took the vibrator from her vagina and kissed the tip.

    As Zena joined her on the bed, Scott turned and headed back towards his office.

    He wanted to ask her if she was all right, wanted to know why she hadn't answered the phone when he'd tried her number the previous night. And yet, strong as his curiosity was, something told him that he should not ask. He didn't own her. She wasn't accountable to him.

    Yet he felt he had a right to know. After all, they had been seeing one another for over a year.

    He sat in his office listening to the dull thud of the music, thinking about Carol and Zena lying on the bed together, performing their usual act.

    
Where had she been last night?

    He sat forward in his seat, angry with himself for dwelling on the matter. He pulled the bottle of Southern Comfort from the drawer in his desk and poured himself a measure, swallowing half in one gulp.

    
Don't ask her, it's not important now.

    He turned the glass in his hand, gazing into the dark fluid for a second before downing more of it. He refilled his glass, the thud of the music diminishing slightly. They must have finished.

    Scott got to his feet and headed for the office door, the drink still in his hand. He walked down the corridor which led to the changing room, knocked and walked in.

    

    

    Zena sat on one of the stools in front of the mirror, peering at her reflection. She smiled as she saw Scott standing there.

    'It's a good job I'm not shy, isn't it?' she laughed, allowing the silk basque she wore to hang open, revealing her breasts. She noticed his drink.

    'Whatever it is I'll have a swig, Scotty,' she said. 'I'm parched.'

    He handed her the glass and she sipped from it as she slipped off first the basque then her panties. Naked, she sat on the stool.

    'Where's Carol?' he asked.

    'One of the punters called her over, I think she's having a drink with him.' Zena shrugged. 'It's another thirty quid, isn't it?'

    Scott nodded and turned to leave.

    'I'll nip back later,' he said.

    'Scotty, wait a minute.'

    She swivelled round on the stool to face him, completely unconcerned by her nakedness. It seemed not to bother Scott either.

    'What is it?' he asked.

    'You think a lot of her, don't you?' Zena said, cradling the drink.

    'Is it that obvious?' he said, smiling humourlessly.

    She nodded.

    
If only you knew, you poor sod.

    Zena smiled at him, wondering if she should drop a hint of some kind, let him know that his feelings for Carol weren't reciprocated. But she decided it wasn't her business. They had to sort their own lives out. As she sat there, naked, Zena realised for the first time that she found Scott attractive. She enjoyed the thought of him looking at her and reddened slightly as she felt her nipples begin to stiffen.

    
Forget it.

    'I'm sure she won't be long,' she told him, swallowing what was left in the glass. 'Do you want me to tell her you were looking for her?'

    He shook his head.

    'I'll come back later,' he said. Then he was gone, the door closing behind him.

    Zena turned back to the mirror, studying her reflection for a moment longer. Then she began to take off her make-up. The dressing room door opened and Carol entered, still carrying the vibrator. She put it down on the dressing table, and exhaled wearily.

    'What did that bloke want?' Zena enquired.

    'A blow job,' Carol said. 'I told him to piss off.'

    'You can afford to turn down a hundred quid, can you, Carol? You're lucky.'

    Carol didn't answer; she just looked at Zena as the two women faced the mirror.

    'Scotty was looking for you,' Zena said.

    'What did he want?' Carol enquired.

    'He didn't say. Are you going to tell him tonight?'

    'Tell him what?'

    'That's it's all over between you. How much longer are you going to keep him hanging on, Carol?'

    'Look, Zena, it isn't really your business, is it?' Carol snapped.

    'He's a nice bloke. I like him and I don't like to see him get hurt.'

    'Then you go out with him.'

    'Maybe I should. Maybe he's more my type than yours. I mean, according to you he's going nowhere. Well, I'm happy the way I am, too. Perhaps you get used to being a nobody after a while. We're not all like you, Carol. Some of us make do with our lives, make the best of what we've got instead of moaning about what we haven't got.'

    'Thanks for the lecture,' Carol said, acidly.

    'Why don't you stop being such a bitch and tell the poor bastard?'

    Carol got to her feet, pulling a towelling robe around her.

    'Drop it, will you?' she snapped.

    'You're seeing someone else, aren't you?' Zena said, flatly.

    Carol looked anxious for a moment.

    'What makes you say that?'

    She raised her eyebrows in mock surprise.

    'I've done it myself, Carol, I know the signs,' she said. 'Want to tell me who he is?' She smiled. 'He must be well off if you can afford to turn down hundred-quid tricks.'

    Carol didn't answer.

    Well off. He was rolling in it.

    'Is he going to be the one who's going to take you away from all this?' There was a note of scorn in Zena's voice.

    'I told you, Zena, just drop it, will you?' Carol said irritably. 'It's my business, not yours.'

    Their argument was interrupted by the ringing of the phone.

    While Carol went to answer it Zena finished dressing, checking that she had all her bits and pieces before picking up her handbag. She paused to light a cigarette, watching Carol cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder.

    On the other end of the line Ray Plummer was apologetic.

    He couldn't pick her up tonight.

    'It's Okay,' said Carol. 'What's wrong?'

    Nothing, he assured her. He just had some business to attend to.

    'Will I see you tomorrow?' she wanted to know.

    He said she could bank on it. He'd take her out for a meal.

    'Great,' she said, her tone not exactly jubilant.

    Zena waved goodbye and slipped out. Carol raised a hand in farewell and then she was alone in the dressing room with just Plummer's voice for company.

    'Where are you ringing from?' she asked him.

    He said he was at one of his gaming clubs in Kensington. He said he was sorry she was going to be alone tonight. He told her he wanted her.

    'I want you, too,' she lied.

    He said goodbye.

    'See you tomorrow.'

    He'd already hung up.

    She put down the phone, stood gazing at it for a moment and banged the receiver.

    'Damn,' she hissed. When she turned back to look in the mirror there were tears in her eyes.

    

    

    They didn't speak all evening.

    Julie Gregson had sat looking at the television not really comprehending what she saw, while Gregson himself had continued drinking, flicking through the photos.

    She'd looked over at him a couple of times, the expression on her face a combination of sorrow and anger.

    Only when the hands of the clock crawled round to midnight did she speak. She asked him if he wanted a hot drink, tea or coffee, before she went to bed.

    He shook his head and finished off the Teacher's instead.

    'Are you coming to bed?' she asked.

    'Soon,' he murmured, without looking up.

    She paused in the doorway and ran a hand through her hair, watching as he flicked through the photos again.

    'What do you think you're going to find, Frank?' she asked him. 'You've been looking at those damned things all night.'