The Keeper dsc-2 Page 8

  She appeared from behind the screen, looking from the floor to him and back again, heading for her cage, speeding up as she passed him, glancing at the stun-gun in his hand, ducking obediently back inside the safe place he’d made for her. He waited until she’d settled, watching her examining the items on the tray: cereal, milk, some fruit. Yes, he thought to himself — she was becoming as he wanted her to be, as he needed her to be. He eased the cage door shut and replaced the lock, all the time watching her in wide-eyed excitement and anticipation of the moment when he would be with her, as it had always been meant to be.

  Needing release, to untie the knot in his guts, to stop the throbbing in his head, the pain in his groin, he looked across at Karen Green. He was disgusted by her, yet drawn to her, drawn to the odour leaking from her cage. Slowly he moved towards her, his face ugly and threatening, his uneven stained teeth bared. Sensing danger, she tried to escape his approach, but all directions led to cold wire.

  ‘You disgusting whore,’ he accused her, his voice quiet, but full of hateful intent. ‘You’ve pissed yourself. Do you want me to punish you? Do you?’ shouting now.

  ‘No, please,’ she begged him. ‘I couldn’t help it. Please, I tried not to. I knew it would make you angry, please.’

  His teeth clenched together in rage, the words squeezing through them, each one shouted with a pause between to emphasize his fury as he edged closer to his desperately needed release. ‘If … you … knew … it … would … make … me … angry … then … why … the … fuck … did … you … do … it?’

  ‘I tried so hard not to,’ Karen pleaded, bright tears making clean stains down her increasingly filthy face, her mouth round as if trapped in a scream, her eyes wild with panic as he approached.

  He opened a hatch in the side of the cage that was just big enough for a human arm to fit. ‘Put your arm through the hole,’ he demanded.

  ‘No,’ she sobbed.

  ‘Put your arm through the fucking hole or you know what’ll happen.’

  ‘I can’t,’ Karen gasped between terrible childlike sobs. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Put your arm through the fucking hole!’ His scream intensified, making both women jump in fright.

  Slowly Karen inched her way across the cage and slid her arm through the gate, looking away, knowing pain would soon come. He leapt forward and stabbed the stun-gun into her exposed flesh, sending her flying through the air to the rear of the cage where she crashed into the wire and fell on to her side.

  Then he waited. Waited until the convulsions became little more than twitches. Finally he darted to the cage door, dropping the key in his rush to unlock it, fumbling on the floor in a panic to locate it, giggling when he did. The lock undone, he jerked the door open in a desperate rush to reach her before she fully recovered.

  The desire was overtaking him, everything beginning to feel dreamlike, as if he had left his body and was watching someone else in the cage with her, someone else rolling her on to her stomach, tearing at her flimsy underwear, pulling himself free and searching for her, thrusting and missing, thrusting again, searching for a warm opening to push himself into her, until finally, when he was so close to releasing the demons that pounded inside of him, he felt himself enter her, the feeling of being inside her making his eyes roll back with excruciating pleasure like he’d never been able to feel before — before he started taking them. In the midst of his ecstasy he wondered if the others would be as good as this, his first.

  He rutted like a wild animal, almost unaware of the human being lying underneath him, crying in pain, humiliated and desolate, while he forced himself on her, grunting with absolute pleasure, the warm flesh around his sex driving him to push harder and deeper until the release rushed free from his body and into her. He pushed himself as deeply as he could inside her as the release began to fade, at last allowing his body to relax, bringing him back to the world and the realization of what he had done, shame attempting to wash him clean of his terrible sin.

  Keller looked down at the sobbing creature pinned underneath him, his erection fading fast. He pulled himself out of her and tugged his trousers up, already backing out of the cage, unable to look at her. His eyes were immediately drawn to Louise, looking on in horror.

  Pointing at the figure discarded on the floor of the other cage, he protested, ‘She made me do it, Sam. She always makes me do it. She knows how to trick me. She’s one of them. That’s how I knew she wasn’t really you, because of the things she makes me do to her. You would never make me do those things.’

  Slamming the door to Karen’s cage shut, he snapped the lock back into place then stood clinging to the wire mesh, fighting back the tears that tried to escape from his red eyes, self-loathing and hatred tearing away the ecstasy he’d felt only moments earlier. He scrunched his eyes tightly together, shame giving way to an anger that without warning swept through his being like a raging fire ripping through a bone-dry forest. He straightened, his body frozen with tension as he released his fury, screaming ‘I hate you!’ into the room.

  Then he turned and ran sobbing from the cellar, up the stairs and into the daylight, cursing his lack of control, his weakness, the fact they had seen his weakness. Humiliation kept his legs pumping as he ran across the derelict courtyard, bouncing off oil drums, tripping on old tyres until he reached his dilapidated cottage and fell through the door, clutching his chest, desperate for his burning lungs to fill with air, to slow his heart and stop the throbbing pain in his head.

  Collapsed on the floor of his neglected kitchen, he waited, staring at the ceiling, as images from his childhood taunted him, joined by other, more recent images of torment. But he didn’t try to push them away. Instead he embraced them like a welcome dream, and gradually the ugly images calmed him, slowed the torrents of his mind and body until finally he was in control again.

  Realizing he was lying on the kitchen floor, he sprang to his feet, confused and distrustful of how he came to be there. The memories of what had happened in the cellar came seeping back, and with them his anger, but it was controllable now. He could turn this weakness into his strength, but in order to do that she needed to be taught a lesson. He would have to show the whore he knew what she was.

  Keller made his way to the shed attached to the side of the cottage and pulled the unlocked door open. Undaunted by the disorganized chaos that confronted him, he began to scoop armfuls of items from their shelves, kicking the things that landed on the floor out of his way until he found what he was looking for: a bag of litter and a tray he’d bought months ago when he was trying to domesticate one of the feral cats that patrolled his land. He paused for a second, the memory of the ungrateful cat pricking his thoughts. It had got what it deserved, but at least he’d given it a proper burial, in one of the few green and picturesque spots on his land, under the sole willow tree that shaded the back of his cottage. He shook the memory away and examined the items he held.

  Satisfied that this would teach the whore who was in control, he set about filling the litter tray, then made his way back to the stairs that led to the cellar, taking care to avoid the obstacles that littered the way. Once inside, he raced down the stairs, abandoning caution now, revelling in his power when he saw them cowering in the corners of their cages. He saw the holdall he’d dropped on the floor earlier and the clothes inside. No matter. First he’d deal with the whore.

  He unlocked the padlock to Karen Green’s cage and pulled the door open. This time there was no need to brandish the stun-gun; she wouldn’t dare cross him now. The terror in her eyes told him she knew it was no use trying to escape. He threw the tray of cat litter on to the floor of her cage. ‘When you need to piss, whore,’ he shouted, ‘you piss in there. You piss in there and you shit in there.’ He watched as she hugged herself, rocking rhythmically back and forth. Again he pointed at the tray. ‘In there — understand, whore?’

  Neither waiting for an answer nor expecting one, he slammed her door closed and carefully replaced
the padlock. Then he crossed the cellar to retrieve the holdall, a smile changing the shape of his face as he pulled the clean and pressed clothes from within: a sky-blue blouse, grey knee-length pencil skirt, a cream V-neck sweater and white underwear. Next he removed two bottles: Elemis body lotion and Tom Ford Black Orchid Eau de Parfum.

  ‘This is for you, Sam,’ he told Louise. ‘Your own clothes, not the ones they made you wear. These are your own. And look — your favourite perfume and lotion. Use the lotion before you dress. Understand?’ Louise nodded that she did. ‘Put the perfume on after,’ he added. ‘Understand?’ She nodded again. He moved to the side of her cage and opened the hatch just wide enough to fit the items through once he’d rolled them into a single package. ‘Take them,’ he demanded, making her stretch out and snatch the package away, falling back into the corner of her cage.

  ‘I have to go to work now,’ he said. ‘But I promise I’ll come and see you when I get home. And don’t worry about her.’ He flicked his head towards the other cage. ‘She can’t hurt us any more. Nobody can. Nobody can keep us apart, Sam. They’ll never find us here. They’ll never take you away from me again. I swear it on my life, Sam, I’ll never let that happen.’

  Mid-morning Thursday and Sean waited in the comfortable office of Harry Montieth, owner-manager of Graphic Solutions, the small business in Dartmouth Road, Forest Hill, where Louise Russell should have been at work. He heard Montieth knock on his own door before ushering in two women in their late twenties. They both looked scared and anxious; the darkening around their eyes a clear indication that neither had slept well since learning of their colleague’s disappearance. He liked them already because of their concern, their self-inflicted sharing of her pain.

  ‘This is Tina,’ said Montieth, fumbling for the best way to introduce them to a cop. ‘Tina Nuffield. And this is Gabby — Gabby Scott.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Sean acknowledged, examining his face for any signs of guilt or shame, searching the women’s faces for telltale indications of disgust. Having concluded there was nothing untoward going on between Montieth and his female employees, he set about questioning them. ‘Mr Montieth has told me that you are Louise’s closest friends.’

  ‘We’re good friends,’ said Gabby, brushing her short blonde hair behind her ear. Tina remained silent, chewing on her bottom lip, in danger of opening the partly healed cut she’d already made.

  ‘How good?’ Sean probed.

  ‘I’ve known her since she started here, must be nearly five years ago.’

  ‘And what about you, Tina?’ Sean wanted to drag her into the conversation.

  ‘About three years,’ she answered quietly. ‘That’s when I started here. Louise really looked after me, and Gabby too,’ she added, so as not to upset her friend.

  Sean had already decided there was nothing here for him. He continued the standard questions, barely listening to the replies.

  ‘Things sometimes happen at work that stay at work,’ he suggested. ‘Things that never find their way home. You know what I mean?’ Everyone in the office did.

  ‘Not Louise,’ Gabby said firmly. ‘If anything like that had happened, we’d know about it for sure and I’d tell you now if it was. I wouldn’t risk lying to you.’

  ‘You’re her best friends, so I guess you would know,’ Sean encouraged.

  ‘We would,’ Gabby reaffirmed. ‘And there wasn’t. If Louise went out without John she would be out with us. We would’ve known. She loves John. All she ever talked about was John and how they were going to start a family soon.’

  ‘What about an unwanted admirer?’ Sean asked as a last procedural question. ‘Someone hanging around outside the office waiting for her? Someone other than the husband sending flowers, cards?’

  The three colleagues looked blankly at each other before Gabby answered for them all.

  ‘No. Not that I ever saw and not that she ever mentioned.’

  ‘What about at home? Anyone making a nuisance of themselves?’

  ‘Same,’ said Gabby. ‘Nothing. If there had been, she would have reported it to the police.’

  They were interrupted by Sean’s phone ringing on the borrowed desk. He glanced at the caller ID. It was Donnelly.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he said, snatching the phone up, turning his back on them for false privacy. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘We’ve found the car,’ Donnelly told him.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘A place called Scrogginhall Wood, in Norman Park, Bromley.’

  ‘Bromley!’ Sean exclaimed. ‘That’s only a few miles from her home.’

  ‘You were expecting something different?’ Donnelly queried.

  Sean realized he’d been thinking out loud. ‘No,’ he muttered. ‘Not necessarily.’ He already had a strong feeling that whoever had taken Louise Russell was local. She hadn’t been snatched by some long-distance lorry driver or salesman on a trip down South. No, this one was from somewhere within the borders of this forgotten part of London. ‘What state’s the car in?’

  ‘Locked and secure, apparently. No signs of damage or a struggle. A routine uniform patrol found it in the car park while they were looking for local toe-rags who screw the cars there with annoying regularity.’

  ‘Are you already with the car?’ Sean asked.

  ‘No,’ said Donnelly. ‘I’m on my way. ETA about fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can. Travelling time from Forest Hill,’ Sean explained. ‘Make sure uniform preserve it and the car park for Forensics. And have the AA meet us there to get the thing open. I don’t want any over-keen constables smashing the windows in.’

  ‘It’ll be done,’ Donnelly assured him.

  Sean hung up and turned to his waiting audience.

  ‘Have you found something?’ Montieth asked, his lips pale with dread.

  ‘We’ve found her car,’ Sean told them, seeing no point in keeping it a secret. Montieth’s eyes widened, while Gabby started to cry and Tina covered her mouth with both hands, as if pushing the scream of anxiety back inside her. ‘It’s just her car,’ Sean tried to reassure them. ‘There’s no sign of a struggle, nothing to suggest anything untoward has happened to her.’ Gathering up his belongings, he told them, ‘I need to get to where the car was found as quickly as I can, so I’m afraid I’ll have to cut our meeting short. Thanks for all your help. I promise I’ll be in touch if we find anything.’ During the long months without Sally at his side, covering for his abruptness, he’d had to learn to be a lot more subtle and polite with the public.

  ‘Of course,’ Montieth agreed. ‘Please, you do what you have to do.’

  Sean headed for the door, only to be stopped by Gabby grabbing his arm and locking eyes with him.

  ‘If someone’s hurt her,’ she told him, ‘and you find them, you do the right thing by Louise. You understand?’

  ‘I understand,’ he assured her, resisting the temptation to rattle off a spiel about justice, courts and trials, knowing it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She continued to hold his arm and eyes. ‘I understand,’ he repeated, his gaze dropping to the fingers coiled around his forearm. She slowly released her grip. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he promised.

  The moment the office door closed behind him he broke into a run, virtually jumping down the stairs, desperate to get to the car before any more evidence could fade. Before the last lingering traces of the man he hunted drifted away in the next spring breeze.

  4

  Thomas Keller arrived for the afternoon shift feeling content and calm, almost happy. He walked through the gates of the Holmesdale Road Royal Mail sorting office in South Norwood and headed towards the large grey building he’d worked in as a postman for the last eleven years. It had changed little inside and out since he’d started there not long after leaving school at seventeen. To begin with he’d been restricted to menial jobs, working his way up to helping with the sorting. It took several years before he was finally given his own round. He’
d never sought to go further in the Royal Mail and knew he never would. He entered the main building and clocked on, the same time-card-punching machine noting his arrival now just as it had done eleven years ago.

  Without acknowledging his colleagues he walked to his station in front of the seven-foot tall wooden shelving system and began to prepare the mail for his round, placing the letters and parcels into pigeonholes according to postcode. He found the work easy and relaxing; its repetitiveness allowed his mind to wander to more pleasant thoughts and recent memories.

  He was unaware that he was smiling until a voice too close behind him broke his reverie.

  ‘’Allo,’ the scratchy voice accused, thick with a south-east London accent. ‘Someone looks happy.’

  Thomas Keller knew who the voice belonged to. Jimmy Locke was one of his regular tormentors.

  ‘D’you get your end away or something, Tommy?’ Locke bellowed, the smile broad on his face as he looked around at the other men working their stations for approval. Their laughter indicated that he had found an appreciative audience.

  Keller looked sheepishly over his shoulder and smiled briefly before returning to his task, doing his best to ignore them.

  ‘Oi!’ Jimmy demanded, his face suddenly more serious, the Crystal Palace Football Club tattoos on his biceps stretching as he flexed the sizeable muscles that helped offset his growing beer-gut, his cropped hair making his head look small. ‘I asked you a question, Tommy.’