The Cellar, page 12
‘Worship me, Lucy. Get back on your knees, scuttle towards me, lower your face to the floor, kiss my feet and tell me I’m your god. Tell me you recognise my greatness. I’d be cautious, if I were you. I’m starting to enjoy myself. This is your last chance to get it right. If you think the taser hurt, the knife would be infinitely worse. Your young friend could tell you that were she still alive and able to speak. Praise me now. Tell me how much you love me, or I’ll cut your fucking throat.’
Lucy did precisely what she was told, drawing on her past amateur dramatic skills, making her performance as convincing as possible. She still clung to hope. She told herself that she would escape as soon as the opportunity arose. But now was not that time. It was all about survival. For now, she had to play his game.
Ten minutes or so after Lucy began calling out her praise, feeling as if it may go on forever, he finally raised a hand to silence her, seemingly satisfied with her feigned reverence. Lucy decided to risk one request while he seemed in a better mood. Something to make the intolerable burden just a little bit easier to bear.
‘I’d find it easier to work without the smell of the corpse, sir. I wouldn’t; I wouldn’t w-w-want to be distracted while creating our masterpiece. Will, will you please take her body away?’
Moloch glared at her. Lucy first thought she’d made a terrible error of judgement, but then his expression softened.
‘It’s good that you’re focusing on your new purpose, Lucy. You’ve passed your second test. That, again, is to your credit. You’re doing rather well up to this point. Although, of course, there are far more challenging examinations to come. I’ll dismember your fellow guest soon enough while you begin your work. I’ll need some help to carry her bits and pieces to the garden, but we can talk about that nearer the time.’
Lucy wanted to scream and cry and shout, but instead, she maintained as calm a persona as possible, trying to reach out to him emotionally, to make a connection, seeking to influence his behaviour and decision making. She knew it was a gamble. There was so much to lose, but she felt she had no option but to try. The talk of the garden gave her hope. It was either persevere or accept her fate.
‘Could we, could we get rid of the body n-n-now, please, sir?’
He began slowly circling her, closer now, about six feet away. ‘I said soon, not now. My word is the law. Do not ask again.’
She wasn’t ready to give up quite yet.
‘I’m c-cold, Moloch. Can I please have, have my clothes?’
He raised the taser again and fired, the second barb cutting into her left breast this time, causing temporary paralysis as she fell, twitching to the concrete. She lay there, gradually recovering, saying nothing at all as he tore the barb from her bloody flesh and walked towards the exit.
Moloch left the light on when he left, locking the door behind him. Lucy heard a second metallic click less than a minute later, and then the same creak of hinges she’d heard earlier. As she looked around her, focusing on anything other than the young woman’s mutilated body, a part of her wished he’d returned the room to darkness. She had the opportunity to surreptitiously glance around the entire cellar, confirming there were no windows, and just one door, which looked like metal. If she was going to escape, it had to be through there.
Lucy crawled to the furthest point possible from the corpse, the plastic bucket held tightly in her teeth by the handle. She struggled into a seated position, allowed the wall to support her weight, and rested there, whimpering quietly to herself until exhausted sleep finally provided a welcome release.
Lucy was awoken, back on full alert sometime later. Her entire body stiffened as she sat shivering, witnessing the scene, as if seeing the cellar and its contents for the first awful time. Moloch was back and striding towards her. The taser was attached to a nylon belt around his slim waist in a black holster. There was an orange plastic bowl in each of his hands, of the type one would use to feed a large dog. One bowl was piled high with baked beans, and the other filled with water, a small amount of which splashed from the bowl onto the floor with the movement of his body. He placed the bowls on the concrete one to either side of where Lucy sat cowering. She went to speak but silenced herself immediately when he moved a hand to touch the taser’s handle. Sometimes silence was best. She was a fast learner. Any words she uttered, however reasonable in the world outside the cellar, may result in punishment. She had to choose her battles with care.
‘Very wise, lovely Lucy, you’ve passed the next test. You’ve learned when to keep your pretty little mouth shut. I want you to eat, and I want you to drink. The bucket serving as your en suite facilities is now full of cold water. Wash, clean yourself, make yourself attractive. I’ll be watching upstairs. If you please me, tomorrow’s water will be warm. If not, icy cold. Now would be a good time to thank me. I’ve never shown a guest such kindness before. I fear that sometimes I can be too generous of spirit for my own good.’
She avoided his eyes as she did as she was told. She’d never experienced such intense hatred towards another human being. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘You’ll undoubtedly be pleased to hear that you’re going to start working tomorrow. If you’re going to make this place a masterpiece, you need to get on with it. I’ll bring down the paints and everything else you’re going to need. I hope you’ve given some thought to the designs.’
She nodded.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
She looked up at him, trying desperately to hold her nerve, to appear as compliant as feasibly possible, and chose her words with the utmost care.
‘Can I, can I, p-p-please ask you one thing, sir?’
He was silent for about thirty seconds before answering. To Lucy, it seemed like an age. She urgently looked away as he undid his zip, took out his erect penis and began masturbating while talking, as if doing nothing out of the ordinary.
‘Ask away. I’m not an unreasonable man.’
Lucy had thought she could no longer be shocked. She’d been wrong. It seemed there was no normal, no rationale, reason or logic. Anything was possible in this world within the walls. Maybe that was something she should seek to manipulate as well as fear. If there was even the slightest chance of facilitating contact with the outside world, she had to do it whatever the risks.
It was now or never. But how would he react? Was she doing the right thing by saying anything at all? She rushed her words.
‘My mother has cancer. She’s going to be worrying. Will you p-please let her know that I’m alive? I told h-her I’d be doing the artwork. I’d love her to know that’s what I’m doing. It would mean such a lot to m-m-me.’
His quickly vanishing frown became another lascivious grin as he looked first at Lucy and then the dead girl behind her.
‘Who knows? Maybe we can have some fun with that. Let me give it some thought.’
‘Thank y-you so very much, sir.’
She could hear his hand moving faster and faster.
‘Occasional acts of kindness are a character flaw of mine. I’ve often thought about it, and now here it is in action. But don’t go thinking you can use it to your advantage. There are limits even to my generosity.’
Suddenly, he ejaculated with a guttural groan, sticky white semen spraying Lucy’s leg.
‘You’ll find that out if you push too hard. You’ve met Mr Nice. Displease me, and I’ll introduce you to Mr Nasty. They both live in my head. It’s up to you which one you meet.’
17
The Right Honourable Graham Williams MP stood in the recently refurbished reception area of West Wales Police Headquarters at 9.35 in the morning on Friday 5 June, and repeatedly tapped on the toughened-glass security screen with the first two knuckles of his right hand.
‘I’m here to see the chief constable.’
The young PC looked up from his paperwork with a bored expression on his oval face. He couldn’t have seemed less interested if he’d tried.
‘Have you got an appointment?’ He spoke with a strong, nasal North Wales accent, very unlike the locals, a natural consequence of a childhood spent close to Merseyside.
Williams stiffened, his frustration evident as he made an unnecessary adjustment to his silk tie, an instinctive response to stress. He noted the number on the young officer’s epaulettes before responding.
‘No, I haven’t got an appointment, PC 134, but I know she’s in – I saw her Range Rover in the car park. My name’s Williams, Graham Williams – I’m the local member of parliament. And this is urgent. I suggest you pick up that phone and speak to her right now if you want to keep your job for very much longer. You are seriously straining my patience. I haven’t got time to mess about.’
The officer swallowed hard before doing precisely what he was told.
‘I’ve spoken to the chief constable’s secretary, Mr Williams. She says to take you straight up.’
Williams’s relief was palpable as the young officer pressed a button, opening the steel-and-glass security door leading from the reception to the inner rooms of the police station. The officer led the way, first to the lift, up three floors, and then down a long, well-lit top-floor corridor to where the chief’s excessively large office was located at the far end.
‘It’s the second door on the right, sir. Just knock and go straight in.’
Williams was met by the chief’s middle-aged, long-serving female secretary, who offered him tea or coffee, both of which he declined. A buzzer sounded. The secretary approached a second door emblazoned with the chief constable’s rank and name in gold letters, opened it and invited him to enter. Chief Constable Jenny Harris was already standing and waiting, resplendent in dark-blue dress uniform with silver-coloured buttons, when Williams walked into the room. The office was an ample space with a sweeping view of the town and the green hills beyond. Chief Constable Harris reached out to shake Williams’s hand a little more firmly than he’d expected.
‘It’s good to see you again, Graham. It’s been too long. When was the last time we met? Now, let me think. It must have been the Welsh Government conference in Llandrindod Wells. If I recall correctly, we were talking about multi-disciplinary child protection services.’
He began speaking the second she stopped, rushing his words. As if he feared keeping them inside may result in him stalling. A single tear ran down his cheek, finding a home on his shirt collar.
‘I can’t quite believe I’m saying this. But I haven’t got time for small talk – my daughter is missing.’
The chief constable’s expression darkened as she handed him a tissue taken from a box on her desk before sitting.
‘Take a seat, Graham. I’m here to help. Tell me all about it.’
Williams nodded his grateful acknowledgement. Sometimes contacts were useful. If he could wield influence, he was happy to do it, Anything for his girl.
‘Lucy is an artist, a lecturer at the local college. She was giving a talk to a women’s group at the small gallery in Lammas Street from eleven o’clock yesterday morning until one. It’s something she does on a fairly regular basis. That’s the type of person she is – selfless, public-spirited, a chip off the old block. She likes to give back to the community. She’s been missing since.’
‘We don’t always get involved as soon as this where an adult is concerned.’ Williams thought he identified a hint of impatience in Harris’s response. Maybe he’d said too much, let his mouth run away with him, not focused on what really mattered. She continued. ‘But I understand your worries. I’m a parent myself. And I’m sure we can make an exception given our professional relationship. You said your daughter is missing. The background is useful. It creates a picture, but let’s focus on the pertinent facts for now.’
He bounced a knee, tapping a foot against the floor.
‘Yes, sorry, I’ll, er, I’ll try to concentrate – this is just so hard to accept. It’s the sort of thing one expects to read about in the papers. It’s not something you ever expect to happen to you.’
‘Take your time and give me the facts as you know them. She was at the gallery. Now, what happened next?’
He closed his eyes for a beat, opening them again before continuing.
‘I spoke to the woman who manages the gallery, Helen Evans, before coming here. She was at the talk. Lucy left shortly after one and was due to be back at the art college at two. But she never turned up. It’s not like her – she’s reliable, a stickler for timekeeping. Her colleagues were concerned. She wasn’t answering her phone. She still isn’t. It goes straight to messages. Her line manager rang Andy – he’s Lucy’s partner, Andrew Baker – at around three, and then he finally contacted me at shortly after nine yesterday evening when she didn’t come home. I’m worried, Jenny. She’s never done anything like this before. There’s something very wrong. I know there is. There’s no other reasonable explanation. I should have contacted you sooner rather than wait. But I felt sure she’d turn up. I’m regretting that now.’
The chief constable took a notepad from a desk drawer, positioning the nib of a silver pen above the first blank page. She spoke slowly and calmly, clearly enunciating each word.
‘Have you contacted friends, relatives, everywhere you think she could be?’
‘My wife and oldest daughter made some urgent calls, but nothing. I’ve even rung the various hospitals in the area, but again nothing. There’s no trace of her. It’s as if she’s disappeared off the face of the Earth.’
Harris tapped the tip of her pen against her desktop three times.
‘Okay, let’s start with the basics. What’s your daughter’s full name?’
‘It’s Lucy, Lucy Williams.’
‘No middle names?’
He shook his head.
‘We wanted to keep it simple.’
‘Her date of birth?’
‘The 22 October ’97, she’s twenty-five.’
She quickly scribbled a note in black ink.
‘And you said she works at the art college.’
‘Yes, yes, she does. She’s been there since shortly after graduating with a master’s in fine art. They were keen to take her on. I’m a very proud father. She’s something of a protégé.’
Harris gave a quickly vanishing smile.
‘You said she lives with a boyfriend.’
‘Yes, at flat one Picton House, the new red-brick block opposite the main entrance to the park here in town. They’ve been there for about eighteen months or so. The mortgage is in her name. I helped her with the deposit.’
He could feel her eyes on him as she studied his face, expressions and body language as if trying to read his thoughts. Perhaps his comment regarding the mortgage arrangement had given her some clue that all was not well.
‘How’s their relationship?’
Williams dropped his chin to his chest, considering his response. He’d thought long and hard as to whether to share what he was about to say. He’d pondered the potential negative media attention given his public role. Now he felt as if he had no choice. To hell with politics; his daughter had to come first.
‘It’s not something, I, er, I know a great deal about myself. But, um, Lucy, Lucy has talked to her mother about some problems she and Andy have been having. Nothing major, you understand, but there have been issues.’
The chief constable met his wet brown eyes, holding his gaze as he fidgeted with a cuff of his bespoke grey suit jacket.
‘This isn’t a time to hold anything back, Graham. If you’ve got something to say, you need to say it. We need as much detail as possible if we’re going to help you.’
He made a face.
‘I’m, er, I’m not sure it’s relevant.’
‘Tell me everything and let me decide. Sometimes the most seemingly innocuous details can be key to cracking a case. A lot of adults go missing. Most are found, but not all of them. We need to do all we can to ensure your daughter’s not one of those unfortunate people.’
He hadn’t thought of his daughter’s situation as a case before, and the term stung. It ate away at him. Surely she’d turn up, wouldn’t she? Oh, God, what if she didn’t?
‘They’re in the process of separating on Lucy’s instigation. He’s still at the flat but won’t be for much longer. They met in college, and Andy seemed nice enough. Not the go-getter I hoped she’d settle down with, but decent, from a decent family.’ He paused and then continued, speaking more quietly now, avoiding Harris’s eyes, looking past her, at the walls, the windows, anything but her, fearing what he was about to say might somehow reflect poorly on him. ‘Now, what I’m about to recount next is what my wife has told me, and I want to stress that I’ve only heard it from her.’
Harris glanced at the clock on the wall behind.
‘Give me a second. I don’t want us to be disturbed.’
She picked up her phone and dialled, only waiting for a second or two before speaking.
‘Tell Chief Superintendent Halliday that I’m moving our meeting on an hour, please, Alison. I’m running a little late.’ She returned her attention to Williams, who pondered what best to say and how to say it. ‘Sorry about that, Graham. You were about to tell me about some problems your daughter was experiencing with her partner.’
It was now or never.
‘Everything seemed fine until Andy lost his job at a local call centre. He was selling insurance, that sort of thing. He’d wanted to be an artist, but it didn’t happen for him – he hasn’t got Lucy’s talent, that’s the truth of it. Or her work ethic, to be honest. He started drinking a little too often and getting jealous, green-eyed, and not just of her success. It seems he resents her having any form of male attention. I put it down to insecurity, low self-esteem. She’s more accomplished than him, and he can’t handle that. I think it really is that simple.’
