Syndicate

Chapter 11

I stared at the three lines of text for several long seconds, then spun right round on my heel, searching for someone who might be watching me at this particular moment.

Of course there wasn’t anyone, or if there was, I couldn’t see them.

I slowly climbed back into the car and put the note down carefully on the front passenger seat.

Who could be doing this? And why?

I sat for quite some time, mulling over these two leading questions without coming up with a single satisfactory answer to either.

A third question floated into my mind.

What could the person tell me to do that was so important?

And I had no answer to that one either.

I looked across again at the black words and wondered if any fingerprints could be lifted from the paper. But that would involve telling the police, and was I willing to do that?

Yet another question I was unable to answer.

Eventually, I restarted the car and set off for home, driving automatically while my conscious mind was still preoccupied with other matters.

As usual, Georgina was in another panic when I walked into the house at a quarter to ten.

‘I can’t contact Amanda,’ she squealed. ‘I’ve tried her phone multiple times all evening, but all I get is a voice that keeps telling me that her number is not recognised.’

I took my own phone out of my pocket and called Amanda’s number.

‘This number is not recognised,’ said a disembodied electronic voice. ‘Please check and try again.’

‘How about Darren’s phone,’ I said.

‘I’ve tried that,’ said Georgina. ‘It rings but he’s not answering, and I’m worried. What if she’s gone missing again?’

‘I’m sure she’s fine,’ I said. ‘Darren would tell us if something was wrong.’

‘But I wouldn’t trust that boy to tell us anything.’

Georgina had a good point.

‘Her phone is probably out of order,’ I said. ‘I’ll sort it out in the morning.’ I yawned. ‘I’m tired now and I’m going to bed.’

My wife wasn’t happy.

‘Don’t you think we should drive over to Didcot and check?’

‘No, I don’t. The last thing Amanda would want is her parents turning up late at night to check up on her. She’s no longer a child. Leave it until the morning. If we still can’t contact her tomorrow, I’ll go and see her.’

I started to go upstairs, leaving Georgina, still unhappy, standing in the hallway with her hands on her hips in frustration.

‘I’ll go on my own then,’ she said.

‘Do you even know where Darren lives?’ I said, stopping halfway up.

‘No,’ she said. ‘But I’ll find it.’

I only knew where Darren’s flat was because I had picked Amanda up from there a few weeks ago, but I’d never been inside.

I could tell what Georgina was doing. She was blackmailing me into going with her because I could hardly allow her to simply wander around Didcot all night, looking for Amanda on her own.

‘Oh, all right,’ I said, irritated. ‘Give me a minute.’

I went up to the bedroom and changed out of my linen suit into jeans and a lightweight sweatshirt before rushing down again, but even though I’d been really quick, Georgina was already out in my car, waiting for me, and she was holding the piece of paper I had carelessly left lying on the front passenger seat.

‘Who is watching you?’ Georgina asked quietly, as I drove out of the driveway through our white gates.

‘I’ve no idea,’ I said. ‘I found that under my windscreen wiper in the car park at Windsor racecourse when I went out to come home. Probably just some idiot prankster having a laugh.’

‘Or else what?’

‘Exactly.’ I laughed. ‘It’s nonsense. Ignore it.’

‘You should report this to the police,’ Georgina said seriously.

‘You must be joking. What do you think they would do about it? I’ll tell you. Absolutely nothing. They’re not even investigating Amanda’s abduction anymore. I was told as much by that lady detective on the phone this morning. I’m quite surprised she even bothered to come out to see us after Amanda turned up unharmed, and un-raped.’

‘Un-raped?’

‘That’s what they were doing the forensic tests on her for. Checking to see if there was anyone else’s DNA where it shouldn’t have been.’

‘Oh,’ muttered Georgina, clearly upset by the thought.

I drove on in silence.

It was exactly three and a half miles from our house to Didcot railway station, and Darren’s flat was close by to that, above an Indian takeaway in a small parade of shops, half of which were boarded up and covered with graffiti. And the takeaway had clearly seen better days too, with red paint flaking off the name board above the window. But it was still open at twenty-five minutes to eleven at night, although there didn’t appear to be many customers about.

‘That’s it,’ I said, pointing. ‘The flat above the Raj Tandoori takeaway. His front door is to the left.’

Georgina screwed up her nose in horror when she saw where her daughter had chosen to live rather than in our lovely detached four-bedroom village house.

‘You go,’ Georgina said, choking back tears. ‘I’m not sure I’m up to it.’

I climbed out of the car, walked over to Darren’s front door, and banged on it loudly with my fist. I then took a step back and waited.

Nothing happened, so I went over and banged on it again.

The door still wasn’t opened, but the window above my head was.

Darren stuck his head out and looked down. ‘What the fuck do you want?’

‘Is Amanda all right?’ I asked.

‘Of course she is,’ he said. ‘Why wouldn’t she be?’

‘We have been unable to call her.’

‘I changed her phone number. She doesn’t want to speak to you.’

‘I would like to hear that direct from her, not just from you.’

His head disappeared inside, and presently Amanda’s replaced it.

‘Go away, Dad,’ she said.

‘Your mother is worried about you,’ I said, waving towards where Georgina was still sitting in the car. ‘She’s been trying to call you.’

‘I’m fine. Now go away. You’re only making things worse.’

Amanda’s head withdrew, and in turn, Darren’s appeared again.

‘You heard her. Now, piss off.’

‘Tell Amanda to call her mother.’

The window was shut with a bang. I stood staring up at it for several long seconds, forlornly hoping that Amanda would reappear and ask to be taken home. But she didn’t.

I went and climbed back into the car.

‘Now what?’ I asked.

‘Can’t we report him to the police?’ Georgina asked.

‘What for?’

‘For kidnapping my little girl.’

‘But it is Amanda’s choice to live with him,’ I said in exasperation. ‘You heard what she said yesterday. And the law states that she’s now an adult who should be capable of making her own decisions.’

I started the car and drove us home in silence.

However, there was one thing Amanda had said that really worried me. You’re only making things worse. Did that imply that things were already not good? Otherwise, how could my presence have made them worse?

I knew that Darren’s behaviour was controlling — he had already shown that — so was he keeping Amanda in his flat against her will? Was she actually too frightened of him to leave?

There had been far too many examples shown on the news of young women being murdered by their controlling and jealous boyfriends when everyone else was asking, ‘Why didn’t she just walk out and leave him?’ But it wasn’t usually that easy. Trying to leave might have been what caused the murder in the first place.

It was almost midnight by the time I switched out my bedside light, not that my thoughts had any intention of allowing me to go to sleep.

I tossed and turned for at least a couple of hours, wondering about who was watching me, and why, as well as how I could get Amanda out of Darren Williamson’s flat and back home to her mother.

Georgina had sobbed all the way home and had then proceeded to cry herself to sleep.

I knew from experience that it was best just to leave her to her own demons and not try to soothe her with banal platitudes about how everything would turn out all right in the end. She would have simply accused me of not knowing what I was talking about — and she might well have been correct.

I, too, must have drifted off eventually, as the next thing I knew, I was being awakened by the alarm going off on my phone.

I sleepily reached out to stop it, not wanting to believe that it was already six-thirty, not when I felt I had been asleep for only five minutes.

But it wasn’t six-thirty. It was still dark outside.

And it wasn’t the alarm that was going off — my phone was actually ringing.

I was instantly wide awake.

I leapt out of bed, picked up my phone, and took it with me into the bathroom, so as not to wake Georgina.

No Caller ID was displayed on the screen.

I turned the phone to silent mode, and the sound of the ringing stopped, but it went on vibrating in my hand.

I moved my finger over the slider but then decided against answering it.

Instead, I turned the phone off completely and went back to bed.

I was damned if I was going to dance to Squeaky Voice’s tune.