Day Two - Realisation part 2
Vanessa was still annoyed and not entirely sure that her rape was being dealt with properly. She had been interviewed by the WPC who eventually turned up, probably from taking her GCSE’s Vanessa had concluded. The Doctor that examined her happened to be her own GP, she knew he did police work, and so, that rather intimate examination went as pleasantly as such things could, although he did give her quite a stern telling off for having hosed herself out, that was “Not the way to do it young lady”. Then she had to wait drinking awful cups of Tea whilst she waiting for a police Psychologist to come and talk to her. She was friendly, didn’t discuss the event, which, as Vanessa could not remember any of the event, would have been a short discussion. No she focussed more on how Vanessa felt, what she would do if she suddenly saw the man in the street and recognised him. “Kick him so hard between his legs, that his balls would shoot out his nose” had been Vanessa’s response.
Eventually satisfied that there was nothing more to be told, that her reactions were normal, that she wasn’t suicidal or blaming herself, they let her go. A woman detective, Christine something, (Vanessa hadn’t really been listening) would call in tomorrow. They advised that she have a day or two off, make an appointment to see her GP again later in the week and then she was free to go.
From the police station she went straight to the Hospital and went in to see the administrator. She didn’t give details, but said that she had been attacked after work last night, no, not in the Hospital Grounds, had been at the police station all morning, and would be taking the next week off on the sick. Once it had been ascertained that the attack did not happen in Hospital grounds, the Administrator was all full of concern and assured Vanessa that she should take the time that she needed etc etc. Vanessa popped in to Obs & Gynae, and had a quiet word with Helen, the duty registrar, to get the scrip she needed. Hearing the slightly more detailed version than had been given to the Administrator, Helen hugged her and called her ‘Darling’ and had administered the necessary injection. “You will have cramps very soon and you will be heavy tonight” had been her parting words.
“Fucking great being a woman isn’t it?” had been Vanessa’s.
Eldred needed somewhere he could stay, somewhere without risk of discovery, he knew that he could be very persuasive, that his words could enthral and control, but there was still the risk of being seen by those he didn’t yet control, and for now, he needed somewhere secure and remote. Sated with the blood from her neck and the milk from her breasts and leaving her almost comatose on her bed he left her and went in search. He had an idea, but he needed more information and time was a commodity he could not yet manipulate.
Vanessa pulled up at home, turned the engine off and got out of the mini. She was going to treat herself to a hot bath before the cramps set in.
“Hello my dear,” the voice was soft and echoed in her memory, she turned and felt his lips on hers, his hand in the small of her back. “Shall we go inside?” Vanessa felt as if she were watching a movie, unable to change the events as they unfolded, feeling as if she were watching an actress and not herself. She unlocked the house door and lead him inside, turning to kiss and embrace him as he shut the door behind them. He smelt sort of old, rather like an old bookshop, and his clothes seemed to blend into each other rather than be worn. He tasted sweet, almost milky as he kissed her, and his body seemed bony in her feel.
“I am not overwhelming you this time,” Eldred said, “but you are in my thrall. Today I want you to understand, to join me, to be a part of my family, to live for ever with me.” His fingers worked around her and her clothes fell to the floor, his hands on her breasts, between her legs, his mouth at her neck, and as she felt his penetration she felt the bite at her neck. Her brain was screaming “No” as her body was convulsing as if in climaxes as the pleasures overwhelmed her.
Henry Adams got back to the cottage to grab a quick moment with his wife and new baby, so in love with both, he felt his life was perfect. There was no sign of Leanne downstairs and she hadn’t responded when he called. There was a pile of washing in the middle of the small lawn, looking as if it had simply been dropped. He ran back to the house and taking the steps three at a time he almost flew upstairs. Donny was still in his cot, gurgling happily, he ran into their bedroom. Leanne was laying asleep on the bed, naked, her legs apart and pretty obviously she had been having sex. Henry screamed at the sight waking Leanne with his anguish.
“Henry darling, what is it, what is wrong?” she cried.
“How could you?” He sobbed, “who is he?”
“Who? Henry, what are you talking about?”
“The man you are fucking in our bed whilst I am at work, our baby in the room next door, how could you?” He sat on the end of the bed, his hands covering his face. Leanne was stunned and for the first time looked down. She was naked and there were tell tale signs around her groin, she knew she hadn’t been with anyone but her husband, she never would, but the evidence was unmistakable.
“Argh,” she screamed and then started sobbing.
“I haven’t been with anyone but you ever.” Her shoulders convulsed as she sobbed, terrified, as she could not understand what had happened to her.
“I don’t remember it Henry, I know I was doing the washing, but then my mind is blank, this is wrong,” and she flung herself at him, her arms around him, “hold me, help me, I need you.”
Henry sat there unable to take it all in. “I better call the police.”
DI Chris Bentley and DC Christine Jackson arrived at the cottage, Christine driving.
“We are not far from Vanessa Hilt’s place now.” Christine commented as they rounded the last of the bends on the approach to the row of old farm cottages. “If we carried on perhaps half a mile, we would come to where that boy was found and then a further half mile to Vanessa Hilt.”
“Oh the pleasures of the country” Bentley said and carried on looking out of the window. He knew that few of the cottages and houses now were kept for farm labourers, many were sold to middle income city people as weekend retreats, some to young couples who simply couldn’t afford city prices. Most of the rest were held by associations and let at subsidised prices. He couldn’t imagine the desire to live so far from Tesco, miles from the pub showing the football, so far from friends and neighbours, it all seemed so inconvenient.
“Sir.” Christine interrupted his thoughts as she pulled up at the cottage of Leanne and Henry Adams. There was a local uniform stood by his car and he nodded to them as they went in.
“Doc’s in there sir” he said as they went up the small uneven brick path. The door was open and Bentley walked in, Christine following. Bentley took in the scene. There was a uniformed WPC sat on a settee next to a young man who he assumed was Henry Adams. Doc Bailey, who had encountered a few times, was talking to a young woman who was sat on another small settee. He assumed she was Leanne Adams.
“Doc” he said and motioned Christine to go and talk to the girl. “A moment.” He stepped outside and waited a moment, looking at the gardens, unkempt, and access, virtually unimpeded all round.
“Good day Chris”, the doctor greeted him as he stepped through the cottage door.
“Bad business.”
Bentley inwardly groaned, why did these people always have to come out with such clichés, yes, of course it was a bad fucking business, everything about his job was a bad fucking business. “Indeed Doc. What’s the score then?”
“There is obvious evidence of intercourse, a small amount of vaginal tearing, but more I would suggest to indicate enthusiasm rather than force. I have of course taken semen samples, of which by the way there was rather a lot, still after this time.”
“More than one assailant do you think Doc?”
“No way of knowing till we get the results back on the sample. The young lady, Leanne Adams, says she has no memory of the incident, and the last thing she clearly remembers is doing the washing, until she heard her husband screaming at her that is.”
“Drugged?”
“Either that or caught red handed and playing the amnesia and raped card. Not unheard of. I have taken a blood sample, the lab will be able to tell us what is in her blood and back her up or prove the lie.”
“Or be inconclusive Doc, I have known that, where the drug cannot be detected.”
“Oh that was long ago, tests are far more advanced these days Chris, I think it will be one way or the other for sure. If you ask me…”
Bentley put his hand up. “No Doc, please, facts only, I have enough difficulty with facts, I don’t need conjecture.”
Bailey smiled and put both hands up in surrender. “I just need to talk a little more with her and then with her husband then they are all yours. Give me about ten minutes can you?”
“Okay Doc, send Christine out when you get back in, will you? I want a good look around.”
Bentley turned and walked back to the lane and then looked long and hard at the cottage. It was obviously old, brick built under a slate roof with small windows and a chimneybreast to the end wall. To the side of the cottage was a post and rail fenced field, the sort that people kept horses in. It would be easy to simply slide between the wires, walk up the field and into their garden. There was no security at all.
“Sir” Christine interrupted his analysis.
“Right, let’s get the outside done. Careful where you step, this is the fucking countryside. I doubt SOCO will find anything, by the time they decide to show themselves that is.”
Bentley ducked through the wires and walked up the field, noticing that there were animal droppings, horse like, and being careful to avoid them he walked along the side of the cottage to the back. There was lean to on the back of the cottage, obviously added long after the cottage was built, the back door was open. A washing line ran the length of the garden, not, he was mildly surprised, not one of the more usual rotary types. On the washing line for about half the length was an assortment of baby clothes, ladies underwear and men’s shirts. At about the point where the washing hanging on the line stopped was a pile of clothes on the floor. The moment she stopped he assumed.
“Christine, go check the baby is okay, I didn’t see it when we went in.” He hated cases involving babies, people became so emotional. “Get the Doc to give it the once over.”
He looked at the field along the edge of the cottage garden, paying close attention the wires in the fence. There was noting he could see, no obvious tags of clothing on the wire, no footprints in a pile of horse droppings. ‘Life is never that simple.’ He thought as he ducked through the fence into the back garden.
The garden was a poor lawn, almost more soil than grass. There were a few flowers along the divide between this and the cottage next door, but none on the side edging the field.
The pile of clothes looked more dropped than placed, and were a mix of adult clothes. The baby clothes having seemingly been done first. He touched the clothes, still damp. He then felt some clothes on the line, they were dry. Perhaps the wind had done it’s job and dried them, perhaps not, perhaps the clothes on the ground were a later addition to make a story seem real. He picked up one of the wet shirts off the ground.
Vanessa was still annoyed and not entirely sure that her rape was being dealt with properly. She had been interviewed by the WPC who eventually turned up, probably from taking her GCSE’s Vanessa had concluded. The Doctor that examined her happened to be her own GP, she knew he did police work, and so, that rather intimate examination went as pleasantly as such things could, although he did give her quite a stern telling off for having hosed herself out, that was “Not the way to do it young lady”. Then she had to wait drinking awful cups of Tea whilst she waiting for a police Psychologist to come and talk to her. She was friendly, didn’t discuss the event, which, as Vanessa could not remember any of the event, would have been a short discussion. No she focussed more on how Vanessa felt, what she would do if she suddenly saw the man in the street and recognised him. “Kick him so hard between his legs, that his balls would shoot out his nose” had been Vanessa’s response.
Eventually satisfied that there was nothing more to be told, that her reactions were normal, that she wasn’t suicidal or blaming herself, they let her go. A woman detective, Christine something, (Vanessa hadn’t really been listening) would call in tomorrow. They advised that she have a day or two off, make an appointment to see her GP again later in the week and then she was free to go.
From the police station she went straight to the Hospital and went in to see the administrator. She didn’t give details, but said that she had been attacked after work last night, no, not in the Hospital Grounds, had been at the police station all morning, and would be taking the next week off on the sick. Once it had been ascertained that the attack did not happen in Hospital grounds, the Administrator was all full of concern and assured Vanessa that she should take the time that she needed etc etc. Vanessa popped in to Obs & Gynae, and had a quiet word with Helen, the duty registrar, to get the scrip she needed. Hearing the slightly more detailed version than had been given to the Administrator, Helen hugged her and called her ‘Darling’ and had administered the necessary injection. “You will have cramps very soon and you will be heavy tonight” had been her parting words.
“Fucking great being a woman isn’t it?” had been Vanessa’s.
Eldred needed somewhere he could stay, somewhere without risk of discovery, he knew that he could be very persuasive, that his words could enthral and control, but there was still the risk of being seen by those he didn’t yet control, and for now, he needed somewhere secure and remote. Sated with the blood from her neck and the milk from her breasts and leaving her almost comatose on her bed he left her and went in search. He had an idea, but he needed more information and time was a commodity he could not yet manipulate.
Vanessa pulled up at home, turned the engine off and got out of the mini. She was going to treat herself to a hot bath before the cramps set in.
“Hello my dear,” the voice was soft and echoed in her memory, she turned and felt his lips on hers, his hand in the small of her back. “Shall we go inside?” Vanessa felt as if she were watching a movie, unable to change the events as they unfolded, feeling as if she were watching an actress and not herself. She unlocked the house door and lead him inside, turning to kiss and embrace him as he shut the door behind them. He smelt sort of old, rather like an old bookshop, and his clothes seemed to blend into each other rather than be worn. He tasted sweet, almost milky as he kissed her, and his body seemed bony in her feel.
“I am not overwhelming you this time,” Eldred said, “but you are in my thrall. Today I want you to understand, to join me, to be a part of my family, to live for ever with me.” His fingers worked around her and her clothes fell to the floor, his hands on her breasts, between her legs, his mouth at her neck, and as she felt his penetration she felt the bite at her neck. Her brain was screaming “No” as her body was convulsing as if in climaxes as the pleasures overwhelmed her.
Henry Adams got back to the cottage to grab a quick moment with his wife and new baby, so in love with both, he felt his life was perfect. There was no sign of Leanne downstairs and she hadn’t responded when he called. There was a pile of washing in the middle of the small lawn, looking as if it had simply been dropped. He ran back to the house and taking the steps three at a time he almost flew upstairs. Donny was still in his cot, gurgling happily, he ran into their bedroom. Leanne was laying asleep on the bed, naked, her legs apart and pretty obviously she had been having sex. Henry screamed at the sight waking Leanne with his anguish.
“Henry darling, what is it, what is wrong?” she cried.
“How could you?” He sobbed, “who is he?”
“Who? Henry, what are you talking about?”
“The man you are fucking in our bed whilst I am at work, our baby in the room next door, how could you?” He sat on the end of the bed, his hands covering his face. Leanne was stunned and for the first time looked down. She was naked and there were tell tale signs around her groin, she knew she hadn’t been with anyone but her husband, she never would, but the evidence was unmistakable.
“Argh,” she screamed and then started sobbing.
“I haven’t been with anyone but you ever.” Her shoulders convulsed as she sobbed, terrified, as she could not understand what had happened to her.
“I don’t remember it Henry, I know I was doing the washing, but then my mind is blank, this is wrong,” and she flung herself at him, her arms around him, “hold me, help me, I need you.”
Henry sat there unable to take it all in. “I better call the police.”
DI Chris Bentley and DC Christine Jackson arrived at the cottage, Christine driving.
“We are not far from Vanessa Hilt’s place now.” Christine commented as they rounded the last of the bends on the approach to the row of old farm cottages. “If we carried on perhaps half a mile, we would come to where that boy was found and then a further half mile to Vanessa Hilt.”
“Oh the pleasures of the country” Bentley said and carried on looking out of the window. He knew that few of the cottages and houses now were kept for farm labourers, many were sold to middle income city people as weekend retreats, some to young couples who simply couldn’t afford city prices. Most of the rest were held by associations and let at subsidised prices. He couldn’t imagine the desire to live so far from Tesco, miles from the pub showing the football, so far from friends and neighbours, it all seemed so inconvenient.
“Sir.” Christine interrupted his thoughts as she pulled up at the cottage of Leanne and Henry Adams. There was a local uniform stood by his car and he nodded to them as they went in.
“Doc’s in there sir” he said as they went up the small uneven brick path. The door was open and Bentley walked in, Christine following. Bentley took in the scene. There was a uniformed WPC sat on a settee next to a young man who he assumed was Henry Adams. Doc Bailey, who had encountered a few times, was talking to a young woman who was sat on another small settee. He assumed she was Leanne Adams.
“Doc” he said and motioned Christine to go and talk to the girl. “A moment.” He stepped outside and waited a moment, looking at the gardens, unkempt, and access, virtually unimpeded all round.
“Good day Chris”, the doctor greeted him as he stepped through the cottage door.
“Bad business.”
Bentley inwardly groaned, why did these people always have to come out with such clichés, yes, of course it was a bad fucking business, everything about his job was a bad fucking business. “Indeed Doc. What’s the score then?”
“There is obvious evidence of intercourse, a small amount of vaginal tearing, but more I would suggest to indicate enthusiasm rather than force. I have of course taken semen samples, of which by the way there was rather a lot, still after this time.”
“More than one assailant do you think Doc?”
“No way of knowing till we get the results back on the sample. The young lady, Leanne Adams, says she has no memory of the incident, and the last thing she clearly remembers is doing the washing, until she heard her husband screaming at her that is.”
“Drugged?”
“Either that or caught red handed and playing the amnesia and raped card. Not unheard of. I have taken a blood sample, the lab will be able to tell us what is in her blood and back her up or prove the lie.”
“Or be inconclusive Doc, I have known that, where the drug cannot be detected.”
“Oh that was long ago, tests are far more advanced these days Chris, I think it will be one way or the other for sure. If you ask me…”
Bentley put his hand up. “No Doc, please, facts only, I have enough difficulty with facts, I don’t need conjecture.”
Bailey smiled and put both hands up in surrender. “I just need to talk a little more with her and then with her husband then they are all yours. Give me about ten minutes can you?”
“Okay Doc, send Christine out when you get back in, will you? I want a good look around.”
Bentley turned and walked back to the lane and then looked long and hard at the cottage. It was obviously old, brick built under a slate roof with small windows and a chimneybreast to the end wall. To the side of the cottage was a post and rail fenced field, the sort that people kept horses in. It would be easy to simply slide between the wires, walk up the field and into their garden. There was no security at all.
“Sir” Christine interrupted his analysis.
“Right, let’s get the outside done. Careful where you step, this is the fucking countryside. I doubt SOCO will find anything, by the time they decide to show themselves that is.”
Bentley ducked through the wires and walked up the field, noticing that there were animal droppings, horse like, and being careful to avoid them he walked along the side of the cottage to the back. There was lean to on the back of the cottage, obviously added long after the cottage was built, the back door was open. A washing line ran the length of the garden, not, he was mildly surprised, not one of the more usual rotary types. On the washing line for about half the length was an assortment of baby clothes, ladies underwear and men’s shirts. At about the point where the washing hanging on the line stopped was a pile of clothes on the floor. The moment she stopped he assumed.
“Christine, go check the baby is okay, I didn’t see it when we went in.” He hated cases involving babies, people became so emotional. “Get the Doc to give it the once over.”
He looked at the field along the edge of the cottage garden, paying close attention the wires in the fence. There was noting he could see, no obvious tags of clothing on the wire, no footprints in a pile of horse droppings. ‘Life is never that simple.’ He thought as he ducked through the fence into the back garden.
The garden was a poor lawn, almost more soil than grass. There were a few flowers along the divide between this and the cottage next door, but none on the side edging the field.
The pile of clothes looked more dropped than placed, and were a mix of adult clothes. The baby clothes having seemingly been done first. He touched the clothes, still damp. He then felt some clothes on the line, they were dry. Perhaps the wind had done it’s job and dried them, perhaps not, perhaps the clothes on the ground were a later addition to make a story seem real. He picked up one of the wet shirts off the ground.