Pop Goes the Weasel | страница 5

Helen spent her whole life being watched, but here she was invisible. In the aftermath of Marianne’s death, her life had been picked apart, opened up for public consumption. As a result people thought they knew her inside and out.

But there was one thing they didn’t know. One secret that she had kept to herself.

And he was standing not fifty feet away from her now, utterly oblivious to her presence.

His eyes blinked open, but he couldn’t see.

Liquid oozed down his cheeks, as his eyeballs swivelled uselessly in their sockets. Sound was horribly muted, as if his ears were stuffed with cotton wool. Scrambling back to consciousness, the man felt a savage pain ripping through his throat and nostrils. An intense burning sensation, like a flame held steady to his larynx. He wanted to sneeze, to retch, to spit out whatever it was that was tormenting him. But he was gagged, his mouth bound tight with duct tape, so he had to swallow down his agony.

Eventually the stream of tears abated and his protesting eyes began to take in their surroundings. He was still in the derelict house, only now he was in the front bedroom, lying prostrate on the filthy bed. His nerves were jangling and he struggled wildly – he had to get away – but his arms and legs were bound tight to the iron bedstead. He yanked, pulled and twisted, but the nylon cords held firm.

Only now did he realize he was naked. A terrible thought pulsed through him – were they going to leave him here like this? To freeze to death? His skin had already raised its defences – goose bumps erect with cold and terror – and he realized how perishingly cold it was.

He bellowed for all he was worth – but all he produced was a dull, buzzing moan. If he could just talk to them, reason with them… he could get them more money, and they would let him go. They couldn’t leave him here like this. Humiliation seeped into his fear now, as he looked down at his bloated, middle-aged body stretched out on the stained eiderdown.

He strained to hear, hoping against hope that he was not alone. But there was nothing. They had abandoned him. How long would they leave him here? Until they had emptied all his accounts? Until they had got away? The man shuddered, already dreading the prospect of bargaining for his liberty with some junkie or whore. What would he do when he was liberated? What would he say to his family? To the police? He cursed himself bitterly for being so bloody stup-