Authors: Kevin Ashman
‘Sit,’ he said again.
For a second, Murray didn’t move but when the stranger’s eyes rose in mock surprise, he forced himself to his feet and approached the empty chair. Blood poured from his mouth and nose and he felt at least one broken tooth with his tongue. One of the thugs stood behind him.
‘Thank you,’ said the man in the chair.
‘Why the fuck did you do that?’ asked Murray through his rapidly swelling lips.
‘Simple,’ said the man, ‘I am going to ask you some questions. You will answer quickly, and honestly, leaving nothing out. Do you understand?’
‘Yes but why set your fucking monkeys on me?’
‘You need to understand I am not playing games,’ said the man. Fuck me about and you will get more of the same. If you do as I ask, and don’t play funny buggers, there’s the slightest chance you may still get out of here alive. Now, I’ll ask you one more time. Do you understand?’
Murray nodded nervously, realising he was in a world of shit.
A massive blow to the side of the head sent him flying once again, before he was dragged back into the chair.
‘When Mr Smith asks you a question,’ said the thug, ‘He expects an answer.’
‘
Okay, okay’
he screamed, ‘I get it, just stop fucking hitting me.’
‘Okay,’ said Mr Smith, ‘Let’s get started, First of all, what is your name?’
‘Murray,’ he said, wiping his bloody mouth on his sleeve, ‘Stephen Murray.’
‘And, where are you from, Mr Murray?’
‘London.’
‘And your job?’
‘Taxi driver.’
Mr Smith paused, writing notes on the pad in front of him.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘Tell me Mr Murray, why are you here/’
‘Sorry?’
‘Easy question!’
‘I genuinely don’t know. I’ve done nothing wrong. I was sat in my cab when one of your thugs pressed a fucking gun against my head. What’s all this about?’
Murray flinched as the thug behind him leant forward, and spoke speak menacingly into his ear.
‘Mr Smith asks the questions, you provide the answers. Savvy?’
Mr Jones stopped writing and sat back in his chair.
‘I know the circumstances of your capture, Mr Murray. What I need to know is why you were there in the first place?’
‘I was dropping off a customer.’
‘In the middle of nowhere?’
‘Murray thought furiously. No matter what trouble he was in, he saw no mileage in dropping the army guy in the shit.
‘He was a writer,’ said Murray, ‘Seemed interested in the history of the area and particularly wanted to learn about some nunnery that used to be around here.’
‘My sources tell me you seemed to be quite friendly with the man, in fact, you got quite aggressive with one of the gate guards.’
‘He was a prick,’ said Murray, ‘No need for rudeness.’
‘Hmm, quite,’ said the man, ‘Tell me, Mr Murray, where is your patch as a taxi driver?’
‘West London.’
‘Do you often get fares all the way out here?’
‘Nope.’
‘And you didn’t think it strange when you picked up this one?’
‘When someone waves a grand in your face, you don’t ask too may questions.’
‘So you don’t know him personally?’
‘No.’
‘You sure?’
‘Before this morning I had never set eyes on him.’
‘Yet you spend most of the day with him, then drove off to God knows where and brought him back a rucksack.’
‘I didn’t know what was in the bag.’
‘Wasn’t you curious?’
‘Like I said, a grand is a lot of money to me.’
‘What was in the rucksack?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘When he left you, did he say where he was going?’
‘To search for the nunnery, I believe. Murray looked nervously over his shoulder. ‘Can I say something please?’
Mr Smith nodded.
‘Look, I don’t know what this is about but you have got this all wrong. I only met him this morning and I have ferried him around all day. Yes it is strange, I admit, but for a grand I would have driven him to land’s end and back. We didn’t talk much. In fact, he was quite ignorant, We went to two churches but I waited outside while he went in. He didn’t tell me anything. All I know is he ended up very interested in finding this nunnery.’
The man calling himself Mr Smith stared at him for a long time.
‘You know what?’ he said eventually, ‘I think I believe you.
‘Thank God for that,’ said Murray, placing his head in his hands.
Mr Smith stood up to leave.
‘So, can I go now?’ asked Murray sitting up straight again.
Mr Smith paused, before speaking over his shoulder.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ he said, ‘There are too many loose ends here, you being one of them. We will speak again soon.’ He left the room, closely followed by the two guards.
‘Shit!’ cursed Murray when the door was locked, and laid his head in his arms on the table.
----
Outside the cell, Mr Smith turned to one of the guards.
‘Any news on the other guy?’ he asked.
‘Not yet,’ came the answer, ‘We lost him in the woods but it won’t be long before we find him. We have every man on the case. Don’t worry, he can’t get in here, it’s locked up tighter than a ducks arse.’
‘Good. Let me know as soon as soon as there is any news.’
‘What about him?’ asked Baldy nodding towards the locked door.
‘I don’t think he’s involved,’ said Mr Smith, ‘Still, he’s probably seen too much already. We wouldn’t want Mr Murray running to the police, would we?’
‘You want him to disappear?’
‘That would be good,’ said Mr Smith, ‘But don’t make it messy. When this is all over I want the order to be squeaky clan. There’s a lake a couple of miles away. Quite a steep drop to the water, as I recall. If passing car or taxi was to have a blow out it could well find itself at the bottom of the lake, complete with driver, if you get my drift.’
‘Leave it to me,’ said Baldy, ‘I’ll make the arrangements.’
‘You do that,’ said Mr Smith, ‘But not yet. First of all let’s find this other guy before he causes any more damage. There’s too much at risk here.’
In another cell a few yards away, someone had their ear pressed up against the cell door, just about making out the conversation through the ancient oak.
The two men walked towards the end of the subterranean corridor, and slammed the door behind them. Long after the corridor had fallen silent, Murray sat at the table, his head still resting on his arms when he heard a muffled woman’s voice.
‘Hello?’ it called out quietly, ‘Mr Murray, can you hear me?’
Murray looked up, momentarily confused.
‘Hello!’ said the muffled voice again, ‘Mr Murray?’
Murray stood up and went to the door.
‘Hello!’ he said, ‘Who’s there?
‘Thank God,’ said the woman’s voice, ‘I thought you may be dead. Listen, I, don’t know who you are but you are in terrible danger.’
Murray’s hand crept unconsciously to his bloody face.
‘Really?’ he said, ‘I’d never have guessed.’
‘Seriously,’ said the voice, ‘Those two men who just left, they mean you terrible harm. I overheard them talking and I think they are going to kill you.’
Murray’s eyes closed, realising the worst. He was fucked!
‘Mr Murray, we have to get out of here,’ she said.
‘We?'
‘I am a prisoner as well,’ she said, About three cells up, I think.’
‘Are you hurt?’
‘No but I don’t fancy my chances much. We can’t just sit back and wait to killed. Is there anyway you can force the door?’
‘I don’t think so,’ he said rubbing his hands over the door, ‘It’s too solid.’ As his hand passed the lock receiver, he winced as a splinter lodged under a finger nail. He pulled out the splinter and examined the frame carefully. It seemed a lot older than the door and was certainly much damper. He looked around the room, searching for something to use as a tool. Finally his eyes settled on the table Baldy and his friend had left behind.
‘Wait,’ he said, ‘I have an idea.’ He turned the table over and grabbed one of the wrought iron legs pulling it outwards away from the frame. At first it resisted but eventually the friction built up and the hot metal severed, leaving him holding the cast iron leg of the table.
‘Got it,’ he said and returned to the door. ‘Right,’ he said to himself, ‘Let’s see what we can do here.’ Grasping the leg with both hands he drove the jagged edge into the door frame. At first it resisted but after a few blows, the old timber started to splinter and he attacked the frame with renewed vigour. Twenty minutes later he exposed the bar of the lock and placed the table leg behind it to lever it towards him. The door sprung inwards and he ran from the room in relief.
He looked along the corridor, getting his bearings. The cell he had escaped from was at the end of a short dark corridor, lit by a single bulb. Either side of the corridor were four rooms, each of which were open apart from the last one which was locked shut. At the end of the corridor, a stairway led up into darkness.
‘Did you do it?’ came the voice from the locked cell, ‘Are you out?’
‘I am,’ said Murray, trying the handle, ‘This frame looks rotten as well, step aside.’ He kicked at the door alongside the handle several times.
‘That’s it!’ said the woman’s voice, ‘It’s going.’ He stepped back and ran towards the door, shoulder barging it as hard as he could. The door flew inward and he fell sprawling to the floor, smashing his already hurting face against the floor.
‘Oh my God,’ said the pretty woman bending over him, staring into his blood covered face. Are you alright?’
‘I’ve been better,’ he said, through the pain, ‘What is this place?’
‘I think we’re in some old store rooms under the convent,’ she said, ‘By the smell of it, they haven’t been used for ages, perhaps hundreds of years.’
‘We’re under the convent?’
‘I think so, why? Do you know anything about it?’
‘Not really, but a passenger of mine was very keen to come up here.’
‘Passenger?’
‘Yes, I am a taxi driver and brought a man down from London this morning to look for a missing lady.’ As he spoke he looked at her face and sat upright before asking her the obvious question.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked, ‘If you don’t mind me asking.’
‘India,’ she said, ‘ India Sommers.’ She held out her hand to shake his. ‘Pleased to meet you Mr Murray, now, if you don’t mind, can we get the fuck out of here?’
----
Murray and India made their way up to the ground floor and found themselves in an outbuilding of the convent. Murray peered through the window, checking for guards.
‘All clear,’ he said, and they made their way out into the snowstorm.
‘Where are we going?’ asked India.
‘Anywhere away from here,’ said Murray.
‘But you said Brandon was in there somewhere.’
‘He is, but there’s nothing we can do to help him. There are too many nutters around here. He did give me a number to call, but they took my phone. The best thing we can do is get to a village and call the police.’
‘In this weather? We wouldn’t get halfway.’
‘I know, that’s why we are taking that.’ He indicated the snow covered car alongside the gate on the other side of a small cemetery.
‘We don’t have any keys.’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Murray, ‘I’ve hot wired enough cars in my time to start that little beauty.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Murray,’ I’m sure, after all, it is my taxi!’
They checked the area was clear before running across the graves. The flakes were falling thick and fast now and everything had a covering of snow.
‘Out of the way,’ said Murray when they reached the car. ‘Sorry babe,’ he muttered and smashed the side window with the table leg he was still carrying.
‘Oh my God,’ said India suddenly.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Murray
‘Look over there.’
Lying in the snow was the shape of a body, being rapidly covered by the falling snow. The dark patch by the head indicated a massive pool of blood, the cause of the man’s demise.
‘Who is it?’ asked India
‘How the fuck do I know?’ asked Murray incredulously, ‘Come on, we have to go.’