Kevin bit his lip; he wanted to strangle this man. "Hurt Karen, Whittle, and as God's my judge I'll come after you," he growled.
He could hear Frank laughing.
"I suppose you'll get drunk and try to run me down with your car, will you? The same as you did to Sharon. Come off it, Marshall, apart from being a child killer, you're a wimp, a gold-edged wimp. Your daughter Karen's not going to die, that for her would be an easy cop-out. She's going to a living hell; everyday of her pathetic life she'll be raped and beaten, never knowing why. All because you, Marshall, hadn't the guts to tell her how you killed my daughter."
Kevin was boiling. "You bastard, Whittle, are you such a pathetic excuse of a man that you'd take our fight out on an innocent child? Why don't you just let her go and let's meet? Alone, if you want; then we'll sort this stupid vendetta out once and for all."
The phone went silent for a while then Frank spoke quietly. "It's too late, Marshall. Way, way too late. I suppose some years ago I'd have just done that, but you don't understand, do you? I lost my only daughter, my wife, my job, ending up on the street. I allowed your daughter Karen to grow to Sharon's age, allowed you to get the same attachment to her as I had to my Sharon. I've watched your daughter for years. In fact I probably know more about her life outside your house than you do. She's not a patch on my Sharon. My Sharon would never have worn skirts inches from her bottom. Neither would she wear clothes that showed all her stomach. Alongside Sharon, your Karen's a tramp," then, to add insult to injury, Frank sneered. "Besides, you probably don't even know your little girl's been sleeping around? But I suppose that's been fortunate, after all, at least she'll know what to do with her clients ten times a day, don't you agree, Marshall?"
Kevin cut in. "You're lying, Whittle, just as you lied about your daughter, Sharon. How you got people to tell the court that she was watching where she was going, when the truth was she ran out straight into the road, I don't know. Now you're at it again, still lying. Karen's a good girl, a lovely daughter; she's studious, swims for her school, goes to adventure club with me, does self-defence, and I'll tell you this, has had only one boyfriend in the last six months. Besides which, Karen's a child, and doesn't jump into bed with every man she sees as you claim. She's not a tramp, just an innocent pawn in your vendetta towards me."
The atmosphere between these men could be cut with a knife. Kevin desperately trying to keep Frank on the line to find out more of what he'd done with Karen. Frank, on the other hand, was enjoying hearing Kevin squirm under pressure.
"I'm going now, Marshall. I know what the next few years are going to do to you and your family and I relish it. It's your turn to live with the pain, the anguish of not knowing just what's happening to your little girl. Who's screwing her at night? If she's dead or alive? Get ready, Marshall, to face years of your wife blaming you for Karen's dilemma, the arguments, the pure hell of knowing what your drunken action has brought on your family and especially your daughter."
Kevin panicked. "Don't cut me off, Whittle; I want to know about Karen, what you've done to her, where she is?"
Frank laughed mockingly. "I suppose you do, Marshall, but that's for you to find out and me..." he stopped for a moment as if in thought. "Well, of course I know, don't I? I'll tell you this though; I've just stood and watched her get her first good strapping across that tight little bottom of hers. Spunky girl, trying to escape, but she's learning, Marshall, she's learning, believe me."
Kevin could hardly control himself. "You're sick, Whittle, tell me what's eating you? A man who claims so much love wouldn't take it out on a defenceless girl," he shouted down the line after finally breaking his composure, realising the man on the other side of the phone was not interested in his arguments to leave Karen out of it.
Frank sighed. "Well, for me, it no longer matters. She's gone; I'm alone, my job done. Goodbye, Marshall, today is your first day, like Karen, to know what hell is all about. I have a small present for you though; it'll probably arrive in a couple of days, just a reminder of your daughter's secret life."
"Whittle! Whittle! Talk to me," Kevin shouted into the phone, but Frank had cut the line and all that came back was the dialling tone. Starting the engine, Frank pushed it into second gear. Then, carefully turning the car round, he headed off in the direction of the bay. Suddenly he swung the car onto the grass alongside the track and accelerated hard, forty, fifty, the car bumped and crashed over boulders but Frank didn't slow, just stared straight ahead as if in some sort of trance. Minutes later the car shot over the cliff, its engine screaming as the wheels lost traction. Then, as if in some cartoon sketch, the car stopped momentarily in space before falling like a stone onto the rocks below.
CHAPTER 4
Karen woke when someone shook her roughly. "Wake up, kid," someone shouted in her ear. She turned over, still half asleep, and saw Assam looking down at her.
"There's work to be done," he said, at the same time throwing her clothes on the bed.
She dressed quickly with what little she had, then stood quietly waiting for him to tell her where to go.
"Follow me," he shouted at her as he walked off down a corridor and into a kitchen-cum-canteen.
A man was stood at the stove, cigarette hanging from his mouth, mumbling away to himself. He turned, looked at her, then Assam. "Who's this?"
Assam pushed her forward. "Karen, she's a guest of ours for a short time. Feed her, then put her to work. Any trouble, call me."
The man looked back at Karen and then a smile came across his face. "Take a seat over there, do you want bacon?"
She nodded and moved quickly to the table. Assam picked a slice of bread from the table, then left, stuffing it into his mouth as he went.
The cook handed her a huge sandwich full of bacon and sat down opposite. "The name's Kenny, but everybody calls me Screwer round here. Have you no other clothes than those?"
She shook her head.
He sighed. "They're miserable bastards. Listen, Karen, leave it to me, I'll find you something. To walk around practically naked on this ship's asking for trouble."
She thanked him and he left the kitchen after placing a large mug of coffee on the table. Two minutes later two members of the crew came in, both were grubby and unkempt. One of them stared at her for a moment, grinned and then sat down at her side. "So what's your name, darling?" he asked, putting his arm round her.
She gave him a weak smile. "Karen, what's yours?" she replied indifferently, at the same time pushing his arm away.
He grinned impishly. "I'm Barry, that's Kevin. So where did you spring from, you certainly weren't here yesterday?"
Her face changed to a look of contempt. "Are you putting me on? I've been kidnapped, beaten and dumped on this bloody ship practically naked, and you're pretending that it's some bleeding cruise."
He held his hands up, the look on his face one of confusion. "Hey look, don't get heavy."
Karen was thinking quickly, could it be that this lad didn't know, or was he playing some game with her? She stood and turned her back to him pushing her knickers down a little and to one side. "Are those red marks patterns from the bloody chair? Believe me those are marks from a strap your kind captain decided to use after I objected to being bundled into a dinghy."
She pulled her knickers back and leaned against the wall, looking at one, then the other. They seemed stunned and unable to answer at first, then Kevin cut in. "If that's true, Karen, it's time we had a few words with the captain. Barry and I signed on in Liverpool, but I'm not into this kidnapping stuff."
Just then Screwer came back into the canteen. He seemed taken aback for a moment when he saw the other two. "What are you doing here, the captain would have your hides if he knew?"
Barry shrugged. "We came in for a cuppa, its bloody cold out there. Anyway, this girl claims the captain's kidnapped her, what do you think to that?"
Screwer grinned. "Load of fucking rubbish, she's having you on and you're stupid enough to believe her."
Barry glanced back at Karen. "Show him the marks, Karen."
She did as he asked and Screwer tried to make light of it. "Nice little bottom, girl, I wouldn't go round pulling your knickers down like that, someone just might take it the wrong way. Anyway, those are marks from the seat."
"Just call the police in England and see if I'm missing if you don't believe me?" Karen retorted.
Screwer moved closer to the crew, his voice low. "Leave it to me, lads, I'll see the captain; you're new around here and don't understand the ropes. Mind you, for your own safety, don't mention what you've seen or heard to anyone, and I mean anyone."
With this advice the two seemed unsure as to what to do now. They talked for a few moments then Barry turned to Screwer. "We'll leave it to you; after all, it's the captain's business, not ours."
He gave Karen a weak smile. "Sorry, kid, you're on your own with this," then they both left the room.
"You're stupid; do you want a good beating or what?" Screwer hissed.
She looked taken aback. "What do you mean, what I'm saying is the truth?"
He pushed her down onto the seat and settled down opposite. "Some of the crew don't know about you. If they go spouting to the captain, they'll be put over the side in the night. Believe me, you could have signed their death warrants. This bloody boat moves lots of people like you. It's the only way it can survive. Take my word, we all know what's going on, well the regulars do, and turn a blind eye. It's best that you keep quiet because your very own life's in the balance. There's no way off this tub, no white knight in shining armour, nothing. Shout too much and maybe you will disappear one night, no one's going to miss or notice you're gone. Even if they do they'll keep their mouths shut."
Tears began to form in her eyes. "So I allow them to sell me into slavery for the rest of my life because everybody is only interested in themselves and not prepared to help someone in need?"
He shrugged. "Put it that way, then yes, we will allow him, after all, we have families and they need feeding. You help feed them. Besides, one life's just like the rest, Karen. People adapt, even at home you could be rich, poor, beaten up everyday by some drunken husband. This way you've a chance. Play along and maybe someone will want you so much they'll take you home and give you a good life with children and all that. Otherwise you'll end up in a brothel, opening your legs ten times a day."
She rubbed her eyes. "I'd rather die," she whispered.
He held his hand out and touched her gently. "Death's too easy, and never comes without pain and distress."
He stood and then asked her to help with the dishes. For the next hour or so they said nothing. Karen was deep in thought, somehow she must gain the trust of the two crew members and at least they might call her parents and tell them where she was, or where she was going. Alternatively, they may help her to escape, but in the meantime, she would do as this cook asked and pretend she'd accepted his advice.
It was late when Assam returned. "All right, Screwer?"
Screwer nodded. "Yeh... she's worked well."
Then he turned to Karen. "Come," he demanded.
She followed without a word. Eventually they arrived at his cabin and Assam sank heavily into his chair. She stood, unsure what to say or do.
"Sit," he said pointing at a chair on the other side of his desk.
She sat quickly.
He leaned over to the side-table and switched on a television. The picture was grainy and breaking up but he ignored that and began fiddling with a video. Eventually a reasonable picture appeared. She was confused; they seemed to be watching the news. Suddenly her name was mentioned and Karen's ears pricked up.
"The whereabouts of Karen Marshall, a schoolgirl abducted in a bizarre set-up yesterday, has taken a turn for the worse." The announcer began. "Police have begun lifting the car, believed to be the one used in the abduction, from the sea. The man police were actively seeking in connection with Karen's abduction, Frank Whittle, was found by local fishermen at lunchtime today. The police estimate he'd been dead for at least ten hours. According to sources close to the investigation, police now believe both he and Karen were in the car that plunged two hundred feet over the cliff. Karen's body is not, I stress not, in the car, but the impact burst the doors and, like Mr. Whittle, they believe she was also thrown out. Locals tell us that the currents are very strong and she could be far out at sea or washed, like Mr. Whittle, further down the coast. We have also heard the search is now scaled down and no other persons are being sought in connection with the incident."
Assam stopped the video and switched the now hissing television off. "I recorded that news clip forty minutes ago as we left British waters."
With her head bowed, looking down at the floor and gripping her hands together, Karen was close to tears, not knowing how to reply.
"It would seem you're all but forgotten, Karen, from this day on I own you. I decide if you live or die; nobody else, just me."
She looked up at him and their eyes met. "So what are you going to do, kill me?"