The Icing Man: Chapter 7 Extracts

I was still hopelessly groggy when Julian found me later that day. He’d suspected all was not as it should be soon after arriving in Colchester. Gaz, the mean hombre contact, turned out to be more elusive than the fabled city of Shangri-La, and by lunchtime it was evident that the man probably didn’t exist at all. Julian had already resolved to return home when, purely by chance, he’d come across one of his old cronies who’d heard that some very serious and very weird shit was going down thereabouts. In Julian’s business this kind of occurrence was commonplace and normally would have raised little interest. That situation had changed dramatically, however, with the mention of stories of people disappearing and being replaced. Details were sparse and highly embellished, but my tenacious neighbour decided to follow up on the lead. A few carefully placed enquires in some of the more notorious illegal drinking and gambling dens in the area revealed odd but generally corroborative snippets of information. Finally, the trail had led back to Cambridge, or to be more precise, the Cherry Hinton area. There, one or two of the locals were prepared, for the price of a pint, to recount tales akin to The Invaders TV series. Alas, the trail had essentially gone cold. It had been clear that people in the know were afraid to talk – a finding that pointed to premier-league crime or perhaps even the Mafia.

Although I didn’t remember much of what transpired after I was first discovered, I have the impression it took Julian nearly two hours to return me at least in part to the land of the living. I vaguely recall being plied with what seemed to be gallons of a hot, black treacle-like liquid laughingly referred to as Turkish coffee. Also prominent despite my malaise was a sense of being dragged about like a rag doll, all the while being told to ‘hang in there’. Now, as I sat facing my saviour across the kitchen table, still marvelling at how difficult it was to stir the witch’s brew before me, everything seemed to be in a total shambles. Julian had just concluded his story and was regarding me with concerned eyes.

‘Feelin’ any better, Doc?’ he asked for the nth time. ‘Can’t risk pourin’ more coffee down ya. ’Fraid you’ll blaze like a 120-volt bulb in a 240-volt supply, and pop.’

I wasn’t sure about the electrification analogy, but one thing was certain – I felt like liquidised cow dung. My head was reverberating with the sound of some sadistic bastard clouting an J. Arthur Rank-sized gong every two seconds, what was left of my stomach would have been abhorrent to Macbeth’s three witches, and my mouth – well, best not say. I sighed deeply and fixed the young man with a forlorn stare.

Julian grimaced. ‘Gotta try harder, Doc. I have ta know what happened and time’s a wastin’.’

Shock, surprise, surprise, shock – that’s all I seemed to live on these days. Ten o’clock was bad enough, but I daren’t ask the date!

Despite my sorry condition, I was reasonably satisfied that I’d overcome the worst. Gradually I began to come round. A fistful of aspirins and half a bottle of Milk of Magnesia later, and I just about qualified for re-entry into the human race.

No sooner did I show signs of intelligent life than Julian was anxiously pressing me for an account of my experience. I found it extraordinarily difficult to put into words my encounter with the vivacious Ms White and her gargantuan sidekick. Several attempts adopting a variety of approaches were needed before I felt confident that he fully understood what I was trying to convey. Up to this point I’d omitted the saga of the coffin. It was only when the analgesics and the antacids had finally ceased battling each other that I felt strong enough to broach the subject. As I proceeded, it was obvious that Julian put two and two together and made four. The problem came when he added another two and pulled a seven out of the hat. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so beset by angst and fear, yet for the sake of appearances struggle to remain calm.

‘You think it’s my Kathy in that there box, don’t ya, Doc?’ he droned through gritted teeth.

This last bout of mental muscle flexing generated a sufficient jolt to break the last remaining chains tethering my free will. The mind-dulling effects of the drug cocktail were over. Ironically, the recovery of my cognitive faculties proved more of a curse than a blessing. With the force of two giant juggernauts colliding head-on, I remembered Sondra and what I’d done. It was now painfully obvious that the time lapse between the whip demo and commencement of the grave-digging episode was far longer than I recalled. Who knew for how long the venom from the whip’s fang had robbed me of my memory? More than that, the drugs had opened and displayed every thought I possessed for Ms White to pick through as she pleased. There was no point to err on the side of optimism: no hope that by some miracle I’d been able to resist the rape. I had to accept that they’d extracted the lot. Of all the information taken though, only that associated with the three innocent female bystanders – the unknown girl, Norma and Sondra – worried me. I couldn’t help the first on my list, but there was a chance to protect the other two. Julian took my concerns to heart and, although after all this time he must have been frantic worrying about his partner, he was more than willing to rally to the cause. The first priority was to contact Sondra. While I used the phone, my neighbour, despite the darkness, volunteered to scout around outside for any clues that might have been inadvertently left behind. An incredible long shot, but I was loath to temper his enthusiasm.

As expected, Sondra took the news calmly and, in between wisecracks, was evidently more concerned for me than for herself. The old chestnut of police involvement raised its head yet again, but for this reason and that suffered the usual fate of dismissal. Of course, stubborn and independent as ever, Sondra politely declined my offer for her to stay with me until the danger passed, so a number of other hair-brained stratagems were discussed. In the end, however, logic won the day. Essentially there was nothing to be done and no point in hiding. Finally Sandy insisted I hang up and get some rest. She promised to remain vigilant and keep in regular contact – nothing really, but at least the sound of her voice from time to time would afford me some degree of comfort.

I found Julian still prowling around outside, a flashlight in each hand. For about ten minutes I followed him here and there while he scanned the ground in the vicinity of the gravesite and where the hearse had been parked. Eventually he agreed to call off the search, but only after I’d given him permission to resume the next day. We wandered back inside, mulling over options for contacting Norma. Julian sauntered off to wash his hands, but within seconds came striding back, clasping a small envelope.

‘Look, Doc,’ he exclaimed. ‘I found this stuffed through yer letterbox. See how it’s addressed. “To the kind man who helped me”.’ We glanced at each other, both acutely aware that the note must be from Kathy’s lookalike. ‘Go on, Doc, open it,’ Julian encouraged. ‘I don’t reckon the gal saw me. It’s intended for you.’

Thank you for helping me. I don’t suppose I’ll have long before they catch me again. Maybe it’s too late for me but there could be a chance for the lady I look like. If you can meet me near the mathematical bridge at eleven a.m., hire a punt, I’ll come every day until... Be careful – hidden danger everywhere.

A smile crept across his face then suddenly retreated. ‘You think this could just be another one of your friends’ tricks?’ he asked disappointedly.

To be honest, after my encounter with Black and White anything was possible. On balance though, I believed the note to be genuine and said so. What I didn’t impart and what worried me most about the note was the sense of hopelessness reflected in its text. However, now wasn’t the time for reading between the lines or conjuring up demons that weren’t there – certainly not without the Reverend and his trusted whip at the ready.