Aftermath to an Accident · Part 1

Aftermath to an Accident · Part 1 (1/2)
Next

A traffic accident occurred late on a rainy Autumn afternoon on a quiet medium density residential street in the western suburbs.

A driver lost control when his car skidded on a rain wet surface and crashed into a parked green Ford sedan. He was not hurt, merely shaken, but both cars were rendered non-drivable, the parked vehicle being particularly badly damaged.

Two police officers driving by stopped to investigate. They made ready to give the driver a spot test for alcohol consumption. He protested, saying he had been a teetotaller all his life but they went ahead anyway. A few pedestrians stopped to watch.

One of these was the man who had parked the now damaged car. He halted some distance away but did not approach either the vehicle or the police.

He was a lean, fit looking man of about forty with a square face and thick brown hair. He wore a belted leather jacket and neat dark jeans. Remaining well back, he watched the investigating officers. One of these saw fit to make a call on the police car radio, which he did standing on the pavement beside their car. This man had a loud voice and everything he said was heard by the small group of onlookers.

He began by giving the number plate and a brief description of the parked car. This caused some concern on the other end and it appeared he was asked for further details. He continued with this exchange and seemed puzzled at the interest in what he was reporting. Finally he expostulated, “What! The National Police? But it's only a traffic accident. No one’s hurt. Why bring in the Feds?” A pause while he apparently received further strict instructions. Then. “OK, OK. They’re coming. A crime scene? Right.”

He switched off, turned to the small group of onlookers, who had heard every word and said, “Step back please. Step right back. Away from this vehicle.” He then added, “And if you’ve got no business here you can move on.”

The man who had parked the green Ford in the first place was ready to do this. He turned and moved quietly away, trusting no one had noticed him.

He knew there were documents in the glovebox of the Ford which were about to fall into the hands of people who would be interested to see them. And him too. He had to get off the street as soon as possible.

At the same time as this accident was a lady making her way home from work. This was Rosemary. Late thirties, slim, athletic, figure still youthful, she had an attractive oval face framed by short, straight fair hair. She was a computer processor by trade and worked in the inner central business district. She wore the mandatory light blue business suit her firm required and calf length black boots. Her status was single, living alone, having been widowed some years ago. Today, because of the weather she wore a thin, light raincoat.

She saw the accident from some distance away, paused briefly as she drew level and then moved on at the young policeman’s admonition. Her only interest was to get home to her apartment a few hundred yards away. Though she did not know it, she was walking a short distance in front of the driver of the damaged car. Both were going in the same direction.

Meanwhile the leather jacketed man was thinking of the rotten luck of it all. Of all stationery cars in the street that erratic driver had to run into the one he had just parked. He could hear approaching sirens in the distance. That’d be the Federals on their way. His car had been identified as soon as the number was given out. Once they found those papers they’d have the local police scouring the neighbourhood for him. He had to get out of sight – and fast. But where to go?

He watched Rosemary walking ahead of him. He noted she only carried a handbag and a plastic bag holding a one or two small supermarket purchases. Too small for a family or even a couple? A single person living alone was what he was looking for.

She turned into a two floor apartment building of eight separate units. One bedroom each by the look of them. She’d have to be a single person living alone. The sirens behind him were getting louder. He decided to take a chance on it.

As she let herself in by the security door and he walked quickly up behind her. She turned and smiling, held it open, thinking him a resident or visitor. He watched her climb the stairs and hurried noiselessly and unseen some yards behind.

He saw her put her key in the lock of the end unit. She didn’t call out to anyone inside. She was only interested in letting herself in. That was enough. As she entered he stepped quickly in with her and seized her from behind. He held her arms to her sides with one arm and clamped his hand over her mouth. At once she began to struggle. He kicked the door closed with his heel and heard the lock click. No one had seen either of them enter.

He held her firmly and was obviously the stronger of the two. He let her squirm for a while and then said quietly and calmly, “Easy does it now. I’m not going hurt you. Just calm down and we’ll be able to talk.”

She stopped struggling. “Now then,“ he began reassuringly, “If I take my hand away I hope you won’t call out. Then we can talk.” She hesitated for a while and then nodded her head, difficult as it was to do. He removed his hand.

She paused briefly and then spoke. “What's this all about? Why have you come here? If it’s robbery, there’s hardly anything in here to take.” Very carefully, she was assuming he had come only to steal.

He was glad of this. She was not panic stricken or hysterical. That made his task a lot easier. “Nothing like that. I repeat, I’m not here to harm you. And I’m certainly not going to take any of your things. I simply have to stay here for a while and then I’ll be moving on. Just passing through as it were.” He then released her and she stepped forward a foot or two away from him but did not turn round. He bent down and picked up her handbag and plastic bag of purchases which she had dropped. He went on. “Why don’t we move into this nicely appointed lounge room of yours where we can talk more comfortably?”

The front door opened directly into the lounge – dining room. They stepped into the centre and Rosemary turned and got a look at her intruding visitor for the first time. She seemed somewhat reassured that the leather coated man did not look like a brutalised thug. He put her possessions carefully on the dining table. She put both hands deep into her raincoat pockets. “Well then,” she said, facing him, “You say you’re passing through. Does that mean you’ll be going soon?”

He was pleased she was taking it all so calmly. "I’ll go as soon as my people come and pick me up,” he said, “But first I’ll have to make a telephone call. And before that I’ll unfortunately have to tie you up.”

She stiffened at this, “I don’t need to be tied up.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s necessary. With luck, it won’t be for long.” He took her gently but firmly by the upper arm. The nylon fabric of her raincoat rustled. “Let’s get on with it. The sooner we get started, the sooner I’ll be gone. First, let’s find your linen cupboard.” He steered her into the hallway.

He noted where her sheets and towels were stored, stepped quickly into the kitchen, took a pair of shears from the sight board and the returned to the linen press.

He opened it and found what must have been her oldest and most frayed towel. “No sense tearing up your good, new linen,” he explained, “And we’d better do this in the bedroom. Then you can lie down after I’ve got you properly bound.”

“Absolutely no need,” was her comment.

In the bedroom he made her sit on the bed while he made a series of cuts with the scissors across the end of the towel and then tore it into strips. These were were then folded into lengths a couple of inches wide.

Rosemary was then forced to stand up and her wrists were lashed behind her back and secured with a reef knot. Next her arms were tied to her sides and cinched under the armpits. She was then seated on the bed, her skirt lifted and her legs bound above the knees. The waterproofed fabric of her raincoat whispered as he did so. Finally he knelt before her, crossed her ankles made several turns with the towelling and knotted them firmly. “There,” he said, straightening up, “You look as pretty as a picture.”

“All quite unnecessary,” she said.

He made her lie down on the bed and using one of the longest of the strips, looped one over her chest, through her armpits and tied the ends to the wooden bed head. The last strip was threaded through her legs, above the ankle tie and finally lashed to the wooden foot of the bed. Thus she was tightly bound and firmly secured to her own bed. “Just to stop you wriggling around and perhaps hopping over to the window where you might be seen from the street,” he explained. She glared at him.

Lastly he went into the bathroom and returned with a damp face washer and a small hand towel. He began to fold the washer into a firm wad.

Guessing his intentions she protested, “You don’t have to gag me. I won’t call out. I’m not the hysterical sort.”

But he did just that. Forcing the wad between her lips and holding it in place with the towel tied around the back of her neck. “It shouldn’t be for long,” he reassured her, “I’ll be back and take it out as soon as I’ve made my phone call.” She mewed furiously, the only sound she could make now and scowled as he stood up.

Before he left the room he moved to the window and peered cautiously through the curtains. About two hundred yards away at the scene of the earlier collision there were now three police cars and uniformed men everywhere. Two of them walked past the apartment building but did not come in. He was thankful he was in a safe haven, at least for the time being.

It took him fully ten minutes to make his call in the lounge room. And when he came back, he untied her from the bed, sat her up on the edge and took the gag out of her mouth.

“Well,” he said with the faintest hint of an apology in his tone, “The good news is that my people are sending a car to collect me. The bad news is that it won’t be here before two, more likely three hours. We’ll be together for that long.” He shrugged, "I’m sorry, I thought they’d get here sooner than that.”

“Well then,” she replied, “If that’s the case, you can untie me and let me go to the toilet, and if you’re going to tie me at all I’d appreciate being allowed to take this raincoat off. It’s too hot.” He nodded and without a word untied her ankles and the bonds holding her arms. And escorted her to the hallway and the toilet.

Rosemary came out of the water closet with both her raincoat and her blue suit jacket over her arm. She had taken off her stylish black calf length boots as well and carried them. She was wearing a neat long sleeved white blouse. He took her back to the bedroom. “Look,” he said, “Hang your suit coat and raincoat up and out of the way. I’ll tie your wrists and ankles and you can sit on the bed. Then we can talk to each other.” He smiled faintly, “We’ve got a lot of time to fill in.” She nodded.

She hung her jacket and waterproof in her wardrobe and put her boots beside the bed. While she did this he took off his leather jacket, smoothed it and placed it on the bed. She saw he was wearing a clean, well ironed, soft collared shirt. Without a word she stood with her back to her captor and crossed her wrists. He bound them considerately and then eased her down on to the bed. Again he knelt and tied her crossed ankles. He then sat down on a bedroom chair facing her. “We’ll be keeping company for a long while,” He looked at her, “So I hope we can make some worthwhile conversation.” She just stared back at him.

He looked around her neat, spare bedroom. On a wooden chest of drawers against the wall were three objects. Two framed photographs and a small open box. These attracted his attention and he got up to look at them.

Firstly, he picked up and carefully examined the framed picture on the left. It was a good school photo of a smiling, early teens Rosemary taken perhaps twenty five years ago.

“Wallbrook High? Up the coast." he asked, “I can tell by the tie and the tunic. You went there?” She nodded. “I was educated up that way myself. We used to go down to Wallbrook on inter school sports days.” He smiled, “Possibly there were times when we were both there together at the same function.”

She had already come to the conclusion there were only one or two years between them. It was interesting to learn they might have gone to school only a few miles apart.

The second item was a wooden box containing business cards, printed for her by her firm and containing the usual details. He read one, then carefully replaced it.

Aftermath to an Accident · Part 1 (1/2)
Next