Little Boy Blue - страница 4

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The panic shears lay on the floor, untouched. The heavy-duty scissors were specifically designed to cut through clothing, tape, even leather – but they wouldn’t be used. There would be no deliverance tonight.

The chair had toppled over as the panicking victim attempted to wrestle himself free of his bonds. He made a strange sight now, bucking pointlessly on the floor, as his fear grew and his breath shortened. He was making no headway loosening his restraints and the end could not be far away now. Standing over him, his attacker looked on, wondering what the eventual cause of death would be. Overheating? Asphyxiation? Cardiac arrest? It was impossible to say and the uncertainty was quietly thrilling.

His victim’s movements were slowing now and the leather-clad figure moved away. There was nothing to be gained by enjoying the show, especially when some sexed-up freak might burst in at any minute. His work here was done.

Turning away, he walked calmly towards the door. Would they get it? Would they realize what they were dealing with? Only time would tell, but whatever happened there was one thing that the police, the public and the freaks out there wouldn’t be able to ignore: the lovingly bound figure lying on the floor nearby, twitching slowly to a standstill as death claimed him.

Where was he?

The same question had spun round Sally’s head for hours. She’d tried to go to sleep, but had given up, first flicking on the radio, then later switching on the light to read. But the words wouldn’t go in and she’d reach the end of the page none the wiser. In the end she’d stopped trying altogether, turning the light off to lie awake in darkness. She was a worrier, she knew that, prone to seeing misfortune around every corner. But surely she had a right to be worried? Paul was ‘working late’ again.

A few weeks ago, this wouldn’t have been a cause for concern. Paul was ambitious, hard-working and committed – his fierce work ethic had often meant him returning to cold dinners during the course of their twenty-year marriage. But then once, three weeks ago, she’d had to contact him urgently, following a call from his mother. Unable to reach him on his mobile, she’d called his PA, only to be told he’d left the office at 5 p.m. sharp. The hands of the kitchen clock pointed mockingly to 8 p.m., as Sally hung up in shock. Her mind had immediately filled with possible scenarios – an accident, an affair – but she’d tried to quell her anxiety and when he returned home safe and sound later that night, she said nothing.

But when he next called to say he’d be late home, she plucked up courage and visited him in person. She’d gone to the office armed with excuses, but they proved unnecessary, as he wasn’t there. He’d left early again. Had she successfully hidden her distress from his PA? She thought so, but she couldn’t tell. Perhaps she already knew. They say the wife is always the last to find out.

Was Paul the kind of man to have an affair? Instinctively, Sally thought not. Her husband was an old-school Catholic who’d promised to honour his marriage vows and meant it. Their marriage, their family life, had been a happy, prosperous one. Moreover, Sally had kept her looks and her figure, despite the birth of the twins, and she was sure Paul still found her attractive, even if their lovemaking was more sporadic these days. No, instinctively she rebelled against the thought that he would give his love to someone else. But isn’t that what every scorned wife believes until the extent of her husband’s duplicity is revealed?

The minutes crawled by. What was he up to so late at night? Who was he with? On numerous occasions during the last few days, she’d resolved to have it out with him. But she could never find the right words and, besides, what if she was wrong? Perhaps Paul was planning a surprise for her? Wouldn’t he be devastated to be accused of betraying her?

The truth was that Sally was scared. One question can unravel a life. So though she lay awake, groping for the correct way to bring it up, she knew that she would never ask the question. Not because she didn’t want to know. But because of what she might find out if she did.