Drifters Chapter 2c

This is the third answer to Richard Banks’s challenge (see 04/03/21) there will be others posting their chapter 2 to his chapter 1.  You must decide the best by voting…

By Bob French

She grabs my arm and with a smile, gently leads me down the street which is in near darkness now.  The hissing sound of the gas lamps causes me to look up. Suddenly I feel a tug on the lead and the dog starts to bark and tug on its lead.  I look towards an alleyway and see a cat, its back hunched up, hissing at the dog. I try to hold the dog back, but it’s too late.  It sprints off towards the cat. I curse and start after it but Cassie tries to hold me back.

“it’s alright George, he’ll find his way home.” Her voice sounding convincing, so I stop and wait until she joins me. As we turn a corner, I note a dime light above a tobacco shop selling the new 20 pack of Woodbine Cigarettes and John Player Navy Cut tobacco, something my Granddad use to smoke in his pipe. My senses drag me back to the comfort of my Grandad’s lap; the distinctive smell of his pipe as he puffed clouds above my head.  I pause about to ask her something, but my eyes are drawn to a noisy veteran car rattling out of the darkness and vanishing behind us.  I slow, determined to get some idea of what is happening. I need some answers.

“Cassie, do you know where you are going and what date is it?  Everything is so, so 1920s.”  But she laughs and pulls me further into the darkness.

The man in the silver jumpsuit had drifted into the darkness and quietly makes a telephone call from the phone box on the corner of the street to warn Aunty Lucy that the woman had returned.

Detective Constable Fred Smith was annoyed.  He had planned to watch the Hammers play The Arsenal this evening, but his Chief wanted a report on the bank robbery that had taken place on his patch.  As he pondered on how to word the report, his assistant, WPC Mandy Williams came in and grunted, ‘evening Fred,’ then dropped a file into his already full in-tray.

“Chief wants you to look at this asap.”

“Jesus, doesn’t he know were short staffed?”

He pushed the robbery report to one side and quickly read the new file, then thought it a complete waste of time and decided it could wait. As he picked up the robbery file, the words of Frank, his Sergeant crept into his mind as he addressed the station staff.

‘Lastly, there have been a number of strange instances happening lately.  People who have lived on our patch for years have started to vanish without a trace.  Now, I’m not saying we may have a serial killer on the loose in the manor, but keep your eyes and ears open, got it.’

He reluctantly picks up the new file and began to go over it again.

It was near midnight when the door to the office opened and Frank sauntered in with a huge grin on his face.

“Still here Fred?” then casually nodded to Mandy.

“No, it’s a figment of your imagination Sarg.”

“It must be important for you to miss a Hammers game. What’s keeping you?”

“It’s this latest file Sarg from the Chief.  A Miss Broadbent made a report last week about some strange goings on in a phone box opposite the café she uses on Broad Street.

The Sergeant recalled the file.  Probably young kids messing about he thought at the time.

“what have you done so far?”

“Nothing yet.”

Frank turned to Mandy.  First thing in the morning, pop over to where she lives and have a chat with her; find out all you can about the incident. Speak to her friends and neighbours, then fill Frank in.  Can you also ask the girls in archives if they can give you all the files of missing persons during the last four months.   Frank. I want you to put the phone box under surveillance……. I know, we don’t have enough boots on the ground, but see what you can find out about the area. I’ll square it with Jim in Comms to get you some camera equipment.”   As he reached the door, he turned and with a grin on his face called back. “Oh, by the way, Hammers beat The Arsenal 3, 1.”

They had agreed to meet in the café opposite the phone box on Broad Street where Ms Broadbent claimed that something fishy had taken place, at midday.  As Mandy pushed the café door open, Fred caught her eye.

“I spent most of the morning speaking to the old ladies friends,” but Fred could see that she had a puzzled look on her face as she flipped open her notebook. 

“She’s an 82-year-old woman with no living relatives; is well known around the estate. Draws her pension every Friday and plays Bingo every Saturday night, until Saturday the 15^th, when she didn’t turn up for Bingo.  According to everyone I spoke to, the old girl.” She glanced down at her black notebook, “a Fanny Broadbent, would never miss her Bingo, even if it meant climbing out of her death bed. Her neighbours organized a thorough search of the estate, then reported it to the Nick.  I gained access to her flat; nothing seemed out of order, in fact, it looks like she just got up and walked out of her flat and vanished.”

“Vanished?”  Fred shook his head, then glanced across the road as a tall man in a dark overcoat entered the box, made a phone call, then left. He jotted down the time and a brief description of the man.   His thoughts were interrupted as Mavis, a stout, cheerful looking woman who suddenly started to clear the dirty plates left by the previous customer.

“Want anything to eat luv?”

Mandy shook her head, stood and said that she was heading back to the office.

As she left, Fred flashed his warrant card at Mavis and briefly explained his presence before asking for a nice mug of tea.

It was the third day, around five o’clock in the evening. He had read the Daily Mail three times and when he looked up into the fading light of the day, he noticed that it had started to snow.  He seemed to stare out into the street as the neon lights of the shops up and down Broad Street started to come on.  Suddenly he was brought back to reality with a bump as Mavis, the waitress nudge him with her wide motherly hips, then nodded towards the phone box.

He watched as a young woman matching the description of the missing Miss Goodyear, appear to be enticing a gentleman into the phone box. He nods his thanks, gulps down what was left of his cold tea and makes a dash for the door.  As he races towards the phone box it seems to shake violently. It stops just as he was a couple of yards away.  He skids around the other side of the box and rips open the door and freezes.  There is no one inside! 

He quickly searched around the outside of the box, then remembered that the boys from Comms had put a camera in the phone, box to assist him to catch the vandals who had annoyed Miss Broadbent.

That night as he sat in his office going over his report for the tenth time, thinking no one was going to believe him, Jim from the Comms Section came in.

“Hi, Fred.  Got the pictures of the phone box you wanted?”

Fred took the memory stick and slipped it into his laptop then settled back to study the short film of the mysterious disappearance of Miss Goodyear and the gentleman. When the phone box started to vibrate, the picture became distorted.  When it stopped, the two people had vanished?   Smith felt that gut feeling again that made him a good detective. He plays it several times again, but nothing jumps out at him.  He plays the start of the film slowly and jots down the twenty-three digit telephone number Miss Goodyear had dialled.

On the way home that night, Fred thought that the only way he is going to get to the bottom of this mystery was to try the telephone box himself.  He glanced at his watch as he parked the car a few hundred yards from the phone box, then walked down the deserted Broad Street to the phone box. 

The box smelt of stale cigarette smoke as he pulls open the door to the phone box. He dials the number.  Nothing happens.  He tries again.  Still nothing.  In frustration, he curses and leaves the box to walk back to his car. It was just past midnight; the night sky was full of stars and the street was deserted, yet he felt uncomfortable. Someone was following him.  He turns several times, hoping to catch someone, but there’s no one there.  As he continues, the feelings grew stronger as though someone is about to mug him.

 Copyright Bob French