Lisette Rivers & the Crumbling Mansion Affair
by
Brian Sands
Chapter Seven The Satchel on the Wall
Kill Her Gently
Before walking to Sunny Virtue’s cottage, Lisette badly needed to tidy herself up. The hours of struggling bound and gagged for the artist had left her sweaty and grimy. She took a quick shower and changed into a light blue velvet skirt that came just below the knee and a figure-hugging sweater. She tied a black and white patterned silk scarf around her neck like a neckerchief and was about to put on her overcoat when she was distracted by Rasputin’s desire to go out.
Scarf Goddesses, Yahoo Group
Cats are not especially subtle in showing their wants. Rasputin Thermodux the First sat upright at the back door looking steadily at it and willing it, and any human nearby who could give a hand, to open and allow him into the yard.
Lisette stepped into the garden after the majestic Persian and watched as the feline vanished into the shrubbery. On an impulse she followed. She soon lost the cat but came up against the six-foot barrier wall between her back yard and the grounds of Weatherstone Hall. She was reminded of the narrow doorway that led into the place, and the leather satchel that had been hanging on the wall near it. Now that she was there, she decided to investigate.
It did not take Lisette long to find the wall and the narrow track that ran beside it. The sky was darkening in the twilight but she was able to see first the wooden door set into the wall and, a little further on, the leather satchel. It appeared to be hanging in the same place as before, depending from a leather strap that disappeared over the top of the wall. But, as she approached, Lisette saw that something about the satchel was not quite right. It appeared to be bulging, whereas it had been limp and thin when she had first inspected it.
She put out a hand tentatively and placed it on the covering flap. There was definitely something bulky inside the satchel that had not been there before. Lisette’s hair prickled on the nape of her neck. Someone has been here. She looked around her in the gathering darkness but could not hear a sound beyond the normal sighing of the sea breeze and the shifting and rustle of the trees.
Carefully, so as not to dislodge the satchel from its mooring, Lisette hefted the bag under one hand while with the other she unbuckled the flap and reached in. Her fingers came against a soft surface. Her skin crawled with the unpleasant thought that the bag might contain dead animals, but when she removed the object and held it up to the waning light she found that she was holding a thick plastic sachet that appeared to be filled with a white powder. It looked like flour but Lisette would bet a month’s wages that the contents were not cooking ingredients. She would have to break open the sachet in order to identify exactly what the stuff was, but she felt by the sight alone that it was either heroin or cocaine. She considered.
This must be a drop-off point for the drug, coming in from the Continent over the Channel, smuggled across the coast, cached here to be picked up later, and on-routed to London or some other city where it would be processed and distributed. It must be worth millions. There has to be some connection with Swallowtail Cottage and Weatherstone Hall.
Lisette replaced the package in the satchel and set it gently against the wall where it hung heavily as before. She was forming a simple plan in her mind. Hide and wait, see who comes to collect. But first I’d better go back and put on my trench coat, and change into a pair of jeans.
She was about to move off when she heard a sound from the other side of the door that made her freeze in her tracks. Someone’s coming. No time to change my clothes. Better hide.
Lisette crouched behind one of the bushes beside the track and watched as the door slowly swung open. It was soundless. Someone had taken care to keep the old hinges oiled. A figure stood shadowed in the gateway. Lisette could not tell whether it was a man or a woman. Whoever it was craned her or his neck and looked up and down along the path, then withdrew, closing the door behind them. A few moments later, Lisette heard a scratching sound and saw the heavy satchel being drawn up the wall as the person on the other side gathered in the long strap from which it hung. For a moment the satchel snagged on the lip at the top before clearing that obstruction, when it disappeared suddenly, no doubt falling into the waiting arms of the person retrieving it.
The drop-off point, then the pickup. I have to see where it’s being taken.
Moving as quietly as she could, Lisette slipped across the path and stood listening at the door. Gently she took the doorknob in one hand, turned it, and opened the door a fraction. There were trees and shrubs on the other side but the pathway did not follow the wall. Instead, it led straight from the wall where in the gathering gloom Lisette thought she could distinguish a stretch of gravel driveway. She stepped through and closed the door behind her, its well-oiled hinges now working in her favour. She could see no one and guessed that the person with the satchel was walking away somewhere ahead of her.
Lisette followed the track, which was as narrow and apparently as unused as the one in the grounds of Swallowtail Cottage, until she came to the driveway. From behind a tree she looked towards the crumbling old mansion and was rewarded by the sight of one of its turrets silhouetted against the evening sky. The person with the satchel must have gone there.
She stepped out from the trees and began to walk towards Weatherstone Hall. Lisette was careful to take the grassy surface at the side of the driveway, so that her shoes would not make a noise on the gravel. This was also the intent of someone else, who came soundlessly up from behind Lisette. A gloved hand gripped her by the throat and another clamped tightly over her mouth and nose. Both hands squeezed into silence the surprised yip that came from the young woman’s throat.
“Make a sound or struggle, and I’ll break that pretty neck,” said a man’s voice in her ear.
Diabolik, courtesy Filou’s inDiDs at present in recess
Lisette stood still. The pressure at her throat and the suffocating grip over her nose and mouth made her head swim. As she dropped towards unconsciousness, Lisette’s thoughts were: I should have guessed. Following was too easy.
Fingers plucked at the knot of her silk scarf and it was whipped from her throat, to be tied tightly over her mouth, the new knot at the back of her neck over her hair. She was still partly conscious as the man lifted her over his shoulder and carried her towards Weatherstone Hall. Lisette was hanging head downwards where she had a blurred impression of the dark ground. With her midriff pressed into her captor’s shoulder, she fought for breath. She could not scream or call for help even if that had been an option. The man’s warning still rang in her ears. She had no doubt that he would carry out his threat. Drug dealers of this ilk, she knew, had little compunction over taking extreme measures. To some people cocaine and heroin were worth a life or two.
_____________________________________________________
She must have passed out again, for she next had a confused impression of carpeted steps up which they were ascending. She was thrown face downwards upon a bed and her arms wrenched behind her back. A thin cord was bound tightly about her wrists, holding them together. He knees were bent and the other end of the cord was tied swiftly about her ankles, fitting them together, putting her into a simple but efficient hogtie. The man left her alone in the room too quickly for her to look up and identify him.
Lisette lay still, too stunned from the sudden events to act immediately. When her head cleared, she tested her wrist bonds and moved about experimentally on the bed. She fought back the impulse to struggle and panic because she knew that its chief effect would be to make the knots tighter and escape more difficult, if not impossible.
She worked her mouth against the gag. The strong silk was very tight, but it had been tied over her mouth and not in her mouth so that with a little effort she might be able to dislodge it and make it slip down her chin. Calling for help would not be a good idea, she reasoned, because her captor might still be somewhere in the old place. If so, he would return and deal with her, which she knew would be very unpleasant. But relieving her mouth of the discomfort was very much desired. Already her lips felt numb and swollen under the pressure of the silk.
The silk, resisting the movement of Lisette’s jaws, proved more difficult to shift as she drooled into it. The wet stuff clung over her lips and her chin, and when after a long time the band of material shifted and her lips were free at last, it remained stuck to her underlip and chin. By rubbing vigorously against the coverlet of the bed she was at last able to work it all down so that the scarf fell loosely around her neck. No knowing when her abductor would return, she had used up possibly valuable minutes of escape time.
Now that she was rid of her gag, Lisette could pay more attention to ways of getting free. She was not bound very intricately. Paradoxically, the simplicity of her hogtie made it more difficult for her to work herself free. The cords about her wrists stayed firm. They tightened every time she moved her legs against it.
She looked frantically around her. She had been dumped into one of the unused bedrooms of Weatherstone Hall. Its décor was that of a normal hotel or motel room. Lisette reminded herself that the old place was to all intents and purposes a select hotel, although it came under the rubric of a boarding house. It was usual for rooms of this sort to have a tray of drinking glasses, coffee cups, teacups and portable kettles sitting on a shelf or a table. There they were, a set of six plain stool-coloured mugs set out on a tray upon a low coffee table over by the far wall. If she could get to them and break one of the hideous brown things, she would have something with which to cut her bonds. Getting there was the problem.
The bed upon which she was lying was queen size with a thick cushioned base on which the mattress rested. It was not quite as far from the floor as a more conventional bed, but it was far enough to add danger to her next move. Lisette rolled over to one side, and then repeated the movement in the same direction until she was lying face down on the edge of the bed. With her heart in her mouth, she swung her bent knees out over the side and wriggled her body so that slowly but with increasing momentum she began to slide off the edge. If her hands had been any closer to her feet in a more strict hogtie she would have fallen at one stroke. As it was, she hoped that her knees would reach the floor first before the rest of her body followed helplessly.
She partly succeeded, came onto her knees, teetered a moment, and fell onto her face, unable to do anything to prevent it because her arms were tied behind her. The soft carpet absorbed the impact of her fall, but it still drove a lot of breath out of her body. Lisette managed to roll onto her side, which made breathing easier. She looked over her shoulder at the door anxiously. Resting still was a luxury she could ill afford and Lisette began to wriggle slowly and painfully towards the coffee table.
The carpet that had checked her fall so helpfully now became an impediment. Her clothes caught in it, her breasts rubbed against it, the skirt now bunched around her thighs also impeded her movements. It was more exhausting but a quicker alternative for her to roll over and over as she had done on the bed. Every time her arms became pinned beneath her when she rolled onto her back brought excruciating pain to her wrists. By the time she reached the side of the coffee table tears of pain and frustration lined her face. Pressing her shoulder against a chair, Lisette managed to raise herself onto her knees again, bringing her face to face with the tray of coffee mugs. The next difficulty was how to dislodge one of them. Her arms were useless behind her back.
The hogtie prevented her from standing, and the chair was no help, but the cord connecting her wrists to her ankles was slack because she was on her knees and her hands were closer to her feet. This gave Lisette another option. With fingers that were dismayingly numb, Lisette sought for and found the knot that tied her ankles together. She had been bound proficiently but it had been done in a hurry. The knot was of the simplest kind, an overhand knot, the man who bound her trusting that its stretch to her limbs would make it impossible for her to reach her feet. In a few minutes of fretting she had managed to unravel the knot and kick her feet out of the loops of cord.
Lisette stood shakily to her feet, and promptly toppled down into one of the chairs. As well as her hands, her legs were stiff and a little numb. It took more precious minutes before she could get to her feet and reach awkwardly behind her to pick up one of the mugs. The next problem was how to break it. Throwing it onto the carpet? It would only bounce. Perhaps the wooden tabletop? Too much noise. In the end, Lisette dropped the mug to the floor, lowered herself until she was sitting in front of it, and brought her heel down hard on the unoffending ceramic. There was a crunching sound and the mug broke into several shards. A good thing it wasn’t plastic!
Choosing the largest piece of pottery, not only because it was large bus also because it had a sharp edge, Lisette set about cutting her wrist bonds. She worked carefully, standing with her back to a wall mirror with her head over her shoulder, and taking pains not to cut herself. Her fingers could just reach around enough for her to start sawing at the cord with short strokes. Once the piece fell from her hand and she had to kneel down and retrieve it. When her wrists finally came free Lisette was panting and sweating with the suspense. She turned to the door. If I can get out of here before anyone comes.
The door of the bedroom had been left unlocked, another sign of haste and over-confidence that their prisoner would not get away. Lisette stepped through into a corridor. It was empty. She chose a direction and made her way cautiously along, her feet stepping upon thin carpet that absorbed the sound of her chunky heels. When she came to the head of the stairs where the passages converged, she realised that she had been placed in one of the empty wings of the mansion. She recognised the branching passageway that led to the murder room and the room where she had been left trussed and gagged all night. A shiver went through her and all she wanted to do was to get out of the place as soon as possible and without detection.
As Lisette alighted from the stairway into the entrance hall she heard voices coming from one of the rooms off the passage that led to the kitchen. Curiosity got the better of her. She slipped out of her shoes so that she made no sound as she walked over the tiles. The voices grew louder as she approached the door. When she came up to it she identified one voice as that of Brick Simenov, the science fiction writer. She could not identify the voice of the other man. She placed her ear to the door at the moment conversation paused briefly while both interlocutors arranged their thoughts. A moment later, one of hem spoke again.
“I’m very pleased with the delivery, good quality stuff this time.” It was the stranger speaking.
“Yes. But we’ll have to make different arrangements with Number Five for the next drop-off point. We don’t know when the woman first found it. She may have told others.” It was Brick Simenov speaking.
“Oh yes, the young woman … You’re quite sure she didn’t see you?”
“Affirmative,” replied Simenov. “She was unconscious most of the time. She surprised me when she stepped out right in front of me. Her back was to me and I caught her from behind.”
“Where is she?”
“Tied up in one of the empty rooms in the east wing.”
“Did you blindfold her?”
“Well – no. I didn’t think - .”
“You’ll have to make sure that she doesn’t recognise you when you check on her. Wear a mask and, when you do check on her, make sure that she’s tightly blindfolded and that her ears are plugged.”
“I was in a hurry. I didn’t think it was necessary at the time.”
“She might not know much about this business but we have to make sure that she continues to know as little as possible. That way it may not be necessary to kill her. One death is quite enough.”
The stranger’s dispassionate statement sent an icy shiver through Lisette.
“She’s new to the district. I don’t think she will know anything.”
“But from what you said earlier she’s made friends with our little fake heiress.”
“Yes. They were out walking somewhere in the countryside this afternoon. I agree. We need to find out more about her.”
“We’ll find out plenty when we question her. I’ll do that, by the way. She’ll recognise your voice.”
“We can’t do it in that room,” said Simonov. “There are still a few guests in the place. They’ll hear her if she screams. But the cellar, that’s soundproof.”
“Too close. It’s too dangerous. People sometimes go to the cellar to sample the vintage wine. No, we’ll give her to Number Four when we pass the merchandise on.”
Lisette’s skin crawled at the way they were talking about her. I’ve heard enough. She pulled back from the door and walked carefully down the passage towards the entrance hall on the balls of her feet. Her legs felt shaky and there was a leaden weight in the pit of her stomach. She was getting out just in time.
She was halfway down the passageway when the door opened where she had just been eavesdropping. An instant later there was a low shout. Lisette looked back terrified over her shoulder. Brick Simenov in the dark suit he had worn on the night of the dinner party was moving in fast pursuit of her. Behind him running more slowly came a fat man in tweed trousers, shirtsleeves and waistcoat.
She ran stumbling into the entrance hall, slipping on the tiles and almost falling in her haste to get to the front door. She wanted to cry out, to scream for help, but had only breath for running. She looked back over her shoulder at her pursuer. Simenov was almost upon her. She was still carrying her shoes together in one hand and these she now threw blindly at the man, more as a ploy to slow him down than to do any real damage. The chunky heel of one shoe, however, caught Simenov over the temple. He cursed and stumbled to his knees.
Lisette sprinted towards the door with renewed energy. She reached it and wrenched at the ornate doorknob. Her fingers slipped on its smooth surface. Gripping it with both hands, she began to turn it. It responded sluggishly. She could hear movement close behind her. Lisette opened her mouth to scream but a fist struck her on the nape of the neck and she went down, captured and losing consciousness for the second time that day.
When Lisette began to come round she found herself lying face down on what she guessed was the same bed where she had been placed before. Someone had his knee pressed into the small of her back, squashing her into the coverlet, and was tying her wrists together behind her. She tried to lift her head from the smothering bedcovers. Her neck and shoulders ached and a band of iron seemed to be tightening around her temples. She could not focus her eyes properly. A gag, again her own scarf, had been tied very tightly between her jaws.
She was all played out. There was nothing she could do. Lisette lay still as the man continued tying her arms behind her, this time at the elbows, which pulled her shoulders back and added to the pain in her neck. The other man was tying her ankles together. She could not at first tell which man was engaged in the tasks, binding her arms or her legs. Then her head began to clear and she could focus her eyes. The fat man who was unknown to her was the one working on her arms. Brick Simenov was at her legs. They seemed to be using thin cord, and already pins and needles were shooting through her arms. The science fiction writer was enjoying his work. Every so often he ran a hand smoothly over her nylon-clad calves and lingered around her thighs. Lisette felt revolted and tried to express it through her gag. She did not make much sound but it was enough to worry the fat man.
“Gag her properly! We don’t want the whole place to know she’s here! Use one of those table napkins.” He meant the small linen serviettes that had been stacked on the coffee table with the drinking mugs.
Lisette watched Simenov shake out a snowy napkin in front of her face as the fat man undid the scarf and removed it from her mouth. She was too weak and sick to struggle any more, or to scream, and as the bunched linen was brought to her lips she opened her mouth and accepted the gag quietly, retching faintly as the material, thick but soft, was pushed deeper in behind her teeth. When most of the cloth was in her mouth the silk scarf was brought over her head and pressed between her jaws again. This time a knot had been tied in its centre that partially filled the front of her mouth. The scarf was retied very tightly. It stretched her mouth open, pulling against the corners of her mouth, and pressed the linen cloth down against her tongue.
Parts of the napkin protruded from her mouth above and below the centre knot. It had the double function of anchoring the packing in her mouth while at the same time preventing it from slipping down into her throat and choking her. The arrangement had a touch of professionalism.
Lisette flexed her hands and strained against the wrist bonds. The knots were very tight and cunningly tied. As she felt additional cord being wound just as tightly around her waist and cinched to her forearms above the wrist bonds, Lisette’s body told her the answer before her mind understood.
She had felt before the implacable way in which the cords were being
tied. The hands of the unknown fat man were the same that had trussed her up
when she discovered the murdered Spencer Fforbes.
Lisette had found the murderer, and now she was his captive.
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Fiction of Brian Sands