The Eyes of the Accused: A dark disturbing mystery thriller (The Ben Whittle Investigation Series Book 2) by Mark Tilbury Page B

chest. The hairs tickling her face. The smell of Boss aftershave. The rise and fall of his chest. His heart beating, slow and rhythmic. The warmth of his body. The faint smell of mouthwash on his breath. Sometimes they would talk until the early hours of the morning, effortless conversation that could switch from serious to goofing around in the blink of an eye. It was what Hannah liked to call comfortable love.
    The baby shifted position and kicked again. Hard.
    ‘I know you’ll never get to know me. But please remember that I love you. Do you hear? I love you more than anything else in the world.’
    The bump in her belly twitched.
    ‘Whatever you do, wherever you go, mummy will always be watching over you. When you go to school. When you get your first girlfriend.’
    Another twitch. Maybe a protest. Hey, I might be a girl!
    ‘Your dad thinks you’re a boy. I reckon he just wants someone to take to watch Arsenal. Personally, I don’t see what all the fuss is about. A load of overpaid men kicking a ball around a field and acting as if it’s a matter of life and death. They ought to spend some time locked in this shitty basement to find out the true meaning of life and death.’
    The baby declined to comment. Twitch, kick or otherwise.
    ‘I want you to know that if you ever have any problems, ever need to talk to someone, I’ll always be here for you.’
    Of course the kid will have problems; it’s going to be raised by a lunatic.
    Hannah tried not to think about that. She clung to the vague hope that the baby might be sold to a childless couple. Parents who would raise it in a loving environment and treat it as their own.
    The basement door opened. A sudden shaft of light pierced the darkness. And then a voice. Hannah’s first human contact in what felt like weeks. ‘I’m putting a torch and a bulb on the floor for you. Though God knows you don’t deserve it. I want you to replace the bulb.’
    Hannah squeezed her eyes shut. ‘I need food and water.’
    ‘You’re in no position to make demands.’
    ‘Please. The baby…’
    ‘What about it?’
    ‘It’s going to die if you don’t let me have—’
    ‘Don’t be so melodramatic. A few days without food and water isn’t going to hurt it. If that was the case, a child would never be born in Africa.’
    ‘I don’t feel well.’
    ‘There’s nothing wrong with you. What you’re suffering from is called shame. Get over it. If you replace the bulb, then we’ll see about food. And don’t get any more clever ideas about ambushing me. You fooled me once, so more fool me. You won’t do it again.’
    ‘Please…’
    The door slammed shut. And then the worst sound of all: the audible click of the lock. Hannah could see a small circle of light at the top of the steps where the torch had been left on.
    Better go and get it before the batteries go dead.
    She shoved the duvet out of the way and climbed slowly off the airbed. Just the thought of being able to see properly again was enough to motivate her to walk across the freezing cold basement and up the steps.

Chapter Twelve
     
    Ben parked in The Three Horseshoes car park and kept the engine running. ‘Even if Crowley has abducted her, the chances of her still being alive are next to zilch.’
    ‘You don’t know that.’
    ‘For starters, where the hell would he keep a pregnant woman? He lives in a caravan up on Constitution Hill. Don’t you think someone might have seen her?’
    ‘Not necessarily.’
    ‘And the cops have spoken to him. More than once. Where do you think he put her? Under the bed?’
    ‘Don’t be sarcastic, Ben. It doesn’t suit you. Anyway, he could have moved her somewhere.’
    ‘Where, for God’s sake? The bloke’s got limited means.’
    ‘I don’t know. That’s what we need to find out. We’re not going to get anywhere speculating, are we?’
    Ben drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘If you ask me, she’s long dead. We’ve got more chance of finding Lord