Originally sent by : on Mon, 10 Mar 97 *** Start of forwarded message Chris, Here's Chapter 27 of the Round Robin to be forwarded to the list. Thanks. Andrew --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 27 ========== Tuesday 22nd November 1983 23:23 Haught's Stuff Simpkins started to get to his feet, keeping his hand close to his gun, but resisting the temptation to draw. The younger woman - Keane - seemed to have spotted him and was starting to make her way across the room towards him. Desmond seemed more interested in the girl on the stage, seeming to recognise her. Simpkins guessed that a crim like Desmond would have met any number of pros in Wentworth. The club was just too busy to risk pulling his gun. He doubted Reb Keane would mind too much though. In the moment that he saw Reb move towards him he made the decision that discretion was the better part of staying alive. He moved at speed towards the exit at the rear, keeping his eyes on events at the front of the house. Keane was having problems getting past the tables and chairs that separated them - the combination of the lighting in the club and the increasingly furious patrons of Haughts whose show had been terminated, but nonetheless was getting through. Jimmy reached the door, taking one look back at the club. Keane was still some fifteen feet away. Desmond had snapped her attention away from the dancer, and seemed to be shouting something at Keane. The dancer was taking flight the stage, and the patrons of Haughts were none too pleased. Myra shouted again, urging Reb to stop, but very aware that her voice could almost certainly not be heard. She saw Heather Rogers - what the hell was she doing here? - run from the stage. Reb reached the back of the room, following Simpkins out of the door. Suddenly very conscious of her vulnerable position Myra decide to get out of the club before things turned nasty. She did not think anyone would recognise her - apart from Heather - but the frontstage of a strip club did not seem like a very anonymous place. She headed for the front exit, hoping to intercept Reb en route, praying that the young woman had enough sense not to pursue Simpkins alone. Reb drew her gun as she turned the corner onto the stairwell that led to the entrance of the club. Somewhere at the back of her mind was the sensation of pain from her injured leg, but adrenalin pushed her on. She knew Myra was not with her, vaguely rememberd seeing Heather Rogers on the stage (quite a career move) Common sense screamed at her to wait for Myra but something she hoped was her better judgement was urging her to go on, to take the chance which she had. She hit the foyer of the club just in time to see the swing doors of the club coming to rest. The man in the cashiers booth who had given them strange looks when they entered the club looked even more shocked, flinching back visibly when he saw the gun in Rebs hand. Reb headed for the exit. Simpkins reached his car, having fished the keys from his pocket on his way out of the club. He was aware that there was little dignity in running from a couple of women, but he knew full well he could not afford a firefight in this part of town which was still fairly busy despite the late hour. Across the road a woman was loading groceries from the late night store into her car. In his mirror he saw Keane exit the club and scan the street. Simpkins turned the ignition key. Reb heard a car fire up, recognising the driver as Jimmy Simpkins. The bastard wasn't getting away that easily. Aware again that adrenalin was probably overdictating her actions she was across the road in a matter of seconds, jamming the gun into the side of some unfortunate shopper, hearing herself demand the car keys, pushing the woman out of her way as she got into the car, groceries spilling onto the ground. She felt relief as the engine started first time, and pulled away in pursuit of the already departed Simpkins. Diverting her concentration to matching the speedy driving of her quarry it was several minutes before she thought about Myra... Myra cursed as she left the club, taking in the scene which told her all she needed to know about where Reb had gone. Bugger it, she was getting too old, too slow, for this game. People had started milling out of the store, and Myra was again aware of the need for anonymity. Hitching her jacket collar up against the rain she headed for an alleyway. She had a lot to think about...God help Reb. 23.35 All things considered, Reb thought she had done well to keep Simpkins in sight. The man drove like a maniac, and Reb had not had much driving experience lately. The rain was not making her job any easier, nor was the mounting realisation that she was engaged in an act of possibly terminal folly. She was almost certain that Simpkins must know she was following him, though she judged that his driving style was more a product of habit than present circumstance. The road was surprisingly busy for this time of night, and Reb was just beginning to get used to weaving her way around cars which were sticking to the speed limit when she saw Simpkins make a left turn down a side street. Reb spun the wheel to follow, not knowing whether to be worried or glad that they were off the main streets. She hit the brakes suddenly, shocked to find that Simpkins' car had pulled up about twenty feet down the road. She had pulled into a back street, mainly derelict shops with dim streetlighting. Looking back she realised that it would be extremely difficult to reverse back out of the alley into the traffic flow. Bugger it, she had fallen for a classic trick. She could not see Simkins in the alley, but judged that he would be about somewhere. Aware that she presented an all too appealing target she released the safety on her gun and moved cautiously out of the car, sweeping the headlight-illuminated alley with the barrel of the weapon. She had almost begun to believe that Simpkins had fled when she felt the metallic kiss of a gun barrel behind her right ear. "Drop the gun Keane," a mans voice said, "someone might get hurt." Wednesday 23rd November 1983 01:02hrs Myra Desmond had rarely felt so despondent as when she took a seat in the corner of an all-night cafe three blocks away from Haught's Stuff. The cafe was almost deserted, only a couple of clearly intoxicated old men in the place. She had taken a risk coming here, and knew she could not stay long, but had desperately needed a place to stop and think out of the rain. She had spent about an hour and a half skulking around back streets getting soaked to the skin, and still things were no clearer. She had attempted to contact Winnie again in the hope that Reb had come to her senses, but there had been no answer. Myra guessed that Winnie had gone to ground, unwilling to get more involved than she already was. She didn't blame her. However, she had little idea how she would go about making contact with Reb. It had been stupid not to make some arrangement just-in-case, but she ruefully realised that they had let euphoria at tracking down Simpkins get the better of them. Then there was the Heather problem. Simpkins had clearly recognised Myra and Reb when they had entered the club, and clearly had guessed what the two escapees were about. It was a fair bet that he realised that Myra and Heather were linked in some way. It was logical to think that he would be trying to entrap his pursuers, and would be keen to speak to their associates. Clearly she had to warn Heather to be careful, but equally she was reluctant to approach her. Sure, they had worked together in the past, but once a screw......What the hell was she doing in that place? So far as Myra knew, she and Dennis Cruickshank were a couple, and that Heather was trying to get modelling work. Myra knew that many a gullible girl had finished up in the clubs courtesy of the seedier agencies, but she could scarcely imagine Heather Rogers being taken in. Had she been more messed up by the Steiner business than anyone had thought? Surely Crucikshank didn't know what she was doing... Myra glanced at the clock, finding that there was still half an hour before Haught's closed. What the hell, her conscience told her she had to see Heather and damn the consequences. Heather had put herself on the line for Myra before. It was time to return the favour. 01:13hrs Clearwater Inc. Warehouse Reb recoiled from Simpkins latest slap to her face, trying to stop tears from welling in her eyes. She was in a sparsely furnished room which she judged in the illumination from the grimy light to have been a locker room of some kind. She was on a chair, her hands tied behind her and secured to the chair. She thought she could hear music from a couple of rooms away - probably the guy Simpkins had talked to when they had arrived. He had talked about a couple of other women, but Reb had not seen them yet. Simpkins was demanding information from her - who had helped them? who was the dancer at the club? where was Myra hiding? So far she had resisted giving him the answers, but she was painfully aware that dumb insolence was not going to be an option much longer. "OK Keane," said Jimmy, his voice calm even though Myra knew he was getting increasingly frustrated. "Play the dumb kid as long as you like. I've got other methods. Dave!" he shouted. The man Reb had seen earlier entered the room dragging a dishevelled looking girl, blind terror etched on her face behind him. Reb recognised her instantly. "Bobbie?" "No talking," said Simpkins, picking up his gun. "Now Keane. It's simple. Either you tell me what I want to know, or your old mate Mitchell dies a messy death here and now." Reb fought back the instinct to correct Simpkins on her relationship with Bobbie, concentrating instead on gauging how much she could safely hold back without giving Simpkins an excuse to follow through on his threat. She suspected that any stay of execution for either of them was a purely temporary respite, but where there was life..... "Alright. Look, I don't know who Myra's contact was. She kept all that stuff to herself, and I don't know where Myra is now." Simpkins looked unimpressed. "You can do better than that girl. Who was the girl at the club?" Reb took a deep breath, casting up a prayer to anyone who was listening. She too had realised that Simpkins would make a connection between Myra and Heather Rogers, and she too realised that she did owe Heather some vestige of loyalty. "She's an old mate of Myra's from Wentworth. Her name's Burns, Doreen Burns." Simpkins seemed mollified by the name which Reb had plucked from some dim and distant conversation in the rec room back at Wentworth. She heard the safety engage on Simpkins' gun. "That'll do for now Keane. We'll see if this Burns bitch is any more help. Davey, get yourself over to Haught's. There's a new girl workin' there, a brunette called Doreen Burns. Bring her for a chat eh? You know the method." Reb could tell that Dave was not pleased at this turn of events. "No way Jimmy. You're payin' me to babysit, not to bloody kidnap strippers." Simpkins looked at him coldly. "You'll do as you're bloody well told. I'll hold the fort here." Davey clearly thought better of arguing, obviously knowing exactly what Simpkins was capable of. He turned and left without a word. "OK ladies," said Simpkins, "Now we wait." "Wait for what?" asked Bobbie. Simpkins smirked. "Use your imagination Mitchell." 01:41hrs Police Headquarters Grace had been working far too many late nights recently. A number of big cases had started to come together all at once. Along with the steady supply of work which seemed to come straight to his desk from within the walls of Wentworth Detention Centre. Grace rubbed his eyes, contemplating another intake of caffeine to ward off sleep for another couple of hours. He pushed aside the file he had been working on - a couple of leads that had come down from the drug squad in the ongoing Ballinger case - and turned back to his notes on the latest Wentworth abscondees. Of Mitchell and the nurse there had been no sign, while there had been various possible sightings of Keane and Desmond that had come to naught. Why Mitchell would resort to kidnapping was beyond Grace, but Keane and Desmond...... Grace strongly suspected that their escape was related to their recent bereavements. He knew there had been allegations about the circumstances of the deaths, and had almost convinced himself that the duo were on some kind of revenge quest. He had come close to resigning himself to waiting until the pair turned up dead somewhere, but had pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind, determined that he must do better. There was a knock at the office door, and a constable entered reading from a piece of paper. "A couple of leads on Keane and Desmond," he announced. Grace took the paper. "Someone matching Keanes description hijacked a car, and we had a report of Desmond in a coffee bar within a few blocks of each other around midnight." the constable continued. Grace read the information, pondering its import. He was not minded to dismiss two sightings easily. It was certainly worth checking out. He reached for the phone, dialling the number by habit. He heard the phone answered, recognising the voice on the other end. "Harry. Any chance of a couple of cars pronto?" 02:01hrs Myra recognised the figure of Heather Rogers leaving Haughts Stuff, and striding swiftly across the street. She guessed that Heather had parked her car nearby. She flitted across the street, waiting for a better moment to make contact. Heather continued walking for two more streets before Myra saw her make for a car. It was now or never. She quickened her pace, cutting the distance between them. "Heather." she called. The younger women turned, shocked at the voice, and clearly recognising who was calling her. "Myra.....what the hell are you doing?" "I could ask you the same thing. What the hell are you doing in that club?" There was vehemence behind the question, and Heather turned away in embarassment, fumbling for her car keys. "I....don't want to talk abu it. Get out of here, I can't be seen with you." She found the keys, unlocking the door and starting to get in. Myra caught her by the arm. "Heather, please..." Heather pulled away, pulling the door closed, and barely missing Myra in the process. Myra heard the engine fire, realised that her chance was slipping away, and started battering the window, desperate that she should get her message across. "Heather! You're in danger...." The car pulled away at speed, leaving Myra in its wake, frustration etched on her face. How much worse could things get? 02:04hrs Dave Irvine was a worried man. he had badly misjudged his route through town, with the result that he had missed closing time at Haughts. Jimmy would not be pleased if he failed to bring this Burns bitch back to the warehouse. What the hell could he do? He took a left turn at speed, letting his frustrations flow into the car. He had to fight hard to avoid slamming on the brakes when he saw the figure by the side of the road. Even in the dim light he recognied Desmond from the pictures which had appeared in the newspapers. He continued to the next corner, pulling up just after the turn. It was a sure thing that Jimmy would forgive him not finding the stripper if he could deliver Desmond....He felt under the passengers seat, extracting the cosh he always kept there as insurance against lifes little problems. He left the car, turning back into the street where he had seen Desmond. The woman had begun walking away, back in the direction of Haughts. It was starting to rain again, and Jimmy picked up his pace, anxious to catch the women before she could get on to a busier street. He readied his weapon for the strike..... 02:05hrs Myra never heard her assailant, her first awareness of the danger being the blow which crashed across the back of her head, pitching her forward. She felt herself being caught, dragged backwards. Her head was swimming, confusion making her unable to focus. Her assailant had clasped his hand over her mouth, dragging her back up the street. Myra started to struggle, instinct taking over. She heard something fall to the ground, guessing that it was the weapon he had used to strike her. The hope that the man might be unarmed was slight. He was strong, and Myra still could not focus.......Suddenly she was aware of a third person in the struggle, hearing the sickening thump of a blow to her assailants head, feeling his grip loosen, falling on top of him. Myra rolled off, fearing that the man might yet pose a threat, hope soaring that Reb had returned. Heather Rogers crouched next to the fallen body, a cosh close by her hand feeling frantically for the mans pulse. "Heather?" she said groggily, "You came back..." Heather looked frantic, barely able to speak. "My...Myra, I think he's dead." "Shit!" Myra heard a car turn into the street, aware that they could not be missed, by anyone passing. A single glance backwards told us that things were still worse. She recognised the famililar shape of a cop car. She struggled to get to her feet, her instincts to run betrayed by the weakened state of her body. "Heather, run!" she urged, anxious that the woman who had saved her should not be implicated. Heather seemed transfixed, unable to leave the man, and almost willing life to return. Myra heard the car pull up and gave up her struggle to rise, resigning herself to her fate. How could it all have gone so wrong? 09:14hrs Wentworth Detention Centre Joan Ferguson could barely keep the smirk off her face as she read the list of charges to the new prisoners. Inspector Grace was conferring with Meg Morris at the other side of the reception. "Is there any doubt?" asked Meg, barely believing the charges ranged against Heather Rogers. Grace shook his head. "Bang to rights. Her prints were on the cosh, and she hasn't made any effort to deny killing the man. Desmond's tried to take the rap, but the evidence just doesn't add up." Meg shook her head sadly. "Who was the man?" "Well known low-life by the name of Dave Irvine. An associate of one Jimmy Simpkins who in turn is connected to the late unlamented Sonia Stevens. Desmond's admitted that she and Keane were trying to track Simpkins down." "Where's Keane now?" "Seems they tracked him down to a strip club, which incidentally is where Rogers has been making a career for herself, and Keane took off after Simpkins. She hasn't been seen since. I've got an APB out on Simpkins. I just hope we get to him in time." Joan had finished the induction and joined them. "Another fallen angel for the collection, eh Morris?" "That's uncalled for Joan." replied Meg. "I don't think so. Scum always floats to the top of the barrel." "In the case of Jimmy Simpkins," said Grace, "I hope to God you're right." 10:01hrs Jimmy turned his radio off, the news bulletin having confirmed his worst fears about Daves' failure to return. The stupid bastard......At least Desmond had been recaptured. That just left him with three problems... "Alright girls," he announced, clicking the safety catch of his gun off, "time to go for a ride." **** * He used to bring me roses * *** End of forwarded message ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Prisoner Cell Block H Mailing List. He used to give me roses....... pcbh@chewy.demon.co.uk http://www.chewy.demon.co.uk/pcbh/ Team AMIGA --------------------------------------------------------------------------------