Control Freaks

By Jon Mitchel

A young woman appears to cause the death of her estranged father and discovers that Control Freaks are everywhere.
They attempt to manipulate people for financial gain and sexual gratification.
This is a story of death, domination and inescapable desire.
It would best if you did NOT read this book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jon Mitchel
• Release date: Dec 14, 2017
• ISBN: 9780956600844

Jon Mitchel

Jon Mitchel is a writer, designer, carpenter, electrician, husband, father, and lover of dark chocolate, smoked fish and old cars. Due to the unfortunate nature of the internet and in particular social media, this description is deliberately brief. If you would like any further information please email or visit: email [e-mail] websitewww.licensetokill.com

Book preview

Acknowledgements

I am very grateful to the following people for their support and assistance in the production of this work (in chronological order):

Derek Fowlds

Sophie Adams

Charlotte Adams

Marcus Astley

John Blackman

Melanie Domb

Susannah Arbour

Simon Grover

Jen Bobrow

My thanks are also extended to the following companies for their kind permission to reproduce song lyrics. Please note the official permission notes in the discography at the end of the book:

TRO Essex Music Limited (Bob Harris)

Sony/ATV Music Publishing (UK) Limited (Wendy Ujcic)

RZO Music (Henry Wrenn-Meleck)

EMI MUSIC PUBLISHING LIMITED (Leah Webb)

WARNER/CHAPPELL MUSIC LIMITED (Phoebe Osborne)

Opal Music (Jane Geerts)

Chelsea Music Publishing Co Ltd (Richard Morris and Katy Bell)

Hal Leonard Corporation (Daniel Peters)

Music Sales Limited (Ruth Searle)

http://wordsmith.org for its brilliant anagram server (find the wisdom of anagrams).

Louise Harnby for her invaluable proofreading services.

It’s a control freak thing, I wouldn’t let you understand

– S.H. Underwood

Prologue

2007

It is a quiet Sunday morning in north London. On one side of a steep narrow road is a high brick wall barely containing the trees of the wood beyond. On the other side is a row of three houses. The house closest to the bottom of the hill is clad in scaffolding. The next one along is a business and therefore empty.

The door to the top house suddenly flies open and a man in his fifties strides hurriedly out.

You can’t leave. We have to finish this.

A young woman has appeared in the doorway. She leans casually against the doorframe and has a slight smile on her face, looking confident that he won’t leave. He reaches the other side of a sensuously curved silver sports car and throws himself into the driver’s seat. The engine starts with a throaty growl and the rear wheels spin briefly as the car shoots off down the lane.

A look of horror comes over the woman’s face. She rushes out into the road and starts frantically waving her arms at the departing car and screaming for him to stop.

The car races down the steep slope and approaches a dogleg bend. It hits the bend without slowing and swerves sharply to the right, disappearing from view. A second later an almighty crash is heard followed by the roar of an explosion.

The woman runs as fast as she can down the lane, feet slapping hard on the tarmac in her thin-soled shoes. She is breathing hard on reaching the bend and sees the vehicle is a mangled wreck, completely engulfed in flame. There is nowhere the driver can be except in the car.

She drops to her knees in the road, puts her head on the ground and sobs into the tarmac.

What have I done? What have I done? she repeats over and over.

part 1 – before

>Tracks For Loner<

1. a short time earlier

There were two ways to get to the house in Swains Lane and Emily picked the wrong one. On the map the distance from Highgate or Archway Tube stations looked about the same but the walk from the former was along a busy road. The route from Archway would take her through Highgate Cemetery so she had chosen hushed headstones over tuneless traffic.

As she came out of the eastern burial ground on to Swains Lane the narrow road climbed to the right and it was hard to imagine there could be a steeper road anywhere in London. Smiling to herself, she set off up the hill, thinking how most of her clients would have no need of gym classes if they lived at the bottom of this hill.

Presently the road widened as it passed the western part of the cemetery. A magnificent and sinister brick-and-stone building with an ornate and very solid-looking pair of gates silently guarded the graves on this side of the lane, including that of Karl Marx.

Emily disappointed herself as she shivered involuntarily and quickened her pace, although the way ahead was just as unnerving. Immediately past the cemetery the lane narrowed again and passed a less impressive but equally sinister building, then became quite dark in the tunnel formed by a canopy of trees. The road continued climbing for about a hundred metres, with a high cemetery wall on the left and a fence on the right that she couldn’t see over but knew bordered Waterlow Park.

Finally the house appeared on the left-hand side with two cars parked in front of it. One was a very pretty Italian coupé facing down the hill, the other an anonymous saloon facing the other way. She thought it odd that the coupé was facing downhill as she was sure a car had passed her going up the hill and there certainly wasn’t room for traffic to go in both directions.

Taking a reference book out of her bag she went over to the coupé and peered in. Both doors were clearly locked and she shook her head at the stupidity of expecting anything different. Fortunately she had a back-up plan. She walked around to the left-hand side of the car, the driver’s side, and quickly removed the tyre’s dust cap. Taking a match from a box in her pocket she forced down the valve and the air started hissing out.

Satisfied the car would soon be undriveable she rang the doorbell. Within a few seconds Liam Keller opened the door and stepped out, grinned and winked, then wandered off towards the saloon car.

Entering the hall and closing the door, Emily suddenly felt shaky and nervous. She hesitated for several long moments, then slowly climbed the stairs. At the top she found herself in an open-plan living room and kitchen. A large silver-haired man was sitting with his back to her on a stool in front of the kitchen bar. Seventeen years had passed since she last saw or spoke to her father and in that time she had changed from a little girl into an adult.

The man sitting on the stool expected the person whom he had heard come up the stairs to be the same person who had gone to answer the door and wondered what he was doing. Spinning casually round on the stool he saw Emily standing there and frowned, not immediately recognising her. Ten seconds passed before he realised who she was and another ten before he was able to react. Stepping off the stool he walked slowly over to her, grabbed her in a bear hug and lifted her easily off the floor. Emily managed to look up into his face to see that his eyes were full of tears.

Put me down, Charles, she said quietly, and he gently returned her to floor level.

Sorry, Emily, he whispered. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I’ve written to you so many times over the years and now suddenly you appear out of nowhere and in the most unexpected place.

He paused as another realisation took hold. So this is why Liam wanted me to come to his house. He said we needed to talk about the car but for the whole time I’ve been here all we’ve talked about is business.

Emily didn’t say anything. She had a deep-seated hostility towards her father that didn’t sit right now that she was facing what appeared to be a genuinely pleasant and charismatic man. Torn between running away and shouting her head off, she simply stood staring at him with a deep frown.

Charles turned into the kitchen and started opening cupboards so she wouldn’t be able to see the tear running down his cheek.

Do you want some tea or something? he asked. It’s safe to say Liam won’t mind or I don’t think he’d have left us here on our own.

She asked for some tea to give herself a moment to calm down. It had seemed so simple – tell a man she didn’t know how he’d ruined her mother’s life and seventeen years later she was still paying for it. Then demand that he make up for it from his elevated position. What was she thinking? Apart from how absurd that sounded, how did she imagine being able to see her father and not feel anything? She sat at the bar watching him. He was handsome with a mature lived-in face, slightly over average height and thickset but not overweight. She found herself drawn to him despite having spent so long thinking he was a bad person.

Charles finished making two cups of tea and put them on the bar, no longer able to put off having to look at her again. After so long he still loved his daughter and wanted to be part of her life, no matter how long he had been forced to suppress those feelings.

They both knew they would end up discussing the past but neither was in any hurry. He delayed the inevitable by apologetically asking where she worked.

I teach fitness classes at a gym in town – Pilates, some yoga, circuit training, that sort of thing. Most of the people there are high flyers used to being good at everything so they work hard and keep up. I also do some personal training sessions.

He looked her over quickly, noticing she was perhaps a little too lean, taller than average, like him, and with a quirky prettiness below messy dyed-blonde hair. She was wearing a trendy tracksuit and subtle make-up. Her eyes looked intently back at him and she continuously passed the cup back and forth between her hands.

Boyfriend? he asked.

She raised one eyebrow at the personal question but answered honestly, I was seeing one of the other instructors at the gym but we split up after a few months. There was no spark. Not very good with boyfriends really. They always seem to be either too wishy-washy so they don’t know what they want or too intense. I don’t know why they can’t just see how it goes instead of getting all over-excited in like a week, which just turns me right off.

He smiled at her openness. Sounds like you’ve just been unlucky.

She seemed surprised at his response and didn’t say anything. After a few moments she changed the subject. What kind of business are you in?

I help manage a portfolio of properties. A lot of them are in the north so I was based in Manchester.

Was?

There are some changes going on in the company. In fact I’ve got a meeting tomorrow to find out the details.

You married? she asked with a slight smile.

He shook his head. Then, before he could stop himself, asked, How’s your mother?

She’s fine. She finally has someone to look after her properly. In fact he’s asked her to marry him.

Look after her like I didn’t, you mean. Well I’m obviously not going to say anything against her. She’s got a seventeen-year head start on giving me a bad name, which is why I’ve never been able to see you.

Emily gave him a hard look. Well, what could you say? You mortgaged the house for more than its value so you could keep your business running. Then it failed, you left and we spent the next ten years digging ourselves out of debt.

At his daughter’s words Charles went pale. Is that what she’s been telling you all these years?

Emily stood, starting to raise her voice. Don’t tell me you’re going to deny it? Which bit isn’t true – the massive mortgage? The failed business? My own memory of you driving off virtually as the bailiffs arrived?

He had a strong sense of déjà vu and, looking steadily into his daughter’s eyes, said quietly, Emily, I can’t win this conversation. If I contradict your mother I sound like a liar and a complete shit. And if you believed me you’d think badly of her. So I can’t say anything and you go on hating me. Why did you come, anyway?

Emily was still shouting. Now that she had started she couldn’t seem to stop despite her father’s calm. I came because she’s considering marrying a man who can look after her but whom she doesn’t love. I thought maybe if you’d make up for what happened back then perhaps she wouldn’t have to. You’re obviously doing well enough for yourself. I don’t want anything for me but you owe her.

Charles shook his head slowly. You’ve got it all wrong. Of course I feel guilty about what happened but even if I wanted to help her after being kept from my own daughter, I’m not flush with cash despite how it might look.

A look of sadness came over his face. I’d rather not see you for another seventeen years than get into a fight with you like I did with your mother. I’m sorry. For all of it.

He turned and walked out of the kitchen. She couldn’t believe he was going to leave. She leapt to her feet and raced after him. Opening the door she saw him start to get into the silver car. He’d soon see the flat tyre and realise he wouldn’t be able to bolt; he would have to face her even though the conversation had become serious. She leant casually against the doorframe.

You can’t leave. We have to finish this.

2. four days earlier

Emily stood on the corner of Queen’s Crescent in Kentish Town, looking into the window of a tiny newsagent. She appeared to be reading the advertisements for cleaners and sofas but in reality was watching the workshop at Keller’s Cars, which was clearly reflected in the glass. Your next paragraph goes here.

She had arrived about half past noon and wandered up and down for twenty minutes until the two mechanics sauntered off down the road for lunch, leaving Keller alone in his office. Emily moved out of sight and crossed the road to stop just near the garage entrance.

For a moment she stood perfectly still, struggling with herself, before bringing into the open a secret that had been locked in her mind for seventeen years. It was her own private escape and now she had to risk revealing it in public. She started breathing deeply in and out and after several breaths held the final one. Looking down at her hand she watched it quickly turn transparent and disappear and within a second the rest of her had also turned invisible. Continuing to hold her breath she slid quietly and unnoticed into the workshop.

Keller was sitting at his desk, looking out through the window into the workshop. Under