SHOWN THE ROPES
The
man wasn't as yet wanted by the police, but that was about to change. It wasn't
his fault really, the deal had gone down well, he had been paid and he had
found an inconspicuous car to steal. He had hot-wired it, driven about seven
miles, almost made it to the motorway, when things went wrong. A red light
appeared on the dashboard, the car lost power and when he pulled in at the
roadside, clouds of steam came from the engine compartment. That's what happens
sometimes when you steal a car, he was used to it. An unwelcome delay, but he'd
get by. He had cash in his pocket, some means of protection, and two phones. He
didn't want to be picked up from here though, it might be too easily
remembered. This was why he was walking at the edge of the trunk road, nearly
two miles to go before he would reach the next roadside cafe, when the police
car came alongside him.
Taking
newly recruited smartarse young coppers out on patrol was not a popular job at
the Police Station where WPC Harriet Drummond worked. She was unique in having a
conscientious view of it. Somebody had to show them the ropes, as it were. How
else would they learn if experienced officers didn't take an interest. She knew
that they didn't only need to learn from the training manuals, they needed
somebody to show them the commonsense approach to everyday incidents. How to
calm down a situation rather than inflame it. How not to generate unnecessary
paperwork. All part of the learning curve, it had become a phrase that she used
quite often.
Usually
Harriet took some pleasure in the job when it was her turn to train a rookie,
but even she admitted that PC Paul Nicholls was hard work. Tall, blond,
handsome, 27 years old, he thought he was a person to be reckoned with. Some
officers joked that he thought Kojak and the Sweeney were instructional videos.
This
afternoon she got the impression he was sulking, or at least expressing some
resentment. She hadn't agreed to stop and search three different youths who he
thought might be drug dealers, because they looked to hear like typical
specimens of their generation. Weren't you young once, she had asked him
sarcastically. She reckoned she had saved them both from a lot of unnecessary
form filling. But now he had gone quiet, or at least, a bit monosyllabic.
Sulking. Maybe it was time to let him off the leash, just once. The opportunity
soon presented itself. The man with the rucksack three miles out of town didn't
look the sort for the outdoor life. It wouldn't do any harm to have a chat.
He
studied the two coppers, summing up his chances. The tall young one was just
the kind of person he always took a dislike to, and who always took a dislike
to him. Would he be able to bluff his way through. The policewoman looked like
she would be even harder to deceive. He'd encountered her sort before, career
policewoman, seen it all, been there, got the tee-shirt. On the other hand, she
was more attractive than most of the policewomen he had come across. Most of
them had what you might call an athletic physique, but this one was more sort of
cuddly. A blue-eyed brunette in her thirties, she reminded him that he liked
women in uniforms, some of them at least. Yes, in her navy blue skirt, white
shirt with the sort of chequered tie, lace-up shoes, tights that were dark but
a little bit see-through, there was certainly something sexy about her. She
wasn't wearing a hat, neither of them were . On the back seat of the car, he
supposed. If they weren't too
conscientious about that, maybe he would strike lucky. He had answered their
questions politely, not been cocky, now they were talking, out of earshot. Then
the man came back over. "Would you mind showing me the contents of your
bag?".
That
was when he knew it was going wrong. He minded very much, there was no way he
could show them the contents of his bag. He'd be going to prison for sure. He
couldn't have that.
And
now WPC Drummond was suffering the consequences of all this. Just her, not PC
Paul Nichols. The man had pulled a machete from his rucksack, grabbed the PC,
and forced the pair into the front of the police car. He jumped in the back,
and Harriet drove, while he held the machete with its edge resting on her
shoulder. "Anything funny and your ear comes off" he had said.
Harriet had been in a number of threatening situations before and she had
survived them, with no ill-effects other than hurt pride and rope marks. She
put this down to knowing when not to push her luck. No sense in resisting when
the opposition is armed and you aren't. Let them take what they want and go,
that was her motto. And here she was, on her own with an armed criminal once
more. The worst of it was, she didn't know what this one wanted, yet.
PC
Nicholls was fond of saying that he was good at thinking on his feet, reacting
swiftly under pressure. Harriet assumed that he was putting it into practice,
when, as she stopped at traffic lights, he flung the door open, leapt out and
ran, heading for a nearby parade of shops. She couldn't believe what had just
happened. What about the teamwork she had been trying to drum into him. He had
better be calling reinforcements, that was what she hoped. The idiot had
slammed the door behind him, at least if he had left it wide open, the hijacker
would have had to get out of the rear of the car to shut it. But as it was, he
just pressed the blade of the machete against Harriet's neck and said calmly
"looks like it's just you and me, babe", and when the lights turned
green, he ordered "just drive, ahead, I'll tell you when to turn".
Ordinarily she would have objected to being called "babe" by someone
like this, who was not the sort of person she would want to know. One this
occasion she decided to keep quiet. Their eyes met momentarily as she glanced
in the mirror. "Don't try to study me" he said quietly, with a hint of
menace. "I'm not carrying this for fun" The side of the blade tapped
gently on her neck.
Shit,
I'm in one of those situations again, she thought. Why did I let Paul stop to
question this guy. I've spent the day talking him out of things. Now I've been
abducted and nobody knows where I am. At least Paul will have reported it by
now.
He
had, of course, but the abductor had realised this. "While they're looking
for you, they aren't going to be looking for me" he told her. "If it
takes them an hour to find you, that gives me an hour to get clear, doesn't
it" he continued.
You've
got that wrong, she thought. They'll be out in force, looking for both of us.
Keep quiet, girl, don't put ideas in his head, she reminded herself.
Remembering her past adventures, she decided that, at the first opportunity,
she was going to ditch the handcuffs that hung on her belt. Otherwise she would
end up wearing them, it had happened before. Steering with one hand, she
unfastened the clip .
"What
you doing?" he asked. She didn't think he had noticed.
"I
had an itch. I was scratching". She answered. "Not very ladylike I
know, but I'm nervous "
"Okay.
Just don't try anything clever". After a moments silence he added. "I
need wheels but I don't need you”. He carried on chatting, didn't seem to be
watching what she was doing. “Why did your mate jump out and leg it like that?
I thought you lot all stuck together. Teamwork and all that crap. Is he your
boss or something?”
“My
boss? Heavens no, I should think not. He's a new boy, I'm sort of showing him
the ropes. He's in trouble over this, I tell you.”
Now
she had the handcuffs on her lap, Harriet wasn't sure what to do next. Her
window was wound down and the obvious thing was to fling them out. She had to
pick the right moment though. He had stayed calm in spite of Paul's escape, but
she didn't want to push her luck. Eventually, when they had left the town, the
opportunity presented itself.
"Turn
left in a minute, down Armitage Lane”. He seemed familiar with the area. When
she reached the junction, she took the turning with her left hand on the wheel,
hoping that he was looking down the lane. Her luck was in, he didn't see her
throw the handcuffs out, and a lorry coming the other way would have drowned
any noise they made hitting the road. She thought for a moment that she saw his
head turn, in the mirror, but he didn't say anything. But why did he want her
to go along this lane. With a sinking feeling Harriet sensed that things were
going to get worse. Before long a group of farm buildings came into view. "In there" he ordered her,
directing her into the entrance. Two of the buildings were the type that she
knew were called Dutch Barns, and he told her to halt the car close to these.
"Here's
what happens now" he said. "We get out, you first. You do exactly
what I tell you and nothing else. And tonight, I'll be having a drink with my
mates, and you'll be having one with your police mates. Sounds good?"
Not
realising it was a question, Harriet said nothing at first.
"Sound
good? You got that? Do what I say and you'll come out of this alive. Your mate
ran off and left you, but that means I don't have too long. Gonna be
sensible?"
"Yes,
all right" said Harriet. She thought briefly about talking him round,
getting him to give up the machete and turn himself in. But he had the upper
hand, why would he fall for that. She would be better off complying, and
watching out for a chance to get away.
Inside
the barn, hay bales were piled high. There was a mezzanine floor at one end
about eight feet up, with more bales stacked up. She wondered if that was what
was meant by the term "hayloft". An extended wooden ladder led up to
it, and her captor gestured Harriet towards it. "You first" he said. "Don't
try knocking me down once you're up there. If you do I'll take the ladder and
set all this on fire. You'll go up along with the straw ".
Yes,
he probably has got matches or a lighter, she thought He still had the machete
in his hand. She ascended carefully, desperately trying to think of a plan and
hoping he wasn't looking up her skirt. When she stepped on to the wooden
planking she looked back and saw that he was still at the bottom. "Now
take your shoes off, and throw them down to me. Not at me, to me. Remember I've
got the matches".
Was
he just going to take her shoes, maybe take the ladder away, and then drive off
in her car. That would be a welcome change from all the criminals she had come
up against in the past. A change from being bound and gagged and threatened with
murder.
She
sat on a bale of hay and unfastened her shoelaces, then stood up to throw them
down. She couldn't see him, he was somewhere below. She heard what sounded like
the zip on his rucksack. Then he reappeared. "Drop them there" he
pointed to the floor. She threw the shoes down, and watched as he climbed up,
quite nimble considering that he had the machete in one hand. He looked around,
as Harriet did too. There were bales everywhere, but they didn't cover the
whole floor. "Sit down” he said. "Pull up a bale". As she
positioned herself as comfortably as possible, he continued "Shame about
your handcuffs falling out of the car window". As Harriet's jaw dropped
open in amazement, he continued. "Lucky
that some yokel left this behind down below". He unzipped his bag and
pulled out a bundle of twine, an orange-brown colour, that looked to Harriet as
if it had been lying around in the barn for ages. "It's all one piece, but
I can work with that. Don't look so shocked, didn't they tell you at training college
you might get tied up one day?"
Harriet
hadn't realised she looked shocked, but she was still rather stunned. She had
begun to think that she was going to be left in the barn, with no shoes, and
that would be the limit of her discomfort. But now here she was once again ,
the prisoner of a man with yards of rope ."Start with your hands. Like I
said, its one long piece, so hands behind your back, please. I'll do them first
and move on to the rest of you. Frightened?"
Pretend
to be frightened, or try to be nonchalant, Harriet didn't know which. She
wasn't happy, she'd rather not be tied up and left here, but she wasn't
frightened. The man wasn't being threatening, he didn't seem unbalanced. The
sooner he did what he had to and cleared off, the better she would like it. By
now, Paul would have raised the alarm and people would be looking for her. She
decided to be nonchalant. Don't say anything to arouse his interest, she
decided.
"No,
I'm not scared. It's part of the training, like you say". She clasped her
hands behind her back, only to have him rearrange them with her wrists crossed.
“Funny,
isn't it. You said you were showing that young copper the ropes. Now I'm
showing you the ropes. Get it?”
“Hilarious”
muttered Harriet.
“Never
mind” he continued. “You'll get over it”. He got to work. The twine went round
Harriet's wrists twice vertically, then twice horizontally, then he knotted it.
She felt the cord going round her right arm above the elbow, then he was doing
the same at her left elbow. The cords all drew suddenly tighter and he brought
the loose end across her chest, below her breasts, and under her left arm,
round it again and back across to the right arm, round it, then the whole
process seemed to be repeated behind her back. Her arms were soon bound tightly
to her sides, but he wasn't stopping. He carried on, more rope going around her
arms and body, over the ropes that were already in place. When he began, she
had wished she hadn't rolled her shirtsleeves up earlier in the day, but now she
knew the cords were all pulled so tight, the thin white shirt wouldn’t protect
her. She would have rope marks all over her for a few days. Then suddenly he
spoke.
"Stand
up now" he took her by the arm and steadied her as she stood up. He passed
the free end of the cord round behind
her and looped it round her bound hands, before knotting it. She was aware of
him sawing through the cord , presumably with the machete. For a hopeful moment
Harriet thought he had finished tying her up, but he dropped to his knees in
front of her and began to bind her feet together at the ankles, round and round
them, cinching the rope between her legs before taking it up past her knees and
repeating the process. Now she wasn't going to be able to move at all, she
might just be able to wriggle about.
How
much more of this was she going to have to endure, she wondered. She thought he
was in a hurry. Unexpectedly he turned to speak. "Soon be off" he
said. "Thanks for the car. It’s a bit conspicuous what with me being out
of uniform, but it'll do". He patted her on the head in an annoyingly
patronizing way." Once they find the car, and you aren't in it, they'll be
looking for you. Finding me's going to be low priority. I should be, well, a
long way off by then"
Harriet
didn't know if he expected a reply, but he was being quite chatty. No longer
threatening, he didn't need to be now that she was securely tied up. Might as
well salvage something from the situation, she thought. "Look, my bag's in
the boot of the car, my stuff's in it. Could you get it out, leave it here with
me, please?" she asked, trying not to sound too helpless.”Who knows
what'll happen to it if you drive off with it”.
"No
problem, I'll get it" he said, in a helpful tone that caught her off
guard. It had occurred to him that when they found that her bag was gone as
well as her, they might think she was free somewhere. It would be a
distraction, might buy him some time. As they spoke, she realised how
incongruous it seemed, a criminal on the run and his tightly trussed prisoner
having a polite conversation. "Don't go away" he said with a grin,
thinking this was amusing, before disappearing down the ladder. Harriet, sat on
the bale of hay( or was it straw, she didn't know the difference ), was facing in
the wrong direction and couldn't see down below. She wondered if he was
actually going to come back. Part of her hoped he wouldn't, hoped to hear the
car driving away. That way, she wouldn't be getting any unwelcome attention.
But just when she was beginning to think he wouldn't come back, there he was
again. Climbing the ladder, he announced " Got your bag" as he
dropped it on the floor. "And I had a look round in the car. This is going
to come in useful ". He had the white plastic box with a red cross on the
front, the first aid kit. Harriet didn't understand at first, but then he
flipped the lid open and pulled out the tightly rolled gauze bandage.
"Just what's needed to finish the job" he said with an air of
cheerfulness that Harriet didn't share. She didn't need any prompting to guess
what he had in mind. As he unrolled it in front of her, she noted with some
resignation that it seemed to be a three or four metre length. Enough to cause
a lot of discomfort for her, she realised . He folded it in two and tied a bulky
knot half way along its length. Time to plead her case, she decided.
"Look,
I know what you're going to do, but why? Think about it, you've got my car,
you'll be miles away in no time. It's going to take ages for them to find me
anyway, it’s not going to be nice for me, being gagged as well". She knew
she sounded desperate, but that was how she felt. Why the hell did things like
this keep happening to her? Why didn't he just drive off and leave her to walk
home, there hadn't been any need to tie her up at all. It just seemed to her
that whenever a criminal got the better of a WPC, he just couldn't resist
humiliating her. Must make him feel more of a man. And now this man was doing
it.
He
turned and stared at her, when her little tirade was finished. "Sorry,
could you explain a bit better?" he asked quietly.
What's
the matter with you, she thought impatiently. As she opened her mouth to repeat
her speech, a grin spread across his face and he pushed the knotted fabric into
her mouth with one hand, the other hand on the back of her head holding her
still. He quickly knotted the fabric behind her neck, then came back to face
her. Leaning close, he tapped her lightly on the tip of her nose. "It's
not all about what you like. The harder it is for you to get away, the more
time I've got. You're the ones who stopped me, remember. Minding my own
business when you two decide to give me a hard time. Your college-boy mate
legged it and you're in the crap. Not laughing now, are you?"
No,
I'm not, thought Harriet. I just hope this bit of sneering is as bad as it
gets. He is in a hurry, after all. But her hopes were soon dispelled.
"I
don't like cops, and they don't like me" he continued. "You spot me
walking down the road and you just know, don't you. Something about me, isn't
it." Harriet couldn't speak, but she had to agree, he had "dodgy, up
to something " written all over him. "And you" he said "you
remind me of a teacher I had when I was six. She spotted me touching myself
once or twice and decided to make an example of me. Thought that having my bum
slapped in front of the other kids would do me some good. Well, it didn't, but
that's just my opinion. Now, back to you and me. There's enough bandage here to
cover your eyes, but first I want to see your expression, see how you like it.
Stand up!" He took her by the
shoulders and pulled her into an upright position. She decided to go along with
him, bound as she was she had no real options, but struggling might make him
mad. Then to her horror he unbuckled her belt, unbuttoned and unzipped her dark
blue skirt and yanked it down, allowing it to drop to the floor. Harriet stared
as he pulled a second bale. Into position next to the one she had been sitting
on. She knew she was blushing now. Hardly surprising, she was standing there in
her tights and knickers, yet still wearing her shirt, tie and shoes. She felt
ridiculous. She bit on the knotted fabric. She longed to speak, to warn him off
getting into more trouble and to save herself from any more unpleasantness. She
kept quiet though, she knew he would only laugh at her muffled attempts.
"Very
nice!" he commented. "If only you could see your face. I guess you
want to know what comes next. I'm going soon, but first I'm going to blindfold
you and tie you a bit more securely, just to slow you down". He found the
ends of the bandage, and drew them forward. Harriet closed her eyes as first
one piece of fabric, then the second, was pulled tightly across her face. What
was he going to do next, she wondered as he knotted the bandage. She was aware
of some movement, then she was being pulled forward and sideways. Hell, he had
put her over his knee. Oh my god, she thought, is he really going to spank me.
Why do so many of these guys want to do that?
He
spoke again. “That teacher, I dreamed of doing the same to her one day, when I
grew up. And I didn't but you sure remind me of her. You've got the same look,
sort of judging me, and you've got a fat bum just like her. So you'll do
nicely. A chance for me to disrespect an authority figure. Sorry, there's just
something about you”. While he spoke he ran his hand over her bottom.”Like I
said, she had a lovely fat bum just like you. Only then I was the pupil and she
was in charge. Now it's the other way round. Don't suppose you've been spanked
before, have you, liberated modern woman and all that”.
Harriet,
with a knotted bandage stuffed in her mouth, couldn’t answer anyway, but didn't
know what she would have said, if she hadn't been gagged. She knew that as a
modern, liberated woman she should protest loudly, but she also knew she found
it something of a turn-on, being spanked. Her private life hadn't been very
interesting in recent months, in fact she didn't really have one. So there was
a little bit of anticipation building up as his hands crept over her buttocks,
squeezing and patting. It was a shame that it had only ever happened when she
was tied up, she thought, but another part of her was beginning to see being
tied up as almost a kind of foreplay .She did feel somewhat deprived, when she
remembered that the last person to touch her intimately had been a criminal who
had tied her up, and that was probably going to be true of the next time. Any
minute now, she thought, unable to ignore a little rush of excitement.
What
came next took her by surprise. He grasped her bound hands with one hand,
pressing them into the small of her back while continuing to stroke her bottom
with the other. Was he going to pull her panties down? Nothing happened for a
moment , he didn't speak, he caressed
her bottom, some more, running his hand over her white cotton sports knickers.
"Nice" he whispered. His hand moved away, and just as Harriet
realised why, she felt a hard smack, and then another. She was well aware that
he was leaving an interval of suspense for her to anticipate the next one. She
was grateful that he hadn’t pulled her knickers down, it would have been so
hard to control herself, but as she counted the smacks, up to ten ,she was
beginning to feel more aroused anyway. Then he stopped. He relaxed his grip on
her hands. He spoke again, breathlessly” This is wrong. I shouldn’t be doing
this”
.She
thought, if she had been able to speak, she might have said something that she
regretted. Now he wasn't doing anything, and Harriet, lying there bound, gagged
and blindfolded over his knee, had no idea what her immediate future held.
“I
need to get out of here”. He didn't sound as if he was talking to Harriet, it
was more as if he was talking to himself. “What am I going to do with you,
though? If they find you, I'm in trouble, now. They're all looking for you by
now. You'll tell them what I did”
Oh
my god, Harriet thought to herself. Not so long ago he was going on about how
they would be looking for her and not for him. I won't tell them anything, just
let me go, she wanted to scream. She just hoped he wasn't going to panic, and
decide that she had to be silenced for good. It seemed like ages before he
spoke again. She breathed a sigh of relief, or as much of one as her gag would
allow, as he said, a bit more decisive now
"I'll
just make you a little less easy to find". He raised her from her
face-down over his knee position, careful not to drop her, and placed her in a
kneeling position. Unable to see anything, she found it quite unnerving, she
knew the edge of the hayloft was somewhere close, and she didn't want to go
over it by accident. Before she had time to dwell on this, the man had taken
hold of her again and moved her into a sitting position. Then he was doing
something with the ropes again. His hands were on her thighs, she realised he
was passing more of the cord between the bonds at her knees and those round her
body, She felt her knees being pulled up close to her chest, and when she tried
to straighten her legs out again, she couldn't. He was tying her into an
enforced sitting position. She wasn't going to move far, tied like this. But no
sooner had he tied the knots than he was lowering her onto her left side. “Soon
be finished with you” he whispered. Now the cords were being looped round her
already bound ankles, then her feet were pulled back towards her bottom. He
finished the job by passing the last lengths of cord from her feet to her bound
wrists, pulling it uncomfortably tight before knotting it. Trying to picture
herself as others could see her, Harriet guessed that she had been bound into a
ball. An aching, perspiring angry ball of trussed-up policewoman. Now she heard
things moving, what was he up to? If only she could see. As if he could read
her thoughts, he explained. “Just making sure you don’t fall over the edge, my
dear” he said. “Building a wall round you. Oh, and they won't be able to see
you unless they come up here, but we don't want you found in a hurry, do we?”
She heard some more scuffing of hay bales on the boards, then he spoke. He was
nearer again, his voice louder. “I'm off now, here's something to remember me
by”. Before she had a chance to flinch, she felt his hand delivering a final
hard slap across her bottom, right where she was smarting from the recent
spanking. Then to her immense relief, she heard him making his way down the
ladder. Only one smack! She had endured worse. She had worried for a moment
that he might be going to do worse things, but he had come to his senses.
Something to be thankful for.
She
listened as he drove away, in her car. Would she ever see it again? How the
hell was she going to get out of this mess. She couldn't move anything, her
hands felt as if they were fixed permanently behind her back, she couldn't
stretch her legs or sit up. She tried to roll over onto her other side and
found she couldn't even do that. And there was the additional inconvenience of
not being able to see or speak. For what it's worth ,at least he didn't plug my
ears up, she thought. As if all this wasn't bad enough, her bottom was smarting
from the spanking she had received. Not a gentle spanking of the sort a lover
might administer, she thought. More like what you would get from a sadistic
schoolmaster in a nineteenth century novel. There was nothing she could do
about it, with her hands tied. For a moment of horror, she remembered that she
was wearing the white knickers, her skirt was thrown on the floor somewhere
nearby. She desperately hoped his hands weren't too dirty. It would be her own
colleagues who found her, that couldn't be helped, but if whoever untied her
saw a succession of grimy handprints on her
bottom, they would know she had been spanked. There might be some
sympathy, but then there would be weeks of leg-pulling. But maybe, just maybe,
his hands had been clean and she was worrying for nothing. Why should I worry
about it any way, she thought indignantly, I'm the victim here, I didn't make
this happen. She knew why she felt guilty of course, it was an incident in her
childhood. She had wanted to be a policewoman for as long as she could
remember, and there had of course been those childhood games of cops and
robbers, Harriet usually playing the role of cop. Once, when she was eleven,
she had been playing with a cousin and his friend, who were both ten, the boys
being the robbers in the game. Harriet, the cop, had been captured by the
robbers, and taken to a garden shed,
where they tied her hands behind her back. At this point the cousin's parents
(her uncle and aunt) came home, and the boys cravenly went in the house,
leaving Harriet alone to be found by her aunt and taken indoors to explain,
with hands still tied. The boys blamed her for leading them on, and as she was
older, the aunt took their side. And now, twenty years on, bound and helpless
in a farm barn, she was feeling guilty because of it. Snap out of it, girl, she
told herself.
Was
anybody looking for her yet, that was the thing that occupied her mind once she
accepted the fact that she wasn't going to be able to escape. Once Paul had
told the police what had happened there would be a hue and cry, she knew that.
How big an area would they search, though?. Would they find her before it got
dark? Listening out for the sound of approaching rescuers, she was unnerved
that she could hear, quite close, the sounds of movement not far away. Rustling
noises, down below in the barn, movement in the straw. It wasn't the sound of
humans. The more she listened, the more she could hear. She was sure she heard
some squeaking. Was it mice? Don't let it be rats, please.
As
the time slowly passed, Harriet realised that the rodents were down below, and
didn't seem to be up in the hayloft with her. Every few moments she heard a
vehicle in the distance. She hadn't heard any before, but now she was hearing a
few of them. It must be the evening rush hour, or as near as it got to one round
here. How long had she been here? It must be three hours or more. And then, at
long last ,a sound she had been longing to hear. Three vehicles, one after the
other, not far away. Doors closing, voices. Now the voices were down below
her..She tried to squirm around, to make the bales of hay move, to attract
attention, and to grunt as loudly as she could, but she was bound too
stringently into a ball. Nothing moved.
To
her horror, one of the voices said, quite distinctly “Doesn’t look as if she's
in here”. She heard another voice agreeing. Then a third voice. “Hold on, look.
A pair of shoes”.