by L M Krier
He was the picture of concerned compassion as he went round to the passenger door to help her out. The next door neighbour on one side was in her front garden, doing something to the plants in the border.
He gave her a beaming smile and a friendly wave.
‘I’ve just had to take the wife to Casualty. She managed to trap her leg in the car door, poor thing.’
He was almost tender as he helped her to her feet, giving her his arm for support.
‘Oh, you poor dear!’ the neighbour exclaimed. ‘That sounds so painful. Do give me a knock or a shout if there’s anything at all I can do to help you when your hubby’s at work.’
He saw her carefully to the front door before the mask slipped and he was sneering at her once more.
‘Get upstairs to bed, you stupid bitch. I’ll see to you in a minute, once I’ve got your bag out of the boot.’
It was as much the fear of what was to come as the pain of her leg throbbing under the bandage which made tears start to her eyes again. She bit down hard on her lip to stop any sound escaping. Nothing which would unsettle and upset the boy any more than he already was. She’d seen the suspicion in his eyes. Had hated lying to him. Hated even more the certainty that he had been lying in return when he talked about what the nurse had said to him.
Did that mean she was on record somewhere as being at risk of domestic abuse? And was that going to make her situation better? Or worse?
She wasn’t quite sure what was going to happen next. Go to bed, he’d told her. But surely he wasn’t thinking of…?
Surely not.
Even he wouldn’t do something as sadistic as that.
Would he?
She slipped off her cardigan. The trousers were going to need washing anyway, because of the blood on them. She changed them for something with a looser fit, so they wouldn’t press on the painful area. She sat on the bed and carefully lifted her legs to stretch them out, pulling a cover over them.
Then she waited. Starting to shake with the delayed shock, the pain, and the fear of what was to follow.
She heard his heavy tread on the stairs not long after. Then heard him open the door of the boy’s room and go in there. The sound of drawers opening and closing.
The anticipation of waiting was as bad as anything he might have come up with to inflict on her.
When he came into the room and she saw the knife in his hand, she had to make a conscious effort to clench her pelvic floor muscles to stop the threatened flood of urine. It was the biggest, sharpest and most lethal of the butcher’s knives from the block in the kitchen.
His other hand gripped the three green cross bags, and the handles of the new holdall she’d bought when she was planning her escape. He put all the bags on the end of the bed near her feet. Put the knife down while he carefully, neatly, he took out all of her clothes and put them away, each in the right drawer or on the correct shelf.
Then he picked the knife up once more and brought it down savagely, onto the holdall, slashing and tearing at the material until it was in pieces.
Almost conversationally, he told her, ‘You won’t be needing that any more. Don’t even think about trying that trick again, and certainly not taking the boy with you. His place is with me.’
She was shaking so violently now that he must have been aware of it; seen the way the cover was moving with every convulsive twitch of her muscles. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the methodical way he was ripping the bag to shreds.
When he’d finished, knife still in hand, he gathered up the three paper bags, moved closer to her, and emptied them out into her lap. Six packets of paracetamol.
Still without raising his voice, he said, ‘I’ve told you before, bitch. When you decide to leave me, the boy stays with me. This is the way you do it.’
He jabbed the knife towards the small boxes, lying on top of her trembling legs.
Then he brought the blade up suddenly until it was touching the underside of her chin, the point digging in but not yet piercing the skin.
‘That. Or this.’
Chapter Six
‘Right, pay attention everyone. You should all have a copy of the Operation Order for tomorrow.’
Kevin Turner was briefing his Uniform officers on Friday morning in preparation for the weekend, when they were expecting things to get lively in the town.
‘You will have noticed that us mere mortals have been joined by four extra bodies from up there in the hallowed grounds of CID. For those who don’t know them, our other reinforcements from elsewhere, for instance, we have DS Rob O’Connell, and DCs Virgil Tibbs, Jezza Vine and Steve Ellis. Don’t let the sharp suits put you off. Come tomorrow, they’ll be digging their uniforms out of their lockers, blowing off moths and cobwebs, and coming to join us for the fun.’
His tone had been light-hearted up to now, but he became more serious as he went on.
‘You all know that when the barking mad idea of allowing rallies for two such diametrically opposed groups of individuals to take place on the same day in the same area was first raised, there were strenuous objections. Not just from the police, but from the other emergency services, too. Not to mention various shopkeepers worried about getting their windows kicked in.
‘But the powers that be in their wisdom, or lack of it, decided it smacked too much of a police state to ban either or both. So it’s up to us to deal with the consequences. And not to put too fine a point on it, it’s not likely to be a teddy bears’ picnic.
‘DCI Darling has kindly lent us his four finest. Even more appreciated as we know they’re stretched to the limit themselves at the moment, with a suspected murder and a nasty scam on their books.
‘The observant amongst you will also have spotted our colleagues from the Mounted unit here. I’d like to thank them for coming to this briefing. That means we’ve also got a mounted presence for additional crowd control. So Ronan,’ he looked directly at a tall and lanky younger officer sitting in the front row, where he could stretch out his long legs, ‘try not to get your big feet trodden on by a police horse, okay?’
There was some laughter, as the constable self-consciously bent his legs to draw his large feet back underneath him, where they were less noticeable.
Then Kevin switched abruptly back to formal mode once more. There was a visible change in the atmosphere. Officers instinctively sitting up straighter at the change in him.
‘Our presence at the fun and games is for one purpose only. We are there to calm and contain. We are there to stop the two factions knocking lumps out of one another. We are not – repeat, not – there to fan the flames until it becomes a full scale riot. And don’t forget, if we all survive tomorrow, there’s a strong possibility that we’ll have to do the same thing all over again on Sunday, too. If they’re all enjoying themselves, and Stockport’s hospitality, not all of them will leave tomorrow night.
‘There is to be no question of any behaviour at all which could get us press or social media headlines about police brutality. Remember, it’s not only the press and media we have to look out for these days. It’s people with their mobile phones out, doing everything they can to make us look bad, at every opportunity.
‘I’m in charge of this whole operation and believe me, if anything bad appears on social media about any of you, and if your body cam recording doesn’t clear you of any wrongdoing beyond any doubt, you’ll have me to answer to. So make sure you all read the Operation Order and are very clear about your deployment tomorrow. Understood?’
Heads nodded. There were a few mutters of, ‘guv’ or ‘sir’. They all knew how easily phone footage could be manipulated to make their actions look worse than they were, which is why they were glad of the body cameras front line officers now wore as standard, to show what actually happened when it got contentious.
Kevin Turner was looking round at the assembled officers. He had no doubts at all about putting Virgil, Rob and Jezza in the front line. Young Steve Ellis was a different matt
er altogether. He looked as if he wouldn’t say boo to a goose at the best of times. Which was why he’d paired him off with Rob O’Connell for the operation. Rob should be able to keep half an eye on him, at least. Today Steve looked even paler than usual, and as if a good night’s sleep wouldn’t go amiss.
Kevin decided to have a word with Jo Rodriguez at some point, to see if there was anything going on with Steve which he needed to know about. Now Ted was high-flying in his new role, Kev wouldn’t get to see as much of him as he had previously. If the weekend was even half as lively as he feared it might be, he couldn’t afford to be carrying anyone. So if there was anything of concern, he’d sooner drop Steve before things began than deal with the repercussions if he didn’t.
DS Ramsay’s report had reached Ted by end of play Thursday as requested, but only just. It was light on detail, so it hadn’t taken him long to read through. He wished he could spare someone senior, like Jo Rodriguez, to go over there for a few days to shake the lot of them up, but his team had enough on their own books to keep them all busy.
Reading it, then replying in strong terms to leave Ramsay in no doubt that he was not happy, had made Ted slightly later home than he’d anticipated. Trev had the meal ready and it was his turn to be in Riot Act reading mode from the moment Ted walked into the kitchen.
‘You have remembered that you can’t be so much as one minute late tomorrow, haven’t you? Not one second. I am so looking forward to this handfasting lark of Bizzie’s. I may never speak to you again if you don’t get me there for the start of the fun.’
Trev had been wardrobe consultant for the occasion to forensic pathologist Bizzie Nelson, as the two of them had become somewhat unlikely but very good friends.
Ted was busy greeting cats while Trev dished up their food.
‘And more importantly, you have remembered that we are going there on Saturday as well? And possibly even on Sunday, depending on how long the festivities keep going?’ Trev asked.
‘It seems a strange sort of a ceremony to me, running over the entire weekend.’
‘It’s a new one on me, too, but it sounds an absolute hoot, so I’m determined we should be there for as much of it as we can. Now, what was that word I told you to memorise and apply, now you’re the Big Boss?’
Ted smiled patiently at him as he sat down and Trev put their plates on the table.
‘Delegate.’
‘Exactly! Remember how many times you had to cover for Big Jim when he was DCI and you were his DI. So now it’s your turn to take advantage of your new position and delegate to Jo. You know he’s more than capable.’
‘Jim was always on the end of the phone if I needed him, though ...’
‘Don’t you even think of it, Ted. I mean it. If necessary I’ll hide the battery out of yours so you can’t be summoned. Delegate. Leave it to Jo. Anyone would think you didn’t trust him.’
Ted gave Jo the edited highlights of his conversation when they caught up with one another after briefing on Friday morning.
‘I’m glad Trev has faith in me, at least,’ Jo told him with a smile.
‘I do too, Jo, honestly. It’s only the control freak in me who finds it hard to let go. There’s a lot going on this weekend and we’re stretched thin.’
‘And the most important thing for you this weekend is to be at this handfasting ceremony. I’m intrigued by it all. I never imagined the Professor to be some sort of closet hippy, I have to confess.
‘And speaking of the Prof, with her going off on her honeymoon, it will be someone we don’t know as well for the PM on our potential murder victim, so let’s hope they can give us as many answers as she would do. Do you want me to send Mike to that?’
‘It’s his case, so I think he should go, don’t you? He doesn’t have to look at anything, and tell him to put some Vick’s under his nose if he’s worried about the smell. What else on that case?’
‘I’ve been trying to find out from Children’s Services about getting someone to talk to the son. I know he’s very young, but he could still possibly give us some valuable insight into what was going on in that household. It would need someone with the right training, of course. They’ll have their own people with him, no doubt, but we need one of our team to talk to him. I was going to send Maurice, as long as the lad wasn’t likely to be afraid of men. He must have seen some terrible goings on, I imagine. If we could just get him to meet Daddy Hen it would probably be all right.’
DC Maurice Brown, in famous Daddy Hen mode, had been worth his weight in gold on more than a few occasions, dealing with traumatised young victims of crime in particular.
‘The best thing would be to get Maurice to go and talk to Children’s Services himself, then let them decide if he’d be all right talking to the boy, with them chaperoning. If not, we’ll need to find a female officer with Victim Support training.
‘What about the victim’s medical records? Have you managed to get hold of those yet?’
He knew he wouldn’t have to chase his own team up like he was doing with those from Ashton. He simply liked to keep himself up to date with everything which was happening.
‘We’re following up that up at the moment. She was apparently on pills for depression or something like that. There were also some incidents which could have been accidental, self-inflicted or things done to her by the live-in partner. Hence the need to interview as many people as possible who knew either of them.’
‘But nothing flagged up anywhere about possible domestic abuse?’
Jo shook his head.
‘If she’d been seen by anyone who had any suspicions of something going on at home, it never got noted in writing, for whatever reason. More’s the pity, if it’s been going on on a regular basis for some time. There’s a chance her life could have been saved, if it had been picked up and acted on.’
‘You’re sure we’re all right, dressed like this?’ Ted asked anxiously.
There were so many cars parked near to Bizzie Nelson’s large house in Davenport that they’d had to park some distance away and walk down.
‘We’re not going to be the only ones not in black tie, or anything like that?’
Trev laughed at the question.
‘Ted, no one wears black tie to a hippy handfasting. Trust me. We’re both going to be fine. And just wait until you see Bizzie. I can guarantee you won’t recognise her after my stylist sessions.’
They were lucky with the weather. Bizzie’s plan had been to have as much of the celebration taking place in the large back garden as was possible. The house was big, but it would still have been a squash to get everyone inside. Ted was surprised by how many people were there. He’d always thought of Bizzie as someone quite solitary, too wrapped up in her work to have time for socialising. Perhaps most were guests of her partner, Douglas Campbell.
As they’d been instructed, Ted and Trev headed down the side of the house to the garden, where people were congregating. There were flowers everywhere, strewn from trees, filling vases on the long tables laid with drinks, glasses and nibbles.
Bizzie saw them first, before they spotted her, waved enthusiastically, and came striding over. Ted was stunned. Trev hadn’t been exaggerating. The pathologist was wearing a long, embroidered ivory kaftan which transformed her. Her short, wiry grey hair was softly curled and sporting random rosebuds. She also had on some light and discreet make-up, the first time Ted had ever seen her wear any. She was positively beaming with evident delight at the sight of them.
At her side trotted a young Staffy dog, all lolling tongue and lingering puppy fat, also wearing a garland of white flowers. Trev greeted Bizzie with one of his famous engulfing hugs and to Ted’s surprise, she leaned towards him for a chaste touching of cheeks.
The dog had a cursory sniff at Ted’s leg before mounting it and starting to hump away enthusiastically.
‘Spilsbury, you disgusting hound! Stop that at once,’ Bizzie admonished him. ‘I’m so pleased to see you both. I do hope you’
ll be able to participate for much of the weekend.’
Trev fished into Ted’s jacket pocket and pulled out his work phone.
‘Look, Exhibit A. One work phone. Firmly switched off for the occasion. And Ted, tell Bizzie the word I’ve been teaching you.’
Ted grinned sheepishly.
‘Delegate. I’ve left Jo in charge, with strict instructions not to contact me unless extremely urgent.’
‘Wonderful! Come and get some drinks.’
She turned and swept away, Trev following her.
Ted stood rooted to the spot. Trev noticed and turned back to him.
‘Are you coming?’
‘I can’t. The dog’s sitting on my foot. And it’s pissed in my shoe.’
* * *
She could see straight away from his high colour that he’d been drinking. He must have driven home like that. She could also tell at a glance that he would be well above the limit if he was tested. He was arrogant enough to think he’d get away with it if stopped.
It seemed to have put him in good spirits, literally, at least for the time being. Unusually, he moved to plant a beery kiss on her cheek as he walked into the kitchen. She tried not to recoil in horror from his touch. She didn’t want to do anything to anger him. She knew the good mood wouldn’t last long, but she was anxious not to precipitate its end too soon.
‘What’s to eat? I could eat a scabby donkey.’
‘Smoked haddock,’ she told him anxiously.
He usually liked that, but she could never tell. She was always so careful to remove every single bone or piece of skin before she served it to him.
‘With a poached egg on top?’
‘Of course, if you’d like one. I can easily do that for you.’
She was silently praying as she spoke that she would manage to get it exactly right. He was always so fussy about how he would eat his poached eggs. Which was why she avoided making one, unless he insisted.