‘Bitch,’ spat Janelle, pulling herself back to her feet ungraciously. ‘You did that on purpose.’
‘I didn’t even see you coming,’ said Heather, going to move around Janelle to the door.
She had her bag clutched to her chest with the hand that wasn’t bandaged, and thought she’d got away without rebuke, until Janelle grabbed her hair and dragged her backwards. Heather lost the grip on her bag and it fell to the ground as she tried to grab hold of Janelle’s hand with her own, gasping as white hot pain seared through the top of her skull.
‘Janelle, get off me. It was an accident, I’m sorry,’ gasped Heather, her balance going as Janelle gave one last hard tug. Heather felt the roots give way and release a clump of hair into Janelle’s hand as she fell to the floor, the back of her head hitting the carpet with a thump.
‘Next time I’ll do worse than pull your fucking hair out,’ snapped Janelle, throwing the clump at Heather before turning and striding towards the classroom.
Heather scrambled to her feet as the main door opened, and Alan Francis, one of the physics lecturers walked in. He paused, raising an eyebrow at Heather in question.
‘Sorry, Alan, tripped over my own feet and fell over. I’m fine,’ she mumbled, her eyes downcast as she tried to hide the tears that once again welled up as a result of an interaction with Janelle. She could see he didn’t believe her, but she didn’t care. Her head was pounding, and all she wanted to do now was go home. Bugger the class, bugger university, she wanted to bury herself beneath her duvet and never come out again.
‘You don’t look fine, pet. Maybe we should call one of the first aiders, must’ve been quite a tumble.’ She’d already seen him glance down the corridor to see if there was anyone else around.
‘I’m fine, really. I’ve got to get to class. If I’m not right later, I’ll get checked out.’
‘OK, Heather, if you’re sure. Make sure you do. And don’t forget, you’re first on the list for tutorial tomorrow morning. 9am – my office please.’
‘OK, thanks.’ Heather grabbed her bag, and strode outside. Despite wanting to go home, she knew she couldn’t. Whatever happened with Janelle, she loved university and the classes. She winced as she caught her bandaged hand: she’d forgotten her injury and grabbed her bag strap. Maybe she should go and get an X-ray done – it was still really painful and swollen. She checked her watch – she was going to be so late – slung her bag over her shoulder, and ignoring the stinging pain on her head, she practically ran over to the Caulder Building.
4
27th September, 0130 hours – Allotments behind Dodmire School, near Firthmoor
Glen Peacock navigated the Firthmoor estate with ease. He didn’t live there – he lived in a large, comfortable detached house with his parents, in one of the nicer areas of the town. He knew the estate so well because he had quite the cushy little business going now. One that hardly anyone knew about. And the best bit was, he’d never been caught.
He nicked bikes – sheds were a piece of cake to break into, and he was handy with tools, so he stole them, stripped the bikes down, and rebuilt them to make them hard to trace. Then, he used the wonder of social media to sell them on to unsuspecting people. His parents allowed him the use of one of the garages to do his work and never asked questions, believing firmly that he did all this with the allowance he was granted. You could never have enough money, though. And besides, he’d been saving. He wanted to start renting a flat soon. As long as his uni grades stayed up, then his parents’ questions stayed down. And he was happy with the set-up.
He was careful too, only went for mid-range bikes, never anything too expensive or identifiable, and unless he needed cash for something big, he stuck to stealing one or two a month. He stuck to the estate as there was any number of toerags lining up to be spoken to by the police in the event of anything being stolen – no one would ever suspect a well-to-do from the other end of town.
That’s what he’d done tonight too – he’d nicked a bike, quite a nice one to all accounts and purposes, and he’d decided to stop off at the allotments on his way home. One of his dad’s hobbies was growing veg, and over the years, Glen had become somewhat interested; and his dad let him use the allotment in exchange for work done. He quite like plants: there was something satisfying about growing things. So he helped when he could, but he’d used the shed as a place of solitude for years, turning up in the middle of the night, jumping the fence, and steadily drinking himself under the table. Sometimes he met Janelle there too – she was a goer with a bit of vodka in her, and on the odd occasion, they’d satisfy each other – he enjoyed having her grind away on his lap on the old armchair his dad kept in the shed.
Not tonight though – tonight he had another girl on his mind. Heather Blaze. Even just thinking about her turned him on. He’d been showering her with attention lately, there was something about her haunted eyes that enticed him, drew him in and made him want to be with her. She’d been receptive, but it had taken months to get to that point. For maybe eight weeks now they’d been seeing each other outside of uni. She’d been gutted when Janelle had slammed the door on her hand, and he’d had to physically stop himself getting up and going after her. He never understood why Janelle had such a problem with Heather and her friends. Most of the time he laughed along, but he’d never purposely instigated any of the insults. He knew it couldn’t go on, though – deep down, Glen knew that one day soon he would have to choose between his friends and Heather. And despite loving being part of the popular crew, he was fairly sure the side he chose wouldn’t be theirs.
Pulling open the zip on his rucksack, he drew out the bottle of vodka he’d bought earlier in the evening, seated himself in the armchair, and took a long swig.
27th September, 0135 hours – Allotments behind Dodmire School, near Firthmoor
She stood in the shadows and listened intently. It had been hard going keeping up with Glen after he’d broken into the shed on Geneva Road and ridden off on the bike. She’d held her breath when he rode past her while she hid in the trees, so close she could smell his deodorant. She felt the air rush by as he passed her. He rode slowly though, busy texting on his phone while he rode one handed. She was a little out of breath, but it hadn’t taken him long to get to the allotments.
Now he was sitting in the chair, swigging vodka without a care in the world. She felt her anger rise – she hated even looking at him, wondered what it was about him that made him one of them. His dark hair was unruly, styled in that just got out of bed look that loads of the lads wore. She knew he had freckles – not that she’d been looking – it was hard not noticing them when he was stood with Janelle all the time. Maybe it was his clothes that made him fit in? She figured he had the personality of a plank so it had to be the Voi jeans and McKenzie tops he wore frequently.
He’d been there before – she’d followed him a few times now. Naughty boy, bet the others don’t know what you do in the dead of the night. She knew which allotment he went into – had seen him there with his dad a couple of times, and over the last couple of months she’d seen him with Janelle.
She frowned as she thought about Janelle, Dirty cow – shagging him like that with the shed door open and the lamp on. It was an oil burner lamp – like the kind they’d had in the Victorian days – there was no electricity on the allotment site. Janelle wasn’t there now, though.
She’d watched as he’d hidden the bike he’d nicked behind some bushes, climbed the fence and went inside. She’d heard the clink of the padlock as he unlocked the gate to his dad’s allotment, and giving him a few minutes to get settled, she’d hopped over the fence herself. From her position in the next allotment along, she could see right into the shed.
It was so dark tonight – there was barely even a glow from the moon. But her eyes adjusted, and the glow from the shed door illuminated a good section of his allotment. It didn’t take her long to figure out the best route to sneak up on him.
It took Glen
a couple of hours, but eventually he’d fallen into an alcohol induced slumber, an old, tatty blanket wrapped tightly around him. Silently, she hopped over the three foot fence that divided up the allotment gardens, and made her way towards the shed.
The lamp burned brightly, its flame kept alive by the steady stream of fuel from the well beneath the wick. It caught her attention, enticing her, teasing her with its flickering movement. This was almost too easy.
She knew where the diesel for the mowers and other machinery was kept – an old oil drum with a makeshift tap attached sat right next to the shed. Taking the bucket from in front of the door, she quietly poured the water out and refilled it with fuel.
Standing in the doorway with the full bucket, she glared at Glen with pure hatred.
‘For all the times you stood and watched while the bitch hurt me, hurt my friends. For all the times you made your snarky little comments about me. Well, enough’s enough! Glen Peacock, enough is e-bloody-nough. Tonight you die. Maybe this will teach that cow that she can’t treat people like she does and not expect retribution.’ Her words were softly spoken and he didn’t even stir.
Nor did he move when she poured a large pool around his feet and over the blanket that covered him. She threw the rest of the accelerant in a stream leading from him to the door, grabbing the lantern on her way out.
She didn’t falter as she lifted the lamp up, and threw it hard, almost feeling it smash against the floor of the shed. Flames flickered towards him rapidly, greedily eating up the flammable liquid, and by the time Glen came to enough to realise what was happening, it was too late.
She stepped back into the shadows of the next allotment along, as he let out an agonised scream, now fully ablaze. She smiled. He looked like a human torch, flailing about, screaming as the burning heat scorched his skin, sizzling and sputtering as it enveloped him completely.
Eventually he stopped screaming, he’d fallen to the ground in front of the shed, curling up tightly in a ball.
And there he stayed.
27th September, 0420 hours – Edina’s residence
Something had woken Edina. Her hand had instinctively gripped the cold, hard metal of the extra-large Maglite torch she slept with and her eyes were open, staring at the lit gap beneath the bedroom door.
She pretended to herself that the landing light was left on in case she needed to visit the bathroom in the middle of the night. But she knew it was a lie. The light was on so if anyone walked across her landing they would cast a shadow and she would see it. The same as the clear plastic shower curtain over the bath prevented people from hiding in the bath, or sneaking up on her while she showered.
Paranoid? Yes, definitely. But with the letters still coming, who could blame her?
It didn’t seem to matter how many times she handed the letters to the police, they never seemed to yield any forensic evidence. She’d racked her brain god knew how many times over the last eight months, analysed every person she came across in her life, everyone that she talked to on a daily basis. She still hadn’t been able to pin it to anyone.
At first, she’d thought it had been Cam, doing it to freak her out in retaliation for causing him to be moved to another station. But it had been about four months since she’d even seen him – and the last time they’d run into each other, he’d understandably ignored her completely. Now she wasn’t so sure.
Knowing she wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep now, she reluctantly pushed the duvet off her and silently padded downstairs. She carried the Maglite from room to room checking the locks, making herself feel safe. She hated that whoever he was, he had a hold over her like this. She’d never felt so vulnerable – and so utterly alone – in her life.
Her family knew about the letters – her mum encouraged her to move back in at every opportunity, but Ed was too stubborn. Her face set in new determination – this is my home, dammit. I will not be scared out of my own home by someone so afraid of me that he can’t even confront me.
Fear still niggled, though – how could it not when he came into her home, invaded her personal space, then disappeared without a trace.
Opening the fridge to grab a bottle of juice, she froze as her eyes settled on something strange to her, something out of place. The juice fell from her hands as she realised what it was – on the middle shelf of her fridge, was a plate with a dead kitten on it, her kitchen knife sticking out of its tiny chest.
27th September, 0640 hours – CSI Department, Darlington Police Station
Kevin rushed through the back door of the station and all but ran up the stairs that led to the CSI office. Normally he liked to be in before 6.30am to get the kettle on and cups set out: in his opinion everyone functioned better on a morning cup of coffee, and he used it to get the staff together so they could go over the briefing and jobs list for the day. Today though, he was late – the stupid alarm on his work mobile phone had failed to sound again – for the second time that week. Grumbling to himself, he acknowledged he needed a new phone.
No sooner had he walked into his office and put his bags down, one of the CID officers walked in.
‘Hi, Kev, you got a sec?’
‘Yeah sure, what’s up?’ Kev looked the man up and down discreetly. DC Bennett was relatively new to the role, and had the kind of aura about him that just screamed ‘progression’. He was intent on working his way up the ladder, and it came across in the slightly arrogant way he dealt with jobs.
‘Just been called to chat to this woman who’s come in – she’s been getting letters left in her house, doesn’t know how the guy is getting in. Seems to be escalating though, `cos at four this morning she’s gone for a drink and found a kitten in her fridge with a knife in its belly.’
Kev sat back, ‘Jesus. Who is he? An ex or something?’
‘She doesn’t know. Says she’s changed the locks six times in the last eight months, she’s had a surveyor in to look around – nada. No idea how the dude is getting in. You don’t fancy going and having a look, do you? See if there’s anything we might have missed? Do a full forensic on the house? She’s pretty freaked out.’
Kev stopped himself smirking at the term full forensic – there really was no such thing. Every examination was a full forensic. Forensic didn’t even pertain to the actual examination of something – but most people didn’t know that. It actually meant ‘pertaining to’ something and originally was a term used in discussion and debates. Now it was bandied around as part of science, the original meaning lost in translation. He didn’t bother explaining though.
‘Have we got a log number?’
‘Yeah, it’s 126 of today. She’s still in my office, if you want to have a chat with her, maybe get her availability if your guys aren’t free to go now?’
He nodded and followed the DC out of his office, down the hall and across into the CID office. When Edina Blaze looked up from the coffee she was cradling in her hand, his heart thudded loudly in his chest.
‘Edina. You’re the person whose house has been invaded?’ Kev peered around the room quickly, not realising how accusatory his tone sounded. She obviously picked up on it, though, because her response was sharp.
‘Yes. Don’t tell me you’re the CSI coming to examine my house?’
‘Actually he’s a crime scene manager, ma’am,’ interrupted DC Bennett, flashing a slightly sarcastic smile at Kevin – it screamed ‘these plebs just don’t get the lingo’.
He saw Ed’s eyes widen, and her lips parted as if she was about to make a retort when she shouldn’t have to. Feeling his hackles rise, Kevin bit back a snarky retort, instead directing his voice to Edina. ‘Not working today, Ed? No fire call outs?’
DC Bennett looked a little confused, but Edina picked up on Kev’s strategy straight away. ‘No, I’ve a meeting with the fire chief later on, though, Mal’s on duty today too. Hoping for a quiet one so I can get my reports finished. Did you want a copy from the house the other day again? I can’t recall?’
B
ennett’s face reddened as realisation dawned. Turning, he left the office silently, leaving Kev to sort out availability with Ed.
‘Sorry, I couldn’t resist. He seems canny but he’s a cocky sod.’
Ed smiled. ‘I gathered.’
‘So, having some issues at home, I hear? If you’re free now I’ll pop back with you and have a look around.’
‘Sooner the better if I’m honest. The letters I can cope with… it’s scary but it’s happened so often I try not to get too freaked out. But this –’
He watched her shudder in disgust, noticed her face turn grey. Whether she thought she was handling it well or not, it still had an impact.
Motioning to the door, Kev realised a little late that he’d placed his hand at the small of her back to guide her through to his office – too late to wonder if she’d take offence, but she didn’t mention it, so he left it there.
27th September, 0705 hours – Edina’s residence
‘So Bennett said you’ve been having issues for some time? He mentioned letters?’ queried Kevin, as he stood in the doorway and used his torch to illuminate the area around the lock mechanism.
‘Yeah,’ sighed Ed, ‘I’ve had several letters – have taken them all to the police but they’re all scrawl – they’ve been sent for forensics and whoever it is knows enough not to leave fingerprints. The scariest thing is not knowing how he gets in. Locks have been changed loads. Is there such a thing as a skeleton key? Or is that completely too conspiracy-theory-esque?’
‘Maybe a little,’ grinned Kevin, but he straightened his face as he shook his head, ‘nothing to indicate any issues with the front door. Mind if I have a look round? I’m going to take some photos and see if anything pops. Is the kitten still in the fridge?’
Watch You Burn Page 4