by Ann Evans
She slammed the drawer shut. “I can manage! I've managed well enough with those two maniacs, I'm sure I'm capable of finding two plastic bags in my own kitchen!” Her voice broke on a sob and her shoulders hunched.
His arms went around her, pulling her close. She was trembling, and even though her eyelids were squeezed shut, tears forced their way through her lashes. Words tumbled from her lips, coming out in huge distraught sobs. “Oh Ian, I never thought I’d see home again. I thought we were going to die. I thought we’d be m... murdered. He told Nash to finish us off, only he couldn’t, so he hid us in the attic, and because of that, he ended up dead instead. They fought, and there was this awful crash when the stairs gave way, and he died.”
Ian led her into the lounge, settled her onto the sofa and sat close, his arms tightly around her. Between sobs she described the horrendous place where she'd been held captive, and all the while, he'd been here, whining on about the rotten time he was having.
“He raped me, Ian. The worst one, Vincent. And he hit me… hurt me.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Ian groaned, wishing he could close his ears, as she told him everything. He listened in misery, despising himself. Loving her more than life itself. When she was all talked out, he held her close, cradling her in his arms, rocking her gently.
She needed to bathe, and he ran a bath for her. He wanted to ask if he could help sponge her back, wash her hair. But she said she'd manage. Whether she would ever allow any intimacies ever again, he didn't know. He closed the bathroom door, went downstairs and made hot chocolate for Lucy.
Lucy was asleep before Julia came back downstairs. He made food for her, and sat watching her as she ate. She said no more about her ordeal. The silence made him wonder if it was his cue to admit to his affair.
“You know how sorry...” he began, but she stopped him.
“I don't want to hear. Not now... not yet.” She got to her feet. “I'm tired, Ian. I'll go to bed.”
With her settled, he rang Steph, who broke into sobs of relief when she heard they were safely back. She promised to come around in the morning.
Julia was fast asleep when he slid between the sheets. He lay close to her, breathing in her scent, his arm across her waist. But he couldn't sleep. Torturous images were running through his head. He wanted to kill the heinous bastard who had done this to his family. Hopefully, they would find two bodies in the ashes. He would ring O'Ryan first thing and find out.
When he did eventually sleep, he slept like a log, and awoke to find Julia’s side of the bed empty. Panic seized him, until he heard her downstairs. The radio was on, and he could hear her moving about. Moments later, Lucy shuffled into his room and climbed into bed beside him. He cuddled her. “How’s your hands and knees, sweetie?”
“A bit sore. Where’s Mummy?”
“Downstairs. Come on, let's go and have breakfast. Are you hungry?”
“Starving. Did you wash Mister Brown?”
“I'll do that after breakfast.”
She chuckled. “Shall we peg him out on the line to dry.”
“Good idea,” he smiled, marvelling at her powers of recovery. At least he hoped she was on the mend. The physical injuries would heal. It was the scars on her mind that worried him most – and on Julia’s, too.
Lucy brought an armful of toys downstairs with her, which were soon scattered around the living room. In the kitchen, Julia was struggling to set out the breakfast things with her hands bandaged.
She smiled at him and his heart turned over. “It's like wearing boxing gloves. I can't do anything.”
“I'm sorry for putting you through all this. If I hadn't been such a blasted fool...”
“I know.” She looked earnestly at him. “Are you still seeing her?”
“No. I ended it the night you left me. I'm a fool. I've no excuses. I hope you'll forgive me. I understand if you can't.”
She didn't answer, but continued trying to make breakfast.
“Let me do that,” he offered, putting spoons by bowls.
“I'll get dressed – if I can find anything to wear...” her voice trailed off.
“We'll go clothes shopping, as soon as you're up to it.”
“Lucy's going to need a new school uniform too.”
“It's only clothes. You're what matters. You're safe now.”
She went to go upstairs, but stopped by the kitchen door, looking at the crack in the glass. “What happened?”
“I was a bit frantic and frustrated when the police were putting the blame on me.”
“For what? For Benjamin?” she asked, aghast.
“It's sorted now.”
“We'll have to get it fixed.”
“Yes.”
She stood in the doorway. “Will you speak to the police today, ask them, Ian. Ask how many bodies they found in the house.”
“I will.”
“And ask about Bessie. See how she is.”
He smiled. It was wonderful to have his family back.
Chief Inspector O’Ryan was the second caller of the morning. Stephanie was the first, arriving as they were finishing breakfast. She listened in horrified silence as to what they'd gone through. When the police arrived, she took Lucy off into the garden.
“How are you feeling?” O'Ryan asked, addressing the question to the both of them, although Ian guessed it was Julia he actually cared about.
To his surprise and delight, she slid her arm through his. “Recovering.”
Ian covered her hand with his own.
“I'm glad to hear that.” O'Ryan glanced out of the window. “Who’s the woman with your daughter?”
“My sister, Stephanie,” Julia answered.
O'Ryan nodded. “She's an amazing little girl. There's help, you know, if she starts having nightmares or flashbacks – and that goes for the both of you.”
Ignoring his offer, Julia asked sharply, “How many bodies did you find?”
He hesitated before answering. “Just the one. Michael Nash. Dental records have confirmed who he was. He’d had a lot of dental treatment, after getting his face badly gashed. A nasty piece of work. He’d done a bit of time. Seems he had a real chip on his shoulder, because of his appearance. A violent so-and-so, by all accounts.”
“He saved our lives,” said Julia softly. “That’s what the fight was about. He hid us in the attic, and told Vincent he’d killed us and buried us. He was the worst one—Vincent. That man has no compassion, no mercy.”
“And that’s why we need to find him,” said the Inspector. “We will get him, have no fear. In fact, one of my reasons for calling round is to ask if you could come into the station, and look through some pictures. Later this afternoon would be good. See if you can identify this Vincent character.”
“Yes, he needs to be found, locked up...” her voice trailed away, and Ian felt her shudder.
“Also, I'm afraid your car probably won’t be back with you this side of Christmas. Our men are going over it, but it needs to stay impounded, until everything is sorted.”
“I don’t want it back!” Julia said sharply. She turned to Ian. “I don’t! I never want to see it again. Please, Inspector, get rid of it.”
Ian squeezed his wife’s hand. “I’ll see to it, sweetheart. We won’t bring it back here, I promise.”
“And the other thing I needed to speak to you about, Mrs. Logan,” said O’Ryan, “is to ask you to accompany me to your neighbour’s house, and see if you can help us sort out what's been taken. I would appreciate it if we could do that as soon as possible. Now, if you could.”
“I'll try,” agreed Julia. “I know he kept a record of his valuables. Insurance purposes, I imagine. There'll be photographs on his computer. He may have been old, but he was on the ball with technology.”
“That will come in very useful. If we have a list of items that might suddenly come onto the market, then we may catch our man a lot quicker.”
Jul
ia eased her arm free from Ian's. “I'll get my coat. Ian, don't let Lucy out of your sight.”
“She's only in the garden with Steph. She's fine, sweetheart.”
“But, he's still out there – that Vincent,” she said, her voice rising. “We're still witnesses. Have you forgotten that?”
“He's not going to come back here,” Ian promised. But, the moment Julia got her coat and went out to speak to her sister and Lucy, O'Ryan stepped a little closer to him.
“Your wife is right, Mr. Logan. Be on your guard. Vigilant at all times. He will be running scared now, and he’s got nothing to lose. With his partner dead, he’s going to cop for everything – the murder, the robbery, the kidnapping. Your wife is a vital witness. It's possible he might try and make sure she can't testify against him in court.”
Ian's heart sank. He'd thought the nightmare was over, but the way the Inspector was speaking, it may well only just have begun.
While Julia was with O’Ryan over at Benjamin's house, he took a steadying breath, and rang his boss at work. He couldn't go back there; it wasn't fair on Shelley. God only knew how they'd manage without his salary; he hoped Julia would understand.
The first thing he had to do when Tony Wyndham came on the line was to apologise for lying about his absence from work. He babbled on, talking quickly about what had gone on; about Julia and Lucy; about the neighbour being killed; about his affair with Shelley; about the fact the murder would be in the papers; about resigning.
When he finally ran out of words, there was a long silence on the other end of the phone, before Tony spoke. “Bloody hell, Ian. You don't do things by halves, do you!”
They talked some more, with Ian answering the barrage of questions that came flying his way once Tony had got over the initial shock.
“It will probably be all over the papers,” Tony added.
“Hopefully, the Press won't have picked up on my wife and daughter's kidnapping.”
“And you think resigning from your job is going to help them?”
“Well, no but...”
“Exactly! You're going nowhere. We need you here.”
“It's not fair on Shelley...”
“We'll sort something. For now, you look after that family of yours, Ian. Take a couple of weeks off. Get yourself, and them, sorted, okay?”
Ian finally put the phone down, feeling a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. They needed the police to put a name to the murdering bastard who kidnapped and raped his wife, and life would be back on track.
CHAPTER 34
Shelley de Main read the newspaper story with morbid curiosity. Stories were always more interesting when you knew the people involved personally. Not that she’d ever met Benjamin Stanton, but he lived, or had lived, on the same road as Ian, and according to the papers, his wife did the old man’s shopping. The entire incident was quite a saga – headline news.
She folded the paper, and slipped it into her bag. She’d read it in more detail once she got to work. She needed to go in, although she doubted Ian would make an appearance. The place would be buzzing with talk. Roger hadn’t wanted her to go into work, thinking she was too upset after being attacked. At one point, he’d even hinted at her attacker being linked to this burglary. How right he was, but she dismissed his suggestion out of hand.
As she guessed, the office was in an uproar. Everyone was talking about the murder of Ian Logan’s neighbour, and there were now stories filtering out about his wife and daughter being involved, somehow. She joined in the debate; subtly hinting about how strange it was Ian hadn’t been in work these last few days. He could be more involved than the papers were saying. As she joined in with the gossip, she didn't actually say arrested, but she enjoyed splattering the mud about, in the hope some would stick.
She wasn’t surprised to be called into the managing director’s office later that morning. He was probably eager to know what was being said, but he could hardly be seen to be out there gossiping.
Tony Wyndham indicated the leather chair near his desk. “Please sit down, Shelley.”
She sat, looking steadily at him, eager to continue the assassination of Ian Logan’s character. Tony was quite attractive in a stocky sort of way, a little thin on top, but didn’t that denote a man’s virility. Or was that a fallacy put about by balding men. It might be interesting to find out.
He leaned back in his chair, fingers entwined, a questioning look in his eyes. “Shelley, I gather you've read the papers—this awful murder that's happened on Ian's street.”
She cut him off in mid-sentence. “It makes you wonder, doesn't it? And the fact he's not in work...”
Tony reined back. “Hold on. Ian's not at work, because he's got some personal issues. I'm not sure how long he'll be off – until he's sorted, simple as that.”
She avoided his stare. Typical the boys all stick together. She wondered how much he knew. Ian had hinted about resigning. Well, it didn't look that way now. For a moment, she wasn't sure whether that pleased her, or not. Although there was no way she'd allow him to crawl back into her bed, after what he'd done. She took a deep breath. “Was he involved with the murder? You know I've always thought he was too perfect to be true.”
“No,” Tony Wyndham said, flatly. “He has some personal issues – you being one of them.”
She felt her cheeks colouring. “What are you talking about?”
“He rang me yesterday, wanting to hand in his notice. Basically, Shelley, I know about the two of you, and it's clear you can't work in close proximity, so better all-round if we moved you to the sub-branch...”
“Moved me!”
“No change in pay.”
Her mouth fell open. “Are you serious? Ian Logan is probably involved in this to-do right up to his neck. Why the hell didn't you accept his resignation?”
He leant forward across his desk, his voice low. “Because he's good at his job, and I don't want to lose him. Plus, he's already been through hell.”
“He's been through hell?”
“He has, and I'm not adding to his problems.” He got to his feet. “Well, that's all for now. Take this week to get your move sorted. You'll be fine. You can recover the additional fuel costs on expenses.”
Her cheeks were flaming, and her thoughts spinning. There was no point arguing. She would have to tell Roger this move to the sub-branch was promotion. But, she was going to find some other way of making Mr. Perfect Ian Logan suffer.
As she left the office, with Tony Wyndham's words ringing in her ears, she decided Mr. Perfect Logan would not get away scot-free. Perhaps a call on his wife one of these days would do the trick. She smiled to herself. Yes, a visit to Julia Logan would make her feel much better.
It had taken three hours of searching police records to come up with the name of the man who had raped his wife, Vincent Webb. Ian had stood with his arms around Julia, staring at the face on the screen, despising it.
Over the following days, things had moved quickly. A car had been reported stolen a few miles from the house where they'd held Julia and Lucy. It went missing the evening before the fire. The police assumed Webb had nicked it.
Shortly after that, the stolen car had been found dumped in a multi-storey car park in Birmingham. Sightings of Vincent Webb came in by the bucketful—mainly in the Birmingham area, although some reports came in from London and even some in Glasgow.
The best news they heard the following week was a London antiques dealer had been arrested for handling stolen goods, and amongst the hoard the police found, were items matching those owned by Benjamin Stanton.
To give O'Ryan his due, he called round to their house to report on progress regularly. “So, we know Vincent Webb has money in his pocket,” he'd said, two days ago. “It’s my guess he’ll be looking to get out of the country now, but we’re watching the ports and airports. We will get him!”
“I wish he was out of the country,” Julia had said. “A
s far away from here as possible.”
“The net is closing in on him, Mrs. Logan. We’ll have him before much longer, you can count on it,” promised the confident Inspector.
CHAPTER 35
Julia stood at the front door, and watched Ian set off for work. It wasn’t until his car had turned out of the drive, wheels crunching on the frost, she felt the first tingle of panic. Having him at home for the past three weeks had been good for both of them. They’d found time to talk, and he’d answered all her questions about his affair. Even when it would have been less painful not to have known the details, she had asked, and he had answered – truthfully.
It hadn't come as a shock to learn he'd been seeing a woman from work, although it had shocked her to learn how she'd gone at him with a pair of scissors.
She'd been surprised, too, to discover he'd handed in his resignation, and more than relieved his boss hadn't accepted it.
Watching him drive off to work now made her stomach tighten. What if Shelley de Main was still mad at him? Was she liable to try and stab him again? What if she crept up behind him, when he was at his desk? What if she got his jugular, instead of his hand, the next time? She should have warned him.
Feeling hot and panicked, she went back inside, closing the door, leaning against it, and struggling to get her imagination back under control. Shelley de Main wasn't a cold-blooded killer. There was only one of those about. And there was still no news of Vincent Webb being arrested.
Before going back into the kitchen to prepare Lucy's breakfast and school packed lunch, she hesitated. Turning, she slid the safety chain across the door. Moments later, Lucy bounded down the stairs. She was so lovely in her new school uniform, and so normal. It was a big day for all of them. Ian was back at work, and Lucy was back in school.
After breakfast, Julia wrapped her daughter – and herself—up snugly in scarves, gloves, and woolly hats, before setting out for school.
It was wonderful to be back in the old routine, and good to meet up with the other mums, who were all desperate to know how she was after the ordeal, which was now common knowledge. Although she hadn’t let it be known she was raped, no doubt that would come out in the trial, if Vincent Webb was ever caught, but, for now, it was secret from everyone, except those closest to her.