Her Silent Obsession: An addictive and gripping crime thriller (Detective Arla Baker Series Book 6)

by ML Rose

  “Well?” he fumed. “After all your assurances, one of your staff did leak the news, didn’t they? This is all your fault, Inspector Baker. We trusted you and look what’s happened.”

  Anger ignited inside Arla, a red heat that made her clench her teeth.

  “None of my staff or any other policeman leaked this news. You would do well to remember that it was one of my detective sergeants who found Reggie’s body.” She leaned forward and jabbed a finger at Jeremy’s chest, raising her voice.

  “Right from the beginning, I’ve been bending over backwards trying to help you. We’ve given you every privilege in the book, acting like your private security force. Who do you think you are? I don’t give a damn who your uncle knows; if you want me to help you, then you have to listen to my advice!”

  “Arla,” Harry whispered urgently in her ear, restraining her by the shoulder. Arla shook his hand off and ignored him.

  “I understand this is stressful for you, Mr Stone. But your assumption that the police are somehow to blame for this is completely off the mark. If you don’t want us to help you, I am more than happy to walk out of here, right now.”

  Jeremy’s chest heaved as his eyes flicked from Arla to Harry. A sheen of sweat had appeared on his balding frontal scalp and he wiped it with his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I just don’t understand who could have done this.”

  “Have you considered it could be the same person behind everything?”

  Jeremy frowned. “But why would they inform the media? Doesn’t that put them into the spotlight?”

  “Yes, it does. But in my experience, individuals like them crave the limelight. They want the world to know what they’re doing. It gives them a sense of empowerment.”

  Jeremy’s mouth fell open. He struggled for words. Harry said, “Why don’t we sit down and discuss this. Is your wife at home?”

  Jeremy nodded. “I think so, but I don’t know exactly where she is.”

  Arla said, “Sitting down would be a good idea.”

  Jeremy went to call Edna, while Arla and Harry sat down in the living room. Harry whispered, “You can’t lose your rag like that. Not good for you in this state.”

  Arla hiked her eyebrows. “What state do you mean? I’m still capable of doing my job, Harry.”

  He raised both hands. “I know that. But you know what I mean. You always get into trouble when you don’t control your temper.”

  Arla frowned. He was right, of course, but with him, she could speak her mind. “He accused me, and my staff, of leaking the news. What did you want me to do, shake his hand?”

  Harry lowered his eyebrows, stared at her intently for a while, then shook his head. He rose and went to the large bay window; the curtains were now drawn. Arla watched him for a few seconds as he took a peek outside from one end of the curtains.

  “Okay, I know what you mean.”

  Harry turned and shrugged his wide shoulders. “It’s for your benefit.”

  That made her smile. She was carrying his baby, after all.

  The door opened and Jeremy walked back in, followed by Edna. She carried a tray with a teapot and cups. She proceeded to pour tea into the cups, and Arla took the opportunity to question her.

  “Miss Mildred, you were the first person to notice that the media vans had arrived. Is that correct?” Arla had already spoken to Jeremy on the phone, and was aware of the details.

  Vapour from the hot tea rose up in fragrant tendrils, masking the elderly lady’s wizened face. Her sharp blue eyes became fixed on Arla’s. She straightened and spoke in a clear voice.

  “Yes, I did. They looked like paparazzi.”

  “When did you first see them appear?”

  “I can’t be sure of the time, but I know it was after ten o’clock in the morning.”

  “And you notified your mistress straightaway?”

  Edna Mildred’s gaze seemed to bore deep inside Arla’s skull. Not a muscle moved on her face. “Yes, of course I did.”

  “And you haven’t seen these vans there before?”

  “No.”

  “Has any reporter ever approached you? For example, in the supermarket when you are out on your errands?”

  The elderly lady blinked once and her jaw hardened. “Detective Baker, if you are accusing me of being the leak, you are wasting your time. I know that people who service households like this are targeted by reporters for inside information. I can assure you, even if I was approached by a journalist, I would ignore them. This is my livelihood, and believe it or not, I have bills to pay.”

  Arla didn’t break contact with her eyes. She smiled slightly. “Thank you. May I inquire what sort of bills you are responsible for?”

  Edna fluttered her eyelids, and a shadow seemed to pass over her face. Arla waited patiently.

  “I have an apartment in Birmingham, where I used to live. It’s empty at the moment and I have to pay the household bills, or the electricity and water can be cut off.”

  “So, there’s no one living there at the moment?”

  “No.”

  “May I ask why you came to work in London, if you are from Birmingham?”

  Edna drew her breath in sharply, and splashes of colour appeared on her neck and cheeks. Arla noted this with interest. She prodded gently. “I would remind you, Miss Mildred, this is a police investigation, and you are required to tell us the truth.”

  “I have nothing to hide,” Edna said briskly. “I have been living in London for several years now, only because it’s easier to find employment here. I can give you the addresses of where I have lived. I have worked as a housekeeper in several notable families. If you ask Mr Stone, you will find my references are impressive.”

  “Very good. Could I please have the address of your property in Birmingham?”

  Arla wrote down the address. When she looked back up at Edna, the elderly woman was studying her carefully. Her sharp eyes had dulled, and her shoulders relaxed from the rigid posture earlier. Arla’s eyes roamed over her features, noting the hands tightly gripping the chair she was standing next to.

  “Thank you, Miss Mildred. That will be all.”

  They sipped their tea in silence for a few seconds. Then the door opened again and both Jeremy and Rebecca walked in. They took seats opposite Arla, while Harry took his usual position, standing behind her.

  “I’m sorry about the mess outside,” Arla said. “But I’ve already explained to your husband, it wasn’t our fault. In fact, I strongly suspect the person who abducted your baby is behind everything.”

  Rebecca’s eyebrows creased on her paper-smooth forehead. But she didn’t speak. Arla asked, “Miss Stone, I want you to think carefully. Did you know someone whose first name is Rhys?”

  The knot of muscles on Rebecca’s forehead cleared slowly. Her jaws relaxed as she opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it.

  Jeremy reached out and touched her arm. “What is it?”

  Arla observed intently, making sure her expression remained neutral. In the heavy silence, the only sound was Rebecca’s rapid, shallow breathing. Then, without a word, she rose and left the room. Jeremy looked at Arla and Harry in bewilderment.

  “I’ll get her back. By the way, she used to have a boyfriend called Rhys Mason. She told me that once. He was an aspiring actor, but I don’t know anything else about him.” He raised his hands, then left the room.

  It was Rebecca who returned first. She carried a backpack. In silence, she crouched on the floor and took out its contents. A blue felt blanket, and a man’s pair of boots. The blanket had flecks of brown and black stains on it, and the boots were caked in mud. Arla stared at the items, a riot of thoughts surging in her brain. Jeremy walked in, and watched in silence.

  Rebecca was the first to speak. “Rhys Mason was my boyfriend. He was abusive and controlling; that’s why I broke up with him. Yesterday, I went to his old house in Brixton. It was deserted. I found these things hidden underneath the floorboards in his bedroom.”


  She pointed to the blue cloth. Her voice broke and a solitary tear trickled down her left cheek. She made no attempt to wipe it. “This is Reggie’s blanket, the one I wrapped him with the day he vanished. I don’t know whose boots these are. But I’m wondering why they were hidden with Reggie’s cloth, in Rhys’s house.”

  CHAPTER 38

  Arla couldn’t take her eyes off the two items on the floor, especially the boots. She remembered the size of the footprints in the Common where baby Reggie was found. Harry bent forward to take a closer look, and when their eyes met, she saw a glint of excitement flashing in his chestnut eyes.

  Arla stared at Rebecca. “What made you go back to look for Rhys Mason?”

  Rebecca didn’t reply for a few seconds. Then she took out her phone, pressed a few buttons, and handed it to Arla. The countdown GIF played on the screen, followed by the song. An electric bolt of clarity jolted through Arla’s mind. The Final Countdown. The name of the Instagram account that bullied Rebecca.

  “I saw him,” Rebecca whispered, staring into nothingness. “He followed me.”

  Arla frowned. “When? And why didn’t you tell us?”

  “On my way to the doctor’s. I couldn’t be sure it was him. But then I realised. The man I saw opposite my house was also him.”

  Harry leaned closer. “Do you have any photos of Rhys?”

  Rebecca swivelled her eyes to him. “I deleted all my files with him. But I might have an old photo album. I’m not sure. I need to search.”

  Arla nodded slowly, handing the phone to Harry, who wanted a closer look.

  “The Final Countdown is the Instagram account that has been harassing you.”

  “So you know.” Rebecca voice was as dry as the rustle of winter leaves stirred by a breeze.

  “No.” Arla shook her head. “We didn’t know his identity. You forgot to delete some of the Instagram comments from your followers who congratulated you on your new relationship with Rhys.”

  Rebecca narrowed her eyes, trying to remember. She glanced at Harry, who was still looking at the GIF. Arla continued. “We believed you deleted all the photos of Rhys from your account. We only had his first name, nothing else. Now we know who he is.”

  “I can show you the emails he has sent me, and the paper posts as well. His bullying never stopped, even after we broke up. He stopped turning up at my place and following me around when I threatened him with a restraining order. But he targeted me on social media.”

  Harry said, “We suspect three accounts on social media that could be his. All of them have been harassing you for the last two years.”

  Rebecca nodded. “When I became engaged to Jeremy, he went through the roof.”

  Harry handed Rebecca her phone back and she scrolled through her messages.

  “These emails are from him. I blocked his address and his phone number, but I saved the messages in case something happened.”

  Her head sank down on her chest and she covered her face with both hands. Sobs shook her body. Jeremy pulled her into a hug.

  Rebecca dabbed at her eyes and nose with a tissue Jeremy gave her. “Not in a million years did I think he would become this vicious. What did I do to him?” She spread her hands and her voice became high-pitched, almost a wail. “It’s like he wants revenge.”

  Arla spoke quietly. “He has dangerous obsessional character traits. From what I know now, we need to discuss this with our forensic behaviour analyst. But from past experience, I can tell you people like him are very focused and determined. They have a goal, and their whole life depends on fulfilling that.”

  Jeremy asked, “Do you think he really. . . . I mean, could he. . . ?” Words faded from his lips as his eyes fell on the blue cloth and the boots.

  Arla nodded. “There has to be a very good reason why these items were present in his house.” She turned her attention to Rebecca. “It was remarkably brave of you to go there. Weren’t you afraid?”

  Rebecca sniffed and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. Hair was plastered across her forehead and fell in unwashed clumps around her face, but she seemed past caring about her appearance. “Someone just killed my baby.” A piercing agony contorted her face and fresh tears budded in her eyes. She placed a hand over her chest.

  “And when I got that message this morning, it made me think of all the stuff he’s written during my pregnancy. I had to know if it was him.” She paused for a few seconds, breathing heavily. Her eyes moved from Arla’s bump to her face.

  “What would you have done if you were me?”

  Arla considered her for a while. From the beginning, she had known there was an inner core of strength in Rebecca. What she now could feel was a palpable fire of anger, burning inside her soul, consuming her.

  “I would’ve called the police, Rebecca. I wouldn’t have taken a risk like this.”

  A sad frown flitted across Rebecca’s face as she shook her head and leaned against the chair next to her. “How do you know, Detective Baker? After Reggie’s death, I barely feel alive myself. I have no fear of death. I could be dead tomorrow—” Her eyes closed and she sighed deeply. “—and I would be grateful for it. Life has no purpose for me anymore.”

  Emotion strangled Arla’s throat as she stared at the stricken woman. She blinked away tears as she watched Jeremy removed his glasses and wipe red-rimmed eyes. Then he shuffled closer and put a hand on his wife’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. As Arla stared at the grieving couple, from deep within her soul a firm conviction began taking hold. Rhys Mason had done enough harm. It was time for him to pay.

  “So, you went there yesterday?” Arla asked Rebecca. She nodded.

  “Have you left the house since then?”

  “Yes,” Rebecca said. “I went this morning to see the doctor. I had a blood test. My iron levels are still low, and I’m on tablets for that.”

  Arla wrote all of this down in her black notebook, including the address of Rhys Mason’s Brixton house. Then she snapped the book shut and rose. “We need to get all the data pertaining to Rhys from your phone. And these items.” She pointed to the floor.

  Harry lifted the blue cloth and boots with gloved hands and put them into three separate specimen bags.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll catch him,” Arla said.

  Rebecca shook her head, staring at the ground. “It won’t be easy. He used to boast of having more than one identity and multiple addresses. He used to be a child actor, and had a trust fund. Money isn’t an object for him. He has the means to hide away for long periods of time.”

  Arla opened her mouth to speak, but both her and Harry’s phone rang at the same time. Harry was the first to pick up. As he listened, he frowned and his shoulders stiffened. Arla had a horrible premonition as she stared at him. Harry locked eyes with her as he slowly removed the phone from his ear.

  “A pregnant woman has been killed. The foetus was cut out from her abdomen. A woman called Kylie Denham called it in. She said she knows you.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Rhys never told anyone.

  He couldn’t, because as a child he never understood what Grant Stone was doing to him. When he became an adult and started having sexual relationships with women, he still couldn’t make sense of it. He was thirteen years old when Grant last laid his hands on him. He had hit puberty. He remembered Grant saying how they would be separated soon. He mentioned this with an air of sadness and clutched Rhys tight to his chest.

  By then, through Grant’s contacts, Rhys had landed several movie contracts. He excelled as a child actor, singing and dancing in his movie roles. He also appeared in West End shows, and received glowing reviews from critics. His career in show business was beginning. But with Grant his relationship was increasingly strained. Over the three years he had known the rock star, Rhys had felt Grant’s attention wane as he had grown older. Rhys was getting tall, and for some reason, that seemed to put Grant off.

  Rhys stared out the left window, over the endless chimney stacks that stretched t
o the horizon like punctuation marks, brief aphorisms in the bitter confusion of his life. It was a cold, sunny day and the scimitar rays of light slashed through the meagre defences his mind erected, laying bare the tyrannical memories. They exposed what he had become: a twisted and tormented soul, capable of violence he couldn’t comprehend himself.

  The first time a woman had touched him down there, he was embarrassed by his erection. He was almost seventeen, and she was two years older than him, and more experienced. He was embarrassed because that was how he had felt when Grant touched him, or took his erection in his mouth. Rhys moved away from the girl and left the room, leaving her perplexed and hurt.

  He learned to avoid women after that, but it left him lonely, as he had no sexual interest in men. For a long time, he lived in this murky twilight that Grant had stranded him in, where he was embarrassed by what should be normal. He knew that now, and as he watched the sunlight wink off windows and vaporise the hazy white, serrated clouds in the blue sky, his soul twisted and burned inside.

  He wanted to hate Grant for what he did, but the truth was, he felt ambivalent. He knew Grant had destroyed him and he wished he felt the sort of violent anger Grant deserved. The kind of violence Rhys now inflicted on others.

  But no, instead, Rhys had been left with a hatred of children. Not every child deserved to be alive. Not every life was worth living. He had written page after page on forced sterilisation camps for women who came from broken families. Sometimes, the kindest thing was not to bring a life into this world, a life that would end up like his, a scarred, scorched destiny.

  His lips lifted in a snarl. He thought of the adulation he’d received as a child actor. He was in every Sunday newspaper. When he realised how shallow and vacuous that life was, he had slowly shunned his TV and stage obligations, till he barely had a job anymore. Despite all the money he earned, Rhys despised the media and show business in general. He strongly believed he wasn’t the only abused child in the industry.