by Sam Anthony
Barney burst into tears. “I knew it,” he sobbed. “You’re getting divorced, aren’t you?”
“What? No. Of course not.”
“Shame,” Jemima mumbled.
“It’s about Fiona.”
Jemima breathed a sigh of relief. “What about her?”
Lord padded over to Barney and leaned against his leg as Ollie began going through the details of Fiona’s final moments. As discussed earlier with Mia, he left out the infidelity, concentrating instead on a generic argument, the thickness of the fog, and the unfortunate proximity of a precipitous drop.
“... and, in all the confusion, Fiona accidentally fell off the edge.”
“Into the quarry?” said Barney in a small voice.
“Yes.”
“Is she okay?”
Mia went and kneeled at Barney’s feet next to Lord. “No, sweetheart. I’m afraid she … she died.”
Jemima threw her hands in the air. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
Ollie put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Don’t be upset, love. It’s going to be all right.”
“For you, maybe. I just spent loads of money buying Fiona a Secret Santa present. What a fucking waste of ten quid!”
Barney looked up. “You’re not supposed to say who it is.”
“I don’t think that matters now, doofus. Jesus Christ! How hard is it not to jump into a quarry?”
“She didn’t jump, did she, Mum?”
“No. It was just an accident. A horrible accident. It was nobody’s fault.”
“But didn’t she see the signs?”
“It was too dark and too foggy to see anything.”
“Then why were they up there?” shouted Jemima. “Bloody idiots!”
Lord whined.
Jemima turned to her mother. “Have we still got to go to school?”
“Yes, I think that’s best. Your GCSEs are only five months away. You can’t afford to miss any lessons now.”
“But I’m really upset.” Jemima tried to squeeze out a tear, but failed.
“We all need to try to carry on as normal. School will take your mind off how sad you are.”
“Will Ava be there?”
“No. Probably not for a few days. She’s in no fit state for school at the moment.”
“At least this should wipe that arrogant smile off her face,” Jemima spat, and stormed out of the room.
Barney looked from Ollie to Mia and back to Ollie. “So, you’re definitely not getting divorced?”
“No,” Ollie said quickly. He looked at Mia for reassurance. “Are we?”
“No!”
Chapter 71
Monday 15 December, 2003
The bushes, 5:45 p.m.
He stood shivering in the bushes – for once grateful for the prickly but warm balaclava – and idly wondered if he would ever regain any sensation in the blocks of ice that had once been his feet.
In contrast, the razor-sharp knife burning a hole in his pocket kept calling out to him. ‘Come on, man, I’m hot to trot. Let’s do this.’
The house looked warm and inviting, but it wasn’t time yet. He had all the time in the world, and this one would be worth the wait. The culmination of all his preparation and training.
He watched as Eric came out of the house, got into his car, and drove away.
Earlier he’d spied on them both as Serena flicked through old photograph albums, while the tears streamed down her cheeks, and Eric did his best to comfort her.
Now the sinister figure crept around to the rear of the house, keeping to the darkest shadows.
There she was in the gym. He watched as she stripped down to fitted lycra shorts and a crop top, inserted her headphones, mounted the exercise bike, and began to pedal furiously.
He made his way to the side of the house, smashed a window in the utility room, and let himself in. He was all dressed in black as usual, but when he entered the steamy kitchen, he removed his balaclava. He didn’t need it. If everything went to plan, there weren’t going to be any witnesses left alive.
Chapter 72
Monday 15 December, 2003
Police station, 5:55 p.m.
PC Patel and her sergeant were alone in the canteen.
The sergeant swallowed his last mouthful of black coffee. “We need to make a decision. Are we going to arrest Mr O’Connor and charge him with murder, or continue to investigate in the hope that we dig up more evidence against him?”
“What do you mean more evidence? We haven’t got any.”
“I don’t need any. My gut is telling me there’s something dodgy about him.”
“Maybe you’re misinterpreting your gut. Maybe it’s actually suggesting it’s time for you to go on a diet.”
“Are you calling me fat, Constable?”
“Sarge, why would he kill her?”
“Because he was having an affair with the barmaid.”
“So? Plenty of men commit adultery without murdering their wife. What’s different about Mr O’Connor?”
“Have you seen Mandy Bradshaw? I’d definitely murder my wife to be with her.”
“You’re divorced.”
“Exactly. That would put a swift end to the ridiculous alimony payments that are bleeding me dry.”
“Surely O’Connor’s in a worse position with his wife dead.”
“How so?”
“She was his main alibi witness for the times of the village mugger assaults.”
“We really need a better name for that guy. He might have started out as a mugger, but he’s progressed now to attempted murder. His last victim was only minutes from death when the ambulance arrived.”
“What about ‘unsub’?”
“Unsub?”
“Yeah. That’s what they call the baddies on Criminal Minds, the TV show.”
“What does it stand for?”
“The unknown subject of an investigation.”
The sergeant pondered, but not for long. “Nah. I don’t like it. We can do better than that. But for now, let’s stick with ‘village mugger’ until you come up with something better. Remind me about O’Connor’s alibis.”
PC Patel scrolled through her notebook.
“#1 Agnes Dewberry. 9:00 a.m. Thursday 17th of July. O’Connor claimed he was re-wiring an empty house less than a mile from the robbery. No alibi witness.
#2 Maureen McDonald. 11:45 a.m. Tuesday 19th of August. Replacing a fuse box 400 yards from the robbery and assault. The homeowner was in and out all day. No alibi for the time of the attack.
#3 Edith Shufflebotham (Don’t laugh, Sarge). 2:50 p.m. Wednesday 24th of September. At home on his own. No alibi.
#4 Betty Reed. 5:30 p.m. Wednesday 29th of October. Claimed to be having a cup of tea with his wife at the time Betty was attacked in the quarry car park. An alibi that can no longer be corroborated due to the untimely death of Mrs O’Connor.
#5 Sir Robert and Lady Elizabeth Featherstonehaugh. 11:45 p.m. Thursday 13th of November. Claimed to be in bed with his wife while the rape was taking place. Another alibi that can no longer be corroborated.
#6 Molly Shultz. 10:45 a.m. Wednesday 1st of December. Popped home for a wank between jobs. No alibi.”
“Did he really say that?”
“Yep. Those were his exact words. I wrote them down.”
“Do you believe this I-always-tell-the-truth act?”
“The more we speak to him, the more I believe it. You?”
“I didn’t at first. Now I’m not so sure. I thought it was complete bullshit until you asked him about his penis. That was clever thinking, Petal. No man with any self-respect is going to admit to having a five-and-a-half-inch penis with a slight kink to the right.”
PC Patel checked her notebook. “It’s to the left, Sarge.”
“Thank you, Constable. That’s useful to know. I don’t suppose Lady Featherstonehaugh could confirm that her attacker’s penis curved to the left, could she?”
“No. She never saw it
. He was behind her throughout the rape.”
“Shame.”
“What do you make of the O’Connor’s basement, Sarge?”
“You mean the sex dungeon? I’ll tell you what; if I was thirty years younger, I wouldn’t mind having a go with that Mandy Bradshaw in there.”
“Sarge!”
“What?”
“You can’t say that.”
“You know I always tell the truth, Petal. I can’t help it.”
PC Patel laughed. “Yeah, right. How long’s your truncheon?”
“Ten inches and perfectly straight.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Mrs Sergeant never had any complaints.”
“Once again, you’re divorced.”
“Good point. You make a lot of good points, Constable. I might make a detective out of you yet.”
“Thanks. And I might make an inspector out of you.”
“That’s never going to happen.”
“How come?”
“Nominative determinism. With a name like mine, I’m going to be stuck at my current rank till I retire.”
“What is your name? Everyone always calls you Sarge.”
“You don’t want to know.”
“I do. That’s why I asked.”
The grizzled old cop took a deep breath. “It’s Sarjun Sergeant.”
“No, seriously.”
“That’s my name. My full name, including rank, is Sergeant Sarjun Sergeant.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was. My parents thought it was amusing. Bastards!”
“Sarjun …”
“Just call me, Sarge.”
“Sarge, why would O’Connor murder his best alibi witness? It doesn’t make sense.”
“It does if he’s the village mugger. It’s highly serendipitous if the person you claim to be with at the time of the assaults accidentally falls down a quarry. Perhaps he killed her because she realised that all his alibis were bogus, and that he was, in fact, the village mugger. If anyone should know, it’s the wife.”
“So, you’re saying he killed Mrs O’Connor to conceal his rapes and assaults? That seems like a rather risky strategy. If he gets done for rape, he could be in and out of prison in a couple of years. But if we get him for first-degree murder, he’ll be banged up for the rest of his life.”
“If we get him. There’s no evidence linking O’Connor to any of these crimes, and the one person who could have told us he wasn’t at home during the worst of the assaults is suspiciously deceased.”
“I’m not buying it,” said PC Patel. “Yes, he’s an arsehole; yes, he’s an adulterer; yes, he’s a bit of a pervert. But just because he’s got a sex dungeon filled with instruments of torture, doesn’t mean he’s a rapist.”
The sergeant slumped back in his chair, which emitted an anxious squeak. “But my gut …”
“Has your gut ever been wrong before?”
“Oh, yes. Many times.”
“Perhaps we shouldn’t rely on it then.”
“You’re probably right. As I see it, there are three possibilities regarding the death of Mrs O’Connor: Her husband killed her. She killed herself. Or it was an accident. And there are two possibilities in the village mugger case: It’s him. It’s not him. I’d prefer to wrap up all this unpleasantness into one big crime spree carried out by a single perpetrator: O’Connor.”
“Because of the paperwork?”
“Exactly. You catch on fast, Petal.”
“Then what’s the plan?”
“O’Connor’s our only suspect. Let’s put the fear of God into him and see if we can force him to confess or make a mistake. Shake the tree and see what falls out.”
“How?”
“Pressure. We’ll search his house again. We’ll convince him we’ve found incriminating evidence. We’ll make him think his arrest is imminent. Maybe he’ll crack.”
“I doubt it. I don’t think O’Connor could lie if his life depended on it. It’s possible he had some involvement in his wife’s death, but it’s just as possible that she committed suicide when she heard about his affair. However, I don’t buy him as the village mugger.”
“Why not?”
“Remember when I checked him for defensive wounds?”
“Uh-huh. You thought, if he’d forced his wife over the edge, she might have scratched him during a struggle. Did you find anything suspicious?”
“No, but I took the opportunity to smell his hands.”
“And?”
“They didn’t smell of lavender.”
“That’s hardly conclusive.”
“Yes, I realise that.”
The sergeant got to his feet and the chair breathed a sigh of relief. “Let’s go then.”
“Where to?”
“Back to the O’Connor residence. Let’s see if we can force him over the edge.”
“Now?”
“Why not? It makes sense to look for evidence before he has a chance to hide it. You never know, we might find a bloody knife in the attic and a black balaclava in the laundry basket. Plus, I wouldn’t mind getting another look at that sex dungeon. I’ve been planning to carry out some home renovations. It might be just what I need to win my wife back.”
Chapter 73
Monday 15 December, 2003
McDougal house, 6:30 p.m.
While Serena tried to exercise away her sorrow, the intruder explored the house. First he secured the exits: locking all the doors and windows, and hiding the keys at the back of a high shelf. Then he went from room to room: opening wardrobes and drawers, and inspecting their contents; sniffing the beds; studying the photographs on the walls. Periodically, he returned to the gym and listened at the door to make sure Serena was still occupied. When the whirring of the exercise bike stopped, he made his way to the living room to wait for her.
Serena didn’t see him at first because her head was tipped back as she drank from a water bottle.
He was standing by the window, peering out at the frosty lawn, his back to her.
She froze, hand to mouth, stifling a gasp.
He spoke first. “Jeez, it’s perishing out there tonight. I thought he’d never leave.” He turned. “Another ten minutes and I would have given up and gone home to get warm.”
Serena’s heart sank. “It’s you, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know how to answer that, Mrs McDougal. Who do you mean by ‘you’?”
“You’re the guy who’s been terrorising old women in the village. Robbing, raping, assaulting.”
“Yes, I suppose I am that guy. It’s nice to meet you at last. You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to this.”
“How do you know my name?”
“Oh, Serena, I’ve known your name for years. You’ve had a massive influence on me. It was you who turned me into a criminal. In fact, every crime I’ve ever committed has been in preparation for this one. You might say, up to this point I’ve merely been practising. Honing my skills, just for you. But now I’m ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Ready to kill. It’s time for me to graduate to murder. You, my sweaty companion, are about to die a horrible death.”
“What! Why? I don’t understand. What have I ever done to you?”
“You ruined my life.”
“Me? But I’ve never met you before.”
The intruder took the knife out of his pocket and released the blade with a sinister click. “Have you ever been raped, Serena?”
She swallowed. “No.”
“Then tonight is your lucky night.” He looked her up and down. “I think I’m going to enjoy it this time. I’ve raped twice before, you know, but they were both unattractive old hags. It was more about power than sexual attraction. This time, however, will be different. You’re a sexy lady, Serena. Those legs are extremely impressive for a woman your age. I can see why Eric fell in love with you and abandoned his family.”
“Who are you?”<
br />
“I’m your rapist and murderer.”
“I’m not going to let you rape me.”
“You don’t have any choice. I’m the one with the knife; you’re the one with the water bottle. Knife beats water bottle in a fight. But it doesn’t have to come to that.”
“What do you mean?”
The intruder smiled, revealing yellowed teeth. “The sexual tension in this room is almost unbearable. You must be able to feel it too? Why don’t we just make love, and skip all the unpleasant threats and violence?”
“Then what? You’ll leave?”
“No,” he chuckled. “Then I’ll kill you.”
“You’re mad,” said Serena, scanning the room in search of a weapon, something to defend herself with.
There was nothing.
“Please yourself. Rape it is, then. Would you like to take a shower first? You’re … how should I put it politely … you’re glowing.”
“Yes.” Serena clutched at the temporary reprieve. Anything to buy time. “Yes, I want to have a shower.”
“Excellent. Do you mind if I watch?”
“Do I have any choice?”
“No. Let’s go.”
Chapter 74
Monday 15 December, 2003
O’Connor house, 6:35 p.m.
PC Patel rang the doorbell.
Twenty seconds later, the front door swung open to reveal Steve O’Connor looking dreadful. Unshaven, hollow-eyed and dishevelled, he gawped at his visitors.
“Good evening, Mr O’Connor. You’re looking well,” said the sergeant.
“What do you want? I’m about to go out.”
“We’d like to have another mosey around your house if we may.”
“Why?”
“We’re looking for more evidence that you’re the village mugger. I think we’ve got enough already – what with you matching the description of the attacker, and your lack of alibis and everything – but my young colleague here reckons a tad more evidence might be useful.”
Steve frowned. “I’m not the village mugger. I told you that already. And I’ve got nothing to hide. Search all you want. You aren’t going to find anything.”