The Adulterer's Daughter: A Novel

by Sam Anthony

  “That’s very helpful of you, sir.”

  “I don’t need to be here for this, do I?” Steve checked his watch. “I need to pick up Ava from the bereavement counsellor in twenty minutes.”

  “No, you go ahead. Just leave the front door open. We’ll lock up when we leave.”

  “Fine. Here’s the key. I’ve got a spare.”

  Steve took a key off his keyring and tossed it to the sergeant.

  “And where will we find the keys for the … ahem … basement?”

  “You’ll find all three buried under the pink plant pot over there by the rosebush. Make sure you put them back when you’re done. I don’t want Ava to find them.”

  Steve put on his coat, climbed into the car, and drove off.

  The two police officers watched the red tail lights disappear into the distance before the sergeant said, “Right, you search the garden, I’ll take the house.”

  “What? The garden’s massive, and it’s freezing out here. How about I take the house?”

  “Remind me, Constable. What’s my rank again?”

  “Sergeant,” she muttered.

  “Exactly. You can come inside when you’ve found some incriminating evidence.”

  ◆◆◆

  Sergeant Sergeant was searching the upstairs bathroom when he heard a creak on the landing. He ignored it until he heard a thump from Ava’s bedroom. Then he went to investigate.

  The cause of the noises turned out to be a beautiful, red-haired girl who, at that moment, had her freckly hand deep inside the schoolbag on the floor.

  “Who are you?” asked the policeman.

  The girl rose and turned, smiling sweetly. “Oh, hi. I’m … er ... Jackie,” said Jemima. “I’m a friend of Ava’s.”

  “Jackie who?”

  “Erm … Jackson.”

  “How did you get inside the house, Jackie Jackson?”

  “The front door was open.”

  “And what are you doing in Ava’s bedroom?”

  “Just returning her homework. She let me borrow it to copy. You aren’t going to arrest me, are you, officer?” She dazzled him with her most bewitching smile and fluttered her eyelashes.

  “I’m sorely tempted, young lady. But, because this is a first offence, I think I can let you off with a warning. Don’t ever do it again. Now, get out of here, you scallywag,” he said with a chuckle.

  Jemima scarpered down the stairs, tucking something into her pocket as she fled.

  Chapter 75

  Monday 15 December, 2003

  McDougal house, 6:50 p.m.

  Serena dragged out her shower for as long as possible, painstakingly slowly washing and conditioning her hair. Then lathering up her body, making sure to linger over her breasts and buttocks to keep her watcher entertained. She was desperate to postpone the inevitable for as long as possible. “Is it okay if I shave my armpits and legs?” she called above the noise of running water.

  “You go right ahead, Serena. I’m enjoying the show.” As he watched, the intruder held the knife in one hand and casually fondled his crotch with the other.

  Eventually, Serena ran out of body parts to clean and depilate. “Would you like me to masturbate for you?”

  “Pardon?”

  She put her hand between her legs and moaned. “I’m horny. Would you like me to masturbate while you watch? I guarantee you’ll enjoy it.”

  “No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” He tossed her a towel. “Dry yourself off and then go and lie on the bed. Oh, and Serena, …”

  “Yes?”

  “Put down the razor and leave it in the shower.”

  She dropped it in the corner and slowly dried herself.

  When Serena exited the shower, the stranger stood between her and the only door to the landing, wordlessly pointing at the bed with his knife.

  In one swift movement, she unwrapped herself from the towel and threw it over his head. Then shoved him to the side and fled, naked, out the door and down the stairs.

  The intruder untangled himself from the towel and chuckled. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun.” He set off in pursuit of his quarry.

  ◆◆◆

  Serena ran straight down the stairs, across the hallway, and into the study; slamming the door behind her. She could hear sprinting footsteps approaching as she slid the bolt across to lock herself in.

  The intruder tried the handle, but the door wouldn’t open. He tapped lightly on the wooden panels. “What is this? Pine? Not a particularly strong wood, pine.” He tapped again. “I reckon an axe would make short work of this door. Have you got an axe, Serena?”

  Serena was rifling through the pockets of the jacket hanging on the back of the door. “How do you know my name?” She found the key.

  “Oh, I know a great deal about you.”

  “How? Who are you?”

  “Let me in and I’ll tell you.”

  “Fuck off! I’m phoning the police.”

  “I don’t think so, Serena. Your mobile phone is still in the gym, and the only landline downstairs is in the hallway.”

  “Shit!” she shouted.

  He tapped the door again. “Definitely pine. Serena, I’m just going to pop outside for a while to see if there’s an axe in your shed. Don’t go anywhere, will you?”

  Serena used the key to unlock the top drawer of the desk, which contained another key, which unlocked the filing cabinet. She rifled through the filing cabinet until she found the item she was looking for: a Browning Hi-Power single-action, semi-automatic handgun. It looked intimidating, but she didn’t even know if it was loaded. Hopefully, the sight of a gun would be enough to scare him off.

  Serena held her breath and listened.

  Silence, apart from the sound of her teeth chattering.

  She tiptoed to the door, took down Eric’s jacket, and put it on. Then she retreated behind the desk and waited, the gun behind her back.

  Crash!

  The first sound made her jump.

  Crash!

  Two inches of axe blade materialised in the centre of the door.

  Crash!

  The head of the axe burst into the room and withdrew.

  Crash!

  A fist-sized hole appeared in the door.

  Crash!

  A face-sized hole.

  Crash!

  A head-sized hole.

  The intruder tried to resist, but knew he couldn’t. He put his head through the hole and yelled manically, “Here’s Johnny!” Then he reached through the hole, slid back the bolt, opened the door, and entered the room.

  Serena took a step backwards.

  “If you wanted to have sex on Eric’s desk, you could have just asked,” he said.

  “Don’t come any closer.”

  “Or what?” The knife glistened in his hand.

  Serena raised the gun from behind her back and pointed it at the chest of her attacker. “Get out!” she spat.

  For a second, he faltered. But only for a second. “Er … no,” he said calmly.

  “I said, get … fucking … out!”

  In response, he took a step towards her.

  “I’m warning you. I’ll shoot.”

  He took another step. “I don’t think you will.”

  Serena pulled the trigger.

  Click!

  The yellow teeth made another appearance.

  Click! Click! Click!

  “Oh, dear.” The intruder closed the gap between them. “Give me that.” He snatched the gun out of her hand. “Look.” He pointed at the gun. “You need to adjust this little safety lever here on the left. Now it should work fine.” He pretended to hand the gun back to Serena. “Just kidding. I’m going to shoot you in the face.”

  “But … you said you were going to rape me.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll do that afterwards.”

  Serena took another step backwards and nearly tripped over Eric’s golf bag. Realising there was nowhere to run, she froze, stood tall, and stared d
efiantly into the eyes of her attacker. Haunting, evil hazel eyes. And yet somehow familiar.

  The intruder raised the gun and aimed at a spot between Serena’s perfectly plucked eyebrows.

  He began to squeeze the trigger, then stopped and listened.

  From the hallway came a mixture of sounds: the padding of feet, the scratching of claws, and a low ominous growl, rising in volume.

  Stumpy burst through the doorway, bared teeth dripping with saliva, ears pinned back, violence written in his eyes.

  The gun swung from Serena’s face towards the approaching canine, and two shots rang out. Bullets ripped into the polished floor sending wooden chips flying.

  Stumpy was like a dog possessed. His powerful jaws clamped around the intruder’s ankle and locked in place. He shook his head, tearing flesh and breaking bone.

  The man screamed and aimed the gun at the little dog’s back. But before the attacker could pull the trigger, Serena bludgeoned him over the head with a nine iron. Once. Twice. Three times, before the shaft of the golf club snapped in two.

  The man went down heavily and his eyes rolled back in his head.

  “Good boy, Stumpy. Keep him there,” Serena shouted before running into the hallway, snatching up the phone, and calling the police.

  Chapter 76

  Monday 15 December, 2003

  O’Connor house, 7:30 p.m.

  By 7:30 p.m. PC Patel was cold, tired and bored. She decided to end the fruitless search of the garden and seek the warmth of the house instead. She located her superior coming up the stairs from the basement.

  “Find anything, Sarge?”

  “Just this. What do you think it is?” He held out a stainless steel device with sharp rotating pins attached to a handle. “Some sort of weapon for torturing old ladies?”

  “Where did you find it?”

  “In the sex dungeon.”

  “That, Sarge, is a Wartenburg pinwheel: originally designed as a neurological device to test nerve sensitivity, but more commonly used these days as a BDSM sex toy for inflicting pain.”

  “Yuck!” He dropped it on the table and strode to the sink to wash his hands. “How do you know that?”

  “Never you mind,” she said with a wink.

  “Did you have any luck outside?”

  “No bloody knife. No balaclava. No obvious signs of bodies buried in the garden.”

  “Shame. But hopefully, our little visit will have put the fear of God into Mr O’Connor. Was it my imagination or did he look like shit?”

  “No, you’re right. The man’s a wreck.”

  “What do you think: guilty conscience or grief?”

  “Maybe both.”

  “Good. We need to keep up the pressure on him at the funeral.”

  At that moment, both of their phones began to ring.

  Chapter 77

  Tuesday 16 December, 2003

  Fairfax bathroom, 7:15 a.m.

  Outside it was dark, frigid and still.

  One lonely blackbird (Turdus merula) broke into song before realising he was in a chorus of one, coming to an embarrassed halt mid-trill, and going back to sleep. A couple of early rising commuters were scraping ice off their windscreens before carefully making their way to work along unsalted lanes.

  Inside it was bright, hot and steamy.

  Ollie and Mia were in the shower.

  Mia nestled her head back onto Ollie’s shoulder so he could kiss her neck. “Am I doing something wrong, babe? You’re going soft.”

  “Sweetheart, there’s …”

  “What?”

  “There’s a lump.”

  “Mmm?”

  “Just here on your left breast. I can feel something.”

  “Move your hand; let me have a go. Oh, that’s nothing. It probably feels the same the other side. Try it.”

  It didn’t feel the same.

  “I’m sorry, love. There’s definitely a lump on this side, and it’s never been there before.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve been checking your breasts for years.”

  ◆◆◆

  “Get dressed quickly,” Ollie said, stepping into his jeans.

  “Why?”

  “We’re going to see the doctor.”

  “Ollie, it’s 7:30. They don’t open till 9:00, and we haven’t got an appointment.”

  “I don’t care. We’ll wait on the doorstep until someone can see us.”

  “What about work?”

  “We’re both calling in sick today. There’s lots to do.”

  “Like what?”

  “First, we get the GP to refer you for a mammogram. Then we get a biopsy done. Then we get the best surgeon in the country to perform a lumpectomy. Then we get you started on radiotherapy and chemotherapy.”

  “Today?” Mia tried to force a chuckle but failed.

  “As soon as possible.”

  “You know the NHS is really slow. They’re always so busy. There are huge waiting lists for this sort of thing.”

  “Then we’ll go private.”

  “We can’t afford it.”

  “Of course we can. We’ll sell the house if necessary.”

  “You’re jumping the gun, love. It’s probably just a benign cyst or something. I’m not worried,” she lied.

  “Well, I am.” Ollie took Mia in his arms. “You are the most important person in my life. I love you with all my heart.”

  “All your heart? What about the kids?” she teased.

  “I’m quite fond of the lad, but the other one is an evil little psychopath.”

  “Ollie!”

  “I’m kidding. I love them to bits. But you are my soulmate, my lover, my best friend. I’ve just come to realise how important you are to me. We’re going to get through this together, and then I’m going to dedicate the rest of my life to making you happy.”

  “Steady on, Ollie. All these saccharine compliments are making me nauseous.” She took both his hands in hers and looked into his sincere eyes. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  It wasn’t nothing. It was a ductal carcinoma in situ. Breast cancer. But Ollie had caught it early.

  Chapter 78

  Tuesday 16 December, 2003

  McDougal living room, 12:30 p.m.

  Eric and Serena hadn’t made it to bed until gone 2:00 a.m. so they’d woken later than usual, drained and emotional.

  Serena had tried and failed to contact Ollie and Mia all morning. “I know Mia switches her phone off during lessons, and I guess Ollie must be in meetings.”

  “We can tell them this evening,” said Eric.

  “Yes, but I’m concerned they might hear about it on the news and worry about us.”

  “They’ll call when they see our messages. The important thing is, you’re okay.” He hugged her for the seventeenth time that day.

  “Should we tell Steve?”

  “I think Steve has got enough on his plate already – what with the funeral tomorrow and the police thinking he murdered Fiona. There’s no need for him to worry about you being attacked by some nutter as well.”

  Serena sighed. “Thank goodness for Stumpy. He saved my life.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “That must be the police. This is going to be interesting.”

  Eric strode to the front of the house, shaking his head as he passed the shattered remnants of the study door.

  “Come in, officers. You can hang your coats on the hooks there.”

  He led them through to the living room.

  Serena stood. “Hello again. Can I offer you both a cup of tea and a slice of fruit cake? I baked it this morning.”

  Eric caught the senior police officer’s eye, grimaced and gave a tiny shake of the head, but Sarge never turned down homemade cake.

  “That would be lovely, Mrs O’Connor.”

  “No cake for me, thanks. I’m trying to lose a bit a weight before the annual Christmas binge,” said PC Patel, patting her stomach.

  Serena disappear
ed into the smoky kitchen and returned promptly, accompanied by a loaded tray and a whiff of burning tyres.

  The chubby detective only needed a single bite of cremated cake to realise he’d made a terrible mistake. “Absolutely delicious,” he lied, before pushing the plate away as far as he could. “Right, let’s get on with this. We don’t want to take up too much of your valuable time. Over to you, Constable.”

  PC Patel, taken unawares, stifled a yawn and took out her notebook. “Sorry. It’s been a long night for us. We were at the hospital until after midnight with your assailant.”

  “Is he okay?” Serena asked.

  “His leg is in plaster and he’s got a mild concussion, but he’ll be fine. We took him back to the station and attempted an interview in the early hours, but we weren’t getting anywhere at first. He kept answering every question with ‘no comment’. Wouldn’t even tell us his name, so we had no way to identify him. Then we had a lucky break at 9:30 this morning, when his landlady popped into the police station to inform us that her lodger hadn’t returned home last night, and she was worried about him. She gave us his name and a description, and it didn’t take us long to put two and two together.”

  “His landlady?”

  “Yes.” The sergeant glanced at PC Patel’s notebook. “Mrs Carol Ann Forrester. A lovely old dear. Kept telling us she was eighty-seven. A big fan of lavender, as it turns out.”

  PC Patel resumed. “Anyway, she was able to provide us with his name and some reference details, and after that, it was easy to track down all sorts of interesting information about him.”

  “Like what?” Eric asked.

  “I’m coming to that. Mrs Forrester accompanied us back to her home and showed us his room.”

  “Don’t tell me,” said Eric. “A shrine to Satan? Pentagrams all over the wall? Evidence of animal sacrifice?”

  “Quite the opposite, Mr McDougal. A neat and tidy room. Mrs Forrester described her lodger as a very polite and helpful young man who paid his rent on time and kept himself to himself. It’s weird. She seems genuinely fond of him.”