‘They wore masks. I didn’t see them,’ Angela said, almost to Adrian’s relief.
‘You still haven’t told us who the body belonged to in Oswestry,’ Imogen said.
‘You won’t believe me,’ Angela said.
‘It’s him we don’t believe, Angela. He’s done. We have got him. He can’t get to you again. With your testimony, he’ll go away for a long time for the deaths of Simon Glover and whoever was buried under that greenhouse. You can get a divorce and move on.’
‘I don’t need a divorce; we aren’t married.’
‘We found a marriage certificate that says you were married in 2008,’ Imogen said, surprised.
‘That wasn’t me,’ Angela said. ‘It was my mother’s body under the greenhouse. He killed my mother. That marriage certificate was theirs.’
‘What do you mean? Your name was on it,’ Imogen said.
‘Reece told me she left after finding out about what we were doing. She left me a note and everything. Told me she never wanted to hear from me again, that I was disgusting and a disappointment. I was only fifteen.’ Angela wiped the tears from her cheek with the back of her hand.
‘Who was Joseph Purcell?’ Adrian asked, remembering the slot in the marriage certificate for the father of the bride’s name, a horrible feeling creeping over him.
Angela took a deep breath before speaking.
‘My grandfather. Angela was my mother.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Adrian said.
This changed everything. The situation Angela Corrigan was in wasn’t just domestic abuse – it was a whole host of other things that they hadn’t even considered. Even on the darkest days working for the police, this is not something you come across very often, thank God. Add child abuse, neglect, murder, rape, incest and God only knows what else to Reece Corrigan’s list of crimes. No wonder Angela was terrified of him. He’d had her whole life to show her just how powerful he was.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
As I stand here with the gun in my hand, I am scared to pull the trigger. It’s as if even in death he will somehow still control every aspect of my life. The gun is heavier than I imagined. I remember seeing R swinging it with such force when he was hitting Simon that night. I have remembered everything. Funnily enough, it was coming back here to the building site that finally pulled all the jigsaw pieces together. We were here that night, Simon and me.
We met at Simon’s place. R was conducting some kind of nefarious business deal in a pub somewhere and would then be going to his Friday night poker game. I sneaked out. I got a taxi into town and then a bus to Charmouth.
I remember a kiss. Kissing Simon was the first time I had ever kissed a man who wasn’t R. It was sweet and tender, it was special, and in that moment, I would have been happy for everything just to stop, to go no further, like hitting pause on a movie. But it didn’t. He found us and then he tried to kill us. To the end, Simon fought to get me away and look at what it cost him. Too much. I am not worth it.
My palms are sweaty. I have never held a gun before, but something about this feels predestined, as if we were always heading for this moment or some semblance of it. Maybe in an alternate universe it’s him with the gun, but in this one it’s me. Even with the weapon I know I don’t have the power, it’s always him. He can always say the right thing to shrink me to nothing.
But then I remember my mother, buried under the greenhouse, and I find my strength again.
As much as I hate this man, he is still the face of the man I grew up worshipping; it’s hard to separate the two in my head sometimes. I have never really known what love is, I suppose. He made me believe my mother left and so her love never felt real to me. I thought that if she left me there was no way she could love me. I often wondered where she had gone, if she was happy, if she went on to have more children who she loved more than me, children who weren’t a disappointment. I feel my finger tighten on the trigger.
I listen to R spinning his lies; although he doesn’t try as hard as he used to with me anymore. He knows that he could tell me anything and I would stay. I am trapped. This, of course, gives me nothing to lose. Is that what he is banking on? He would never have the courage to take his own life, seeing it as a sign of weakness and letting me off the hook. If he gets me to kill him then I go to prison and he is out of the game, he will still have won. We are playing a different game, though. For me, his death is a win. I will feel no guilt. I am sure of that.
I hear Adrian Miles before I see him enter the room. He is trying to talk me into giving the gun up, but I won’t; R doesn’t get to walk away this time. I see that strange look of satisfaction on R’s face when Adrian arrives; he says things that I know are secret codes. He gets that same look on his face when he says things to me in front of his men, things that only I understand, things that no one else would see as particularly upsetting or threatening. That’s because we share those secrets. I can see he has a secret like that with Adrian Miles and I wonder what it is. I am more resolute than ever to put an end to this vile man.
Patricide, that’s what they call it. When I go to prison, I will be the girl who killed her father and people will want to know why. I watch Adrian’s face as he speaks, another good man my father has hurt. It will never end unless I end it.
Adrian asks me who the body belongs to in the house and I can’t even bring myself to think it, let alone say it. My father speaks first and my finger presses down on the trigger. I see the red erupt from his arm as he falls to the ground. I don’t want it to be over too quickly. I will only get to kill him once.
DS Grey rushes into the room and immediately searches for her partner. I see she is worried that I have hurt him. She cares for him, I can see that. My mind starts racing and I try to remember my mother; I was angry and upset with her, so I put her out of my mind. I feel guilty for not knowing the truth, not realising what a psychopath he was. Would I have been able to get away sooner if I had? Probably not – just another layer of misery to add to my already miserable life. I am past caring about going to prison. My only goal now is to make sure he dies before I leave this room.
Both of the detectives talk to me, asking me questions I don’t have the answers to. I see the look of disgust and pity on their faces as the whisper of the idea forms in their mind. I suspect there are other police coming to this location. I don’t have much time if I want to make sure he is gone. They are going to try to stop me and I can’t let them. I have to focus and stop thinking about my mother, about Simon, about how I ended up in the river.
My head is all over the place. I can barely concentrate on anything but the weight of the gun in my hand and how much easier it would be if I just turned it on myself.
Chapter Eighty
‘I knew she wouldn’t just leave me,’ Angela said, tears streaming down her face.
Adrian moved closer still. This time she noticed and swung the gun back round to him, which made him feel strangely better than when it was pointing at Imogen.
‘What are you talking about? He’s not your husband?’ Imogen said.
‘I never married him, I can’t. He’s my biological father. My mother was called Angela Corrigan. I’m not the Angela Corrigan on the marriage certificate. My full name is Catherine Angela Corrigan. Not that anyone really checks them, anyway. When we moved here everyone made funny eyes about the age difference, but no one said anything.’
‘Because no one cares about you but me,’ Reece said.
‘Shut your mouth,’ Adrian hissed at Reece. He turned to Angela again. ‘When did it start? When did he first …?’
‘I am not sure exactly. I don’t remember when. A few years before my mother died – three maybe. I remember finally telling my mother and she was so upset. Then she was gone. She left me a note saying how she never wanted to see me again. I wasn’t as close to my mother as I was to him. Daddy’s special girl, they always called me. I didn’t understand until I got older how wrong everything was, until my friends at school talked
about boys and things like that. Even though I knew it didn’t feel right, what we were doing, I thought it was just normal in every family.’
‘You were just a kid, you didn’t do anything wrong,’ Adrian said.
‘I thought she left. I thought she hated me.’
‘She threatened to take you away from me. I couldn’t lose you, Angela. You’re mine.’
Angela turned to Reece.
‘So, she confronted you? Is that what happened? You bought me that greenhouse, told me it was to make me feel better, when really it was just an unmarked grave.’
As Adrian tried to process this information, Reece struggled to his feet; the wound on his arm was barely bleeding. Before Adrian had time to move, Corrigan lunged for Angela, knocking the gun from her hand. The gun went off as it fell to the floor. Adrian felt the bullet whizz past his ear.
Instinctively, Adrian clutched at the side of his head and pulled his hand away. No blood. Adrian looked behind him at the hole in the plasterboard – three inches to the left and the bullet would have hit his head. The way he felt at the moment, he wasn’t entirely sure if he was relieved or not.
If the gun had fallen differently it could have hit Imogen. He looked at it lying there on the dustsheet. He wanted to point it at Reece and pull the trigger. He could pick it up now and claim it accidentally went off in the skirmish, killing Reece Corrigan. He could stop this man – a man who uses sex as a weapon, a way to gain power over people, people like Leon Quick, his own daughter and now Adrian, a police officer. Imogen would back him up if he pulled the trigger, he knew she would, especially if he told her why.
The temptation was strong, but there were other factors to consider, like the identity of the two men in the van. Reece was the only one who could tell him who they were.
He picked up the gun.
‘Adrian!’ Imogen shouted.
He had zoned out again.
He turned to see Imogen pulling Reece Corrigan back by his shoulders. He had his hands wrapped around his daughter’s neck and was pressing his thumbs hard into the centre of her throat. She clawed at him and her legs flailed.
Adrian rushed over, realising yet again that he had left the moment and become preoccupied with himself. He wasn’t fit to be back on the job.
He swung his arm with the full weight of his body, the gun still in his hand, the butt slamming into Reece’s jaw. Corrigan let go of Angela immediately and fell to the ground. Adrian stood over him and hit him again and again with the gun. The sadness inside Adrian instantly transformed into anger and then some sort of perverse pleasure as the skin split and blood poured from Corrigan’s face.
Corrigan stopped moving and Imogen grabbed hold of Adrian’s wrist as he was about to hit him one more time.
‘Stop! He’s done. He’s out,’ Imogen said before calling behind her. ‘Angela. Are you OK?’
Imogen looked at Adrian. He could feel the anger on his face and he could see how concerned she was. He nodded that she could let him go. She turned to Angela and helped her to stand.
‘I know what you must think of me,’ Angela said as she ran her fingers over the red marks on her throat.
‘None of this is your fault,’ Imogen said. ‘Just hold tight. I have already called for some assistance and an ambulance.’
‘You should have let him kill me,’ Angela sobbed. ‘Then he would definitely go to prison.’
‘He will. They will confirm the identity of your mother and with your testimony against him for the years of abuse you endured, there is no way he can get away with it this time,’ Imogen said.
Adrian turned to Imogen. ‘Are you OK?’
The faintest blue lights pulsated against the ceiling. Their back-up had arrived.
Angela walked slowly over to Reece Corrigan’s unconscious body and stood over him, a look of disgust on her face. No longer afraid. He was unconscious and blood trailed from swollen eye to the dusty floor.
‘You don’t know what he’s like,’ she said.
Adrian placed his hand on Imogen’s shoulder to steady her. She looked shaken and confused by what they had just witnessed.
Before either of them had a chance to react, Angela picked up her foot and drove the heel of her shoe into Reece’s eye. She was making sure he didn’t get out of here alive. His body twitched as she pulled her foot up again before slamming it down one more time, this time in the other socket. There was no movement this time – he was already dead.
‘Angela, stop!’ Imogen screamed.
‘I’ve got no one left. No one.’
Angela removed her foot again. This time the shoe stayed in place. She stumbled backwards until she was by the edge of the room, the full-length window that hadn’t yet been installed.
‘This is your chance to start a new life,’ Imogen said.
‘In prison?’ Angela said, glancing behind her and appraising the fall.
‘Given the circumstances and what you’ve been through, I don’t expect you would serve a long sentence, Angela. Just step away from the window.’ Adrian edged forwards with his hands held out. ‘Come to me.’
‘I can’t,’ Angela said, stepping backwards, a bloody imprint left where she had been standing.
Tears streamed down her face. She teetered at the edge.
Adrian was close enough to touch her now – he could grab her and pull her inside – but she could just as easily pull him out with her. He needed to talk her down. He spoke quietly to her.
‘He’s gone now. He can’t hurt you or anyone else anymore. Just step forwards and grab my hand. Once the judge knows what he did, he will be lenient. I know it.’
‘You can’t know that.’
‘Now that he is gone, I think a lot of people will come forward and testify as to what kind of man he really was. No one is going to blame you for what happened.’
Adrian moved forwards a little more and reached for Angela’s cheek with his thumb, wiping her tears away, trying to ignore the sheer drop just inches away from him. He felt himself sway a little, his fear of heights getting the better of him. He still had his hand held out to the side in case he needed to grab the window frame to stop himself from falling.
‘Come inside, Angela. You can trust me. I promise he can’t get to you. He’s dead. He can’t get to anyone,’ Adrian implored Angela with his eyes.
He could feel the tears of relief that Reece Corrigan was dead forming and he wanted her to know that he understood, that he was glad Reece was dead, too. Adrian remembered Angela’s face tangled among the brush and how she had trusted him then. He could get her to trust him again. He hoped she could see everything he was trying to convey.
Angela stumbled forwards into his arms and sobbed into his shoulder. He held onto her tightly; he wanted her to know that she was safe from that man, that he couldn’t hurt her anymore.
He turned his head slightly to see Imogen. The look on her face was of complete fear. She didn’t trust that he had a handle on the situation. He knew Imogen thought he was going to fall, that she thought she was going to lose him. He had done that. He knew he had to make a change. He couldn’t put her through that again.
Chapter Eighty-One
Six weeks earlier
He comes into the bathroom and watches me as I shower. I try to shield the parts of myself that I don’t want him to see. He removes his robe and climbs into the cubicle with me. Behind me, he kisses my neck and pushes me against the tiles. I draw my arms into my sides and wait for him to finish whatever it is he is doing.
He washes himself and then leaves. I continue washing, even though the water has gone cold. I scrub hardest at the parts where his body touched mine.
We have lunch together and he watches me eat. I feel like no matter what I do, he is watching me, even when I am alone.
After lunch, he suggests we go to London for a weekend away. I can go shopping and he can catch up with some business partners there. I smile and nod. I don’t need any more clothes, but it’s better just to acce
pt his suggestions or he gets angry.
I never quite know what will make him angry and so it’s better just to say yes to everything, or at least not to say no. I try not to look at the clock on the wall. He has already told me he is going out later on, so all I have to do is play happy families and wait. He will be gone soon enough.
I keep my gaze fixed on my book. My eyes scan the text and I turn the pages at the right times, but I can’t tell anyone what this story is about. I am thinking about something else entirely. I am thinking about escaping.
I wait for ten minutes after he has left to make sure he is gone. I keep my book in my hand the whole time in case I have to get back into character.
I call a taxi. I have ten minutes to get my things together. I don’t want to take much. I have a bag hidden in the back of the wardrobe with some clothes inside. Simon has got passports; I don’t know where or how he got them. Still, I won’t allow myself even to hope that I can get away until it has actually happened.
The taxi ride is short and it’s only a short wait for the bus. Simon has given me a pay-as-you-go phone to contact him with. I made sure it was charged earlier this morning.
I try to suppress the excitement building inside me, but it’s almost impossible. Is this really happening? Can I really get away? My mother got away and so it can be done. I heard him tell her countless times that she belonged to him and he would find her wherever she went – then when she finally did go, he did nothing. Could I be so lucky?
I get off the bus and Simon is waiting for me. I try not to run towards him, but the excitement pushes me forwards. We hug and he brushes my hair out of my face. I never thought I could ever feel love, but maybe this feeling I have for Simon is love. I don’t know. I feel safe with him, something I am not sure I have ever felt before.
We go back to his apartment. As I cross the threshold to his flat, I get a bad feeling, as though someone is watching. I shake it off; there is no way R knows where I am. He wouldn’t even be home yet. We have to get going before he gets back to our house, though, because I don’t think it will take that long for him to find me here. I don’t have friends.
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