by Michael Wood
‘Let’s all go into the living room and sit down so you can tell us the truth.’
‘I am telling you the truth.’
‘Mr Blyth, I must warn you, I have no time for liars. I want the truth and I’m not going to leave this flat until I’m satisfied.’
The silence was heavy. Robert Blyth stood in front of his three captors and folded his arms. He had nothing to say.
‘I think you did know Clara King. I think you preyed on her. You used the internet to contact her, you stalked her and groomed her. You arranged to meet her but when she saw you – tall and lanky, and obviously not the teenage heartthrob you alluded to in your profile photo, she looked at you like you were shit on her shoe …’
‘No,’ Robert interrupted, shaking his head. ‘No. You’ve got it all wrong.’
‘You took her home and you raped her. You raped her three times. You defiled her …’
‘I loved her,’ he screamed.
The silence returned. Tears started to stream down Robert’s face. He collapsed onto the sofa and wrapped his skinny arms around his body, holding himself tight.
‘I loved her,’ he repeated, quieter this time. He looked up at Matilda. ‘You think it’s so simple don’t you? You think everything is black and white. I groomed and raped her. You know nothing,’ he spat.
Matilda sat down on the sofa opposite him. ‘Then tell me?’
‘What’s the point? You didn’t listen before why would you listen now? You’re all the same you coppers; you want us to trust you and come to you for protection but when we do you don’t give a fuck.’
‘Robert, tell me what happened,’ Matilda said slowly.
He wiped his nose on his sleeve, opened and closed his mouth. His eyes darted from side to side. He was obviously in torment. Unsure whether to tell his story again or let them think he’d raped a thirteen-year-old girl and accept his fate.
‘I had a twin sister,’ he began. ‘Rachel. One night, when we were eight years old, I went into her bedroom – I can’t remember why – and I saw my dad having sex with her. She was crying. I just froze. I didn’t know what to do. Dad grabbed me. He took me back to my room and sat me down and told me that he loved Rachel and was just doing what daddies do when they love their children,’ Robert started rocking back and forth on the sofa.
‘The next day I asked Rachel what happened and she said she didn’t like it but it was daddy showing her how much he loved her so she let him. She didn’t want him to though. I went to speak to dad and told him that Rachel was upset. She loved him but he was hurting her. I told him that he could do it to me if he wanted to as long as he left Rachel alone.’
Robert looked up for the first time. His eyes were brimming with tears. His audience: Matilda sitting on the sofa opposite, Sian on the armchair, and Aaron next to Matilda, all had blank, horrified faces.
He continued. ‘That night, my bedroom door opened and dad walked in. He told me he loved me and climbed into bed next to me. Then he did what he did with Rachel. It hurt and it made me cry but it wasn’t happening to Rachel so I didn’t mind. When he finished, dad said I’d been a good boy and not to tell anyone, ever. He left the room and I cried. The next morning, Rachel thanked me. She looked so happy, so relieved.’
Robert broke down, the tears wouldn’t stop as he wailed. He lost control of his emotions and let years’ worth of pent up frustration, anger and horror come flowing out.
‘Did you tell anyone?’ Sian asked.
He nodded as he wiped the tears with his sleeve again. ‘The man who lived across the road was a policeman. I told him. He said he’d have a word with dad but nothing happened.’
‘Where’s your father now?’ Matilda asked.
‘He was killed in a car crash on the M1 when I was fifteen. Me and Rachel were so relieved. I’ve still got the newspaper story from when it happened. I know it word for word. His car flipped and he was decapitated as he went through the windscreen. I couldn’t have wished for a more fitting death.’
‘And what happened to Rachel?’
The mention of his twin sister’s name brought on another flood of tears. ‘On our twenty-first birthday Rachel killed herself. She threw herself off the bridge over the Parkway in front of a lorry and was killed instantly. She left me a letter. A couple of weeks earlier Rachel had gone to the doctor because she was bleeding when she went to the toilet. They did tests and told her she was damaged – internally. She’d never be able to have children. She couldn’t handle that.’
‘Where was your mother during all of this?’ Sian asked.
‘Mum died when we were three. Breast cancer.’
‘Did you stalk Clara King and rape her?’ Matilda asked.
Robert tried to reply but couldn’t. He simply nodded.
‘Why?’
‘Because she looked like Rachel,’ Robert went over to the sideboard and pulled out an album. He flicked through the pages and smiled when he came to the photo he wanted to see. He handed it to Matilda. ‘This is Rachel.’
Matilda’s eyes widened. Judy King could have had this photograph on her living room wall. Rachel really was the spitting image of Clara.
‘But why did you rape her?’
‘I didn’t mean to do it. I just wanted to see her in person. When I did I was shocked by how similar she looked to Rachel. I thought it was her.’
‘But you raped her three times,’ Sian said, a look of disgust on her face.
‘I love Rachel. I was just doing what daddy did when he said he loved us.’
Matilda let out a sigh and looked at the floor. Can someone really be labelled an abuser when they thought it was natural due to what they witnessed as a child? To Robert Blyth, he was only doing what his father did. He’d been told that was normal.
‘You posed on the internet as a teenage boy, though,’ Aaron said when the silence grew. ‘That’s premeditation for grooming.’
‘I didn’t create the Facebook page until I came across Rachel … I mean Clara. She didn’t have any security settings on her page and we both liked Sheffield United. I saw her and wanted to talk to her. She wouldn’t talk to a man like me, would she?’
‘Did you know that Iain Kilbride was Clara’s father?’
‘What?’ He asked, his eyes widening in shock. He looked at both Sian and Aaron before turning back to Matilda. ‘No. That’s not right. Different surnames.’
‘Iain Kilbride used to be quite a famous actor in his youth. Iain Kilbride was his stage name. His real name was Iain King.’
‘Oh my God.’
‘Robert, did you kill Iain Kilbride?’
The silence enveloped the room. The wait for an answer was long and painful and the sound of a carriage clock on the mantelpiece ticked ever louder.
‘He asked me to,’ he said quietly.
‘What?’
‘He said he was dying. He said his liver and kidneys were failing. He told me about being an actor in the eighties and nineties. He showed me the photographs. He didn’t want to die a faded star and have such a sad, lingering death. He said it would be fun if he was murdered. It would give him profile. He told me about an actress in the forties called Lupe Velez. Like him, work had dried up, and she wanted to be remembered for her death. Everybody knows how Lupe Velez died with her head in the toilet after a failed suicide attempt.’
Aaron seemed confused, obviously having never heard of Lupe Velez. Sian looked away, embarrassed by Robert Blyth’s excuse.
‘Robert, that story is a myth,’ Matilda said. ‘Lupe Velez did not die with her head down the toilet. It’s a Hollywood myth.’
‘But Iain said he wanted to be remembered for the way he died. He asked me to break in and hit him over the head but not to take anything so the motive wasn’t robbery. Then it wouldn’t be clear why he was killed. It would be a big mystery. I cut my hand breaking the window so he gave me the story about leaning in through the glass and getting blood on my shirt. How would I know all that?’ He looked at the three blank
faces staring at him. He continued, floundering. ‘When his boss came and looked through the door she saw his body. I knew I would go around the back and through the window so I looked in the letterbox and pretended not to see him. I made it look like the killer was still in the flat.’ Robert couldn’t talk fast enough. His words were falling over each other as they came out of his mouth.
‘Iain said he would write a letter. He’d write a letter to his wife saying that he’d set it all up to look like a baffling murder. Speak to his wife. She’ll know all about it.’
‘Robert, his wife knows nothing of this.’
‘No. You’re lying,’ he screamed. ‘Iain said …’ the realization dawned on him. ‘Ian … he said that … will I still be charged with murder?’
‘Robert, there was no pact with Iain Kilbride was there? He confronted you about being Clara’s rapist. An argument broke out and you killed him. That’s what happened, isn’t it?’
Confused, eyes darting left and right, Robert said, ‘I … I’m not … I don’t … I … no …’
‘Robert Blyth, I’m charging you with the murder of Iain Kilbride. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something you later rely upon in court. Do you understand?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Iain said … he said …’
‘Let’s go, Robert.’
Slowly, and with Aaron’s help, Robert stood up from the sofa and was led out of the flat.
Outside, the wind had eased but the snow continued to fall. Aaron opened the rear door of the pool car and put Robert inside. All the time he was muttering to himself about Iain’s plan to make the perfect murder and be remembered.
‘Do you believe him?’ Sian asked.
‘God knows. I think Iain Kilbride tracked him down. He hasn’t lived here long. He moved in to keep an eye on him, get to know him, and confront him when the time was right. Unfortunately for Iain, he didn’t judge Robert Blyth as well as he thought and ended up being killed.’
‘Do you believe his abuse story?’
‘I think I do. It will need looking into. Come on, let’s get out of this bloody cold. There’s still a lot of work to do on this.’
Matilda lowered herself into the driving seat. Sian was next to her with Aaron and Robert Blyth in the back.
‘He promised he’d write a letter saying it was all his idea and I wouldn’t be charged with murder,’ Robert said, flustered.
‘Even if that was true you would still have been charged with murder,’ Matilda said.
‘But Iain asked me to do it,’ he said over and over again as the car made its way through the snow-covered streets of Sheffield.
Chapter Eighteen
Christmas Day, 2010
‘I never expected to spend Christmas morning inside a sardine tin.’
Matilda and James were in bed in the caravan which was swayed slightly in the stiff breeze. Due to the bad weather the delivery of the Winnebago had been delayed until the second week of the new year, much to Matilda’s annoyance.
‘It’s not where you are, it’s who you are with that counts,’ James said.
The duvet was covered with torn wrapping paper. They were surrounded by gifts ranging from books, DVDs and novelty ties and socks to diamond earrings and expensive watches.
‘More champagne?’ James proffered the bottle.
‘I’ve already had three glasses and I haven’t eaten yet. I’ll be pissed before we get to Adele’s.’
‘She won’t mind.’
‘You don’t really know Adele, do you?’ Matilda laughed.
‘Our first Christmas as a married couple,’ James said, kissing her.
‘And our first living as a couple of refugees.’
‘You’re sexy when you’re stubborn.’
‘You have a strange definition of what’s sexy Mr Darke.’
James cleared the bed of gifts and wrapping paper with one swift movement. He climbed on top of her and kissed her hard. ‘I love you DCI Darke.’
‘That’s good to know,’ she smiled. ‘I love you too.’
‘Fancy knackering the suspension on this thing?’ He grinned.
‘Only if it means we can spend the new year in a hotel.’
‘You’re on.’
Judy King sat in the living room. She was spending Christmas Day on her own. She had planned to go round to Iain’s, surprise him, and cook them a nice meal; nothing too fancy, no big Christmas meal like they had when they were married, but a roast chicken and a few vegetables, at least. Now there was no reason to cook. She’d make herself scrambled eggs on toast in the afternoon if she was hungry.
On the coffee table in front of her was a thick envelope. Her name was written on it in Iain’s untidy hand. There was an instruction that it shouldn’t be opened until Christmas Day.
Sitting in her dressing gown and pyjamas, she took a large drink of whisky for courage and tore open the envelope.
Dear Judy,
I am entrusting you with a massive secret. I am sorry to place such a burden on your shoulders but you’re the only person who can do anything about it.
Before I tell you I need you to know how much I love you and Clara. You were my whole life. I was a useless and selfish husband and father, and if I could go back I would change it all and dedicate my life to the both of you. I don’t blame you for leaving me. I’m surprised you didn’t do it sooner. The last few years of our marriage I was an absolute shit. I regret everything. My feelings for you never changed. I love you more now than I did when we were first married.
Judy, I need you to take a deep breath before you continue reading. I have found the bastard who raped Clara. His name is Robert Blyth and he lives in my block of flats in Hallam Grange. You’ve asked me many times why I decided to sell the cottage and buy such a shitty flat in Sheffield. Well, now you know. I needed to be near Robert. I needed to know what kind of person he was.
The answer to that is I’ve no idea as I couldn’t bring myself to get to know him. I just wanted to befriend him enough to ask him to do something for me.
I’ve known for a while that I’m dying. I haven’t been to the doctor but when you’re drinking and smoking as much as I do and you’re coughing up blood you know it’s probably not a throat infection. The messages on Clara’s computer made for unsettling reading but they didn’t prove anything. On their own, they’re simple exchanges. Besides, Robert can’t be charged with rape when Clara is no longer here. If we want justice, we need to find it ourselves.
So, what better way than to have him kill me. He will be caught, sent to prison, and taken off the streets. That, at least, will give my life purpose and, hopefully, make up for my pathetic attempt at fatherhood.
Remember when we used to spend evenings together in bed watching Frasier? In the very first episode, Roz tells Frasier about an actress called Lupe Velez who tried to kill herself and ended up with her head in the toilet. I told that story to Robert and he believed it. I’ve arranged for him to kill me, make it look like my flat was broken into but no robbery took place. It will seem like a perfect, yet bizarre murder. The police will trace everything back to Robert because I’m going to make sure he cuts himself when he smashes my window – flying glass can get everywhere and I’ll nick his arm or something. His blood, his DNA, will be all over my flat.
What happens next is up to you. This letter, with a good solicitor, could get his sentence reduced to manslaughter. If you want him locked up for life, then destroy it. I needed you to know the truth. All I’ve thought about since we split up is you and Clara and how much you both mean to me.
I know your faith is important to you. However, go with your heart on this one.
I’ll be with Clara now, and we’ll wait for you to join us. I love you.
Iain, xx
Judy read the letter again. She had the power to decide what happened to the man who stole her only child. She looked at the crucifix on the wall, felt at the sil
ver cross hanging around her neck and said a silent prayer for strength. She waited. Eventually, her prayers were answered. God gave her the strength she needed to put the letter on the fire.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank Lucy Dauman, Finn Cotton and everyone else at Killer Reads and HarperCollins who have worked hard on this short story. You’re a great team and allow me to write the stories I want to tell.
To the hard working bloggers from my two blog tours, this short story is dedicated to you. You’ve taken Matilda Darke to your hearts and written great reviews for my first two books. Long may you continue supporting my work and my characters.
A special thank you to my nameless police contact who gives invaluable advice. Any mistakes are my fault and for the purposes of storytelling.
Thank you also for the continued support from my mum and close friends (you know who you are).
Two perfect families. Two broken marriages. And a killer who needs to be stopped…
The pressure is on for investigating officer, DCI Matilda Darke: there’s a violent killer on the loose, and it looks like her team members are the new targets. With no leads and no suspects, it’s going to take all Matilda’s wits to catch him, before he strikes again.
Click here to order a copy of Outside Looking In
Two murders. Twenty years. Now the killer is back for more…
DCI Matilda Darke has returned to work after a nine month absence. A shadow of her former self, she is tasked with re-opening a cold case: an unresolved homicide. Then a dead body is discovered, and the investigation leads back to Matilda’s case. Suddenly the past and present converge, and it seems a killer may have come back for more…
Click here to order a copy of For Reasons Unknown
About the Author
Michael Wood is a freelance journalist and proofreader living in Sheffield. As a journalist he has covered many crime stories throughout Sheffield, gaining first-hand knowledge of police procedure. He also reviews books for CrimeSquad, a website dedicated to crime fiction.