In Servitude: a psychological suspense novel full of twists

by Heleen Kist

  ‘Camp called to say we forgot Noah’s trunks, and he’s had a meltdown. He really wants to go swimming. And I can’t bloody find them. I’m so annoyed. This is not what I want to be doing during my lunch hour.’

  ‘Would they not be in his room?’

  ‘No, they’re here somewhere.’

  ‘What about his dirty basket?’ I hoped that if he went upstairs, it would be easier to leave and he wouldn’t catch Dave coming to pick me up any minute.

  ‘No, I said, they’re here somewhere.’

  ‘Would he fit in Adam’s trunks? Those may be upstairs.’

  ‘Jesus, Grace, can you please just butt out! Mind you own business, for once.’ He remained doubled over, head down, fingers picking a multitude of yellow items out one by one.

  Anger flared inside. I was hit by a sudden, violent fantasy in which I smothered his face in the clothes until he suffocated. So vivid was it, that I felt his resistance in my hands, the pressure as I held his flailing body. I curled my fists and returned his unwelcoming outburst with a more measured, ‘Fuck you, Stephen.’

  He jerked up to face me, and a fire burnt in his eyes. ‘Don’t you talk to me like that in my own home, Grace. I’ve had my fill of you always being around. Fuck you yourself. Go away. I don’t need you.’

  That landed like a giant slap. Clearly, the heartless bastard had forgotten I’d saved his arse from losing his job. That I’d even gotten someone killed for him. That smothering fantasy was becoming more appealing by the second, but I clenched my jaws to contain my rage.

  ‘Fine.’ I grabbed my boots and strode past him to the exit, unable to resist knocking my shoulder against his upper arm. He teetered but stayed upright, steadied by a hand against the wall.

  An insulted look overtook his face as he retaliated, like a juvenile, with a shove. ‘And don’t come back.’

  ‘You can’t keep me away’ I squared up to him. ‘I get to see the boys. Glory would want me to be with them.’

  ‘Well Glory is dead.’

  I tried.

  I really tried. But the nonchalant way in which he dismissed Glory’s death—a murder by his own hand—tipped me over the edge. I swivelled round and propelled my right fist into his jaw. This lifted him off his feet and made him drop to the floor. He pushed himself up with his arms behind him and scuttled spider-like in retreat.

  ‘Jesus, Grace. What’s gotten into you?’

  ‘She’s dead because you killed her, you sick bastard.’

  His shocked expression did nothing to convince me of the contrary. I’d feign shock, too, if I were him. Or maybe he was shocked I’d found out.

  ‘Are you crazy? I loved her.’ On his knees now, he wiped his hands on his trousers and set his right foot down, preparing to rise.

  Adrenaline primed my muscles as I towered over him, confident of my greater physical strength. ‘I know you did it. I know you hired a man to run her off the road. And I’ve got proof. The minute I leave this house, I’m phoning the police.’

  His eyes narrowed. I retreated to the glass panelled door dividing the utility from the kitchen. As he motioned to get up, I slipped to the other side, intending to lock him in. Shit. No key.

  Stephen’s dark, rising frame filled the width of the glass, while I clung onto the handle with both hands, preparing for a tug of war. I gauged the distance to the rear door to see if running was an option.

  ‘Open the door, you bitch.’

  I let go and sprinted away. At the same time, Blue charged into the kitchen, attracted by the commotion, and obstructed my path. I danced around him to free my legs. A forceful yank at my hair pulled my head back, spraining my neck. Stephen grasped my bra strap through my T-shirt with his other hand and tugged me backwards before throwing me aside, slamming my head on the island. I screamed out in pain. Blood gushed from my split lip and I gasped for air. My windpipe was pressed onto the worktop.

  Stephen thrust his forearm into my neck and held me down. I pushed against the worktop with both hands. The harder I pushed, however, the more I struggled to breathe.

  ‘How did you know? Hm? Who told you about the hit?’

  It was true.

  Dark circles obscured my vision. Channelling all my strength into my arms, I gave one monster push and, this time, broke free. He was still clutching my hair. I ducked my head, turned under his arm and punched him in the chest, instantly followed by a kick in the groin. He doubled over. I grabbed his head and slammed his face against my knee, releasing him when he collapsed onto the floor.

  Blue was going wild, jumping about and barking, shoving his muzzle into my adversary’s groaning face. I needed to restrain Stephen and reached for the first thing that came to mind: the dog’s lead. When I took it off its peg, Blue mistook it for an invitation and raced to me, biting at the green leash in excitement.

  ‘No, Blue. Get off.’

  Having had time to recover, Stephen stretched out his leg and kicked my ankles, swiping me to the ground. On all fours, I fought off Blue, who seemed to think this was all a fantastic game. But he growled when Stephen stomped onto my lower back. The pain radiated like a shock wave across my body and collided violently with a counter-shock as Stephen plonked the knee from his other leg on my shoulders. Along with his full weight. I cried out, laying spread-eagled.

  ‘You couldn’t leave it alone, could you? What am I going to do with you now?’

  I stretched my limbs out to attempt an escape but remained flat and helpless like a turtle caught in a sand bank. He hovered over my face, my right side pinned to the cold tiles.

  ‘Why did you do it?’ I asked, drool sliding down one side of my mouth. ‘What did she ever do to you?’

  ‘Ha! I thought you knew everything. She betrayed me. She betrayed me lying about her bloody café, getting herself into so much trouble that she dragged me along. Risking my job!’ His breath invaded mine as he spat his disdain in my face ‘And the lies! Pretending it’s all over but all the while planning her escape. Hiding money with you and the kids so I wouldn’t find out, so I couldn’t touch it. Going off with that lowlife wholesaler. Flaunting her affair to the entire world.’

  ‘No! You’re wrong. She didn’t have an affair with Mike.’

  ‘I saw the pictures.’

  ‘They were a set up. She was doing it for the police.’ I twisted my neck as far as it went to face him straight on and saw a flicker of doubt. He hesitated. I quickly shook my hip to throw him off balance. His foot slipped but he caught himself with both hands on the floor and quickly replaced the load on my back with a second knee. He straightened up. Fully kneeling on me, his bum on his feet. The pain was excruciating.

  ‘So now what, bitch? I can’t let you go.’

  ‘You fucking bastard.’

  Stephen leaned sideways, and I lost him from my field of vision. When his weight was centred again, I spotted something red in his hands. As he hoisted it above his head, I saw what it was. The fire extinguisher that always stood in the corner. I let out a piercing scream. Startled, Blue pounced free through the unreliable rear door.

  ‘I wish you’d stayed out of it.’

  Defenceless, I shut my eyes and waited for the blow. His knees dug into me as he elevated himself to increase the force. I winced, bracing for the end.

  Dave’s voice came out of nowhere. ‘Grace!’ My eyes sprung open. I watched him hurl himself onto Stephen’s outstretched torso without a second thought. They landed beside me, Stephen’s head hitting the ground. As he dropped the extinguisher, Dave jumped on him and, on all fours, grabbed his arms and secured Stephen’s legs with his calves, immobilising him in a tight grip.

  I leapt up.

  ‘Hold him, Dave. He killed Glory.’

  Dave turned to me in confusion. ‘What?’

  Stephen seized the opportunity of Dave’s distraction and raised his legs in an attempt to release himself. But my man was on him again in a flash and contained him in a full-body lock. My heart pounded in my ears. Hyped up, charged
with electrical impulses, and deaf to Dave’s ‘You’re going nowhere, pal,’ I lifted the extinguisher.

  Dave yelled, ‘Grace, no!’

  But it was too late. The red metal cannister hit Stephen’s skull with a harrowing crunch and all resistance left his body.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  ‘Call an ambulance!’

  My limbs leaden, I stood bolted to the ground, dazed and mute, as I watched the scene unfold in an echoey fog: Dave chanting Stephen’s name and checking for vital signs in his lifeless body.

  ‘Call an ambulance, Grace, he’s still breathing.’

  The third scream of my name jolted me back. I fumbled inside my pocket and struggled to steady my phone while it tried to recognise the lines of my trembling fingerprint. I dialled 999. ‘What do I say? Oh, my God. I did this.’

  ‘Say there’s been a fight. Say a man was hit on the head, is breathing but unconscious.’ He placed Stephen in the recovery position. ‘They’ll send the police, too.’ I dropped the phone in shock—or perhaps in unconscious sabotage. Did I want him saved? Dave swiped it and instructed the operator while continuing to prod Stephen with his foot.

  Afterwards, he came and put his hands on my shoulders. A gentle shake drew my distant mind to him.

  ‘Babe. It was self-defence. He was going to hurt you. You said he killed Glory.’

  ‘But you had him ... You’d pinned him down.’

  He drew me into his arms, stroked my hair and shushed. In a resolute tone, he threw me the ultimate lifeline. ‘They don’t need to know that.’

  Two of the precisely six minutes and forty-seven seconds it took for the ambulance to reach the property from the Queen Elizabeth University Hospital were wasted with a lingering embrace, as I broke into grateful tears. But with time ticking, and my innocence at risk, I had to pull myself together and concentrate on getting our stories straight.

  Our shared tale had to be plausible. It had to start with the truth: Dave hearing a scream through the open rear door and finding Stephen sitting on me and about to slam the extinguisher into me. And it had to end with my blow to his head, cloaked in irrefutable self-preservation. We acted out a sequence of actions, only to find the continuity was physically impossible. Then we tried again, and again, until we arranged a credible flow that worked, just as the sirens approached.

  ‘Punch me,’ said Dave. ‘They won’t believe he knocked me out unless there’s a bruise.’

  I winced and fired my first into his jaw. ‘I’m sorry.’

  He stumbled sideways but stayed on his feet. ‘Wow. You’ve got some hook.’ As he rubbed the side of his face, I apologised again and rushed to hold him tight. After we kissed, I stared down at the immobile shape.

  ‘What if he wakes up?’

  ‘He’s still a killer, Grace.’ He joined my downward gaze. ‘Plus, I somehow think he won’t.’

  At that moment, Blue bounded in, erratic and excitable, which reminded me the first responders wouldn’t know to come to the rear door. I sprinted to the front entrance to usher them in, pulling both glazed panels open in welcome as they ran up the drive.

  The rest was a blur.

  In the kitchen, the paramedics packed Stephen up in an almost surreal demonstration of professional efficiency, casually throwing Dave an ice-pack on their way out.

  Four police officers mulled about taking pictures and hurling questions at us in quick, but illogical succession. The fat one had separated me from Dave, and I clung onto the image of his last loving look, for comfort.

  ‘Please. I have to speak with DI Roberts,’ I said.

  ‘Ma’m, please answer the question. Why were you in the victim’s house?’

  I wished they’d stopped calling the bastard a victim. He was a murdered and had it coming. Frustrated, I searched for Dave and saw a skinny brunette escort him out by the elbow.

  ‘But my boyfriend—’

  ‘Ma’m, your boyfriend is being taken to the station. And as soon as my colleagues have finished scanning the house for other victims, we’ll be on our way too.’

  ‘Get DI Roberts. He’s in the human trafficking unit. He knows about my sister. Tell him it was murder. Tell him I have proof.’

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Confirmation came five days later when DI Roberts visited the café. Preparing his espresso, I signalled to Sascha to take over the other customers, threw in a cookie and joined him by the window. I’d been waiting to hear from him since our conversation at the station, when his colleague had finally called and allowed him to join the interview. And with him now here, my heart fluttered in anticipation.

  ‘So?’ I clutched the cup between my hands.

  ‘It took some work. This isn’t my area, to begin with, but given our history, they gave me the go-ahead. And the guys at the lab weren’t happy when I asked them to run toxicology again. However, what with the assault, and as you’d mentioned zolpidem by name—which is not something they routinely look for—they couldn’t refuse. By a stroke of luck, they hadn’t disposed of Glory’s samples yet. There’s a dispute with the medical waste firm that has created a backlog.’

  I displayed a polite grin, which fronted a jumpy impatience.

  ‘And?’

  ‘And they found it. You were right. The report says Glory had ingested a sleeping tablet within a half hour to an hour of her accident. Nobody does that before getting in the car. But it would explain why she could be run off the road so easily. And you said the husband had given her a cup of tea before departure. With your testimony of his confession, and the Romanian chap pointing fingers on his side, we have a murder case.’

  I exhaled a breath it felt like I’d held for years and dropped my head into both hands. ‘Thank God.’

  ‘I’m sorry we missed it before.’

  This time my smile was genuine. ‘It’s not your fault. I would probably have thought I was a crazy lady too. After all, I wasn’t even a hundred percent certain she’d been murdered. And I thought it was Mike Catach.’

  ‘True. What’s the husband’s condition?’

  ‘He’s still in a coma. They had to open his skull to address the internal bleeding,’ I said.

  ‘A craniotomy.’

  ‘Yes, that’s the one. He’s stable but they can’t tell yet if there’s any brain damage. Besides, they wouldn’t really know the full extent of it until he wakes up.’

  ‘Yes. Well, I know the hospital has been instructed to alert us the minute that happens.’ Roberts bit into his cookie and flicked the crumbs from the side of his mouth in a backwards sweep of his thumb, like my father did. ‘How are you holding up?’

  ‘It’s been tough. I’m staying at the house to take care of Adam and Noah, but I am filled with dread whenever I enter the kitchen. It’s like he’s still there. And the poor boys can’t understand what’s going on. They’ve been to see him in hospital, but I haven’t got the heart to tell them how he got there, or why. Is it wrong that I wish him dead?’

  ‘No, Grace, it’s human nature.’ He stroked my forearm. ‘You’ll get through this.’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘I’d better get back to the station.’ He rose. ‘I’ll keep you in the loop on any developments.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  When I was clearing up, I noticed the morning rush had subsided. Are rare opportunity for Sascha and me to talk. My near-death experience had prompted me to review what I wanted out of life, out of my second chance. One that Glory never had. I’d spoken to Alastair. I couldn’t blame him for being puzzled. Why would anyone make such an unusual non-commercial decision? But it was within my rights, as majority shareholder, and the documents had arrived by post in the morning.

  ‘Sascha, shall we go through the papers?’

  ‘Coming!’

  She returned from the rear and set the clean crockery down while I retrieved the envelope from below the counter. We settled in the nearest seats and I walked her through the accountant’s instructions. Alastair had laid it all out in
a check-list, in simple language, and pasted stickers highlighting where to sign. When the moment arrived for her to write her name next to the first sticky arrow, she looked at me and frowned.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, Sascha. I’m sure.’

  ‘You’re not still in shock or anything? And won’t later decide you made a big mistake?’ She was one of few people I’d told about the altercation with Stephen and I trusted her to keep it quiet for the children’s sake.

  ‘Believe me. I’m sure. You’re a natural. You’re the one making this a success. It’s only fair. I want you to have the café.’

  ‘For a pound?’

  ‘Yes, for a pound. I’d give it to you for free, but Alastair says that’s not tax efficient. So one pound, please, if you will.’ I held out my palm and she laughed, shrugged her shoulders and pulled change from her summer dress. She placed a single gleaming coin on the table. ‘And free coffee for life,’ I said.

  ‘But of course. Free coffee for life.’

  Sascha lifted the pen to the dotted line and with one neat blue scrawl wiped away all but the last stain from Glory’s crime.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  The bell rang and I walked to the front window. It was difficult to see who was at the gate, since the shape was wearing a big winter coat and a hat. But given the parcel in the figure’s hands, it was probably Amazon again.

  ‘Are you expecting another delivery?’ I yelled at Dave in the other room.

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I think all the Christmas gifts are in.’

  ‘Shush. Keep it down. The boys might hear.’

  I buzzed the gate open and waited by the glazed front door while the visitor’s boots sank into the snow with each step up the drive. The door was held open only for as long as it took to place my signature and haul the box inside. We needed to keep the warmth in. Glory’s house was murder to heat. We’d learnt that the hard way when temperatures started to drop mid-Autumn.