by Mark Tufo
Strange.
The café was closed. The lights were off inside.
If there was one thing he knew about Mary McLeod, it was that she never closed the café. Running the place was more than a job to her; since her husband Derek had died it had become a way of life. She lived alone now and relied on her regular customers for company more than income.
Was she ill? Worse, was she... ?
His frustration quickly gave way to something more serious. Given everything that had happened over the last few days, Mark feared for Mary’s safety. Griffiths had fought with Graham McBride outside the chemist opposite. What if she’d seen them? What if Griffiths had caught her watching and done something to her? Hamilton hadn’t been on duty last night when McBride had been found. He didn’t know if anyone had seen Mary since. He cupped his hands around his eyes to see in through the window but it was too dark inside. He knocked the door then tried the handle. It was open.
‘Mary? Mary, you in? It’s PC Hamilton. It’s Mark...’
Nothing. He took a few steps inside and called out for her again. The place was deathly silent. He looked hopefully at the beaded curtain through which she always loved to make her dramatic entrances, but it just shifted with the breeze from the open door.
Wait. What was that?
He was sure he could hear movement in the back of the café and he went through to the kitchen. No sign of anyone. He knocked on the door between the private and business parts of the building – kept shut as always – then pressed his ear against it. There was definitely something in there... he could hear a faint scraping, scrabbling noise.
He pushed the door open and had barely taken a step forward when Mary’s yappy little dog – Horace, he thought its name was, or was it Milly? – came running at him. It swerved between his legs and pelted past, whimpering rather than barking. Hardly a guard dog, it was little more than a tiny, highly-strung ball of fluff which generated a lot of noise and shit and served no other purpose. His girlfriend Meryl called it Mary’s rat on a rope whenever they saw her out walking it in town.
The dog’s unusual behaviour heightened PC Hamilton’s concern. He noticed it had clawed deep grooves into the very bottom of the door in its desperation to get out.
‘Mary?’ he called out again. ‘Mary, are you here? Is everything okay?’
He went deeper into her living area – her small private kitchen space built on the other side of the café pantry – then stopped. The place smelled awful, truly rank. His pulse began to race. She was dead, he was sure of it now. He’d seen the bodies of a couple of the other victims and the memory of their brutal and senseless mutilation was seared onto his retinas, all he could see. He’d been one of the first on the scene when those kids had found what was left of Ken Potter on the tracks, and he’d been there when Angela Pietrszkiewicz had been found too. She’d been stripped to the waist... violated... He prepared himself to find another body here, then panicked. What if the killer’s still here? He leant against a wall and steadied himself. Wait, it’s okay... the guy from Redditch is in the cells...
PC Hamilton trod in something moist and he froze as it squelched beneath his boot, fearing the worst. The smell hit him before he was able to reach across to the curtains and let in some light. Dog shit. Gross. He gagged. Bodies he could just about cope with, but the smell of dog shit got him every time. And the floor was covered in it, scattershot diarrhoea courtesy of that vile little creature he’d just let out. He kicked off his boots rather than risk treading shit through the rest of the house, then picked his way through the canine minefield. Christ, why did people bother with dogs? Meryl had a cat, and as much as he despised the needy little fucker, at least it always took itself outside to crap then buried the evidence afterwards.
‘Mary?’ he shouted again. He edged down her short hallway then looked into the living room. The curtains were open. No Mary. More importantly, no body.
Upstairs.
He climbed the steps slowly, his sock-clad footsteps making little noise. He tried to think of as many possible explanations for the situation as he could: Mary’s just overslept, she’s ill, she’s had a heart attack, she’s fallen out of bed and broken something, she’s just not here... He focused on those slightly more palatable options and tried to block out the idea of finding her like Angela Pietrszkiewicz yesterday, covered in blood, with every last shred of dignity barbarically stripped away.
Onto the landing. Still nothing but silence. He worked his way along, room by room. The bathroom was empty, as was the back bedroom. The door to Mary’s room was ajar. He took a deep breath then knocked and pushed it open. ‘Mary?’
He didn’t look until he had to, not knowing what he was going to find.
The relief was immense.
Mary was sitting on the floor at the foot of her bed, wearing a loose, open dress and very little else. She looked up at him and smiled and he felt himself relax. ‘Thank Christ you’re okay,’ he said. ‘Did you not hear me shouting?’
‘No, sorry.’
He looked at her again, then looked away with embarrassment when he realised how much of her flabby body was on show. She’d been grossly overweight for as long as he’d known her, so large that she’d scared him when he was a kid; a grotesquely made-up, mountainous monster. He’d vivid memories of her catching him and his mates playing around by her bins one time. His mates had got away, but she’d managed to grab him. He could still remember the smell of used cooking fat and cigarettes and the feel of her pudgy hands on his shoulders, greasy from working with cooking oil all day, every day.
‘Is everything all right, Mary?’
He made himself look again. She was on the floor with her legs splayed, everything on show. No knickers, he thought, and he tried not to stare but he couldn’t help himself, his eyes drawn to the parts of her he wanted to see least.
‘Cold,’ she said. She lifted her head and looked at him. She’d got the most beautiful eyes. He’d never really noticed them before. They were deep brown. Warm. Welcoming. Irises almost as dark as her pupils. She had a kind, motherly face, but she’d always covered herself with too much makeup for his liking, tried too hard with her hair and clothes, like she was clinging onto long gone youth. For crying out loud, she’d gone to school with his mother. She was no spring chicken.
But today Mary looked... different. He felt the awkwardness melting away.
PC Hamilton remained in the bedroom doorway, watching her watching him. He couldn’t put his finger on what was different about her today. In fact, he decided, there wasn’t anything specific, she just looked... right. Motherly. But it was more than that. He took a few steps further into the room then stopped and knelt down next to her, wanting to help, wanting to be sure she was okay. ‘You sure you’re all right?’
Mary lifted a hand and touched the side of his face. ‘Fine,’ she said, her voice an alluring, airy whisper.
He tried to move, but he was rooted to the spot by her serene beauty. His mouth was dry, his pulse quickening. He’d never thought of Mary in this way before. It was hard to accept, but he realised he wanted her.
What the hell? Don’t be stupid, man. She’s old and greasy... this is Mary from the café for crying out loud...
But there was no denying the attraction. She still had her hand on his face and he leant against her touch, then he pushed himself even closer and kissed her cheek and revelled in the closeness. Her smell... oh, her smell... words couldn’t express how it made him feel inside. So natural, so right. He felt a burning in his gut now that he fought hard to ignore. He wanted her, but he knew that was ridiculous. I’m twenty-seven, she’s got to be almost seventy... It wasn’t going to happen. Not here. Not now. Not Mary. It was wrong on every conceivable level.
But that burning was getting stronger. He couldn’t understand it, but he couldn’t dismiss it either. He’d known her for more than twenty years, but had never appreciated her like this before. Why hadn’t he seen it until today? And she felt it too,
he knew she did. The way she looked at him, the way she touched him... The way her breathing had changed: light with frequent fluttering gasps now, like the way Meryl’s breathing changed when they made love together. Not when they fucked while her dad was out and not how it was when she was on about having kids again and sex was contrived, but how they connected in those rare moments when circumstances and emotions combined and collided perfectly, when they had the kind of sex that made him feel alive, more than human.
He knew Mary would make him feel that way this morning. He wanted her and he knew she wanted him. She had her hand on his crotch. There was a wet patch on the front of his uniform trousers.
PC Hamilton peeled Mary’s dress completely open. She shuffled around and lay down flat on the floor for him, her saggy breasts parting as gravity pulled them in different directions, a roll of fat hanging down over her waist as if she was wearing a string belt beneath it. The sudden shared passion was undeniable. She opened her legs. Moist. Ready. That excited him even more and he hurriedly stripped, kicking off his trousers and underwear. He crouched down beside her, cock hard, still not understanding why but knowing that all he wanted was Mary.
No foreplay. No words.
My god, he’d never seen anything as beautiful as this woman at this precise moment. The roadmap of broken veins on her thighs, her breasts like bags of grain, the mole on her hip the size of a coin, her unkempt bush of wiry grey pubic hairs, streaks of cellulite...
And nothing mattered but the two of them. Nothing mattered but the sex.
He sat astride her and she took him deep and hard.
Chapter 66
Word spread fast about Scott. But then again, word spread fast about everything in Thussock. Tammy and Phoebe didn’t go to school and Michelle didn’t take George to toddler group. She spent the morning pacing around the kitchen, waiting for the phone to ring. The routine had been as familiar and frightening for her as it had for Scott; the endless waiting for news, the complete helplessness. The police had been as vague and unhelpful as expected. ‘Stay at home, Mrs Griffiths,’ was all they told her. ‘We can’t give you any information. We’ll contact you as soon as we’ve anything to tell you.’ A couple of phone calls with the lawyer they’d assigned to represent Scott followed, and Jackie called Michelle once the news reached her, but that was it. The gravity of the situation was undoubted, the outcome uncertain.
But as the day progressed, a strange sense of normality began to prevail. An engineer arrived to install a satellite dish and connect the TV. Michelle hadn’t even known Scott had arranged it. He never told her anything. Sometimes she felt like she hardly knew him.
By seven o’clock, frayed tempers and nerves had begun to repair. Tammy, Phoebe and George sat with their mother in the living room watching TV, catching up with the channels they’d missed. The doorbell rang and Michelle was out of her seat in a heartbeat, guts immediately churning again. It was Jackie, and she didn’t know how that made her feel. She was equally relieved and disappointed. ‘Come on in, Jackie,’ she said.
‘Only if you’re sure. I didn’t know whether to come round or not.’
Michelle eyed up the bottle of wine she’d brought with her. ‘You should definitely have come.’
After introducing her to the girls, Michelle took Jackie into the kitchen. The TV noise drifting through the house made everything feel deceptively normal. ‘Dez was in town yesterday afternoon,’ Jackie said. ‘He said Graham was acting weird. It’s not his fault, but that fella’s never been quite right, you know?’
‘I know, but that doesn’t mean he deserved to...’ She didn’t finish her sentence. Couldn’t finish it. Jackie put her hand on Michelle’s and topped up her already generous glass of wine. ‘You not drinking?’ Michelle asked.
‘I’m driving. Anyway, I bought this for you. Figured you’d be the one in need of alcohol.’
‘It’s appreciated. I can’t tell you how much.’
‘Like I said, love, I know where you’re at.’ Jackie watched Michelle, not knowing what she should say, or even if she should say anything at all. The building site state of the kitchen was a convenient distraction. ‘That’s quite a hole you have in your wall there.’
Michelle laughed into her wine glass. ‘That’s Scott for you. Impulsive. Selfish.’
‘And is there a plan, or did he just feel like putting the wall through?’
‘Oh, there’s a plan okay. It’s his plan, though. All on his terms, his timescales. He decides he’s putting the wall through, so he puts the bloody wall through.’
Michelle drank more wine and wiped her eyes. Jackie continued to watch her, wondering if she was just making matters worse by being here. Should she just butt out and bugger off back to Dez and the kids? ‘Look, love, do you know what they’re saying?’
‘What who’re saying?’
‘Folks out there?’
‘I couldn’t care less.’
‘I think you should. You and your girls need to be ready, I think.’
Michelle finished her glass and poured another. ‘I can imagine the kind of stuff. They’re saying Scott killed that Graham bloke.’
She looked at Jackie. Jackie looked away. ‘It’s worse than that. Way worse.’
‘Worse. How can it be worse?’
‘They’re saying he killed all of them, Chelle. Thing is, all this only started when you moved to Thussock. Folks are putting two and two together and are coming up with all kinds of answers.’
Michelle laughed. Not a quiet, nervous laugh, this was a full-on belly laugh which filled the house. The girls even heard her over the TV. ‘That’s fucking hilarious,’ she said.
‘I thought you needed to know. I think you and your girls need to be aware. People think your husband’s the killer.’
‘Let them think what they like, Jack. We’re all in the dark here. I don’t have a bloody clue what Scott’s capable of anymore.’
‘You can always come and stay at ours if things get bad here, love.’
‘Things already are bad, Jack. Though to be fair, they were bad before we got here. I thought this move would help, but it’s just made things worse. It must be something to do with me...’
‘It’s not you, Mum, and you know it,’ Tammy said. Neither of them had noticed her in the doorway. ‘We should pack our stuff tonight and get out of here. Go back home. Granddad’s always saying we can stay with him.’
‘That’s not the answer, Tam, and you know it.’
‘Then what is, Mum? Stay here with him until there’s nothing left of any of us? You should have seen him with that bloke last night. Scott was like a maniac. For what it’s worth, I don’t know if he had anything to do with all the other deaths, but I’m worried. I’m worried if he carries on like this it’ll be one of us next. He’s made threats to you before, Mum, and he’s right on the edge. I think we should cut our losses and get out of here.’
Jackie stayed for hours. Michelle put George to bed then she, Jackie and the girls sat in the living room together and talked about nothing all evening, deliberately avoiding any difficult topics of conversation. It was relaxing. It was liberating. There was no mention of Scott, other than when Tammy remarked on how different the house felt when he wasn’t there. ‘It feels normal, Mum, don’t you think? No one’s shouting. We’re not treading on eggshells. I’ve got satellite TV, we’ve finally got the Internet, and you’re half drunk. If things could be like this all the time, I might even feel like staying in Thussock.’
Chapter 67
A little over twenty-four hours after driving him away, the same police car returned and dumped Scott back outside his front door. Michelle hadn’t been home long from taking the girls to school, figuring the sooner they got back into routine, the better. She rushed outside to greet him, her legs weak with nerves, not sure how she felt. ‘You’re back. You okay, love? What’s going on?’
Scott didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. He walked straight past her and went into the house, sitting down
at the kitchen table without uttering a word. Michelle hesitated and watched him from the doorway, trying to gauge the situation, unsure what to do or say next. Should she just pretend nothing had happened? It would probably be for the best, but she couldn’t do it. As much as he would inevitably need space after what he’d been through, she needed answers. She moved closer, then sat down opposite him. When he didn’t react, she cleared her throat. ‘What happened, Scott?’
He looked straight at her. ‘You know what happened,’ he said, his voice unemotional. ‘The pervert I beat up died. They decided I killed him. Apparently I hadn’t.’
‘Then who...? How did he...?’
‘How the hell am I supposed to know? Why don’t you ask the fucking pigs who dragged me out of here yesterday morning and kept me locked up all fucking night for no fucking reason.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...’
‘It gets better,’ he said, cutting across her. ‘Fuckers tried to pin everything on me. All these killings. Cunts. All fucking circumstantial... just picking on me ’cause we’re new here.’
Michelle held her head in her hands. ‘Are we going to get this wherever we go? When I agreed to come here I thought—’
‘You thought what? Don’t try and turn this around on me. None of this is my fault. I was just trying to look out for your fucking pain-in-the-ass daughter and stop some fucking freak from raping her.’
‘I know. I—’
‘It’s not my fault this place is full of fucking psychos, is it? They’re all out of their fucking minds.’
‘I’m sorry. All I meant was—’
‘I know what you meant,’ he said, his voice suddenly louder. He banged his fist down on the table and Michelle jumped as much as the crockery. ‘I’m doing the best I can, you know. I know you lot don’t see it, but I’m trying really fucking hard here.’