I AM HERE TO KILL YOU

by Chris Westlake

  Sheena

  I so adore the woods.

  Whilst sunlight slithers through the gaps in the trees, they protect me from the rain. The snap and the crackle of the leaves reminds me of the Rice Krispies adverts I watched as a child. All they need, I muse, are a pop. The air feels thick with moisture and nutrients. Raising my wrist, I check the time.

  And then I wait.

  I can see him coming from nearly a mile away. The straight track slopes only slightly upwards. I twist my head and look in the opposite direction. Nobody. There is only the two of us within a two-mile radius. In my idle daydreams I sometimes wonder about the perfect place to kill somebody. You could scream at the top of your lungs in this woodland and the rest of the town - let alone the rest of the world - would remain utterly oblivious. Yes, what a perfect place to commit murder. It has taken them days to discover Rob's body floating in the river. Just how long would it take for a decaying, half-eaten, worm-riddled body to be discovered here? Who actually comes here? Maybe the odd couple seeking adventure, and possibly the occasional dog walker. They'd only dare to come during daylight. Darkness plays tricks with your mind.

  Apinya surpassed my wildest expectations. I fully expected Rob to join me in the churchyard. She must have kept her nerve, used brains I didn't even know she had. It was one Hell of an accomplishment; now the hard work really begins. How is she going to keep that yapping mouth shut? Is she really going to stick to the plan?

  Or should I silence her before she is given the opportunity to ruin things?

  "Over here," I call.

  He spins in a complete circle. His narrowed eyes are bloodshot. This man is at home in the pub. His weathered, beaten face suggests he spends plenty of time outdoors, too, with the unforgiving wind blowing against his cheeks. He breaks into a smile as I appear from behind a tree. His fists remain clenched balls. He has no reason to trust me. I wonder whether he has a knife hidden in his pocket, just in case. He better not try and use it; he'll end up cut.

  "Why are we in the middle of this wood, Sheena? In the middle of nowhere? Is whatever you're planning really that top secret?"

  I flutter my eyelashes. Allow my tongue to circle my lips. "What do you think my plan is? Maybe I want to be alone with you? Somewhere nobody can see us..."

  His laugh is throaty and congested. "To fuck me? Or to kill me?"

  "Well, I'm not going to hurt you," I say.

  His smile widens. Luckily, he knows I'm joking. We both know I could have my choice of men. Or women. We both know I'm not desperate. Sure, sometimes I fantasise about getting taken in the woods, up against a tree; just not by this guy.

  He wipes his arm across his lips. He's not used to small talk with me; it makes him uncomfortable. "So I did what you asked me to do," he says. "What do you want of me now?"

  "I'm so glad you asked."

  I slide my hand inside my pocket. Pull out a brown envelope. He slows down his movements. Casually stares into space. Tries to imply he isn't bothered. He ends up looking like a teenager trying to impress the girls.

  "Money?"

  "No, a fucking early Christmas card. Yes. It's money."

  "How much?"

  "Enough. Open it if you want to see."

  His shivering hand can't hide his desire to check the notes. Eying the brown envelope, the air from his mouth could blow down a straw house. I hand him the envelope, keeping my eyes fixed on his.

  "I trust you," he says, folding the envelope in two, sliding it inside his back pocket. "But what's it for? You paid me for the last job."

  "Another job. You've done well. You've earned my trust."

  "What job?"

  "The others were child's play compared to this one-"

  "What is it?"

  "The instructions are in the envelope. You can read them. Tell me if you're up for it."

  He narrows his shoulders. Tangles his fingers together. His smile is a cross between Prince Charming and Cruella de Vil. "I'm up for it."

  "I knew I could rely on you," I say.

  We stand in relative darkness for a few moments. He pushes his weight from one foot to the other. I can tell from his dull, wet eyes that he's contemplating engaging in conversation. I get in there before he takes the opportunity.

  "There's one last thing," I say.

  He tips his head. I pull my hand inside my pocket again. He sucks in air as he takes in the metallic blade. This is the same knife I gave to Rob to kill Apinya.

  "This might help you. I don't want it back."

  My hand dangles for a few seconds. He wipes his forehead with the back of his arm. He takes the knife.

  "Nice doing business with you," he says, before turning and beginning his descent of the slope.

  I stay around for a few minutes, savouring the solitude and the beauty of my plans.

  Katherine

  The rain has stopped and yet, there is no rainbow. Not today.

  With the curtains pulled apart, I can see the sky outside is blue and blemish-free. I know light seeps through the double-glazed windows, that inside the living room it is bright and airy. I don't know why my mind is clogged with cotton wool, why I'm freezing cold even though the heating is on (in the middle of summer), why my knees press hard against my chest, why I rock back and forth. They say that it is okay to not be okay; I wish somebody had sent the memo to me.

  Something is wrong, but I don't know what.

  I haven't felt like this for some time. The last time I can remember is when that grotesque man spat on me through the car window. This year I've felt much more like my younger self. I've cracked a shell I don't think even needed to be there.

  There was a time, of course, when I felt like this on a regular basis. At first, Ray prodded and shook me, worried that I'd shrink to the point I'd disappear. Tears trickled down my cheeks as I helplessly watched my panicked husband try to bring back the woman he loved. Gradually, I'd reappear. Ray became accustomed to it, accepted it as part of the healing process. I guess he really did grow to believe that it was okay to not be okay.

  Deep down, I think we both know I never fully reappeared.

  My body jumps as the front door opens. I glance at the clock. Just gone three. Do we have an intruder? Does somebody have our key? My thoughts slowly churn. I'll have to move. I'll have to get up off the sofa. They'll see me in my dressing gown, without my makeup. This is one of the reasons I keep our bedroom clean and tidy - I'd hate a burglar to think bad of me as he rummaged through our drawers. I'd never have a cleaner because (besides the expense) I'd need to ensure the house was spotless before they arrived.

  Ray appears. My big, strong bear of a husband casts a shadow over the whole room. He squints at my haggard form, all diminutive and crumpled on the sofa. His shoulders are pushed forward. It is quite striking. His back is usually straight, his shoulders back, whatever the situation. He doesn't like to show any fear.

  "What's wrong?" I ask.

  I sit up straighter. I don't fear whatever he is going to tell me. I knew something was wrong. I'll just be relieved to know the reason I feel so awful.

  My husband has been working hard. Rob hasn't turned up for work for a few days. Ray had a big job on over the weekend, too. Rob's fretting mum called the police, reported him as missing. However, it was difficult to take it too seriously. He has a history of getting drunk and going AWOL. Ray reassured his mum he'd probably met a woman. He seemed to know something but just wasn't telling. Guys don't snitch. Regardless, he's been working on his own, coming home drained. The poor man even missed the pub on Saturday with Dave and Geraint.

  My body rises as he sinks into the cushion next to me, like a bigger boy has jumped on the other side of the seesaw. He's made an effort, prepared himself for this talk. He's had a wash and sprayed his body with deodorant, masking the stale sweat. His thumb massages the back of my hand, like sandpaper on a smooth wall.

  "Is it that bad?" I ask.

  He sinks his head.

  Clearly, it is worse.
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  "Ray?"

  He turns to me with red-rimmed eyes. "They found a body," he says.

  "What? Somebody has been murdered?"

  I picture a smiling Sheena in a beautiful white dress, luscious blonde hair flailing over her slender shoulders. I imagine her pulling a knife from behind her back. Her smile turns into a throaty, sinister laugh as blood splatters and sprays across her face.

  "Murdered? Why would you think that?"

  I shrug my shoulders. Say nothing. So why are you so upset?

  "Probably an accident," he says. "Or-"

  "Suicide. They killed themselves, didn't they? That's why it's hit you so hard. Because of my parents. You're worried about how I'll react."

  "Yes. Of course, it's played on my mind. You know I worry about you."

  "That's not it though, is it? There's more, isn't there?"

  Ray jerks his head in different directions. He thumbs his restless temple.

  "We know the person, don't we? Who is it? Is it Rose?"

  He turns to me. "No. Why would it be Rose?"

  "She's had such problems. She's been through so much. I just thought-"

  "Not Rose. They've not confirmed it yet. His mother will have to identify the body. But people are saying it's Rob-"

  "Rob? That makes no sense-"

  "Think about it, Kat. I haven't been able to get hold of him. He hasn't turned up for work. His mum reported him as missing. It has to be Rob..."

  I wrap my arms around his chest. His bulky body feels so vulnerable, like a sleeping lion. No wonder he is forlorn. Rob was his mate. Despite their differences, they were getting close. I pull away. He wipes his eyes.

  "What else is wrong?" I ask.

  He flinches. "Isn't that enough? How do you know there is something else?"

  I can't explain to him why. It defies all logic. How can I tell him the reason I know is because this news wouldn't make me feel quite this terrible, make me feel like the energy has been sucked from my body? This is tragic for so many people, my dear husband included. But not for me. I wasn't close to Rob. He was more of an acquaintance than a friend.

  "Just tell me, Ray. Please."

  Ray wipes his upper lip. He jerks his head. "He was found floating in the river. Just like your parents were..."

  Tuesday 30th July 2019

  Sheena

  When the doorbell rings, my face creases into a smile. Am I the first? That is interesting.

  Two of them stand on my doorstep, the sun on their backs. The man on the left is young and handsome, with broad shoulders stretching a white pristine shirt that was probably ironed by his mum. His tangled fingers and ramrod straight back suggest uneasiness. Turning to the right, his female companion is short and squat and bursting out of grey slacks. The shine to her forehead implies it has already been a tough day. Her dark, lustrous hair shows no grey, even at the roots. The lashes appear long and natural. Despite the wear and tear and her apparent intentions to hide it, she is still an attractive woman.

  "Detectives," I say, before looking down at the identification.

  "Good afternoon, Ms Strachan," the female detective says. Her voice is unsurprisingly husky. "I'm sorry to trouble you. I'm Detective Inspector Hunter, and this is my colleague Detective Constable Jordan. We'd just like to have a chat with you if that's okay?"

  "How very exciting," I say, holding the door open.

  Leading them into the living room, I'm straight into the drinks; they're both up for coffees. DC Jordan struggles to balance a pad on his knee. His pen's thrust device is finely chewed. DI Hunter's legs are slightly parted as she leans forward in her chair.

  "These are just routine enquiries, Ms Strachan," Hunter says. "I know that Pontbach is a small town, and news spreads like wildfire. I'm assuming you've heard the tragic news that Robert Campbell's body was found yesterday morning?"

  I bow my head, a practiced gesture I employ at funerals when I'm not particularly fond of the dearly departed. Which is often. "I am. Such terrible news. Life can be a cruel mistress. It can throw such unfortunate hands. He had his whole life in front of him."

  Squinting, Jordan glances at Hunter. When she ignores him, he scribbles frantically on his pad.

  "I assure you I wasn't the one who killed him, though," I say. I make sure my laugh sounds nervous.

  They both lean forward now. Perfect response. "Who said he was murdered?" Jordan asks.

  Stretching back, I return the gap between us to what it was before they leaned forward. "Why ever else would you be here if there wasn't a murder to investigate? I'm sure two important detectives like yourselves would have far more pressing things to attend to..."

  Jordan brushes down the invisible creases in his shirt. Hunter doesn't move a single muscle in her spongy body. "Has anybody in the town suggested that this is a murder enquiry, Ms Strachan?"

  "Please. My mother was Ms Strachan. Call me Sheena. And no. Not to the best of my knowledge."

  "Like I said, these are just routine enquiries. The most likely explanation is that Mr Campbell died of natural causes. In the first instance, I just want to eliminate all other alternatives."

  "I appreciate these are the early stages of your enquiry. And of course, it takes hours for forensics to come through. Longer when the body has drowned, I'd imagine. But you must have suspicions, just like I do-"

  "What are your suspicions, Sheena?"

  "Well, what reason would Rob possibly have to take his own life?" I ask.

  DI Hunter rubs her forefinger across her chin. "Who knows what goes on inside somebody's mind?" she asks. Next to her, Jordan nods his head. "Mental illness is often an invisible killer. Surely the most fundamental question, though, is why would anybody else want to take Robert Campbell's life?"

  I turn to the younger detective. Reluctantly, he looks up from his notepad, acknowledges my attention. "DC Jordan. Don't you think that, as a human species, we're all capable of killing anybody at any time?"

  His upper lip trembles. He glances to Hunter for support. She eyes the photo's on my wall. She makes it clear he's on his own. "What do you mean? Why would you say that?"

  I wave my hand, broaden my smile. "Don't worry, DC Jordan," I say. "I'm only talking theoretically. Don't you think that even the most honest, God-fearing person has the capacity to snap? To ruin a whole lifetime of moral actions with a single, horrific deed?"

  Leaning forward, I clasp my hands together. I give the impression my whole life depends on his reply.

  "Guess so," he says. "Unlikely, though."

  I clap my hands now. "Exactly! Just what I think. Nothing is impossible, is it? But you both know, much more than me, that whilst people like to create elaborate theories, the most likely culprit in any murder is the spouse. How dull is that?"

  Hunter coughs. "Luckily we're not in it for the excitement, Sheena."

  "Very lucky."

  "How well did you know Mr Campbell?" DC Jordan asks. His legs have wobbled and he's throwing punches from the ropes.

  "What makes you think I knew him at all?"

  I hold my gaze. He does have lovely green eyes. If only I cared.

  "Well, do you?"

  "I do. I sometimes frequent The Oak and The Swan. We've chatted a few times. I must confess, I don't know him very well. I'd probably refer to him as a friend of a friend. He's always been perfectly pleasant. Never upset me, before you ask. I was merely curious what made you think I knew him, that's all-"

  "It's a small town," Jordan says. "Rightly or wrongly, I kind of assumed everybody knows everyone."

  "Are you going door-to-door with these enquiries?"

  "Yes, we are," Jordan says.

  "And is mine the first door you've knocked on?"

  "That is confidential information and I'm afraid we cannot-"

  "Yes it is," Hunter says. She makes sure her face remains void of any expression.

  "Is that coincidental?"

  "Do you believe in coincidences, Sheena?"

  I wet my lips wi
th the tip of my tongue. "If there were no coincidences then why would the world even exist?"

  Hunter smiles. I'm not sure if she means to. "Very good," she says. She looks around the room with admiring eyes. "This is a beautiful place, Sheena. Wish I could afford a place like this. What is it you said you did?"

  "I didn't."

  "Did you hear about the murder in Bridgend before Christmas, Sheena?"

  I shrug my shoulders. "It was in the newspapers. Every loss of life is tragic, DI Hunter."

  "Quite. Now you're an intelligent lady-"

  "Thank you."

  "So I know you understand what I'm struggling with here."

  "You're wondering why it is that I've turned up in this part of Wales and suddenly you have two dead bodies."

  "Exactly."

  I unravel my legs. Expand my smile. "Coincidence," I say.

  Hunter pushes her hands down on the sofa, ready to stand up. It is a slow, lingering movement.

  "I think I have more," I say.

  "More?" Jordan asks, raising one eyebrow quizzically.

  I slow my breath, trying not to make it too apparent I'm keen to reel them back in. "I don't really want to say anything. It goes against everything I believe in. But I don't think I can't. What if I become an accomplice to a potential crime...?"

  "Go on."

  "Like I said. It's usually always the spouse, isn't it? Has anybody told you that Rob had a fling with Apinya Collins?"

  "No," Hunter says. "You're the first. Thank you for this information."

  I dab at my eyes with the back of my hand. Hunter hurriedly takes down their details.

  "It's complicated," I say. "Her husband, Bernard, found them in bed together. Their bed. Bernard is such a darling man. But it's quite a shock, isn't it? He hit Rob, apparently."

  I glance at Jordan. His forehead glistens with sweat. He has an impressive hairline. I eye his notepad. His writing is spiralling and childlike. One sentence stands out.

  Husband has motive.

  "Of course, it was the talk of the town. Some proper juicy gossip for a change. Naturally, I don't get involved in any of that."