I AM HERE TO KILL YOU

by Chris Westlake

  "You've been most helpful, Sheena," DI Hunter says.

  "There's one other thing. No. I can't see how that's relevant..."

  "Let us decide that."

  "Myself and Apinya are members of a group. It is a support group. We share things. But everything we discuss is in complete confidence. Like the Hippocratic Oath. We trust each other. I really can't say anything. It would be wrong-"

  "It would be wrong if you don't tell us something that may hinder our enquiry..."

  I sink my head into my open hands. I rub my skin so that it brings a flush to my cheeks.

  "Okay. Now you've said it like that. I guess I really don't have a choice, do I? Apinya said that sometimes Bernard beats her..."

  They seem in a rush to leave now. I guess they must have another door to knock on.

  "Thank you, Sheena. If we have any more questions, then we'll be in contact."

  Shutting the door behind them, I allow myself a smile.

  I have no doubt that they will be in touch again, whether it is to discuss this death, or the next one.

  Bernard

  Ironically, ever since that afternoon when I stopped caring what my wife thinks, her opinion of me has skyrocketed.

  It feels like I'm walking around in a continuously intoxicated state. Whilst there is no euphoria, my inhibitions and self-doubts have all but disappeared. I have to admit, that does feel bloody fantastic. The nagging questions have vanished. Am I being insensitive? Who cares! Is that insensitive? Good! From what Sheena told me, my reputation is already in the gutter, so how can I possibly sink any lower? Apinya is visibly excited by my new primitive self. She loves that I take the initiative in the bedroom, that I literally just go ahead and take her, usually hard and from behind. Whilst it goes completely against my natural instinct, I can't deny that it is thrilling.

  All of this changed a few nights ago.

  She told me she was meeting Sheena. I didn't believe her, but neither did I question her; I just didn't care. She came home late; I don't know what time. I pulled the duvet off my naked body, ready to greet her, but she walked along the hallway and past our bedroom, to one of the guest rooms. Since then she has barely been in the house, and we've only exchanged a few, fleeting sentences. Whilst she hasn't been overtly unfriendly, she has been evasive; she's lowered her head and mumbled her words.

  This morning I'd already had a quick workout and eaten my breakfast before it dawned on me that I was alone in the house. Tiptoeing up the stairs, I slide open the bedroom door. Apinya has such a slight frame that sometimes it's difficult to tell whether a diminutive mound is the outline of her body or merely the duvet rolled up in a ball. There is no confusion this time - the duvet is flatter than the Peak District.

  When the front door knocks, my heart sinks.

  My confused thoughts are thrown into disarray. Forget what she has done to me; just what sort of uncaring husband am I to not notice my wife wasn't here? Charging down the stairs, I jump the final four steps, feeling my knees creak as both feet land on the floor together.

  The man and woman stood on the driveway hold up badges.

  "Oh dear lord," I say. "What is it? Has something happened to Apinya?"

  The female takes a step back. "Excuse me?"

  "My wife! Apinya. Please tell me she's safe?"

  "Why wouldn't she be safe? Sir, do you have reason to believe your wife may be in danger?"

  "She isn't home. I don't know where she is. Why else would you be here?"

  "When was the last time you saw your wife, Mr Collins?"

  "Last night. But I did hear her this morning when I was in bed. I'd say it was about 8am."

  Both detectives make no effort to hide their deep sighs. The woman makes a big issue about checking her watch.

  "I'm sure she will turn up shortly, Mr Collins-"

  "So that's not why you're here?"

  She introduces both herself and her male companion. I glance at the identification. DI Hunter asks if they can come inside to ask some routine questions. Relieved, I follow them down the hallway.

  The young man looks down, up and around - at the polished laminate floor and the Tabriz carpet, to the commissioned oil paintings and the mahogany ornaments. Slapping his hands down against his thighs, he looks ready to tell me, like they all do, that I have a wonderful home; DI Hunter's scowl silences him.

  It dawns on me that, despite pretences to the contrary, this is no routine visit. I'd tried to brush it under the carpet, hadn't I, like a red bill through the letterbox? As I make the coffee, I try to quieten my breathing. I return with the cups. I'm too nervous to sit down. Instead, I stand over them.

  "I appreciate I'm in a great deal of trouble, Detectives. In all honestly, I'm relieved in a way that you've caught up with me. It has been weighing me down, eating away at me."

  The younger detective doesn't look sure that I'm sane. "Sorry?"

  "I've committed a crime and now I'm ready to serve my time."

  "Which crime are you referring to, Mr Collins?" DI Hunter asks. She angles her head. The question lingers. I can almost see it, floating in the air.

  "With Mr Campbell," I say.

  "What did you do to Mr Campbell?"

  I decide to sit down now. I was beginning to feel exposed, like I was on stage. I felt compelled to talk, to fill any voids.

  "I caught him with my wife. In our bedroom. In our bed. I struck him. Threw him out of the house. Quite outrageous behaviour, I know. Unforgivable. I'm really just explaining the circumstances."

  DI Hunter purses her lips as she sips her drink. "I'm not sure many men would have acted any differently," she says. "We're not here about that."

  "He hasn't pressed charges then?" I try not to smile.

  Hunter shakes her head.

  "Do you think he will?"

  "It's a bit late now, Mr Collins."

  I must look confused, so she explains the reason for their visit.

  "Dead? In what way?"

  "In the usual way, sir."

  The younger detective stifles a laugh. They think they have a right one on their hands here.

  "I just mean, what was the cause of death? He was only a young man. Oh my God, I can't believe he is dead."

  "It is too early to determine the cause of death at this moment, but the most likely explanation is that he died of natural causes," the DI says.

  "Natural causes?"

  "That he had an accident. Or he took his own life."

  I give an open-mouthed nod. This is straightforward then. Where is my wife?

  "So, I gather from the incident that you made reference to, that yourself and Mr Robert Campbell were not exactly the best of friends?" DI Hunter asks.

  "What do you mean?"

  DC Jordan smiles. "He slept with your wife. Clearly, you weren't happy about that."

  "Why are you asking? I thought you said he died of natural causes?"

  Jordan stares down at his pad. I turn to Hunter. She rests her chin in her hand. "We said that is the most likely explanation. We are just conducting a few initial enquiries. Do you not consider that to be a reasonable question, in the circumstances?"

  I sit back in the chair. My trousers ride high up my leg. She's implying that I'm privileged, that I'm beyond the normal tedious questioning.

  "Not at all. Most understandable. I guess I'm in shock. I didn't like Mr Campbell. But I didn't hate him enough to kill him. I'd already taken my retribution. Why would I then kill him?"

  "Maybe you thought that what you did wasn't enough?"

  She holds my look. Turning away, I shake my head.

  "So you were in an agitated state concerning Mrs Collins when we arrived today. Why were you worried about her?"

  "I don't know where she is."

  "But she is an adult. She could have just popped to the shops. Seen a friend. Why would you think anything would be wrong with her?"

  I bite at a fingernail. "She's been quiet recently. Distant. I don't know what is on her mind. As
you can imagine, our relationship is kind of unusual at the moment-"

  "I can imagine."

  We sit in awkward silence for a few moments. I eye their cups. Why do I assume they'll leave as soon as they've drunk their coffee?

  "What was Mrs Collins' relationship with Mr Campbell like after the incident?" DI Hunter asks.

  "I don't know. We've never actually talked about it."

  The detective nods, indicating that she understands. Her colleague still looks at me blankly.

  "You've been most helpful," DI Hunter says. "I'm sorry to have taken up so much of your time. Hopefully, we won't need to trouble you again."

  My body feels lighter, like I've just completed a dreaded exam. I quickly gather the cups. DI Hunter raises her buttocks from the depths of the sofa. She twists her head. Lines appear at the edges of her eyes.

  Was that the front door?

  We all look up in unison as my missing wife enters the room.

  Her white smile is broad and welcoming. She doesn't appear distant and withdrawn anymore.

  And then she removes her black sunglasses.

  All three of us gasp at the purple bruise covering her right eye.

  Wednesday 31 July 2019

  Sheena

  Her magnified face looks huge through the door. The shine of her cheeks stands out.

  "Oh hello, Melanie," I say, my plastic smile bringing light to the hallway. My flamboyant hand invites her into my palace. I move to the side, probably allowing far too much room for her to enter, but I'm conscious of her wide hips, of her unfortunate, pear-shaped body. The outward feet and the waddle remind me of a duck. "I wasn't expecting to see you quite so soon."

  Her nervous smile is forced, too. "Thank you for seeing me at short notice, Sheena. I'll be honest, I didn't expect to see you quite so soon, either."

  She'd called earlier in the morning, when I was basking in the bath, my naked body covered with hot water, my face layered with sweat. Her breathless voice was high-pitched. Instantly, I knew that this was a difficult call for her to make. Something must have happened. Somebody must have contacted her, prompting the call. My nipples hardened as she hurriedly asked if she could see me; this was exciting.

  "Tea with milk and one sugar, isn't it?" I ask from the kitchen, as she sinks into the sofa, fingers fiddling and messing.

  "You remembered," she says. Her teeth would look more suitable on a horse. "How thoughtful."

  Of course I remembered. I was aghast that a woman of her size took sugar in her tea. Hadn't she heard of diabetes?

  "I remember thinking that you're sweet enough without the sugar," I say, as I sit down on the chair next to hers, my feet dangling precariously close to her knee.

  She fans her reddened cheeks with her hand. I wait for her to settle down, to take a sip of her tea, for her to get comfortable, before I lean forward to get down to business.

  "So can I ask what the purpose of this specific visit is, Melanie?"

  She shifts in the chair, tugs at her necklace. The poor woman is worried that I'll be upset by whatever she has to tell me. I'm sure that she has a string of qualifications to her name, that she settles down in her bed every night with a heavy book, but clearly she's short on emotional intelligence. I'd hoped she would at least give me some sort of a challenge.

  "I don't want to alarm you, but we were contacted by the police-"

  "The police?"

  "Yes," she says, forcing a laugh. "Don't worry, you haven't done anything wrong. You're not in any trouble. It was in connection with the tragic death of a young man recently who was found floating in the river..."

  "Oh yes, the delightful DI Hunter came to speak to me yesterday with her colleague. She reassured me that it was just routine enquiries. I was the first person she contacted, by all accounts, so I knew she was aware of my background. It is kind of irritating, you know? I'm trying to make a new start and yet I can't shake off my background. I guess it is just one of those things. I tried to be as helpful as I could, to aid their enquiries, and they seemed happy enough. Why did they contact you, though?"

  Melanie waves her hand in the air, trying too hard to dismiss my alarm."Don't worry, Sheena. Merely procedure, as far as I could gather. The detective looked you up on the database and discovered who you are. As you can imagine, it was probably quite a shock, particularly in a sleepy town like Pontbach, where nothing really happens. I cannot tell you too much, of course, because of confidentiality rules, but she enquired whether we had any information that might assist them. Personally, I think she was looking to gain an opinion of-"

  "What I'm capable of?"

  She fans her face. "Yes. If you like."

  "What did you say?"

  "Again, I can't tell you too much, Sheena. I hope you understand? But everything I did say was positive."

  "Good. I appreciate that."

  "We told DI Hunter the reason you were here. I'm confident they won't take the matter any further."

  I nod. Lower my eyes. Make sure she catches me glancing at her cleavage (two monumental mounds of white flesh). I glance away, pretending I've been caught out. Naughty me. "So is that the only reason you came to visit me?"

  "It is a welfare visit really, Sheena. I wanted to make sure that you were okay. I can imagine that having the detectives knocking on your door yesterday and questioning you must have been quite an ordeal. We have a responsibility to check on your welfare, particularly after what you went through last year. I imagine it brought back horrendous memories."

  I trace my fingers across the bridge of my forehead. She can't see my eyes, but she'll probably suspect I'm fighting back the tears. Sniffing, I look up and hold her concerned gaze. "It was unexpected, that's for sure. Initially I assumed that somebody in the town had discovered who I was and made a complaint. All the good things I've built here would be ruined if people know who I was.

  "Oh dear..."

  "But of course, my personal issues are trivial compared to the enormity of the incident. A young man died. He drowned. Once I realised what the detectives were attending my home for, I was really just keen to help in any way I could."

  "Of course. And I know you would."

  Apart from Melanie sipping her tea, all I can hear is the ticking of the clock. I wait for her to look at me before I lean back in the chair and cross my legs. Just as I thought. Behind her glasses, her eyes widen at the sight of the hem of my skirt rising. Her throat contracts as I reveal my long, shapely, tanned thighs.

  I say nothing. I merely pull my skirt up a few more inches, running my fingers over my leg. My eyelashes flutter. My smile widens. My tongue grazes my teeth.

  "It's okay," I say. "I look at you, too, Melanie, when I think you're not watching..."

  My guest squints. Perhaps she is blinking away unwanted thoughts? She is a professional. I am her client. She wants to act appropriately. The attention - from a beautiful young woman - however, is intoxicating. How can she possibly resist? "You do? But why would you look at me? I'm so frumpy and plain..."

  My eyes flutter over her body. They visibly undress her, right in my living room. "I'd die for curves like yours," I say. "Me? I'm just straight up and down. You? Your body is mesmerising."

  Melanie does her best to resist her urges. Slurping loudly, she finishes her cup of tea. I long to rub some ice over her burning cheeks. She runs through some formalities, scribbles down a few things on a form. She gets up to leave, heads for the front door.

  Daniel will tell you that timing is everything, with nearly everything in life.

  Her hand is already on the door handle when my crotch brushes up against her buttocks. She releases a long, unrestrained sigh.

  "You're free to leave," I say. "If that's what you'd like to do. I'm not going to keep you against your will."

  Her hand trembles on the handle, but she does not pull it down. She turns to me. Her eyes look downward. My finger caresses the underside of her chin.

  "If this detective does come back, and she st
arts asking more questions, will you make sure she goes away? Will you do that for me, Melanie?"

  Staring at my open lips, she nods her head.

  "That's a good girl," I say.

  I push her body up against the front door. As my fingers reach inside her skirt and pull her pants to one side, my guest sinks her head against my shoulder and releases a deep, throaty moan...

  Tuesday 6th August 2019

  Katherine

  With my hair scraped back and my face void of makeup, I'm hardly the most glamorous exerciser. The navy-blue joggers form a loose ring around my shrinking waist, reminding me of a hula hoop. With my arms swinging by my side, I'm a baby throwing punches. My head fixes straight ahead. My eyes, though, dart here, there and everywhere, like I'm discreetly trying to swat a nuisance fly. Dangling my hands by my side for just a moment, I turn on my heels and start another lap.

  This new estate is lovely. Square, green lawns lie adjacent to weed-free drives sporting two family cars. They are the ideal accompaniment to the symmetrical houses with three bedrooms and two bathrooms. And yet it is somewhat too lovely. Part of me wonders if the husband and wives with their two blue eyed, blonde haired children literally recharge their batteries when they go to bed. I could understand how a resident could go mad with paranoia, imagining they're on The Truman Show.

  Did that curtain just twitch?

  Blowing out air and digging my nails into my palms, I head out of the estate.

  My heart quickens but my pace slows. Crossing the bridge, I dare to glance down at the peaceful, rippling water. The town centre is only just awakening, seemingly with sleep-ridden eyes and a hangover. Metal shop shutters begin to rise. A few workers scurry past holding their morning coffee. An older gentleman balances a newspaper under his arm. I exchange the occasional smile, the occasional hello. I want to look over my shoulder. I want to double-check I'm not delusional, that I'm not floating in some fantasy bubble. I continue walking. I continue looking straight ahead.