by M A Comley
“Meaning what?”
“He just seems a little shifty. Always looks down his nose at me when I meet him on the doorstep here, not that I have much to do with him.”
“Shifty? In what sort of way?”
“I don’t know. I ain’t no copper. What’s he done?”
Katy blew out a breath that moved her fringe. “He’s dead.”
The young man stumbled backwards into the front door. “What?”
“We’re eager to get on with our investigation, Mr…?”
“Callum. Eric Callum.”
“Mr. Callum, can you tell us if Mr. Alder lived alone?”
“He does—or did, yes. His wife left him about a year ago, I think.”
“Okay, I don’t suppose you have a contact address for her, do you?” Katy asked.
“Nope. I’m nobody’s keeper.”
“There’s no need for sarcasm, Mr. Callum.”
“I was just stating a fact. I think he had a sister, too. Not sure where she lives, either, so don’t bother asking me.”
“Any idea of her name? Anything you can tell us will help, no matter how insignificant you think it might be.”
The man shrugged and scratched his head as he thought. “Nope, can’t help. I think she was local, although I can’t be sure about that. Sorry.”
“When was the last time you saw Mr. Alder?” Lorne asked, sensing the meeting was about to come to a close.
“Last week. He was alive and kicking then, all right. Complained about the noise when I had a party. He was always moaning about something.”
Lorne asked, “Do you know where we can get a key to his flat? Have you got the landlord’s phone number?”
“Just a sec. I’ll get it for you.” The man left them waiting on the doorstep and returned with a scrap of paper with a number written on it. He gave the information to Katy.
“Thanks. One last thing before we leave you to get back to bed. Did you ever hear any disturbances coming from the flat? You know, in the form of arguments?”
His mouth turned down as he searched his memory. “Can’t remember anything…all has been quiet since his wife left.”
“You’ve been really helpful,” Katy replied.
“What are you thinking?” Lorne asked as they walked back to the car.
“That we need to track down Mrs. Alder.”
“Well, it’s a possibility she’s involved because of the weapon used in his death. We can’t rule her out, especially if they had a troubled relationship, can we?” Lorne opened the door to the car and got in.
“I was thinking along the same lines. Next stop—the landlord, to see if he has another address for the wife,” Katy said.
“I doubt he’ll have that if they separated acrimoniously, but he may be able to give us her name.”
Katy pulled away and drove back to the station. The team spent the rest of the afternoon trying to find information that would lead them to the name of the victim’s wife or sister. They had to find at least one of them if they were going to crack the case.
Lorne headed home, feeling weary after being embroiled in a frustrating afternoon when clues had proved virtually impossible to find. The landlord was away until the following week, and no one at his office had a key to his personal files. Nothing like trusting your staff while you up and leave the country.
Tony met her in the drive with a welcome cuddle and a long kiss. “I needed that. How’s the dog? Has Charlie named her yet?”
“As a matter of fact, yes, she has. Onyx.”
“I like it. It suits her. Let’s go and see her.”
“I popped in about an hour ago and she seems fine. No laughing when you see her.”
Arms around each other’s waist they walked into the kennels. Lorne opened the kennel where Onyx was lying on her padded bed, her pups feeding happily on her teats. “Aww, how cute. Instinct has made them search out her teats under the T-shirt. It looks better on her than it ever did on me.” Lorne chuckled and bent down to stroke Onyx’s head. Her tail wagged tentatively at first but sped up when she realised Lorne meant her and her puppies no harm. “It’s all right, sweetie. We’re going to help you get over this. I know it’s hard to trust humans after the way you’ve been treated in the past; we’ll do our best to right that wrong.”
“Charlie is fond of her already. I sense another tussle coming your way.”
“She’s got to learn to toughen up. She’d want all the rescue dogs living here permanently if she had her way. I’m going to ring the local TV station, see if they can help us find a new home for her, I think she’s such a deserving case. I’d also like to see if anyone recognises her, maybe someone will snitch on her owner. It would be great if we could slap an animal cruelty charge on them.”
“Good idea. Let’s see if the treatment works first. Although, to me, just having that one bath, her skin seems to be less irritated. Charlie has to bathe her every day for the next week or so. Then we have to take her back to the vet for another check-up.”
“That’s great that there has been an improvement so far. The injection probably helped, too. Let’s hope the vet doesn’t charge for the follow-up visit. He shouldn’t, but that’s not always the case. You get better soon, girl. We’ll ensure you receive all the love you need to fight this and give you the strength to find a happy forever home.”
“Come on, you big softie. Let’s get you fed and watered. I think Charlie mentioned she was off out tonight, so we’ll have the house to ourselves. I’m going to cook steak and chips for tea.”
“Mind if I cook tea? I feel like doing a mundane domestic chore for a change.”
“Sure. I’m not going to stand in your way. I’ll put my feet up and watch the World Cup, suits me.”
Lorne chuckled. “Now that England have been knocked out, there’s sure to be a good match on. Did Charlie say who she was going out with?”
“Stop frowning. You need to learn to trust her again. Wendy’s death was an unfortunate accident that she tried to prevent.”
“I know. She’s my baby, though. It’s hard seeing her grow up and making her own decisions in life.”
“True. You’re not alone there. I’m sure every mother throughout the world goes through the same dilemma when their own children cut the apron strings, hon.”
Lorne closed the kennel door and kissed her husband. “For someone who has never had kids of their own, you understand a father’s role impeccably.”
“I’ve been watching and learning from you. You might think you come down hard on Charlie, but you don’t. Not all teenagers have the freedom you allow her. She appreciates that, too. She might not say as much, but I know she does.”
Lorne’s heart melted at the smile on his face and his cherished words. She was lucky to have found such a sensitive man. Who knew former MI6 operatives had it in them to be such gentle souls?
CHAPTER THREE
Sitting in her comfy Queen Anne chair positioned next to the fire which on a winter’s nights she found comforting, Felicity thought over the next part of her cunning plan. She made copious notes and referred back to the dozens she’d already made and altered numerous times over the past few months. Excitement mounted within, gnawing at her nerve endings when she thought about the different types of torture out there. Torture that she could apply to their victims, hoping that none of them ended up having a heart attack like Don Alder had. Reading about his demise in the newspaper left her feeling dissatisfied beyond words. His death hadn’t been painful enough. She had wanted him to suffer so much more, through long and sustained misery, for the way he’d treated Julie for years. The hardship she had suffered needed compensation, but the idiot couldn’t handle the pain, even as minimal as it had been.
Felicity had been forced to rethink her plans and choose a much younger man for their next victim, one who would be able to endure hours of endless pain. The worthy man was Jordan Calleja, a native from Malta who had arrived in England and married Dara after meeting her
on holiday ten years ago. Dara’s reluctance to get Jordan involved in the group’s venture had annoyed Felicity, so much so that she intended to heap even more punishment on the man.
She hated being questioned by any member of the group. It was imperative that she show her authority in ways that shocked and kept the other members in line. She had a list of torture techniques lined up for Jordan, and by the end of it, he would be putty in her hands, willing to do anything to save himself from further pain and possible loss of limbs.
Dara was foolish for still loving him, in spite of all his failings. He’d cheated on her with several women and had even had the audacity to go back home to tell her. Taking pride in making comparisons with her, he hadn’t held back on telling her the gruesome details of all his extramarital sexual encounters. Dara had turned up at one of the group’s weekly book club meetings, distraught and inconsolable. It was then that the other women had spoken out about the flaws in their own relationships, which, in turn, had caused Felicity to reflect on the damage her own husband had caused to her marriage and family unit. But her own gratification would wait until all the other women in the group had seen their menfolk either punished or killed. After Dara’s revelation, the group had evolved and branched off in a different direction, once each of them had shared her deepest inner thoughts. In the past, Felicity had been known to experiment with the odd spell or two, but recently, she had delved much deeper into the darker side of witchcraft, unbeknownst to the rest of the group.
Her next task after choosing a victim had been to call a group meeting. She hoped to persuade them to meet up later that evening. There were bound to be a few who couldn’t attend—the group had agreed that the majority votes would be honoured in all decision making even when the entire group was not present.
By the end of the hour, she had succeeded in ringing and persuading eight other group members to join her at the cottage buried deep in the woods, at ten p.m. After dressing in her leadership robe, she jumped in the car and sped to the cottage. First to arrive, she lit all the candles in the sconces around the exterior of the room and the chandelier in the centre near the altar. This was where she belonged. She let out a deep, satisfying sigh and swirled around. Whenever she visited her parents’ former home, tucked away down a small country lane, away from prying eyes, she had an overwhelming feeling of freedom.
One by one, the women arrived and slipped into their costumes. Felicity studied them with a sense of pride trickling through her veins. She loved each woman like a sister, the sister her mother had lost during birth forty years ago. All of them were very different in character, some far stronger than others. It was the weaker ones in the group who caused Felicity more concern than she could handle at times. She knew that their characters would be tested and stretched to new limits over the coming weeks, and she had no way of knowing if her plans would end up biting her in the backside. All she knew was how important it was not to let men think they could get one over on these women. There had to be boundaries in life no man should ever cross. Men needed to recognise equality in life and that without the female gender, the human race just wouldn’t exist. That snippet of knowledge never occurred to men while they were thrashing the living daylights out of women or putting them down to their mates over a pint of beer down the pub.
The women joined hands in a circle around the altar, and the chanting began, quietly at first. As the chanting escalated to a noisy crescendo, the women raised their arms above their heads. Felicity said the final words, and everyone cheered and applauded, calling the meeting to commence.
Felicity surveyed the crowd of anxious faces before her. “Right, our plan has progressed onto Stage Two, the second victim. Unfortunately, Julie was too distraught to attend our gathering tonight after what happened to Don. I’ve assured her our hearts and thoughts are with her at this sad time. His death was a regrettable accident, and one that we hope won’t ever happen again. Nevertheless, it will not stop us from carrying out our mission. These men need to be taught a lesson, once and for all. We will capture our next victim tomorrow. I’ve chosen this subject personally without a vote. You will have to trust my decision this time around. We cannot have another incident such as the one that happened to Don. It will only raise suspicions in the outside world. Therefore, I’m nominating Jordan Calleja to be the next person on our list.”
Several gasps spread through the crowd, and all eyes landed on Dara. Her mouth fell open, and her legs momentarily gave way as the colour swiftly drained from her usually rosy cheeks. Kaz and Sally grabbed an arm each, preventing her from falling.
“No…you can’t. I want to back out. I don’t want Jordan to suffer.”
Felicity took three steps and stopped inches in front of the protesting woman. Dara’s gaze drifted off to the left. The blood pumping through her veins felt as if it were on a mission from hell, the heat intensifying during its journey. However, she didn’t let her anger show outwardly, not yet. Smiling, she said, “Dara, we agreed from day one that no one would back out.”
“I know…but that was then. After what happened to Don, I’ve changed my mind. It’s not fair that our menfolk should suffer like this, be tormented by our hands.”
She turned on her heel and paced before the assembled crowd. “Let me put it this way, Dara. All of you, do you seriously think your ex-partners, any of them, stopped to consider your feelings before they struck you or treated you like shit? Do you?” Her voice rose, and she mentally kicked herself for getting irate. She hadn’t intended to let that show, not yet.
“There’s no need for this anger. We’re all rid of these men now. Why can’t we leave it that way? Why do we have to set out on this course of destruction?” Dara asked, still flanked by her two friends.
Felicity halted and approached the weak link in the group again. “Is that what you want? Seriously? To brush all those hours of pain and anguish under the carpet as though it never happened?”
Dara nodded slowly, her eyes cast down at the ground. “Yes.” The word left her trembling lips as nothing more than a whisper.
Felicity studied the woman for a long moment then shrugged and returned to the altar. “Well, that’s not what you signed up for, Dara, or any of you. The plan has already been set in motion, and there’s no going back, either now or in the near future.” Dara glanced around at the other women in the room, and Felicity, for the first time since the group had formed a year ago, felt the stirrings of revolt from the other members. She had to prevent it from escalating further. But how? Were the women really that gutless? All the talk during their meetings for the past month or so had consisted of what each individual wanted to do to the man who had wronged her so much. After one minor voice of dissent, she sensed the whole proposal was doomed before it even had the chance to get off the ground. Seeing the way Don had suffered had gripped her in a wonderfully thrilling way. She had gone to bed that night, revelling in the man’s discomfort as the scene replayed over and over in her mind. She craved hearing the men cry out for forgiveness.
She shook her head. “Maybe we should vote on whether we ought to continue this or not? Be warned, though, if you want to back out this time, there will never be another opportunity to return to the scheme. I have better things to do with my time than spend hours—no days, coming up with the procedures we need to exact our revenge, only for a lone voice to cry out and say, ‘Stop, you can’t do that to my man.’ Make your decision quickly, ladies. I’ll leave you to have a discussion while I get the wine ready.” With that, she twirled on her heel. Her robe swirling around her made the movement seem like a grand gesture. She waited impatiently in the adjacent room, straining to hear the conversation through the door. The whole plan teetered on the edge of a precipice. She heard plenty of questions and very few relevant answers filtering through the cracks in the old door. She crossed her fingers and squeezed her eyes shut. They fluttered open, and she swiftly moved away from the door when she heard faint footsteps on the other side. After a
gentle tap, the door swung open. Elaine stood there, her expression unreadable.
The hairs on the back of Felicity’s neck stood up in anticipation. “Well?” she asked, finally unable to bear the suspense any longer.
“We’ve managed to talk her around.”
Felicity punched the air with a clenched fist. That’s all the jubilation she showed, despite wanting to run around the room with joy, stark naked. “Okay, and she’s going to stick with us, see it through to the end? Or will she cause more upset and want to back out further down the line, do you think?”
“I wouldn’t like to say what will happen in the future. The other girls were keen to point out the error in her ways. We’ll just have to be happy with that right now.”
“I suppose so. Okay, I’ll be with you in a moment.” Felicity dismissed Elaine and walked across the room to the boxes of wine in the corner. She set out the plastic glasses, filling each one with the merlot, and carried the tray back into the other room. The group smiled hesitantly until a smile lit her own face. “Grab a glass, girls. Our mission is about to begin in earnest.”
Dara was the last to retrieve her glass, still avoiding Felicity’s gaze. She offered the woman the hand of peace. Dara shook it, and slowly, her eyes locked with Felicity’s. “We can do this, Dara. Stay strong and positive throughout, my love.”
Dara half-smiled and took a sip of wine from her glass. “I’ll try. I can’t promise more than that.”
“Then I can’t ask for more. Are you willing to proceed in the order suggested, that Jordan should be next?”
Dara’s slim shoulders lifted to touch her ears. “I suppose so. Do I have to be here while he’s being tortured?”
“That’s the idea, hon. We need to make him feel sorry for what he’s done to you. It wouldn’t have the same effect if you weren’t there to see him suffer, would it?”
Another shrug and the wisp of a smile gave Felicity her answer.