Flowers for the Dead

Home > Other > Flowers for the Dead > Page 27
Flowers for the Dead Page 27

by Barbara Copperthwaite


  PRESENT

  Unbelievable! Not only has someone broken into Laura’s flat, but they have also stolen the camera that was supposed to help identify them. Stealing her birthday photograph was rubbing salt into the wound.

  Laura piles on hat, gloves, scarf, bulky coat, then marches straight round to the police station, stomping along so hard that she is soon out of breath and leaves a trail of vapour behind her like a steam train.

  Sergeant Biggs is not on duty today, so it is a new constable, PC Nahum who gets it in the neck.

  “I am sick of being fobbed off, I want to speak to someone in authority,” she says, after explaining everything.

  “There doesn’t seem to be any proof of a crime being committed,” the female officer begins.

  “He stole my camera!” Laura despairs. “How can I get proof when the person doing this has stolen my camera!” She raps on the desk with a finger to punctuate each word. “Make a note of this. I don’t care if you think I’m mad, I want an official note of this complaint.”

  “All right, all right. But you need to calm down a bit. We have some leaflets here; and perhaps you could keep a diary of events.”

  Oh, for goodness sake. “Already am,” Laura snaps. “I’m not leaving until I see you make a note detailing everything I’ve been through.”

  It takes a while. PC Nahum is at great pains to point out that there is little that can currently be done to help Laura, and that her best course of action is to continue with the diary. Eventually she also agrees that some officers will be sent to look at Laura’s flat and take a statement.

  “But we’re very busy at the moment, so it may take a few weeks,” PC Nahum warns.

  Still, Laura feels partially satisfied when she leaves. She has at last won a battle, though admittedly only a tiny one. And the war against her stalker has only begun.

  ***

  New Year, new you – that is the phrase that seems to be everywhere currently. Mike knows it’s a load of old tosh, but it concentrates his mind, pushing him towards a decision that seems to have been building the entire festive season.

  On New Year’s Day, first he digs out the cigarettes from his pocket and crushes them in his hands. His heart gives a little along with the packet, but it is time for him to quit.

  Next, he trudges out to his car and cleans out the empty crisp packets and stray bits of paper on the floor. Daisy helps him with great delight; like her mother, she likes things clean and tidy, and often nags him about housework.

  “Have you made any resolutions?” he asks his daughter.

  She tilts her head to one side, pondering and making a long “umm” noise as she thinks.

  “To build a teleporter to take us to Disney,” she says finally.

  “Huh, that’s a good one, wish I’d thought of that,” Mike muses.

  “Well, you can help me make it,” she says generously.

  “Thanks. But you’ll have to tell me what to do; I’ve never built one before.”

  His daughter leans forwards, a more snub-nosed, softer-jawed, slightly blonder version of her mother. “I’ve never built one either, Daddy,” she whispers. “We’ll learn together.”

  That night, Mike picks up the phone and dials his friend to tell him his other resolution.

  “Hey you…” Simon says when he answers.

  “…Would you like to boogaloo?” both men say in unison. Mike is trying to remember how on earth that ended up being their catchphrase, but is at a loss. It is a shared nonsense that always seems to have been present for some bizarre reason.

  “Happy new year, mate,” Simon offers.

  “Yeah, cheers. You too,” Mike replies. The memories of him rubbing away tears with his huge paws at midnight the night before are still fresh in his mind. “How are you doing, anyway?”

  After a colourful description of Simon’s night down the local with his wife, Mike’s eyes are nearly watering again, this time for very different reasons.

  “Right, well, change of subject,” he chuckles. “Got a bit of news for you. I’ve decided to take you up on the offer of a job, if it’s still open, of course.”

  “Mate, that’s the best Christmas present you could have given me,” the Detective Chief Inspector laughs. “You sure?”

  It had been a big decision, but in the end Mike has decided to go for a fresh start. Somewhere where every corner is not full of memories of Mags.

  “Mags will always be with me, there’s no moving on from that and I don’t want to. But I can’t live my life trying to keep time still, frozen at the point when she was alive. Christmas has proved that to me,” Mike replies.

  Somehow, he and Daisy will find their own way forward. And they will do it in a new home, in Reading.

  “How long do you reckon it’ll be before you’re with me?” asks Simon.

  “Dunno – I haven’t told my boss yet. I’ll have to see what she says. Probably a couple of months.”

  “Well, you got a lot to sort out, too. A new place to live…”

  “New school for Daisy. Yep, not looking forward to that, but it’s got to be done, eh.”

  Soon the pair are lost in talk of cases past and present – far more absorbing than estate agent chat.

  ***

  PRESENT

  Laura’s diary reads like a cross between a housework log and romance novel:

  Monday 29 December - ironing done. Pink rose left on my pillow.

  Wednesday 31 December - washing up done, bedding changed, clothes washed. Dress laid out for night out (I didn’t wear it).

  Thursday 1 January - meal cooked and waiting for me when I got home from night out. Milk bought. Bouquet of flowers put in vase on table.

  Sunday 4 January - food stocked up with all my favourites. Cupboards cleaned.

  Friday 9 January - Hot cup of tea waiting for me when I got home from work, and my favourite crisps.

  Saturday 10 January - flowers delivered, on sofa, along with box of Thornton’s chocolates.

  Sunday 11 January - bath run for me, with pink rose petals scattered on it and candles lit around it, and a chilled glass of wine on the side.

  It has been a fortnight since she last went to the police station, but enough is enough. Despite it being her day off, she gets up bright and early on Monday morning, bins a bouquet of flowers that have been arranged on her dining table, and is standing in front of Sgt Biggs by eight am.

  She already has her speech ready and delivers it with aplomb.

  “If someone doesn’t take my complaint seriously, I am going to be forced to go to the police commission. I am a woman living alone, being terrorised by a person who is repeatedly breaking into my home, and this force is refusing to do anything about it.

  “In addition to contacting the police commission, I will be going on Facebook and Twitter, launching a website, and of course going to my local paper, all to spread the word about the incompetent way this matter is being handled – unless someone in authority speaks to me, right now. And I mean right now.”

  Sgt Biggs’s hair makes a momentary halo round his ruddy face as he recoils slightly from the sight of a small, angry hurricane of determination standing before him. Laura gains great satisfaction from that.

  “Come through, I’ll make a note of your complaint, and pass it on to CID,” he says. “They might not be able to get out to you until tomorrow though, but I will make sure they know how urgent it is.”

  “Tomorrow will be fine. But any later than that and I go through with my threat.”

  As the desk sergeant’s halo settles, Laura smiles in grim satisfaction at another battle won.

  ***

  TWO YEARS AGO

  If he was honest, Adam had known from the start that Alex was not right for him. But you can’t help who you fall in love with, can you?

  She always had lots of people around her, and lived in a house share. It made things very awkward for Adam. With the amount of coming and going in the house there was a far greater risk of bei
ng caught, plus the thoughtful things he did to look after her often went unnoticed, with all five residents assuming that the other had done it.

  The good thing, though, was that the house was on St Andrew’s Drive, right next to Skegness beach – which was one of Alex’s favourite places to go when she wanted to be alone. Which seemed to be often. She was unemployed, frequently bored after filling out job application after job application for shop assistants, waitresses, barmaids, all without luck. Her bedroom had a fine view of the sea, too, but she seemed to really feel alive when she was outside gazing at the waves or the long, flat stretch of golden beach that went on as far as the eye could see and beyond in either direction.

  This day, as usual, Adam hovered behind her, hidden in the low hummock of the sand dunes. It was a freezing day towards the end of January, and Alex had not only crammed a hat on her head but pulled her coat hood up too, so none of her shoulder-length curly hair escaped in the icy wind which raced across the sea.

  Hands shoved firmly into her pockets, Alex hunched up against the wind and walked slowly along, pausing occasionally to simply gaze. In front of her the icy grey sea was topped with white foam and in the distance, just before the horizon, were the windmills creating electricity. The clouds were slate grey and looked as solid as if a deity had carved them from stone, but every now and again a miraculous ray of sunshine bravely broke through to cap the waves with gold.

  There were no cries from the seagulls. They stayed strangely silent in the wild weather, as they pecked at starfish pulled from shallow pools in the sand.

  Adam adjusted his grip on the flowers he clutched and took a step closer to Alex, a force stronger than he urging him forward. As soon as he moved out of the refuge of the sand dunes the wind rushed at him, tearing at his clothes. It was absolutely bitter. Pinpricks of rain tattooed his face, making it tingle with pain. He adjusted his scarf, but even underneath his hat his ears remained painfully cold.

  But he did not care, all that mattered was Alex. She looked so sad that he felt his heart breaking for her. There seemed nothing that he could do to make her happy.

  Right from the very first moment that he had set eyes on her, Adam had seen an incredible aura. Alex had been on a daytrip with friends down to London, a treat to cheer her up, he had discovered later. He had spotted her trailing along behind them, trying to hide sadness as she looked in shop windows. Yet every time someone from her group looked at her, or talked to her, she would hide her sorrow behind a smile or a quip.

  None of her friends had noticed her disconsolate expression and she hid it well. It was only after Adam had done a spot of digging in her house that he had found out the cause of her troubles. Four months earlier Alex had been dumped by her boyfriend when she discovered she was pregnant – then she had miscarried.

  Adam was furious on Alex’s behalf, immediately thinking of his gran and the terrible way she had been treated. If only he had met Alex earlier he would happily have taken her and her child on but that was not an option now.

  Though only eighteen, Alex seemed to ache for a baby. When she was talking to children Adam noticed that all around her was a yellow glow of happiness, and he knew then that she would be a fantastic mother given half a chance.

  Briefly he had entertained a dream of the two of them settling down and having a family together. He would put right the wrongs of his own childhood, and be a better parent than either of his. Unlike his father he would always be around, taking an active interest, and he would never ever allow anybody to hurt his child – not even its mother. But the more he had thought of it the more nervousness roiled across his stomach.

  There were many things he could give a woman, but children were not one of them. He physically could not do what had to be done to make them.

  Realising this, he knew why he had been brought into Alex’s life. There was only one way that he could relieve her sadness, and that was why he had followed her to Skegness beach this day.

  Alex seemed to be waiting for him as she stood staring out at sea. There was nobody else mad enough to be on the beach in this weather, but Adam could see the raw beauty of it. It really was a wonderful spot his love had chosen, a good twenty-minute walk along the beach to the left of the truncated pier. Isolated, peaceful, he understood why she loved it so much here.

  The rain was changing; there were little hard flakes of snow flurrying in the wind now. Alex threw her head back to the sky and let the flakes fall on her face momentarily. She lit up with pure yellow joy, and Adam knew the time had come.

  He put the bouquet of white carnations down in order to free his hands, weighing it down with a piece of driftwood. A quick check left and right. Nobody was around. Excellent, this would be quick and easy. He had no hesitation this time, no second thoughts, no idea that he should try to explain or reveal himself. Striding purposefully, gloved hands swinging easily by his side, he ate up the distance between them.

  Alex was lost in thought, looking at the waves crashing onto the beach then dragging back, and the dunlins scurrying along the tideline back and forth with the waves, pecking away at the sand to find the worms beneath. Only when Adam was right beside her did she startle. Even then he did not slow and she did not react apart from to look a little surprised. Her mouth formed a small ‘o’ before he got his hands around her neck, choking off a scream as it formed.

  He was quick, efficient, a soldier doing his job. She did not suffer at all. As he strangled her he kissed her, letting go with one hand so that he could wrap his arm around her to support her swooning body. He held it against him as his lips fastened on hers.

  Anybody seeing them from a distance would have assumed they were lovers locked in a passionate embrace. Actually something far deeper and more meaningful was going on; Alex was giving herself to Adam.

  At first she resisted, of course. Just like Irene and Lisa and Sandra. Within seconds she had joined them inside him, though, expressing her gratitude at Adam letting her join his happy family.

  He lifted her physical body without any problems; she was light as a feather, and he was strong. Once again he checked left and right then strode back towards the dunes and the footpath, realising with a curse that the wind had blown the flowers away. The white carnations raced one another as they tumbled across the sand. He did not have time to chase after them; poor Alex would have no flowers. Still, the most important thing was that she was happy at last.

  In the shelter of the sand dunes, beside a golf course, Adam lay her down on her back, eyes closed, arms crossed. Despite it being mid-morning, there was still no one to see him, thanks to the weather. He took his scalpel out and, with more confidence than last time, he cut around her mouth, creating a gaping hole in her face. Shook a freezer bag from his pocket and slide the chunk of flesh inside, took off the surgical gloves that he wore, wrapped them inside another bag. Cleaned off his scalpel quickly: a third bag for those tissues for safe disposal later. Fast, efficient, like clockwork he moved.

  Within two minutes he was walking away. Along the footpath, through the car park then onto the North Parade. In the distance he heard screams from the funfair and saw the lights flashing cheerily from the arcades along the seafront. The light bulbs had almost the same glow as Alex’s aura and the thought put even more of a spring in his step.

  As he walked along the snowflakes grew larger and softer. It looked liked it might settle. Thinking of Alex, he threw his head back, letting the flakes fall on his upturned face. It felt good, like gentle kisses.

  A sign on the pavement caught his eye. Four cartoon penguins standing in a line, each one larger than the last, advertised Natureland Seaworld. He giggled, and made a decision on a whim: he and the ladies deserved a little treat to celebrate the new addition to the family, so he went inside.

  By late afternoon the weather had improved dramatically. The wind had dropped and the sun was sitting on the low hummock of dunes, bathing the sand with a final burst of light, washing the watercolour sky with a blus
h glow at the horizon. The tide was out, and gentle waves were kissing the land with their peach tops. Even the seagulls had taken on a rose hue.

  Dog walkers were emerging, their pets gambolling on sparkling sand, momentarily shattering the mirror-like surface of pools scattered here and there. Up on the high tide line, dogs sniffed at white carnations that lay amongst bladderwrack seaweed. Their owners, equally curious, went to investigate then looked out to the water, assuming the blooms must be the remains of some burial at sea. None of them looked behind them. Not until a scream rang out that had nothing to do with the resort’s fun fair.

  ***

  PRESENT

  Mike is staring at his boss incredulously, stunned at what is being asked of him. All right, he understands that his boss does not want to give him meaty crimes that he might have to leave halfway through when he goes to Reading. Okay, give him short-term, simple stuff to deal with. But this? This is ridiculous!

  “Does it really warrant a CID investigation?” he checks.

  Inspector Jane Goddard nods cheerily, clearly enjoying the joke. Her pitch-black hair, piled up to give the tiny woman extra height, wobbles precariously, a small black poodle trying to escape from the top of her head.

  “The woman says she is being stalked and it’s our duty to investigate,” she tells him, almost laughing.

  “Is this a wind up? Someone is breaking into a flat to arrange flowers, and clean up: it sounds more like a fairy godmother than a stalker.”

  “Yes, well, the victim deserves to be taken seriously,” says the DI primly. She is perched on the edge of her desk, and Mike is sitting on a chair. It makes them virtually the same height. “Besides, she’s made a right pain in the arse of herself, complaining constantly at the front desk. We’ve got to be seen to look into it – then we can call the men in white coats, if needs be, because you can bet your bottom dollar it’s all in her head.”

  Mike scratches at his beard, which is in danger of taking over his face if he doesn’t get round to trimming it soon.

 

‹ Prev