by Shaun Hutson
Hailey finished doing her make-up and crossed to the wardrobe, where she selected a grey two-piece and black shoes.
She was buttoning the jacket when she heard the front door open. Heard footsteps climbing the stairs.
‘Was she OK?’ Hailey asked as Rob walked into the bedroom.
He nodded. ‘Fine,’ he announced, running appraising eyes over her. ‘Like you said last night, perhaps it’s about time I started doing more for my own daughter.’
‘That wasn’t what I said.’
‘It’s what you meant. I didn’t realize I was so useless as a father. Perhaps you should have told me before.’
‘Now you’re being ridiculous. Stop being such a bloody martyr, Rob. You twist everything I say to suit you.’
He regarded her silently.
‘I’ll pick Becky up,’ Hailey said, brushing fluff from her skirt.
‘If you’re not too busy?’ he chided.
Hailey exhaled. ‘Don’t start, Rob,’ she said. ‘Not now.’
‘I was just making sure. I didn’t know if you might be out until late again. I didn’t know what Jim Marsh might have in store for you today.’
She heard the disdain in his voice.
‘What time are you getting home?’ she wanted to know.
He shrugged.
‘You shouldn’t really be going in to work yet, Rob,’ Hailey told him. ‘The doctor said you had to rest, and I’m sure Frank can manage without you. Even you’re not indispensable, you know.’ She smiled, but he didn’t return it, merely looked at her indifferently.
She was about to say something else when she heard the doorbell.
‘I’ll go,’ Hailey said, making her way down the stairs.
They creaked protestingly as she hurried down to the hall, running a hand through her hair before she opened the door.
There was something familiar about the man who stood there. Dressed in a dark brown suit and shoes that looked as if they hadn’t tasted polish for a while, he smiled thinly at her.
‘Mrs Gibson?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Hailey.
‘You don’t remember me, do you?’ said the newcomer. ‘I’m not surprised. The last time we met you had a lot on your mind.’ He fumbled inside his jacket for a slim leather wallet that he flipped open. ‘Detective Constable Tate.’
Hailey smiled.
‘Yes, I remember,’ she told him, her smile fading slightly. ‘You were at the hospital the night my husband was attacked.’
He nodded.
‘What can I do for you?’ Hailey wanted to know.
‘It’s your husband I’d like to speak to. Would that be possible?’
‘Is there something wrong?’
‘Yes, there is.’
98
‘I’M GLAD TO see you’re feeling better now, Mr Gibson,’ said Tate as he shifted position on the sofa.
‘Thanks,’ Rob murmured.
Both he and Hailey were looking at the policeman intently. They saw his brow furrow, and he sat forward slightly.
‘I know you’re both wondering what I want, so I’ll try to get this over with as quickly as possible,’ Tate told them.
He looked directly at Rob. ‘Mr Gibson, you knew a young lady called Sandra Bennett, didn’t you?’ Tate made it sound more like a statement than a question.
Hailey glared at Rob.
‘She worked for me until recently,’ he said flatly.
Tate glanced at Hailey, saw the venom in her expression.
‘We know that,’ said the DC. ‘But you were personally involved with her too, weren’t you?’
Rob swallowed hard.
‘I’m sorry. I know this is difficult,’ Tate continued.
‘How do you know my husband had an affair with her?’ Hailey demanded.
‘We found some correspondence from your husband at her flat,’ Tate informed her. ‘A number of letters. There were some gift tags too, with your writing on them, Mr Gibson.’ He looked at Hailey. ‘You knew this affair was going on, Mrs Gibson?’
‘I found out in the end,’ said Hailey sharply.
Tate nodded, suddenly feeling very intrusive.
‘I didn’t know it was against the law to have an affair,’ said Rob, attempting a smile. ‘You’re not here to arrest me, are you?’
Hailey shot him a furious glance.
‘When was the last time you spoke to Sandra Bennett?’ Tate wanted to know.
‘When I sacked her,’ Rob informed him. ‘Why?’
‘She was murdered three days ago.’
‘Oh God,’ Rob murmured, colour draining from his cheeks.
‘I would have come here sooner, but there were other developments, and we weren’t sure of a positive identification at first.’
Rob ran a hand through his hair.
‘Who killed her?’ he said slowly.
Hailey looked at him angrily.
Still such concern? Even now she’s dead?
‘I wish I could tell you, Mr Gibson.’ Tate looked across at Hailey. ‘Did you ever meet her, Mrs Gibson?’
Hailey shook her head.
‘How was she killed?’ Rob asked quietly.
‘She was stabbed,’ Tate informed him.
‘There’s been nothing in the papers,’ Rob muttered.
‘A murder doesn’t merit many column inches in the nationals these days. It’s become too commonplace, I’m afraid. We haven’t released too many details to the media anyway.’
‘What’s this murder got to do with my husband?’ enquired Hailey. ‘Or did you just assume he’d be interested because he’d been fucking her?’
Tate regarded her evenly. He had heard the vehemence in her voice.
‘During your, er . . . relationship, did you ever meet her brother, Mr Gibson?’ the DC continued.
‘I didn’t even know she had a brother,’ Rob explained. ‘She never mentioned him.’
‘I’m not surprised. He was a small-time villain. Spent most of his life in and out of prison. Not the kind of sibling you’d want to talk about. It’s just that we have reason to believe it was Sandra Bennett’s brother who attacked you last week.’
Rob looked puzzled.
‘Forensics came up with hair and fibre samples that linked him to you. We think it might have been some kind of revenge for what you did to his sister.’
‘I didn’t do anything to his sister,’ Rob protested.
‘You sacked her from her job. You ended your affair with her. It’s possible that her brother, in some kind of twisted way, thought he was protecting her by attacking you. It’s unlikely she knew anything about it. However, it also gives you motive.’
‘For what?’ Rob asked.
‘For killing him. He was murdered last night.’
‘And you think I did it?’
‘No, Mr Gibson, I don’t. Just as I don’t think, for one minute, that you killed Sandra Bennett. But I’ll ask you anyway where you were last night.’
‘Here, with my daughter,’ said Rob.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I won’t take up any more of your time.’
‘Do you think the same person killed them both?’ Hailey wanted to know.
‘It’s more than likely. I can’t say any more.’ Again the policeman smiled.
‘I’ll see you out.’ Hailey followed him towards the door.
Tate paused on the doorstep.
‘I’m sorry I had to drag up your husband’s involvement with Sandra Bennett,’ he told her apologetically.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Hailey replied, forcing a smile. ‘I know you’re only doing your job.’
‘Thank you for your time,’ said Tate, and set off back to his waiting car.
She closed the door behind him and leant against it for a moment.
Her smile grew broader.
99
‘I THOUGHT YOU were going to burst into tears when he told you,’ said Hailey acidly.
Rob merely shook his head. ‘I can’t believe it,’ he
said quietly.
‘What? That she’s dead? Or that it hurt you so much to hear it? You still care about her, don’t you?’
‘Jesus Christ, Hailey, she was fucking stabbed to death,’ Rob snarled angrily. ‘How am I supposed to react? It was a shock hearing it. Whoever it was, I would have felt the same.’
‘But the fact that you knew her so intimately just made it worse,’ Hailey said, her voice heavy with scorn. ‘And she’d even kept some of your letters – how touching. And gift tags? What kind of presents did you buy her, Rob? How much money did you waste on that fucking slag?’
‘You’re glad she’s dead, aren’t you?’
‘I won’t shed any tears over her.’
Rob shook his head. ‘I don’t expect you to.’
‘She had it coming,’ Hailey said flatly.
‘You’re a cold bitch sometimes.’
‘Perhaps it was someone else whose marriage she’d ruined. She seemed to make a habit of that. Who else had she fucked other than you, Rob? How many other married men had she used?’
‘Give it a fucking rest, will you?’
‘Why? Is the memory painful?’
‘It was over between us, Hailey – you know that. How would you feel if some copper walked in here and told you that your friend Adam Walker had been murdered?’
‘There was nothing between us.’
‘I’ve only got your word for that.’
They regarded each other angrily for long moments.
‘I’d have thought you’d have been pleased, too,’ Hailey exclaimed. ‘I mean, if she thought that much of you, why did she get her brother to beat you up and nearly kill you?’
‘You heard what Tate said. He didn’t think she knew anything about that business.’
‘He didn’t think she knew.’
‘Perhaps he was the one who tried to run me off the road that night.’
‘And the one who pushed dog shit through the letterbox? And slashed your tyres? And broke into the house?’
Rob shot her an angry glance.
‘What are you talking about? What break-in?’ he demanded.
She told him about the dolls.
‘Why the fuck didn’t you tell me about that?’ he rasped. ‘Why didn’t you tell the police?’
Go on: tell him the truth. At the time you thought it was Walker. You were protecting him, weren’t you?
‘It doesn’t matter now,’ Hailey said. ‘He’s gone too. They’re both out of our lives. That’s all I wanted.’
‘Well, you got your wish, didn’t you? I hope you’re happy.’
‘You don’t know what he might have done next, Rob. What if he’d attacked Becky? Or me?’
Rob exhaled wearily. ‘Well, we won’t know now, will we?’
He glanced at his watch.
‘You’d better go,’ he said. ‘You’re going to be late. You don’t want that, do you?’
She put a hand on his shoulder.
‘What happened to her, and to her brother,’ she said quietly, ‘it’s for the best. You’ll see.’
‘Are we sending flowers to the funeral?’ he said flatly.
Hailey smiled humourlessly.
‘That isn’t funny, Rob,’ she told him.
She left him sitting alone.
100
IN THE MORTUARY the smell was always the same.
The pungent odour of chemicals, mingled with the more caustic aroma of antiseptic.
And the heavy, cloying stench of death.
It was a smell that DC Tate had come to know well, but one that he’d never got used to. Never would get used to either, he told himself.
He closed the door behind him and walked slowly into the large, high-ceilinged room. It was painted a uniformly dull green: the same colour as the smocks of those who worked within. There were two or three smocks also hanging on pegs on the far wall.
Four mortuary slabs.
Tables, the staff liked to call them, but to Tate they were slabs, pure and simple. Stainless steel with a gutter and a number of strategically placed holes, for drainage.
Beyond them were the lockers where bodies were stored for various reasons.
Some corpses were awaiting examination. Some were waiting to be removed – perhaps for burial. Others would remain there for months. Unclaimed. Unwanted.
It was a storehouse for sightless eyes.
There was a small office just beyond, its door firmly closed. It bore a sign saying PRIVATE.
A small trolley stood beside one of the slabs, a linen cloth hiding the gleaming instruments it carried.
Tate wondered if another body was about to be brought in. No one had mentioned it to him.
He crossed to the closest slab and leant against it, feeling how cold the metal was beneath his palms. The temperature was kept at a constant fifty degrees, which chilled the metal even more.
It chilled his blood too.
He crossed to the lockers and ran his gaze over them.
The contents of numbers four and five concerned him.
They concerned him greatly.
He reached out to touch the handle of number five.
‘We can’t keep you away, can we?’
The voice startled him and he spun round, his heart thudding a little quicker in his chest.
Bernard Swain, the chief pathologist, was in his thirty-ninth year, four years older than Tate. A tall, wiry man with thinning hair swept back severely from his forehead, he sported a goatee beard which, despite his belief that it made him look trendy, actually looked to Tate as if someone had glued a dead mouse to his chin.
‘They’re still in there, Matt, if that’s what you’re worried about,’ Swain said to him, nodding towards the lockers. ‘Brother and sister.’
Swain passed through into the office and slid open a drawer in his desk, rummaging around for some papers he wanted.
‘Someone really didn’t like that family, did they?’ the pathologist observed. ‘Layton would have been better off staying inside.’
‘You’re sure the same person killed them both?’ asked Tate.
‘You read my report.’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘Then what’s the problem? The same knife was used in both murders.’
‘A blade approximately twelve inches long, serrated on one edge.’
‘Exactly. The angle of the cuts was the same in both cases. So was their nature. There were approximately fifteen stab wounds to the upper part of Sandra Bennett. Another six to the vagina, probably inflicted after she was dead.’
‘Thank Christ for that,’ Tate breathed.
‘Twenty-two stab wounds to the body of David Layton, including four to the genitals. One of which, as you know, split his penis from top to bottom. He wasn’t so lucky: he was still alive when that was done. In addition, there were fractures to eight major bones, all inflicted with a heavy object made of metal. Probably an iron bar.’
‘The killer would have been covered in blood,’ mused Tate.
Swain nodded.
‘And yet we found no fingerprints or fibres at either scene,’ Tate muttered. ‘No clues, no motive, no suspects.’ He exhaled wearily. ‘What about the other business? You didn’t make any mention of it in your report.’
‘My job’s to examine the bodies they bring in here, Matt, not speculate on cases.’
‘But you must be curious. Why did he take their heads?’
101
CAROLINE HACKET SAT back from the table, and patted her stomach appreciatively.
‘That was a beautiful meal, Adam,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
‘My pleasure,’ said Walker, raising his wine glass. ‘It’s surprising how easy it gets when you’re cooking for yourself every day.’
‘Tell me about it. I’m just grateful for microwaves and frozen meals,’ Caroline chuckled.
She eyed him over the kitchen table, watching as he sipped at his wine.
‘Perhaps next time you’ll let me cook you a meal,’ she sai
d.
He nodded almost imperceptibly.
‘There is going to be a next time, isn’t there?’ she persisted.
Walker met her gaze. ‘Of course,’ he told her.
‘You don’t sound too sure.’
He finished what was left in his glass and pushed it away empty.
‘It’s a nice house,’ Caroline said, aware that his mind was elsewhere. ‘It must get lonely here, though.’
‘Do you get lonely?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘I’ve been on my own for so long now, I prefer it that way. Did Hailey tell you about this house?’
Caroline looked puzzled.
‘She mentioned it briefly, but . . .’ She allowed the sentence to trail off.
‘You know what happened here, don’t you? You said that Hailey had told you.’
‘Yes, she did, and I know she’s treated you badly since. She knows that she was wrong.’
Caroline got to her feet and walked around the table towards him. She stood behind him, gently massaging his shoulders with her slender fingers.
‘Does her husband know?’ Walker asked.
‘Why don’t you forget about Hailey?’ Caroline said, a slight note of irritation in her voice.
Walker stood up suddenly, turning to face her.
‘Why?’ he said. ‘So I can concentrate on you?’
He pulled her face towards him and pressed his lips against hers, feeling them part, feeling her tongue anxiously seeking his.
He slid one hand between her legs, brushing the inside of her left thigh, allowing his fingers to climb higher until they touched the soft cotton of her panties.
Caroline pushed herself against him, surprised by the ferocity of his kiss.
When they finally parted, she was panting.
He kept his hand between her legs, fingers stroking softly, expertly.
‘Is this what you want?’ he said, looking into her eyes.
She nodded.
He slid two fingers beneath the gusset of her panties, stirred the moisture there, then lifted those same two digits to her mouth and touched them gently against her lips.
‘Taste yourself,’ he said softly, watching as she licked his outstretched fingers, her tongue flicking over his wet digits. Caroline closed her eyes, her breathing now ragged.