by Carla Kovach
Trying to rebuild her relationship with her daughter had been tough. Hannah had been too young to see the abuse Gina suffered at the hands of Terry. Gina had finally told Hannah about the past and they were now repairing their relationship slowly. She placed the phone on the floor and closed her eyes, her mind flashed to Mrs Sanderson. She envisaged the young woman, scared for her life as she ran up the stairs, only to be struck with a blunt instrument on the right side of her head. Had she been dazed or unconscious at that point? As she’d run, had she been trying to save her crying child who was still in her cot – or was the little girl banging on the door after climbing over her bed guard? She tried to imagine the woman’s panic as she ran to save her child. Her attacker caught up with her and she knew first hand that there was no other feeling in the world like it. When the life you are responsible for is in danger, you will do anything to protect that life. She would have panicked, fought and struggled. A tear ran down her cheek as she remembered the time Terry was kicking her in the kitchen. She’d been cocooning baby Hannah. She rubbed her head, remembering the one kick that had almost rendered her unconscious. She wiped her eyes and shook her head.
She forced her mind to focus back on Mrs Sanderson. What next? The attacker dragged Mrs Sanderson down the stairs and along the hallway, leaving a trail of blood. What was her attacker thinking? Why Mrs Sanderson? Mother of one, nice house, quiet area, husband with an alibi, no money worries. But there was more to Mrs Sanderson – she possibly had a lover. Who was her mystery man?
Gina’s mind flashed back to the body. Her attacker hadn’t even disguised what they’d done, like they were proud to show all – all except their identity. They hadn’t even made it look like a robbery. The perpetrator went in with intent and Melissa Sanderson was a very specific target. Had she looked into her attacker’s eyes as the cord tightened around her neck? And where had that cord come from?
O’Connor’s last words before she’d left the station left her wide-eyed in the bath. There was no chance of grabbing a short sleep with her mind whirring at one hundred miles an hour. The perp knew exactly what they were doing. The forensic suit they’d been wearing would almost certainly have stopped fibres belonging to them dropping onto the crime scene. If they were that forensically aware, had they also been wearing boot covers, gloves, hair covers and masks? Bernard had the elimination prints and hadn’t reported any further prints at the scene.
There was only one thing the killer hadn’t banked on: slightly tearing the forensics suit and their jeans on the splintered leg of the carver chair, leaving a couple of shreds of material behind. It was the only clue so far as to who killed Mrs Melissa Sanderson.
Her heart hummed and she couldn’t help but focus on it. Her mind flashed back to how she imagined Melissa to be in her final moments. Her body would be jerking violently as the life was squeezed out of her. She’d never know that her daughter was safe now. As she took her last breaths, she’d have heard the crying coming from upstairs as Mia screamed to no avail.
Gina fully immersed her body into the water, then sat up as she listened to the news come on the radio. The report simply described Mrs Sanderson as a thirty-five-year-old mother, found brutally killed in her home, and urged anyone with any information to come forward. She stepped out of the bath and grabbed a towel.
* * *
As Gina pulled her coat on, her phone beeped with a message. Her eyes widened. A smile spread across her face as she read the email with Bernard’s report attached. At last a break in the case. She snatched her keys from the coffee table and darted out the door without even drying her hair. She needed to get the whole team in straight away.
Ten
Staring through her wild, dirty blonde curls that had flapped over her eyes, Natalie approached the path to the front door carrying the last of the boxes. She turned and stared back at the long drive and the rolling fields in the distance. The world was so big, an everlasting expanse her mind couldn’t fathom. She tried to swallow but her mouth was producing no saliva. She tried again and swallowed hard, feeling every motion in her throat, hoping it wouldn’t close up on her. As she gasped for breath, her heart raced, she needed to get inside quickly. Bruce grabbed a bag from the boot, failing to notice her distress. She turned to the front door and the path began to very slightly sway, leaving her nauseous. The items in the box clattered as she ran as fast as her thick legs would carry her. Leaning against the door, she closed her eyes, unable to face her surroundings any longer.
For years, they had lived in a row of detached houses in Stratford-upon-Avon, next to a smattering of bed and breakfasts. She’d enjoyed seeing tourists coming and going, but her husband Bruce wanted to live somewhere quieter, so they were moving back to his hometown of Cleevesford, a place she’d never really visited in all their years together. He promised that life in Cleevesford would improve her health. With her anxiety worsening and her memory forever deceiving her, he said she needed to be in a place where her mind could be uncluttered. So, today, they were officially moving in to Rosewood House, the type of house Bruce had dreamed of for so long. The front garden needed a lot of work. When she eventually settled and was feeling better about their new place, she’d get out there and make a start, but it would take time. How much time? She couldn’t tell as yet.
The spring shoots had started to work their way through the block paving. This house was going to be a major project, but she knew she’d need something in her life to take her mind off her worries. This new start needed to work, and the countryside location would hopefully help her get a grip of her life once again.
‘What if this move doesn’t make me any better?’ She stood in front of the main door, waiting for Bruce to let her in. With closed eyes, she listened as his heavy footsteps approached the door. She couldn’t look out. The swaying trees and the distant hills were just too much. The drive had already caused her enough stress.
‘I’m not expecting miracles. You shouldn’t either. Come on, open your eyes.’ He turned the key and opened the front door, shoving her into the hall as he passed.
She opened her eyes, squinting into the darkness of their new cottage. Placing the box onto the kitchen table, she took a few deep breaths. Resting two fingers on her wrist, she monitored her pulse rate until it calmed down. Every step she took on the flagstone tiled floor echoed through the chilly building. It wasn’t yet a home but she’d make it a home, and she’d show Bruce that she could get better. She’d been reading a self-help book on overcoming anxiety, managing attacks and eventually combatting her fears. As one suggested, she’d been keeping a diary of her feelings. She had to remain positive. Last thing she needed was to have a breakdown. She checked her pulse again. It was almost back to normal.
The removal company had been the previous day and early in the morning. They had left all the correct boxes and furniture in the correct rooms. Bruce had spent the day before assisting them with erecting the furniture and he’d returned to their old house in the early hours of the morning. For the past three days they’d been gradually moving their personal belongings, but today was the day where there was no going back. They’d handed in their keys to the estate agent, ready for collection by the new owners.
She stared at her husband. His chiselled jaw, deep blue eyes and determined look had been the thing that had originally attracted her to him. That and his car. All her friends at college had been impressed with his Porsche and he’d also been a qualified accountant. She’d enjoyed being taken out and treated to meals, mini breaks and spa days. She’d been studying floristry when they first met and she had dreamed of one day owning a shop; now, she’d settle for a well-stocked garden and a veggie patch. Soon after meeting they’d had a child and she’d settled into her motherly role with ease. That’s when her illness had begun. Severe anxiety the doctor had said.
She opened the kitchen blind and stared out at the huge garden full of bushes, shrubs and trees that were all entwined in weeds. She certainly did have her work cu
t out, but she could do it – she could make it perfect.
‘Where’s the coffee?’ She stared at her husband, opening and closing her mouth like a solitary goldfish in a bowl, living the most meaningless of existences. ‘Coffee. Where did you put the coffee?’ Her heart rate began to creep up again. She checked her pulse willing her heart not to start palpitating. She couldn’t let him see she was losing her grip.
The stack of boxes marked kitchen were stood in front of the pantry. She began ripping at the tape as he watched her. ‘They’re in one of these boxes,’ she said as she forced a smile. He couldn’t see she was jittery, thankfully. The first box came open as her trembling fingers tugged at it. Reaching down, she dislodged the washing-up brush, the tea caddy, the biscuit tin but no coffee. Where had she packed the coffee? She would only have packed the coffee with the tea, sugar and biscuits, wouldn’t she?
‘Bloody hell,’ Bruce said as he grabbed the open box and placed it on the floor. He proceeded with opening the next box marked under the sink. ‘Why you’d put the coffee in a box with the disinfectant and cleaning products, beats me,’ he said, taking the coffee from the box.
She looked up at him, bottom lip quivering as tears streamed down her face. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so stupid.’
‘You’re not stupid. You just need some rest. The move has been stressful. Go up to bed and I’ll bring you a drink.’
With each step, she felt the weight of her failure dragging her down. The burden of her illness ever heavier. Bruce had seen her breakdown. So much for the stupid book she’d been reading. There was no help, only acceptance and survival. She turned at the top of the stairs, grabbed the folded-up quilt from a box and climbed into bed. She hadn’t even put the cover on their new quilt before she packed it. She’d do it later, when she felt more rested. A wash of exhaustion travelled through her muscles as she relaxed into the bedding.
Within moments Bruce came up with a hot black coffee. ‘You need to order some milk.’ She needed to order many things – she’d do their online shop later. The bed dipped as he lay down on top of the quilt and stared into her eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said as she wept into the pillow.
He grabbed her and pulled her close, kissing her as he stroked her hair. ‘It’s fine. I think this new start will be good for you, for us. What I meant to say is I should’ve been more understanding back there, with the coffee and all. It’s part of your anxiety and I need to be a bit more patient.’ He removed a tangled curl from across her face. She leaned in closer to him, enjoying his warmth. He was all she had. Their son, Craig, was at university and never came home to see them. Bruce was always there and always had been. ‘Right, I’m popping to the office for a while. I need to catch up with what’s been happening in my absence. Will you be okay ordering the shopping?’
‘Yes. I love you.’
‘I love you too. You know that, don’t you? We don’t need anyone else, do we?’
‘No,’ she whispered. She closed her eyes as his warm lips met her forehead before he rolled off the bed. Maybe the diary was worth persevering with. She needed to stop thinking about all the things that were making her anxious and instead think of happy things. She thought of her new garden. She’d start by pulling the weeds up, trimming the hedges and cutting the trees back. She’d properly dig the borders out and get a rotavator on the patch at the back. They both liked organic vegetables with their dinner. She’d like to grow potatoes, onions and leeks. She’d also grow carnations and roses.
‘Natalie,’ he called. Her heart rate began to quicken again. ‘Where did you put my office keys? I gave them to you to hold when we were in the car.’
Her thoughts flashed between the car, the house and walking up the stairs. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure. I asked you to hold them while I got the bags out of the boot. You put them in your pocket before I passed you the box.’ She listened as he began throwing things out of the boxes and cluttering around the kitchen. He left the house and the central locking of the car beeped, then it beeped again before he stormed back into the house.
Still wearing her light jacket, she checked her pockets. She didn’t have the keys any longer.
‘Don’t you worry about it, princess. Just stay in bed. I suppose I’ll have to take a copy of Sylvie’s key. Bloody hell,’ he shouted as he kicked the kitchen door and slammed the front door as he left. His receptionist would no doubt be tasked to go and get a copy made.
She sobbed into her pillow. Ever the failure. She tried so hard to retrace her steps in her mind. They were in the car. They pulled up on the drive at the end of the path. She remembered looking out and everything seeming so daunting. The hills in the distance had been closing in on her. Her need to get into the house without Bruce noticing her anxiety had been at its greatest. Had he passed her the keys then? Had she grabbed the box and dropped the keys at the same time? Could they be on the drive? She wasn’t going out again that day. No way was she checking. Failure – that word obsessively repeated itself in her mind. She dragged the quilt over her head and buried herself in the bed as she cried.
Eleven
Gina scraped her damp hair into a ponytail as she entered the station and headed towards the incident room. So much for a restful bath and a couple of hours sleep.
‘Feeling better, guv?’ Jacob asked, interrupting her from her thoughts.
Gina brushed a scattering of croissant crumbs onto the floor with her sleeve. ‘Much, thanks. Bernard has sent me his report from last night. I’m having a quick recap and I want to bring forward the team briefing. Check on all incoming calls as the news is now out. Give me five then pop through.’
She hurried to her office and turned the computer on. ‘Come on,’ she said as she watched the cursor whirling into action. As soon as she logged in, she clicked straight onto her email and scanned the information in Bernard’s report. There had been a drawer in Mrs Sanderson’s divan bed containing crotchless leather trousers, ball masks, and nipple tassels. What did that prove? Mr and Mrs Sanderson had interesting sex lives. She continued reading. Mr Sanderson’s drawer contained a pair of pliers and a collection of vibrators, ranging in size.
She then reached the really interesting part. They had recovered a pay-as-you-go-phone that had been carefully stashed under the bed, against the wall, on Mrs Sanderson’s side. Gina smiled as she read on. The last message came from a contact Mrs Sanderson had named Jimmy in her phone.
I can’t stand to see you living the rest of your life with that man!
Her phone vibrated across the desk and then began to ring. ‘DI Harte.’
‘Have you looked at the email yet?’ Bernard asked.
‘I’m re-reading it now. Well done on recovering the phone. We’ll need to see if we can get a trace on this Jimmy from his number. Any updates on the post-mortem?’
‘No, still waiting at the moment but it should be soon. We’ve had major staffing issues.’ Her shoulders slumped. She needed it doing now so she could be fully informed for the investigation.
‘Tell me about it.’
‘As soon as I get the PM appointment, I’ll get straight back to you. You got the blood results, didn’t you? We managed to push those through.’
‘We did get those. As suspected at the scene, evidence shows that Mrs Sanderson was struck on the stairs and was dragged to the kitchen. Have we come across anything that could have been used as the weapon that struck her?’
She heard Bernard flicking through his notebook. ‘Not as yet. We have recovered several items but until we assess the cadaver thoroughly, we won’t have anything conclusive for you.’
Gina looked down. ‘Can you hurry this up a bit?’
‘I wish we could, but we just don’t have the resources.’
‘A woman has been killed in her home! This has to take priority, surely.’
There was a pause on the phone. ‘We’re rushing like mad this end. There was a lot to process in the house and the back and front
gardens. We’ve dusted for prints, checked for footprints. Nothing so far on either front. Whoever did this knew what they were doing. Not a jot of anything from which we can obtain DNA from. We’ve analysed blood spatter. We’re still processing more crime scene photos, logging all the evidence, all on a shoestring budget. I will have everything you need, either later today or early tomorrow. I promise, Inspector.’ He
placed his receiver down and ended their call.
Someone knocked at her office door.
‘Come in.’
‘Guv. Coffee?’ Jacob placed the cup of hot liquid on her desk. ‘It’s a shame you had to walk straight into this after your holiday.’
She nodded and smiled. ‘So what’s new? Have we had anything from the public as yet?’
‘Nothing yet.’
Gina scrolled up and down Bernard’s report and stopped at the section mentioning Mr and Mrs Sanderson’s bed drawers. ‘Mr Sanderson kept a pair of pliers with a collection of sex toys in the drawer under his side of the bed. I’d say that was a little unusual.’
Jacob smirked. ‘From what we see, nothing is unusual. I wouldn’t keep pliers with sex toys though. That is odd. But I wouldn’t mind at least having someone to share sex toys with.’
Gina took a swig of coffee. ‘No luck with the ladies at the moment then?’
‘Not a jot. I’m thinking of taking up celibacy.’
‘You already are.’
‘I mean as a way of life, a philosophy.’ Jacob looked at her, she looked back at him and they both laughed. ‘Maybe I’ll give Tinder a go.’