by Carla Kovach
He turned the kitchen light on and stared at the cooker hood, imagining Melissa’s dead body slumped in their carver chair. He placed his hands around his neck and began to squeeze, imagining how Melissa must have felt as the life was squeezed out of her. As his grip remained constant, he felt the need to gasp. Letting go, he sucked in the stale air of the kitchen. She’d have felt pain.
Through the darkness of the kitchen, he walked over to the table and kicked the chair. It fell to the floor, causing no damage whatsoever. He brought his heavy boot down on its solid frame and it shattered to pieces. His face flushed as he continued kicking until the pile of wood beneath him barely resembled a chair. He gasped for breath – he was so unfit it was embarrassing. He grabbed the padded seat and flung it across the kitchen, gasping and seething as it hit the pantry door. ‘You got what you bloody well deserved Mrs.’ He caught a glimpse of his clammy reflection in the stainless steel kettle. His hair seemed even greyer and his skin was almost ashen.
The hum of the fridge filled the room. He grabbed a beer and snatched the magnetic bottle opener from the fridge door, releasing a colourful painting. Mia’s footprint dropped to the floor as he swigged the cold liquid. He grabbed it and walked through to the living room, sitting in the darkness with the curtains closed. He placed the picture of Mia’s foot down and stared at the wall. It was no good. He couldn’t sit in all evening, alone. There was nothing to do and the smell of death still hung in the air. He needed to get out. He grabbed his phone from his back pocket and called the only person he could talk to. ‘Rob, coming out for a beer?’
‘Not a good idea.’
‘It is a damn good idea. My wife has just died. I’m also going stir crazy and I’ve only been home a few minutes. I can’t just sit here with the telly on, watching crap. I don’t even know what’s happening with Mia yet.’ He thought of his daughter at his brother’s house. Every time he thought of that detective, he wanted to wring her neck. He released his grip from the cushion.
‘She’ll be back with you soon. Start looking for a nanny or something. That will keep your mind off things.’
‘I’ve already contacted an agency. As soon as she’s home, I’m sorted.’ Darrel paused and listened to the background noise coming from Rob’s house. ‘Who’s with you?’
There was a pause. ‘The usual crew.’
Darrel grabbed his beer and walked to the window, his gaze travelling along the drive, then onto the main road that ran out of Cleevesford. His eyes focused on a car that was parked under a streetlamp on the opposite side of the road. All his neighbours had driveways with plenty of parking space. There was no need for anyone to park on the road.
He ran to the back door and jogged along the hedge-lined side of his garden. Whoever was in the car was too busy looking down. In darkness he stared, willing the person in the driver’s seat to turn around and she did. DI Harte looked across at his house. He flinched and kept close to the trees, out of her line of sight. The very woman who’d taken his daughter now had the nerve to sit outside watching his house.
‘Are you still there?’ Rob asked, holding the phone to his ear.
‘She’s here, watching my house,’ he said as he entered through the back door.
‘Who?’
‘That detective, Harte. The bitch who took my daughter. That woman is poison. She needs to pay for what she did.’ He swigged the rest of his beer down in one and slammed the bottle onto the worktop.
‘You need to get out of the house. But first, go freshen up, change your clothes, then take a walk to the Angel, enjoy a night out. Get hammered. Forget about that bitch.’ Rob hung up.
After showering and putting on a fresh shirt, he reached for his jacket and left the house, not looking back at the car as he continued towards Cleevesford.
Selina smoothed her hair as Rob placed his phone on the coffee table. ‘Selina, bring us something to drink,’ he called. ‘Make it snappy.’ He laughed as he sat around the table in the dining room with four of his closest friends.
Selina hurried back through with a tailor’s tape measure falling over her shoulders, smiling as she carried a tray of drinks. Rob lowered the lights in the room and Bruce began dealing the cards as he sucked on a cigar. ‘We’ll be here all night, love? All of us, here, playing cards?’
She nodded and smiled, wondering what was brewing amongst them.
‘You can go upstairs now and work on your sewing, if you like. I’ll shout if we need you. Have you finished your latest creation?’
‘Almost, just adding the last few stitches.’ She leaned over and kissed Rob on the cheek. She wanted to shake him and ask why he still didn’t trust her enough to tell her what was going on.
Rob smirked as he finished dealing the cards. ‘Dan got what I asked for too. Everyone’s registered for council tax.’ He passed a slip of paper to everyone. ‘Use this information wisely. Actually remember the address on it and rip it up. Don’t leave it lying around.’
Selina craned her neck, hoping to see the words on the slips of paper. It was no use. They all pocketed them before she had the chance.
Ben checked out his hand and winced. ‘Must be a fix, I’m not playing this hand.’
‘Get in there. I’m on a winning streak tonight,’ Rob said as a grin spread across his face.
Rob pulled the card that DI Harte had given to Darrel after she’d seen him at the station the night Melissa was killed. He placed it on the table. Their newest member grinned and picked the card up.
As Rob dealt an extra card to every player, he took a moment to make eye contact with each person around the table. ‘Highest wins. Selina, can you leave us to chat?’
Once again left on the outside. She lingered in the hallway. DI Harte again, she thought to herself, as she angrily walked up to her sewing room.
Thirty-One
Gina slumped in the passenger seat of the car and watched as Darrel headed down the tree-lined verge before meeting the path. Soon he was completely out of sight. She stepped out of the car, placing the case notes on the back seat, ready to pore over when she got home.
The clear sky and half-covered moon lit up the rural setting. As she walked down the block-paved drive, she stared at the house. She needed to go around the back. In her mind, she kept thinking, He has an alibi. It can’t be him. Who were his other friends? They had one full name on file, Robert Dixon. Dixon had to be the lead to follow and she would follow that lead as soon as she was back home. She walked around the large house and reached the kitchen door, the same door she’d entered only a few nights earlier before being confronted by Melissa’s body.
The moon reflected in the window. She placed her nose close to the glass, to see inside. She hoped she’d see something, to see that he’d let his guard down. She almost wanted to slap herself for thinking it. It wasn’t as if he’d come home with half a roll of blue washing line cord and dump it in the kitchen for her to see. She flashed her torch through the window. Everything was pretty much as she remembered. He’d barely moved a thing or added anything to the scene. She shined the torch nearer the back of the kitchen. A kitchen chair lay on its side, shattered.
A cracking noise came from the shrubbery at the side of the garden. She flashed her torch. ‘Who’s there? Darrel Sanderson?’ All was silent, except for her pounding heart. She watched as a fox darted towards the back of the garden. She laughed as she lowered the torch and pulled her phone from her pocket, noticing a missed a call from Jacob. She pressed the return call button. ‘Jacob. What do you have?’ she asked in a whisper.
‘The analysis of Sanderson’s computer has come back. He’s definitely not the nice pleasant family man he’d like us all to believe he is. Good call on removing the daughter.’
‘What have they found?’
‘Our Mr Sanderson has been chatting in a lot of online forums. They are mostly disguised as men’s rights groups but after taking a closer look, they are total woman haters. Believing in only traditional family roles work and sh
aring tips on how to use manipulation and even violence to control women. So much hate in these groups. I watched on as one member made suggestions on the lines of burning his house down with his wife in it, just because she said she wanted a divorce. They speak of women as if they are property. Honestly, it’s disturbing stuff. He’s a member of several of these types of group and regularly participates in discussions.’
‘Bloody hell. We need to keep a close eye on him. Any news on finding his other friends?’ She stared into the distance where the fox had scarpered.
‘Not as yet.’
‘Keep looking through the computer analysis and I’ll give you a call in a minute, when I’m back in my car.’ She began walking alongside the house and back towards the road.
‘Where are you, guv?’
‘Outside Sanderson’s house.’
Jacob paused. ‘What are you doing there?’
‘I just wanted to take a look around.’
‘He has the house back. Is he there?’
Gina gazed around in the darkness. ‘No, he went out a few minutes ago. I don’t know what I was hoping to find, some washing line cord, I think. I was hoping he’d get comfortable now he has his house back, slip up. I know it was a long shot but there we go. I was hoping to catch him out somehow.’
‘You should get away from there. If he comes back, he’ll be screaming harassment, especially if he catches you staring through his windows.’
She shook her head. ‘If he comes back, I’ll say I’m just following up on the investigation and give him a very superficial update. There are no issues here.’
‘Whatever, guv. Just get back to the car and give me a call straight back. From what I can see, he’s one dangerous man. He may not have killed his wife but I feel he sure wasn’t sad about her death.’
Gina ended the call and began walking back. As she put the phone back in her pocket, she heard a rustling noise coming from the trees at the back of the garden. This time, it was too big to be a fox. Her heart began to thud against her chest as she spun around and stared into the darkness. Hand trembling, she held her torch up. ‘Who’s there?’
Thirty-Two
Becky paced back and forth. Ellie had been off the booze for so long now. Things had been going well. They were getting married. She enjoyed her job at the coffee shop. They loved their flat. What had happened? Ellie’s last message had been so out of character and she never stayed out all night. She tried to call her again but her voicemail came on – again.
She tried to think back, working out where things might have gone wrong. Ellie had been late home the other day. When questioned, she’d just said she’d got caught up doing things but Becky suspected she’d gone back to the Angel Arms. Ellie’s nightmares had become more frequent. She’d struggled to speak of her assault. Ellie had lied though, telling her that her lateness had something to do with a surprise for the wedding. Becky didn’t believe her. She’d found a return bus ticket to Cleevesford, dated the thirteenth of April, in Ellie’s pocket. She’d looked shaken and had gone for a lie down around seven in the evening and stayed in bed until the next morning.
She picked up the framed photo next to the phone and rubbed her half of the heart necklace. Whatever Ellie was going through, she’d see her through it like all the other times. Ellie looked so happy in the photo, outside the pub on the beach at Combe Martin. They’d just bought chips and a glass of coke each, then gone for a walk along the beach, checking out the rock pools. She smiled as she remembered the tide coming in and the sea flowing over the wall they were walking along. Ellie had been in fits of laughter as the sea soaked her jeans. They shivered all the way back to the caravan park as the wintery air chilled them to the bone. She shivered now as she thought of what Ellie might be up to. Something wasn’t right. Ellie had always told her where she was, even when she’d gone totally off the rails. There was something her lover wasn’t telling her.
She continued to pace back and forth, occasionally staring at her phone as she’d done all day. ‘Please call me,’ she said, as she felt tears welling up in her eyes.
Thirty-Three
Gina’s heartbeat quickened. ‘Mr Sanderson?’ The sound of a heavy foot treading on undergrowth drew her attention back to the trees. She flashed her torch across the drive and the front garden. A figure in a forensic suit and a red mask emerged from between two trees. The eye area was covered with mesh that reminded her of insect eyes. Tallish, about six foot, straight waist, likely male. He waved a crowbar above her head. ‘Stop, Police,’ she yelled as he brought the metal bar down onto her shoulder.
The masked figure stepped towards her and brought the crowbar down on her head this time. The stars in the sky began to swirl as she fell to the ground. He sat over her, with his legs apart, pinning her down. ‘Get off me,’ she slurred as a piercing pain flashed through her head. She reached up, trying to gauge his eyes through the mesh, grabbing his face, pulling at the mask. She felt the back. The crisscross thread reminded her of a mask that a wrestler would wear. The material was thin but hard to tear. He returned her efforts with a punch to the side of the face. She had to get him off. She tried to bring her knee up between his legs but she was pinned to the ground. She wriggled as he grabbed her breasts and weaved his gloved hands underneath her shirt, then he reached for her groin, trying to get into her underwear.
As she lay there dazed, her mind went to Terry and the times he’d attacked her. Remaining still was always her solution back then. She’d never dare to refuse what he wanted. Not this time. Her victim days were well and truly over.
She grabbed his growing erection and squeezed. The masked man let out a yell. She reached around and grabbed the hair at the base of his head, pulling until she’d ripped out several strands. He continued yelping and holding his groin as he pulled away, stumbling as he stood.
She rolled over onto her front then managed to stand. The world spun. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest. She put her fingers to her head and could feel the hot sticky blood that was matting into her hair. She held the torch above her head and ran in his direction, preparing for impact. As she reached him, he brought the crowbar down once more. As he caught her wrist, she dropped the torch. Her attacker limped down the path as he rubbed his throbbing groin. She fell to the floor as she went to grab her torch and landed at an angle, bending her wrist. Through the pain, she smiled as she closed her eyes and gripped the hair in her hand.
Her mind drifted back to Terry. She’d never have fought him off. ‘That was for you, Terry,’ she said as she lay on the damp overgrown grass, welcoming the darkness as she slipped into unconsciousness with only the scent of his musky aftershave lingering in the air. It wasn’t a scent she recognised. She had come face to face with the devil and she’d fought with all she had.
The world above swirled as a sharp pain travelled through her head. As the stars and moon disappeared, she clung on to the bit of evidence tightly. Don’t let go of the hair, she kept telling herself. Don’t let go of the hair, as she lost the battle to remain conscious.
Thirty-Four
Monday, 16 April 2018
Terry tied his red eye mask at the back of his head, then slowly turned. With his eyes covered, his other features blended into nothing more than a skin coloured blotch. Shaking her head, she tried to shift the wooziness. She felt the mattress dip as he kneeled on it and kissed her with his beery breath. As little Mia cried, her heartbeat increased. She had to save Mia before he could get to her and hurt her. She always had to be there, ready to step between Terry and Mia. She would die for that little girl. He ripped open her nightshirt and lay on her naked body, pinning her to the bed. She screwed her eyes to get a better look at him. His jaw was too defined and he was tall. It wasn’t Terry.
‘Mia,’ she called. She’d always been there to protect Mia from the devil that came for her. Never would he get to the child – never. Through chattering teeth, she tried to call again, but the demon clasped his large scaly hand across he
r nose and mouth. As she panicked for air, stars filled her eyes, she knew her end was near. ‘Mia!’ She sobbed as she wondered who could protect Mia now. She should have left him, ran away, gone to a refuge, anywhere. It would too late as soon she’d be gone and she’d never know what had happened to little Mia.
‘Mum.’ Gina opened her damp eyes and gasped for breath. The brightness of the stark white room sent pain shooting through her head. ‘Mum, you’re in Cleevesford Hospital. It’s me, Hannah.’
Gina reached with her jittery hand and placed it over Hannah’s. Her daughter allowed her hand to remain but didn’t respond. Although their relationship had improved a little since she’d opened up to her daughter about her abusive past, it still wasn’t right. She’d left things too late, as always.
She looked up at her daughter’s blonde straggly hair and pale face, and she knew it had been a long night for her. ‘Where’s Gracie?’
‘Greg’s looking after her. I couldn’t bring her here to see you like this.’ Hannah sat beside her on the hospital bed. ‘You were just calling for someone called Mia.’ She flinched as she grabbed a glass of water from the bedside table. ‘Who’s Mia?’
‘It was just a dream, that’s all.’
Hannah removed her hand. ‘Can you remember what happened?’
Gina took a sip of water. It was the best drink she’d ever had in her life, relieving her bone-dry throat. She could see her daughter waiting for her to give her more details of the attack, but she wasn’t going to tell her that some man pinned her down and groped her, shoving his gloved hands in her pants. She swallowed and looked away. The shame of being a victim of sexual violence still burned, smouldering her spirit. Discussing bruises would have been fine, but sexual violence, never. ‘There really is no need to worry. It’s just a few bruises. I’ll be okay and I’ll catch whoever did this. My shoulder hurts like hell though.’ She flinched as she reached up with her bandaged wrist and felt the material tightly wrapped around her head.