It was Mr Marriott’s turn to frown. “Are you not even a tiny bit curious..?”
“No…” Danny lied. The truth was, his interest was well and truly piqued. And somewhere deep in the back of his mind, a voice was telling him to say yes, to agree to see this mystery woman. Perhaps most confusing, it was Natalie’s voice, and every fibre of his being wanted to listen to her.
He shook it off, wondering why he suddenly felt so uneasy, so totally out of his usual comfort zone.
“Danny…” Mr Marriott said, disapproval written on his face, ‘you haven’t had a visitor in seventeen years. Not one. I think it would do you good to speak to someone – anyone, really – from the outside. Find out what she wants, have a normal, proper conversation with someone. You’re completely isolated all the time, and it’s not good for you.”
“How on earth is sitting across a table from a complete stranger gonna be in any way good for me?”
“Just to have a conversation with anyone after all this time would be good for you, Danny. You need some sort of interaction. You need to be more…social…”
Danny raised his eyebrows. “Social? You know, you’re right sir,” he said, “I’m gonna call the boys, round ‘em up. We can have a night on the town; a few drinks…strip bar…”
Mr Marriott rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay…I’ll tell her no, I get your point…”
He turned to walk away. Danny hesitated and stopped jogging, jumping off the treadmill, wiping himself over with a scratchy towel.
“Sir…”
Mr Marriott stopped and turned round. “Yes Danny?”
He hesitated for just a moment more and then rolled his eyes. “Tell her okay. I’ll see her, just the once for now.”
Mr Marriott seemed surprised and genuinely delighted. “Really, you will?”
Danny shrugged, attempting nonchalance but not quite managing it. “I suppose so. She’s a woman, she’s not likely to give up, they’re a stubborn species.”
Mr Marriott laughed at that and nodded. “Mrs Marriott would fiercely deny that, but I think you’re right. Okay, I’ll set the ball rolling for a week today.”
Danny nodded, feeling nerves kick in, shaking them off. “Right...”
Chapter One
10TH JULY 2007
Kate sat in the empty room and let out a deep sigh. She couldn’t quite believe she had even contemplated this and so the realisation that yes, she had and she was actually here, was unbelievable and kind of scary. But it was too late to back out now, he was due any time
(maybe he’s changed his mind)
and the only place to run was out the door he’d be coming in.
She looked down at herself and inwardly cringed at her choice of clothing. She had spent several hours, typical of her nature, sifting through her mountain of clothes looking for something suitable to wear. It was something she hadn’t really thought about until this morning, but what was appropriate attire for meeting a murderer?
She had settled on a grey knee-length skirt and a white shirt with flat boots, her blonde hair back in a ponytail – smart, but not too smart, not flashing any cleavage, serious and professional - she had walked out the house quite satisfied with her choice but now, seeing a reflection of herself in the dirty window she thought she resembled a librarian.
She looked around her at the thoroughly depressing room. Devoid of anything but two chairs and a small table it was unnecessarily big, with a single window covered with mesh and metal bars. The glass was filthy, the view of outside distorted as a result. Every square inch of the walls and ceiling had been painted a hideous shade of grey; even the worn cord carpet was grey. The building was old, possibly even pre-Victorian, and didn’t appear to have been altered or improved upon in a very long time.
The whole place was dull and miserable, the second she had driven through the gates it was as if a black cloud had descended over her head, giving her a sense of unease and melancholy she just couldn’t shake off. It was so potent she could almost taste it, so intense and suffocating.
She wondered momentarily how anyone could stick seventeen hours in this dump, let alone seventeen years. It was just so damn oppressive. Just ten minutes here and she already felt as though she were fighting off a panic attack.
She considered, not for the first time, what a stretch that long in a place like this would do to a person who was already capable of murder, and she actually physically shuddered. To have lasted so long here would take someone of a disposition she tried not to think about. He would have to be a monster, a non-human.
* * * *
When Danny had woken that morning the nerves had kicked back in with a vengeance. He stood looking at his reflection in his dirty mirror and frowned. He looked like crap and didn’t feel much better. Why was he doing this?
As usual he didn’t leave his cell immediately when it was unlocked and opened. He just sat on his stool and lit a cigarette, glancing disinterestedly at the guard until he walked away. He stepped into a clean pair of joggers, slipping a black vest over his head, and looking again in the mirror at himself, and tried to decide whether or not to have a shave. He was forty-two, but looked sixty-two, his dark hair now mixed with more than a few grey hairs, his skin rough and weathered. His beard was way past the point of stubble, scruffy and unkempt. He shook his head, laughing at himself a little. Why did he care? She was just some random woman who would very quickly realise she had the wrong person anyway, so why worry?
He skipped breakfast as usual and waited until the showers emptied out before going in, taking a quick shower and heading straight back to his cell.
And then he simply waited, trying to work out why on earth he had agreed to this.
At five to eleven an officer came for him and stood in his doorway just looking at him, curious and vaguely amused. Danny scowled at him, wishing Mr Marriott wasn’t off duty. This guy, Luke McDonald, was a particularly mean specimen, rude and ignorant.
“Well, well, Danny. This is a first, someone wanting to see you.” He looked him up and down as though he were something he had stepped in.
Danny rolled his eyes. “You know what…just take me to the hall, without the commentary if you don’t mind. The rest is none of your damn business.”
McDonald narrowed his eyes and smirked. “You’re not going to the hall. You think we’re gonna let you just mix in with the other inmates and their families? After all this time, just like that? No.” he scoffed. “Hands please.”
Danny frowned, anger bubbling just below the surface. “Why do you need my hands?”
“I want to propose to you Danny boy…” he replied sarcastically.
The idea of anyone, particularly this idiot, using a nickname for him that Natalie had used so many times as a term of affection, riled him all the more and he swallowed hard, stifling his natural instinct to floor this guy with one punch. Reluctantly he held out his hands and watched as the handcuffs were locked on, managing to look unaffected when in truth he hated them, hated what they symbolised and how they made him feel. What was this? Why were they treating him like a crazed lunatic? Suddenly the thought of meeting up with some random woman, like this, was the very last thing he wanted to do.
He decided there was only one way to approach this and smiled to himself, suddenly looking forward to it. By the time he was done, the last thing in the world she would ever want to do was come back here, and he could go back to normal.
* * * *
As Kate was beginning to wonder if (and a small part of her was beginning to hope) he had changed his mind, the door opened. She stood up quickly, as though she had been doing something wrong, and got her first look at Daniel Edwards. He was not at all what she had expected.
The first thing she noticed was his height. He was tall, crazy tall and she herself wasn’t exactly short. Her eyes, naturally at the height of his broad chest travelled up to the second most significant thing about him, his eyes, which were quite possibly the most incredible eyes she had ever
seen. They were bright blue, as blue as the ocean, and framed with long black eyelashes, the kind of eyes that would make a girl forget herself.
He had dark brown hair, naturally thick and wavy with flecks of grey and a strong jawline with a messy beard, his features were chiselled and she knew he must have been a stunner in his youth. Despite the various scars on his face, most notably one across his left eyebrow, and his slightly crooked nose, he had aged well, very well. He was rough round the edges, scruffy, unkempt and utterly gorgeous.
His most noteworthy feature though, were those eyes, wide and completely beautiful, and which were now watching her.
She involuntarily gulped, feeling giddy and light-headed and forced herself to move her gaze from his; he was burning a hole through her with that stare.
His vest exposed his arms adorned with tattoos that stretched from his shoulders down to his wrists. She saw down his left arm in fancy writing it said
Natalie Elizabeth
and his right arm bore the names
Emma Robyn
He was observing her calmly, indignantly, as she looked him up and down and she blushed when she realised he was doing the same with her, his eyes travelling up and down her body, the corner of his mouth curled up in an almost-smile.
* * * *
Kate Marshall was a million miles from what he had expected. For starters she was beautiful, stunningly beautiful, but not in an in-your-face kind of way. She was a natural beauty, with blonde hair and green eyes, her skin pale and smooth. She seemed to have deliberately dressed down as though trying to make herself unattractive, which had the opposite effect entirely. He felt something pass between them, potent and tangible in the middle of this depressing, dull setting. Her lips parted slightly as she exhaled and he knew she felt it too. He couldn’t help but smirk – somehow, he was affecting her in a way she hadn’t expected, and it gave him the upper hand in so many ways. He felt the welcome return of his confidence, and decided to have some fun with her; it was the only way he was going to get through this.
* * * *
His hands were cuffed in front of him, not exactly setting her mind at ease,
(why is that necessary?)
and given that he was taller than she had imagined and so very imposing in his stance, size and manner, it worried her. He knew it too, it was written all over his face, this was a man who liked to intimidate, and it was working. Broad shouldered with muscles practically bursting out of his vest, suddenly it was not hard at all to imagine him stabbing two people to death.
(what are you doing here, you clown??)
She opened her mouth to speak - though just what to say she had absolutely no idea - but the guard spoke first.
“Okay, Danny. Remember what I said, you know the drill. Sit in the seat, stay in the seat and keep your hands to yourself. Remember your manners and remember what happens if you play up, or even give her a hint of trouble. I promise you, you will regret it.”
He nodded, his manner relaxed. “Course sir, you know me, perfect gentleman.”
He turned his attentions to Kate, ignoring Danny completely, “He gives you any bother, you just yell, I’ll be in here faster than you can say model prisoner, okay?”
She nodded and forced a smile. “Right, thank you.”
He nodded, apparently happy with that and left. Danny now looked decidedly unimpressed and she realised she was feeling awkward for him, being spoken to in that tone in front of a stranger. He shot the guard a sideways glance of contempt, and Kate wondered if he would have gotten away with speaking to him in that tone if the handcuffs were not in place.
Danny was annoyed – the moron obviously thought he was very clever, trying to humiliate him in front of this pretty young woman, who was now looking at him uncomfortably, not quite knowing where to put herself.
He gestured to the chairs wordlessly and they both sat down. His eyes never left hers, smouldering and alive with curiosity and amusement. She could practically feel them burning into her very flesh with their intensity.
She extended her hand before her nerve left her completely. “You must be Mr Edwards.”
He looked at her hand for a minute, and then shook it, briefly, powerfully with a firm, yet gentle grip. His hands were coarse, working hands, she suspected from years of doing laundry or peeling potatoes. By contrast her tiny hand disappeared into his and his touch was both electrifying and terrifying.
“Name’s Danny, no one calls me Mr Edwards anymore.” He narrowed his eyes. “Sorry, do I know you?” he asked, knowing fine well he didn’t. He would remember a face like hers.
“No, we don’t know each other. I’m Kate. Kate Marshall.”
He nodded as though that explained everything. “Kate Marshall, pleasure to meet you. What can I do for you, Kate Marshall?”
“Well, uh…”
He rolled his eyes, as though suddenly realising something unpleasant. “Oh, Jeez, oh for fuck’s sake, you’re a journalist aint ya?”
She shook her head. “No, no I’m not a journalist.”
He frowned and sat forward, resting his forearms on the table, the handcuffs clinking on the wood. “So what are you then?”
“I’m a mature student.” She said, wondering why her mouth was suddenly so dry.
He smiled
(this guy is gorgeous)
and laughed a little. “Mature? Does that mean old?”
(not much of a gentleman)
“Do I look old?”
He shrugged. “Not really. Let’s see…twenty nine, or maybe thirty at a push.”
(then again…)
“I’m thirty nine.”
He was genuinely surprised by that, and smiled again. “Fuck off!”
For a silly moment she thought that was a genuine request, the way he spoke was so forceful and then she registered it as the off-hand comment it so obviously was.
(what the hell is wrong with you Kate Marshall, he’s just a bloke, like any other and he’s got your knickers in a right twist…get a grip woman, and fast or this is gonna go so wrong…!)
“Wow, life’s been kind to you, aint it?’ he said, ‘So what you studying then?”
“I’m studying criminal psychology.”
He considered that and then nodded understandingly, the pieces slotting into place for him. “Ah, I see. You’re here to study me, analyse me?”
She thought about that before answering. “Not how I would have put it, but…yeah I suppose so.”
He scoffed. “Good luck with that, love.”
(love!)
“We have to do a thesis,” she continued, powering through this temporary shutdown of her senses, “I’m doing mine on uxoricide.”
He nodded, amused. “And what’s that then? It sounds like a fertiliser…”
She sighed, realising for the first time how hideous this was. “Uxoricide is when a husband…kills his wife.”
He nodded again, still smirking in that annoying but incredibly sexy way. “So you wanna know why I murdered my wife?”
“Please, yeah, if you want to tell me, it would help.”
He shrugged again and sat back in his seat casually, raising his hands and settling them on top of his head.
“Sure. My wife is dead because she had a baby with another man and tried to pass her off as mine.” As he said the words he felt the pain, raw in his heart and hoped it didn’t show. If only it had been as clear cut as that, as matter-of-fact and painless as he was making it out to be.
Kate frowned. “Is that it?”
“Yeah,” he said coldly, “now if that’s all, I’ve got toilets to clean.”
He stood up and she stood up too, feeling anger building despite her inner voice telling her provoking this man was undoubtedly a bad idea.
“Hold on a minute!”
“What?” he asked, pretending not to be bothered, but inside feeling pleased she was not going to be a pushover. Mr Marriott had been right, he needed this, was enjoying it despite the look of anger sprea
ding across Kate’s face.
Her courage, so sudden to make an appearance seemed equally as keen to leave, but it was too late now and she had come too far to let it go at that. “Well…is that it? You got nothing more to say?”
“Like what?”
“Well…I dunno, something a little more valid than that! It’s hardly a reason to kill her. Not that there ever is a valid reason to kill someone, but-”
“You think there’s never a valid reason for killing someone?”
“I don’t think there is, no.”
He smiled a little, but it was to himself. “You’ve had an easy life…”
“And yours has been oh so terrible?” she snapped, unable to stop herself.
He looked around him and frowned. “It aint been the best…”
“At least you’re still alive though. More than your wife is.”
He flinched at that before he could stop himself, and then nodded in agreement. “I guess you have a point there,” he conceded, “although alive might be stretching it a bit. And to be honest, if I had my way it would be the other way around.”
There was no doubt about that at least. He had wished a million times over the years that it had been the other way around, his life gone instead of hers.
It was her turn to frown. “That makes no sense…”
“It might if you heard the full story.”
“You said at your trial that you loved her.”
He nodded again. “Uh huh, I did. I married her, didn’t I? Wouldn’t have married her if I didn’t love her, would I?”
“Some might say you wouldn’t have killed her if you loved her.”
Amazingly, she thought, he smiled again. “Touché, Mrs Marshall.”
“You also said she was raped.”
He raised an eyebrow. Now he was genuinely surprised. She had obviously done some reading up. So why had she chosen him?
“Wow, you’ve done your research – I’m impressed.”
Before he even knew himself he was going to, he moved around the table and towards her, and she instinctively edged away until her back was against the wall. She let out an involuntary gasp, internally berating herself for the outward show of fear she felt, deep in the pit of her stomach.
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