“Can’t wait,” he said with total sincerity, “bye, Kate Marshall.”
* * * *
She sat at the kitchen table that night, sifting through all the newspaper articles she had put together, and let out a deep sigh.
Something just didn’t add up, but she couldn’t work out what it was. This man was a brutal murderer, and had displayed no remorse at all for his actions. In court, he had been silent, almost robotic, and then when he had changed his plea, he had simply stood up and blurted it out. No dramatics, no tears, nothing. When he had been sentenced, he hadn’t so much as flinched.
And then there was his behaviour today. The front he had put on, trying to scare her, trying (and succeeding) to affect her, and evoke a reaction from her. Playing with her, and not caring one bit about it.
(he did apologise in the end)
She heard her own voice leap to his defence, and frowned. So what? Did that make it okay? She briefly wondered if he had some sort of mental issue going on, something that had been missed over the years – schizophrenia maybe, something like that. He seemed to shift in a millisecond, opening his mouth and saying literally anything. Completely lacking in social boundaries
(nearly two decades in there he’s not gonna have social skills is he?)
he was going to be hard to keep up with.
His change of plea had been sudden, following weeks of him insisting he hadn’t killed his wife. Insisting she had been raped, and had not been having a relationship with the other man. Why had he said that, if it wasn’t true? Just to try and get off the hook? And if that was it, surely he would have pleaded not guilty to both murders at the start, instead of just hers.
(that’s just one of the things you need to ask him)
There was a reason this was all about Danny Edwards, but she couldn’t think about that now, there were other issues to deal with first.
She wasn’t entirely sure what she had expected from him, but he had taken her completely by surprise. She was still annoyed with herself for the way she had allowed him to get under her skin. He had crawled under there like be belonged there, turning her into a…a…
(wanton sex-starved freak)
and making a complete fool of her. And yet here, alone in her kitchen, she was able to admit to herself that yes, she had wanted him to kiss her. Right there in the moment, with those incredible eyes fixed on her, she had wanted him to put his lips on hers. No man had ever made her feel like that, not even Chris.
She now had two weeks to get herself together and be better prepared for next time. She was all too aware she had come across nervous and timid, and ordinarily she was neither of those things, but the occasion, and the extreme setting had influenced her reactions, and she couldn’t allow that to happen again. Next time she would be ready, and next time she wouldn’t look him in the eye, because those eyes staring at her had completely floored her, scrambling her brain of all logical thoughts, rendering her nothing more than a vulnerable, giddy mess.
(okay, so he’s gorgeous and you weren’t expecting that, so what? he’s also rude, arrogant, a bully and a murderer, so get a grip)
All those things were completely true. So how come she found herself liking him? She frowned to herself, realising he had no redeeming features at all. He was a bad person, with bad manners, who had actually enjoyed intimidating her, and yet she liked him anyway, even though she couldn’t think of a single positive thing about him.
She heard the front door open and then slam, and gathered up all the papers, glancing at the clock –midnight.
Holly came in, smiling, and she knew right away she’d been drinking.
“Hi, mum…” She said, in a casual, breezy tone that was too obvious, too forced.
“Hello, Holly. Late as ever, I see. Good night?”
“The best. Sorry I’m late, mum.”
“No, it’s fine,” Kate said, with a shrug, “for me, anyway. But how you expect to get up for work in the morning with a hangover is beyond me.”
Holly looked at her with the indignant look only teenagers had. “I haven’t been drinking!”
Kate scoffed. “You’re the worst liar in the world, Hol. I can smell it from here. You’re seventeen, where did you get drink from?”
“I had a couple of ciders at Amy’s house, no big deal.” She said, quickly relenting as she always did. One thing Holly could not do was lie, “I’m not a kid, mum.”
“No, but you’re not an adult, either.”
“Near enough! I gotta go to bed; can we talk about this tomorrow?”
Kate sighed. “I suppose, but rest assured we’ll have this conversation tomorrow, I won’t forget.”
Holly rolled her eyes. “I know…”
She went to the fridge and got the milk, drinking directly from the bottle as Kate watched, biting her lip.
(easy Kate, she’s doing it to wind you up, don’t rise to it)
Something caught her eye, and she grabbed Holly’s arm as she went to go out the door.
“Whoa, hold on a minute…”
“Mum, I’m tired, so-”
“What’s that on your back?”
She saw the clear look of panic on Holly’s face. “What’s what?”
“You know what, young lady! Show me.”
“Mum-”
“Show me.”
Holly lifted her top, and sighed as Kate let out a gasp. “Mum, don’t-”
“Holy fucking hell, what is that?!”
“It’s um…”
“It’s a Goddamn tattoo, that’s what that is!” She could feel herself getting hysterical but couldn’t seem to stop it. “What does that say?”
“It says um…naughty girl…”
“Naughty girl? Well at least it’s accurate! Who the hell put a tattoo on a seventeen year old girl?”
“Does it matter? I think it’s awesome, great artwork.”
“Great artwork? Is that all you can say? You lie about your age, get a tattoo, something you’ll have for life and all you care about is the artwork? Are you out of your mind?”
“I didn’t lie about my age; he never asked me my age.”
“Who did this to you…who marked you?”
Holly frowned, “Marked me? Mum, I wasn’t taken into a satanic cult, it’s just a tattoo!”
“Just a tattoo!” Kate repeated, throwing her hands in the air dramatically. She lit herself a cigarette with trembling hands. “God, you’ll put me in an early grave, so help me, you will! Is that what you want, huh? To see me in the Goddamn nut house?”
“Mum, you’re freaking out, your eye’s twitching, doing that weird thing it does. Smoke your cigarette, and relax. I’m still Holly, I aint had a brain transplant or nothing. Jeez, what’s the matter anyway?”
Kate sighed again, defeated, and shook her head. “Just go to bed. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
“Right…”
“I don’t know where you get it from Holly, I really don’t.” Kate said with an exhausted sigh of defeat.
Holly risked a smile and kissed her mums cheek cautiously. “Night, mum…”
“Yeah, yeah…night sweetheart...”
* * * *
24TH JULY 2007
The following fortnight came around agonisingly slowly for Danny, who spent most of it thinking about Kate in spite of himself. He had almost convinced himself that she would change her mind, until the day before, Mr Marriott had caught his eye across the canteen, waving a sheet of paper at him, smiling, thumbs up and he knew she had put a new request in. She was coming back, in spite of his crazy behaviour the first time.
The morning before visiting he took a longer shower than usual, and then stood in his cell, looking at his reflection, frowning at the stranger looking back at him. He ran a hand along his beard, thought for a minute and switched on his electric razor.
* * * *
His welcoming handsome smile she found completely contagious, and before she knew what she was doing, she was smiling back, realising sh
e was happy to see him.
This time, she felt more in control. This time she was dressed for comfort, in her old faithful boot-cut jeans, a black vest top with a blue oversized cardigan, and four inch heels that brought her almost to his height, which made a huge difference to her confidence around him, she felt more on a level with him when she wasn’t having to look up at him.
She was momentarily surprised to see he had at some point shaved, gone was the messy beard to be replaced with stubble, and it took at least five years off him.
He offered her his hand, and she shook it. “Mr Edwards, good to-”
“Danny,” he corrected and she nodded.
“Danny, good to see you…”
He was genuinely surprised at that, unable to hide it. “Wow, really? Well, you too Kate Marshall…so, do you still hate me?”
She narrowed her eyes, “I never actually said I hated you.”
“You said you didn’t like me, which amounts to the same.”
She shrugged, smiling a little. “I’m here aren’t I?”
“That doesn’t answer my question…”
She sighed, and shrugged again. “I’ve not made up my mind yet.”
“Like you said, you’re here though, so I guess I’m gonna take that as a good sign.”
“You look um…different…” she said, not realising she was going to say it until the words were out.
“Different in what way?” he asked.
“Um…cause you uh…you uh…”
(get a grip, Marshall…don’t lose it already, you can still salvage this, pull yourself together now!)
She gestured at his face with her hand, words failing her, unwilling to leave her mouth. He nodded in realisation, amused at her floundering and pleased it had clearly had the intended effect. “Ah, right yeah…”
“You don’t have the beard,” she was finally able to say, and in her head she groaned. What a pointless conversation this was, how ridiculous.
He shrugged and ran a hand across his left cheek and her heart rate increased a little.
(I’d like to do that…holy fuck he was right, I do wanna jump him…)
“Yeah, well…variety is the spice of life. Sometimes I like a beard, sometimes I don’t. And since it’s one of very few things I can control, I tend to chop and change.” That was a blatant lie; normally he only shaved when it reached a length that made him resemble a yeti. “Which do you prefer?” he asked, actually wanting to know.
“Uh…” she swallowed, wishing she had never said anything. How was she meant to answer? “This way I think…you look younger. Less…”
“Less what..?” he asked, curious.
She shrugged almost apologetically. “Scruffy.”
He laughed a little, and smiled. “I’ll take that into consideration. You look different too. You look like…”
“Me,” she answered for him, “I decided to come as me this time.”
He looked her up and down as though studying a lot at an auction and nodded approvingly. “Much better than the librarian that came to see me last time.” He smirked as he said that, and she had to stifle a giggle at him describing her just as she had described herself. “Yeah, I like. And anyway, if you don’t mind me saying so, you seem a little different this time too. Not just with your clothes, something else.”
She frowned, puzzled and instinctively wrapped her cardigan tight around her, keeping her arms there as though hugging herself. “Different how…?”
He turned his chair around and sat with his elbows on the back of it, his hands, once again handcuffed in front of him, under his chin.
“Well, last time you were nervous, although admittedly that was probably down to my behaviour, or it didn’t help. But…I don’t know...this time you seem a bit pissed off or something, I dunno. Has something happened? Have you changed your mind?”
“No, I haven’t changed my mind.” She smiled and sat down. “I’ve had a bit of trouble with my daughter this past fortnight.”
It was his turn to frown. “What sort of trouble? Is she okay?”
“Mmm, I suppose. She’s seventeen and she’s a right handful, though kind of in the nicest possible way. She works in some trendy record shop by day, and at night she’s in this rock band, called ‘Naughty but Nice’ who play very loud, what I can only really describe as noise. She smokes, she drinks like a fish, and last week she came home with a tattoo. Can you believe that? A tattoo.”
He smiled and glanced at his arms. “You uh…you don’t like tattoos?”
“Not on seventeen year old girls, I don’t. Especially when the seventeen year old girl in question, is my daughter.”
He laughed a little and nodded. “Right, right. What’s it like?”
“It’s a little devil, with this…hideous grin. And underneath it says ‘naughty girl.’ I swear I almost had a fit.”
He thought for a minute, and sat back a little. “I know my opinion counts for diddly squat, but…can I offer it anyway?”
“Of course you can.” She said without hesitation. She was curious as to what he might say, but aside from that, she just loved to watch his mouth move as he spoke, and listen to the velvety tone of his voice
(stop it Kate)
“Don’t worry too much,” he said, “I get, you’re not happy about it. Can’t say as I would be, in fact I reckon in that situation I would probably ground her until the end of time, ban phones, TV and any outside communication, and kick the crap out of any lad who so much as looked at her. That’s the kind of dad I guess I thought I’d be when Emma got to be a teenager, the thought terrified me. But, things change, and the way you see things changes sometimes, you know? And now…I’d say…don’t get hung up on it. I know that’s easy said, but really, in the grand scheme of things…it aint a big deal. The only thing that matters, is you keep her safe, because bad things happen to young girls, you know? Things…things much worse than a tattoo.”
(like rape, for instance)
He realised his thoughts had drifted off and she was watching him, waiting for him to say something else. He shook it off. “But what do I know, huh? Nothing of any use in general life. I don’t have a life.”
She shook her head in disagreement, trying to hide her surprise at his honesty and yes, she had to admit, good advice.
“Actually, you could have a point, much as I hate to admit it. She caught me at a bad moment. And I suppose…I don’t like the idea of her growing up.”
“I get that, must be scary. Kids grow fast, one day you have a little girl, the next a young woman I guess.” He drifted off again for a moment and then cleared his throat. “Um…my wife had some tattoos. She had um…an angel on her back, down at the bottom, um…Tinkerbelle, you know from Peter Pan? She had that on her ankle. She had roses on a vine around her right hip, and she had Danny Boy on her arm, in the same style as mine, just smaller writing. She didn’t put Em on her arm though. She never could bond properly with her, see? Not like…not like I did. And she had…‘N & D’ on her inner left thigh, written in a big flame, she said it represented our passion - that was for my eyes only.” His eyes flashed as he said that, almost lustful Kate thought. “I know a lot of people don’t like tattoos on women but I think it’s a form of expression. So long as they’re there for the person wearing them, rather than for show, if that makes sense. They’re a personal statement, or should be. They should mean something. Holly’s might seem a bit silly, but if this band means a lot to her, then she will want to express that, that’s all.”
“I guess…”
“Natalie sounds a lot like your daughter, a lot like Holly. She was spirited, independent, and just a bit rebellious. It’s why I loved her, she was herself, always, and bugger what anyone thought of her. She was confident in her skin, and she took no prisoners. She gave me a run for my money, didn’t stand for my crap, and she was special. There was, and never will be, anyone else like her.” There it was again, just like that, the ache somewhere deep inside. “Just…make sure Holl
y never marries someone like me, for Christ’s sake. When a rebel meets a rebel, it’s bloody lethal. Hope that she finds someone to keep her grounded…”
“I can’t see her getting married at all. She’s far too much her own person, you know?”
“So was Nat, until she met me. I drove her mad, and she drove me mad, but…” he shrugged, “…when love hits ya, it hits ya and there’s nothing you can do about it. Even if you want to turn and run, you can’t. I think she tried, but I wouldn’t let her go, and she didn’t wanna go, not really. It’s not healthy, the kind of love we had. It’s destructive, but you have no control over feelings. It happens to all of us, and it’ll happen to Holly too. You just see, she aint done giving you sleepless nights just yet.” He yawned and sat on his chair properly. “So, anyway…let’s get down to business. Where do you want me to start, what do you wanna know?”
(I wanna know exactly what happened to Natalie; I wanna know why you killed her and how you could do it)
She swallowed hard and shrugged a little too casually. “Well…why don’t we start at the beginning, with how you met your wife?”
He nodded, happy enough with that.
(you can do this Danny)
“Okay…well, I don’t know if you know what I did for a living back then?”
“You were a boxer.”
“That’s right, I was, and a bloody good one too,’ he said, unable to hide the pride in his voice. ‘I was just about ready to go professional. I was doing very well for myself, boxing big fights, making big money, silly money. I was never defeated. Ma didn’t approve, called it glorified street fighting, but it aint, there’s more to it than that. She just didn’t like to see me get hurt, which I did most nights - even winning I got battered, it was brutal. I broke my nose three times, uh…had cracked ribs, many concussions…the usual stuff I guess. But it’s not just scrapping; it also requires skill and discipline.
Eventually I had enough money to rent my own place, an apartment by the river, and kit it out real nice. It had an amazing kitchen, I had a huge TV and I had a big king sized bed, a very nice bed, cost a fortune. I was something of a ladies’ man, though it’s probably hard to believe now. I was a love ‘em and leave ‘em sort of guy. So the bed to me, was important,” he laughed a little at the idea of it now, “it was where all the magic happened…” he added, shaking his head in disbelief. Had that guy really been him? How ridiculous did he sound, painting himself as some sort of lothario?
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