The doctor speaks with a passion I have never heard before, and even through the fog of the drugs I feel panic rising up to choke me.
‘We even hide behind our clothes, disguising our inadequacies, scared that our less-than-perfect bodies won’t be accepted. But we don’t need to protect ourselves from those we trust. We need to lay bare our souls, our minds and our bodies.’
His voice has dropped to a steady level that keeps time with the rhythm of the music, and I begin to sway. I feel light-headed, a thin trickle of sweat running down my cheek. I no longer feel in charge of my body or my mind. I hear his words, but they mean nothing. I have become mesmerised by the doctor’s eyes – glowing, intense – beneath his thick black eyebrows. I can see the reflection of candlelight in their depths. They are twin luminous magnets drawing me in, and I find myself taking a step closer. I can feel my heart thumping in my chest. I am standing inches from him when he speaks again.
‘Tonight I will open myself to you, put myself in your hands,’ he says. ‘Tomorrow it will be your turn. It’s the only way I can help you, my dear.’
I still haven’t taken my eyes from his. Everything else in the room has faded into the dark walls. I sense that his hands are moving, undoing the top button of his white coat. I hear a dull click behind me as the door closes. Thea has gone.
He still holds my gaze. I can’t look away. I don’t want to. I hear a whisper of sound as his white coat hits the floor and he steps sideways, his eyes still locked on mine. I hear the water sloshing around as he steps into the bath and my eyes are glued to his as he lowers himself slowly into the water. He leans back.
‘Come a little closer, Judith. I’d like you to wash me.’
46
I take a step towards the bath, the music, the candlelight, the perfume rising from the water and those hypnotic eyes dulling all of my senses. I drop to my knees, and the doctor holds out a flannel. My eyes leave his, just for a second, as I reach for it.
No!
The spell is broken, snapped like a dry twig. Feelings, emotions, life – they all come flooding back, releasing me from my catatonic stupor. In my head I am screaming, ‘No!’ over and over again. But I don’t make a sound. My tongue seems glued to the roof of my dry, stale mouth. I can feel the doctor waiting for me to take the flannel, to settle myself on the floor by his side, to listen to him talk as I wash his body, but the moment has gone. The perfume suddenly seems cloying, the music rasping. I might be drugged; I might have to spend years in prison for what I have done, but this is wrong.
I daren’t look at his eyes again, knowing he will draw me back in, so I fix my gaze on his chin as I push myself back to my feet and reverse towards the door. I see the hard, angry line of his mouth, but I don’t care what he thinks, or Thea either. My vision and hearing have both been distorted by the drugs, but I can still move. Perhaps adrenaline is more potent than their medications.
I reach the door, hoping and praying it’s not locked, and fumble behind me for the handle. I yank it open, turn and run. Behind me I hear frantic splashing, and I know that the doctor is getting out of the bath.
Thea is in the bedroom. She is between me and the door to the corridor, and I stop dead when she shouts, ‘We’re trying to help you, Judith! How can you be so ungrateful? Think of how we washed the blood off you after you had committed such a vile act! We didn’t complain. It was our way of showing our faith in you. Why can’t you do the same for the doctor?’
As she speaks, a flashback from that night in the bath hits me – the feeling that both of my arms were being held and washed at the same time. But when I opened my eyes Thea had only my right arm in her hands. A vague memory of a gruff voice speaking in a whisper and the click of a door closing comes to me, and I want to heave. He was there, with Thea, washing me.
Oh God, what have I fallen into? What is this?
‘Get out of my way, Thea,’ I say, and I can hear my voice, shrill and desperate. ‘I will hurt you if you don’t move.’
I don’t know if I can hurt her. I might be a killer, but could I really hit an elderly woman?
The splashing has stopped. The doctor will be in here in seconds, so I rush towards Thea and drag her to the bed, pushing her back onto the mattress. It won’t give me much time, but it might be enough. I’m sure I can run faster than either of them.
Thea cries out with shock, but not – I don’t think – pain. I glance back towards the bathroom door to see the doctor, water dripping from his naked body.
‘Judith, come back! Not again, Judith. Don’t leave us again.’
I have no idea what he means, but I reach the door to the corridor and to my surprise and relief I see a key in the lock. I yank it out, open the door and run through, closing and locking it behind me.
I race down the stairs. I can’t open the door to the basement to set the other girls free, but maybe I can raise the alarm once I’m out and get help for them. Right now all I want to do is put as much distance between me and the doctor as possible.
I hurry to the back porch in search of shoes, but there are none there.
‘Shit!’ I can’t run round the streets with no shoes on.
I tear back down the corridor, thinking, trying to keep my head clear, although I can feel the grey dullness creeping in, like a sea fret sweeping inland, blanketing all in its path.
Suddenly I find myself standing by the board with the keys on, and I know what I have to do. I’m going to take Thea’s car. I’ve no idea where I’ll go, but I have to get away from here.
47
I don’t know if Thea and Garrick will come after me. But why would they? They are not physically strong enough to force me to return with them, but they may try to persuade me. Will they call the police – say I’ve stolen their car? I don’t know. All I can think about is making my escape. I wrench open the side door and run towards the garage, almost stumbling as I check repeatedly over my shoulder, expecting to see Thea appear behind me at any moment.
Her car is full of petrol, thank goodness, and I slam it into reverse, tyres spinning on the gravel drive as I change to first gear and put my foot down, anxious to get as far away from the house as I can. I have no money, no proper clothes and no shoes, but at least for now I have transport. What I don’t have is a plan.
As soon as I am clear of the track to their home, I open a window to the cold air, hoping it will keep me awake. The drugs weren’t intended to make me fall asleep – that would have defeated the purpose. They were to make me compliant, and as I drive I begin to wonder whether I should believe anything Thea and Garrick have told me. I have thought about Hannah’s story over and over again, and I don’t remember any child abduction being reported on the news in the months leading up to Christmas. I would have reacted emotionally to such a tragic tale and read everything I could find, cursing any woman who would steal a baby. Is there any truth in what they’ve said?
Thoughts of domestic slavery spring to mind. What a way to capture people and make them do your bidding! Hannah would have felt, as I did, that having committed a terrible crime there was no other choice than to hide in Thea and Garrick’s cellar.
Finally I remember why the red light on the television had bothered me. Thea had told me they didn’t have a working TV. If that were the case, why would the standby light be on? They are a pair of liars, with motives I can’t even begin to guess at.
Perhaps the others had been taken in, but not me. Maybe the reason I can’t remember killing Ian is because I didn’t do it. Is that possible? Is he still alive, or did someone else kill him?
Thea!
No, surely not. I banish this ridiculous idea from my mind the instant it arrives.
Then I think of the claw hammer, and I know it was mine. I remember buying it and can picture where it sat on the shelf in the garage. How could it have got into Thea’s house unless I brought it?
I’m suddenly filled with desperate hope that Ian is alive. Much as I wanted to be rid of him, I would do
anything now to walk through my front door and see him sitting in his favourite chair, surrounded by the detritus of the last few days. I still want him gone, but not like that.
As if on autopilot, I find myself turning into my street, praying that I will see the sitting-room lights on. I will know then that the past few days have been nothing more than a terrible nightmare. But as I approach, I see the house is in darkness. There isn’t a light showing. It’s not late, but if Ian is alive he is unlikely to have ventured out alone. He never does. He always has a pizza or a takeaway delivered – anything for an easy life. So what does it mean? Is he really dead?
I pull the car to a halt a few doors further down the street. The street-lights are dim but I can see there is a car parked across the end of our drive. Ian would go insane if he saw it, even if he didn’t want to go out. It is just the sort of thing that makes him angry.
He’s not there. I know it. I can feel it.
For a moment I wonder if I should try to get into the house. Maybe if I did, I would remember what happened. But I don’t have my keys. Thea will have put them with the rest of my belongings – wherever they might be. I am going to have to sit here, hoping with all my heart to see a glimmer of light somewhere in the house that will tell me someone is there – that Ian is home. That he is alive.
I can’t leave until I know for sure. I’m scared that Thea and Garrick will suddenly appear at my car window, their faces pressed against the glass, but not as scared as I am of my house standing empty, deserted, its sole occupant lying in a morgue somewhere. So I leave the engine running with the heater on to keep warm.
Despite everything I start to feel sleepy. Perhaps it is the drugs, or maybe it’s the adrenaline draining from my system, but I feel myself begin to drift.
I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but when I wake up and look at the clock I can see that it is two in the morning. I must have been asleep for about four hours. The house is still in darkness, and I tell myself that Ian may have come home while I was sleeping and gone to bed, even though I don’t believe it.
The car parked outside the house hasn’t moved, and I realise for the first time that our car isn’t on the drive. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before, but Ian never puts it in the garage.
Maybe he has simply gone away for a day or two. But I know I’m clutching at straws.
I stare blankly at the house, and then a light comes on inside the car that’s blocking the drive. There is someone in there.
For one dreadful moment I think it must be Thea or Garrick. Maybe they have come after me. Maybe they are waiting to see if I come home. But I know that doesn’t make sense. They couldn’t have got here before me, and the car was here when I arrived.
So why is someone sitting outside my house in a car in the early hours of the morning?
I shiver, even though the heater is still running. There’s something very wrong.
I wait. The only sounds are the subdued rumble of the car engine and the gentle hum of the heater fan. Outside, nothing is moving. It is a still, overcast night, and there are no lights showing at any windows along the road, other than the dull glow of what must be a nightlight in a neighbour’s house. I know her little boy sleeps in that room, and I wish for a moment that I was in there with him, warm and cosy, curled up in bed with a red spotted toadstool keeping the darkness at bay.
Moments later I hear a different sound. Another car is approaching, and I duck low in my seat, fearing once more that Thea and Garrick are looking for me. But I’m wrong. The car pulls up behind the one at the end of my drive, and a man gets out to go and talk to whoever is in the first car.
I lower my window a fraction in case I can hear what is said, but as the man from the second car bends at the waist to speak through the open window, I realise they are too far away. There is a brief laugh, and the second man bangs his hand lightly on the roof of the car and returns to his own vehicle.
Bright headlights illuminate the street ahead, and the first car pulls away. The second one draws forward to take its place at the end of the drive.
And that’s when I see it.
As the car pulls slightly up onto the pavement, it is angled towards the house. And just before the headlights are extinguished I see something blue and white flutter in a rare gust of breeze.
I know what it is.
There is no one in my house. No one is coming home. My last glimmer of hope fades because outside sits a policeman, I’m sure. And across the drive is a strip of police crime-scene tape.
Thea wasn’t lying at all.
I killed him.
48
Tom arrived at headquarters just before seven. He hated the fact that he’d had to drag Becky out of bed this early when she was so close to the baby’s due date, and he could tell by looking at her that she wasn’t sleeping too well. But after Philippa’s phone call the evening before, he needed to brief her.
Like the professional she was, Becky was not only there already, but had clearly got in early and made Tom a much-needed cup of coffee.
‘Sorry about this, Becky, but Philippa has passed a case over to us. It was with another team, but one of their investigations has blown up in their faces and she wants them to focus, so this one’s ours now.’
‘Okay, what do we know?’
‘Not a lot, and much as it pains me to say this, I’m not going to be able to come to the scene with you. I have to go to a meeting. I thought Philippa might let me off the hook, but I thought wrong. Anyway, you don’t need me there. It’s in north Manchester and it looks like it started as a domestic and ended in murder.’
Tom handed Becky the details he had received and she quickly scanned them.
‘The property is still taped off at the front with surveillance in place in case the woman turns up, unlikely as it seems. But the crime-scene team have finished their work, so I suggest you catch up with the DI who was running the show and get yourself over there. Is that okay?’
‘There’s no sign of the woman?’ Becky asked.
‘None. They have started a poster campaign in case anyone’s seen her, but there’s been nothing up to now, and we’re not really expecting there to be. We’ve had reports that the couple were seen having a violent argument, so I think it’s pretty self-explanatory. Names are Ian Fullerton and Caroline Baldwin.’
‘No problem. Are you going to be around for the rest of the day after your meeting’s finished?’
Tom felt uncomfortable. It was supposed to be his day off, although under the circumstances he wouldn’t normally have taken the time. But today he was planning to go home. He had decided there was nothing to be lost by asking Nathan for his sister’s computer, and he had arranged for him to drop it off that afternoon.
Hannah’s disappearance was too far down the priority list for the laptop to be analysed by the technicians in the missing-persons team, so he had simply told Nathan he had a friend who was quite good at that sort of thing. Nathan had seemed grateful that something was being done, even if it wasn’t official, and said he was happy to bring it to Tom’s house.
Another good reason to go home was Louisa. Tom had sent her a brief text, telling her to take all the time she needed to come to a decision, but if she wanted to talk more he would be home by lunchtime. He said he would love her to get to know his ‘unexpected visitor’, as he referred to Jack.
He had heard nothing, but her hectic schedule often meant communication was sketchy, so he wasn’t too concerned about her failure to reply. He wanted to be home, though, just in case.
‘Sorry, Becky, I won’t be coming back to the office, but you can reach me on my mobile if you need to. It sounds pretty clear cut, but let me know how it goes anyway. You should be there by just after eight o’clock, and the DI is happy to meet you at the scene.’
‘Okay.’ Becky paused, and as he gathered together the paperwork for his meeting, he could feel her looking at him. ‘Are you all right, Tom?’
He reached for his briefca
se, avoiding her eyes. She could read him so well, and if she thought there was something going on that he wasn’t telling her, she would start digging. He couldn’t have that.
‘Just pissed off that I can’t join you, that’s all. I’ll speak to you later.’
49
I’ve been driving around since I woke up and saw the policemen outside my house. I don’t know what to do, but I feel sick. The momentary glimmer of hope that I had done nothing wrong – that Ian is alive – has been extinguished.
There is still the possibility that Thea has reported her car stolen, and as each vehicle passes I glance anxiously at the driver, certain that it will be either her or the doctor coming to find me. Half of me thinks it would be a relief to see the blue flashing lights of a police car, with a stern officer signalling through his window for me to pull over. It would take away the need to make a decision and I would see it as some kind of divine intervention and hand myself in.
It will be light soon and I have no idea what the day will bring. I can’t dump the car – I have no shoes, no coat and nowhere to go. I’m hungry too, but I have no money for food and I desperately need the bathroom.
A thought comes to me, and I immediately dismiss it. But then it creeps back, insidious, not allowing me to think of alternatives. Can I get into the house from the back? If I could, memories of that night might come back to me and maybe I would understand what happened – why I killed Ian. Perhaps he attacked me first. It’s no justification of course, but at least it would give me something to cling to.
Access to the back door of my house is through the garage; there is no side path. I can’t get in that way because of the car outside the front with a police officer sitting in it. But there is possibly another option.
The house that backs on to ours is owned by an elderly couple who don’t get up until quite late in the day. They told me they are a pair of night birds. If I can get into their back garden, I could clamber over the broken-down wall between our properties and into my own. And there is access to their back garden from the road via a path down the side of their house.
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