You'll Be Sorry

by Emmy Ellis

  The redhead wasn’t there. She didn’t appear as the bell above the door tinkled. Keeping his coat over his bent head, he moved to a corner shelf where a camera eyed the shop, its red light blinking. A black electric cable snaked down the wall. He reached as though picking up a hexagonal plate for perusal—and yanked the cord. It popped out of the camera. He lifted his eyes. The red light had gone off. Dan stepped back to the counter.

  “Hello?” he called, his voice a few octaves higher.

  “Just a second!” came the redhead’s voice.

  She appeared in the doorway leading to the shop’s rear, a smile on her face. Dan lowered his coat, and her smile faded, her mouth turning into a wide O. Her eyes matched her gob, and she gripped the doorframe, knuckles white.

  “Hello,” he said.

  The young woman whimpered, then, “Look, I haven’t seen her today. Please, I’ll ring you if she comes in.”

  “So,” Dan said, “she hasn’t been in today. But have you seen her since I was last here?”

  Her eyes darted from side to side, and her cheeks flushed.

  “What’s your name?” Dan stared at her.

  “M-Monique.”

  “Monique, you’ve seen her, haven’t you?”

  She shook her head a little too quickly. “No. N-no.”

  “Yes, you have.”

  “I-I-I haven’t!”

  Her chin trembled.

  Dan rounded the counter, and she shrieked, backing into the storeroom. Against a pile of boxes, she fisted her hair, her teary eyes meeting his. He glanced around. No cameras, but a DVD recorder sat on a shelf to the right. No modern security linked to a computer then.

  “Tsk-tsk-tsk. You really shouldn’t lie to me. Lying brings awful consequences.” He stepped over to the recorder, pressed the eject button, and removed a DVD. “Is this all I need, Monique?” The disc held up, he glared at her.

  She nodded.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “See how good it feels when you don’t lie? Don’t you want to always tell me the truth? Imagine how good it will feel to admit you’ve seen my wife.” Dan shoved the DVD in his coat pocket. “So, have you seen her since I was last here?”

  Monique let go of her hair and wrapped her arms around her middle. Her thin frame shook, and she bit her bottom lip, thinking, thinking… “Yes. I saw her.”

  Dan’s nostrils flared, but he remained outwardly calm. “There. Feel the relief. You do, don’t you?”

  A sob burst from her mouth, and her head bobbed.

  “Where did you see her, Monique?”

  “I-I-I—”

  He gritted his teeth.

  “I delivered a p-pizza to a flat l-last night.”

  “Oh, you did, did you? Commendable that you hold down two jobs. And where is this flat?”

  “Twelve. Number twelve. On Drumbourne.”

  He clamped his teeth for a second. “Which block?”

  “It’s called Lowell House.”

  A dark, wet stain covered her jeans again, and Dan resisted the urge to punch her face for being so bloody filthy. Monique looked down, crying.

  “And was she alone?”

  “No. With a…with a man.”

  What. The. Fuck? “Ah, with a man. I see.”

  “A p-policeman. He said he was a policeman.”

  Dan almost laughed. Almost.

  “A policeman? How…interesting.” He sniffed, and the stench of warm piss pushed him over the edge. “You’ve been very helpful, but I’m afraid—”

  “No!” Her head snapped up. “No, please, I told you what you wanted to know. Please…please just leave me alone.”

  Dan took a step forward, his shoes an inch from a yellow puddle. He removed his gloves and shoved them in his pockets.

  Wanted skin on skin.

  “But you didn’t offer the information like I asked. You didn’t ring me last night—when you saw her.”

  “I wasn’t sure then. I didn’t know if it was r-really her until—”

  “Until when? Until I came in just now? Until you realised I might hurt you if you didn’t give me the information I so nicely asked for?”

  Her rapid blinking knobbed him off. The tears, too.

  His fist connected with her nose, and her head flicked back a second before her body collapsed against the boxes. He lunged forward, his arms outstretched, clasping her neck. Straddling her, he clamped her to the floor, her legs kicking, hands gripping his wrists. Her piss soiling his trousers. Memories of doing this to Kerry filled his mind, and he squeezed, squeezed, his thumbs pressing into her throat. He stared at the wall, his concentration immense. Monique gurgled, and her frantic movements slowed to easy spasms. A click sounded, and her Adam’s apple gave way. She stilled.

  He glanced down at bulging eyes, at a swollen tongue protruding through thickened lips. Spit foam oozed from the corner of her mouth, and she looked so…ugly. He yanked his hands from her, stood quickly, and stared for long moments to ensure her chest didn’t rise or fall. Satisfied, he flipped the light switch, shutting off the overheads in the shop.

  He left the storeroom. At the front door, he lifted the door blind and peered outside. The rain teemed down, the street empty of people. Opposite shops stood in darkness, and he smiled. Gloves back on, coat over his head, he unlocked the door and stepped into the street. A ghost town.

  The door sighed closed behind him, and he walked back to the car park to find only his and Kerry’s cars there. He made pretence of inspecting her car while casting his gaze around in search of CCTV. Two cameras sat at the top of high poles, but he didn’t worry. He was just checking out his wife’s car, wasn’t he, before reporting her missing tomorrow. No, they wouldn’t believe Dan Stone capable of murder.

  Seated in his, he took off his coat and gloves and fumbled in his suit pocket for a cigarette. The fag between his lips, he lit it and sucked smoke into his lungs. Rested his head against his seat. Brought his thumb to his mouth to chew.

  The plaster. Where’s the fucking plaster?

  * * * *

  Kerry sighed. Her stomach filled with a late dinner, she eased back on the sofa. She wished her life had always been like this. Easy, calm. Today had been nice to just chat to Mark, avoiding thinking of Dan and the repercussions of leaving him.

  A cloud eclipsed her new happiness. Facts had to be faced at some point.

  Mark plopped beside her. “Listen, I’m hoping it’s quiet at work tonight so I can figure out what to do next. I think we should move you elsewhere. We’ll set you up in a flat in some other town.” He looked at her. “You need to be away from here. Who knows how long that pizza girl can hold him off. The quicker you’re away, the better.”

  “I’m scared.” Her eyes stung.

  “I know. That bloke…he’s just so unpredictable, and you being so close… I mean, the Harmondsey police cover Gradley, and he could…it wouldn’t be odd, him poking around here, asking questions. I’d just feel more comfortable if we acted sooner rather than later.”

  She had to agree.

  Dan finding her. It couldn’t happen.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dan sat in his car, replaying the past hour. He’d had the plaster on when he’d left the office, remembered it being tight on his thumb. Had it been there when he’d put his gloves and coat on the first time? He grabbed his gloves and turned them inside out. Nothing. Hands in his pockets, he pulled out the lining. Nothing except the DVD.

  Shit. Okay. I took the gloves off in the storeroom. Was the plaster there then?

  He fought to remember but came up blank. He’d stared at the wall, hadn’t he. Damn, he’d stared at the wall and not at his hands.

  Come on. Think! Did the plaster tighten when I strangled the bitch?

  Unable to get a clear picture, he thumped the steering wheel. How long would it take before someone discovered Monique? Did she own the shop or just work there? Releasing a sharp burst of air, he gunned the engine and drove back
to the office. He skidded into the car park, intent on finding that fucking plaster on the floor.

  It’ll be there, it’ll be there.

  Inside the building, he ignored the calls of welcome and, once in his office, slammed the door and went down on his hands and knees.

  The scent of carpet freshener wafted up.

  The cleaners had been in.

  He closed his eyes, frustration mounting, and stood. Back in the corridor, he glanced up and down then made his way to the cleaner’s cupboard. Two Dysons stood against the back wall, and he stepped inside and closed the door. Light on, he grabbed a hoover and took off the plastic dust-catcher. Dumped the contents on the floor. Sifted through the debris. No plaster. He repeated the action with the other one. Not there either.

  Shit.

  He snatched a dustpan and brush from the shelf and swept up the mess, tipping it into a bin beside the door. He sneezed, eyes watering, and slung the dustpan on the shelf. His heart hammered hard, and his mind entertained too many scenarios. The urge to yell fierce, he yanked open the door and bumped into someone coming the other way.

  “Hey, slow down, Dan,” Joe said, hands up. “What the hell were you doing in there? What are you even doing at work?”

  Dan wiped his forehead, forced himself calm. “I nipped back. Forgot to fill out some paperwork. Spilt a bag of crisps. Needed a dustpan to clean it up.”

  “Crisps aren’t good for you.” Joe laughed.

  “Exactly why fate made me spill them,” Dan said, trying out a laugh, too, and finding it alien-sounding.

  Joe frowned. “You okay?”

  Dan’s mind ticked over. “Actually, no. You got a minute?”

  “Yep.”

  Dan walked to his office, head down.

  Make this work. Get him on my side.

  He sat at his desk and gestured for Joe to sit. A gusty sigh left him, and he made eye contact, steepling his fingers beneath his chin.

  “Kerry’s gone missing.”

  “What?” Joe sat upright, gripping the armrests. “When?”

  “She went out yesterday morning, didn’t come home. Went Gradley to buy a new cup. She’d accidentally dropped one. Anyway,” he stared at the desktop, eyes watering, “I thought she’d left me. No idea why, because we’re solid, you know? But I went to Gradley last night, found her car in the shopping centre car park. Visited the place where she bought the cups, and the girl there hadn’t seen her.”

  “Jesus.” Joe sat back in his chair, finger and thumb squeezing his chin. “And?”

  “I went home. She didn’t arrive. I came into work today to try to forget it. I went back to Gradley after my shift, and her car was still there. Slipped a tracker under the bumper so that if she has left me, at least I’d know she was safe when the car moved. Went back to the china shop, but it was closed.” He sighed, the exhalation shaky. “I don’t know what to do, Joe. I’ve been thinking…maybe she didn’t leave me. Like I said, why would she? And the last body, Sara, was her best friend. What if some nutter is out there and started with Sara and then got Kerry? What if—”

  “Slow down.” Joe held up a hand. “Shit. It doesn’t sound good, but…look, there’s got to be another explanation. Have you been home yet?”

  “No.” He pulled the tracker from his pocket and switched it on. “And her car’s still there. Fuck. I’m lost without her.” He lowered his face to his hands and shrugged several times.

  “Christ, Dan. Don’t cry on me now. You’ve got to stay strong.”

  Joe’s hand touched his back.

  Dan squeezed out a tear. He wiped it. “Okay. Okay. What…shall I fill out a missing person’s form?”

  “No. Not just yet. Come on, we’ll take a ride out to Gradley.”

  Joe walked to the door and braced himself on the frame, head low. “I’m really sorry to hear about this,” he said.

  In Joe’s car, they travelled the first half of the journey in silence, Joe undoubtedly mulling everything over, deciding on the best course of action.

  I must get back in that fucking shop.

  Joe picked up the radio. “Cheryl, do me a favour and run a check on The China Cabin in Gradley. See who owns it.”

  “Will do. Gimme five,” came the reply.

  Dan feigned stupidity. “What’s up with the shop check?”

  His colleague took a left onto the winding road. “Had a thought. Did Kerry buy the cups in that shop while with Sara?”

  “No idea,” Dan said. “Maybe. So?”

  “Maybe the shop owner’s a nutter. I’d rather check some basics before you fill in a report.” He glanced at Dan then back at the road. “Not saying what you’ve done isn’t good enough.”

  “No, no, I understand. Appreciate it.”

  The rain had abated, leaving the road waterlogged in places. As they drew into Gradley, the streetlights’ orange glow reflected on the puddles. Joe swung into the shopping centre car park and headed for Kerry’s vehicle.

  “Creepy seeing only her car here,” Joe muttered. “Shit, I hope…sorry. It must be hard for you.”

  “Yeah. Still, I’ll get my copper head on. It’ll help me deal with it better. I checked the mileage. Wrote it down in case the tracker died on me.”

  “Good call.” Joe stopped the car and slipped off his seat belt. “You coming?”

  “Yeah.” He took a deep breath and got out, watched as Joe inspected the vehicle. Dan glanced at the ground, leant to the side to look under the chassis. No plaster.

  “Looks like she just left the car as usual to go shopping. No signs of damage.” Joe bent over and peered inside. “Clean interior.” He stood upright. “I’ll just check in with Cheryl, see if she’s found anything.”

  Dan followed him back to the car.

  Joe sat inside and rang her, putting it on speakerphone. “Cheryl? Joe. Anything?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “A Monique Sanders occupies the flat above. I rang the owner…damn, where’s my notes…ah, a Mrs Bennett. She says she leaves the running of the place to Miss Sanders and only pops in once a month. Miss Sanders is her niece. Redhead. Age twenty-two. No boyfriend on the scene as far as Mrs Bennett knows. I lied and told the woman the door had been tampered with and not to worry until we got back to her.”

  “Good. We may need to tamper with that door,” Joe said. “Right. I’ll get back with you later. Cheers.” He put his phone away and looked up at Dan. “Right. When you went to the shop, you said it was closed.”

  Dan nodded and stepped back.

  “Place seem okay? I’m asking in case you think of something and we need backup.” He got out of the car and locked it.

  Dan led the way. “Door was intact; no sign of forced entry. Blinds were down. Lights in the main shop were off, but the room out the back…yeah, there was a light on there now I think about it—I saw it where the blind doesn’t quite cover the door. Maybe the woman was stocktaking. Getting a few things done before going upstairs.”

  “Maybe. Along here, is it?” Joe asked.

  “Yeah.” Dan pointed down the street. “That shop there. The one with the swinging sign. Teacup on it.”

  Joe quickened his pace. Outside the shop, he inspected the door then peered through the window via the blind gap, hand up to his forehead.

  Dan did the same. Light from the storeroom offered enough illumination to make out the stuff on the shelves. And a plaster, still in the cylinder shape of his thumb, sitting on the doormat. He hissed through his teeth.

  “What’s up?” Joe asked.

  “Got a bad feeling about this.” He faced Joe. “My shoulder or yours?”

  “Yours. It’s broader.”

  “Shit, you always use that excuse.”

  They shared a nervous chuckle that always preceded them entering into the unknown. Dan turned to the side, pressed his shoulder to the door, then leant away and rammed back against it. It held firm. He rammed again, again, and the door gave. He faked a tumble and landed on the doormat, glancing around quickly to
see if the displaced air had wafted the plaster across the floor. He couldn’t see it, so rubbed his shoulder as though in pain.

  “Fuck. That hurt. You want to go and check out back?”

  “Not really, but I will.” He crept to the door behind the counter and pressed his back to the wall. With a quick movement, he spun and filled the doorway. “Oh fuck. Fuck!”

  “What?” Dan asked, his voice panic-stricken.

  “Come here.”

  “Oh shit.”

  “Yeah. Oh shit.”

  Dan shifted to his knees, the plaster beside him on the mat. He glanced up. Joe still had his back to him, so he picked it up and slipped it in his pocket. Up on his feet, he walked to the doorway.

  “Oh God. Oh no,” Dan said.

  Joe shook his head. He reached inside his jacket pocket and brought out his phone. “We’ll be needing that backup.” He walked into the shop.

  Dan stared down at Monique. Her face had paled since he’d last seen her. He smiled at the bruised ring around her neck, the two thumb marks, the lividity stark compared to her white face. Her lilac-hued lips, surrounded by a thin blue line, shouted that Mr Death had indeed visited The China Cabin, his presence leaving behind a corpse sprawled in an awkward position. That red hair was so bright, and her eyebrows, a lighter shade, appeared as two orange, furry caterpillars.

  A laugh burst from him, and he disguised it as a cough. What were the odds the two people he killed would be redheads? If they announced a connection, the press would have a field day making up headlines and a name for him.

  GINGER SLAYER ON THE RAMPAGE.

  REDHEAD BUTCHER STRIKES TWICE.

  Joe’s voice droned in the background, and Dan felt in his pocket for the plaster. He pinched it between a finger and thumb, and with his other hand, pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open and popped the plaster in the coin pouch.