This Little Piggy_a spellbinding serial killer thriller

by Rob Ashman

  Shit, the curtains are open. In my plan, I had imagined her pulling them shut. Now, anyone passing by would be able to see. I feel a momentary rush of panic.

  This is no time to fuck about. Do it!

  I stride out from behind the door gripping my toy. She barely has time to look up as the silver pins make contact with the bare skin at the side of her neck. She manages to let out a half-yelp before her body goes into spasm and her eyes roll back in her head. I pull her from the chair onto the carpet.

  She twists and grabs hold of my collar. The crackle makes her do the million-volt dance again and she collapses in a heap. I move around the side of the desk and pull the curtains shut.

  Fuck, that was close.

  I roll her onto her front and secure her hands and feet with the black plastic cable ties. I pull a small plastic bag from my pocket and wait for her to come round. She jumps as her brain kicks back into action.

  ‘Wh…what… help!’ I stifle the yell by ramming the tea towel into her mouth, she chokes on it. I remove the diving knife from its sheath around my upper arm and hold it close to her face. She freaks out and writhes on the floor. I leap onto her back, holding her down with my mouth next to her ear.

  ‘If you scream, I will take your eye,’ I whisper into her ear. ‘I am not interested in you, I only want your boss. I need to use you to get to him. Do you understand?’ She goes ridged, her brain trying to compute what she’s just been told. ‘I’m wearing a mask, that should tell you something. I don’t want to harm you. I want your boss. Do as I say and you will survive this. Your boss has been a naughty boy and upset some powerful people. I need him off guard. I need you to co-operate – is that clear?’

  This time, she nods her head.

  ‘I am going to remove the gag and you will remain silent. If you don’t, I will hurt you.’ I press the point of the blade into her cheekbone. She winces. I can see tears running down her face. Gently, I pull at the towelling. She coughs as it comes away from her mouth.

  ‘That’s more like it. You’re not going to scream, are you?’

  ‘No,’ she croaks.

  ‘Good girl. I’m not after you. My employer has made that perfectly clear. I’m only interested in your boss and you get to walk away. A little shaken up, but you walk away.’

  She nods her head again, careful not to slice her skin against the blade.

  ‘Now, the first thing I want you to do is eat this.’

  17

  Brixton Construction was nothing like Kray had imagined. She had an image in her mind of a builder’s yard with galvanised steel sheds and porta cabin offices. She swung the car into the space marked “visitor” and looked at the glass and chrome-fronted office block at the mouth of the industrial estate.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Tavener, looking up at the four-story building.

  ‘Did I take a wrong turn and we’ve ended up in Canary Wharf?’

  They both got out and walked the short distance to the main entrance. The glass doors whooshed open and a man in a smart uniform nodded his head. A young woman straight off the cover of Vogue magazine looked up from her semi-circular desk.

  ‘Welcome to Brixton Construction, how may I help you?’

  ‘I’m Acting DCI Kray and this is my colleague DC Tavener. We are here to speak with David Walsh. I called ahead. He is expecting us.’

  Tavener flashed her a smile.

  ‘If you would like to take a seat I’ll tell him you’re here,’ she said, flashing one back.

  Kray and Tavener hovered around, taking in the vast central atrium as well as the exotic plants and black leather visitor’s chairs.

  ‘Nicer than my house,’ Kray said, raising her eyebrows.

  ‘I know,’ quipped Tavener, a comment that earned him a scowl.

  After a few minutes, the lifts behind reception dinged open and a short man, immaculately dressed in a sharp suit and spectacles came to greet them.

  ‘David Walsh,’ he said, offering his hand. ‘I’m the Commercial Director here. Please follow me.’

  He led them to the lifts and hit the button to the fourth floor. A key requirement when they recruited for the post of Commercial Director must have been an ability to avoid small talk – they travelled in silence.

  Exiting on the top floor, they passed another Vogue-like woman sat at her desk. ‘Hold my calls will you, Jenny?’ said Walsh. The woman gave them the whitest smile Kray had ever seen. Tavener was beginning to regret not being on the missing person case.

  The three of them entered a modern shiny office, with a huge desk and a smoked glass conference table ringed by six black leather chairs. Walsh ushered for them to take a seat.

  ‘I suppose this is in connection with Nigel’s disappearance. We’ve given your investigation every support we can. We are all very worried. How can I be of help?’ Walsh’s cufflinks clanked on the glass surface as he leaned forwards.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Walsh, your company and your employees have been extremely co-operative at this difficult time.’ He nodded in return. ‘We are here in connection with another investigation that is underway at the moment and we wanted to ask you a few questions. Is that okay?’

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘A while ago, your company bought out one of your suppliers, a business by the name of John Graham Steelworks. Were you here when that sale went through?’

  Walsh shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Yes, I was. Nigel knew John Graham from way back. They were one of our smaller suppliers but Nigel had a soft spot for them. He bought out the business and we absorbed it into our own. It was a straight forward deal. I understand John died recently. Someone said he was murdered?’

  ‘I cannot discuss the case, Mr Walsh,’ said Kray.

  ‘One of our guys read it in the paper. Blackpool is a small place, you know?’

  ‘Tell me more about the deal, Mr Walsh.’

  ‘That’s it, nothing more to tell. Nigel bought out John’s business; he paid him more than a fair price. That was it.’

  ‘Were there any problems with the transaction? You know, disgruntled employees, people who held a grudge?’

  ‘No, it went through without a hitch. The people who didn’t want to transfer were made redundant; those who did want to move were transferred over to us. They had a relatively small workforce. We are a big player in the industry around here and now have a national reach that goes UK wide. Absorbing them didn’t cause a ripple.’ Walsh spun his cufflink round and round while Kray spun her wedding ring. Something didn’t feel right about Mr Walsh.

  ‘Can you show me Nigel’s office?’

  ‘Err…yes, sure, if you think it will help.’

  They all rose from the table and walked out past the beaming woman behind the desk. Tavener craned his neck to get a better look.

  ‘These are the directors’ offices,’ Walsh said unnecessarily.

  ‘Business is good, then?’ Tavener thought he might as well say something unnecessary in return.

  ‘Yes, very good.’

  They came to an empty desk outside the biggest office of all. ‘Debbie usually sits here. She is Nigel’s PA, but has been too upset to come in since his disappearance.’ Walsh pushed open the glass door, which opened up into an office the size of half a football field.

  Kray glanced at Tavener and raised an eyebrow. We could fit the whole of CID in here.

  Glossy photographs of construction projects adorned the walls with their names beneath them in gold lettering.

  ‘The company built all these?’ asked Tavener.

  ‘Yes, Nigel is proud of every job we do. “If it’s not good enough to hang on my wall then it’s not good enough for the customer,” is his mantra. Hence the pictures.’

  ‘He never married?’ Kray asked.

  Walsh looked even more uncomfortable. ‘No, he’s a confirmed bachelor. He likes it that way.’

  ‘And what about Debbie? Is she one of the ones he likes?’ Kray asked, perusing the pictures.

  ‘Um, e
r, yes. I think they might have had a thing going at one time.’ Small patches of sweat were beginning to show on Walsh’s expensive tailored shirt. ‘Nigel likes the company of women. Nothing wrong with that.’

  ‘No, Mr Walsh, there is nothing wrong with that.’ She spun the ring round and round on her finger as she walked along the line of photographs. ‘What about this one?’

  Kray pointed to a framed picture, bigger than the others, hanging pride of place behind the vast desk.

  ‘Ah, that one is his pet project,’ said Walsh, relieved they were off the subject of women.

  ‘It’s different to the others, this one isn’t finished,’ Kray said. The picture showed an aerial shot of a large expanse of land that had been dug up, with shipping containers dotted about.

  ‘That project is all about Nigel wanting to give something back to the local community. When its complete, it’s going to be a natural parkland where schools can come and learn about the environment. It will have a small woodland area, a pond and allotment set aside for kids to grow plants and vegetables. He’s been at it for years. It isn’t anything to do with the business; he’s doing it with his own money and using any spare labour we have. Trouble is, the company is working flat out, so we don’t have available people. That’s why it’s only part complete.’

  ‘So, it’s been like this for how long?’

  ‘Since before I got here. I keep telling him it’s a prime piece of land and he should sell it to a developer, but he won’t listen.’

  Kray moved closer to the picture, and read the name written below it in gold lettering on a plaque. Her scars burned so hot, they felt like they would singe her clothing.

  She almost fell through the floor.

  18

  I’m back at my flat and absolutely buzzing. Having to bring forward my schedule had me in a flat spin, but I coped, and it was amazing. That could not have gone better. The look on her face when I pulled off the ski mask was a picture.

  I needed her to be co-operative, I had to give her hope. Wearing the ski mask and the story around me only being interested in her boss was a charade. I had to make her believe she could come out of this alive if she complied. So, when I removed the mask, she shrieked behind the gag and screwed her eyes tight shut. I could just make out the words, ‘No, no, no, no.’

  I grabbed her by the throat and told her to look at me. ‘Do you remember?’ I asked. Her brow furrowed. ‘Take a good look and think back.’ It furrowed again. Then, the penny dropped.

  That point of realisation prompted her to jerk violently off the floor. Trying to right herself. Howling behind the towel rammed into her mouth.

  ‘Fucking remember me now, don’t you?’

  My new toy cracked and she jerked for a different reason.

  I left her on the floor and went to the kitchen. She kept a huge bunny boiler pot under the sink. That will do nicely.

  The rest of the evening went to plan but I had to keep checking my watch. I needed to keep to time.

  Lying on my bed staring at the ceiling, Sadie barges into my head. She’s always around when I don’t want her to be. Spoiling the party. My mind travels back to a time when I was the one full of false hope. I was the one clutching at straws.

  I remember that after the incident with the solicitor woman, I simply wanted to talk to my wife. If we could talk, we could clear up this conflict surrounding the kids. It was that fucking Wilding, she was poisoning Sadie’s mind against me, making her use the kids as a weapon. If we could chat like adults, without her sticking her oar in, everything would be fine. We just needed to talk.

  Sadie was always leaving the patio door unlocked. The kids used it to go and play in the garden and when they came back in they would close the door but not lock it. In all the years we lived in that house, she never thought to check. Not once. That had been my job.

  I pushed down on the brass handle, and the door opened towards me. Sadie was out on the morning school run. I thought it would be better if we had the conversation without the children around. I wandered through the dining room into the lounge. I could see through to the kitchen where the morning’s breakfast bowls were laying in the sink and toys were scattered across the floor having avoided the morning clear up. The house still smelled the same, a mix of old potpourri and wax furniture polish.

  I walked upstairs and stood in the centre of the landing. Jake’s room was to the left and Molly’s to the right. Our bedroom was straight ahead. I pushed open the door and stared at the double bed set against the wall with the huge picture of a vase of flowers hanging above the headboard. A wedding gift from my mum. She was always shit at presents.

  In my mind, I could see the quilt kicked into a heap at the bottom of the bed and the pillows tossed onto the floor. Items of clothing are strewn across the carpet. She is on all fours, wailing like a banshee as he bangs her from behind. She wailed like that in our first year of marriage, but then it all stopped.

  I hear a car pull into the drive and hurry downstairs. I fill the kettle and flick the switch. It begins to gurgle and pop. I sit at the kitchen table and wait. Some things never change. My wife could never simply get out of the car and go into house. She would always spend ages getting side-tracked by sweet wrappers, dead heads on flowers, the state of the backseat of the car or rearranging the rubbish in the bin. This morning was no different. So, I sit and wait.

  Finally, I hear the key in the lock. The lock that she fucking changed the moment my sorry arse was hauled out of there by the police. After tipping the coffee into that bitch’s lap, I had made a bee-line straight home to speak to Sadie, clear up all this nonsense about her feeling uneasy about me seeing the kids. She was not at all happy when I turned up on the doorstep to plead my case. But absolutely freaked out when the police showed up and bundled me into a car.

  Anyway, that was a while ago, and I’m sure she’s feeling better about the whole situation now.

  I hear Sadie drop her bag onto the hallway floor and kick off her shoes. She enters the lounge with her head bowed reading the mail that had been on the mat. She shrieks when she looks up and sees me.

  I hold my hands up.

  ‘Sorry, love, I just want to talk. You wouldn’t answer my calls, so I thought I’d pop round.’

  ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’

  ‘I want to talk, that’s all. Here, I’ve put the kettle on. Let’s have a coffee.’

  ‘How did you get in?’

  ‘How many times did I tell you about locking that patio door after the kids have opened it?’

  ‘You…you…broke in!’

  ‘No, don’t be daft. I came in through the patio door – it wasn’t locked.’ I open the cupboard above the kettle and pull out a couple of mugs. ‘I just wanted you and me to talk about the kids. That Wilding woman has it in for me, and she keeps getting in the way. So, I thought, how about we talk things through over a nice cup of coffee.’ I busy myself piling two heaped spoons full of ground coffee into the cafetière.

  I turn to face her but she’s gone.

  ‘Sadie? Sadie, where are you?’

  I hear the front door open. I dash to the front room window to see her standing in the middle of the road in her stockinged feet clutching her mobile phone to the side of her head. I run to the front door and call after her.

  ‘C’mon love, don’t be like that. I just want to talk. Come inside and have a coffee.’

  She’s dancing on the spot. When she sees me, she bolts up the road and disappears down a driveway to the left. I can hear her banging on the front door of a house. Loud frantic bangs made with the flat of her hand.

  ‘What? What on earth is the matter, Sadie? Is it…’ I hear a woman shriek in a high-pitched voice. The door slams shut. The close is silent again.

  I stand in the doorway looking at the semi-circle of houses. I can remember my mind wandering – Derek needs to trim that hedge or Brenda will go mad at him. She does like to keep her borders with clean lines. And the branches on that
tree have grown, they will need chopping sooner or later. That path needs a good jet washing…

  The silence of the close is pierced by the sound of a distant siren. The noise getting louder.

  I snap out of my daydream and shake the image of Sadie from my head. I push the button on my phone, eight-fifty pm. Perfect.

  I open the door to my flat and walk down the stairs. I’m greeted by a wall of chatter as I enter the takeaway. The Woo family are out in force dealing with the evening rush.

  ‘Hi Kev, had a good sleep?’ asked Anabel, wrapping chips up in white paper and handing them over the counter to an eager teenager. The place was full of people wanting to get their hands on a Woo-woo.

  ‘Yes, I feel much better.’

  ‘You hungry?’ Joseph yelled from the back, wok in hand.

  ‘Starving mate,’ I yelled back. ‘I’m fancying duck in orange and some rice.’

  ‘Coming up.’

  I take a seat against the wall next to one of the regulars dressed in a hoodie and a bobble hat and wrap my hands in my lap to stop them from shaking. My senses are in overdrive as I sit and soak up the glory. The look on Teresa-fucking-Franklin’s face when the first pulse of electricity went through her brain. I thought her eyes were going to burst wide open.

  ‘Popular place tonight, Kev,’ says the hoodie sitting next to me, holding onto a small square of paper with the number 152 printed in red. It breaks my train of thought.

  ‘Yes, it is for a Wednesday.’

  ‘That’s the trouble. During the illuminations, every night is a Saturday night,’ she said.

  ‘One fifty-two.’ Anabel calls out over the noise.

  ‘Bon Appetit,’ I say to her.

  ‘You’re a posh twat, you.’ She laughs and heaves herself up by putting a calloused hand on my knee. I follow her up to the counter and stand at the side.

  ‘It got busy early today?’ I say to Anabel, chancing my arm.