by Sibel Hodge
‘This is my sister, Sasha.’
‘Hi.’ She raised a hand and looked quizzically at Leo.
‘This is Detective . . . sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.’
‘DS Carter.’ I broke the news about what had happened to Max and Alissa the night before.
‘Oh, my God! I travelled up to London with Leo today to see some art galleries and my phone ran out of juice so I haven’t heard a thing.’ Sasha’s accent was a more pronounced Australian than her brother’s. ‘How awful.’ Her mouth fell open.
Leo slumped on to a stool next to his sister, his eyes vacantly staring at the floor. ‘Poor bloody Max.’
‘I’ve just been speaking to Vicky Saunders and she said you were Max’s best friend.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Leo rubbed his forehead, shock plastered all over his face. He stood up and grabbed a wineglass from one of the cupboards, then sat back down again, reaching for the open bottle of red on the island in front of Sasha. He poured himself a glass before speaking. ‘We’ve, um . . . known each other since uni. He was doing architecture and I was doing business and economics.’
‘I’m friends with Max, too. Well, and Alissa,’ Sasha said. ‘How is she?’
‘Very traumatised, but she’s safe.’
‘Is she up to seeing anyone? I should go and check up on her, I suppose. She’s not . . . Christ, she’s not still at the house, is she?’ Sasha screwed up her face. She had pointy features, a sharp nose and chin, cheekbones you could slice a loaf of bread with.
I explained that Alissa’s location was being kept a secret for the time being, until we could ascertain whether she was still a target.
‘Can either of you think of anyone who would want to harm Max and Alissa?’ I asked.
Leo and Sasha exchanged a glance.
‘Only that Russell character,’ Leo said.
‘Alissa’s ex-boyfriend,’ Sasha jumped in. ‘He’s a psycho.’
I looked at Leo, his face now pale despite the heat in the kitchen from something cooking in the oven. ‘Apparently, he gatecrashed their wedding reception and threatened Max. Vicky said you went after Russell following the incident.’
‘Yeah, I came into the kitchen and caught the tail end of it from the window. Russell tried to grab Max and Alissa stepped in between them. I rushed down to the end of the garden to see if they needed any help, but by the time I’d got there, Russell was walking off. I had a quick word with Alissa and Max, and then Max told me to follow him and make sure he’d really left and wasn’t hanging around in the woods anywhere.’
‘And had he left?’
‘By the time I’d got into the woods, he’d scarpered.’
‘So you didn’t hear what Russell said to Max?’
‘No. Max told me he’d said something like he should watch his back. He was livid that the guy had turned up, causing trouble.’
‘Did Russell seem drunk?’
‘God, yeah, he looked plastered. Staggering all over the place.’
‘OK, so what happened afterwards? Did Max tell you he’d received any more threats from Russell? Or were there any further incidents between them that you knew of?’
Leo downed the rest of his wine and poured another glass before topping up Sasha’s. ‘Sorry, I’ve been rude. Do you want something to drink?’
‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’
Leo drank more wine as if it was water. ‘Max was hoping that was the end of it.’
‘Did you know Russell was stalking Alissa again? Texting her and stuff?’ Sasha asked. ‘He was obsessed with her.’
‘Yes.’
Sasha shook her head. ‘I kept telling Alissa to make a formal complaint to the police and get an injunction against him or something, but she wouldn’t. She thought it was harmless. She’s too soft for her own good. Now look what’s happened.’ She raised her eyebrows in a told-you-so kind of gesture.
‘Did Max know Russell was harassing Alissa with texts again after he found out they were getting married?’ I asked.
‘No. Alissa didn’t tell him,’ Sasha said. ‘She didn’t want to upset him. She thought Russell would stop it again like he did the last time.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me that was going on?’ Leo’s eyes flashed anger at his sister. ‘I could’ve warned Max about it. Then maybe all this wouldn’t have happened.’
‘Because Alissa wanted it kept quiet. Us girls like to have our secrets, you know. And how was I supposed to know he’d go crazy?’ she spat back, then turned to me. ‘Do you think he did it, then? Killed Max? I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he’d done it.’ Sasha gasped, but there was something a bit gleeful sparkling in her eyes, as if she was relishing the drama of it all.
‘Who else could it be?’ Leo snapped. ‘The bastard!’
I deflected the question with one of my own. ‘You’ve both got Australian accents. Were you born there?’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ Sasha asked.
‘Just an observation.’ I smiled at her.
‘Ignore my sister. She can be bloody rude sometimes.’ Leo glared at Sasha. She glared back.
‘No,’ Leo said. ‘Our parents emigrated to Australia when we were little. They were out there for about twelve years, but then they died in a car accident so we came back here to live with our aunt. I was eighteen, then, and Sasha was sixteen. I got a place at uni and met Max there. We hit it off right away and—’
‘We all used to hang round together, the three of us,’ Sasha butted in. ‘Then Max started seeing Alissa and . . . well, now Max is dead.’ She shrugged.
‘Sasha!’ Leo gave her a thunderous look.
‘What do you mean by that?’ I asked her. ‘Are you suggesting Alissa could’ve had something to do with Max’s murder?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just stating a fact.’
Leo shook his head and stared at the island in front of him.
‘Is there a Mrs Smithers who might’ve seen something at the party?’ I asked Leo.
‘No, I’m not in a relationship at the moment.’
‘How about you, Sasha? Are you married?’
‘Are you asking?’ She tilted her head, a coy smile on her face.
The inappropriateness of her comment made it hard to stop my eyebrows rising in surprise. Hardly the kind of thing to say when reacting to the death of a friend, but then, everyone dealt with shock and grief in their own way. There was no standard reaction. I eyed her wineglass and wondered how many she’d had before I’d arrived. Was she drunk? On drugs?
‘For fuck’s sake, Sash! Max is dead, stop being so heartless,’ Leo spat.
Sasha sat up in her seat, her coy expression morphing into an attempt to look chastised, but coming across as completely insincere. ‘Sorry. I have a tendency to say thoughtless things when I’m stressed. It’s a nervous condition. It must be the shock.’
I stared at Sasha for a moment as Vicky’s description of her reverberated in my head, trying to work out if she was arrogant, an attention-seeker, immature, something more malicious, or had a mental health condition. I still hadn’t made my mind up when I asked my next question. ‘I heard Max wanted to expand his business to do some developing in Australia.’
Leo looked as if he hadn’t heard me.
‘Mr Smithers?’ I prompted him.
‘What?’ He glanced up. ‘Sorry, I’m still trying to take it all in. Can you repeat the question?’
I did so, keeping an eye on Sasha. She looked as if she was about to say something, but changed her mind.
‘Yes, when Max became interested in some development in Australia, I put him in touch with one of my dad’s old friends out there, who does the same thing. They were thinking of working together. They met up several times for business meetings when Alissa and Max were there.’
‘Did Max tell you about any problems going on with Burbeck Developments?’
‘You mean The Goldings site?’ Leo rolled his eyes. ‘They weren’t liable for it. He wa
sn’t doing anything wrong. He had evidence proving he didn’t know about the contamination.’
‘What’s this about?’ Sasha asked Leo.
‘I’m sure the homeowners don’t see it like that.’ I quirked an eyebrow. ‘Profit over lives?’
‘Do you think that’s why he was killed?’ Leo frowned.
‘He had received some threats over it, and we’re still making enquiries, but it seems unlikely at this stage.’
‘What? Tell me!’ Sasha narrowed her eyes at Leo.
‘I’ll tell you later. It’s not important.’
‘How was Alissa and Max’s relationship?’
‘What kind of a question is that?’ Leo said. ‘You can’t think Alissa had something to do with it, surely?’
‘I’m trying to build up a picture of their life together.’
‘But you said the killer came after her, too,’ Leo said.
‘I said Alissa escaped from the house. And if we’re going to catch the offender, we need to know every little thing we can. Even if it seems inconsequential. So, how was their relationship? Were there any problems between them, any fights recently, disagreements about anything?’
Leo shot off his chair. ‘That’s an offensive question. Of course there were no fights or problems. They’d just got married! They had a great relationship. They were very happy and in love. I think it was love at first sight between those two. They had the perfect relationship. And there’s no way Alissa would hurt Max. No way at all.’ He started pacing the floor, knocking back more wine. ‘In fact, after they got back from Australia, Max and I went for a drink, and he said they’d never been happier. He told me that getting married had added a new dimension to their relationship that he didn’t even think was possible.’
I looked at Sasha. She seemed the type to relish a bit of gossip, or probably even start it.
‘Well, there’s no such thing as perfect, is there?’ she said, and I’m sure I detected a hint of jealousy or bitterness in her voice. She glanced down into her glass and swirled the wine around. ‘And they always say you never can tell what happens behind closed doors, don’t they?’ She glanced up at me through her fringe.
It was gone 10 p.m. when I left the office. Becky and Ronnie had been through all of the list of party guests, but no one else had anything useful to add to what Vicky, Leo, and Sasha had told me: Alissa and Max were very happy and in love. They couldn’t think of any reason to target Max or Alissa. No one knew of any threats. No one knew about the Burbeck Developments issues. No one had heard first-hand what Russell had said to Max at the reception or seen the argument occur.
No one knew anything.
I took a detour to DI Nash’s house. As usual, it was in darkness. I pictured her sitting in the lounge or the bedroom, staring into the void, crying, trying to make sense of it all, questioning everything. Been there, done that. Ellie Nash was there for me in all the dark days after Denise had gone; now it was my turn to repay the favour. I just wished I didn’t have to.
I parked outside on the street and knocked on her door. No response. I didn’t really expect one, but I was starting to get a bit worried now. It had been six weeks since her husband, Spencer, had been killed by a crazed husband taking out his psychotic frustrations on his wife and kid, keeping them prisoner in their own home. Mix together a police sergeant first on the scene with no knowledge that the man had a hunting rifle, a hostage situation going drastically wrong, and bang! Another copper dead. And Ellie was left to deal with the outcome. Except she wasn’t dealing with it, but I knew all about that. She’d get there in her own time. I hoped. I wasn’t there yet, and it had been a year for me. Wasn’t sure I’d ever get there, actually. I still thought I heard Denise’s voice. I still found myself thinking, I must tell Denise this when I get home, only to get hit with a fresh jolt of grief. I still found myself expecting her to walk round the corner with that amazing smile. Night-time was the worst. I was afraid to go to sleep because I dreamed about her. But the dreams were never conjured up from good memories. They were all of her dying, skin melting away from her face, blood dripping from her nose, her bones forcing their way through the soft tissue. Her hair falling out in clumps from the poisonous chemo. They all ended the same: with her opening her mouth and screaming, vomiting up maggots and flies. That was usually the time I jerked awake, sweating, heart pounding, trying to force the image out of my head and replace it with another one. A happier one. God, there were so many to choose from. We’d met when we were both fifteen and working in the Co-op as a Saturday job. I knew all about love at first sight. I’d lived it with her. Thirty-six years we’d been together. We weren’t just partners, lovers – we were best friends. And now all I had left were memories and nightmares.
I knocked on Ellie’s door again and heard nothing. I rattled the letterbox and waited. Then I flipped it open and shouted into it.
‘Ellie, it’s me. I hope you’re . . .’ What? I paused and tried to think of the right word: OK? Alright? That sounded way too insignificant and banal. Not trying to slash your wrists? Not wanting to kill the person who killed Spencer? Not giving up hope? From my own experience, that was more like it. I wasn’t that great at doing emotional stuff, and sometimes there are no right words to say. ‘I brought you something to eat. Maybe you don’t feel like it, but . . . well, it’s here anyway. Call me, OK? When you’re ready.’
I left the Chinese food in a bag on the doorstep and drove home. Another day to cross off the list of empty, endless days left of a life without my wife.
THE OTHER ONE
Chapter 13
I was ten years old when he made me commit murder. One of the cows had given birth to a male calf, and unlike that first time, when I wondered where Dad was taking it to, now I knew. The males were no good on a dairy farm, and there was no veal industry where we were, so the boys had to be killed immediately. It would cost Dad more to feed them than they were worth for sale as cheap meat, he said. And he didn’t want to spend money sending them to a slaughterhouse, so he did it himself.
It was Lulabelle’s baby. Lulabelle cried out frantically as Dad took the calf away, dumping it on to his red plastic wheelbarrow. He took it into a small shed he’d built with white tiles on the walls and a drain in the floor. The tiles weren’t white any more, though, and the grouting was stained a dark browny-red.
‘You can start doing this yourself now. You need to do something to make yourself useful,’ Dad said as he lifted the end of the wheelbarrow and dumped the calf on the floor. It couldn’t even walk yet. Its legs were weak and bent, unable to hold its weight.
I put my hands over my ears to block out its tiny cries and watched the poor thing that had never asked to be born looking at me with two dark, brown watery pools of hope, waiting for me to save it.
‘Shut the fuck up!’ Dad kicked the calf in its back legs, sending it skidding across the floor.
‘No, please!’ I yelled. ‘Please don’t do it.’
He laughed at me. ‘You’re pathetic. Pathetic and weak. What did I do to deserve you?’
I wiped away the snot dribbling down my chin and pleaded some more with Dad. I couldn’t kill an innocent animal. But I couldn’t stop him doing it. The only thing I could do was leave.
I ran towards the door of the shed. My fingers were on the latch when I felt myself being pulled back by my hair.
‘Don’t be such a cry baby. What do you think farming’s all about? You’ll have to do this when I’m not around any more. I’m teaching you a valuable lesson.’
I shook my head, my whimpers matching the calf’s, knowing that if Dad wasn’t around, I’d burn this place to the ground and rejoice.
‘If you don’t watch and learn, I’ll just kill that one you call Lulabelle.’
My throat burned with the tears sliding down it and the bile rising up to meet them. ‘I can’t kill him. You shouldn’t kill him. Please, Dad. Please don’t do it.’
He laughed again. ‘God put these animals on earth for
us. It’s His law. Who are you to question that? What’s it going to be? You or the calf? Because this works just as well on kids, too.’ He sneered at me, an icy, evil look in his eye. ‘Your choice.’
But how could I make that decision? How could I do anything? I was as helpless as that calf. And I knew he’d kill him anyway.
He grabbed my hand, put the handle of the knife in it, and curled my fingers around it, his hand clutched over mine so I couldn’t drop it. ‘Come on!’ He pulled me by the same hand towards the calf.
I squeezed my eyes shut and cried, a shuddering ball of fear and hate and hurt.
‘One stab behind the neck into the spinal cord and it’s all over. Much less messy than slitting their throats.’
‘No.’ I tried to pull my hand out of his strong grip.
He manoeuvred my hand up to my throat, the tip of the blade touching my skin. ‘Shall I kill you then?’
I stared into his grotesque, demonic eyes, not recognising the person behind them. Saliva had pooled at the side of his mouth. How could anyone be so cruel?
He pressed the knife harder against my neck, and I felt hot pain and liquid running down my skin. Then he jerked my hand away in his and kneeled down next to the calf, pulling me along with him.
I tried to tug my hand away again, but he was too strong for me. Instead, he lifted my hand in the air and plunged the knife into the back of the calf’s neck.
I pressed my eyelids together and screamed and screamed until I was thrown through the air, the knife clattering to the tiled floor. I landed against the side of the shed, banging my spine hard. Curling into a ball, I put my hands over my face, trying to ignore the pain, knowing I never wanted to open my eyes again and see the reality of my world. My pain was nothing compared to the calf’s, and I couldn’t bear to see its dead body.
That was around the time I first fantasised about killing my dad.