Silent Victim

by Caroline Mitchell

  ‘I will,’ I said, in an effort to be polite. ‘You said you had a message?’

  He raised a palm in the air as he made his way out. ‘Oh yeah, I almost forgot. I’ve got the number of a potential client who insists that he’ll only deal with you.’

  ‘Me?’ I said, frowning. ‘I’ve not even started yet.’

  ‘I guess word’s gotten around. He said you and him go way back.’ Hopkins rummaged in his inside suit pocket and pulled out a slip of notepaper. ‘I tried to poach him, but he insisted he’d only speak to you.’

  I raised an eyebrow at his shamelessness, curious as to the identity of my mystery client.

  ‘You can’t blame me for trying.’ Flashing me a smile, Hopkins handed me a folded slip of paper. ‘His name’s Luke Priestwood. Ring any bells?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  LUKE

  2002

  Morrissey sang a haunting melody from my car stereo system. The more someone ignored him, the closer he got. It was my favourite track from the playlist I had compiled. I loved nothing more than creeping into Emma’s thoughts. Had she battled with her conscience? Such a good, caring girl, lying to her father and sneaking out of her room. Had the thoughts of our secret meeting kept her awake at night? It was convenient, Emma living in such an isolated spot in the countryside. Far from the glare of CCTV and with her nearest neighbour a mile away, I could pretty much get up to anything I wanted. I was no stranger to subterfuge.

  You couldn’t exactly call my new Ford Fiesta a passion wagon. The most exciting thing about it was the tinted windows I had insisted upon when it was ordered from the dealership. Sean Talbot, my friend and fellow teacher, called it the granny cruiser. It was all right for him to laugh; he owned a sportier motor far superior to mine. That’s what happens when your mum pays for your car. You end up with something solid and sensible. Still, for as long as she was willing to throw money at me, I was prepared to take it. I smiled as I reread the texts on my phone, glad to be making some progress at last.

  Emma: About the other day, I meant what I said. Text me. Xxx

  Emma: Is it something I’ve done? Have I upset you? If so, I’m sorry. Xxx

  Emma: Need to talk. Xxx

  Luke: Sorry, didn’t mean to upset you. That’s the last thing I want. ☹

  Emma: Can’t stop thinking about you. Please call. Xxx

  Luke: I only want what’s best for you. Xxx

  Emma: I’m almost 16. A grown woman. Please. Can we meet? Xxx

  Emma: I’m free tonight. Are you about? Xxx

  Emma: Please. Xxx

  Luke: East Road on the junction of Ivy Lane at 9 tonight. Be discreet. X

  Emma: I will. See you then xxx

  I checked my watch. Five to nine. My car was tucked in behind the high ditch that afforded the neighbouring house some privacy. Not that I wanted to be peering in through their windows. Tonight was about discretion. The last thing I wanted was to draw attention to myself. Still, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of anticipation as the flicker of the light on Emma’s bicycle blinked in the distance. I knew she would be feeling it too. After tucking her bike away next to the hedge, she hopped into the passenger seat beside me. Her face was flushed from the exertion of pedalling, and she pushed the hood of her jacket down from her face.

  ‘I’m boiling,’ she panted, smiling in a sweaty apology. ‘But I thought it best to wear a hood so I wouldn’t be seen.’ Plucking open the buttons of her blue coat, she revealed a knee-length tweed skirt with thick black tights and a black V-neck top underneath. I had to physically force my eyes away from her body, though she seemed oblivious to the stirrings she had caused. She looked at me in earnest as she shrugged off her coat, rolled it up and pushed it into the footwell. Her top gaped open as she leaned forward, and I almost had to sit on my hands not to jump her there and then. Talk about a body meant for sin. Hers was positively iniquitous.

  ‘Phone,’ I said eventually, reaching out my hand. She handed it over without question, used to this part of our routine. After deleting the last text, I handed it back to her. ‘You wanted to talk?’ I said, diverting my gaze through the window as my trousers began to feel a bit too tight.

  Emma reached for me without a moment’s hesitation and touched me on the arm. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said. I want to be with you. Properly.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘It could land us both in a lot of trouble. Can I rely on you to keep it a secret?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Emma nodded enthusiastically, brushing an errant strand of wavy black hair from across her face.

  I responded with a laugh. ‘I think we’re beyond you calling me sir, don’t you? I’m Luke, unless we’re in school.’

  Emma nodded, her fingers clasped tightly around her knees. ‘I’ll do whatever you ask. You’re the only person I trust. I’d never let you down.’

  Despite her mild perspiration, she smelled sweet. I turned on the air con, giving us both a chance to cool down. Finally, I met her gaze. ‘I never wanted any of this,’ I lied, ‘but sometimes you can’t help who you fall for.’

  I almost felt sorry for her, the way all her emotions were laid bare. It was as if she had been waiting her whole life for someone to tell her they loved her. She reached over and threw her arms around me, excitement bubbling to the surface in her words. ‘I feel the same way. You can trust me, you know that. I won’t tell a soul.’

  I pulled away, attempting a look of concern. ‘Are you sure? Really sure you’re ready for a serious relationship?’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered, her long dark lashes inches from mine. ‘But I hardly know anything about you. I’d like to find out more.’

  ‘And you will,’ I said. Another lie. Leaning in, I gently kissed her, introducing my tongue. Slowly we parted; her eyes flickered over my face and I knew she was looking for any signs of me getting cold feet. There was no chance of that happening. Not now we had taken it this far. ‘You’d better get home, before it gets too late,’ I said, keeping her hanging on a few seconds more.

  ‘Can we meet again?’ she said, bending over to reach for her coat on the floor.

  I helped her pick it up, brushing my hand against her legs.

  ‘Soon. But remember what I said. We’ve got to be discreet if we’re going to make this work. Don’t let me down.’

  ‘You can count on me,’ she breathed, boldly leaning over to kiss me one more time before making her way into the night. I smiled. Everything had gone as planned. It had been worth the wait, and I had something even better in store.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ALEX

  2017

  I stood rooted to the spot as Hopkins left. All I could hear was my breathing, the sounds of city life muffled by the thick panels of glass behind me. Luke Priestwood. My stomach clenched as I made the connection. Luke Priestwood was the name of Emma’s stalker. I had wheedled it out of her the night she confessed. Only this morning I had called a private detective to see if I could track him down. Now it appeared that I might not need to.

  But that was too crazy, wasn’t it? It couldn’t be the same person. How could he have found me? And why say we were old friends? There couldn’t be that many Luke Priestwoods around, could there? I remembered how she had described him: tall, sandy-brown hair, handsome.

  I paced my office, no longer seeing the view as I recalled my wife’s account. I pressed my palms on my desk, the surface cool on my skin as I slowly exhaled. ‘Calm down. It might be nothing. Just ring the guy and see what he wants,’ I whispered to myself. But the truth grasped at my throat like cold fingers of dread. Was he just fucking with me? How did he know I was here? Like a metronome, my thoughts ticked back and forth as I struggled to take it all in. If this were the same Luke Priestwood who had stalked Emma, then I would find out when I called. But what would I say? So you’re the guy my wife tried to kill. What’s it like, coming back from the dead? Standing over my desk phone, I thought about ringing Emma, telling her what I had found.
As my fingers hovered over the dial, I thought about the consequences of such a knee-jerk reaction. She was miles away, where I could not help her. Fighting her eating disorder was taking all of her strength. This could tip her over the edge. And there was Jamie to consider. If by some miracle this was the same Luke Priestwood then at least he was a safe distance from Emma. I replaced the receiver. Tonight. I would ring him and, if he was willing, arrange to meet him after work. Best case scenario would be that he wanted to clear the air. Worst case scenario? If he tried to call the police now we would just deny everything. Against Emma’s wishes, I had visited the alleged burial site, digging a few feet into the disturbed earth. There had been no sign of a body. It had come as no surprise because her story bothered me. There was something about it that did not ring true. If she wouldn’t open up, then perhaps her sister would.

  I stared out of the window at the view that now seemed drab and grey. The beginnings of a headache wrapped itself around me. There was nothing I could do but call the man and see what he wanted. As my intercom buzzed, I took a deep breath, keeping my tone light as I tried to disguise the dread that I felt inside. After a short exchange, Alice allowed the IT people inside. I watched as they set me up on the system and explained how it all worked. Personnel files, statistics and monthly reports were all at the tips of my fingers. Having command of my own team was something I had worked hard for all of my life. I thought of my family and the future I had planned. I could not lose this now.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  EMMA

  2017

  ‘Put the kettle on, will you?’ Theresa said, turning the sign on the door to Closed. ‘I’ve got some nice cream buns in the fridge.’

  I opened my mouth to say I wasn’t hungry but her withering glance silenced my protests as she joined me in the staffroom. I filled the kettle with tap water, using it to give our thirsty plants a drink. Filling it again, I clicked it on and pulled two mugs from the shelves. As I busied myself making our drinks, Theresa’s voice washed over me.

  ‘Don’t even try to tell me you’ve eaten. I’ve been listening to your stomach growling all morning. You’re not leaving until you’ve finished that bun.’

  If only she knew. Eating was only half the battle. The real struggle lay in keeping it down. I gave her a cramped smile. My sister had a way of telling it like it was.

  ‘Here,’ she said, pushing the offending cream bun before me as I sat down with our teas. My brain immediately made the calculations: 308 calories in a Morrison’s cream bun plus a cup of tea with sugar and skimmed milk. I rounded it off to 350. I would need to run three and a half miles before I had even taken a bite. Unless I vomited, which would take seconds. It was a no brainer, I thought, knowing my sister would watch me as I ate.

  ‘Look at those dark rings under your eyes. When’s the last time you had a decent night’s sleep? You look terrible.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I laughed, temporarily forgetting my problems. ‘Whereas you look sickeningly well.’ And she did. I was all too conscious of her forthcoming divorce, but she seemed to be taking it in her stride. ‘We should have lunch together more often,’ she said with a grin. ‘It does wonders for my self-confidence. Now eat up. I can’t have my little sister being skinnier than me.’

  I wondered if the cake were worth the sacrifice that I would have to make later. My throat was still raw from my last bout of vomiting. It was too soon for another purge. I glanced down at my clothes, remembering the days when I used to secrete food in my pockets. Somehow, I didn’t think my vintage winter dress-coat would stand up to hiding a cream bun.

  But ten minutes of watching me pick at my food must have been too much for Theresa to bear. Having long since finished her bun, she leaned forward and took both my hands. ‘Sis, I know there’s more to this than you not eating. What is it? You’ve not been yourself all day.’

  My eyes dropped to the table and I cursed my inability to hide my distress. Normally I was good at concealing things, but on top of my confession to Alex, the flowers and silent phone calls were proving too much. ‘It’s nothing,’ I said, unable to meet her gaze.

  ‘No judgement,’ she said, squeezing my hands. It was what she said to me in the early days, when she was helping me through my bulimia. Such expressions of love made me want to cry.

  I shrugged, swallowing back the words on my tongue. My bulimia was one thing. How could I tell my sister what I had done?

  ‘I’ve relapsed . . . only once. I’m trying to keep it under control.’ Our oversized wall clock ticked away the seconds, and I took a deep breath, gathering the strength I needed to continue.

  ‘Right, what are we going to do about it?’ Theresa jumped straight in, interrupting my flow. ‘Do you want me to see if we can get you back in touch with your counsellor? Maybe see the doctor . . .’ Her thoughts switched. I could almost see the cogs in her brain. This was how Theresa solved problems, flitting from one thought to another until she came up with the appropriate response. ‘Is it the move? Alex’s new job? Is everything going too fast?’

  I shook my head. ‘Hardly. It’s taken him years to persuade me to go.’ I met her eyes and I knew that she would not give up unless I gave her something to go on. ‘The problem’s not with Alex. It’s me. Sometimes it feels like I’m being watched. The phone calls, the flowers. I’m scared that Luke is back.’

  Theresa’s lips thinned at the mention of Luke’s name. She was one of the few people immune to his charms. It made me value our relationship all the more. So why couldn’t I tell her what I had done? Because I knew it was wrong. What I did . . . what I thought I’d done, was commit murder. Even if Luke hadn’t died, it was what I had intended at the time.

  ‘Has he been in touch?’ she said, scrutinising my face for the answer.

  I shrugged, knowing how vague I sounded. ‘No, not exactly. I was in the bathroom the other night and . . . I know this is going to sound crazy but I thought I saw him through the window. Then there are the silent phone calls and now the flowers . . . I’m feeling so panicky and I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Oh, Sis. Have you told Alex?’

  I nodded. ‘He wants us to concentrate on moving to Leeds.’

  Theresa frowned, her protective streak clearly evident. ‘Alex is right. If you see Luke or feel afraid, just call me. I don’t want you speaking to him. It’s not safe.’

  ‘As long as you promise not to report it to the police.’ The very thought made me nervous. They were the last people I wanted involved. ‘Promise me, Theresa, no police. It’ll only aggravate things and I’ve got no proof.’

  ‘OK OK,’ she said, waving the palms of her hands in mock surrender. ‘But you’ve got to stay in control of your eating. The more you panic, the worse things get. You’ve too much to lose. Your health, your husband, little Jamie. He needs you. They both do. Please, Emma. Eat something. For their sakes.’

  ‘I’m fully aware of what I stand to lose,’ I snapped, her crestfallen expression making me regret my tone. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to have a go.’

  ‘Hey, it’s me you’re talking to,’ she said, giving me a kinder smile than I deserved. ‘Remember what I was like when I found out Charles was carrying on behind my back? I was in a right state, and you helped me through it. Working here in the shop, it’s given me something to focus on. I don’t know what I would have done without you.’

  I nodded. In the circumstances, it was the least I could have done. Thanks to the prenup, Charles had left her virtually destitute, yet he had been the one in the wrong. I pushed the cream bun in her direction. ‘You have this. If I start, I’ll never stop. I’ve got some leftover salad in the fridge, I’ll have that instead.’

  ‘I can stay with you, if you like, until Alex gets back?’ Theresa’s voice was muffled as she took another bite. I envied her ability to eat whatever she wanted without putting on a pound. Not that it would have made a difference to me. I was never happy no matter what size or shape I was.

  �
�I’m OK,’ I said, checking the time. ‘I just had a bad night. I’ve got rid of all the junk food in the house. Nothing for me to binge on there.’

  But the expression on Theresa’s face told me she was not convinced. ‘And the face in the window? Aren’t you worried about that?’

  I was, more than she could ever know. I didn’t know which was more frightening, the thought that Luke had been to my home, or the prospect that I was losing my mind.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  ALEX

  2017

  In the former market man’s pub, the smell of Theakston’s ale carried me back to the days when I sat here with my father. He had brought me here on my eighteenth birthday to proudly buy me my first pint. I didn’t much like the taste of it back then, but now that I was a father myself, I had come to understand the importance of the ritual. I could almost feel his presence as I sat amongst the shiny copper fixtures. Situated in Leeds city centre, Whitelock’s location gave it an olde worlde feel and a unique charm. I could almost hear my father’s voice, telling me to drink up as he set the world to rights. A pang of grief touched my soul. I wished he were here to advise me. But I was the man of the house now and tonight I had to be strong. Perhaps that was why I had texted Luke Priestwood instead of ringing and asked him to meet me here, in a public place. A small part of me hoped my dad would be here in spirit, providing me with some much-needed moral support. Could the person I was meeting be the same man who had terrorised my wife? I had to know. But how on earth was I going to broach the subject? I raised my glass to my lips. Alcohol was a good tongue loosener and, after the week I’d had, I needed a drink or two. Thoughts of Emma floated into my mind and I found myself dialling her number.

  ‘Everything OK? I’m just ringing to say goodnight to Jamie.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, hun, he’s fast asleep,’ Emma said, her voice light and cheerful. ‘He didn’t have an afternoon nap so he went down early. I’ll tell him you called when he wakes up in the morning. How’s things?’