Silent Victim

by Caroline Mitchell

  ‘Great. You should see my new office. It’s three times bigger than my old one and has cracking views of the city. I can’t wait for you to get here.’ I smiled, pressing my hand against my ear to drown out the noise of my fellow drinkers.

  ‘I’ve started packing some stuff already. Are you out? Sounds like you’re in a pub.’

  ‘Just having a few drinks with my new colleagues. They’re a good bunch. I won’t stay out too long.’ We both danced around the elephant in the room. I wanted to ask if anything else had happened to make her worry – and if she had eaten today. But if she hadn’t, she was hardly likely to tell me over the phone. I sighed, feeling the distance between us.

  ‘Enjoy yourself, you deserve it. I love you,’ she said, and I was just about to respond when my eyes were drawn to the door.

  Somehow, I knew the man who had just walked in was Luke Priestwood. Looking from left to right, his eyes scanned the pub as he tried to find me. He was slightly shorter than me, with light-chestnut hair. I found myself sizing him up, assessing his strength. He was sinewy but not as broad as me. I could take him if I had to. I caught his eye, desperate to end my call. It felt wrong, talking to Emma while I was doing this. If he was the person I thought he was then the last thing I wanted was Emma hearing his voice. ‘I’ve got to go, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  It was only after I’d hung up that I realised I had forgotten to say I loved her too. There was no time to dwell, though, as he joined me.

  ‘Mr Priestwood, is it?’ I said cautiously, bracing myself as I rose from my seat. For all I knew the guy could be ready to pull a knife on me. My muscles tensed. I was ready for him if he tried.

  But his expression was not that of someone who wanted to fight. He shuffled nervously before me, dipping his hand into his jacket pocket and pulling out his wallet. ‘It is. Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ I said, pointing to my half-empty pint glass. I felt guilty enough just talking to him, never mind accepting drinks. I eyed him up as he leaned against the old-fashioned wooden bar. He was dressed casually in jeans and a jacket, his shirt pressed. Despite having been neatly folded, my Lacoste shirt still had creases from my overnight bag. I caught myself. Why was I comparing myself to this man? Because I was jealous of his former relationship with my wife? Had there been a relationship? From how Emma had described it, she had been easy prey.

  A pint was laid in front of me, snapping me out of my thoughts. Luke delivered a half smile. ‘I asked the barman for the same again. I figured we might be here for some time.’

  I nodded, unable to bring myself to thank the man before me. ‘What’s this all about?’ I said, before his backside had rested on his seat. ‘Because you didn’t contact me to buy property, did you?’

  ‘No,’ Luke sighed. ‘It’s a long story. One with a sting in the tail.’ He sank back a mouthful of his pint. ‘I’ve not come here to make trouble. I’ve told myself a million times to walk away. But then I heard Emma was moving to Leeds.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I said. I felt my grip tighten around my glass. Our meeting was getting more surreal by the minute. Just what was going on?

  ‘I live in York,’ Luke said. ‘But sometimes I come to Leeds.’

  ‘Why did you call me? Why don’t you get to the point?’ I said, my anger simmering beneath the surface. It was difficult to equate the man before me with the person Emma had described. He looked harmless, like any bloke down the pub. How could this be the man Emma had been driven to kill? Something awful must have happened to push her to such an extreme. I lowered my gaze, determined to keep my emotions in check.

  ‘I used to be her schoolteacher years ago, but I imagine she’s told you that. Judging by the way you’re glaring at me, I expect that’s where the truth ended.’

  I raised an eyebrow, trying to relax my facial muscles as they tightened around my frown.

  Luke gave a nervous laugh, raising his palms in mock surrender. ‘Mate, I come in peace. It’s not what you think.’

  ‘What do you expect?’ I said. ‘You’ve come here to relive your sick infatuation with my wife. Should I go to the jukebox and play “Don’t Stand So Close to Me”?’ I exhaled tersely. I had to distance myself if I wanted to hear him out.

  Luke raised a cautionary finger. ‘There’s a lot of truth in that song. Especially when it ended with me almost being killed. Seriously. I’m trying to help you here, but if you’re not ready to hear it, then I’ll go.’

  ‘Stay where you are,’ I said, swallowing back the bitter taste in my mouth. ‘Tell me everything you know.’

  There was no doubt now. He was talking about attempted murder. He was talking about my wife.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  EMMA

  2017

  It wasn’t that I hated being alone. For most of my life, I’d preferred my own company, particularly when I was growing up in Mersea. But having three small bedrooms in close proximity did not offer much privacy. Every argument, every outspoken word could be heard. Our windswept bungalow jutted out of the landscape like a jagged thumbnail. Not many people wanted to live this far out, let alone on an island regularly cut off by the tide. I did not doubt that moving away would be the best thing for our son. He would miss the beach and the raw freedom of his surroundings, but I knew he would delight in our new home. I wanted him out there in the big wide world, but I wanted to be by his side too. The thought of being separated haunted my nightmares with terrifying lucidity. I did not deserve my beautiful child. Since confiding in Alex, I had wrestled with my conscience. But I was not a character from a horror story. Perhaps I was not even a killer after all.

  A miserable growl emanated from my stomach. I hadn’t eaten, apart from some salad Theresa had guilt-tripped me into and a chocolate digestive which I had taken a bite from then spat out in the bin. Hunger distracted me from my thoughts. Theresa would never understand.

  For once, our house was steeped in serenity. The only sounds were the grandfather clock in the hall and the soft hiss and crackle as damp logs burned in the hearth. Alex always filled the void with the mundane chatter of a television show. Coming from the city, he had never gotten used to country life. I breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of the pinecones I had picked with Jamie days before. I ran my hand along the long wooden beam my father had fitted years ago. It had been replaced after the fire. I thought about that day, how I’d hugged my knees as the flames danced around me. It was my father who had found me. Another horrific episode I wished I could forget.

  I stared into the fire, my memories cracking open like festering eggs, the stink within leaking out. Alex had said that my nightmares were my subconscious mind trying to deal with what I repressed. If only he knew. Was I a product of my social environment or was I just born like this? I tried to think about Mum, to use my adult brain to analyse what sort of a person she really was. I’d been thirteen when she’d left. I focused hard, visualising her face, the memory blurred around the edges. I clung on tightly to the memories of her good days, when she was sober and Dad was around. Picnics at the beach, crabbing in the water, her skin freckled from the sun when we stayed out too long. But then there were the bad days when she was feeling neglected. When she drank too much and her moods raged like a storm. She was stick thin, unlike most of the mothers who picked up their children from school. I used to watch them, in their chunky knitted jumpers and padded coats, welcoming their children with warm hugs. I cycled home on my own from an early age. I withdrew from the heat of the fire – thinking of the past wasn’t helping. I had to move forward. Move away and forget this place.

  Picking up the poker, I jabbed at the logs, watching the sparks dance as they were sucked up the chimney and released into the violent winds. A sharp rap made me jump, and the poker clanged against the hearth as it fell at my feet. I held my breath, wondering if I had imagined it. Perhaps it was the crack of a log that misguided my senses into thinking it was someone at the door. We did not get callers this far out
. It was after nine and Jamie was tucked up in bed. So who could be outside? I waited, crouching down to pick up the poker once more.

  Crack! My head swivelled to the left as something hit the windowpane, making me freeze in my tracks. I had locked the doors, hadn’t I? What about the windows? Were they closed too? My heart galloping in my chest, I rushed towards the glass, half expecting to see Luke peering through. It was just the storm, I told myself. Some debris had hit the door and was rattling the windows. But I didn’t really believe that was true. After checking the locks, I stood in Jamie’s doorway, watching his sleeping form. My heart melted at the sound of his soft snore. What sort of a mother was I when I could not keep my son safe? It had started, I was certain of it. Luke was back and determined to re-enact what had happened before. It would not be enough that he had invaded my mind. He would invade my home also. But it was not just me who would be put in harm’s way this time. My family would suffer too. The sharp ring of the telephone made me grasp the doorframe. Tearing myself away, I forced myself to answer it, holding my breath as I awaited a response. But just as I expected, there was nobody there – at least, nothing except the faint sound of breathing on the other side. I ended the call and took the phone off the hook, checking the doors and windows one more time before peeping in on Jamie and going to bed. Around me, the house creaked and moaned in response to the gale outside. Taking a breath, I steadied myself. I could not give in to panic, not now. My fingers found the back of my neck, easing down the hairs that had prickled with fright. Bending on one knee, I checked beneath the bed, ready to shoot out of the room at a second’s notice. There was nothing there, but I knew that may not always be the case. ‘No,’ I whispered, stumbling backwards as the walls closed in around me. The last thing I could feel were my knees hitting the carpet as I fell to the floor.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  ALEX

  2017

  Luke lowered the phone from his ear and slid it into the pocket of his jeans. I had half expected him not to return from the toilet, and I watched his face closely for clues of his intentions.

  ‘Girlfriend?’ I asked, half hoping it was. I was conscious of the time. Soon the barman would call last orders and Luke had not told me why he had contacted me. Each time he was about to open up, we were faced with an interruption. Was he stringing me along or had booze addled his brain?

  ‘Don’t talk to me about girlfriends,’ he said, taking a sip of his drink.

  My thoughts darkened. I wanted to confront him, squeeze it out of him if necessary with my bare hands. I wasn’t buying the nice guy act. If he had hurt Emma, then he would pay. I tipped my glass to my lips, barely sipping my drink. Alcohol brought out the worst of my temper and going off the rails was not going to help anyone. My mother’s saying floated in my memory. You’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar. She was always telling me off for my scowl, said if the wind changed then I’d stay that way. But she was right about one thing. I needed to keep my temper in check. Our area of the pub had cleared of patrons, and I was relieved that I could hear him without having to shout.

  ‘You were about to tell me about that, weren’t you?’

  Luke nodded. ‘Sorry. This is hard for me to talk about. But you need to know who you’re married to.’

  I forced a nod. I wanted to tell him he wasn’t worthy to utter Emma’s name. ‘She said you were her teacher. Just how far did your . . . relationship go?’ It was the question I had wanted to ask my wife. I knew she was trying to protect my feelings but keeping me in the dark was hurting me more.

  ‘Too far,’ Luke said. ‘And I put my hands up to that. I was newly qualified, just a few years older than the class I taught. But I should have known better. Emma was your typical love-struck teenager. She was infatuated with me, there at every turn.’

  ‘You’re having me on,’ I said, my throat growing dry.

  He shook his head, a half-smile rising on his face. ‘She told you it was me, didn’t she? Figures. That’s the line she fed everyone.’ Lowering his voice, he tipped his head towards mine. ‘She followed me everywhere I went, constantly texted me and gave me the eye. I was flattered, who wouldn’t be? This attractive young woman coming on to me. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.’

  I stared in disbelief while, inside, my stomach kept turning over. He was talking about my Emma. He was lying. He had to be. And what the hell was I doing, betraying my wife by buying her stalker drinks? She would be mortified if she could see us now. But I needed to hear what he had to say. I sucked in a breath, ‘So you slept together?’

  Luke nodded. ‘I gave in to temptation just once. She was a very troubled girl. I thought I was helping when she opened up to me. But she formed an attachment. They warned us about stuff like this but . . . Ach, I was very naive. One day she followed me to my dad’s beach hut. She made a pass at me and we got carried away.’ He caught my tight-lipped expression. ‘I won’t go into details but I told her it could never happen again.’

  I sat quietly fuming at the thought of her with another man. Would she have been that forward at sixteen? Her youth was something she didn’t like talking about and pressing her for answers just caused upset. I couldn’t help but wonder whether we might not have found ourselves in this situation if she had been more open about her past. Luke was feeding me an entirely different story than the one I had been given. If he was talking about Emma, it was not the woman I had come to know.

  ‘I backed off immediately,’ Luke said remorsefully. ‘To be honest, I couldn’t believe what we’d done. But it was too late by then.’

  My cheeks flushed as I manufactured a response. ‘What do you mean, too late?’

  ‘God, even thinking about her gives me the chills,’ Luke said, giving me a furtive glance. ‘She became my shadow after that. Then the phone calls started, day and night. When I wouldn’t respond, she broke into my house. I had to get a police injunction against her in the end.’ He gave a dry laugh. ‘She was like the Terminator. The injunction slowed her down, but it didn’t stop her.’

  ‘It must have escalated quickly if she tried to kill you.’ I gave him a cold smile. I hated hearing him talk about Emma in that way. He was lying so I’d turn on my wife. I stared unblinkingly ahead, allowing his words to flow over me. Luke carried on as if he had not heard me.

  ‘She became really nasty, told everyone that I’d pressured her into sex. It was her word against mine. Rumours started flying about and my contract was cut short. It was very hard to get anywhere to employ me because they wouldn’t give me a reference. My teaching career was in tatters before it began.’

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t go to prison for sleeping with someone in your care,’ I said, showing little sympathy.

  ‘There was no proof, and believe me, I’ve paid the price. All those years in university and the best I can get is a job in an art gallery on minimum wage.’

  My eyes fell to his left hand, which had clenched into a fist. He caught my gaze and stretched his fingers before wrapping his hands around his pint glass. ‘So you’re bitter, and maybe you’ve called me here for some sort of closure. But Emma’s no threat to you.’

  ‘How do you explain this then?’ He turned away from me, parting the back of his hair. I peered beneath the dim light at the raised scar on the back of his head and felt a sudden surge of dread.

  I frowned. ‘But you said you moved away? You must have come back at some point?’

  Luke nodded slowly, lost in thought. ‘I missed my family. I wanted to be able to go home without worrying it would start up again. I came back for a while, but I was still looking over my shoulder. So I decided to find her, confront her about what she’d done.’

  Luke’s finger trailed after the dribble of condensation on his glass. ‘I followed her home one day. I guess I wanted to see how she’d feel if the tables were turned. Ten minutes after getting there she tied a shovel to her quad bike and rode to the paddock at the back of the house. I remember standing in the field watc
hing her, trying to gather up enough courage to confront her for what she’d done. It seemed daft, being afraid of a woman. But deep down I knew things had the potential to get worse.’ He took another swig of his beer before carrying on. ‘And they did. She began screaming and shouting at me as if I was the one in the wrong. I turned to leave, but the next thing I was falling to my knees as I took a blow to the head.’

  ‘So you’re saying she purposely tried to kill you?’ I said, confirming my worst fears. ‘That it wasn’t self-defence on her part?’

  ‘Self-defence? How could it be self-defence when I was walking away?’ Luke looked at me, his eyes wide with incredulity. ‘When I woke up, I was covered in branches and a layer of dirt. At first, everything was black, and I didn’t know where I was. The soil . . . it was everywhere. It blurred my eyes and was up my nose. The insects . . . crawling all over me, they were. They must have smelled the blood coming from my head.’ He heaved a ragged sigh. ‘I managed to claw my way up and I crawled out of the ditch. I was weak, my head was spinning. Scared the shit out of me, it did. I left after that, and didn’t look back.’

  ‘Did you call the police?’ I said, knowing full well he hadn’t.

  ‘I knew it would aggravate things, and again, it was her word against mine. I just wanted to put the whole thing behind me. So, I covered the ground in, made it look like I was still there. I figured if she thought she’d killed me then she’d leave my family and me alone. They knew what she was like, so when I went to York, they promised to keep my whereabouts quiet.’

  I realised he was staring at me, waiting for me to speak. ‘Sounds like something out of a Stephen King novel.’

  ‘Well, it’s nothing to be proud of – being beaten up by a woman.’ A smile touched his lips, but his blue eyes were cold. ‘You’re talking to a dead man.’ He knocked back his drink, slamming the empty glass against the table. In the distance, a bell rang time.