by Darren Wills
She had a point, and I shook my head.
“Are you absolutely sure? It could so easily be someone they know. Most violent offenders are known to their victims.”
Laura shook her head. “They were in their fifties, you know. A teenager, or somebody young, do you think? Do you think my parents might have been murdered by a druggie?”
“At this stage, we don’t know. Still gathering evidence. Of course, what we want to know is, how did the killer select them as victims? There was money in the house and plenty of valuables, but, as far as we were able to assess, and as you may know, nothing was taken, and there’s no evidence that the assailant was even in the house. It would have made more sense to rob them at home. We’re having trouble working out how and why they were selected in the first place. What the killer gained from this is baffling us, to say the least.”
Paperwork In November
I held it in front of me like it was a still from an unwatchable horror movie. In actual fact, it was far worse, even for this miserable Sunday morning. Beyond belief, it left me shivering with incredulity. This was a horror beyond all horrors.
Six weeks on from Laura’s re-emergence, I had decided to find our marriage certificate. I don’t know why I was even bothering, but I wanted to hold it in my hand and use it as some prop in a dramatic attempt to remind Laura who she was or, more importantly, who she had been. It was probably silly and immature, really, but a desperate man is prone to that kind of urge. Something had to wake her from this strange persistent dream she was trapped inside or, if not, I would rip up the document and that might trigger her to leave which would bring an end to the weirdness. She could leave with the parasite Leoni, and perhaps they would venture into a golden sunrise, or Leoni would go in search of another mug. We would be finished forever. Of that I was sure.
While I was looking for a solution to the confusion that prevailed, I thought I would try to kill two birds with one stone and locate a few money-related documents that might be important so I could stash them securely. Two of them were endowments I was paying into, whilst another was my latest Premium Bond statement. George and Lillian’s murder, which I still found difficult to accept or understand, had made me feel a tad insecure.
I had positioned myself on my knees in our dining room, consigning to the bin pieces of paper that merely reminded me that I paid an electric bill two years ago or had completed my Council Tax payments eighteen months ago. I found the life insurance papers that I had wondered about in a big white envelope. Unfortunately, my password sheet, a pre-requisite in our modern digital society that I had been looking for, was there too.
Suddenly, there was something I hadn’t seen before. At the bottom of the drawer was a larger brown envelope with the words ‘medical documents’ written on it in black felt tip that seemed so out of place. It wasn’t in my writing, and it wasn’t labelled in the way Laura normally labelled things. She was normally much neater, and never used block capitals unless it was on an application form.
Normally, I would have ignored an envelope like this, but today, I decided to look inside. There were several items. I held a bank card in my hand, gleaming and new, and in the joint names of Dominic and Laura Walker, with an expiry date in October 2022. Why was this so unfamiliar to me? Alongside it was a folded-up piece of paper. I unfolded it to reveal that it was from the vet.
It was a bill for termination, although the vet’s name was unfamiliar. It announced to me the details of the death of August and explained his disappearance. The cold, factual details gave a clear explanation for why poor August was no longer around. I was shaking.
A third item in the envelope was a council tax letter for an address in Chesterfield, which related to some property on Wolstenholme Street, which I had never heard of. This I tossed to the side, with the details of this barely registering, since the vet’s bill had been explosive.
When I heard the front door, I went straight to the hallway, holding the bill in my hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Laura, closing the door behind her, looked at me, seeing the bill. She paused. “I would have done, but I didn’t want you to be upset. I thought the idea of the cat disappearing would be kinder. August was ill, Dom.”
“How ill? He didn’t look ill to me. Last time I saw him, he was the healthiest cat ever. He was climbing that fence.” I pointed in the direction of the garden.
“I’m sorry, babe. The vet said he had a tumour, that he was in pain most of the time. It was the kindest thing that could be done for him.
“Which vet? Our local vet? Curtis? The one who’s treated August since he was a kitten.”
“No. You obviously know that. I took him to a different vet. One in Crookes.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Truth is, I’ve never liked Curtis.”
This was news to me. “Since when?”
“He just charges too much and then charges some more. I don’t like being robbed, but I just never told you.”
“So what happened to August?”
“Isn’t it obvious. You saw the bill.”
“I mean to his body. Did you bring him home?”
There was a telling silence.
“You had him cremated there! Oh my fucking God. “We always agreed…Well, you remember exactly what we agreed.”
“What did we agree, Dom?”
“We agreed that when August died, we would bury him on the back somewhere. I was going to dig up a section of the lawn and replant the grass afterwards. Surely you remember that?”
“I remember, of course I do, but that would have only messed up the garden.”
“So what? This was August. You were supposed to love him.”
“I did the best thing for him, Dom. And for us. You have to believe that.” She had that imploring look on her face that I had seen several times since her return.
“And what about the bank card? What’s going on there? You don’t even have a job.”
She screwed up her face. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. I just wanted some independence. Do you think I enjoy living off you and depending on you all the time, like you’re some fucking god. Well I can tell you this, mister, I don’t.”
“But my name’s on the card. I signed nothing!”
“Babe, I did that for you. It seemed easier. I think it’s the way I’ve been feeling recently. Needed something to perk me up.”
“How are you going to make the payments? You have to make payments on a credit card.”
“I’m sure I’ll have everything sorted soon, so paying the card off won’t be a problem.” She had a wry smile on her face at this point, like I was some kind of imbecile.
“This is all a massive problem. Your behaviour and attitude have become ridiculous. I don’t recognise you. And what the fuck is that council tax letter all about?”
“What council letter?”
“Some road in Chesterfield. Wolstenholme Street. What has that to do with you?”
At this point, she lost it. “I think this is abuse. Don’t you know, you can’t do this. I could have you thrown out of this house for the pressure you’re putting me under. You are going to make me ill.” She paused, and just gave me that stony stare. “And I just might do that, if you don’t back off and stop being a total arsehole.” She left the kitchen and I heard her go upstairs and a door slam. The last words I heard, shouted down at me, were, “And for your information, the council tax letter is Leoni’s. She wanted me to help her get a refund. Is that ok with you, knobhead?”
Wearily, I pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table and, not for the first time, I had my head in my hands. Eventually, I just got up and took my jacket from the coat hook in the hall and left. I needed a drink.
Everything was quiet and pitch black downstairs. I had had plenty to drink for a Sunday. I supposed the best thing would be for me to quietly ma
ke my way to bed and get in without any fuss and try to find sleep as soon as possible. That would be the smart move, avoiding any confrontation. In the pub that evening, while I nursed the JD and coke, I had decided that things could not go on the way they were. The bottom line was that I was no happier with Laura in my house than I had been when she was away, so what was the point? It was time for an ultimatum, and in the morning, an ultimatum would be issued. I had been accommodating for too long. Perhaps that was the problem. Maybe the new Laura needed a man who was no pushover, like I had been since her return. It was even possible that my malleability was making her worse. Was I part of the problem rather than the solution?
I think I was in that state where you’re not quite asleep, but not really awake, a period of time that lasts less than a minute but which can be a period of realisation. My eyes opened and I suddenly wondered where Laura actually was. Even in my inebriated state, looking out of the window, I saw our two cars outside the house, so she had to be in the house.
I got out of bed.
I went across the landing to the spare bedroom. I refused to call it Leoni’s room out of principle. I listened. They were talking. Being not quite sober, I clumsily opened the door and switched on the light so I could see inside the room.
“Fuck off, Dom.”
“Why didn’t you fucking knock,” I heard Leoni say, in that broad dialect of hers that I might have been able to endure if it wasn’t Leoni. At this moment, however, it was as if I was the lodger here, and she was the mortgage payer. How I wanted her to leave. Come to that, how I wanted to live in this house on my own for a while.
It was worse than that. They were in bed together. Not only that, but with all the flesh on show, they were at the very least, topless. This was disturbing, but at least I understood much more now that they were closer to each other than Laura was to me.
Then there was the giveaway. On the duvet in front of them was a sex toy.
“No! What the fuck is going on?” I don’t know why I said this. I was now instantly sober and it was clear that I no longer knew my wife in any way.
They stayed where they were, the two bitches lying there like nothing was wrong. There was no “It’s not what you think”. Not even a, “You caused this.” All that came out was, “I want a divorce, Dom. This is nothing to do with anything. We need to get a divorce.”
I was in total agreement.
Malevolence
This is all turning out quite different. I guess my needs have grown with my plan. I started off and all I wanted was a pay-off. Now I am going to have a much bigger pay-off and sooner than planned.
Also, I’m discovering real hate. It’s an aphrodisiac, hate is, and it provides real drive for what I want to do now. Things are getting much messier than I thought they would and I intend to make things much tidier.
There’s a big inheritance coming my way. It certainly pays when rich parents get murdered.
If the dickhead and the bitch divorce, the bitch gets a load of money, probably half of everything, but the wimp could make a claim of his own. He could even claim off that wonderful inheritance. That is not going to happen. After all, I have gone to a lot of trouble with this, and let’s be straight, the whole of everything is a lot more than half. I redrew the plan, this time with a different ending.
This amounts to millions. I can do a lot with that kind of money. I can actually disappear, find myself in a place where nobody knows me, where I have no history and where my future can be under a new name and with a new identity. Luxury for the rest of my life.
JD On Divorce
In this shitstorm of a life, I needed a rock. Like in that film, ‘The Shallows’, where Blake Lively stays on the rock to stop the huge shark devouring her. That rock was her security. My rock knocked at my door before letting himself into my house as I stood in the hallway to welcome him. “Hi mate,” I said, in the cheeriest voice I could muster. “Would you like a drink?”
“OK. I’ll have a brandy and coke. Do you have that here?”
“We can do whiskey and lemonade. Will that do?”
“OK. I’ll have that.” He paused. “Where are they?”
“Fuck knows. Laura goes nowhere without her little sidekick.”
“Does she know you shagged her?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think I did shag her. Either way, I don’t know what Laura would say if she found out. It’s all becoming irrelevant, basically. We’re moving farther away from each other as each day goes by. Leoni’s not the issue.”
“So what is?”
“Everything is wrong. So fucking wrong. We’re getting divorced.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“That woman I call Laura is not the woman I thought she was. Her parents get violently killed and all she thinks about is the money she’ll inherit.”
“What?”
“Exactly. And that’s not all. Our cat August disappears and I find out she’s had him put down with some bullshit tale of him being terminally ill.”
Jamie was horrified. “August is dead? That’s so fucking mean.”
“And you’ve not heard the best of all. She’s shagging Leoni.”
“No!”
“I know. Who could have seen that coming? I want out mate. Big time.”
“Lesbo? How do you know?”
“Caught them at it. Well sort of… Don’t fucking laugh. It’s not funny.”
“I’m not laughing. Fuck, Dom. What the fuck is going on? Has she become a total bitch?”
“Yeah, Jamie. Ticks very box. She says she wants a divorce. I definitely want one.”
“Well, that does sound like she’s doing you a favour. Every cloud, Dom.”
“I knew you would think that.”
“Well, I would.” Jamie had had two disastrous marriages. “Look at me. My first divorce got me well shot of Mrs. Lethargic. The second saw me waving goodbye to a money-hunter who just wanted a meal ticket in her life. I wouldn’t mind, but they were both crap in the sack.”
“That is not like what is going on here. This is just so much weirder. Your two marriages times ten. Something very strange is going on here, even stranger than all the disturbing details I’ve just told you. You can help me.”
“What do you want, mate? Say the word.”
I paused, then I knew what I wanted to happen. “I need you to follow her for a while. She’s hiding something. You might find out what.”
“Doesn’t sound like she’s hiding much.”
“Well she disappears for long periods of time. I don’t know where she goes when I’m at work, but she’s never to be seen on the security camera and her car is hardly ever outside the house. She’s always evasive or gives me some bullshit when I ask her about her day. No, there is something out there that I don’t know about, and it might be the key to a lot of this.
“That’s dodgy, Dom. Following someone is a criminal offence, you know. And this is my holiday, for crying out loud.”
“I know, but I have given you loads of help with your book.”
“OK, I do owe you, but it is still stalking.”
“But you’re not stalking. You’re researching. Any problem, I’ll take responsibility.”
“I’m not doing it, Dom. It will seem weird. Like I’m some psycho. She could end up phoning the police and getting me prosecuted. People get jail for stalking.”
“As if I’d let anything as bad as that happen.”
Within ten minutes we were in Butler’s, a massive electrical store, buying a tracking device. For all his protests, Jamie had come around to the idea. He was becoming excited about trying his luck as a private eye, and he wasn’t working for the next seven days. “It’s simple, Dom. You put it under her spare wheel in the boot of the Audi. You can do it when she’s asleep.”
I went to the guy at the counter. “Is
there any way two people can have access to this thing at the same time.”
The bespectacled bearded assistant looked at me with a knowing smirk. “Well sir, for that you will need to buy two trackers, obviously.”
For Better Or Worse
The house was empty. Upstairs, the only sound was the slow hum of the sweeping hand of the bedside clock, whilst downstairs the television was making the only sounds, and the only signs that there was life within these walls.
Obviously, she was still spending virtually all of her time with Leoni. I had tried to console myself with the idea that this was what she needed, that this was essential for her recovery, but now I was scrutinizing it with a new more critical eye. At the end of the day, this woman had dropped me, had dropped her parents before their untimely deaths, deaths that I could not ascribe to her as he had been asleep in my bed while they had been slaughtered or I would otherwise have looked very hard for a link.
My ringtone sounded. “Dom.”
“Hi mate. How’s it going?”
“Well, your lovely wife certainly likes driving. She drives fast too. Without the tracking device, I would have lost her. A real speed queen. She drove from yours this morning to Chesterfield. She parked up on Manor Hill for fifteen minutes and then drove off to the town centre, where she picked up that sexy Leoni bird you know so well and from there she went to Costa at the M1 services. She stayed there for an hour.” I knew most of this, as I’d been watching stuff on my phone, but I let Jamie enjoy his Sam Spade moment.
“Are they still in Costa?”
“Yes. She and her dodgy mate are downing enough caffeine to cope with you, it seems.”
“Oh, thanks for that. Well, you carry on what you’re doing mate. I’ll help you with your next book as well as this one.”
“You’d better. I’ll ring you later.”