by Marian Phair
She removed a lovely old-fashioned christening gown, its cream satin and lace, now yellowed and stained with age. Underneath, was a photo of her parents, taken at a garden party on the Harding Estate. There was a child’s exercise book, the kind found in schools up and down the country. Amie would have had no trouble recognising her grandmothers neat hand writing, even if it had not said ‘Property of Daisy Mae Williams’ on the cover. She opened it and began to read.’
The first I knew of his affair, was when I saw them sneaking off together at the garden party. I saw them with my own two eyes, engaged in acts of a sexual nature, in the summer house. I didn’t know what to do, about what I had seen.
Who was her grandmother talking about? Thought Amie, it couldn’t be her grandfather, he had died years before. Intrigued, she read on.
‘So now her ladyship has got herself impregnated by him, she can’t pass it off as her husband’s as he is infertile, a fact no doubt known only to the three of us. I heard them arguing the other day. There will be no divorce and he will raise the child as his own. Felix told her she was to have no more contact with her lover. If she did he would kick her out without a penny. He told her he would make sure she did not have a pot to piss in. Edith has too much to lose and has no choice but to agree with his terms. I slipped away and got on with my duties and none were the wiser.
Turning the next page, Amie discovered a folded news-cutting, which read,
‘Lady Edith Rose Harding gave birth to a son, in the early hours this morning. Both mother and baby are doing well. Lord Felix gave an interview shortly after the birth, stating how pleased he was that all had gone well and how proud he was to have a son and heir to the Harding Estate. No name has yet been decided, for the little boy, who weighed in at 7lbs 6ozs.’
“Oh no, my good Lord, this was awful, poor Craig!” Amie exclaimed he would have no idea Lord Felix was not his real father. Her grandmother had kept their secret and she would have to do the same.
He must never find out the truth as it would destroy him. She flicked through the next few pages. Only two contained any writing so she read on.
My daughter and my son-in-law are both dead. It seems so unjust when I look around me and see the different lives the two charges in my care, lead. Young Craig is surrounded by riches, his every whim catered for, while I am struggling to raise my granddaughter, in poverty. Lady Edith Harding has had a mental breakdown and will never leave the asylum. Thank the good lord my dear daughter Ruth went to her grave, totally unaware of her husband’s infidelity.
The words swam before Amie’s eyes. In disbelief, she had to read the last page again, before it really sank in. The man Lady Edith had the affair with, was Amie’s own FATHER!
Lord Craig Harding was her HALF-BROTHER!
Amie ran from the room sobbing, her life shattered. She had lain with her own half-brother. Now, she had lost everything. Everyone she had ever loved or cared about, were either dead, or gone from her life forever. She felt cheap and dirty. Nothing mattered anymore.
In a daze, she went into Craig’s bathroom, and opened the wall cabinet. Amie took out his razor, opened it, and removed the blade. Climbing into his bathtub, she ran the blades sharp edge across her wrists.
She sat as the redness spread over her dress, watching the bloody trail make its way to the plug hole. Closing her eyes and resting her head on the cold hard surface of the bathtub, she waited for the end.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Captain Fernandez sat at his desk not entirely happy they had the right man locked up in jail. Some of the evidence did not match up.
He went over it again, meticulously. The used condom, found next to the body, definitely contained Enrico Garcia’s DNA, as did the semen on her clothing. He spread the photographs taken at the crime scene, across his desk, and studied them again, one by one. The broken twigs on the bushes, tied in with the drag marks found in a soft piece of earth, and the flattened grass where something heavy had rested, all helped to pinpoint the direction her killer had taken, when dumping her body. They had not found any tyre marks on the hard ground which was one of the things that puzzled him.
The coroner’s report stated she had been killed somewhere else. If this was the case, and Garcia had murdered her, why bring the body back and dump it almost on his own doorstep? A vehicle had to have been used as a means of transporting the corpse, yet all inquires lead to nothing, no one had seen or heard anything. Diazepam had been found in the blood sample taken from the body, and there were signs on her wrists and ankles that she had been tied up for some time. It was obvious; someone had kidnapped the victim, bound her hands and feet and drugged her before violating, and finally choking the life out of her. He would bet his career on it not being, Enrico Garcia.
He studied the photo of her body again, comparing the coroners list of her injuries with the ones in the picture. Something bothered him about this but he could not put his finger on it.
He left his office, taking the photograph with him and went along the corridor to the lift; he pressed the basement button that led to the morgue. Once there, he asked for her body to be brought out of storage. He wanted to see for himself first hand and try to find out, just what he found so puzzling. The pathologist took the body out of storage, ready for examination.
“Okay, we can clearly see she has been strangled,” Captain Fernandez said, studying the neck of the corpse, comparing it with the photograph in his hand. Pointing to an area on the side of Melissa’s neck, he asked the pathologist, “What is that indentation there, what would have caused that?”
“Well,” he answered, “it would have been caused by a ring her killer was wearing on the little finger of his left hand. More than likely it is a signet ring of some kind as they are usually worn on the little fingers.”
“Thanks you have been very helpful,” said Captain Fernandez turning to leave the room. He was satisfied, now he knew what had been bothering him about that small indentation. Enrico Garcia did not wear a ring of any kind. He should know, he was standing right next to him, talking to the officer who took Garcia’s fingerprints. Garcia’s tanned hands, told him he never had worn a ring.
“Oh, I’m not sure if I mentioned this in my report, it may not be of much significance, her killer had quite small hands for a man.”
“Sorry, what was that?” Said the Captain, walking back to where the pathologist was standing, “you said something about the killer having small hands.”
“Yes, she was strangled from the front, the finger prints would normally close around the neck touching at the back, on a woman. These prints only reach half-way around the neck, and combined with the length of the digits, suggest small hands.”
“Thanks once again, you really have been a great help.”
Captain Fernandez had the wrong man locked up, of that he was certain, but until he found the real killer he could not release Garcia. He needed more evidence. He would have to get a team out and go over the ground again. It was going to be a very long day.
Dr Sam watched the patrol car pull up on his driveway. He saw a uniformed officer and a man wearing a dark blue suit, alight from the vehicle, and head for his front door. He watched their approach through the half-closed blinds and wondered what had brought the police to his doorstep again. Well, he would soon find out. He waited for the knock on the door, then went and opened it.
“Olla, officer, what can I do for you?
He addressed his question to the one in uniform, but before the man could answer, blue suit spoke.
“I am Captain Fernandez, and this is Officer Juan Carlos. We would like to ask you a few questions in connection with the recent murder of Melissa Proctor.”
“I have already told the police all I know,” Dr Sam told him, “you have my signed statement.”
“Yes, I know, but we have received new evidence in connection with the case, and we have to follow up every lead. May we come in for a few minutes?”
Captain Fernandez stu
died the man’s face while he talked to him. Dr Sam had been in an argument recently, if his face was anything to go by and if he wasn’t mistaken, a woman had caused those marks on his face.
“Then you had better come in, only I really don’t see what help I can be to you.” Dr Sam stood aside and let them enter.
Captain Fernandez, cast a swift eye round the room, tastefully furnished in creams and browns, “nice place you have here.”
“Thank you, have a seat officers.” Dr Sam waited until both men were seated on the couch, then sat in an armchair facing them, “well, what is it you wanted to ask me?”
“We just wanted to go over your statement again, just in case you may have overlooked something, at the time that may have some bearing on the case.”
“No, I told you everything I know,” Dr Sam replied, “but if you think it will be of help, then by all means. You say you have new evidence?”
Captain Fernandez decided to break protocol, and throw out a bone to see if he could get a reaction.
“It is my belief, we have the wrong man in jail and this new evidence, I have received, strengthens that belief.”
He got no reaction at all from doctor Sam. The man sat before him, his face impassive.
Fifteen minutes later, they had covered every detail, in the part Dr Sam had played, prior to Melissa’s disappearance.
Captain Fernandez stood to leave.
“Well, sorry to have bothered you doctor Morrison; we won’t take up any more of your time, by the way, what happened to your face? I’ll bet that hurt.”
His question caught Dr Sam unawares, so he decided to tell the truth.
“My wife and I had a bit of a domestic, but it’s all sorted out now.”
“Oh, sorry I asked,” said the captain, picking up a photo of a stern looking middle aged woman, from the bureau beside the couch, “is this your wife.”
“Yes, that’s her.” Why all the bloody questions, Dr Sam thought, as he escorted them to the door.
“Where is she, by the way?” Captain Fernandez was like a dog with a bone.
“Not that it is any of your business, but if you must know, she has left me.”
Dr Sam stared the captain in the eye, “you may as well hear the rest of the story, as it will soon be common knowledge anyway. She found out I was having an affair and that’s how I got these,” pointing to the marks on his face.
“Your right, it is none of my business.,” said the captain, extending his hand, adding, “well thank you for your co-operation Dr Morrison, I don’t think we need bother you again.”
He noticed how limp Morrison’s handshake was and remembered his father had warned him never to trust a man with a weak handshake. He glanced down at the hand he was shaking, “nice ring you’re wearing, is that an eagle on it?”
“Thanks, yes it is. I have cufflinks to match, wedding present from my wife.” Dr Sam gave the captain a wry smile.
He waited until the patrol car was out of sight, and then entered the house, locking the door behind him. What new evidence had they found? He was sure he had covered his tracks thoroughly. Surely, if they suspected him of having a hand in Melissa’s disappearance, they would have arrested him.
He had not been into his study since he had disposed of his wife, but he would have clean up any evidence of what had taken place there, just in case. He unlocked the door to the room, his nostrils protesting at the stench, which pervaded them. There was blood everywhere, on the floor walls and ceiling. Along with cleaning products he would need a step ladder, something he did not own, He had seen the landscape gardener he had hired, use one, when clipping the tall hedges at the back of house.
He went in search of it. Damn! The gardener had either taken it away again, or he had left it with the garden tools in the shed. The shed door was padlocked. He brushed a cobweb aside, shielding his eyes with his hand and peered through the grimy window. The step ladder was leaning against the far wall. He would have to fetch the key.
Returning to the house he saw Ellen Rodriguez, who stood in the doorway of his study, a look of horror on her face.
“How the hell did you get in?” Dr Sam shouted, startling her.
“You gave me a key, remember? She bleated. Going further into the room, she exclaimed, “Oh my God, what happed here? It looks like someone was murdered.”
“Someone was murdered here, my wife, and if you go shouting your bloody head off you will be the next. Now give me a hand to clean this mess up.”
Ellen shook her head in disbelief, wanting no part in this at all.
“No, no, I don’t want any part of this; I won’t be a party to murder.”
“You are already involved,” Dr Sam told her, waving his hand around the room, “your already a part of all this.”
“How can you say that, I have done nothing wrong,” she said backing away from him, as he approached her. Ellen felt the hard wood of the desk on her back, halting her retreat.
“I will do anything for you, just name it, I love you,” he mimicked, his face a few inches from her own.
He had been drinking; she could smell the stale odour of whiskey on his breath.
“Why do you think I asked you to have sex with Garcia, eh?,” he said, reaching out for her, pinning her arms to her side, watching her closely as the look of bewilderment on her face turned to one of comprehension.
“Ah, the nickel has finally dropped I see. Now you understand your involvement,” he told her a smug smile on his face.
“Oh God,” she whispered in a strangled voice, “it was you, you killed Melissa Proctor.”
She struggled to free herself from his grasp, but his grip on her just tightened all the more. She was really scared of him now he had the look of madness in his eyes.
“Let me go, I can’t tell anyone what I know without hanging myself.”
She was trembling from head to foot; Dr Sam could feel her body shaking as he pressed up against her. The look of fear on her face pleased him, making him feel powerful and invincible.
The doorbell rang, the sound echoing through the house, startling them both. Releasing his grip on her, he held a warning finger up to her face, snarling, “Stay here, don’t make a sound, if you try to leave, I will kill you.”
Before opening the door, he checked through the front room blinds to see who had rung the bell. It rang again, followed by a knock.
It looked like a delivery boy of some kind. He went and opened the door before the boy could ring the bell again.
“Yes, what is it?” He asked in a gruff voice.
“I have a telegram for you sir,” said the delivery boy handing over a sealed envelope, “I require your signature please sir, to say you received it.”
He produced a form and pen, holding them out to Dr Sam.
Dr Sam took them from him and tried to scrawl his signature across the page.
“This pen has no bloody ink in it,” he said, scratching at the side of the form trying to get the ink to flow, “have you another one?” He held out his hand expectantly.
“No, sir I haven’t, sorry.” The boy looked apologetic.
“Then sod it.” Dr Sam made to close the door.
“I must have your signature for the telegram sir; I could get fired if I don’t.”
“Then stay here while I find a pen that works and I will sign the bloody form,” snapped Dr Sam, feeling his temper rising by the minute. Snatching the form out of the boy’s hand he strode into the house and finding a pen in the bureau, he swiftly signed it.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the figure of Ellen Rodriguez pass the doorway and in a flash he crossed the room. Before she could reach the front door, he had hold of her, yanking her backwards by the hair. Putting himself between her and the doorway, he noticed the delivery boy had seen what happened.
Before Dr Sam could stop her, Ellen screamed at the startled boy, “Help me, get the police. He killed Melissa Proctor, and now he says he will kill me.”
Frightene
d, the boy took to his heels, leaving his bicycle propped against the steps. He made off down the graveled driveway, running as if his life depended on it.
With a roar of rage Dr Sam turned on the helpless Ellen, who was scuttling backwards on her behind, trying to get away from the advancing figure. He grabbed at her hair, twisting the long black strands around his hand, smashing her face against the tiled floor, again and again, until it was a bloody pulp. He continued smashing, long after she was dead.
Covered in blood, sweat and bits of her brain, he collapsed against the wall breathless, panting heavily. Remembering the delivery boy, he jumped to his feet and snatching the keys to the Jaguar from the hallstand he dashed outside. The boy was on foot and could not have gone too far. Maybe he could still swing things to his advantage if he could stop him before he could get help.
He spotted the boy just up ahead of him, bent over holding his side, unable to run any further and struggling to catch his breath. Dr Sam put more pressure on the accelerator, pushing the pedal to the floor and sped towards the figure at the side of the road. The boy turned his head, at the roar of the motor, a look of terror on his face. He looked into the eyes of the bloodstained madman behind the wheel. It was the last thing he saw as the Jaguar smashed into his body.
Dr Sam put the Jaguar in reverse, intending to run over the boy again, to make sure he was dead. In the rear view mirror, he saw a vehicle approach the bend in the road and quickly changing through the gears, he sped off, heading away from his home.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Had old John McNally, been alive today, he would not have recognised his two old cottages. Sean, Millie and young John-Joe, had worked hard. The rotted woodwork had all been replaced, the interiors painted and the outer walls whitewashed. The newly painted front’s doors stood propped open to dry, the dark green wood standing out against the white walls. Hens strutted around the yard, pecking at the grain that had fallen between the cobblestones.