I Will Make You Pay (ARC)

by Teresa Driscoll

  how to tell you this.’ His tone is terrible. Too quiet. Sort

  of sucked-in.

  I move the pan off the flame.

  ‘What is it?’ Yes, I remember now that Ted said Jack

  was on lates. He’ll be in the office for another hour or so.

  ‘There’s a big fire, Alice. I’ve just picked it up on the

  final round of calls.’

  ‘What?’ I don’t quite understand. Then I feel a change

  in my stomach. I picture Jack making the routine check

  calls to the police and the fire service. But why is he call-

  ing me? Is he not able to cover it? Needs my help?

  ‘Right. So why the call, Jack? Anyone hurt?’

  ‘No. Not as far as we know.’ A long exhalation of

  breath. ‘Look, the thing is…’ There is a strange pause.

  ‘What, Jack?’

  ‘It’s your house, Alice.’ Another pause, as if to let me take this in. ‘The fire’s at the house you rent. Two pumps

  are there. Neighbours have got out safely. I don’t know

  how much damage yet. I’m going there right now.’

  * * *

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  It takes about forty minutes by car. Tom insists on driv-

  ing. I just sit in the passenger seat. Mute. Dazed. Both

  my hands trembling in my lap.

  A million thoughts are swirling around my brain. I

  realise that I really was banking on being wrong; that

  it was Alex after all. So does this mean it isn’t? And why Tuesday night? Not Wednesday? Did the stalker think I was at the house?

  As we approach the final corner, I can see the flashing

  lights of the emergency services reflected in the windows

  of neighbouring homes and off the shiny finish of cars

  parked along the street. And then we are on the road

  itself and the shock is electric. No flames now but thick,

  black smoke soaring into the night sky. Maybe a dozen

  people still on the street, huddled together with alarmed

  faces. Some on their phones. Others trying to manage

  their children.

  I stay in the car for a moment, just staring up at my

  bedroom window. The frame is entirely blackened and a

  large part of the roof is caved in. I cannot help it; I imagine myself in there. The heat. The flames. I cannot think of

  anything worse than being trapped in a fire. I find myself

  wondering if I would jump. I think of the many terrible

  stories where people have had to make that choice.

  ‘Would you jump?’

  ‘What?’ Tom is clearly thrown by the question. He

  screws up his face, looking up at the building.

  ‘If you were trapped in a fire, would you jump?’

  He unclips his seat belt and shakes his head. ‘You need

  to stop thinking like this, Alice. Look at me. You’re OK.

  You’re safe. We should probably get you a cup of tea or

  something – for the shock. I don’t think you’re ready to

  talk to the police yet.’

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  ‘Sorry?’ Still I am imagining myself at the window.

  Would the smoke overcome you before you could decide?

  And next there is a new and terrible thought. My

  things. I don’t care about my clothes but I am suddenly remembering there are other precious things…

  ‘Oh no – my things, Tom. All my mother’s letters.

  My mother’s letters were in there.’

  ‘Oh, goodness. I’m so, so sorry. Look, are you really

  sure you’re up to this? To speaking to the police? Or is

  it too much, Alice? Do you want to leave – get a hot

  drink or something first?’ Tom puts his hand gently on

  my arm.

  ‘No, no. I’m fine. I need to find out everything I can.

  And I need to know if anything can be salvaged.’

  I get out of the car. Automatic pilot. Reporter mode.

  I speak first to the fire officer in charge, explaining it’s my house and pressing for what we know so far. He confirms

  no one was hurt.

  ‘And how bad’s the damage? Is everything lost?’ I am

  picturing the bundle of my mother’s letters. They were

  in a drawer beside my bed.

  ‘I’m so sorry. We did what we could but it’s very bad

  inside.’ He pauses. ‘Especially upstairs.’

  I see the neighbours watching me, their faces turning

  away to whisper as he leads me a few steps away from

  the throng to bring me right up to date. Apparently the

  fire took hold really rapidly. It will take time to confirm

  the cause but it looks like some kind of crude petrol

  bomb was posted through the letterbox. No witnesses.

  Neighbours heard a bang but by the time they realised

  what was happening and got everyone out of the attached

  homes, there was no sign of who may have done this. No

  car. No bike. No shadowy figure. Nothing.

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  ‘And definitely no one hurt?’ I stare into the fire officer’s eyes, needing to hear the answer again.

  ‘Thankfully not. The neighbours were quick. Could

  have been very much worse. We’re just checking every-

  thing over. Police are involved, obviously. They’ll want

  to speak to you. And we’ll be liaising with them when

  the cause is confirmed.’

  ‘Of course.’ I glance across the road and for the first

  time notice two uniformed officers talking to some of

  the witnesses. I wonder if the news will have reached

  Melanie Sanders yet.

  And then I see Jack. He’s just finishing talking to some

  of the neighbours, scribbling furiously in his notebook

  and signalling to the photographer to get a picture of

  the family.

  I watch him doing his job calmly and assuredly – care-

  ful to reassure the witnesses as they stand, solemn-faced,

  for the picture. A couple in their early thirties. At first

  they have their backs to me but as they turn, I recognise

  them. James and Louise from three doors down. Their

  two children – a boy of around ten and a girl much

  younger – are in pyjamas with blankets thrown around

  their shoulders. I watch them, trying to remember the

  children’s names. Jack thanks them all before turning to

  suddenly spot me, immediately heading across the road

  towards me.

  ‘Alice, I’m so sorry. How are you doing?’ He puts his

  hand on my arm.

  ‘How do you think she’s doing?’ Tom’s tone is clipped.

  His expression guarded. I notice him glance at Jack’s hand

  on my coat and feel awkward; I am pleased that Jack is

  here – as awful as this scene is – but I don’t want Tom

  to know this.

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  ‘Thanks for ringing me, Jack.’ I reach up to move a

  strand of hair from my forehead so that Jack has to move

  his hand away.

  And then I look into Jack’s face and try very hard to

  read it. He looks concerned but there’s something else;

  some other strange frisson. I can’t help thinking back to

  bumping into him at the café when he said that he was

  working but the editor’s secretary said he was off. I badly

  want to ask him about that. But not in front of Tom.

>   ‘Sorry. I need to make some calls, Jack. My landlord.’

  I turn to Tom then. ‘Melanie Sanders. And Matthew Hill

  too. We need to phone Matthew.’ I try to sound calm

  and in control but my mind is now racing and there is

  a tremor to my voice. I can feel my hands beginning to

  tremble; I realise that I cannot keep this up and I turn

  suddenly back to Jack.

  ‘I’ve lost everything, Jack.’ My tone is incredulous, as

  if I am only now truly taking in that this is real – not just a story for the paper but my story. I put my hands into my pockets to hide them as I look back up at the blackened

  window of my bedroom. ‘ Everything.’

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  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Matthew

  Matthew cannot stop pacing. The phone call from Alice

  has confirmed his worst fears.

  Escalation. The word is bouncing around his head, his brain spooling through all the research he’s read. But why

  the fire on Tuesday and not Wednesday? Is there even

  more – maybe even worse – to come tomorrow?

  Mel is not answering her phone, which is not surpris-

  ing. She’s probably en route to the scene of the fire.

  He’s in the kitchen and can hear, via the baby monitor on

  the dresser, Sally trying to soothe Amelie, who has woken

  after a bad dream. Something to do with a dog. He pauses

  for a moment to listen to his daughter, his heart lurching as she describes teeth . The dog had real y big teeth, Mummy. Sally is trying to coax Amelie back into the real world. You’re awake now, sweetie. You’re perfectly safe. Matthew finds himself holding his breath. Amelie at last seems to be calming

  down. Next, Sally begins to sing. Matthew can imagine

  his wife smoothing their daughter’s hair. He moves to the

  dresser to turn down the monitor and begins pacing again.

  Arson. He saw it often enough in his time in the force

  and feels a shiver right through him as he realises what

  this means. This is not like the fake acid attack. The nasty

  video. The cake box. This is a big step up. Yes. Escalation.

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  It’s the key word used in all the stalking research papers.

  The issue researchers are so keen to analyse and try to

  understand. The tipping point – the signal that stalking

  might lead to physical violence, even murder.

  Escalation.

  Up until now, Alice’s stalker has been about terror.

  Fear. Control. But – arson?

  Matthew is trying to work out if the timing of this

  points to Alex or away from him now.

  On the phone, Alice had assumed this now ruled Alex

  out, but Matthew’s not so sure and has warned against

  early assumptions. Alex could well have made some dark

  contacts in jail and might be using them – quietly furious

  that he’s back inside. It’s way too early to draw conclusions.

  The most critical challenge now is how to keep Alice safe.

  Matthew finds he’s pacing again. He badly needs to speak

  to Mel to see what resources she can muster off the back

  of this attack. It raises the bar on the threat to Alice but he still doubts police protection will be an option. The police

  can’t even provide surveillance for domestic abuse victims.

  The huge dread and associated responsibility is fully

  dawning. He will remain the first line of defence for

  Alice. Tomorrow … Wednesday … and going forward.

  Matthew thinks back to that awful case in training. The

  pictures of Rachel Allen’s body on her bathroom floor. So

  young. Such a waste. He thinks too of that first meeting with Tom and Alice in his office and remembers precisely why he

  was nervous to take this case. Short of providing bodyguard

  protection 24/7, stalking is almost impossible to counter.

  He glances again at the baby monitor to see the flicker-

  ing light calming; Amelie must be settling down properly.

  Just a few minutes later, there are footsteps on the stairs

  and Sally appears in the doorway.

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  ‘She OK?’

  ‘Yes. She’ll be fine I think. I don’t know where that

  came from. I don’t want her to be frightened of dogs. But

  what’s up with you, Matt? You look terrible.’

  ‘Arson attack on Alice’s home. She wasn’t there but

  it takes everything up a gear.’

  ‘Dear Lord. Anyone hurt?’

  ‘No. Thankfully not.’

  ‘But it’s a Tuesday. I thought this nutter struck on

  Wednesdays.’

  ‘Yeah. So did we.’

  Sally sits down on the chair by the dresser. ‘Oh heavens,

  I really don’t like the sound of this, Matthew. I mean, I feel for this woman – of course I do. But aren’t you booked

  to mind her tomorrow? No, no … no, Matt. I don’t want

  you putting yourself in harm’s way like this. I thought

  there would be way less danger out of the police force.

  Having your own business. Picking your cases. We’ve

  just had that big payment in. You don’t need to do this—’

  ‘Come here.’ He beckons to Sally and takes her into

  his arms. He knows she’s right really. He can’t make this

  OK for Alice, not on his own. Sally had been relieved

  when Tom fired him temporarily and was upset when

  Matthew agreed to go forward with the case after all.

  ‘You have to think of me and Amelie now, Matt.

  You can’t be putting yourself in danger. I mean … arson. ’

  He smooths Sal’s hair and pulls back so that he can

  kiss her on the forehead, the moment interrupted by his

  phone. He takes it from his pocket. Mel’s name at last.

  ‘So what’s happening?’ He pulls a face by way of

  apology to Sal, who shakes her head in resignation and

  moves through to the sitting room.

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  ‘Definitely arson, Matt. We’re going to speak to Alex

  again. He could be using a contact.’

  ‘That’s what I wondered.’

  ‘But he may just sing in our faces again so I’m feeling

  pretty stressed, between you and me.’

  ‘There could be something on CCTV this time. Every

  new incident means a new risk of him making a mistake.’

  ‘I guess.’ There is a long pause.

  ‘You OK, Mel?’

  ‘Not really. This will get me more resources for the

  investigation, and I need to know where Alice plans to

  be tomorrow – and going forward. I can get uniformed

  patrol cars to do drive-pasts but you know I can’t protect

  her properly.’

  ‘I know, Mel.’ He pauses. ‘But that’s not your fault.’

  ‘But it feels like it, Matt. So what do you think? Is this Alex paying someone … or is it someone else entirely? Do

  you think whoever it is really wants to kill her, Matt? Just between us. I’ll be honest and say that, after that fake acid attack, I thought it was all about terrorising her. Inciting fear rather than actual violence. But now I’m afraid he could go

  the whole way. That this could be Rachel Allen all over again.

  Is that what you think now? That he may try to kill her?’

  Matthew takes in a long, slow breath. The word escala-

  tion echoes once again in his head. He
is remembering not just Rachel Allen but another case cited in the research,

  of a woman who was stalked for ten months. She kept

  telling her mother that she was sure she would one day

  end up on the news. She did. Her stalker drowned her.

  ‘I won’t be saying this to Alice, but I think it’s pos-

  sible, Mel.’

  ‘Yeah. Me too.’

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  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Alice

  I am back in Leanne’s huge, shiny Dorset kitchen in a

  strange agitated daze, exacerbated by too much caffeine.

  Wednesday now. Tom has taken the day off and Matthew

  Hill is here too, monitoring the TV security system and

  forever marching around – checking the doors and the

  windows and occasionally outside too, pacing the grounds.

  Leanne has been on the phone, talking about hiring

  bodyguards. Putting the cost on the company, but I can’t

  be going down that route. No way to live. I mean – when

  would it ever end?

  The arson attack has been on the local TV news all

  day and something new is suddenly occurring to me.

  ‘Hang on. Do you think that’s why he seemed to

  change the day – why he did it late last night? Tuesday

  night, I mean.’ I address the question to Matthew, who

  has just come back in from the garden and is closing the

  bolts on the French doors from the kitchen on to the patio.

  ‘Sorry – I’m not following you, Alice.’

  ‘So it would be on the news all day today. Wednesday.

  That this is my torture this week. My burned home on

  the telly … all day Wednesday.’ I tilt my head towards the

  large TV screen on the wall near the large stainless-steel

  fridge. The sound is off but the picture is zooming in

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  on the upper floor of my house. The ticker tape beneath

  the picture confirms arson and that a full investigation is

  under way. I notice the police have been careful not to

  mention the stalking threat or the link.

  Matthew shrugs but then narrows his eyes as if re-

  considering the point. ‘Possibly. But why not just do it

  early Wednesday?’

  ‘Because he needed it to be dark not to be caught. If

  he’d done it late Wednesday, most of the coverage would

  have been Thursday. An attack very late Tuesday guaran-

  teed coverage all day Wednesday.’ I realise as I listen to

  my voice that a part of me wants to believe this narrative