I Will Make You Pay (ARC)

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I Will Make You Pay (ARC) Page 31

by Teresa Driscoll


  distorted when he was asked to identify her body.

  He wonders – this terrible burning inside him – how

  long it took for her to die. What she felt. What his beloved

  gran felt. All alone.

  After the hearing, he is called to the police station and

  is allowed to take the final single-line note and the folder

  stuffed with all the newspaper cuttings. All written by

  Alice Henderson. Her picture is at the top of some of the

  longer features. He stares at the face. Alice with her neat

  hair and her neat smile. Do-gooder Alice. Know-it-all

  Alice. Some middle-class, privileged bitch who knows

  nothing of real people’s lives, and just took it upon herself to back the stupid campaign and to push and push and

  push until the politicians began to listen.

  At home, he rereads his gran’s diary. The true sto-

  ry. The whole story – how she became more and more

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  desperate week by week when the campaign suddenly

  and unexpectedly found wings through Alice wretched

  Henderson. The tone of his gran’s daily jottings changed

  further as the campaign gained even greater momentum.

  From the final entries, it was clear she was beside herself.

  She wrote that she simply could not face a future living

  somewhere else. Away from her memories. Away from

  the beloved bench. She had always thought the campaign

  would come to nothing and was shocked to be proven

  wrong. She cursed Alice Henderson and her stupid local

  paper. Why couldn’t she leave it alone? She scribbled that she told no one how she felt because what was the point?

  Local authorities never listened to people like her. So

  when the notice to quit arrived, she made her decision.

  She would not move. No way…

  She asked him in her letter to keep the diary safe, as

  she did not want strangers poking about in her business.

  He holds that final letter in his hand again. He has

  read it so many times that he can recite it in his head.

  Once more he imagines her sitting that last time at the

  table to write it … all alone.

  He has not cried since he was a child. Since those

  terrible Wednesdays with Brian. He thinks of what he

  did later to try to keep his gran safe. He thinks of Brian

  in that alley. The blood spraying. The hammer blows.

  Bash, bash, bash.

  He hated that place – the housing block. But she loved

  it. His gran. And he loved her. So he came to accept its

  future in his life for the sake of the only person who had

  ever cared for him. He did the right thing for her. He was

  strong. And he promised his gran she could stay.

  He watches a tear drop on to the letter as he scans the

  words, his gran’s voice in his head.

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  Teresa Driscoll

  My dearest boy.

  I am writing to explain a bit. You must try not to

  be too cross with me or too sad. This is best for me.

  I am so proud of what you have become. Please,

  please forgive me and go forward in your wonderful

  new life.

  I am just not strong enough to move. I cannot

  bear it. Too old and much too tired, my beloved

  little soldier.

  I honestly never believed it would come to

  anything – this demolition campaign. They’ve

  been moaning for years. But this Alice woman has

  suddenly whipped it all up. It’s in the paper every

  week. And it’s all gone wrong. They’ve given me a

  date to get out.

  And I can’t face it, my sweet boy. I’m so sorry.

  I just can’t.

  Your loving gran. Xxx

  PS I’m sending you my diary because I

  don’t want people poking about in my business.

  We never liked that – me and your grandfather.

  People knowing our business.

  He wipes his face and tells himself that he will never cry

  again. He needs to find something better than tears. He

  looks again at the final newspaper feature – tucked into

  his gran’s diary – trumpeting the decision to demolish

  the flats. The headline: we did it!

  He spits on the picture of the journalist and recites

  her name out loud.

  Alice Henderson.

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  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Matthew

  Amelie is perched on her booster seat, ready for her second

  breakfast. She woke early again this morning and Sally

  was a heroine, leaving him to lie in while she negotiated

  early cereal, early warm milk and cartoons on the telly.

  Matthew smiles, remembering the days when they were

  sure they would never allow telly early in the morning.

  ‘Still hungry, princess?’

  ‘I’m not a princess. I don’t have a crown.’ Amelie

  pauses and tilts her head as if reconsidering. ‘Could we

  get me a crown?’

  ‘I’ll look into it,’ Matthew says, avoiding eye contact.

  Negotiations over royal apparel could most definitely go

  downhill.

  ‘Why does Mummy make skinny pancakes?’ Amelie is

  frowning as Sally puts a plate of large, traditional pancakes in the centre of the kitchen table. She rolls one on to a

  smaller plate for Amelie, sprinkling sugar and drizzling

  lemon juice and slicing the long tube into bite-size pieces.

  ‘I like fat pancakes. Daddy makes fat pancakes. Why

  are some pancakes skinny and some pancakes fat?’

  Matthew is about to intervene when his phone rings.

  Caller not recognised. It’s a call forwarded from his office.

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  ‘Hi. Matthew Hill. Can I help you?’ He’s not on

  duty with Alice until 10 a.m. and was hoping for a quiet

  breakfast first. He expects a long and difficult day.

  ‘You don’t know me but I’m very worried about

  Alice Henderson. Someone’s taken her car. And she’s not

  answering at her boyfriend’s flat.’

  ‘Sorry? And you are?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is we need

  your help. Urgently.’

  ‘I’m sorry but I need to know who’s calling. Why are

  you at the flat?’

  ‘Look – I’m not there now. I followed the car and I

  don’t know what to do. It’s been abandoned. There’s no

  sign of her.’

  ‘Right. Give me the location. I’ll get there and I’ll

  ring…’ He almost adds ‘the police’ but realises he has

  no idea what he’s dealing with. He will phone Melanie

  Sanders quietly. Secretly. As soon as he can.

  Matthew stands. ‘Listen. Can you stay on the line? I’m

  just going to my car. Don’t hang up. I just need a minute,

  then you can give me the details.’

  ‘You’re not going already?’ Sally’s face is all alarm. ‘I

  thought you were starting later today.’

  ‘Change of plan. No choice. I’ll be fine. You’re not to

  worry.’ He kisses his wife and daughter on their foreheads,

  his phone still clamped to his ear, and heads for the door,

  grabbing his car keys on the way.

  He has no idea if this is a trick – the sta
lker him-

  self calling as some kind of sick wind-up – or some-

  one genuine. He will need to be very, very careful. He

  doesn’t want Sally to worry but his mind is racing with

  options.

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  He needs to keep this guy on the line. Try to get a

  name. More information. But he also needs to find a way

  to phone Mel Sanders for backup. Jeez.

  What the hell is going on?

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  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  Alice

  I try so hard to calm my breathing. Slowly, Alice. Slowly.

  I breathe in for three beats and out for three beats, pray-

  ing that my nose will stay clear. I don’t want him to see

  my fear. I have this strong feeling that’s what he wants.

  My fear. The truth is he has it completely. I am utterly

  terrified. I am so afraid that it feels as if I may wet myself.

  I clench my muscles and try to keep my head above the

  water but it feels like drowning. Yes. As if I am actually

  drowning in my own fear.

  In… two … three … Out … two… three… My laboured

  breathing makes me close my eyes and I picture my mother

  with her little plastic tubes into her nose for her oxygen. I realise how truly awful it must be for her all of the time.

  Not being able to breathe properly.

  I can’t help it; the image of my mother makes me

  buckle.

  He seems to take in this movement but says nothing.

  He has not said a single word yet. He just sits there, all

  dressed in black. In the shadows of the room so that I

  cannot see his eyes.

  I am trying to remember his height as he first walked

  into the room and sat down. Is this Alex? Is he the right

  height? Could he have escaped? Alex has been in an open

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  prison for some time and I’m wondering if this is possible.

  An escape. If this was his plan all along. Did he set this

  up while he was on parole?

  I try to imagine what Alex is capable of. Would he

  really hurt me – face to face? Could he have hurt Tom?

  Worse? Oh dear Lord. What has he done to Tom? I

  think of Alex in a motorcycle helmet and Tom totally

  unsuspecting.

  I cannot bear this. Him just staring at me in this

  silence. Me not knowing what is coming next. I have

  glanced around and can see no evidence of the things

  I fear the most – cheese wire. Acid. I am trying not to

  let myself think of these things. The objects I fear. No.

  I need to focus on breathing. I need to stop imagining

  what he is going to do.

  I keep my head still but move my eyes from left to right

  to take in the room again. And now something strange is

  happening. There is this odd wave of familiarity. Yes. The

  shape of this place feels somehow familiar. Not this room

  per se, but the layout. I can feel myself frowning as my eyes dart from left to right and my brain tries to process this.

  What is it? Why does it look familiar?

  I take in the shape again. The left-hand side of the

  room is the kitchen with old-fashioned cupboards fitted

  around a window with its curtains drawn. There is a sort

  of breakfast bar which divides this space from the rest of

  the sitting room and this is what feels familiar. The front

  door is directly across from the breakfast bar.

  There is an internal door ahead of me which is ajar

  and seems to lead to a small corridor and to a bathroom

  and possibly a bedroom.

  And now it is dawning on me. The layout is the mir-

  ror image of a flat I know quite well. It is much smarter

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  than this one, the cupboards replaced with painted wood.

  The furnishings much more stylish in that other place.

  But – yes. The same layout as here but a mirror image.

  This is the same as the flat lived in by Gill, one of the

  demolition campaigners. I have interviewed her there

  many times. I glance around again. I can imagine myself

  walking in the front door of Gill’s place. She is on the

  top floor. The third floor.

  I don’t understand. It makes no sense. Why is this

  room so like Gill’s place?

  And now he is fidgeting in his seat and taking a phone

  out from his pocket. I can’t see it properly but he puts it

  right up close to his mouth. He takes off one glove to

  press the screen several times and then he talks through

  it. It’s on loudspeaker. And it is the voice from that very

  first phone call to the office. Distorted through software

  of some kind. Low. Robotic. Menacing.

  ‘Are you figuring it out yet, Alice?’

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  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  Matthew

  Matthew checks the postcode which was texted to him,

  and sees two cars on a patch of wasteland ahead. He

  recognises Alice’s car, and in front of it a second, darker

  model. Very odd. It looks like the black Golf that he

  thought was following them once before. The one owned

  by her work colleague.

  Matthew pulls his phone from his pocket and rings

  Melanie again.

  ‘I’ve just arrived, Mel.’

  ‘Uniformed should be there very soon, Matt. I’ll be

  ten, maybe fifteen minutes. What’s happening?’

  ‘It looks like it’s her colleague, Jack.’

  ‘Jeez. But he’s a suspect. We’ve interviewed him. Any

  sign of Alice?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You wait for us, yes?’

  ‘I’ll keep you posted. I’ve got to go.’

  Matthew hangs up and gets out of the car slowly. Jack

  then does the same, hurrying over. ‘OK, Jack. So what’s

  happening here? Where’s Alice?’

  ‘That’s the whole point. I don’t know. I just followed

  the car but I kept losing it. It was too far ahead. I lost

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  quite a lot of time. Took a wrong turn. By the time I

  finally found it, there was no one inside.’

  ‘So why didn’t you give me your name on the phone,

  Jack?’

  ‘I was afraid you wouldn’t come. That you would

  think it was a wind-up or that you would just tell the

  police. They’ve been hassling me. They seem to think

  I’m a suspect. I was afraid that I would just be arrested.’

  Matthew is walking towards Jack very slowly. He

  keeps his hands out from his sides slightly with his palms

  open – a gesture to try to keep things calm. The guy is

  incredibly agitated, scraping his hands through his hair

  and jerking his head left to right. Matthew is trying to

  work out if this could be their man. If he’s hurt Alice and

  this is some kind of trap.

  Once closer, he takes in Jack’s eyes. They are wide

  and alarmed, the pupils huge.

  ‘Why have you been following Alice, Jack? Why

  would you do that?’

  ‘Because I care about her, man. And I’ve been worried sick. The police don’t seem to be able to do much at all.

  I’ve been following her to try to help her.’

 
; ‘Right. So what’s really going on here, Jack?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know. That’s why I need you.

  We have to find her, Matthew. We have to find Alice.’

  Matthew glances around. It’s quite possible Jack is telling

  the truth. It’s also possible he’s obsessed with Alice. Matthew moves over to Alice’s car and glances inside. No clues.

  He tries all the doors. All locked. But then, alongside the

  car, he spots wide drag marks in the dirt. They lead right

  across the patch of rough ground to fencing surrounding a

  large old housing block which is boarded up. Some of the

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  fencing has been cut and the drag marks continue beyond

  the fence towards the back of the block itself.

  ‘Right. So this is not good.’ Matthew takes his phone

  out again. He’s aware Jack could have done this. Taken

  Alice inside already and then staged this concern.

  ‘Mel. A hunch at this stage but it looks as if it’s pos-

  sible someone has taken Alice into a derelict block of flats

  near the postcode I gave you. Fencing’s been cut. Drag

  marks. I’m here with Jack right now.’ Matthew glances

  back at Jack.

  ‘Do you know this place, Jack?’

  ‘Yes, I do. It’s the place Alice was doing stories on.

  It’s Maple Field House – the block that’s going to be de-

  molished later this afternoon. I don’t understand. Why

  here? Why is her car here now?’

  ‘OK, Mel. So it seems to be a place Alice has been

  doing stories on. We don’t understand. But there is a

  connection. And it’s set for demolition today.’

  ‘OK. Stay put. We’re on it. Is there a sign with the

  name of the demolition company?’

  ‘Not that I can see from here.’

  Matthew hangs up just as a uniformed security guard

  suddenly approaches from a small white van.

  ‘Hey. What you two up to? This is private property.

  There’s a demolition here later today. It’s not safe. Did

  you not see the signs around the other side?’

  ‘Oh hell. Why didn’t I put it together?’ Jack’s expres-

  sion is all alarm. He glances around. ‘Why here? What the hell is going on, Matthew?’

  ‘OK. So the police are on their way.’ Matthew is now

  looking directly at the security guard. ‘But you need to

  contact the demolition crew and get someone senior here

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  immediately. Get the whole thing halted. I need the name

  of the company.’

  ‘And on what authority? Who the hell are you any-

 

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