‘It’s not me, it’s the new DS. Elias Crest. He went over my head, stirred up some shit. We don’t like each other, that much is clear. He knows I know the reason he transferred to Haverbridge, and now he’s made everything personal and it’s really not what he thinks… I’m not going to forgive and forget, so don’t even bother suggesting it,’ she said, pointing her fork at Iris, anticipating her reaction.
Iris went to speak but ate another mouthful of food instead. She took her time chewing and eyed her daughter from the corner of her eye. After a few moments, Claire caught her line of vision. Iris’s grey eyes were silently questioning.
‘I can see your mind ticking over. Come on, out with it.’ She rested her knife and fork down on her plate, and leaned closer. ‘You’re going to say I asked for it.’
‘Well, did you?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Jumped-up little shite is testing me.’
‘And obviously you’re biting and living up to your reputation.’ Her tone left Claire feeling she was being chastised. ‘Sometimes you might want to take some of what you dish out. You’ve got nothing to prove and nothing to gain by hammering the shit out of him, just because he’s the new guy.’
‘Language, Mother,’ Claire said, trying to divert attention away from herself.
‘I’m not perfect, Claire, and neither are you… and neither is this new man, Crest, by all accounts. That’s my point.’ Studying her mother’s lined face, Claire sighed. Iris mistook her change in demeanour. ‘You can tell me to shut up if you like. I’m just trying to offer some advice.’
Claire smiled. ‘Have you ever thought about a career in counselling?’
Iris’s face was serious for a brief moment but soon felt her lips pull into a smile.
Then a grin.
Then a laugh, which was genuine.
‘You cheeky sod.’ She playfully pushed Claire’s arm and felt her face flush.
When they’d finished their meal, and had settled at a table in the bar area, Iris sipped her wine, watching Claire over the rim of the glass.
‘I can see you staring at me,’ Claire said, turning her gaze to her mother. ‘Is this some kind of intervention? First my weight, then work…’
Iris winced. ‘I was only going to ask after your father.’
Claire shifted in her seat.
Iris explained, ‘The care home called the other week. They said I was a last resort! Can’t say I felt too good about that.’
‘What did they want?’
‘They asked if they had the right number for you, only they’d tried calling you on and off over the last few months. They said you rarely responded to emails, and even then it was only if it was about the money to keep up with his care plan.’
Claire looked at her, a little worried.
‘Nothing’s wrong, they just said your father’s been asking after you.’
Claire sipped her Coke. ‘He sent a text message to me. A year ago now.’ She snorted a laugh then. ‘Or rather, he must’ve got someone else to text it, considering his fingers are gnarled to useless stumps.’
Iris bit her lip.
‘Too harsh?’ Claire said, eyebrows raised.
‘Considering how he left things with you, no, I don’t think so. I’m sure I’ve said worse.’ She paused. ‘In fact, I know I have.’
Claire drained the last of the Coke from her glass. ‘I can’t talk about him, Mum. It opens up too many old wounds and they’ve only just begun to heal.’
*
After the meal, Claire drove them back as promised. As she put the kettle on, Iris noticed her reflection in the kitchen window, turned sideways and frowned. She ran her palm over her stomach. ‘Do you think I’m getting fat?’ Claire half turned towards her, glanced at her mother’s petite frame and rolled her eyes.
‘I’ve seen more fat on a greasy chip.’
‘I shouldn’t have had the spaghetti. I’m gaining weight and you’re losing it!’ Iris said, ignoring her. She turned to face her reflection head on. ‘And I’m shrinking.’
‘What?’
‘Look at me,’ Iris said, turning to face her. ‘I look shorter than the last time I was here, admit it.’
‘Oh, Mum.’
‘Now don’t try to sugar-coat anything, I can take it.’
Claire sighed, turning to face her, hand set firmly on her hip. ‘You’re five-three… same as last year.’
Iris screwed up her face, checked her reflection again, then headed off into the living room, muttering to herself.
Claire grinned as she made the tea. Although she never liked to admit it, Iris was as image conscious as the average teenager. Her hair was fashionably styled and dyed a soft shade of blonde, which suited her complexion. Her clothes hung well on her petite frame and her make-up was always flawless.
Although approaching her sixties, Iris was still an attractive woman, despite being hard to get along with. Claire just wished her mother could see herself as everyone else did, but then she could hardly talk.
Claire was tall, more slender than she’d been in a very long time now, with strong features, something she inherited from her father, and the polar opposite from her mother, and sometimes people struggled to see any resemblance at all.
After they retired to bed, Iris found it hard to sleep. She lay there in the darkness, listening to the sound of her own breathing.
After a long time had passed she felt sleep begin to take her. In the back of her mind, however, she could hear the faintest of sounds. At first it sounded like whimpering, as if someone or something was in pain. Trying to block out the noise, convinced she was imagining it, she rolled on to her side, facing away from the door.
The sound grew louder, more desperate. She could hear the panic in a woman’s voice.
Claire?
Sliding her legs out from under the warm duvet, she shivered as the cold air touched her bare legs under her nightdress. Despite the radiator, the room was chilled, and fresh snow was once again falling outside her window.
She threw on her dressing gown and slowly turned the door handle. She paused then stepped out on to the landing. She crept towards the sound, balancing on her tiptoes, pulling her dressing gown around her tighter still.
The noise grew louder, more alarming. Someone was in pain.
It was coming from her daughter’s bedroom.
*
The mother called out to her as she ran ahead off into the woods.
The little girl slowed down to a skip, her smile wide across a wind-chapped face.
A thick mist clung to the tall thin trees around her, and she was lost to the world within seconds.
The mother stood, eyes squinting against the bitter wind, damp strands of hair sticking across her forehead.
‘Where are you?’ she called out. She heard voices, whispered. It sounded like her daughter. She was not alone.
The mother panicked.
She saw a flash of blonde hair and started to run.
‘Where are you?’ Her breath caught in her throat and tears stung her eyes.
The wind brought with it the faint voice in return. ‘I’m here, Mummy.’ The child was running back, hair flailing behind her, a smile on her face.
The mother dropped to her knees, clutching at her child as she fell into her.
‘Don’t run off like that,’ she said. ‘Stay where I can see you.’ She kissed her cheeks, pushed back wild tangled hair. ‘Baby, who were you talking to?’
‘The lady.’
The mother held her daughter at arm’s length ‘What are you talking about? What lady?’
‘The lady on the other side of the trees. I think she’s asleep. She didn’t open her eyes or get up when I called out her name.’
The mother’s face crumpled in confusion. ‘What are you talking about? Who is it, what’s her name?’
The child gripped her hand and pulled. ‘We have the same name, Mummy! Come, I’ll show you.’
They ran, child leading mother – through th
e trees, the mist, the grey miserable world they were trapped in – until they came to the clearing, where barely any light could penetrate.
There was a frozen lake, cutting them off from whatever lay ahead over the horizon.
It was then the mother saw her.
A naked woman was slumped over, bent awkwardly at the waist. Her legs disappeared beneath the frozen water, so only her torso was visible. It was as if the woman had been pulling herself to safety, and in an instant the lake had been frozen by some kind of dark magic.
Twisted pale arms had been reaching for the shore – now frozen, bent at odd angles. Long blonde hair cascaded over stiff shoulders, messy, brought forward in the wind, strands obscuring the face.
‘Claire?’ the mother said, gripping her daughter by the hand tightly. Claire pulled against her arm, towards the woman.
‘Do you want to play?’
‘Don’t speak to her,’ the mother said.
‘Maybe she’s just tired, Mummy.’ Before she could be stopped, the girl pulled free from her mother and ran to the woman.
The mother tried to run, stop her, but her legs were rooted to the spot, and when she opened her mouth to call after her, no sound escaped.
The girl knelt down just in front of the lake woman’s outstretched hand with its twisted fingers, bent and misshapen, nails broken and filthy.
The girl reached out to touch her hand.
The woman’s fingers twitched, then grabbed her wrist. The girl screamed as the woman stirred; back contorting, the ice cracking releasing her legs.
Her head reared up, revealing her face. Eyes wide, mouth open, matching the girl’s screams.
*
Claire screamed, bolting upright straight into her mother’s arms. Sweat poured from her body, and her t-shirt clung to her, painted onto her skin. She could hear Iris’s voice, calming and soothing her, brushing back her sweaty hair with her hands.
‘I’m here, it’s OK. You need to calm down.’ She prised her arms from Claire’s hands and held her back firmly, forcing her to remain lucid.
It took a few minutes to gain her composure, then Claire found herself staring back into the familiar eyes of her mother. She sighed and pushed herself back, flopping onto the bed.
‘God, I’m sorry, Mum,’ she said, pushing away strands of hair, glued to her forehead with sweat. ‘I hope I didn’t scare you.’
‘You’re the one who was scared. What was that all about?’
‘A nightmare, that’s all.’
‘Seemed pretty intense for just a nightmare. Are you sure you’re not on anything,’ Iris said, eyeing her with caution.
‘I’m not on anything.’ She was breathless. ‘It was just a stupid dream. I’ve had it before… It’s nothing, really.’
‘It didn’t look like nothing. It looked like you were having a panic attack in your sleep.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘I can call out a doctor.’
‘I’m fine!’
Iris recoiled and sat further back on the bed, looking at the floor. Claire felt guilty and when she tried to sit up, Iris hooked her arm with hers and hauled her upright.
‘How long has this been going on?’
‘Really, Mum, I’m fine. You go back to bed, get your sleep.’
Iris shook her head. ‘No. You’re going to tell me what happened.’ Her eyes wandered over her daughter’s face. ‘I mean, look at the state of you. You were scared.’
Claire’s defence mechanism kicked in, and she glared at Iris. ‘Go. To. Bed.’
‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that.’ Her finger rose up, pointed in Claire’s face. ‘I’ve heard enough to know there’s more to it. It’s not normal to have bad dreams every night.’
‘I don’t like where this conversation’s going.’ Claire pulled her duvet back up over her legs. ‘I’m going to sleep.’
‘And what happens later, when you wake up screaming, drenched in sweat?’
Her mother’s words stopped her then. She couldn’t bear to look her in the eye and pretend everything was all right, because it wasn’t.
‘Why don’t you tell me what it is you see? It might help.’
For the first time since Claire could remember, her mother’s voice actually sounded concerned, anxious. There was even a hint of compassion in her voice. Maybe the maternal instinct wasn’t completely long dead and buried.
‘It feels so real… and I don’t know why.’
Claire explained what happened every night and what had played out in her mind for months, every time she closed her eyes. All her days were blurring into one. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d fallen asleep and not dreamed about being in that damn wood, running from someone. Someone she could usually only hear, never see.
Lately, though, the voice had manifested itself to become a solid figure and she recognised their every shape, every line.
‘You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?’ Iris said.
‘Work?’ Claire shook her head. ‘All the years I’ve been doing this, and after all the things I’ve seen… nothing like this has happened before.’
‘Maybe you’ve reached your breaking point.’
‘It doesn’t affect me during the day. I forget about it until I’m alone at night.’
‘And what do you see?’
Claire swallowed hard, throat dry, raw. ‘Just the wood, mist and trees, the usual…’
When she trailed off, Iris cast a knowing look. ‘Except this time something was different?’
Claire’s eyes misted over. ‘I was a little girl, running, playing with you, except this person didn’t look like you at all.’
Iris held her hand. ‘I’m worried about you.’
‘There was a woman,’ Claire said, not listening. ‘She was half submerged in a frozen lake.’ Her eyes locked with her mother’s. ‘Almost like Nola Grant.’
‘Jesus…’ Iris shook her head. Then she saw a look in her daughter’s eyes that made her blood run cold. ‘There’s more?’
Claire stared ahead, not really focusing on anything any more. ‘That woman in the lake. She looked dead. Was dead… I went to her, reached for her hand, then I saw who she was.’
She squeezed her mother’s hand.
‘As I am now… that woman was me.’
*
When Iris crawled back into her bed, she glanced at the clock beside her and the green glow showed it was 1:00 a.m.
She rolled over to face away from the door once again and although extremely tired, found it difficult to sleep after what she’d just witnessed.
CHAPTER 19
8th November
Elias Crest parked the silver pool car on the opposite side of the road to where Daryl Thomas lived, and took a moment to compose himself. He was unfamiliar with this side of town and he certainly didn’t know anyone from this area. He’d half expected Daryl’s house to be on some rundown estate, where he imagined stray dogs roamed the street and kids scavenged through overflowing bins, searching for scraps because their mothers had spent their income support money on fags and booze instead of food.
The Thomas household didn’t live up to the stereotype, which annoyed Elias somewhat. There was no beat-up washing machine or sofa discarded in the front garden. No overflowing rubbish, broken beer bottles, fag-ends or dog shit up the path to a dishevelled house.
This place was anything but.
Elias had read Daryl’s file on his past dealings with the police, his minor offences and the assault on PC Southgate, but he knew Daryl’s mother lived with him, which was the issue he couldn’t get his head around. Did she know what her son had become?
He didn’t come from a rough background and had gone to one of the best state schools in Haverbridge. He’d taken the council-estate stereotype, chewed it up and spat it out.
The house across the street looked impressive, with a well-kept front garden. The street itself looked respectable, not rough and rundown. He was intrigued to see what the house lo
oked like inside. He was so lost in his thoughts he’d forgotten DC Harper sitting in the passenger seat staring at him.
‘Earth to planet Crest.’
Elias blinked hard. ‘Sorry.’
Harper had been to the Thomas house before and already knew what lay ahead. He leaned closer towards Elias and grinned. ‘Whatever you’ve prepared yourself for, you may want to have a rethink,’ he said.
‘Somehow I doubt that,’ Elias said as he stepped out of the car. Harper followed him across the street. ‘You’ve been inside this house before. Did you ever meet the mother?’
‘Sure.’
‘And?’
‘She’s a force to be reckoned with, but not in the way you might think.’ He grinned at Elias, who eyed him suspiciously as they walked to the front door. The grin didn’t fade when Mrs Thomas opened the door to them either.
‘Gabriel, hello!’
‘’ello, Mrs Thomas.’
‘Oh, you make me sound so old,’ she said, her face glowing. ‘I’ve told you before, call me Heather.’ Elias stood gobsmacked. He half expected the woman to reach for Harper with open arms and give him a bear hug.
Heather Thomas was about fifty with dyed, but well-groomed, blonde hair. She looked expensive; her clothes complemented her well and her make-up was expertly applied. Her body was fairly trim but her face was hard, after years of smoking and sun abuse. Any sign that she’d once been beautiful had long vanished.
Elias exchanged glances with Harper, who shrugged. Heather soon turned her attention to Elias then back to Harper.
Her face dropped.
‘What’s my Daryl done now?’
The question was directed at Harper, which annoyed Elias, considering he was superior in rank. ‘We just need to ask him a few questions, Mrs Thomas,’ Elias said. She stared at him again, and gave him the once-over with her pale eyes.
‘Don’t think I know you,’ she sniffed. Elias smiled, producing his warrant card, holding it up for her to see.
She leaned forward and squinted. Her glasses hung around her neck on a cord, and she placed them on her face before studying his ID again. Her eyes slowly rose to look at his face and she grunted. Elias guessed she’d seen enough. ‘Is your son in, Mrs Thomas?’
The Principle of Evil: A Fast-Paced Serial Killer Thriller (DCI Claire Winters, Book 2) Page 10