The Principle of Evil: A Fast-Paced Serial Killer Thriller (DCI Claire Winters, Book 2)

by T. M. E. Walsh

  He’d been very guarded, even strapping a knife to his belt, and she’d kept her movements small, not wishing to upset him. She hadn’t been embarrassed when she told him she was on her period. He had looked away from her after checking she was telling the truth, then handed her some sanitary pads he’d already bought for this eventuality, but rather than feel ashamed, she’d relished his discomfort.

  After she’d finished, he’d taken her back downstairs and she had kissed him on the cheek as a thank you.

  He had recoiled at first, tension evident in his face. She had gauged his reaction, the flicker of emotion she caught in his eyes that told her he’d liked it.

  Later that same day, he’d taken her upstairs again, this time to wash. In the first week she was a prisoner, she had to strip wash with water and soap from a large plastic mixing bowl in the basement, and he’d never left the room. He would sit with his back to her until she said she was dressed again.

  When she’d first had to do this, she’d been terrified. She imagined that at any moment he would turn on her, assault her… and do other things she just couldn’t bear to think about.

  When nothing had happened, she felt like crying in relief, but she remained guarded the next few times regardless, just in case. Despite everything, he’d brought her some clean underwear and clothes, while he washed the dirty ones. She couldn’t believe her luck when he’d allowed her to take a proper shower that morning.

  But he never let her upstairs to the next level. He had a toilet and shower room downstairs, just off the hall, near the basement door. The house had obviously been adapted for either a disabled or elderly person. She noticed the old metal handrails dotted around the walls. It was odd. Something didn’t add up.

  Since he didn’t appear to have any impediment and was certainly not old, she wondered how he’d come to live here. Her thoughts on this were brief. The prospect of hot running water was too great to think of anything else at the time.

  She took her mind back to that morning…

  *

  He gripped her arm firmly, but was careful not to bruise her pale skin, as he steered her towards the tiny bathroom. She was naked under the rough, threadbare bath sheet he’d wrapped around her. He stood close behind her in the doorway, his breath hot on the back of her neck.

  She felt fear creep up her spine, and her old fears that he might rape her came flooding back.

  ‘I’ve removed the lock on the door,’ he said. ‘I won’t be far from the bathroom.’

  She gasped as he pushed her forward and slammed the door shut. She’d expected she wouldn’t be able to lock the door, but she had no plans to escape just yet anyway. She needed to work out the layout of the house and where the potential exits were.

  She saw there was no window in the plain cold bathroom, and when she saw he’d removed any razors and similar items from the medicine cabinet on the opposite wall, she felt like abandoning her idea of escape.

  Deep down she knew she couldn’t.

  She had to fight if she wanted to survive this, and she didn’t know how long she had left to plan an escape or get word to someone, somehow. The burning desire to just break down right there on the spot was overwhelming, and that desire had often plagued her during those lonely hours spent in the semi-darkness of her prison. Her own personal hell.

  She silently shed her tears under the warmth of the shower. She cried so hard that her eyes stung. She hugged her arms tightly around her body as she slid down the tiled wall. She sat under the water for what seemed like an eternity.

  Then he knocked on the door.

  That was all he did.

  He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. It was a warning to her not to try anything and a reminder he could come in at any time.

  She shut off the shower.

  She was all smiles when he led her back to the basement. Just before she descended the stairs she caught a glimpse out the kitchen window, and saw enough of the garden to know it wasn’t overlooked and had a tall gate at the end of the boundary fence.

  She guessed the back door was kept locked and she would have to find out where he kept the key. Either that or she could always try to smash the window and get out that way, but she had no guarantee that she would be able to get out in time.

  She’d seen the front door. There were several locks to negotiate. The back door was her best bet so far. She knew there was a landline somewhere; she’d heard it ring a few times. She thought it came from the living room, which was off limits. She also knew he wouldn’t be so careless as to leave a mobile phone just lying around either. She needed to search for a key and that meant being allowed up in the house for more than just a toilet or shower break.

  *

  It was a few days after her first proper shower when she seized her chance and said she wanted to cook him dinner. His eyes searched hers for some hint of rebellion but she’d perfected the art of keeping her face neutral. She buried her fear deep inside herself. When she thought she might falter, she bit the inside of her cheek, for courage. It was a stark reminder to stay focused.

  ‘Why would you want to do that?’ he said, his eyes still dissecting her.

  Sara forced a smile. ‘I want to say thank you… for all you’ve done for me. I just wanted to show you how much I appreciate the lengths you’ve gone to.’

  His eyes narrowed. He was sceptical, yet the conviction in her voice was undeniable.

  Are you truly thankful?

  ‘I don’t know about that.’

  ‘I won’t try to escape,’ she said. ‘I owe you so much.’

  He hesitated.

  She drew closer to him. ‘Please…’ He felt her warm breath on his face, as she looked up into his eyes. She smiled. ‘It’s just dinner.’

  CHAPTER 35

  Sara was shown the kitchen properly for the first time. She saw the clock on the wall ahead.

  7:32 p.m.

  She felt like crying.

  She didn’t think there could be anything sweeter in sight right now. She still didn’t know what day it was but just to know the time, after weeks of living like she was in a timeless existence, almost brought tears to her eyes.

  The kitchen was nicely decorated and although a little old-fashioned, it felt homely, which was strange. She was half-expecting some kind of torture chamber.

  The man was right behind her and moved her to one side. He went to the back door.

  He tested the handle.

  It didn’t give. It was locked as expected, but she sensed he knew that and the gesture was merely for her benefit.

  Actions speak louder than words.

  He wanted her to understand he was still being vigilant. He was still in control and she didn’t have his complete trust. Not yet.

  He looked back at her and smiled. ‘I did some shopping today.’ He went to the plastic shopping bag on the kitchen table and pulled out a few tins. Sara frowned when she saw there were pre-cut vegetables and two cans of potatoes.

  He looked up and saw her face. ‘Don’t be disappointed, Sara. You must understand I can’t give you a knife.’ He walked towards her and pushed a strand of loose hair back behind her ear.

  She wanted to recoil but forced a smile instead and nodded. He finished putting out what she might need on the worktop, then sat perched on a rickety old wooden stool in the corner by the kitchen door.

  He was taking no chances.

  *

  Almost an hour later, Sara had cooked a simple dinner, not the extravagant meal she had initially hoped for. She had wanted to create the ‘wow’ factor and lure him deeper but he hadn’t been completely drawn in by her.

  He was showing her he trusted her to a point but was careful to show some reluctance as well. He wasn’t completely convinced about her motive for wanting to cook. They ate their meal at the dining room table in a dark little room, with patterned mauve wallpaper, just off from the kitchen.

  He’d watched her closely while she cooked. He tried not to make it so obvious
that it made her uncomfortable, but whenever she went to get more utensils, he moved like a predator, stalking its prey, looking over her shoulder, or passing her what she needed himself.

  He’d laid out plastic spoons and the cups their wine sat in were also plastic. She’d managed to convince him to light some candles though, and he inspected her closely as she poured him another cup of wine.

  He watched the shadows cast on her face by the flickering candles, and the way they danced over the walls and ceiling. They looked like swaying demons and the darkness made him sleepy.

  He took a sip of wine and sat back in his chair, his eyes looking past her at something on the sideboard behind her. She turned in her seat and saw many family photographs in ornate silver frames. There were two photographs of a pretty girl aged around six and another of the same girl aged about sixteen.

  Sara wondered who she was. Maybe she would have asked if her eyes hadn’t been drawn to a more poignant photograph from the man’s past. It was of a woman, roughly in her thirties with her arm around a small boy aged about seven years old.

  Sara recognised the same eyes that she had come to know so well over the last few weeks. She turned to face him and saw sadness in his face.

  ‘Is that your mother in that photo?’

  His face changed instantly. He hadn’t meant for her to catch him in a moment of weakness. He avoided her eyes at first. She put her wine down, hoping he hadn’t noticed she hadn’t drunk nearly as much as he thought she had. She’d been taking small sips so she could avoid suspicion, but he’d taken full advantage of the bottle on the table.

  ‘You can tell me,’ she coaxed.

  He let out a loud sigh, rubbed his forehead, and nodded. ‘Yes, that’s my mother. I was nearly eight in that picture. One of the happiest days of my life.’

  ‘She looks happy.’

  She smiled when he looked at her. Then he thought he saw sincerity in her eyes. He’d had so many feelings bottled up inside him for so long that he felt the urge to tell her everything.

  ‘She was never really happy,’ he said. ‘My father left her when I was two and we never heard from him much after that. He came in and out of my life, on and off. Then he stopped completely, as if I no longer existed.’

  She looked away, avoiding his eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.’

  He ignored her and carried on, his eyes distant. ‘I remember that day so vividly.’ He closed his eyes, remembering a happier time. ‘We were in Dorset. I begged my mother to take me to the beach, so she drove us to Bournemouth and we sat on that beach all afternoon… Ended up staying in a little B&B for a few days.’ He looked back at Sara and managed a small smile.

  ‘There was this family on the beach next to us. They looked so happy. The teenage daughter took that photo for us. That was the last time we ever went on holiday together. My grandmother took me away with her each year for a while, before her health started to decline.

  ‘It was like my mother didn’t want to spend that time with me any more. She took a few holidays on her own, and left me with my grandmother.’ He paused, reflectively. ‘Strangely, I didn’t mind it so much. My grandmother was a fantastic woman – so strong. She taught me so much. She always had great stories to tell, especially about the time she was evacuated during the war.’

  Sara looked at the table. She didn’t know how far to go. She still didn’t know where the key to the back door was kept. She guessed it was probably on him. She’d seen him with a chain of keys often enough, dangling tantalisingly just out of reach. She had two choices: go back to the basement and start the process again or delve deeper.

  ‘Does it surprise you?’

  ‘What?’ she said, with a certain amount of wariness in her voice, which she couldn’t hide.

  ‘That I should have so much affection for my grandmother?’

  ‘Why would it surprise me?’

  He laughed. ‘Because of what I’ve done to you.’

  She held his gaze but was silent.

  He leaned closer across the table. ‘You’re probably thinking I couldn’t have a single sentimental bone in my body. That I’m incapable of feeling love for someone, even if it is family love.’

  She shook her head. ‘No. How could I be, after the kindness you’ve shown me?’

  ‘Kindness?’ he said. ‘Is it kind to leave you in a basement, away from your family, your friends… your husband?’ He paused, his face looking sad in the soft light. ‘I wonder if I’ve done the right thing.’

  She leaned forward and opened the other bottle of wine on the table. He eyed her suspiciously as she unscrewed the top. She hadn’t expected this from him. She needed to bide some time, while she figured out how to play the scene out.

  He caught her wrist as she poured the wine into his cup, spilling some of it on the table. She went to wipe it with her napkin with her other hand, but he caught hold of that too. ‘Have I done the right thing, Sara?’

  Her eyes met his. She nodded but it wasn’t enough for him. He released her, slouching back in his chair. ‘You don’t mean that.’

  Silence.

  ‘What must I do for your approval?’ he snapped. She heard the slight slur in his words. She reached over and continued pouring him more wine. She handed him the cup.

  ‘I know you mean well. Perhaps I needed this,’ she lied.

  He snatched the cup from her and swallowed a large mouthful of the bitter liquid. ‘You can’t mean that.’

  ‘At first, admittedly, I was scared. I hated you. I looked for a way out, but then you showed me how to be a better person.’ She moved her chair close to him, her eyes unflinching. ‘Tell me more about your grandmother.’ She smiled, reached out her hand and rested it on his. ‘It clearly gives you pleasure to talk about her.’

  *

  The next half hour seemed to travel faster than the blink of an eye. Sara had managed to coax a great deal from him and she felt sure she could push him further, maybe get him to reveal where she was exactly. There was one window in the dining room, across on the far wall. She could see the faint light from a street lamp, glowing through the curtains, but she didn’t hear much traffic.

  She could be anywhere.

  The man had opened up to her, and as he did, she would top his glass up every now and again, until she felt he was only another glass away from being really drunk.

  He was letting his guard down and she meant to help him.

  He told her how his grandmother had been fairly well-off and she’d taken him under her wing. In the end, she became more of a mother figure to him than his biological one, who by his early teens had all but disowned him.

  He told her his mother had been successful in her job as an executive in a bank, and she had complete financial freedom and would be kept by no man, despite having many failed relationships over a short space of time. She had become cruel towards him, and barely acknowledged his presence, except to hurl insults at him.

  She’d blamed him constantly for his father leaving her, and she bitterly resented the bond he had with his grandmother. Despite her misgivings at home, his mother was well respected and liked at work. She eventually earned enough to pay off the mortgage on the house Sara now sat in.

  She was surprised when he revealed that this house that had been her prison was in fact his family home. He was still careful not to let slip any clues as to what town they were in. Then came the part in his life when Sara guessed he might have cracked.

  His grandmother died the day before he turned seventeen, and his mother had flown into a rage once she learned the contents of her mother’s will. His grandmother had left everything to him. Her home and all its contents were to be his. She had two bank accounts, holding just over £250,000 when combined, that also went to him and not his mother.

  The house and money were to be held in trust until he reached eighteen; that didn’t stop his mother contesting the will, but she lost her battle. After that, she’d tried a different tack. She tried to rebuild her re
lationship with him, but deep down he knew she was never sincere. Her drinking had become steadily worse and she became a shadow of her former self. She only kept her job at the bank because the CEO was an old friend, but she did come close to being sacked several times.

  She’d previously threatened to change her will, whenever she was in a violent drink-fuelled rage, whereby he would get nothing in the event of her death, but he soon discovered this had merely been the drink talking. It kind of made up for a few of her misgivings in strange sort of way.

  It was at this point in the story when Sara thought he might stop and dismiss her back to the basement, but he didn’t. He told her that during a fierce thunderstorm, nearly a year after his grandmother’s death, his mother had been killed behind the wheel of her car. She’d ploughed into a tree after swerving to avoid a cyclist in the street.

  The toxicology report determined she’d been three times over the legal drink-drive limit, and he was now on his own. He inherited not only his grandmother’s house and money, but also the family home where he had shared a turbulent life with his mother.

  Sara was shocked, and guessed he’d left out some parts of the story. There were a few holes and one or two things that didn’t add up, but she knew better than to stop and question him. By the end of it, he looked as if he had lifted a great weight off his shoulders, and she found herself feeling pangs of guilt over what she was about to do.

  It was stupid, she knew. How could she feel anything other than revulsion towards the man who had kidnapped her and kept her prisoner? It crossed her mind that maybe he’d taught her something after all. Maybe he wasn’t quite as mad as she thought he was in the beginning.

  Suddenly, she didn’t feel quite so selfish.

  Any thoughts she had of softening towards him for real soon evaporated when he pushed himself up from his chair and stood looking down on her.

  Predator eyeing its prey.