Chelsea glared up at him, her tear-filled eyes brimming with contempt as she looked him up and down, then she sneered and shook her head.
‘Spineless bastard!’ she hissed.
Joseph tried to swallow the panic as he stepped back. He had been married to Chelsea for four years and after six months he had realised that it was the biggest mistake he was ever likely to make. He had been forty-two when they met, Chelsea twelve years younger and a stunner, he’d been flattered when she had shown an interest in him. He might have had money in the bank but Chelsea hadn’t seemed interested in his bank account which had been a surprise in itself. After six short months, they had married and only then had she revealed her true nature. Joseph grimaced at the pain in his shoulder from where she had attacked him with an empty wine bottle. He thought of her brother, Tam, and how he had died, the thought making him shudder with the horror of it.
Ever since Chelsea had heard the news, Joseph had been walking on eggshells, trying to stay out of her way in fear of setting her off. In the end, it hadn’t mattered, she had come to him and started to scream and shout, calling him spineless and weak she had lashed out, sending him crashing to the floor in agony as the heavy bottle slammed into him.
He had spent the night longing to sleep, the pain in his shoulder throbbing and blooming into a huge bruise of purple and black. The hours had passed and Joseph had listened in the dark, dreading the sound of the bedroom door crashing open and his wife storming in, armed with a steak knife ready to take her anguish out on her husband. Now, he tried to back away but Chelsea pinned him with hate-filled eyes.
‘Why couldn’t it have been you?’ she spat.
Joseph blinked in confusion.
‘It should have been you sliced up, not my brother!’ she glared as she shuffled to the edge of the sofa, glass in hand.
Joseph wanted to turn and run but he knew that before he reached the door she would have thrown the glass at him and anything else she could get her hands on. So, he remained standing, waiting to see what would happen next, the fear smothering him.
‘Tam was a real man not some coward like you!’ she stood up and swayed back and forth, blinking her eyes as she tried to focus on her husband. ‘I mean, look at you, just fucking look at you! A real man would be out there now getting this sorted, he’d be finding the bastard, taking him apart.’
Joseph kept his mouth closed as she hurled the barrage of abuse. Inside, he cringed and wondered why he had never spotted the signs until it was too late. The truth was he had been besotted with Chelsea Whitlow, he’d never been married, in fact he’d never really had a girlfriend until Chelsea swanned into his life in a haze of Prada perfume, dressed in designer clothes. He owned a chain of local car dealerships and had spent his life building the business into a success but now he felt trapped in a never-ending circle of hatred and anger. He knew that his wife would never get over the death of her brother, even if the ones responsible were caught it wouldn’t make any difference. Chelsea would continue to hate and he would be the one in her line of fire.
He looked on as she continued to sway back and forth, and then all of a sudden she sat back down on the sofa with a thump.
She pouted and then burped. ‘Jimmy will sort it, he’ll make sure they pay,’ she mumbled.
Joseph prayed that the booze would send her to sleep but Chelsea remained staring at him, her garish lips parted as she breathed heavily.
Gradually she began to rock from side to side, finally her eyes fluttered and closed and Joseph thanked the gods as she flopped back onto the sofa. Breathing out a thin stream of anguish he waited and watched, when she started to snore he felt the relief flood through his body. Turning slowly, he tiptoed his way towards the kitchen, he’d taken three tentative steps when the doorbell rang, the sound making him cringe as he looked over his shoulder in panic.
Chelsea remained dead to the world, a sliver of drool hung from her open mouth. Changing direction, he dashed across the room and along the hallway. When he opened the front door, it was to find a tall man standing on the step, his face shadowed with bristle, his brown eyes watchful.
‘I’m sorry to bother you but I’m looking for Tam Whitlow?’ the man asked.
Joseph blinked in confusion. ‘Tam’s not here, he …’
‘I called at his house earlier but there was no one home,’ the man explained taking a step forward.
Suddenly, all the stress and panic came flooding back. ‘I’m sorry but Tam was killed three days ago, he …’
Tom Conway’s eyes widened in surprise.
Joseph cleared his throat and flicked a look over his shoulder as if he expected to see his wife in the hallway, a cracked sneer on her mascara-smudged face.
When he turned around the man was still standing in the doorway, hands in pockets. ‘Would it be OK if I came in and had a word with Chelsea?’
All his working life Joseph had been used to welcoming people, it was all part of the job, smile warmly and then try and sell them a car.
‘You knew Tam?’ Joseph enquired.
‘Afraid not but I’d still like a word with his sister if that’s OK?’
Joseph felt the panic rise again, his wife had only just fallen asleep and the last thing he wanted was her to wake up and kick off again.
‘I’m afraid she’s sleeping; the death of her brother has hit her very hard.’
Conway nodded in understanding. ‘You see the thing is I have a few questions, I would have asked Tam but obviously that’s out of the question now.’
Joseph thought for a moment, part of him wanted to ask the man to leave and yet he suspected that Chelsea wouldn’t stay asleep for long and maybe having someone else in the house, even a total stranger, would keep her anger under control.
‘Listen, I’m not sure when she’ll be awake but you could perhaps wait a while, I can always make a coffee or tea and …’
‘Coffee would be great,’ Conway interrupted as he stepped over the threshold.
Joseph smiled in relief before closing the door quietly.
Inside the lounge, Chelsea continued to snore, her faced etched with a bitterness that no amount of plastic surgery could ever erase.
32
Marnie hurried up the stone steps, her nose crinkled at the tart smell of stale urine that hung in the stairwell.
Reaching the third floor, she waited for Bev to catch up and then they headed along the balcony that ran along the front of the flats.
Coming to a halt outside number sixteen she wrapped her knuckles on the door, Bev turned and looked out at the dismal view as they waited for someone to answer. Below, the car park was littered with black bin bags, some had split open spewing rubbish across the ground from where the occupants of the flats had tossed them over the balcony rather than walking down to the communal bins. Marnie lifted her hand to knock again but, before she could, the door opened and a man looked out at them. He was in his late twenties, broad at the shoulder, his neck steroid-thick, his skin riddled with angry-looking pimples, his head shaved to the bone revealing the contours of his skull.
As soon as he saw Bev’s uniform his face settled into a scowl. ‘What do you want?’
‘We’re looking for Drew Watkins,’ Marnie explained.
‘Yeah, well, she’s in bed, she had a late night,’ the man replied, going to close the door.
Before he could manage it, Marnie had wedged her foot in the gap. ‘What’s your name?’
Steroid man looked down at her foot, his eyes narrowing as she waited for a reply.
‘Name?’ she repeated.
He looked up at her, his stone-age brow creased in aggravation.
‘Mal Ronda,’ he grunted.
‘Well, Mr Ronda, we’d still like a word with Drew, so if you could wake her up we’d be grateful.’
‘No can do,’ Ronda said. ‘She had a heavy night and she needs her rest.’
‘Miss Watkins works for a living, does she?’
‘Oh, she earns her kee
p that’s for sure,’ Ronda smiled again.
‘And what do you do?’ Marnie asked, easing her foot from the gap.
Ronda shrugged. ‘This and that.’
‘What does that mean exactly?’
‘It means it’s none of your business and I’m busy.’
‘Do you know someone called Hamer?’ Marnie asked as he went to close the door again.
Ronda hesitated. ‘What about him?’
‘When was the last time you saw him?’
Bev eased slightly left, her hand resting on the baton in her belt.
‘Look, what’s this all about?’
Marnie thought for a moment before replying. ‘Earlier this morning we found a body on a deserted lane, the man had a wallet belonging to a David Hamer.’
For the first time, a look of genuine shock appeared on Ronda’s face. ‘Is he dead?’ he asked, his hand sliding off the doorframe.
‘I’m afraid so, it would help if you could tell us when you last spoke to Mr Hamer?’
The shock was still on his face but now it was mixed with a faint look of panic. ‘How did he die?’
Marnie tilted her head slightly. ‘He was beaten to death.’
‘No fucking way!’ Ronda bellowed, taking a stuttering step back.
Marnie took her chance and stepped into the hallway.
‘Hang on, you can’t come in!’ Ronda said, snapping up a hand.
Leaning slightly left, Marnie could see into the small apartment, a woman lay sprawled on the sofa, one arm dangling, her fingertips brushing the carpet.
‘Bev, check on her,’ she said.
As Bev moved forward, Ronda tried to stop her but Marnie grabbed his arm as Bev hurried past.
Ronda turned and fixed Marnie with pit-bull eyes. ‘If you don’t fuck off right now I’ll throw you over the balcony,’ he warned.
‘You’re welcome to try but be warned there are officers at the end of the corridor and I can promise that if I go over then you’ll be joining me,’ Marnie replied, keeping her gaze on Ronda’s sweating face.
When he didn’t reply, Marnie stepped around him and walked into the small room, the air stifling and laced with the stink of cannabis.
Bev was in the process of easing the woman into a sitting position.
‘Drew, can you hear me?’ Marnie asked, kneeling down in front of her.
Drew Watkins only looked to be in her late teens, her face framed by shoulder-length, dyed-blonde hair. When she blinked, Marnie shifted position trying to make eye contact.
‘Drew, my name is Marnie can you hear me?’
The woman’s head lolled on her shoulder as Bev sat next to her, an arm around her shoulder to stop her from toppling to the side.
Drew blinked again and yawned, her mouth stretched wide as she shivered herself awake.
‘Who are you?’ she asked, as her eyes focused at last.
‘My name’s Marnie and we need to ask you a few questions, we …’
‘Keep your fucking mouth closed!’
At the sound of the voice, Marnie saw the fear flare in Drew’s blue eyes. Turning slowly, she looked at Ronda who was standing in the doorway, his big hands bunched into fists. Drew started to shiver in fear, she glanced at the big man before quickly averting her eyes.
Ronda lunged forward, arms raised, his face shot with fury. In one smooth motion Marnie rose to her feet, yanked the pepper spray from her pocket and snapped up her arm before aiming the spray into his face.
Suddenly, Ronda was bellowing, his arms flailing the air and then he slapped his hands to his burning eyes and bent over as if this would somehow ease the pain. Marnie watched him for a moment before thrusting him back into the narrow hallway. She glanced over her shoulder, Bev was looking at her wide eyed.
‘Call for back up,’ Marnie snapped and Bev nodded, pressing the two-way on her shoulder.
Ronda was grunting and snuffling like a pig in a trough, his eyes streaming, his face beetroot red. He kept trying to open his eyes, the anger inside building as the pain increased.
‘Fucking cunt!’ he swept his arms left and right searching for Marnie.
Shaking his head, he cracked his eyes open just as Marnie dashed forward, her right foot landed squarely between his spread legs.
The pain in Ronda’s eyes was overtaken by the agony between his legs, sending him crashing to his knees, his cry blasting out and then the sound was choked off as the air seemed to vanish. Ronda toppled sideways like some tree felled by the woodcutter’s axe.
Satisfied, Marnie turned to find Bev and Drew Watkins both looking at her in awe.
‘They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach but if you want him on the deck then a swift kick in the bollocks always does the trick,’ she said easily as Ronda continued to groan in pain.
Bev smiled, Drew burst into floods of tears.
33
Marnie sat on the chair facing the sofa, Drew Watkins looked at her with tear-filled eyes. It had taken around ten minutes for Paul Clark and Susan Romney to arrive in separate cars. Susan arrived first and Bev had helped her to manhandle Ronda outside to her squad car.
‘And you’re sure he’s dead?’ Drew asked, wiping a dewdrop from the end of her nose.
‘I’m afraid so,’ Marnie replied.
‘Oh, thank you, God!’ she gasped, the words coming out in a blast of relief.
Marnie watched as Drew yanked a cigarette from a flattened pack and lit up.
‘I take it Hamer wasn’t your partner?’ she asked.
Drew shook her head sadly. ‘That’s what he wanted me to think, that’s what he wanted us both to think,’ she said with a savage shake of the head.
‘Both?’ Marnie asked, leaning forward in the seat.
Drew took another fevered pull on the cigarette. ‘He knew all the right things to say, the right things to do but it was all an act. He was never interested in me, he was never interested in either of us. All he wanted was to get his claws in and then the men would come, I tried to stop it but Dave could shut you up with just one look.’
Marnie felt her dislike for Hamer change into one of disgust. ‘Are you saying he forced you into sex with strangers?’
Drew nodded and looked down at her bare feet, the nail polish chipped and brittle. ‘The first time, he told me he owed a man some money and said he would be beaten up if he didn’t pay …’
‘So, he made you feel guilty and forced you into having sex to pay the debt?’
When Drew nodded again, Marnie sighed.
‘But it was a con, he never owed the money he just wanted to see how far I would go to help him,’ the tears came again but this time they were tears of anger rather than pain. ‘As soon as I knew what was happening I tried to get away but he changed just like that,’ she snapped her fingers angrily.
‘He became violent?’ Marnie asked, although she already knew the answer.
Drew pushed up the sleeves of her sweatshirt to reveal a multitude of dark bruises, some old, others new. ‘Every time I tried to run he did this,’ she held out her pitiful arms, the tears staining her cheeks, her eyes bewildered.
The anger Marnie felt twisted into fury. ‘You mentioned another woman?’
Drew sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. ‘She wasn’t a woman, she was only fifteen when he got her. But she managed to get away.’
‘Do you know where she went?’
Leaning over, Drew stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray and then immediately lit another. ‘She went to a hostel in town, she rang to make sure I was all right, she even said she would ring the police but Dave was here and he told her he’d cut my throat if she opened her mouth.’
Marnie gritted her teeth at this latest admission. ‘Do you have a name for me?’
Drew Watkins looked at Marnie through a cloud of grey smoke. ‘You’ll go easy on her won’t you, she’s only a kid?’
‘Believe me, I’m not interested in causing problems for either of you.’
Drew hesitated
for a moment as if trying to decide what to do. Then she drew her shoulders back.
‘Her name’s Emma Winstanley, as far as I know she’s still at the hostel in town.’
Marnie glanced at her watch. ‘The man who was here before, can you tell me what you know about him?’
Drew ran a stressed hand through her hair. ‘When Dave wasn’t here Ronda would show up to make sure I didn’t do a runner.’
‘I take it he only started coming after Emma Winstanley escaped?’
Drew nodded.
‘Does the name Jimmy Rae mean anything to you?’ Marnie asked hopefully.
Drew sniffed and shook her head. ‘Never heard of him.’
With a light sigh of disappointment Marnie stood up and looked down at the woman. ‘Do you have anywhere to go?’ she asked.
‘I have a sister in Manchester, I can go and stay there for a while.’
‘What about money?’
Drew shook her head in the negative. ‘He always made sure he kept the cash,’ she explained.
Marnie pulled two twenty-pound notes from her back pocket. ‘It isn’t much but it should be enough for you to get to your sister’s.’
More tears spilled from Drew’s eyes as she took the money. ‘I’ll make sure that PC Clark stays with you until you get your things together and then he can give you a lift to the station.’
Drew smiled sadly through the tears.
‘Just make sure you give him the details of where you are staying in case we need another chat.’
‘I will,’ she replied, the money vanished into the pocket of her sweatshirt. ‘And when you see Emma tell her I’m fine and ask her to give me a ring.’
Marnie smiled in return. ‘I will,’ she replied as she headed for the door.
Drew watched her go before looking around the threadbare flat, she thought of all the men who had passed through the apartment, all eager for their slice of flesh.
As more tears fell Drew bolted to her feet, she thought of Dave Hamer and rejoiced in the fact that he was dead. With a feeling of relief, she went into the bedroom to gather her meagre belongings.
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