by Maggie James
My initial euphoria soon wore off. I couldn’t share my triumph with anyone, and a sense of deflation seeped through me. Then I remembered Love Rats Exposed. Those women would love to hear I’d hoodwinked Scott fucking Champion.
I logged on, checking the recent threads. Dozens of people had commiserated with Anna over her daughter’s death, and I added my own belated sympathies. Then I located the thread I’d started before and began to type.
‘I was wrong,’ I posted. ‘Turns out I’d been dating the guy who swindled my sister after all. Remember Scott, the man I hoped was Mr Right? Well, it was him all along. He tried it on with me too, and almost succeeded. Not quite, though. I can’t go into details, but he’s choking on a fat wedge of humble pie because of me. Now I’ve dumped the bastard, and good riddance.’ Then I closed my laptop.
I packed the bundles of cash into my rucksack again and hid it at the back of my wardrobe, to be dealt with tomorrow. The mobile phones got shoved into an old shoebox and stashed beside the money. From my cosmetics bag, I took out my nail scissors. Then, with deliberate cuts, I destroyed the credit cards. My scissors halved Scott, Steven, Rick, Michael, John and Chris, my fingers vicious.
‘Die, you bastard,’ I said, as I chopped Scott Champion in two.
After I finished, I checked my laptop, curious to see what responses I’d received. Quite a few, it seemed. Good for you! Don’t be a tease - tell us how you managed it! from Broken and Betrayed. Wow! You rock, girl! The bastard had it coming to him, from Heartbroken Helen. Satisfaction sparked in me at their obvious admiration, although I wouldn’t be revealing how I’d delivered Scott’s comeuppance. Some things, like burglary, shouldn’t be disclosed online.
A good evening’s work. I slept well that night.
19
I awoke early the following morning, satisfaction deep in my belly. If I’d been a cat, I’d have purred for hours. Instead I enjoyed a lie-in while I planned my day. First I’d head over to Mum’s, given that we’d not seen each other for a while. Next would come a trip to the bank to deposit my half of the money, then I’d drive to Ellie’s, assuming she was available, to deliver the rest to her. After that, I’d call Spain, let my neighbour know I was heading back, albeit only for a short while. Just as long as I needed to close the gallery and vacate my villa, ready for its sale. I had my sister, Mum and Caroline to consider. My disastrous liaison with Scott had made me realise how much I needed them. Not to mention Richie. A man who, unlike Scott, was the real deal. Bristol was where I belonged. Not Spain.
I grabbed my mobile, fired off a quick text to Ellie. You around later? We need to talk. With that, my stomach rumbled, causing me to head downstairs into the kitchen. My sister’s reply came as I polished off a plate of bacon and eggs. Great! I could use a break from making all these purses. One o’clock?
After I showered and dressed, I took the rucksack from my wardrobe and transferred the money to my handbag. Then I drove to Mum’s house.
She seemed pleased I’d called round. I didn’t stay long, just enough time to reassure her that I’d dumped Scott. No mention of my decision to move back to the UK. I judged it too soon for that particular revelation.
‘Thank God you’ve seen sense,’ she said.
‘Amen to that.’ For once, my mother and I were in agreement.
My next stop was the bank. Once inside, I hesitated. Ellie had lost all her savings whereas I had plenty left. Her business was young, and I wasn’t convinced she’d freed herself from her financial quagmire, no matter what she claimed. Part of me realised I was attempting to ease my guilt at having misjudged her, but I didn’t care. I’d give my sister the whole twenty thousand, and to hell with my motives. She deserved it.
With that sorted, I returned to my car to head to Ellie’s. Love for her filled my heart, along with relief I’d been granted a chance to fix our relationship. In that moment, life tasted sweet. Scott was history, and the temptation of Richie hovered on the horizon. Not right away – I’d been too damaged by recent events – but a girl could hope, couldn’t she?
The hug Ellie gave me after she opened the door threatened to crack my ribs, even though she was so slight. Thank God my sister was so forgiving. We’d be fine, a fact that almost forced me to my knees in gratitude.
‘Come inside,’ she said. I followed her into the living room.
‘I’ve missed you.’ My voice was thick with emotion.
‘Likewise.’ She smiled, and so did my heart.
‘I love you,’ I said.
She laughed. ‘Likewise again.’ Then she stared at me, a frown on her face. ‘You don’t seem yourself. What’s wrong?’
I drew in a breath. ‘You were right. We dated the same man, and he’s an evil lying rat.’
She swallowed a gasp. ‘How come you changed your mind? Did Caroline convince you?’
‘Let’s just say I’ve seen the light.’ Some things - Darcy and the faked cancer - Ellie wouldn’t hear from me. ‘It’s over between us.’
She frowned. ‘Weren’t you crazy about him? Why the sudden change?’
‘I prefer not to talk about it, okay? But I’m sorry for the way I’ve behaved.’
‘You believe me now? About Scott, or Steven, or whatever his name is?’
‘Yes. I should never have doubted you.’
‘At least you didn’t lose your savings to him.’ My dismay must have shown in my face. ‘Tell me you didn’t. Please.’
I couldn’t lie about the money, not after telling Caroline and Richie I’d funded Darcy’s treatment. ‘Yeah, I got taken for a ride, just like you. Not for as much though. It’s worth it to get him out of my life.’
‘Will you go to the police?’ Her voice held fear; no doubt she was terrified I’d mention her own shame.
‘No.’
‘That’s good.’ She smiled, her relief obvious. ‘You want something to drink?’ Without waiting for an answer, she disappeared into the kitchen.
Ellie remained full of questions about Scott as we drank our coffees, especially about how I discovered his duplicity, but I refused to answer them. I didn’t care to dwell on the extent to which he had duped me. ‘You were right, I was wrong,’ I told her. ‘That’s all you need to know. I’m finished with the prick.’
‘Thank God.’
‘I have a surprise for you.’ It seemed an appropriate moment. My handbag sat on the floor next to my chair, its presence a silent plea: give me to Ellie. I hauled the bag, fat with the bundles of cash, onto the table. With a grin on my face, I pulled it open, exposing the thick wads.
‘It’s for you,’ I said. ‘All of it. Twenty thousand pounds.’
Ellie stared at me, her confusion obvious. ‘I don’t understand.’
My moment had arrived, and I planned to savour every second. I’d intended to tell her I won the money on the National Lottery, but found I couldn’t. Too many lies had soiled our relationship already. Besides, how could I explain a bag of cash rather than a bank transfer between us, if I’d won it on a lotto ticket? No, I’d tell the truth, and to hell with it.
‘I stole it from Scott.’ Shock replaced confusion in her face. Before Ellie could speak, I ploughed on. I confessed my anger at Steven Simmons after her suicide attempt, how I’d decided to exact revenge on the bastard who’d driven her to such despair. How convinced I’d been that Scott was genuine.
‘Then I discovered the truth. He’s a ruthless con artist, just like you said.’ I told her about my determination to play the bastard at his own game.
‘I found out where he was living,’ I continued. ‘So I broke in and stole the money. All of it.’
Ellie remained silent. ‘Say something,’ I urged.
Her lips quivered. ‘You did that for me?’
‘Yes. If you’re worried about him finding out, you needn’t be. I’ve covered my tracks.’
‘Are you sure? Oh, my God, what if he comes after you?’
I cursed myself for causing her worry. ‘It’ll be okay, Els. He d
oesn’t know where I live, remember. Not now I’m back in Kingswood. Even when he discovers the money’s missing, he won’t link its disappearance to me. He’ll never twig that I’m onto him.’
‘You’re certain?’
‘Yes. He’ll think it’s an inside job by one of the maintenance crew at the apartment block. And there’s no way he’d involve the police. It’ll be all right. You’ll see.’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe you’d go to such lengths for me.’
I emptied the bag onto the coffee table. ‘Take the money. Please.’
She didn’t respond, but didn’t say no, either.
‘You don’t need some extra cash?’ I asked. ‘I bet you do.’
Ellie nodded. ‘I won’t deny that.’ The notes remained where I’d left them, however.
Then she shrugged. ‘I’m not thrilled about accepting this money, I’ll admit.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Because it’s been tainted. By him.’
‘It’s yours now. Do what you want with it. Donate it to charity if you’re that bothered.’ I was past caring.
Once home, I fixed myself some lunch, then slumped on the sofa. Amelia was at work and I was grateful to have the house to myself. Before long I drifted off to sleep.
When I awoke, a sense of having overlooked something vital nagged at my gut. What, though?
For several minutes, I ran through everything in my mind, telling myself I was imagining things. It’s over, I reassured myself. You’re free of him and so is Ellie.
Then the reason for my worry sledgehammered me between the eyes.
Anna’s daughter Sophie had been murdered, and a horrible suspicion was growing inside my head. Her mother had posted that Sophie never got the chance to inform the police about the fraud. My earlier concern resurfaced that she might have texted Scott, whom she knew as Michael Hammond, about her intentions. If so, did that impulsive gesture, no doubt done in a ‘fuck you’ moment of anger, result in her death at Scott’s hands? Had he decided on drastic action to ensure her silence?
I considered the facts. Okay, so we were at the cottage the weekend she died. We’d returned early from Devon, though, on the pretext Scott wanted to check up on Darcy. Then he’d pleaded the need for sleep. Scott could have killed Sophie after he left me that Sunday night. Anna hadn’t specified when her daughter had died, only that it happened that weekend.
I forced myself to breathe, long and slow, to ease the tightness in my chest. Might Sophie’s stabbing be a coincidence? I had no proof Scott was a killer, just my gut instincts. They were screaming a warning at me, sirens blaring and lights flashing.
Oh, God. I ran to the bathroom, only just reaching the toilet before I vomited up my lunch.
Once I finished heaving, I went to my bedroom, switching on my laptop and navigating to Love Rats Exposed. The thread from Anna about Sophie’s murder was at the top, with at least a dozen new posts on it. I clicked on it, refreshing my memory about when her daughter had died. I was right; Anna hadn’t given details, just that Sophie was murdered the same weekend Scott and I spent in Devon.
Impossible to function until I discovered the truth. I retrieved my laptop, typing ‘murder of Sophie in Melksham alleyway’ into Google. Too bad I didn’t know her surname.
The first item was a link to the local newspaper, which reported Sophie’s death as taking place on the Saturday of my weekend with Scott. Her last name was Hannigan, it seemed. Other sources corroborated the date. Thank God. I heaved a sigh of relief. I had overreacted. Scott had been with me when she died. He was a fraudster, sure, but not a killer.
20
By evening, my mood had turned buoyant, my earlier concerns gone. Tomorrow I’d book my flight to Spain, making sure I saw Ellie and Mum again before I left. What made me smile as I fixed myself a bowl of pasta had less to do with them than it did with my best friend. Caroline had phoned just before I started cooking.
‘How are you doing, lovey?’ she asked.
‘Fine. You mustn’t worry about me. I’m over Scott. Ready to move on.’ A little optimistic, perhaps, but so what?
‘Already? Feck, that was quick.’
‘The sooner the better, I’d say.’
‘So long as you’re not bottling up your emotions.’
I smiled at Caroline’s scepticism, but then she remained unaware of the revenge I’d exacted. ‘Nope. Definitely not.’
‘Have you been to the police yet?’
‘No.’ A heated debate ensued, one that only ended when I reminded her about Ellie. ‘I won’t do anything to jeopardise her mental health,’ I insisted. ‘She’d never cope with the police investigating Steven Simmons.’ To my relief, Caroline agreed.
‘The reason I’m calling ...’
Was that nervousness in her words? Or excitement? ‘That last time Richie and I saw you,’ she continued. ‘You mentioned about the three of us going for a drink. Or a meal.’
Oh, God. Please, please, please, I prayed in silence.
‘There’s a pub he wants to try in Thornbury that does a Sunday carvery. How about we all go this weekend?’
Delight filled me. Yes, yes and triple yes! No wonder Caroline had sounded excited. Perhaps Richie only wanted us to be friends, given how badly I’d behaved, but I couldn’t stop the sense of hope that filled me. First I’d heal the wound Scott had inflicted – Maria Holmes, who’d helped me so much before, came to mind - and then maybe we’d get a second chance at love.
We wrapped up the call and I carried my spaghetti bolognese, along with a glass of wine, into the living room, chose an armchair to slouch in and turned on the television. The local evening news had just started. I forked meat and pasta into my mouth as the title sequence finished, unaware of the shock awaiting me.
The camera focused on the male anchor. ‘In tonight’s programme, we reveal how the death of a local drug addict is linked to a recent murder in Melksham.’ I shovelled in more spaghetti, still oblivious.
‘Twenty-seven-year-old Darcy Logan, a long-term heroin addict, was found dead at her home in Greenbank yesterday. The police officers who were called to the house discovered jewellery and other items belonging to Sophie Hannigan, a resident of Melksham who was murdered recently. Unconfirmed reports say Darcy Logan’s description matched eyewitness accounts of a woman spotted fleeing the scene of the crime.’
The fork dropped from my hand, the bowl of pasta spilling onto the carpet as I jerked upright in my seat, not caring about the mess at my feet. A photograph flashed onto the screen. In front of me was the woman I’d known as Scott’s sister.
‘Police describe the circumstances surrounding Darcy Logan’s death from a heroin overdose as suspicious and have not yet ruled out foul play. They are also liaising with Melksham police investigating the murder of Sophie Hannigan.’ The camera then panned to the female newscaster, who began the next item.
My throat closed over with shock. All rational thought fled my brain. Scott was far more dangerous than I’d given him credit for. Instead of getting his own hands dirty, he’d persuaded Darcy to murder Sophie. He’d been so damn clever, every step of the way. His accomplice’s heroin addiction fitted perfectly with posing as his sick sister. The long sleeves she’d worn each time I’d met her - not to keep a dying woman warm, but to cover the needle tracks on her arms. No wonder she looked so gaunt, so unhealthy. With her hair concealed under a scarf, her brows plucked and her eyelashes cut off, she’d easily fooled me into believing she suffered from cancer.
I wondered how much money Scott had offered her to play the role. Not a lot probably, given her addiction. Same with murdering Sophie. And now Darcy was dead. She’d served her purpose, and Scott couldn’t risk her blabbing the truth.
I couldn’t find it in me to hate her. She’d been another of his victims, just in a different way.
A thought struck me. Was I in danger? Two women were already dead, and I’d acted in a fashion guaranteed to piss off their killer in a big way
. I gulped down the rest of my wine, in need of an alcoholic crutch. Then I leaned back in my chair, closing my eyes, my brain a mess. I thought long and hard, outlining everything in my head before coming to some conclusions.
Fact one: as far as Scott was concerned I was a success story. He’d fleeced me of a sizable chunk of money, hadn’t he? He’d probably already moved onto his next victim.
Fact two: He had no reason to consider me a threat. The dickhead still believed I was clueless about his real identity.
Fact three: he had no proof I’d taken his money. My original theory still held good - he’d attribute the theft to the maintenance staff at the apartment block.
Fact four: Scott didn’t know where I lived. In a city the size of Bristol, he’d never track me down.
From whatever angle I looked at it, it appeared I was safe. A mantra kept repeating itself in my head: he doesn’t know where I live. He doesn’t know where I live.
Or maybe he did. Oh God. He’d stalked me several times, including before I moved to the Harbourside. The chances were good he’d discovered my Kingswood address in the process. Fear gripped my bones, squeezing terror into my core. Should I involve the police in order to protect myself?
Followed by another consideration: two women had been murdered, and I possessed evidence that could help their enquiry. Richie was right - Scott Champion deserved to be behind bars. I didn’t care about the fact I’d have to admit to burglary and theft in order to tell the whole truth. Worst case scenario? With no criminal history and a reasonable explanation of my motives, I’d probably receive a suspended sentence rather than actual jail time.
Decision made. I’d tell the police everything and point them towards Scott’s other victims on Love Rats Exposed. I’d turn over the ruined credit cards in my waste bin, the mobile phones in my wardrobe, give them his Clifton Heights address. Maybe they’d catch him, maybe they wouldn’t, but either way I’d have done the right thing.