Don't Tell Meg Trilogy Box Set

by Paul J. Teague

  I’d been a fool. I despised myself. Alone in the darkness, heading back home towards who knows what, I resolved that I would make it up to Meg. If I had to die for her, then I would. My wife meant more than anything in the world to me. I was going to sort out Tony Miller, then we would get on with the rest of our life together. There was still time to put it all right.

  I was beginning to feel stiff as I walked along in the darkness. The car accident had taken its toll and I was experiencing some physical discomfort. I wasn’t certain how long I’d been walking. A few cars had passed me, but the only person who’d pulled over was heading in the opposite direction.

  It was a vicar of all people. At least she was practising what she preached.

  ‘Are you alright? You look like you’ve been in the wars. Can I call someone for you? Where are you heading?’

  ‘No, I’m good – thank you for stopping. My car’s broken down, and I have a friend coming to meet me along the road. I decided to start walking to meet her. I look worse than I am. I got in a mess trying to bump-start it.’

  ‘Are you sure I can’t call somebody for you? Would you like a chocolate bar?’

  What a strange thing to offer. Maybe she’d been watching too much Bear Grylls on the TV. I took it – a sugar boost was exactly what I needed.

  The vicar went on her way and it wasn’t too long afterwards that a van driver pulled over.

  ‘You alright, mate? Want a lift or something?’

  Maybe the vicar had put in a good word for me with Him upstairs and sent a bit of help my way. The van driver was a shop-fitter who’d been working late in Newcastle, grateful for a bit of company to keep him awake on his way home after a long day. He didn’t ask any questions about why I was covered in mud, neither did he seem to notice the grazes on my arms. Even I hadn’t clocked those in the darkness, they didn’t hurt at all.

  I was grateful for the distraction of a bit of generic conversation – and for the fact that he listened to the other local radio station so wouldn’t recognise my voice. Now that might have been tricky.

  As we neared the outskirts of the city, the signal bars began to reappear on my mobile phone. I didn’t want to risk a phone call in the van, but I needed to communicate with Alex.

  What news from the house? I got cut off. Bloody phones.

  Where have you been? Nearly called the police. Still no word from Jason. Call me?

  Can’t call yet. Soon. Nearly at the house. Don’t call police yet. Be ready though. I’ll tell you what’s going on.

  Don’t do anything stupid Pete. You see anything dodgy, call the police. Don’t put yourself at risk. Or Meg.

  It’s Ellie he wants. I need to contact Ellie. BRB

  There were still no messages from Ellie. I was getting really annoyed with her. She’d been impetuous and stupid heading off like that. Of course, she hadn’t seen the video, so she didn’t know what Tony had done, but she did know what he was like. We should have tackled him together. I decided to try her mobile again.

  I texted, I couldn’t risk that call with White Van Man listening in: Ellie! Call me! DO NOT go in there alone. Need to tell you something about Tony. Don’t tackle him on your own. I’m on my way. With you soon.

  A text came in. It was all kicking off now I had a signal once again.

  I did a double-take on the text. It was Martin Travis. What was Martin Travis doing texting me so late on a Saturday night? I opened it up, trying to keep my positive but non-committal responses about that day’s football match to the minimum. Conversations between men always get to football eventually.

  ‘How’s the wife and family?’

  ‘Great!’

  ‘Work alright?’

  ‘Fine!’

  ‘Did you watch the game?’

  Cue an hour of enthusiastic and highly detailed conversation. Maybe that’s why I got on so well with women – I always hated football.

  Martin’s text made me panic. The conversation with my driving companion had taken my mind off what was happening, at least a little. But Martin’s text was blunt and out of character: Hi Peter. Is Meg okay? I’m worried about her. Call me please. Any time.

  Why would Martin Travis be texting me about Meg on a Saturday night? I was desperate to get through the city and home. I’d plumbed the depths of the football conversation already. I’d shared my profound thoughts on how ‘the boys done good’ and ‘they were cheated’ and that was all I had to offer. I think the driver sensed it as we got closer to the agreed drop-off point.

  ‘Just drop me off at the end of Dundee Road, that’ll be great, thanks.’

  I could feel myself tensing as we got closer and closer.

  ‘I’m happy to drop you outside your house, it’s no problem, we’ve come this far!’

  ‘No, I’m fine thank you. Don’t want to startle my wife with the sound of the van pulling up the drive. Can I give you anything for the diesel?’

  ‘No, you’re alright mate. I’m pleased for the company, it gets really boring driving along that road at night.’

  We exchanged final pleasantries and I jumped out of the van. I was home at last. It would be over in a matter of minutes now. I’d finally be reunited with Meg.

  I waited for the van to drive off before I headed towards our road. I hadn’t been entirely honest with him, we didn’t live on Dundee Road, we were a bit further up in what the locals would have called ‘the posh houses’. They weren’t that posh, but they had short drives and a bit of garden, and you generally needed a bit more money than average to live there.

  We were a working, childless couple. It was a bit of a stretch financially, but we liked it there. You could come and go without neighbours popping out from behind the fence. It was good for Meg because there was little chance of running into the clients there. And it was good for me because I liked to keep out of things away from the office. I wasn’t keen on being spotted in the street, I liked to leave work and be anonymous outside it.

  I checked my phone. Nothing from Ellie, nothing more from Alex. I wanted to call Alex, but I was more anxious to get to the house. Martin Travis could wait.

  I walked up the road. It was lined with trees, there were very few street lights. Those that we had were older, they didn’t give out much radiant light. My phone was on 10 percent charge. I decided not to make any more calls. I had to save enough juice to call the police, if it came to that. We had a landline in the house, I’d return all my calls from the regular phone once Tony had been sorted out. And Meg was safe.

  I reached the end of the drive. There was only one car. Meg’s car. No sign of Ellie. Had she got lost? I didn’t know what car she drove, but there was nothing parked along the street either. Where on earth was Ellie?

  I walked towards the front door, trying hard not to crunch the gravel which we’d spread in front of the house. Meg had insisted we do that, it’s a great deterrent for thieves apparently. It’s also a pain in the arse when you’re trying to creep up to your own front door.

  The lights were on. All over the house. The front door was open – it was just slightly ajar, but I could see that it was open. That wasn’t good.

  I looked around for Jason Davies. It was only to be expected that he wouldn’t be so careless as to leave his car where it might be spotted. He’d probably be hidden in the undergrowth like a character from Dad’s Army. Would he make himself known to me? Or would he stay watching in the distance, as Alex had suggested? I pulled out my phone again, wondering if I dared risk a text. Six percent power.

  No, I’d have to go in. I couldn’t wait any longer. I took a look around the garden, trying to spot Jason. He was good at hiding, I couldn’t see him anywhere.

  I walked up to the door and gently pushed it open. The house was quiet. No TV, no radio. No voices. Strange.

  I remembered as a kid coming downstairs in the middle of the night. All the lights were on, but there was nobody there. I waited in the sitting room for a bit, looked around and went to bed. I assumed m
y parents had gone upstairs and forgotten to turn off the lights. It reminded me of that moment. Years later, they’d revealed that they’d been having sex behind the sofa when I’d come down. My dad had been in the middle of some sexual manoeuvre when I turned up out of nowhere. They were there, holding their breath, as they waited for me to piss off. Praying that I wouldn’t investigate any further.

  This scene reminded me of that situation. It wasn’t quite right, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. At that moment I’d have breathed a huge sigh of relief if my dad had emerged from behind the settee with his trousers round his ankles and everything had turned out to be okay.

  I stepped into the hallway, listening – for any sound. All I could hear was the hum of the boiler. I decided to announce my arrival. I didn’t want to spook Tony.

  ‘Meg? Are you here?’

  Then again, only louder this time.

  ‘Meg? Ellie? Tony? Is anybody here?’

  There was nothing. Silence. I walked into the sitting room. Nobody there. My mind was racing. Was it all over? Had Jason sorted it all out while I’d been talking football with White Van Man?

  Then I saw it. I’d missed it at first. You don’t really expect to see a chunk of bloodied skin caught on the side of your coffee table. It had hair attached to it. Not Meg’s hair. Not Ellie’s. I moved around the coffee table so that I could get to the second sofa.

  Shit! There was a bloodied hand poking out from behind the settee. I pulled it out, away from the wall. I threw up, I couldn’t hold it in. I didn’t want to hold it in.

  It was Jason Davies, or at least the man I remembered from years back. His throat was cut. He was still bleeding out behind the sofa. Shit.

  I was desperate, frantic with worry about Meg.

  ‘Meg! Meg!’ I called. Nobody in the dining room. Nobody in the kitchen. The kitchen drawer was open. There were wine glasses on the worktop, one empty, the other hardly drunk. This was the place where Meg and I had enjoyed that last hug before I headed off for Newcastle.

  I ran upstairs. There was blood in the bathroom sink. Lots of it. More blood than I’d ever seen before. No attempt had been made to clean it up.

  I was heading for the main bedroom but had to pass the two spare rooms first. I looked into each one, terrified of what I might find there, all the time calling out: ‘Meg! Meg!’

  I reached the main bedroom. There was blood on the carpet. It was everywhere. How could there be so much blood? I saw it straight away. There was a body on the bed, covered by the quilt. I couldn’t see who it was. I was desperate to pull off the quilt but at the same time I dared not look. I couldn’t bear it if it was Meg, what would I do if it was Meg under there? I was sobbing now, cursing and begging.

  ‘Don’t let this be Meg, don’t you dare let this be Meg.’

  I grasped the top of the quilt and slowly drew it back. So much blood everywhere.

  ‘No! Do not let this be Meg!’

  It was hard to see, there was so much blood that I couldn’t make out the clothes, the hair was badly matted. I retched as I turned the body over.

  I looked at the face. It was strangely calm, showing none of the horror that must have led up to those final minutes.

  I started to sob. I’ve never cried like that before. It was a mixture of fear, horror and adrenalin. I looked down at the body and collapsed to my knees.

  It wasn’t my Meg. It was the last thing I’d expected to see. The body on the bed was Tony Miller.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I’ve never fainted in my life before, but there’s a first time for everything. I’d already vomited once, now I felt light-headed and had to sit down on the bed. I thought I was going to pass out, it took a few minutes to steady myself again.

  Tony Miller was dead, in my house. Jason Davies was dead downstairs. Jason had had his throat cut, Tony had been stabbed several times. Their deaths had been frenzied and violent. The stab wounds were all over Tony’s body, as if somebody had been wielding the knife inexpertly, doing anything they could to bring down the victim.

  Had Meg killed these men? I had to consider that possibility, but there had never been a violent bone in her body. Maybe she’d killed Tony Miller in self-defence … but what about Jason Davies? Had she mistaken him for an accomplice? If she was frantic and in a state of panic after killing Tony Miller, she might have lashed out at Jason Davies if he’d suddenly burst into the house. She’d never seen him in her life before, never heard his name.

  Oh God, poor Meg, what terrible things had happened in our house? We’d had our last cuddle in the kitchen before I left for Newcastle. Our domestic issues seemed so petty all of a sudden, we’d had the whole of our lives together to sort them out, we’d have got there in the end. Instead, I’d had sex with Ellie and brought a maniac into our lives.

  And what about Ellie? Her car was nowhere to be seen, there was no evidence of her in the house. No phone, no bag ... no body. I had to think the situation through. The police would be hunting for a killer now – Meg had gone from victim to fugitive. I had to speak to her, I had to find out what had happened.

  My mind snapped back into focus, the journalist in me found his feet once again. I forced myself to roll over Tony Miller’s body. His hands were lacerated, he must have tried to defend himself from the knife attack. There were several wounds on his body, some quite shallow. He had been killed by an inexperienced killer, this was no Dexter Morgan masterpiece. The pathologist would figure out what had killed Tony Miller, but it didn’t take an expert to see that there had been a fight here. Tony had put up a defence, but been killed by a fatal stab. It was a mess, the killer would be covered in blood.

  I made a thorough search of the bedroom and the rest of upstairs. No more dead bodies, but my home had turned into a Saw movie. I took a second look at Jason’s body. I hadn’t seen it before, but Jason had been hit forcefully on his head. The wound was at the back, that’s why I’d missed it.

  I’ve only seen two dead bodies before. The first time was when I’d been doing a series of interviews for the radio about what happens after death. I was recording at an undertaker’s and the chap showing me around accidentally walked me into an area where there was an old guy laid out in his coffin. My guide apologised for his error, concerned that he’d taken me by surprise. But the old guy looked peaceful. When people say ‘at rest’, that’s exactly what it looked like. An old guy who was no longer alive.

  The second time was my dad. He’d died from a stroke a few years before. I’d been reluctant to see him at first, why would I want to look at my dead father? There was an emotional connection that time, I wanted to take care over my final memories of him. My mum finally convinced me to go and see him, and I’m pleased I did. It was just my dad, nothing scary. He looked calm, peaceful, and – those words again – at rest. It was fine, I’m pleased I did it.

  I’d never seen anything like the bodies in my house, though. I suppose TV prepares us for murder, but in real life it’s so brutal, and the mess, the blood goes everywhere.

  I pulled out the sofa a little further so that I could get a closer look at Jason’s body. My inexpert guess was that he’d been struck on the head, then had his throat cut afterwards. The wounds were messy and random once again, this was no accomplished killer.

  My amateur sleuthing seemed to be correct. Everything pointed to Meg killing these men. These looked to me like frenzied attempts at self-defence. She must have been terrified, scared for her life.

  I thought through my options. The men were dead, it wouldn’t require a paramedic to confirm that. There was no need to call an ambulance; if there were lives that could have been saved, I’d have made the call.

  Meg was my main concern. Had she gone on the run? She must be frightened out of her mind if she’d killed those two men. I had to track her down and find out what had happened. I’d comfort her and we’d go to the police station together. There was no need to call the police, not until I found her. It wouldn’t change anything.
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  I scanned the room. My mobile was dead again. I headed for the house phone, picked it up and pressed the button. No dial tone. It had been unplugged from the wall and the cable cut. There were more phones at various locations in the house, and I checked them all. All disabled. Tony Miller had had plenty of time alone with Meg in the house – any half-decent maniac would make sure that she couldn’t raise the alarm.

  How had they passed that time? Had he hurt her? Had he raped or tortured her? Would there be any evidence of that? How would I know? I’d have to talk to Meg. Oh God, please don’t let him have hurt her.

  And where was Ellie? Had Tony sent her to the wrong address? Maybe Meg had given an incorrect postcode. She’d be panicking and desperate to speak to me. I had to find a phone.

  I’d lived in that area for several years, but I couldn’t think for the life of me where the nearest payphone was. Did we even have one still? There was no way I could use one of the neighbours’ phones, not in my current state.

  I looked around again, there had to be some way to get in touch. I walked into the kitchen. The drawer was open. It was a crazy thing to do, but I pushed it shut. Tidying the place up. We might have looked a little more presentable once I’d removed the corpse and blood-soaked carpet from the sitting room.

  Interesting. The drawer had been opened, presumably to find a weapon. The biggest, nastiest knife had been removed from the wooden knife block on the worktop opposite. That must have been used to kill Tony and Jason. However, Meg knew where the knives were, why had she gone for the drawer first?

  I shuddered, thinking about the missing knife. I’d actually laughed with Meg once that it looked more like a murder weapon than a cooking implement. Those words were coming back to haunt me now. It was long and had sharp serrations along the blade. I’d cut myself on it once, and it hurt badly. I’d stopped using it afterwards. It explained the mess made by the wounds, though. They’d been hacked rather than sliced, it must have been that knife which did it.