The Strangler's Daughter

by Amy Cross

  “But -”

  “And you can watch everything on catch-up. You've got all evening to do that when we get home later.”

  I know he's right, and I know it's healthy to get out of the house this morning, but I still can't shake the feeling that he's overcompensating for what happened last night. This morning I woke up to the smell of a full English breakfast being cooked, and now he's got some big idea about us going to the museum of local history in a nearby village. I haven't been to the museum since I was a little girl, I haven't even thought about it, yet out of the blue today Dad thinks it'd be a great thing for us to do together. He's going to drive us there. In the same car he drove to Kemberside last night.

  A day trip, he called it. We're going to take a day trip.

  ***

  “Isn't it amazing to see what they can figure out, just from digging up a few pieces of pottery?” Dad says, as he leads me slowly through the museum. “I love learning about the history of our local area, about how so many different events came together to create the world we live in now. Don't you like that sort of thing?”

  “Yes,” I reply, wandering past a display that shows some mannequins dressed up as prehistoric Britons.

  I swear, this place hasn't changed at all since I was here before. The only difference is that the displays are a little worn now, and some of the information seems dubious and out of date. How old was I back then, anyway? Mum had just died, so I think I must have been fifteen. I remember not being particularly interested in the displays, although I guess that's fairly standard for a young kid. I was with Dad, and I think I was just enjoying hanging out with him. I have to admit, I'm finding the place quite a bit more fun now, and I stop to read a sign on the wall that describes life for local people during the period of Roman occupation. Dad was right, this stuff is quite interesting.

  And I can't exactly complain. Whenever Dad does something bad, he overcompensates during the following days, trying to make everything go back to normal. I should probably be angry and upset, but I like spending time with him. There are upsides to what he does.

  “Hey, Lisa, come and look at this!”

  Turning, I see that Dad's gesturing for me to join him in a side room. I hesitate, before walking over to see what he's found. To my surprise, however, I walk into the room and see that he's standing next to a set of large, brightly-colored blocks. Even more surprisingly, I realize that I remember this exact same room from my previous visit.

  “It's a game,” he explains with a smile. “You use the pieces to construct a model of an old Roman era fort that used to stand near here. You have to base it on the one on that wall, but you can come up with your own changes to try to make it stronger. Come on, let's try it!”

  “Actually, I was going to read the -”

  “Come on, Lisa. I remember how much you loved this last time. It'll be fun.”

  “That was a long time ago,” I point out. “I want to go and read the -”

  “It'll be fun!” he says again, more firmly this time. “Lisa, seriously, let's get started!”

  He moves a couple of the blocks across the floor, and I realize that he's serious. I definitely remember playing in this room when I was here before, when Dad brought me. I enjoyed it back then, but I was just a kid. This room is for children. Yet now Dad seems determined that we have to do it all again, and I get the feeling that I won't be able to persuade him otherwise. Besides, I don't want to upset him, so I step forward and start figuring out where all the large green bricks are supposed to go. I figure if we start with those, we can build from the ground up.

  “I'm always so bad at things like this,” he says, forcing a laugh that doesn't sound very genuine. “You're good at them, though. Come on, let's get stuck in. I bet you'll have it done in no time.”

  I know what this is all about. He's trying to distract me. He doesn't want me to check the news and see exactly what he did last night.

  Chapter Ten

  Ten years ago

  “And then what happened?” the paramedic asks, still crouching in front of me in the reception area. “She just fell over?”

  I nod, and she makes a note on a pad.

  “Is she okay?” I ask.

  “I really just need to go through a few more questions,” she says. “Before she collapsed, did she do or say anything that made you think she wasn't well?”

  I shake my head.

  “And what were you doing here at the hotel in the first place? You live quite close by, don't you?”

  “They'd had an argument.”

  “Your parents?”

  I nod.

  “And how old are you again, Lisa?”

  “Fifteen.”

  I can see the flicker of doubt in her eyes. I know what she's thinking, she's thinking that I seem a little slow for fifteen, that I seem a little dazed. I understand that, and it's not her fault. She doesn't know that I have a slight condition, but at least she's being polite. Not like the kids at school. She makes another note on her pad, but I get the feeling that she's treading very carefully here, that she doesn't want to do or say the wrong thing.

  Hearing footsteps, I turn just in time to see the other paramedic coming down the stairs. The reception guy immediately goes over to him, and I watch as they have a hushed, serious conversation.

  There's no urgency.

  I think that's bad.

  “Is Mum okay?” I ask, turning back to the other paramedic.

  “Lisa,” she replies carefully, “we just need a little more time, okay? We just have to do things a certain way. I'm sorry about that, but it's just how things are.”

  “But she's okay, isn't she?”

  “You gave us your father's phone number,” she says, clearly trying once again to sidestep the question. “Is there anyone else you'd like us to call?”

  “My grandmother, but -”

  “Why don't you give us her number too?” she asks. “That way we can make sure that someone comes to keep you company and talk to you.”

  “She lives a long way away,” I reply. “It'd take her hours to get here.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “I can't remember the name of the town.”

  “And is she your mother's mother?”

  I nod.

  “Someone's going to have to talk to her, Lisa. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes, but -”

  Before I can finish, I hear the main doors sliding open, and I turn to see Dad hurrying through from outside. He looks utterly unkempt and bleary-eyed, and he freezes as soon as he sees me. For a few seconds he seems totally lost, as if he doesn't know what to do, but then he takes a couple of steps toward me.

  “Lisa?” he says, his voice trembling with fear. “Lisa, darling, where's your mother?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Today

  “You just wait 'til you taste this bolognese!” Dad calls out excitedly from the kitchen. “It's a new recipe, it's going to blow your socks off!”

  “I can't wait,” I reply, but I'm secretly tapping at my phone in the living room.

  Since we got home from our day out, Dad's been almost manic in his attempts to keep me distracted. Manic and painfully obvious. It's as if he's gone into overdrive, but at the same time his efforts have strangely had the opposite impact. The more he tries to get me to focus on other things, the more I feel as if I should take a look at the local news, and I've finally managed to sneak away under the pretense of using the bathroom. At least that's one place in the house where Dad's not going to join me. I'm just relieved that he agreed to put a lock on the door when I reached sixteen.

  I slide the bolt across, and then I look down at my phone just as the local paper's site loads. I feel an instant chill in my chest as soon as I see the headline:

  WOMAN, 29, FOUND DEAD BEHIND SUPERMARKET.

  I don't know how, but I think I was secretly hoping that somehow there'd be no news of a death, that it would turn out that Dad hadn't actually done anything
last night, that the whole thing was some kind of strange fever dream. As I tap through to the story, however, I already recognize the picture of a big supermarket on the outskirts of Kemberside. I know this is going to be about Dad, and I start to feel nauseous as I read the story:

  Police are appealing for witnesses after a 29-year-old woman was found dead behind the CompCo supermarket near Kemberside on Thursday morning. The victim has been identified and relatives have been informed. No cause of death has been revealed, but sources say that the death is being treated as suspicious.

  A worker at the supermarket reportedly discovered the body near some recycling bins early on Thursday. Police cordons have been in place all morning, and shoppers have been warned to expect some disruption to the supermarket's operation. A large section of the car park has also been sealed off, and officers have been visiting local businesses to request access to any CCTV recordings that might have caught the victim's final moments.

  Cheryl Gardener, 57, who runs a local shop, said: “There were lots of police cars here early this morning. It's horrible to think that something like this could happen in Kemberside. Everyone here's so friendly. You just can't imagine that anyone would do this.”

  I quickly re-read the story, although there's not really any need. I know exactly what the police are going to find once the post mortem has been carried out. The woman will have been strangled, and there'll be no luck with the CCTV cameras. In the old days, Dad always said that he was good at locating blind spots. He'll have parked his car far from the murder scene, and there'll be nothing whatsoever to link him to what happened. Even if he somehow left some DNA behind, his records aren't in any system.

  “Lisa?” he calls out from the kitchen. “Where are you?”

  “Bathroom!” I shout, before reaching over and flushing the toilet. I slip my phone into my pocket, and then I turn on the taps so that Dad thinks I'm washing my hands. I stare down at my hands, as I try to imagine Dad hurrying through the shadows in that car park; in my mind's eye, I also imagine a woman taking a shortcut through a dark alley. I've often wondered what it's like when Dad catches someone, and I always imagine that the actual strangling part doesn't take long. In truth, however, I suppose that it might sometimes not be so neat. People probably die more slowly in real life, compared to movies.

  “Lisa! Dinner's ready!”

  “Coming!”

  I turn the tap off and unbolt the door, and then I step out into the hallway. I tell myself that there's no need to worry, that this was just a one-off. That's what Dad claimed, after all. Last night, he told me that he simply needed to get it all out of his system, and I have to believe that he was telling the truth. That's the one thing that I have to remember, at all times. Despite all the things that he does, Dad never lies to me and I, in turn, never lie to him. And as he told me ten years ago, every family has its own little secret. This is ours.

  “Doesn't this smell delicious?” he asks as I reach the kitchen.

  “Totally,” I reply, and I watch as he puts the food onto the plate.

  When I was a kid, I was able to ignore what I knew about Dad's late-night activities. I was able to pretend that everything was alright. I just have to find a way to do that again, and to ignore the little nugget of fear that's starting to itch in my chest.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  I smile. “Totally,” I say again.

  Am I being convincing?

  He stares at me, before handing one of the plates to me.

  “We're going to be okay, you know,” he says. “Me and you, I mean. I'd never do anything that mean you were left alone, Lisa. I'll always be here to look after you. The world out there is a scary place, but I'm here to protect you. You know that, don't you?”

  I hesitate, before nodding gently. These are pretty much the exact same words he used ten years ago. They worked then, so I guess they'll work now.

  “Now get through there and start eating before it's cold,” he says with a grin. “If you think this is good, wait 'til you see what I've got lined up for dessert!”

  Chapter Twelve

  Ten years ago

  “It's called an aneurysm,” Dad explains as we sit alone in a corner of the reception area. “What that means is that a blood vessel swells up and then bursts. We won't know for certain for a few more days, but an aneurysm seems to be the most likely cause of death. They told me that your mother most likely had almost no symptoms. It would have been very quick for her, Lisa. She wouldn't have suffered at all.”

  Staring down at my hands, I can already feel another tear running down my cheek.

  “Was it my fault?” I ask.

  “No, Lisa. Don't ever think that.”

  “But could I have done something to stop it happening?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “She said she had a headache.”

  “There was nothing anyone could have done.” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “I promise you, Lisa. It was so quick, she didn't even know that it was going to happen. One minute she was fine, and the next...”

  His voice trails off, and I turn to him.

  “It must have been very scary,” he adds.

  “What were you arguing about tonight?” I ask.

  “That doesn't matter right now.”

  “Did the argument cause her to die?”

  “No. The argument was about something else.”

  “What?”

  He hesitates, but I can already sense that he's not going to tell me. He looks so tired and shocked, I feel as if it'd be wrong of me to keep asking.

  “We just argued,” he says. “It was about things you wouldn't understand. We've argued before, remember?”

  “This time she left,” I point out. “She's never done that before. And she took me.”

  “She'd have brought you back soon enough.” He pauses. “Lisa, after she drove you away, did she... call anyone?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did she call your grandmother? Think, Lisa. Think very carefully. Did your mother call your grandmother at any point today?”

  I shake my head.

  “And did she call anyone else at all?”

  I think back to the number 999 on her phone's screen, but then I remind myself that she didn't actually speak to anyone. So I shake my head again.

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  I nod.

  He lets out a brief sigh, as if he's relieved.

  “Do you know where her phone is?” he asks.

  “I just want to check it. To be sure.”

  “She has a pin code on it.”

  “I know her pin code, Lisa. Do you know where I can find her phone?”

  “I think it's in the room,” I tell him. “She dropped it.”

  “Okay.” He pauses, before getting to his feet. “Lisa, you just wait right here. I need to pop to the room for a moment.”

  “Can't you sit with me?” I ask.

  “I'll be quick,” he replies, “and -”

  Before he can finish, there's a rattling sound and we both turn to see a trolley being carried down the stairs. There's a body on the trolley, covered in a white sheet and strapped down. I don't need Dad to tell me who's under that sheet, and I watch silently as the trolley's wheeled outside to a waiting ambulance. Already, I can feel fresh tears in my eyes.

  “Wait here,” Dad says, before turning and heading to the stairs. “I'll be right back.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Today

  The spaceship swings around, flashing past a field of stars before diving down toward a greenish-red planet. Laser beams blast across the screen, narrowly missing the ship's side, and then several small fighters roar into view and start pursuing the ship to the planet's surface. There are three fighters, and I don't see how they won't be able to bring the ship down. Sure enough, one of the fighters soon scores a direct hit, causing one side of the ship to explode as it shudders and pitches.

  “I'm just going out for a walk.
”

  I turn to see Dad standing in the doorway.

  “Again?” I ask.

  “It's not like last night,” he replies, although he sounds tired and there's a hint of sadness in his eyes. “This time I really am just going for a walk. I need to clear my head, that's all.” He smiles. “We should get a dog one day,” he adds. “Something to put all this walking into context.”

  He smiles.

  Was that a joke?

  Am I supposed to laugh?

  How would a normal person react?

  I stare at him, but one thing I know is that Dad never lies. I mean, sure, last night he didn't mention that he was going to drive all the way to Kemberside, but he didn't explicitly say that he wasn't going to do that, either. This time, he's being very precise. It's almost as if he wants to make sure that I believe him.

  “Okay,” I say.

  “Will you be alright here?” he asks. “You can come with me, if you want.”

  I consider the offer.

  “I'll be fine,” I say. “It seems pretty cold out there.”

  “You're not wrong about that.” He manages a faint, unconvincing smile as he turns to go through to the hallway. “You're probably better off in here with your spaceship show, anyway. I won't be long, just an hour or two. I think I might pop into the pub and see who's around.”

  “Okay.”

  I listen to the sound of him getting ready to go out. Dad rarely goes to the pub, but I suppose he just wants a little company. We always spend a lot of time together, and I know that he must sometimes find me a little boring. After all, my favorite thing to do is watch films and TV shows, and other than that I only really like to read. I've been like this ever since the accident, and Dad says there's really no likelihood of me ever changing. So, all things considered, I'm glad that he's going to get out for a few hours and have some fun.

  I hear the front door swing shut, followed by the sound of footsteps on gravel.

  This time, however, I hurry to the window and peer out, and sure enough I see Dad's silhouette heading out across the green and walking toward the pub. I hope there are some people he knows in there. He deserves to have a good evening.