by M A Comley
Mick contemplated his plea for a moment or two then glanced at one of the bruisers. “Knock him around a bit. He needs to learn a lesson. No broken bones. You can do that later this week if he fails to come up with the money.”
“Yes, boss.”
For the next few minutes he was pummelled near to death by the thugs, or so it seemed. A couple of punches to each eye forced them to close. He grunted and groaned as the blows rained down on him. “Please…stop. I can’t take much more.”
The goons ceased their assault when Mick clicked his fingers. He opened his swollen eyes a little to see Mick’s feet inches from his head. He sucked in a breath, expecting the man’s shoe to connect with his face, and blew out a relieved breath when Mick retreated and made his way to the door.
“You’ve got until eleven a.m. on Friday to come up with twenty grand. I liked that suggestion of yours. I think it just saved your life. Don’t let me down again. Next time I’ll tell my boys to finish off the job. Got that?”
The heavies walked away from him.
He struggled to sit upright—his stomach had taken a pounding during the assault. “I’ve got it. Sorry I let you down. It won’t happen again, I promise.”
“It better not. Make sure that bitch of yours is here next time.”
“Yep, I will. Thanks, Mick. It’s always a pleasure doing business with you.” He meant the comment sarcastically but ensured it didn’t come across that way to either Mick or his cronies. Not that they had two brain cells between them they could rub together.
Hearing the door slam behind them he blew out a relieved breath. Shit! What the fuck was he supposed to do now? How the heck was he supposed to summon up twenty grand in the next few days? He shrugged. It could have been worse. Mick could have demanded he come up with the cash within twenty-four hours, which wasn’t an uncommon ploy for him.
Using the chair at the small table to help him rise to his feet, he crossed the room and gingerly walked upstairs to the bathroom. He was tempted not to look at the damage the heavies had caused to his handsome face in the mirror, but there was no getting away from it, the bathroom was tight, and the mirror above the sink was larger than average for the size of the room.
“Shit!” He ran a hand gently over his bruised face. Prodding softly at his cheek bones, he inspected them for any fractures. The bones failed to give way under his fingers. He let out a relieved sigh.
He bathed his face in cold water and then jumped in the shower. While he undressed, he flinched and sucked in sharp breaths from the pain. The bruises were already appearing at regular intervals across his skin. Studying them, he relived the nightmare of the battering he’d endured. The feel of the water on his skin added to his punishment. He only managed to remain under the shower for a few minutes. He stepped out and blotted his skin dry rather than employing the vigorous action he generally used to dry himself.
Staring down at his hands, the only part of him that the thugs hadn’t laid into, he knew exactly what would happen when Dawn returned from her trip to the shops. If he was hurting, then so would she.
As if on cue, the front door slammed, and the sound of the kettle being switched on reached him. He finished dressing, opened the window to let the steam out and then left the bathroom. Dawn was preparing the cups with milk and coffee and had her back to him. She must have heard him enter the room because she turned to face him.
She let out a gasp and reached out a hand to touch his face. “Baby, what did the nasty men do to you?”
“Stupid fucking question, bitch.”
Before she had the chance to back away, he pounced on her and pounded her to a pulp, matching every blow he’d sustained from the thugs. She screamed and begged for mercy. His anger clouded his judgement, and her face metamorphosed into that of Mick and his goons. His punches increased in intensity.
“You make me sick. You’re such a whore. Spread your legs at the drop of a hat.”
“No, please, don’t do this. What have I done to deserve this? Let me go. I promise I won’t go to the police.”
“No way. You’re going to pay. I’ve put up with your whining for months.” He smashed her in the head a few times until her whining stopped.
Realising he’d taken things too far, he bent down to take a closer look. She wasn’t breathing. He should have cared. Should have regretted his actions. Instead, he was furious that she had died on him. He continued to pummel her face with his fists. Momentarily, his own injuries paled into insignificance. Finally, exhausted by his actions, he slumped against the kitchen cabinet and stared at her lifeless body.
He averted his eyes moments later and bowed his head. How the hell did I do that? Why did I do it? What am I going to do with the body now?
His exhaustion overwhelmed him—that and the sudden resurgence of his own pain linked together and forced his body to shut down.
He slept for a few hours and woke feeling stiff. He rubbed the back of his neck as he stared at the girl beside him, not one ounce of regret seeping from him. Thoughts of how and where to dump her riffled through his brain. He would need to wait until nightfall before he disposed of her body. An idea struck. He gingerly rose to his feet and left the room. He went upstairs to the bedroom and emerged with an item that would ultimately help dispose of her body.
Chapter 3
All the members of the Flowers family lived close to their parents, within a radius of ten miles. Sara called ahead and made arrangements to visit each of the brothers and their families in turn. The first house they called at belonged to the eldest son, David Flowers.
David was looking out the front window when they arrived. Sara and Carla held up their IDs for him to study before he allowed them to enter the house. He lived in a stone-built cottage in the next village to Bodenham, at Bowley. His demeanour was standoffish at first.
“Do you have any idea who would do this to my parents?” he asked, flopping onto a large leather sofa, once he’d shown them through to the lounge. He gestured for Carla and Sara to sit in the easy chairs opposite while his wife left the room to make them all a drink.
“At this early stage, I’m afraid we don’t. We’re here to ask you and your wife if your parents have been under any kind of stress lately.”
“Stress? I’m not sure I follow you.”
“Had they fallen out with anyone recently perhaps?”
He shook his head and turned his mouth down as he contemplated the question. “I don’t believe so. You think someone they knew did this?”
“That’s the route we’re taking at this point. Either your father or your mother opened the door and invited the person inside.”
His brow furrowed. “How do you know that? Couldn’t someone have broken in?”
“There were no signs of a forced entry from what the forensics team could determine.”
“Couldn’t the person have pushed my parents back when they opened the door?”
Sara nodded her agreement. “That’s also a possibility. I have to say we’re going to keep an open mind on this one.”
“I see. Maybe you haven’t really thought about that possibility yet,” he replied tartly. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
Sara smiled oozing sympathy. “It’s okay. There’s really no need for you to apologise.”
His wife, Jemima, entered the room and placed a tray on the coffee table in front of her husband and then distributed the cups and saucers.
“They reckon someone who knew Mum and Dad did this, Jemima.”
His wife gasped and covered her mouth with her free hand. She sat on the sofa beside her husband and dropped the hand covering her mouth into her lap. “How? Why?” She directed her questions at Sara.
“It’s what we believe after we examined the scene. I’ve already asked your husband, and maybe you’ll be able to help us. Did either of your in-laws ever voice any concerns about someone they were in contact with bothering them at all?”
She shook her head. “No. Not that I can recal
l. I really can’t get my head around someone they know doing this to them. That’s appalling to even consider. You know they were churchgoers, right?”
“Your sister-in-law mentioned that when we spoke to her earlier. Did they attend the local church?”
“Yes, Bodenham church. They often go there to do the flower arranging for a wedding or…a funeral,” Jemima faltered on the last word.
“That’s right. Dad has even carried out some repairs to the church in the past, too, without payment. That’s the type of chap he was. Which is why we’re struggling to deal with their deaths. We never dreamt anything like this would ever happen in their village.” David shook his head and sighed heavily.
“We’ve spoken briefly to a few of the neighbours, and we’re going to get down proper statements during the course of the day. One neighbour in particular saw a man approaching the house. He shrugged it off thinking it was a member of your family paying a visit, said that you guys are frequent visitors.”
“That’s correct. We’re a very close family and call on them regularly to see if they need anything. They never do, because they are, sorry were, a very independent couple. This is why we’re all so upset that this sort of thing could happen. They’ve never knowingly hurt anyone in their lives and yet now they’re…gone. If the house wasn’t broken into, then what are you presuming the motive was?”
“We found a large sum of money under your parents’ bed. Your sister told me that they didn’t trust banks. My take is that maybe someone known by the immediate family knew about this and tried to take the money.”
“Why are you suggesting it’s someone to do with our ‘immediate family’, Inspector?”
“It’s simply a theory for now. Were your parents in the habit of telling people they’d only just met that they kept their money hidden in a safe place at the house?”
David’s chin dipped onto his chest, and his wife reached for his hand to hold. “Sorry, now I understand what you’re getting at.” He shuddered. “My God, if it’s someone we know well, I’m not sure how we’re going to get over this. They were such a genuinely kind couple.”
“Maybe I’m barking up the wrong tree, that is why we’re planning to interview you all. I appreciate the timing isn’t the best, but we do need to get on with our investigation, I’m sure you’ll agree?”
“I do. Playing devil’s advocate here, maybe it could be someone connected to the church perhaps? The thought of someone close to the family doing this is just abhorrent to me.”
“Me too. I can’t believe it,” Jemima said, sniffling.
Sara glanced sideways to see if Carla was taking notes. She was. “We’ll definitely visit the church and have a word with the vicar. In the meantime, is there anyone within your circle of family and friends that you believe we should call on?”
David and Jemima glanced at each other and shook their heads. “I can’t think of anyone, love, can you?” David asked.
“Not off the top of my head. Maybe we’ll think it over thoroughly after you’ve gone and get back to you.”
Sara took a sip of coffee from her cup then nodded. “I’ll leave you my card. Do you have any children?”
“Yes, Wesley is in Majorca with his girlfriend at the moment. We’ve decided not to contact him about his grandparents. He’ll be devastated; he was extremely close to them. We’ll tell him the second he pops in to see us when he returns,” David replied. “Our daughter, Mary-Ann, is in Nottingham at present, attending a course. She’s a beautician. Again, we haven’t informed her. We decided it wouldn’t be fair to disrupt either of them.”
“I can understand that. We’ll need to speak to them in the near future. If you can, tell them to contact me as soon as you’ve explained the situation to them.”
“Of course. You don’t think we’re doing the wrong thing by not contacting them now, do you?” David asked, frowning.
“No. I think you’re absolutely doing the right thing. I’m sure they’ll understand the reason behind your delay in telling them.”
“The news is going to rock both their worlds.”
“I’m sure. Can you recall your parents mentioning if they’d befriended a stranger in the past few months?”
The couple glanced at each other again. “No, what about you, love?” David asked his wife.
“Not that I can think of. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. Maybe something will jog your memory once we leave.” Sara drained her coffee, Carla did the same and they both stood.
Clinging on to each other’s hands, David and Jemima showed them to the front door.
“We’ll visit the rest of your family and then head back to the station to begin the investigation in earnest. I’m sorry for your loss. I want to assure you that my team and I will do everything we can to bring the person responsible for your parents’ deaths to justice. Hopefully within the next few weeks. I’ll keep you informed anyway.”
David and Jemima shook hands with Sara and Carla, and then David closed the door gently behind them. Sara slammed her fist against her thigh and crossed the gravelled drive to the car. “Damn, they seem a really nice family so far. If the parents were as nice as Olivia and David, then why would someone dream of taking their damn lives? It just doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Me neither. Heartbreaking it is, bloody heartbreaking,” Carla replied.
“Let’s not dwell on it for now. We’ll move on to another son, Michael, I believe. He lives in the next village.” Sara looked at the clock on the dashboard. It was almost twelve-fifteen. She knew it was nearing lunchtime because her tummy was threatening to rumble. “After we’ve called there, we should keep our eyes open for a small shop where we can pick up a sandwich.”
“Dinmore Woods is just up the road. Their café is exceptional.”
Sara smiled. “I’ve not been there. Okay, this one is on me.”
“You won’t regret it. I used to go up there as a kid with my parents. Fabulous area to take a dog for a walk.”
“I could always buy a lead for Misty, I suppose.” Sara laughed at the thought of dragging her independent cat around a woodland walk.
“You may laugh. I saw a chap taking his iguana for a walk last year. Nowt so queer as folks as my mum usually likes to say.”
“Get out of here. Gosh, the thought of stumbling across one of those in the street puts my bloody teeth on edge.”
“Some people adore them. No idea why. I used to have a dog growing up. Alfie. He was a Jack Russell. Crazy as shit, he was. I’d love another one, just not practical with both of us working full time.”
“I hate the thought of a dog being left alone in the house for eight hours a day. My friend had a beautiful rough collie, and she used to curse it when she went home to a puddle. It wasn’t until I asked her how long she’d left the poor dog alone for, that she realised the damage she was causing to it.”
“How long?”
“Over ten hours. Can you imagine being left that long and holding your bladder? In the end she gave it up for adoption. The vet examined it, and she had cystitis, poor pup.”
“That’s awful. Poor dog. I hope she has a happy home now.”
Sara shrugged. “No idea. I barely speak to my friend after treating the dog like that. People simply don’t think. Too selfish and wrapped up with their own lives. Okay, that’s my whinge for the day.”
Carla chuckled. “An acceptable whinge. What’s your gut saying about the case, boss?”
“To be honest with you, very little at this stage. I think I’m still going to go along the lines that either a family member did this or someone very close to the family. I could be way off the mark, however. Only time will tell on that one.”
Sara fell silent to navigate the narrow country lanes between the two villages. She let out the breath she’d been holding when she drew up outside Michael Flowers’ small semi-detached house. It was a stark contrast to David and Jemima’s home. “Let’s see what we can find out from him.”
&n
bsp; After ringing the bell, they waited for a good few minutes before the door was finally answered. The man studied them through narrowed eyes. His grey hair was messed up, and the more Sara stared at the man, the more she realised how drunk he was.
“Are you the police?” he slurred.
Sara nodded. “We are, sir. Would it be possible for us to come in and have a quick chat?”
“Can’t you do that here? I’m busy, and the place is a mess.”
“We’d rather do it inside, if it’s all the same to you, sir.”
He threw the door back hard—so hard, that when Sara stepped into the house she noted the handle had made a large hole in the wall. She rolled her eyes at her partner and rushed up the passageway and into the lounge to find Michael Flowers stretched out on the sofa, one leg on the floor and the other on the couch. There was a three-quarter-empty bottle of whisky by his side and a glass half-filled with the amber liquid on the side table close to his head.
He was right, the room was a mess. Newspapers were strewn across the floor, and a few dirty dishes were scattered on the coffee table in front of the man. He was staring at the TV, watching a noisy episode of Loose Women.
“Can I switch the TV off, Michael?”
“Suit yourself. I’m not watching that shit anyway.”
Sara spotted the remote on the sofa behind him. She went to pick it up, and he flinched, which she thought was strange. She pressed the off switch, and the room fell silent.
Sara decided she and Carla should remain standing to question the man. “We’re sorry for your loss, sir. Were you close to your parents?”
“What type of question is that?” he mumbled.
“A genuine one.”
He struggled to right himself in the chair and picked up his glass. He gulped down a large amount, then said, “Yes. I was very close to them. I’m going to miss the old buggers. They’re the only ones who really understood me.”