Who Killed Anne-Marie?

by CM Thompson

  To his immense relief, no one recognised him in the supermarket. No pointing fingers, no whispers, just indifference. Then after the first gorging session, there was more scrubbing to do and then all over again because the stains were reappearing as everything dried. He keeps cleaning the whole house from top to bottom, except for the spare bedroom, which he still can’t face. The house still smells odd, a hint of something rotten under the bleach, and feels empty and cold. Everything feels empty, including himself, so he keeps eating.

  He has carefully examined his face in the mirror every day, convinced that the scratches could still be clearly seen. Even now, on the morning of the funeral, he is frantically examining his face from all angles just to check, hating who he sees in the mirror. Trying not to think of the coming funeral. He still can’t think of her as dead, he’s still half-waiting for her to come home. Joke’s over now, honey, please come home now, he pleads silently, whilst fumbling with his tie. No questions asked, just please come home.

  Previously, days or maybe even weeks ago, Peter broke the silence by sending Daniel a text, asking if Sherri could arrange the funeral. They both knew it wasn’t really a request. Daniel knew he was being told that Sherri was arranging the funeral and his input was not required. He didn’t have the will to argue, Sherri always wanted things to be done in a certain way, her way, she would venomously insist on it. The text had been a relief as well, he had been caught between the decision of burial or cremation. He and Anne-Marie had never even discussed funeral plans, it had felt too early for that kind of talk. He couldn’t help but fantasise that if they cremated Anne-Marie, there would be a huge fireball, wrecking the crematorium, as the alcohol in Anne-Marie’s veins ignited. A forbidden thought, he couldn’t help it, but it would have been the way she wanted to go.

  Daniel knows that today, at the funeral, he needs to cling to this empty feeling, not allow any emotion to appear on his face. No matter what is said, he can’t cry. Sherri will mock him if he cries.

  “Man up!” is what his father bellowed at his mother’s funeral. “Big boys don’t cry,” that’s what they told him at his father’s funeral. He had felt nothing but numb and sick at those funerals too, sitting alone, wishing for everything to be over. It will be over soon, he assures himself. Just don’t think about the argument, or finding her. Don’t think about those accusing eyes, those eyes still open. No, don’t think about that. Don’t think about how empty the house feels, or how they are all whispering about you. Don’t think of anything. Just pull on the funeral suit, finish getting ready and go.

  “I can’t face the world today,” Anne-Marie used to say.

  Finally he knows what she meant.

  Time to go.

  It is hot again on this August day, hot and muggy, like a storm might break at any moment. People swelter uncomfortably in their mourning suits. The weather is making Sherri Fowler even more irritable. How dare it be sunny on the day of her daughter’s funeral? As if even the sky is glad she is gone. Sherri is displeased because there are not enough people here and those who are, are not acting upset enough. Some even look relieved that Anne-Marie is gone. Sherri has to keep hiding her face in a tissue so they don’t see her disapproving glare. She has to keep biting her tongue, her hand itching to slap someone and she badly wants a drink. She has to hold back, can’t afford to turn people against her, she needs to gain their sympathy, something which is bloody hard to do when no one cares. Even the newspapers, who printed any old bloody rubbish, ignored her! No one would run a story on her daughter’s tragic demise. Even the obituaries clerk was indifferent to her “She was taken far too soon” wail. They just made some indifferent “I am sorry for your loss” twaddle. No one cared that her daughter was murdered.

  Sherri hates Daniel Mills. Hated him right from the start. Everything about him just disgusts her. She knows the feeling is mutual and she is aware that Daniel calls her Mrs Foul-er in private. That sort of petty behaviour is just typical of him. At the very beginning, she had tried to be pleasant, after hearing so much from her sickeningly happy daughter squawking about how happy she was, how much she liked him.

  Remembering that now makes Sherri sick to the stomach. On that very first meeting, when her daughter had gushingly introduced him and it was going awkwardly fine until Daniel made some comment about her daughter’s name: Anne-Marie. A little unusual but very pretty, he had said, causing her daughter to blush like a fool. Sherri had accepted the compliment gracefully and said that it was from an Elvis song. And do you know what the little prick had whined? Oh, I don’t like Elvis. What was wrong with him? Who doesn’t like Elvis? She had made an excuse about dinner burning and left the room. She wished now she had gone with her first instinct and kicked that stupid twat out of her house.

  Later, when her daughter told her about the proposal, she had advised against the marriage. It wasn’t just about not liking Elvis, but that had been a good warning sign. She had, right up until the wedding day, urged her daughter to change her mind. There were plenty of other men out there, nicer men. But the more she had urged her daughter, the more Anne-Marie insisted that she loved him. The stubborn fool. Sherri had taken great delight in playing Elvis’ greatest hits whenever they came round for dinner, constantly on a loop, not too loud so the little prig couldn’t ask her to turn it down or off.

  It was a nice ceremony in the end. Daniel and Peter gave nice speeches and Sherri read some miserable poem – but then Sherri had to have the last word. They had all stood for the coffin to be carried out, and the final music played. It was fucking Elvis and And Marie is the name. (Sherri had always thought he was singing “Anne-Marie’s the name” and no one dared correct her.) Daniel just kept his head bowed and followed the coffin outside, knowing there would be a triumphant gleam in his mother-in-law’s teary eyes.

  It is not an appropriate song for a cremation anyway. Peter waits patiently outside, away from the departing crowds, waiting whilst his mother smokes yet another cigarette. He is reluctant to say anything about the ceremony, knowing that whatever he says will be wrong. However his mother doesn’t need prompting.

  “I expected better for Anne-Marie,” she snaps.

  Peter doesn’t know if she is referring to the funeral, which she had arranged, or Anne-Marie’s life in general. Sherri doesn’t elaborate, instead she launches into a full-blown criticism of the funeral flowers, in particular an arrangement that one of Anne-Marie’s neighbours had sent, which “quite frankly, looks like it was taken out of a dustbin”.

  Peter doesn’t really listen. His suit feels prickly in the heat, and he didn’t sleep well again. It had been too hot and he couldn’t stop worrying about what might happen at the funeral. He was determined to keep Sherri and Daniel separate, despite their promises to behave. He just wanted a quiet day for his sister. He is not protecting Daniel, despite what his mother says, he is not.

  “It would have been a fine funeral for you,” concludes his mother, flinging her cigarette off into a flower bed. “We are done here,” she mutters, moving towards the car without even a backwards glance. “Let’s get this shit show over with.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Guilty,” said the doctor.

  “Guilty,” said the hearse.

  “Guilty,” said the lady with the black purse.

  Fifty-two people attended Anne-Marie’s funeral, which meant fifty-one pairs of judging eyes, all accusing Daniel. Twenty criticised Daniel’s appearance, noting the fat bulges, straining at his shirt buttons. Four had been holding their breath, waiting for the tell-tale ripping noise as he sat down – any minute now. Two thought he needed a haircut.

  Forty have already judged him and found him guilty. They add their own justifications like “He didn’t even cry”. The jury in the corner agrees, they had expected a crocodile tear or two. “He didn’t even look sad.” They all agreed. They continue their conversations out of earshot of any members of the Fowler family, discussing what may have killed Anne-Marie and who migh
t have killed her and why. Some were insisting that Daniel would be in prison by now if he was going to be held accountable, others assuring he will be in prison soon.

  “Do we know what killed his parents?” Laura Noble asks in one corner, quietly. She is one of twenty-five who are attending only for the gossip. No one knows what or who killed the elder Mr and Mrs Mills. “I know they died when he was quite young,” one person ventures, but no one else knows any details. Suddenly it seems important, one sleuth inwardly makes a note to find out. Not directly from Daniel of course, no. In fact, all but five out of the fifty-two are considering cutting all contact with Daniel, cutting him completely out of their lives. Not that they spoke that much to him before.

  They all watch Daniel now, out of the corner of their eyes, as he approaches the buffet table, loads up a plate, looks around and hurriedly retreats to an empty table. Some people go up to him with perfunctory, “I am sorry for your loss.” Some offer a brave, “Let me know if there is anything I can do.” Some people ignore Daniel completely, only offering their condolences to Sherri.

  Sherri is being more social, moving around the room, thanking people for coming in an unusually polite way, doing what she can to encourage the gossip. She is trying to get everyone in the room on her side, making sure Daniel has no allies left for the days ahead. She agrees with some people quietly that Daniel shouldn’t even be here. Peter had insisted. She is only tolerating his presence because she knows Daniel will soon be in prison, where he belongs. They all murmur agreements. Sherri is also watching all the females in the room carefully, regardless of their age. Watching to see how they interact with Daniel, waiting for someone to linger a comforting hand for too long. She has been waiting for him to move his slut into the house, a poor replacement for her daughter. She seethes, imagining that bitch wearing her daughter’s clothes, using her make up. Why else would Daniel kill her daughter? If not to move in some younger model? The minute Sherri catches one scent of that bitch, she will be moving in for the kill.

  Daniel is trying to calculate how long he needs to stay for. Until the end? Or is it acceptable for him to leave earlier? He knows he is not wanted but if he leaves, people will think that it’s a sign of guilt, they will all talk about him. They are already talking about him, he can tell by their looks and whispers. When he was at the buffet table, he had heard a familiar voice, not quite out of earshot, say, “Well, I heard …” He had groaned inwardly, realising that Lying Penny was behind him and that she had found a new audience.

  He is relieved that no one wanted to hold this part of the funeral at his house. No one has visited since the accident, not even Sherri, something he is slightly shocked about. He has caught some people, namely Laura Noble and Lying Penny, peering through the windows. Laura had given him an embarrassed wave when she realised she had been caught and moved swiftly on. Lying Penny was too short-sighted to realise she had been caught and continued peering for a few more minutes. Daniel is now carefully keeping every blind and curtain closed.

  Laura Noble is leaving. Daniel is surprised she had come at all, after the way Anne-Marie had screamed at her children. Probably, like most people here, was just making sure that Anne-Marie was really dead. He watches as Laura quietly offers her condolences to Sherri, no doubt explaining that she needed to collect her daughters from something or other before leaving. Lying Penny hasn’t spoken to him, just watched him warily from a corner of the room. Daniel tries to subtly look around the room. Who is left? Who is a friend? Who is looking guilty? Someone in this room is just as guilty as he is, someone here must have been enabling his wife, plying her with more alcohol, it wasn’t just him. He sees nothing but accusing eyes.

  He is still expecting a fight, despite Peter’s assurances. He knows that Sherri is just waiting, that this is just a temporary truce. That look in her eye whenever she sees him promises nothing but revenge. She will get him. It’s only a matter of time.

  Daniel takes another worried bite of his food, but everything tastes like sawdust. He wants to go home. He can neither leave nor stay. He can only hope, along with the remaining twenty-eight people, that it will be over soon.

  Grimm finally caught Lying Penny at home the morning after the funeral. He thought he would try one more time to reach the intriguing lady. She is not what he expected, a peering elderly woman dressed completely in bright, vivid purple. He introduced himself and asked politely if he could ask a few quick questions. As the door closed behind him and he followed her into the musty-smelling house he had no idea what kind of two-hour diatribe she was preparing to launch. On him. Non-stop.

  He fumed back into the station, intent on taking his anger out on the next hapless person he saw. He cornered an indifferent Colvin at her desk, furiously recounting everything to her, refusing to allow her to escape or provide any input.

  “She treats the whole street like it’s her own personal soap opera. She has her own trashy story for each person. I caught her lying to me at least four times.” Grimm never wants to hear Lying Penny’s croaky hideous voice again. “She spent over an hour just talking about the milkman! And whenever I tried to change the subject, she just looked at me and continued on with whatever she saying.” Grimm has heard all about the “idiot family … so stupid” at number six, with three kids, the wife with her second family. “Don’t let her looks fool you, dear … And why haven’t they arrested that woman at number one? She is a spy you know, dear, not even on our side.”

  Grimm growls and Colvin suppresses another giggle. “Just when I thought she was never going to stop, and this is the worst bit,” he tells Colvin. “She said, ‘It’s eleven o clock. I have to go, dear, I play bingo every Thursday afternoon. I don’t want to be late.’ ‘Every Thursday?’ I asked. ‘Yes, dear,’ she said. So I asked: ‘Did you play bingo on Thursday 18th July?’ And you know what she said?” Grimm angrily pauses, then continues in a croaky, high-pitched voice, “‘Yes, dear, I remember that one because I won over £100 that week. I treated the girls to fish and chips. We had the most wonderful afternoon.’”

  Colvin laughs as Grimm storms off to get a coffee.

  He should have, but doesn’t mention another incident to Colvin. He should have told her that when he arrived on the street, he was immediately spotted and invited in by Laura Noble calling out, “Can I talk to you for a moment inside, Officer?” Grimm had grinningly obliged. Somehow an “I am scared” led to some verbal comforting and somehow that lead to Laura purring, “Can I count on your personal protection, Officer?” She then surprised Grimm with a strong kiss on his lips. Grimm was caught, he wanted so badly to respond, to see where the kiss would take him. He could taste coffee on Laura’s lips, felt her tongue demanding him, all of him.

  An unwelcome thought crashed through his desire. “She is married, you idiot.” He had wanted to ignore it, wanted to wrap his arms comfortingly around Laura’s slender body.

  “You are married, you idiot.” Another unwelcome thought. Reluctantly he pushed Laura away instead of pulling her close. Tried to ignore the results of that one kiss. For a brief moment Laura looked angry, then she turned away in embarrassment.

  “You have nothing to fear, Mrs Noble,” he said gallantly, trying to ignore that the kiss happened. He couldn’t think of anything else to say and slowly backed out the door. She said nothing, not even a goodbye. He took a few deep breaths out of sight, still smelling a faint trace of her perfume. It was not the first he has been propositioned. Let’s face it, he looks damn good in this uniform. But no woman had ever quite had this much of an effect on him … except his wife of course! Did he imagine it or did Lying Penny smirk knowingly as she answered the door? He soon forgets all about it, all he remembers later is Lying Penny. Everything else, the kiss, the smell of her perfume, everything he forgets but Laura remembers.

  When he comes back, he notices that Colvin is reviewing the CCTV footage of Anne-Marie Mills at the corner shop again. She is upset but trying not to show it.

  “Mrs Fow
ler called. I told her that the coroner has ruled an open verdict, so unless new evidence is found, there isn’t going to be a trial.”

  “How did she take it?”

  “She screamed at me.”

  Grimm nods, it was the reaction they both were expecting. “Then she told me to get my head out of my arse and find some new evidence.” Mrs Fowler had also shrieked: “Does my daughter’s murder mean nothing to you either Col-Vine?” Colvin thinks that Sherri purposely mispronounced her name to make her feel small. It had worked.

  “She also asked if we had tried dusting for fingerprints.”

  “Oh no, we forgot about that one,” Grimm groans mockingly.

  They suspect there will be more calls from Sherri Fowler, telling them how to do their jobs.

  They didn’t have much evidence to work with. Daniel’s clothes had contained some plant matter, similar to that on King’s Park and most other parks. There were no blood drops on his clothes except those close to his neck line, consistent with the face scratches. Samples had been sent to DNA testing. But for Daniel to be guilty, he would have had to have gone back into the house after 3 pm, changed his clothes, killed Anne-Marie, then changed back into his first set of clothes, disposed of his other clothes and gone back to Kings Park (which was over fifty minutes’ walk from the house for the even the fittest of people), all by 4.30 pm. Unless he had help or called a taxi, but there was no evidence that he even had a friend willing to do something like that and no evidence that he had called a taxi. Colvin has spoken to all the taxi companies just in case and no one had driven anywhere even close to the two places on that day.