With a shrug and a ‘tsk’ he began lifting the gun back into its proper place. I’ve wasted my time, he thought, annoyed at himself for driving all this way when he could have been chilling at home. He remounted the barrel and turned slightly to look along the length of the gun to check it was now fully back in its brackets. As he was checking, something caught his eye on the inside of the barrel.
Quickly taking the shotgun back down he peered down into the dark tube. There was definitely something in there and it looked like a piece of paper. It had been carefully rolled and pushed a little way down. Placing the stock on the floor, Handley fished out a pen from his inside pocket and began teasing the paper out, eventually working it out enough to be able to pull it clear with his finger.
Breathing slightly faster now and with a concentrated frown, he unrolled the paper which revealed itself to be, in fact, two pieces rolled together. He read the handwritten notes, lifted his gaze to the ceiling and closed his eyes.
‘Shit,’ he muttered quietly to himself.
*
Charlotte was sitting on her sofa, staring at the wall opposite – her eyes fixed on the family photo that hung there. She fixated on the image of Marcus, standing proudly next to her, his arm around her shoulder, and with the two kids beaming away in front of them. She couldn’t pinpoint her feelings towards the man in the picture. She still loved him, in many ways, and felt his loss more deeply than any time before. She also hated him. She hated him for putting them through the torment of his disappearance but more so for being the killer of countless women over the entire time of their marriage and for years before. She hated herself for having not seen anything earlier. She castigated herself for being so blind, so stupid.
‘There was no way you could have known, Charlotte.’
Sir Frederick Derringham was sitting on the other couch, holding a cup and saucer in one hand and stroking down his tie – a little nervously, it seemed to Charlotte – with the other. He had appeared to read her mind; she had said nothing to him about how she was feeling.
‘Maybe you’re right, Frederick,’ she said at last, ‘but it doesn’t feel that way. I should have spotted something, should have realised something wasn’t right. I really should have been able to spot that my own husband was a bloody murderer!’ Her voice rose as she spoke, showing her anger and frustration.
‘Look,’ Sir Frederick said, ‘there have been many cases over the years where a killer has gone undetected by their wives. I’m sure they felt as guilty as you, my dear, but they – like you – can’t change the fact that the men they lived with were clever, devious and determined. Look at the lengths Marcus went to – to cover his tracks with the police.’
Charlotte nodded silently. Many of the details of the evidence against Marcus had come out in the press after his body had been found. Detective Constable Handley had filled her in on the rest. It seemed pretty clear that Marcus was guilty and that he had been as duplicitous as she’d feared. Frederick was right – he was clearly very smart and an adept liar. She still couldn’t fathom how he managed to hide the clothes he’d worn or dispose of other forms of evidence, but then neither could the police.
‘My dear,’ Sir Frederick said after a long silence. ‘This will sound trite and hollow now, but in time you will feel better. This will fade into the background and you will be able to rebuild your life.’
Charlotte nodded dumbly. She looked over to him and eventually shook her head. ‘I very much doubt it, Frederick. But thanks for trying to make me feel better anyway,’ she said in a quiet voice.
‘You know, I’ve known Marcus longer than you and I didn’t spot anything either. It just shows that maybe you never get to know someone properly, not deep down. Lord knows, I’ve enough skeletons in my closets,’ Derringham said, giving a small laugh.
Charlotte laughed – just a small chuff of a sound – and nodded again.
‘I had best go,’ Sir Frederick announced, standing up.
‘Thank you for coming over and for your words of comfort, Frederick. Please drop by again when you can,’ Charlotte said, her voice still barely above a whisper.
‘Of course, my dear, I’m only sorry I couldn’t offer more in the way of comforting words. I’ve said before, Charlotte, that I think you are very special. You are certainly very dear to me.’
Sir Derringham hesitated a moment, then smiled at Charlotte. ‘At another time, perhaps you could have been the one for me,’ he added, before turning to go.
Charlotte showed him to the door and watched as he left.
He walked down the drive, straightening his tie and whistling quietly to himself.
Coming soon from Colin A. Millar
Two Weeks in the Sun
Oh I do like to be beside the seaside….oh I do like to be beside the sea…da de dum de da de dum….
Da de dum de da de dum….beside the seaside….beside the sea.
The first one I offed was more ‘n twenty years ago now. Right smelly old tramp he was. Did him with the garrotte, up close and personal like. God, he stank to high heaven. But it was good, you know, to see the garrotte work proper for the first time. I’d looked it up on the internet, see, you gotta get the knots in the right place, crush the larynx and some of the main veins and arteries. Subdues ‘em quicker. Worked a treat. The old cunt was out for the count in less than a minute – mind, he was off ‘is tits on bog cleaner or whatever. But they’re not dead then, see, so then I held for another three minutes, you know like it said – the internet that is – and Bob’s your fanny fuckin’ Aunt he was gone. Checked ‘is pulse and stuff to make sure, but the smell of shit gave it away – well ‘e stank of shit anyway but it got worse, y’know what I mean?
Then I did the prozzie. Knifed her. Now, was she on the same holiday? Or was that the next one? No, no, she was the next one. I remember now, she was in Liverpool – the old fucker was in Oxford. I remember now ‘cos I got a PB carp when I was down Oxford. Got bugger all up Liverpool way. Cor, that was a bewt, nearly thirty pounds it was. Lovely spot too – gravel pit, like – but they done the lanscapin’ lovely. All trees and bushes an’ nice grass an’ that. Anyway, I spodded out a big bed of hemp and then got the old spod full of, like, crushed boilies an’ nuts and pulses, you know the sort of thing? Then a little splash of the old vanilla essence – carp love the sweet stuff they do. Anyway, I’d barely got me indicator set and the bloody thing roared off. Bloody screamed away it did. Took me near half an hour to get that fucker in, lovely it was though. Twenty-eight pound common – beautiful scales.
So yeah, the old tramp ‘e was Oxford and then the prozzie was Liverpool.
‘Course I wasn’t staying in Oxford – well not the city, like – I was out in the sticks, near the fishin’. Smart enough to have me phone on me all day then left it at the B&B before I went looking for me first victim, as it were. Found him quick enough. See though, the thing with him was it was all a bit too easy, you know? Not that much of a thrill. Well, I say that, but it was good, you know, being the first one and all that. I got a big rush at the time – fuckin’ marvellous it was – almost creamed me pants! Thing was though, I was all excited after but then I had to remember to pick everything up, leave no trace an’ all that. Think I got everything though. I knew that from watchin’ them crime documentaries on Sky. You know the kinda thing? With whatsisname? Fred someone. You know, they tell all what the coppers did and what the stupid mistakes the psycho made an’ all that kind of thing. ‘E used to be on telly a lot, you know, like, years ago an’ then he just seemed to disappear. Made me think a bit about what I was doing first, you know? Oh what was ‘is name? Nah it’s gone.
Lovely city Oxford, all them colleges and places of learning. Wasn’t that Inspector Morse from Oxford? Sure it was there. Thought I saw a couple of bits there that had been on the telly. Nicer than Liverpool that’s for sure.
It was all right, I went round the Tate and The Cavern an’ all that kinda fing, but not the same as Oxford. Well I say t
hat, but I liked the Tate – that was sort of interesting. All that modern art an’ stuff. Stayed not far from there, actually, nice place, lovely breakfast. Then I went further out, you know edge of town, so’s I’d be further away from me phone an’ me car. Got buses and stuff, you know? So yeah, I found ‘er up this manky-looking street – proper red-light district stuff. Anyway, that’s me getting ahead of meself again – that was the second holiday, not the first.
See, the first one was alright, but I was just learning then. More into house-breaking an’ car theft an’ that sort of thing…..
What was that bloke’s name? My fucking memory, I tell ya.
So, car-breaking and house stuff – that’s what I did first off, like. Just a bit o’ fun really. Used to pop out of whatever B&B I was in and test meself with different locks and types of car, you know? Never took nothin’ – it’s all just for a bit of excitement. Got the old ticker going, you know?
Anyway, most of that’s pretty irrelevant now. All things considered. Funny combo though innit? Fishin’ and killin’. Funny as well ‘cos I’ve never killed a fish in me life – just people. Funny how it is. Care deeply about fish. Couldn’t give a fuck about people.
Don’t get me wrong – I don’t mean everyone. Your mum don’t count o’course – or you or your sister. You lot are alright. Well, more than that I suppose, you know what I mean don’t ya? But the rest? Well – fair game in my opinion.
See the thing is most people are just twats – not a brain cell among ‘em in my view. Did the world a favour I reckon. Mind, that’s not totally true, did for a few more select types, like. There was this businessman-type I remember – can’t think where that was just now – but he was all pinstripes and bowler hat an’ that. Weird in this day and age to see that kind o’ fing. Oh, what a bloody mess he made. Blood an’ guts an’ stuff everywhere. Squealed like a little girl as well. The great nonce. Proper effete – if you know what that means? Funny the words you pick up when you’re out and about in’t it?
God, way ahead of meself again. Proper muddle I’m getting in. Stick to the subject Charlie you old git – your mother was forever sayin’ that to me. ‘Stop bloody wandering about all over the place – always the bloody same, start talking about one thing and before you know it it’s off on somin’ else.’ God she went on.
So in her memory I’ll tell you some more about Oxford….
DINENAGE, that’s the bugger, Fred Dinenage. Oh, I liked ‘is programmes on the old Sky Crime channel. Brilliant they were. Used to make me think about this stuff. Long before I did anything about it.
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