Retribution

by Jay Nadal

  He left Angel’s Corner and walked through the small meadow towards Tina’s plot. A lot of care had been taken to create a place of rest that was both aesthetically pleasing and respectful. The meadow was a nice touch, a space for local flora and fauna to flourish, and a place for visitors to wander and be with their thoughts.

  Tina’s grave filled him with mixed emotions. Part of him ached, his mind a blur full of memories and pictures. Every time he thought of his wonderful wife, those precious moments were invaded by the lasting image of Tina on the floor, her body twisted, a narrow blood trail winding down from a head trauma. It was an image that always sent waves of repulsion through his body. His stomach seemed to repeatedly flip over, forcing him to lose his breath.

  A shake of his head pushed that image back to the darkest recesses of his mind for the time being until they returned to haunt him again. Though the nightmares were few and far between as time passed, a dark cloud of anguish followed him every waking minute.

  Another part of him carried a burden of guilt…for not being able to protect his family. That sense of failure clung like an acrid smell. This time around, the guilt seemed worse. Cara. This wonderful woman he’d met was helping him to heal the wounds of the past. She’d brought happiness back into his life. Or so he thought.

  Was she really healing him, or was he conveniently relying on the relationship as a distraction. He was sure it was the former, but a doubt still niggled him. It bugged him, like a small stone caught inside his shoe. It made his relationship with her an uncomfortable journey at times.

  Looking at Tina’s picture didn’t help. He hoped that through some divine or cosmic intervention, he’d know what to say or how to feel, but the right words failed him.

  “I’m sorry I let you down, babes. You’re always in my thoughts. I’ll always be with you. There are days I question if I can live without you and Becky, but I have to move on. I know you would have wanted me to. I have to let you go at some point. I have to keep going. The only way I think I can cope is to keep working, keep busy and keep living my life. I have to remind myself what I’m here for…to make a difference to the world.

  “I’ve met someone new. Her name’s Cara. I think you’d like her; you’d approve. I can imagine you right now telling me to stop being a silly sod, to get on with my life and not to dwell on the past. But that’s easier said than done.” He sighed as he picked at the weeds around her headstone.

  He felt a strange sense of remorse tinged with relief as he walked away. It wasn’t a feeling that he’d experienced before in all his visits. Perhaps the tide was changing. Perhaps he was easing into the present rather than reversing into the past.

  The double ring on the doorbell signalled Cara’s arrival as Scott sat watching the news about the latest crisis in Syria. Only Cara rang the doorbell twice in succession, more to annoy Scott than anything else.

  Cara had come straight from work, her hair tidied away in a ponytail, a simple pair of black trousers, white sleeveless vest and dainty black patent ballerina pumps provided simple yet stylish attire.

  “Hey, handsome,” she said greeting him with a lingering kiss on the doorstep that wasn’t reciprocated. She held up a white paper bag with a picture of a fishing trawler on it. “Dinner,” she said excitedly as the familiar smell of fish and chips filed the air, firing off a rumble in his stomach.

  Cara sensed Scott’s melancholy as they made their way through to the kitchen. As Scott grabbed some plates, Cara placed a hand on his arms.

  “Scottie, you okay? You seem a little distant. Something happen? Have I done something to upset or hurt you?”

  Scott shook his head as he turned to face her. Her deep brown eyes were soft, alluring and inviting. How could she possibly hurt him? Her loving nature was one of the qualities he loved the most. He needed to tell her.

  “I went to their graves this afternoon.”

  Cara gave his arm a gentle and reassuring squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know you’ll think this sounds silly, me talking to them and all that, but I told Tina about us, well you in particular. I know she’s gone, but I still think she’s around. Daft—I know.” He paused. “I needed to tell her. I felt like I was betraying her…betraying her memory. I…I can’t really explain it, but I needed to tell her so I could move on and not feel guilty all the bloody time.”

  “Guilty about us?” Cara asked.

  “I guess…” He shrugged.

  Cara pulled her hand away in the awkward silence that followed. “Would it be easier for you if we didn’t see each other?” She frowned. Her words hung in the air and filled the uncomfortable void.

  Scott studied Cara. Her milky, flawless complexion, her high cheekbones and firm full lips. She was mesmerising. He was afraid to admit just how much she meant to him.

  She tilted her head to one side unsure as to what Scott was thinking. “Speak to me, Scott.” Her words were conveyed with sincerity and meaning. Her chest heaved. On the outside she was trying to act cool and collected. But on the inside she was a mess, hoping against hope that this wasn’t Scott’s way of letting her down gently with the old “we can still be friends,” line to wrap it up.

  He held her by her arms. “Cara, I need to move on with my life. I’ve been through hell and back. Sometimes I’ve felt like I’m in quicksand and I’m paralysed, and the harder I try and fight it, the stronger the pull is to a place I don’t want to go.”

  Cara offered the smallest of smiles, a sense of vulnerability apparent as she wrapped her arms around herself.

  “I’ve no intention of letting you go, Cara.”

  She was pleased to hear that, but a part of her trembled as she fought to breathe normally. Now wasn’t the time to tell him.

  15

  Scott left Cara putting on her make-up as he threw his jacket on to leave. He felt good this morning and put that down to an evening of closeness and affection with Cara. She had a unique knack of effortlessly blending love with the odd sprinkling of laughter to lighten the mood. He opened the door whilst simultaneously pressing the unlock button on his car fob. Brilliant sunshine and the warmth of the morning bathed his face.

  Horror fast replaced his enjoyment as he paused mid-step, and looked down. He tried to fathom whether his mind was playing cruel tricks on him or if it was real. Staring back at him with black, lifeless eyes was a pig’s head…a fresh pig’s head. Alarm bells rang in his mind, his pulse quickened as he stepped over the head and walked a few steps down his path to the front gate. He looked up and down the road to see if anyone was lurking about.

  In his job as a police officer he’d been called many names, but the undesirable element of society that officers had to deal with often referred to them as pigs. And indeed he had been referred to as a pig on more than one occasion that he could care to remember.

  Part of him thought that the severed head was perhaps a prank of some sorts. But there was another part of him that had to take it seriously. He paused for a moment and scanned every single car as far as the eye could see. If they were around, they could be parked up and watching. From where he stood, there was neither anyone hanging around in the street nor anyone sitting in a car observing him.

  “Cara, you better get down here!” he shouted.

  “I’m nearly finished, hon.”

  “No, I mean get down here now,” he repeated.

  The severity in his tone forced Cara to curtail the finishing touches in applying her make-up as she rushed downstairs. “What’s the matter?”

  Scott stood to one side so that Cara could see behind him and to the porch.

  Her eyes widened in surprise and disbelief, a hand covered her open mouth. “Shit almighty…what?…Oh my God.” She was struggling, her eyes darting back and forth between the pig’s head and Scott, searching for answers. “That’s just disgusting. What’s it doing here?”

  “I don’t know.” Scott shook his head. “It could just be a prank, but in my line of work it could equally be so
mething more sinister.”

  Cara came to stand beside him, looping her arm under his, her gaze firmly fixed on the head. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to bag it up, take it to the station and report it. I’ll have to inform the DCI, and get a uniform to phone around all the butchers just to see if any have sold a pig’s head to anyone. You get yourself off to work and I’ll sort this out.”

  Scott’s mind whirled. Maybe it was just a coincidence, even though he didn’t believe in them. He played it calm, appearing to brush it off in front of Cara. The last thing he wanted to do was alarm her. In his line of work, he couldn’t be too careful. He’d heard of officers’ cars being vandalised in revenge by suspects that had been arrested or charged. But two random events in the space of just a few days seemed odd to him. First Cara’s car was vandalised at work, and then I get a pig’s head on my doorstep.

  As he drove off, his eyes scanned the area in the hope that he’d see a couple of teenagers on bikes giggling to themselves as he drove away. He passed a black BMW, its windows blacked out. Scott didn’t see the man in dark clothing hunkered down low in the driver’s seat.

  Abby strummed away rhythmically on her steering wheel to the sound of Coldplay as Scott pulled up.

  “Where have you been?” Abby asked, tapping the clock face on her watch.

  “You wouldn’t even believe me if I told you.”

  “Seen him?” Abby said, nodding in the direction of the man they’d seen on their earlier visit.

  This time he wore grey overalls as he slowly swept the flagstones that skirted the building. The slow sweeps of the broom equalled by a long, fixed stare in their direction through narrowed eyes. His mouth slanted down, his chin jutted forward and his forehead creased as he stared intently at them.

  “Must be a groundsman or caretaker of some sorts,” Scott suggested.

  “More like old man Smithers the creepy janitor from Scooby-Doo, but with hair.”

  Scott didn’t reply. He didn’t have a clue what Abby was on about.

  “Let me guess, another late night with Cara and she’s worn you out?” she asked, elbowing him in the ribs as they walked to the front door of Edmunston-Hunt School.

  “Well, that’s partly right, but as I was leaving this morning I found a bloody pig’s head on my doorstep…a proper pig’s head,” he said with wide eyes.

  Abby looked at him suspiciously, her eyes narrowing, unsure if he was winding her up. “You’re joshing me…right?”

  Scott shook his head. “Nope. I’ll show you if you want. It’s in the boot,” he said nodding over his shoulder towards his car.

  “Kids playing a prank?”

  Scott shrugged. “I’d love to say yes; I can’t be certain. How many times have you been called pig in your career?”

  “Um…I couldn’t even put a figure on it, but a fair few times.”

  “Exactly, and I bet at least half of those slurs involved someone that we had apprehended or charged. How many scrotes have said they’d get us back?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Report it, make a few enquiries and just remain vigilant.” He sighed.

  Scott’s mood didn’t lighten as he stood in front of his favourite receptionist, Mrs Hilary, waiting for her to finish her current phone call. She neither looked up nor acknowledged them.

  Scott rapped his knuckles once on the desk before walking off in the direction of the principal’s office, much to Abby’s surprise. She first looked towards Mrs Hilary and then back towards Scott before deciding to chase after her boss. Behind them, they left Mrs Hilary abruptly telling the caller “one moment please, one moment,” before she began to shout after them, the sound of rapid footsteps emanating from the reception area as she quickly tried to intercept them.

  “Welcome, Inspector,” greeted Collier, his back to Scott and Abby as they strode into his office. Collier had clearly been expecting them as he stood by one of his windows. He looked out over the front lawns of the school, the brilliant sun offering warmth on his face as he admired the rich, dark vibrancy of the immaculate frontage. He turned with a tight-lipped smile; his shoulders pulled back, the thumb of each hand hooked into the pockets of his waistcoat. “How can I help?”

  Collier was either as cool as a cucumber, calculated and cunning, or plain ignorant and unaware of the severity of the situation that the school faced. Scott’s guess was that he was a bit of both.

  “Mr Collier, I believe that you’re not being entirely forthcoming with the goings-on at the school. You have two members of staff confirmed dead, and you really don’t seem to be alarmed or concerned in any way.”

  Collier cleared his throat, and levelled his eyes with Scott’s. “I’m not entirely sure what you’re insinuating, Inspector, but I’d be careful if I were you about throwing around assumptions,” he replied in a firm, plum tone.

  “Oh, I think you do, Mr Collier. I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. And I don’t take too kindly to being threatened.”

  Abby watched her boss play out this gladiatorial battle with Collier, and started to feel sorry for the principal as the heated discussion continued. The memory of how he’d dismissed the deputy governor at Pentonville prison sprang into her thoughts.

  Collier shrugged and turned to face the window again. He chose to remain silent.

  “Both of the deceased had identical evidence placed on them which is why we believe the two events are connected. What does the phrase ‘You, a coward, deserve to die’ mean to you, or a white feather?”

  Collier bowed his head. With Scott’s knowledge about patterns of human behaviour, the silence and turning away were classic ploys that people employed when they wanted to avoid giving anything away, especially in their eyes. He knew, from experience that ‘The eyes are the window to the soul. The mouth the door.’

  Collier shook his head as he turned and walked towards Abby, casting her a derogatory glance. “I’m afraid I haven’t got a clue. All sounds rather sinister if you ask me, straight out of a Poirot episode.”

  “Mind if we have a look around the school?”

  “Of course, be my guest. I’m here if you need me.”

  Scott nodded. “By the way, who’s the chap in the overalls sweeping up outside?”

  “That’s Alan Bennett, our caretaker.”

  “Been with you long?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. Seven years. Keeps himself to himself. A bit of a loner but gets the job done and I don’t hear a squeak out of him.”

  “And before that?”

  Collier paused for a moment, unsure whether to divulge Bennett’s prior history. “He’s an ex-prisoner. Came to us via a charity and Jobcentre Plus.”

  “Do you know the nature of his offences?” Scott enquired, knowing full well that he could check once back at the station.

  “Some type of violent assault or fracas outside a pub in Soho, London…but I can assure you that he’s a reformed character now. He’s given me no cause for concern, and is of no threat to our pupils…or staff.”

  “Where does he live? I assume he has accommodation on-site like most school caretakers?”

  Collier stiffened, jutting out his jaw and pulling his lips down at the corners. “Yes, he does. He has small lodgings around the back, set back behind the row of cottages designated for teachers.”

  Alan Bennett lurked in the corridor listening to this exchange. He didn’t like people knowing about his life, or his previous misdemeanours. He slowly retraced his steps back around the corner of the corridor, one foot quietly placed behind the other, resting the balls of his feet first, ensuring that his leather workwear boots didn’t creak.

  16

  Matthew Edrington was trapped. They’d caught up with him whilst he was on his way to the music room during his free period. The first shove against the dark oak panelled walls of the corridor had startled him, the unevenness of the surface rubbed against his thin shoulder blades. The back of his head ached
from where they’d slapped him hard. If only I’d run, he thought, feeling angry with himself.

  It would have been easy to say that he was getting used to being singled out, but the truth of the matter wouldn’t bear the lie. The attacks, the verbal abuse and the intimidation had broken him further.

  “You never learn your lesson, do you, Edrington?”

  “Please, please leave me alone. I don’t understand what I’ve done for you to keep hurting me like this.”

  “You…you just being you is what you’ve done to deserve this. You’re a liability, the weak link. Everyone is expected to give a hundred per cent to the house; we’re lucky if we get fifty per cent from you!” Hunter screamed as he delivered another slap to the side of Edrington’s head. The sting spread through Matthew’s scalp.

  James Rollings pushed the other two boys aside, parting them as he stepped in between. He grabbed Matthew by the throat, pushing him hard into the wall. “You don’t belong here. I think you’d be better suited at Roedean,” he sniggered before releasing the boy with a step backwards.

  Ford and Hunter stepped forward again. They crowded Matthew, their faces just a few inches away from his. He could smell their stale, hot breath on his face. Matthew gritted his teeth, his jaws clenched tight. He needed to be strong even though all he wanted to do was cry. He couldn’t handle this anymore. He hated being here, hated the way they treated him.

  “Enough!” boomed a voice from behind them, startling the boys as all three spun round to see Timothy Saunders, the catering manager, stride towards them. “What do you think you are doing?” he demanded as he shot each of them a glance.

  A wall of silence met Timothy’s question as Rollings stood there, his hands buried deep in his pockets, his long fringe swept down partially covering his eyes as it fell across his face. The corner of his mouth turned up, the slightest of smiles broke out on his face. Ford’s face remained impassive. His light brown eyes appeared to be glazed over as if affected by illegal substances, which knowing Ford may have been true. His eyebrows seem to be permanently raised as if a brow lift had gone horribly wrong, and together with his pale complexion, he took on a macabre ghostly appearance. It was Hunter who appeared to be the aggressor in the pack. He had tight, cropped hair and a thin face. Hunter had a penetrative, menacing stare that seemed at odds with his boyish looks. His head slightly bowed, he stood his ground, goading Saunders, his fists clenched tight by his sides.