Retribution

by Jay Nadal

  “Then someone banged loudly on the frosted glass around the side of the building. I went to have a look hoping if I saw kids, I could shout at them and threaten them with the police.” Drawing deep breathes, she continued, “But it was a man. I could see his outline, a man, thumping on the windows with both hands. I shouted at him to stop, but he didn’t. The banging got louder and heavier. Then he let out a loud scream…and that’s when I just shit myself and ran to the office to call you.

  “He then moved to other windows and banged on them too…I felt so trapped,” she said, crying into Scott’s chest again.

  Scott glanced around. He saw nothing, nothing that would concern him. “Listen, I’ll get uniform to pop over a few times tomorrow. Did you see anything on CCTV?”

  Cara’s whole body trembled with fear. “No…that’s the worrying thing. The screen is blank, like something has been sprayed over it.”

  Scott had heard enough. This appeared to be a deliberate act of intimidation for some reason unknown to him. “Have you had any run-ins recently, whilst driving, with family members here, anything at all?”

  Cara rubbed her eyes and shook her head slowly. She thought hard, searching her mind for anything, anything at all.

  “Let’s get you back to my place. It’s safe there. We’ll go by yours first so you can grab some clothes, okay?” he said, wiping her dark, wet limp hair from her face.

  The drive to Montpelier Crescent was silent for the most part, broken only by intermittent sobs and Scott’s questioning. Cara was still insistent that she had no idea as to the identity of the person, and more importantly, why the reaction. In her mind, she was hopeful that it was an isolated incident involving someone who at best was doing it for a prank or wind-up, or at worse, someone who was less then mentally balanced. It was something Scott couldn’t agree with, especially after what appeared to be a deliberate act of obscuring the CCTV lens.

  His suspicions grew not long after they’d parked in an available parking space close to her apartment. Montpelier Crescent was a sweeping arch of mid-19th century grade two listed buildings set back from a small, grass parkland opposite. Imposing three- and four-storey white structures commanded a distinct presence. Regency styling blended with Victorian grace, creating a desirable location. A mixture of cast iron first floor balconies, together with ornate stone cornices and large sash windows only added to the grandeur of the street.

  Cara led the way as they went through the communal front door, but froze within feet of her door. An icy chill ran through her body, rooting her to the spot. Her pupil’s dilated. Her heart thumped rapidly. Her mouth fell open in disbelief. She turned to Scott, her eyes wide in fear.

  Scott raised a finger to his lips as he looked beyond her to the door that was ajar, wood splinters scattered over the hallway carpet. He took slow, light steps past her before he turned and mouthed “stay here” to her. He slowly pushed the door open and peered in. There were no sounds of movement. He took one step at a time as he made his way down the hallway, taking a moment to peer into every room.

  Once sure the apartment was clear, he gave Cara a shout to come in. She took tentative steps, the fingers of one hand covering her mouth in disbelief. Her concern turned to confusion as she realised that nothing had been disturbed, until she got to her bedroom, where Scott waited at the doorway. She scanned the room, her eyes drawn to the top drawer of a small four-drawer chest that sat in an alcove. It was half pulled out, the contents in disarray.

  Cara was about to step forward when Scott put his arm out to stop her. She glanced at him in bewilderment, before peering back down the corridor trying to make some sense of the events.

  “That’s my underwear. It’s on the floor,” she said, looking at the assortment that lay scattered on the carpet.

  “From what you’ve seen, has anything been taken?”

  She hesitated for a moment as she ran her hand through her dark hair, throwing it back over her shoulder. “I don’t think so. Why wasn’t my TV taken or my iPad that I left on the sofa? My Kindle or the Michael Kors watch by my bed…nothing?” she asked, pointing to her underwear. “But some perv has rummaged through my underwear drawer…I don’t get it.”

  “Listen to me, Cara,” Scott said, holding her by the shoulders and spinning her around to face him. “This isn’t your normal run-of-the-mill break-in. To me, this is getting personal. First your car, then the pig’s head, then the morgue and now this. This is personal.”

  “Scott, I don’t know…I just don’t understand,” she said, her eyes darting left to right as she trawled her memory. “Is someone after me, or trying to frighten me?”

  “I’m not suggesting that, but look at the events over the past week. Something is going on…your underwear is all over the floor for fuck’s sake, and nothing appears to have been taken. That’s not your normal burglary, babes.”

  Cara began to hyperventilate as fear returned to her body. She wrapped her arms across her chest, scared to move. “I don’t know what I’ve done…what do I do, Scott?” she pleaded.

  “Well, you’re coming back with me. Don’t go in the bedroom; it’s a crime scene. I’ll get Matt from forensics to send someone over to do a sweep. It’s a long shot, but worth a try. If you need more clothes, we can stop at the shops on the way to mine.”

  Cara nodded, worry distorting her features. Her fine lines and soft skin replaced with puffy eyes and red, blotchy skin.

  The events were more than a coincidence in Scott’s eyes. Someone was out to put the frighteners on Cara or him. The question was who, as he glanced around the crescent waiting for Matt to answer his phone.

  28

  Matthew Edrington looked tired and frail. Dark circles framed eyes that furtively shifted, scouring the corridor for any signs of danger. Thankfully, he could blend in amongst the throng of pupils that snaked their way from the breakfast dining room back to their dorms. He was safe for now. Danger came when he was alone, his vulnerability exposed. Defenceless and weak, he was an easy target for the prefects.

  Or so he thought. A hand reached into the back of his shirt collar pulling him backwards, the force taking him by surprise. His throat tightened.

  They’d cornered him, pushing through into the doorway of an empty classroom. It seemed that his confidential discussion with his housemaster Edward Chapman had been anything but that.

  They reminded him in their own inimitable way that snitches were lower than pond scum. Rollings pursed his lips and raised his hand back. He threw it forward as hard as he could before whipping it across Matthew’s face. The crack of skin on skin echoed off the walls. Vibrations of pain exploded in all directions across his face. Rollings’s palm was bright red, the same red mark that matched the one on Matthew’s face. The boy stared at Rollings with his blue eyes wide in fear as he protectively lifted his hand to his fire-red cheek.

  Rollings’s flicked shaggy hair that hung low over his face to one side. There was no remorse in his expression as he stared at Matthew, just anger-filled eyes. A triumphant grin spread across his face as satisfaction coursed through him.

  “You pathetic, limp-wristed prick,” Hunter said through clenched teeth, his impish boy looks replaced by an unfazed menacing stare as his eyes locked onto Matthew. “Not only do you let our house down, you let yourself down. You’re supposed to take this like a man, but you’re not. You’re a waste of space. Do us all a favour and go hang yourself like Johnson,” he said with a sneer.

  Rollings repeatedly slapped the cowering boy around the head in a frenzied flurry, laughing to himself. Matthew’s ears were hot, red and stinging. He grappled with Ford as he desperately clung onto his blazer. It was hard for him to know where to focus his attention. Rollings was incessantly taunting the boy, whilst Ford attempted to rip the boy’s blazer from his tight clutches. Other students turned a blind eye as some walked past looking the other way, whilst others doubled back and took alternate routes to avoid witnessing the drama unfold in front of their eyes.


  There was an unspoken rule amongst pupils…avoid those prefects at all costs. They ruled the school through intimidation. Speaking out against them would only ensure that they too were on the receiving end of their ‘personalised attention’.

  Relief came in the form of Timothy Saunders who’d followed not long afterwards from the student dining room en route to his office. This was the second occasion where he’d had to step in to break up an assault on the same pupil. The prefects laughed at Saunders as he tried to step in between the two sides. They’d goaded him too, unafraid of his authority. Bravado and adrenaline fuelled their determination to stand their ground.

  “This is wrong. This is so wrong. I will not tolerate behaviour like this. Any form of bullying is not tolerated in the school, and those found to be doing it will be severely punished, do I make myself clear?” Saunders threatened. “I’m going to report the lot of you to the principal.”

  His threat of disciplinary action was met with sniggers and further sarcastic taunts of “oooh, you’re really scaring us now!”

  Saunders could feel the anger crawling into his chest. His stomach twisted and flipped over, as he clenched his jaws, breathing in furiously through his nostrils. He certainly didn’t have the commanding presence or the level of respect that many of the teaching staff enjoyed throughout the school. Enraged by their abrasive attitude, he ordered them to disperse whilst stepping between the prefects and Matthew, shielding the boy from them.

  Saunders turned to face Matthew, glancing briefly back over his shoulder to make sure the prefects were dispersed. “Are you okay, lad?”

  Matthew stood there, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to another, his shoulders rocking in unison. He still had one hand placed over his red, stinging cheek. He nodded once. His eyes slowly misted up, a lump of sadness stuck in his throat making it hard to swallow saliva.

  “I’m not going to tolerate this, lad. Listen, I know how you must feel. It used to go on in my school as well. You have to be strong. You have to stand up to them or they’ll continue to keep picking on you.” Saunders leant forward a little, placing one hand on Matthew’s thin, bony shoulder. “Don’t make the same mistakes I made. I let people walk over me.”

  “But…but, sir, I have no one else to turn to. I’ve already gone and spoken to my housemaster. The prefects found out about it. If I tell anyone else, they’ll…” Matthew’s voice trailed off as his chin sank to his chest, his eyes gazing into the darkness of the black stone floor.

  “Listen here, Edrington. I will speak to the principal. I won’t stand by and have another child’s life ruined by bullies. Besides, I thought school was supposed to be the happiest days of your life. Unfortunately, they weren’t for me. I’ve got nothing but bad memories. But we don’t want that for you now, do we? Leave it with me. If those boys bother you again, I want you to come and find me. Understand?”

  Matthew shrugged before picking up his blazer from the floor and trudging off wearily, his shoulders heavy, slouched forward in defeat and resignation.

  Saunders watched Edrington move away awkwardly, his thin, bony frame dwarfed inside a school uniform that now appeared a size too big. The months of mental, emotional and physical torment were clearly evident. The next job on his list was going to see Principal Collier.

  Saunders stormed into Principal Collier’s office without the normal consideration of knocking first. “A word, Principal Collier. I’ve just broken up yet another incident involving pupils of Stanmer House. How can you tolerate prefects picking on younger boys?” he asked, slapping an angry palm on Collier’s desk.

  Collier wasn’t used to others challenging him in such a cavalier fashion. He rose abruptly from his chair, pushing it back, before striding around to Saunders. A tense stand-off followed as the two glared at each other, their eyes locked in a battle of wills, neither relenting or turning away.

  “May I remind you, Mr Saunders, that the discipline within this school is my responsibility and that of the senior management team. I suggest you’d do well to focus on what you’re here for…the catering manager of this institution,” he replied in a firm, but measured tone that hinted of suppressed anger.

  Saunders, his fists pressing into his sides, was incensed that Collier was clearly more concerned with titles, and the demarcation of jobs than the welfare of pupils. “Are you not listening to me? A pupil was just being bullied out there,” he said, pointing back towards the open door. “And you’re more concerned with whether I’m doing my fucking job.”

  “Mr Saunders, you’re treading a fine line of insubordination…”

  “Are you that detached from reality? You’re happy to turn a blind eye to what I’ve just witnessed. It’s not the first time I’ve seen this happen.”

  “There’s no bullying in this school. What you have is conditioning…”

  “Conditioning?” Saunders said, tripping over his words. “Are you for real? This isn’t the army, or some secret sect. This is a school!”

  “These men need to be tough. They think it’s tough in here…hah! It’s a ruthless world out there. They could be representing our nation on the battlefield, for our government in a far-flung country…do you think there’s room for weakness in combat?” He sneered.

  “They’re boys,” Saunders pleaded, “just boys, learning about life and themselves. This should be the happiest time of their lives, but what you’re doing here is wrong! Do you hear me? It’s wrong. You’re ruining lives.”

  Collier erupted, his face reddening as he ripped off his glasses and went nose to nose with Saunders. “Get…out…of…my…office now…before you find yourself unemployed. Consider that your first and final warning!” His jawbone tensed as he clenched his teeth, his lips pursed tight, leaving nothing but a thin line that appeared as if it had been drawn on in biro.

  Saunders shook his head as his chin touched his chest. A mixture of frustration, anger and sadness washed over him. He had tried, Matthew had confided in him, and now felt like he’d failed Edrington. “I won’t let this rest, I’ll…I’ll contact the governors. You can’t keep ruining their lives,” he spluttered as he stormed out of the room leaving a defiant Collier pleased that he’d won that contest.

  29

  Scott had dropped Cara off early at the mortuary with strict instructions to dial 999 if anything happened that was out of the ordinary and concerning. She’d nodded slowly, her eyes firmly fixed on an imaginary object far off into the distance. He had noticed a different side to her that morning. Her usual exuberance and confidence replaced with a quiet, pensive and guarded mood. The events of the past few days were clearly starting to affect her more than she was willing to admit. He started to really feel for her. Beneath that strong, fun and dedicated persona, she was soft and fragile. Delicate enough to be wrapped in cotton wool.

  They’d both had a restless night. Scott had jolted upright in bed after another of those dark nightmares. He’d not had many recently. Whether that was down to him coming to terms with the loss of his family, or having Cara in his life replacing the empty chasm, he wasn’t sure. Nevertheless, it had left him exhausted and drenched in sweat with his heart bursting out of his chest.

  Cara had spent the night tossing and turning in bed, her mind processing the events of the day, before giving up on sleep and heading downstairs to watch TV. Any chance of sleep had fast faded after Scott had startled her with a gasp as he bolted upright in bed. His eyes widened with fear as he searched in the darkness for what his mind had led him to believe was there in front of him…his family. He’d sat there, his knees pulled tight into his chest, his arms wrapped around them.

  Salty tears streaked his cheeks as he gently rocked back and forth in her arms. She tried her hardest to calm and reassure him. She’d pulled his head tight to her warm chest. A repetitive soft calming “ssssh” and “it’s okay, babes, I know you’re hurting” soothed his pain. She couldn’t think of anything else to say at such a difficult time in the dark of the night.
Cara hadn’t seen this side of him much, the gentle, vulnerable side that he left hidden from friends and colleagues.

  Despite his pain, the resulting vulnerability was an endearing quality that drew her closer. Seeing it peeled back another layer and took her closer to his core, the real Scott. He was nothing more than a child in her arms until he’d finally fallen asleep again.

  Curled up on the sofa wearing one of Scott’s large T-shirts, her legs folded up beneath her, she’d channel-hopped in the futile attempt of finding something decent to watch. She had come to the conclusion that night-time TV was dreadful, and would be the perfect tonic for insomniacs. She’d finally settled on watching the Time Team doing an archaeological dig in Leicester at an old hall she’d never heard of. Cara could never quite take the presenter of the show seriously. She’d always associated him with the role of Baldrick in Blackadder, which only made her smile.

  Scott pushed through the double doors of the CID office keen to get an update from Abby’s interview with Collier, but she was already flagging him down as he made his way to his office to throw off his jacket.

  “Guv, Mike couldn’t find Collier last night; he was nowhere to be found. He went back first thing this morning and tracked him down. You’ve got one pissed off principal waiting downstairs in the interview suite…he’s not a happy man,” she said, leaning back in her chair taking a sip from her mug of piping hot tea.

  Scott paused for a moment before throwing his jacket back on. Interviewing Collier now would be a wise move considering the DCI wanted an update first thing. Perhaps he could squeeze something out of Collier that would get DCI Harvey off his back.