Phase one was complete. The Kings had accepted the explanation. The next bit might be trickier. Tim wanted to renew Hugh’s passport with his own photograph. It was due to expire in six months, so it was an ideal opportunity. On his next outing he would collect a form from the post office and then he would be able to see what he needed.
A passport renewal was quite straightforward. All he had to do was send money and photographs. The trick would be getting a picture where he looked like Hugh. His colouring was correct. Hugh was shown with short hair, so he would grow his out to a similar length. The eyebrows were different, Hugh’s were shorter. Easy fix there, Tim would shave some of his off.
Studying the image closely, Tim saw a mole on Hugh’s cheek and a small scar on his chin. He would have to get creative with some make-up. That would help with the ruddy nose too. After a trip to the store, Hugh practised with the cosmetics and copied the slightly lopsided line of Hugh’s mouth. He was ready.
Sat in the photo booth, he set his features and inserted the coins. The strip of pictures delivered to him were better than he could have hoped. The time since the last photo would surely account for any anomalies. There was only one way to find out for sure. Tim filled out the form for the passport and sent it away.
Chapter 17
Jimmy King was slightly troubled by the disappearance of his employee, Hugh Miller. The man had been at the scrapyard for nearly ten years. Yes, he liked a drink, and yes, he took drugs, but somehow he managed to get up and work most days and he never complained about it.
Many years before, Jimmy had seen him hanging around the pub in the town. A big man then, compared to what he looked like now. Dressed in dirty, torn clothes, it was clear that Hugh was not doing well. Others saw a vagrant, but Jimmy saw a potential employee. Well, a casual worker at least.
Paul and Peter, his sons, were lazy and fat. Jimmy had watched them become exactly like him. Their diet of takeaways and convenience food, washed down with fizzy drinks, had determined the shape they were in. It also determined what work they could or couldn’t do in the scrapyard. Jimmy needed someone fit and active.
An offer of work was gratefully received. Jimmy got his sons to clean out the caravan, to give Hugh somewhere to live. The huffing and puffing and slow progress on the project demonstrated how useless Peter and Paul were. Hugh had tears in his eyes as he realised he had a home as well as a job.
Jimmy knew that what he was doing was illegal. He was employing Hugh, but was not paying National Insurance or tax to the government. He did give him a wage, which was better than some got. Workers were more or less enslaved by some ruthless people. Prisoners, weakened and exploited by their bosses. Hugh got paid and could come and go as he pleased, so Jimmy thought of himself as fair and benevolent.
Now that he had vanished, Jimmy was in a fix. He couldn’t report Hugh missing without explaining how he had worked for him for all these years. The word “slave” would be bandied about and trouble would rain down on him. Thinking through the story that Gerry had told, Jimmy tried to convince himself that it was true.
“What do you think about this Hugh thing?” Jimmy asked between mouthfuls of chips.
“I dunno.” Paul was his most useless son, although it was a close call.
“He’s gone, end of.” Peter managed an answer.
“You’ve seen him lately. He was getting worse and worse. Drinking and stuff. I’m surprised he left now, when he could hardly cope on his own.” Jimmy could practically see the cogs whirring in Peter’s head. Paul looked blank.
“Like a dog that’s dying. Crawls away to go in peace. If he didn’t up and leave, what happened to him?” Peter had asked the question which was worrying Jimmy.
“There is no other explanation, unless Gerry did something to him.” Jimmy put his fears out there.
“Why would Gerry do something to Hugh? They’re friends. Gerry looks after him, cooks for him and stuff. There’s nothing to gain by getting rid of Hugh,” Peter said.
Shrugging, Jimmy gave up. Peter was right. There was no reason why Gerry would get rid of Hugh. Unless they’d had an argument and things got out of hand. Or there had been an accident of some kind. Going through a dozen scenarios in his head, Jimmy knew that he was as close to the truth as he was going to get.
Gerry worked twice as hard after Hugh had vanished, wandering around the place, looking rather sorry for himself. He was probably lonely after sharing the small caravan with someone else. Jimmy watched closely for a couple of weeks. There was no furtive activity or evidence of guilt as far as he could see. Maybe Gerry was a good actor.
Jimmy could imagine a number of reasons why Hugh would go. Without talking to him, he would never know for sure what made him leave. Peter and Paul never mentioned Hugh again and, after a while, Jimmy forgot to worry about it. The man was gone, but they still had Gerry.
Chapter 18
It would be a couple of weeks before he got a reply from the passport office, so in the meantime, Tim carried on working for King and Sons. He toiled each day, somehow trying to make up for Hugh’s absence by doing his job too. If the Kings were grateful for, or even noticed his efforts, they didn’t say.
Peter had asked a couple more questions about Hugh, but Jimmy now showed no interest. Considering that the man had worked for them for many years, the disappearance did not matter to the boss. Or was it that, having used Hugh for so long, he couldn’t now question his departure or get the authorities involved?
Without Hugh to look after, Tim felt a bit lonely. Cooking for one, watching television alone and sleeping was all he did now. Hopefully, he would be out of the scrapyard soon. A new name and identity meant that he could get a new life, legitimate employment, a bank account and a home of some sort.
As soon as he got the passport, Tim would do his own disappearing act. If the Kings ever tried to find Gerry Thomas, they would be out of luck. They would be looking for someone who didn’t exist. Tim would move to a new area and start over as Hugh Miller. A backstory for his new character would be thought up. Maybe he had lived abroad for a long time. That would account for his lack of employment for the last few years, and fend off the Inland Revenue.
The wait was agonising. The passport would be delivered to a post office box and he could only get there once a week. When he picked the package up, he could feel the shape of the passport through the envelope. Ripping it open, he revealed his prize. Turning to the relevant page, Tim found his picture and laughed out loud. He had done it. He was now Hugh Miller.
It was not a good idea to rush off and start over. Tim had more items to sell and he needed some sort of plan before leaving the scrapyard. A bundle of money was now hidden in the caravan. Most of his initial £2,000 remained, plus the funds from selling the items he had lifted from King and Sons.
The passport had revealed some interesting details about Hugh. His date of birth, of course, and also where he was born. Conversations with him had told Tim that he had no qualifications or trade. Getting a job might be tricky, but not impossible. If he could get a foot in the door at a company, he could progress from there.
Where would he go? Not back to his old home town or to where Hugh had been born. Apart from those locations, he could go anywhere. Maybe the south-west. Beaches, warmer weather, small towns and villages: that appealed to Tim. He had steered clear of technology since fleeing from his house, but now was the time to reacquaint himself with the internet.
A trip to the library allowed him to go online and find out more about the area he was considering as his new home. It was time to reintegrate into society. His backstory had been pondered and he had prepared what he was going to say. In a couple of weeks, he would be on his way to a new life.
“Jimmy, can I have a minute of your time?” Tim was ready to hand in his resignation.
“What’s up, fella?” Jimmy didn’t look up from his plate of chips.
“I’m going to be moving on. Thanks for letting me stay here and for giving me a j
ob, but I’m back on my feet now and need to go back to my home town.”
“That’s a real shame.” Chip in hand, hovering between plate and mouth, Jimmy looked up at Tim.
“If Hugh ever turns up, give him my best, will you?”
“I’ll do that, Gerry. All that hard work has toned you up.” Jimmy was giving his employee a good look over. “I know the wages weren’t much, but the job has got you fit.”
“It certainly has. Thanks again for giving me a chance.”
“No problem, good luck.”
Another person would be recruited to work at the scrapyard. Jimmy, Paul and Peter weren’t in the right condition to do much manual work. They didn’t seem particularly troubled by Tim’s departure, and went back to their food after the announcement that he was leaving. Maybe they thought that Hugh would come back. They would have a long wait.
Back to the train station, eight months after arriving there on the night of the murder. Then, his options were limited and his outlook was bleak. Fortune had smiled on him and he was now setting off ready for a new start. Tim would always be wary of the police, but he had a better chance of staying out of prison with his new identity.
Where would he be in a year’s time? There was nothing to hold him back. Tim could make friends, work legitimately, claim benefits if he needed them, even marry again. Definitely a girlfriend, he thought. Marriage had not worked out that well for him first time around. He would have to be very sure of a woman to try it once more.
Chapter 19
Five miles from the beach, near to a town – the village where Tim had settled was perfect. Earlier that day he had visited the Job Centre, and they’d helped him fill out a pile of forms.
“I’ve got your details here, Mr Miller. There is no record of you working or claiming benefits for, let me see, just over nine years.” The lady he had sat down with looked sweet and kind, like a favourite aunt, until she fixed him with a steely gaze.
“I was abroad for most of that time. Travelling, working odd jobs. I’d had some problems with alcohol and addiction and I needed to clear my head. I’m glad to say that I’ve sorted myself out. I want to work, but might need a bit of money to tide me over until I find something.”
“What jobs did you do abroad?”
“Mostly manual jobs. Working on farms, fruit picking, that sort of thing.”
“Do you have a driving licence?”
“Yes – well, I did have. Probably need to get a new one.”
“What sort of work are you looking for?”
“I’m realistic. I know that I can only do basic jobs with no skills and references, but I’d like to go somewhere that will give me a way to advance.”
“Okay, let me see what I have got.”
He had said the right things and his interrogator had softened. Tim was told about a number of uninspiring positions, most of which entailed manual labour. He wasn’t against working in those roles, but they gave little chance of moving onto something better.
“This might interest you. There are openings for port workers. It’s only a short journey from your home and there are a range of duties, not all manual.”
“Yes, sounds good. Can you give me some details?”
He applied for what benefits he could and then left the office. An appointment had been made for him to visit the port for an interview. Tim went into a barber’s and had a proper haircut. He could go to the port without cuts from his own attempts at shaving his head. A clean pair of jeans and a sweatshirt were donned – a suit wasn’t appropriate – and he set off to get himself a job.
In this instance, the fact that he had done hard, physical work was a bonus. Tim was able to supply identification and be enthusiastic about a job he would have turned his nose up at a year ago. He smiled, joked, gave a manly handshake and he was in. He was now a port operative.
The wages weren’t bad and he could hop onto a bus to get to and from the port. As the new guy, Tim was sweeping up, hauling boxes and getting dirty. His colleagues were not alcoholics or drug fiends and he felt like he was back in the real world. He barely looked over his shoulder these days.
Working with a younger man called Brad, Tim enjoyed normal conversation. The other port operatives were older, family men. He had told them all about his past as an alcoholic and about working abroad. He had been on a couple of holidays in France and knew something about the country, so he sounded convincing, he hoped, when he talked about living there.
It was physical work, but Tim was used to that. Different people came and went from the port, so it was much more interesting than working at the scrapyard. He was getting used to being called Hugh. The only downside so far was the fact that his co-workers thought he was a recovering alcoholic, and he had to have a soft drink when they went to the pub on a Friday.
Not drinking wasn’t too bad. Without anything to dull his senses, Tim could remember his backstory, forget about the murder and that he had a child, and answer to his new name. Learning to use a forklift truck was excellent. Apparently, he could take some sort of test and then he would be eligible for better paid work. Not that he had any great desire to leave the port, he liked it there.
Chapter 20
For a few months, Tim checked the newspapers avidly. His concern was that someone would stumble across the body that he had buried in the woods. Nobody seemed to venture off the paths in that area, but all it took was some kids playing or a dog digging and it would be revealed.
The hole into which he had stuffed the body had been quite deep. The shovel he’d taken with him had come in handy, because he needed to lengthen the indentation to get Hugh’s body in. He didn’t want to chop off limbs to make it fit. If Hugh was found dismembered it would look like a murder. To be honest, the fact that he was buried there would lead the police to that conclusion anyway.
It got more complicated the more he thought about it. If the body was found and it was identified as Hugh Miller, that would create all types of problems. So far, nothing had been reported, and the more time that passed the better it was for him. As with Alison’s murder, he had to put this to the back of his mind.
Killing Alison and going on the run, Tim had been busy surviving and had not dwelt on what he had done. Also, he had got to the point where he hated his wife. He had not murdered Hugh, but he felt worse about what he had done with his body than he did for committing murder.
When he remembered Hugh, Tim felt remorse, an emotion he had seldom been acquainted with. They had lived in close proximity and formed a friendship. Tim, caring for and looking after his pal, had contributed to his demise. That fact weighed on him as well.
Both his misdemeanours had been carried out on a whim. Had he thought through the repercussions, Tim would not be where he was today. Strangely, his actions had been wrong, but had brought advantages. Escape from a bad marriage and then a new identity. And now here he was, living and working on the coast.
A heavy object that needed moving? Call on the new guy. A grubby, unpleasant job? Hugh would do that. Tim didn’t mind, everything seemed easy after life at the scrapyard. Had he come here straight from his job as a salesman, that would have been a completely different story.
The bedsit that he was renting felt like a luxury home compared to that old caravan. Cooking on the small cooker of an evening had echoes of his life with Hugh, but the solid walls and watertight windows around him confirmed that he was on his way back up. Living in the woods and then the scrapyard had surely marked rock bottom for him.
The funds he had taken from the bank account had been used to pay a deposit and rent. Tim still had the money he’d got from the antique dealer, Fred, for the items he had stolen. Chuckling at the thought that stealing was the least of his crimes, Tim didn’t even worry about that. Now he was earning a decent wage, too.
He could buy new clothes instead of second-hand. Baked beans on toast wouldn’t be on his menu every day. No earplugs necessary to drown out the sound of Hugh’s snoring. Saying a si
lent thank you to Hugh for the identity which he had stolen, Tim had to put the past behind him once more. He was Hugh Miller, and he was going to make the best of things from now on.
Chapter 21
Beth had settled into a routine at her Nana’s house. She got up, made her own breakfast, got dressed and went to school. A late riser, Heather would prepare herself for the day, make-up and hair, wash up her granddaughter’s plate, and then she would clean the house. Maybe a trip to the shops, definitely a phone call or two.
For the most part, Beth was left to her own devices. There were discussions about clothes and brief questions about school and homework, but that was all. Mostly, Nana spoke and Beth listened. The dissatisfaction that Heather had shown with her daughter was not so overt with Beth. Reminders about her manners and comments on her diet were all that were occasionally directed at the girl.
Maybe when she got older, the criticism would start. Beth waited for the day but it never really came. As the years passed and she went to a new school, the only change was that Nana applied more make-up to cover up the cracks. There was the odd dig, but it was half-hearted.
Tales of Retribution was played again and again. Beth knew every episode. Sometimes she watched, rapt; other times it was enough to have it playing in the background. At times of stress, Beth would wonder what Retribution would do. How would he deal with bullies? What might stop him being afraid?
Her hero didn’t have a sidekick to confer with. Beth had no one either. She had never had anyone. Her mother and father had been concerned with their own problems, and Nana didn’t do the touchy-feely stuff. Beth had heard the expression “lone wolf”, and that was how she thought about herself.
At school, there were people she spoke to, classmates she asked about lessons, but not a best friend. And boys – Beth had little to do with them. Her father hadn’t left her with a good impression of men and the immaturity of the boys around her didn’t help. She wasn’t shy, she was contained. Living life to her own rules, not influenced by others.
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