by Wes Markin
And all the time she wondered.
Just wondered.
Her father, Richie Ray, had been a cold man, who’d murdered his sister in a fit of madness, and spent most of his life institutionalised. Her mother, Mary-Ann Ray, had been a drug addict lost in a kaleidoscope that turned her in and out of reality.
Her mother had never taught her the Green Cross Code and her father had never held her up to see the world from high.
So she had punished them.
Tampered with their car so they died in fire and tangled metal.
And now, she stood here wondering if things really could have been any different.
For as long as she could remember, she’d felt perennially bored and in need of stimulation. But even when presented with stimulation, arousal of any kind had been hard to come by. She had rarely, if ever, felt happy. She had struggled to care about the feelings of others, unless they were being unjustly treated in some way. Even anger would only manifest itself as a form of mild irritation.
Very recently though, in the face of all this numbing monotony, she’d managed to find a sparkle. Tobias. She’d discovered a capacity in herself to worry, and potentially, care for someone.
Was it love? She doubted it. But she hoped. And hope was also something new she was experiencing.
Many years ago, the doctors, who genuinely believed that they could categorise every thought process and put every individual into a box, had called her a malignant narcissist.
It would be quite an achievement to prove them wrong. Yes, they were probably right about her psychological need for power. After all, she was about to go into Caroline’s house and assert her authority over her. They were probably also right about her sense of grandiosity. She was boastful of the fact that many of her actions had positive outcomes. She struggled to recall a single victim who’d been any good for society when they were alive.
But the absence of conscience?
She felt that they were wrong about this. If something bad happened to Tobias, she would blame herself for that. She just knew she would.
Worry, hope, a conscience?
Were these signs that things were changing for her? Was it so wrong to wonder if things would have been different if she’d been given love? Would she have been taught how to love?
She watched a young lady leave Caroline’s house. Caroline waved goodbye at the door and closed it.
The woman was all alone.
Lacey walked over the street, so she passed alongside the young lady. She had a striking figure, and jet-black hair pulled back tight into a ponytail. She had a tan, and thick, fresh microbladed eyebrows.
Was that lust I felt? Lacey smiled. Add that to your list doctors!
‘Nice job.’ Lacey winked.
The young lady avoided eye contact. Her tan was too dark for Lacey to determine if she’d blushed or not.
Lacey reached the curb and stepped up onto the pavement. She turned and watched the beautiful woman climb into a red Audi Convertible. She took long deep breaths.
Yes, that’s most definitely lust.
She turned back, walked down the path and rang the doorbell.
Caroline opened the door.
Another lady with a fine figure, Lacey thought. Is there a chance I’m sexually frustrated here?
She spent a moment trying to recall her last sexual encounter, but her train of thought was interrupted by Caroline. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Yes, you can,’ Lacey said.
She hadn’t come wearing goth clothing, and instead stood in a brown leather jacket, and some tight jeans.
‘I came across this.’ Lacey held up Caroline’s business card. ‘And I really need your help. Not with this …’ She ran a hand over her shaved head. ‘But with these.’ She touched her right eyebrow and then her left.
Caroline scrunched up her forehead. ‘That’s not really how this works. You need to phone ahead for an appointment. My next appointment is in thirty minutes I’m afraid, and after that I was planning on finishing for the day. So, there’s nothing I can really do at such short notice.’
‘I thought you’d say that and until my girlfriend woke up this morning and pointed out her dislike for them, eyebrows were the last thing on my mind also! Which is why I brought this.’ Lacey pulled a wad of twenty-pound notes out from the inside of a leather jacket.
Caroline raised her eyebrows. ‘This seems rather—’
‘—unorthodox?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I’m desperate. My girlfriend is a soap actress and I really don’t want to mess this one up. If I tell you who she is, you’ll see my predicament. No price is too high to keep this fire burning. So, there’s a thousand pounds here. If you ring ahead and cancel your appointment, we can get on with it.’
‘A thousand pounds, really?’
‘She’s paying,’ Lacey said. ‘Drop in the ocean for her.’
Caroline nodded. ‘I guess I can make an exception. Come in, Ms …?’
‘Ms Ray, but you can call me Lacey.’
There was no recognition over the name but why would there be? Caroline was from Southampton; the legacy of the Rays would not be in her memory bank.
‘Okay, Lacey, come in.’
She stepped into the house.
‘And do tell me, who is this soap actress?’ Caroline said, closing the door.
As Yorke took a mouthful of tea, he listened to the muffled shouting coming from the apartment beneath them.
Lucy looked down and sighed.
‘Sorry, I may have caused a little family argument on the way in,’ Yorke said.
‘Don’t blame yourself. Those arguments are an hourly occurrence.’
‘It’s not good. I was brought up in a similar household. It’ll get to those boys eventually.’
She looked at him sympathetically. ‘Well, it’s the opposite for me, there were no arguments in my household. Didn’t make it any less trying, nonetheless. We were the perfect family.’ She made quotation marks with her fingers over the word perfect. ‘You see, when you are perfect, impression is everything. God forbid anyone should think you’re not perfect.’
‘I can imagine,’ Yorke said. ‘Strict then?’
‘Very. As children, we were seen and not heard. My father used to shake my brother by the hand rather than hug him. You get the picture. Cold, it was. But perfect.’ She guffawed and took a drink. ‘Mother remembers but she’ll never admit it. It was a form of abuse in its own right.’
It was Yorke’s turn to offer her a sympathetic look. ‘Ms Wilson, what do you know about the Bennett family?’
‘Another perfect family!’
‘You disagree then?’
She smiled. ‘You know they kept their boy, Robert, practically hidden away?’
Yorke put his cup of tea down on the coffee table and leaned forward. ‘No, I did not.’
‘He was home schooled. Not that I would have seen him at school anyway, he was ten years older than me. But some of my older friends remember daring each other to go onto the farm and stare at the mysterious boy’s face through the window.’
‘Really? And what did they see?’
‘A boy with horrendous eczema and bald patches on his head. Poor kid.’ She sighed. ‘Glad to say I wasn’t old enough to be part of that crowd. They treated him like a freak. No wonder he never came out. I wouldn’t have done either. Mind you, that wasn’t the real reason he never came out. It was because his parents were ashamed of him.’
Yorke sighed. ‘Who looked after Robert when they were out being pillars of the community?’
She brushed her hand back and forth over her floral-tattooed arm. ‘He festered at home with a live-in maid.’
‘Live-in maid?’
‘Yes, I suppose it wasn’t uncommon back then. A lot of wealthy farmers, such as the Bennetts, had live-in maids and farmhands. No doubt this woman raised him. She certainly home schooled him. I bumped into her a few times in town. She was a very quiet lady. Polite enough but never re
ally spoke to anyone.’
‘Was she elderly?’
‘Not really,’ Lucy said. ‘She was probably middle-aged when I was about fifteen.’
Yorke did a quick calculation in his head. ‘A strange question I know, but do you think that this could have been his real mother?’
She shrugged. ‘Dunno. But it’s not actually a strange question. The rumour always was that Robert Bennett had been adopted.’
‘Why?’
‘Because prior to the arrival of baby Robert, Elysia and her husband had no children and were apparently unable to conceive. You see, the father had served in the war and had picked up a horrendous shrapnel injury.’ She pointed downwards at her own crotch.
‘Just rumours?’
‘Everything was rumour then, Detective Yorke. Everything was Chinese whispers. I do know this though …’ She paused to smile. ‘If you were interviewing my mother, you wouldn’t be getting any of this!’
‘Did she not know about these things?’
‘Of course she did! But she would not spoil the perfect picture to an outsider like you!’
Yorke smiled.
They talked for a few more minutes before a tingling bell interrupted their conversation.
‘She’s awake, I have to go,’ Lucy said. ‘It will take her about twenty minutes for her to completely come round. Would you like to wait?’
Yorke declined. He felt that he had more than enough to go on right now.
As he left Spire View, the bullied young boy from earlier pulled a wheelie on his bike as he passed. Yorke thought of the damage labels such as ‘retard’ or ‘orphan’ did to kids. Then, he thought about Robert sitting by the window as the children from his village pointed in, laughing, and wondered what damage that had caused him.
After Gardner and Jake had taken another crack at interviewing Robert Bennett and had made no progress, they stood by the coffee machine bemoaning the state of the latte it churned out.
Gardner’s phone rang. It was Yorke.
After several minutes of listening to Yorke and making notes, Gardner grabbed Jake’s arm. ‘We’re going back in.’
‘Want to tell me why?’
‘No time. You’ll find out in there.’
They sat down opposite Robert. He was handcuffed and an officer stood close behind him. He had thick splotches of cream all over his face, hiding his aggravated patches. He looked like a circus clown that had been hit with a cream pie.
Gardner put on her new glasses and looked down at her notepad. She could sense Jake leaning over her trying to read her notes. She threw him a stare; he shrugged and sat back.
‘Some new information has come to light, Robert,’ Gardner said.
‘Robert? First name terms, are we now?’
‘Well, as I’m the only person still standing in the way of a life sentence for you, I thought we could drop the formalities.’
He shrugged.
‘I understand both of your parents are dead, which I’m very sorry about.’
A wry smile spread across Robert’s face.
‘And we have something very important to ask you.’
Robert nodded but didn’t reply.
‘Is the maid who took care of you as a child still alive?’
His smile fell away and his eyes widened. ‘Who told you about that?’
‘That’s not relevant. The only thing that is relevant is whether she is alive or not.’
‘She’s alive but it’s a dead angle for you. She had a stroke a few years back and her brain stem has been damaged which means she cannot move.’
‘Locked-in syndrome,’ Jake said.
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve heard of it. They still have consciousness but can only communicate with eye movement?’
‘About the size of it,’ Robert said. ‘But she stopped communicating long ago.’
‘What’s her name? Where is she?’ Gardner said.
‘And if I refuse to tell you?’
‘Then we will end all discussion. I will deem you a hostile suspect and proceed with charging you. When your court date arrives, your complete refusal to cooperate will be taken into account. Or, you could just do yourself a favour, give me the information and let us try to help you.’
He grunted. ‘Her name is Hayley Willborough. But it won’t help any. I’d leave it alone.’
‘Thank you. Just a few more questions, Robert.’
He didn’t respond.
‘When did you leave home?’
‘When I was twenty-five. I met my wife and she finally got me out of that house.’
‘What was wrong in that house?’
‘Well, I take it you already know after walking in here with such purpose!’ Robert snorted. ‘I was treated like a prisoner. Didn’t go to school with the other kids and when I grew up, the only friend I ever made was my wife. She helped on the farm. If she hadn’t have started working there, I’d probably never have left that bloody place.’
‘And now she’s gone and left you,’ Jake said.
‘Thanks for reminding me, detective.’
‘Did you stay in touch with your parents after you finally left?’
‘Of course! They were my parents after all! Even if they did treat me like a leper.’
‘And Hayley Willborough too?’ Gardner asked.
Robert looked down. ‘Yes. She was the only one who ever treated me with kindness. Apart from my wife when we first met.’
‘Can we ask about a rumour we’ve heard?’
Robert smiled. ‘That I’m adopted?’
Gardner nodded.
‘How would I know? They’d never have told me if I was.’
‘Apparently, your dad was wounded badly in the war.’
‘Yep. Shrapnel made a right mess of his family jewels. Even worse than my own face I might add. Yet, he still could go out all the time while I stayed at home. Harder to keep my disfigurement hidden away I suppose.’
‘So, he may not have fathered you?’
‘My parents were popular. They could have asked another male farmer for a sperm donation for all I know. Once again, these are questions I’ve never been able to answer so I can’t really answer them now, can I?’
‘How about Hayley Willborough? Could she be your real mum?’
Robert took a deep breath. His eyes wandered up and away. There was a long moment of silence before he answered. ‘Who knows? Like I said she was the only one who ever treated me like a son.’
‘Did you still see her? In the home?’
‘Yes, every week.’
‘Would you please tell us where Hayley is now?’
Robert sighed and wrote down the address.
11
LACEY PROWLED THE lounge while Caroline prepared her treatment room following her last appointment with the stunning, dark-haired woman she’d passed in the street.
She was taking a long time. What had the previous customer opted for? A full body wax?
She sipped on chamomile tea, which had been provided by Caroline, along with the endorsement, ‘It will bring a healthy shine to your skin.’
The room was kitted out with expensive gear. There was a leather chaise longue opposite a top-of-the-range TV screen and sound system.
Being married to a gangster and running a beauty business from home clearly had massive financial benefits. Lacey had taken a large gamble with the thousand pounds on the doorstep. Was money really an object to Caroline?
Not that it really mattered. Lacey would have wrestled Caroline into her own house if she’d needed too. But subtlety was always the best option. Boring, yet safe.
Caroline was taking too long, and Lacey decided it was time to act. She placed her cup down on the mantlepiece beside a silver-framed photograph of two young children on the deck of a yacht. From the inside pocket of her leather jacket, she took a souvenir from her adventure into the Southampton snuff-porn industry.
The flick-knife.
‘My nieces,’ Caroline said from be
hind her.
‘They look like you.’ Lacey slipped the flick-knife back into her pocket. ‘I assumed they were your children.’
‘The treatment room is ready now if you’d like to follow me.’
Lacey turned and nodded. ‘No photos of any men?’
There was an awkward pause. ‘That’s right.’
Lacey smiled. ‘I assumed you’d be married.’
‘Why would you assume that?’
Lacey shrugged. ‘It’s a good question. I have a problem with making assumptions.’
Caroline scrunched her forehead, just like she’d done at the front door earlier.
I confuse you, don’t I? Lacey thought. ‘So, you’re not married then?’
‘No, but why the sudden interest?’
Lying bitch. ‘Just making small talk.’
Caroline led her through to the treatment room, and Lacey was pleased to see the lighting in this place was blue. It reminded her of her own room, the Blue Room. A place of harmony and judgement. She went there often with her victims, just before she physically met with them, and ended their lives.
She’d not been to the Blue Room with Caroline. This was unfortunate because Caroline was suitable. She was a homewrecker. More than that, she preyed on the innocent. Caroline knew that, eventually, fire and fury would arrive in Salisbury in the form of her homicidal husband, and Jake would pay the ultimate price.
The death of his wife and an innocent young boy no older than her own beautiful Tobias.
Caroline was not her usual gender, but she was more than suitable for her Blue Room.
But, alas, the promise had been made to Jake. She wasn’t to kill Caroline. And Jake had done her a significant favour this time.
However, nothing had been said about inflicting some pain …
‘I like this room,’ Lacey said. ‘Especially the lighting.’
‘I chose blue because it’s a calming colour.’
‘Yes. It’s my favourite colour. The Chinese use it to soothe pain … am I going to feel pain today, Caroline?’
‘No, I will use a numbing ointment.’
The room was small. It consisted of a bed, covered in towelling, and a light, which resembled something from the dentist’s, coming down from the ceiling. The room was laid out with equipment.
