by Jay Gill
‘I have a confession to make,’ I said as soon as we were settled in a quiet part of the pub.
‘You do?’ said Dad, sounding not at all surprised. He sipped his pint and looked at me over the top of his glass. The retired Scotland Yard inspector was reading me. Satisfied, he carefully set his glass down. Sitting back, he folded his arms in readiness for the great revelation.
‘We’re not here to talk about any of my investigations.’
I knew he’d read through my ruse; there isn’t a lot that gets past him. I needed a second opinion and I wasn’t sure who else to turn to; I’ve always turned to him for his unvarnished opinion. He’s not one for holding back when his opinion is asked for.
‘My date with Monica didn’t go exactly as I’d told you and Mum it went.’
‘Uh-huh,’ he said. His eyes fastened on me as though this was one of his criminal investigations and I was his prime suspect.
‘It was a great evening – don’t get me wrong,’ I continued. ‘I know now that I’d like to see where it all goes. I’m ready to start over.’
‘That’s nice, son. Monica’s a lovely girl.’ Dad picked up his pint and took another sip. ‘Good for you.’ He caught the attention of the bar maid and waved her over. ‘Do you have any kettle chips? You do? That’s great. Any flavour is fine. Two packets, please.’
The bar maid dutifully retrieved two packets and set them in front of him. I watched Dad as he thanked her and opened one of the packets. He offered me the other one but I ignored him, so he shrugged and put it next to his pint. I had a feeling he wasn’t taking our conversation seriously.
‘You hear what I’m saying?’
‘I do. I just don’t see the problem, yet.’
We were getting somewhere. ‘She’s leaving,’ I said dramatically. ‘Moving to France. Permanently. How’s that for a problem?’
‘I see. Good prospects for her?’
‘Yes. It sounds like a great opportunity,’ I said, a little too begrudgingly.
‘Which part of France?’
‘South. I can’t remember where, exactly. I was a little in shock when she told me.’
‘That’s a shame. When is she planning on leaving? The weather is very good there right now.’
‘A week or two at most.’ He’s enjoying this, I thought.
‘Quite soon, then. She must have been thinking about this for a while, I suppose? You don’t decide to pack up and move to another part of the world overnight. Not in my experience, anyway.’
‘I’m not sure. We didn’t go into specifics.’
‘You sound annoyed,’ said Dad with mock surprise. ‘I assume you’ve considered her current situation – from her perspective, I mean?’ He opened the second packet of kettle chips.
‘Of course I bloody have,’ I said a little too loudly.
I turned and smiled apologetically at the landlady. This wasn’t the way I had anticipated the conversation going. I rubbed the back of my neck and stared at Dad. He had something to say and was building up to it. I could see on his face he was preparing to set me straight.
‘If you want me to be honest, and I’m guessing you do, I’m just a little surprised she’s stuck around as long as she has. She’s a smart woman. Very attractive. Wonderful company. Has a great sense of humour. And for quite some time she has been clear about her feelings towards you. That is, had you been smart enough to notice them.
‘You, on the other hand. . . Well, you get what I’m saying. I don’t need to spell it out. She doesn’t know where she stands with you, son. She doesn’t know whether she’ll be waiting the rest of her life for you. I think there’s a part of her that would wait, but this is real life, not one of those godawful rom-com movies that your mother makes me endure. Monica needs certainty. This will have been a tough decision; don’t for a second underestimate what she went through to make it. She fell in love with you. She has loved you, without any guarantees, for too long.’
I sank back in my seat, chastened, too defeated to even try to defend myself. He was absolutely right. I had been a complete and utter fool, unable to see what was staring me in the face.
I was also tired. The investigations were getting on top of me and now my personal life had taken a nose dive. Maybe this – all of it – was too much to take on right now.
I felt ready to start again, or so I told myself, but could everyone else see something I couldn’t? Was I still holding back from giving my all to Monica? I didn’t think so. I felt frustration boiling up in me and sat forward in my seat again.
‘I’m not asking you to sugar-coat your opinions, but I thought our conversation might be a little more constructive.’
‘Don’t be so bloody wet. What’s wrong with you? This is it, James. This is real life. There are no second chances. If you want to spend the rest of your life holding hands with serial killers, then I don’t want to know.
‘I’m talking to you as my son, and right now you need a kick up the backside. If you don’t watch out, your only friend will be a bottle. I’ve seen it over and over again. I survived this job not because I’m special but because I had your mother. Women are stronger than us; they make us stronger. They keep us from failing ourselves. From self-pity and doubt. That is something you had better believe.
‘Right now, you’re holding yourself back because you feel guilt. Guilt that you’re betraying Helena.’
I raised my hand in protest but he continued unabated.
‘Don’t shake your head. It’s the truth. Guilt because you couldn’t save her. Guilt because you feel loving someone else is a betrayal. Guilt because Monica was her best friend. Guilt because you still love her. Guilt because you feel you’re replacing Alice and Faith’s mother. The truth is, I could go on forever. There are a million reasons why you shouldn’t start over, and there are a million more why you should. Helena has gone, son. But you’re still here. The only thing you’re guilty of right now is not accepting the fact that it’s time to move on. You know it is. None of us can help you move on, but I can tell you for a fact it’s what Helena would want.’
‘Why does nobody see I am moving on? That’s why I told Monica how I feel. I know it’s time for things to change and I want her to be a bigger part of my life.’
Dad pushed his pint aside, his face serious. He leaned forward and spoke in a low voice.
‘What has really changed? How have you made even the smallest change to show her how much she means to you? All you’ve done is ask her on a date. Well, whoopee-do. Then what? You carry on with the same routine? The only difference being that you now share a bed? You’re smart, but you’re avoiding seeing what’s important. Instead, you bury your head in the sand by working every hour there is.
‘You need to do some serious soul-searching before it’s too late. Otherwise, you’ll lose her. And in all honesty, if you can’t see what you need to do, and how she needs you to show her you really mean business, then as far as I’m concerned, it’s for the best. Just let her go. Let the poor girl move on with her life.’ He picked up his pint and downed the remaining ale in one. He held up the glass. ‘Want another?’
‘I can’t lose her, Dad,’ I blurted.
‘Then you know what to do. This isn’t a time for half measures. I’ll deal with your mother when the time comes. You just get on with making your future the best it can be. No more mucking about. Now, my throat is dry from talking. I’m having another pint. Do you want another orange juice or not?’
I nodded mutely. I knew what had to be done, and in a way, I was simply looking for confirmation I wasn’t being stupid.
Dad returned with the drinks and we continued the evening talking about the ideas I’d had of how a future with Monica and the girls might look.
Chapter Forty-Six
The question of how to deal with Patrick Hicks had been plaguing him.
There were certain results he wanted from the whole endeavour. Most importantly, Melanie must suspect, but not know for sure, that the killing
of Patrick had been done for her. It should stand as a symbol of how far he was willing to go for her. She must understand how special she was to him and how much he wanted to keep her. Equally, she should be left without any doubt that she meant little or nothing to Patrick. Melanie should know the truth – that she had made a mistake and that her husband forgave her. He needed to demonstrate all of the above without saying as much. Instead, it should be symbolic.
Having decided what was required, everything fell into place. He felt silly for not having thought of it sooner. All he really needed to do was to display the truth. Showing someone the truth is always far more powerful than telling them, he knew. Nobody ever liked being told they were wrong. In fact, this could all be done without him telling her anything. He could let the evidence speak for itself; all he had to do was prepare it. That would be quite fun. In a way he would be providing a public service. How many marriages had Patrick Hicks ruined? How many marriages would he ruin in the future if he was left unchecked?
It took Cutler almost two weeks to learn what he could of Hicks’s habits. All this research took time. He couldn’t make a mistake; otherwise it would all be for nothing. Naturally Hicks worked out a lot. He did a lot of running and circuit training. Ran his classes from three separate sports centres on different evenings; they appeared to be very popular indeed. He had his private clients during the day; some early morning sessions as well as lunchtime and early afternoon.
In between classes he seemed to enjoy socialising in coffee shops and also spent a disproportionate amount of time clothes shopping. In fact, Cutler was quite shocked at how much time one man could spend shopping. He hated shopping himself and as far he knew so did most other men. But not Hicks; looking good was obviously very important to him, and he invested a lot of time and money in that department. It occurred to Cutler it was a shame Hicks didn’t buy his footwear from Cassley Shoes.
At any rate, Patrick Hicks was a very busy boy. Cutler guessed he was in his early thirties, and from what he could make out, had at least six married women, besides Melanie, on the go.
Some of the private sessions took place inside homes, which made it difficult to know what was really going on. Only if there was a clear indication that extra ‘sexy’ workouts were being provided and the woman was obviously married did Cutler add the encounter to the shortlist.
It seemed Hicks didn’t believe in age discrimination. The ages of the women on the shortlist varied wildly, from the soon-to-be-married young woman wanting to look her best for her big day to the retired, more mature woman, wanting to remain vibrant.
Under various pretences, Cutler had spoken to each woman and learned all of their names, and then followed that up afterwards with some further background checking, which included speaking to their neighbours and, where possible, calling their place of work. It was all very exhilarating.
The difficulty came in deciding which of those wives would have to go at the same time as Hicks.
Hicks met Shirley, the first on Cutler’s list, on a Tuesday. She was in her sixties, though she could have been older and just looked younger the way fit people often do. She was an estate agent and it seemed her husband was in a wheelchair. He looked in a very bad way; some sort of degenerative illness. Cutler decided Shirley should be struck off the list because he felt sorry for her husband. If Shirley needed a little downtime to relieve the stress of looking after him, then who was he to object? Cutler scratched her from the list on compassionate grounds.
Wednesday was Carol’s private weights session. For fun, Cutler wrote her on the shortlist as Quickie Carol. Hicks met Quickie Carol outside a converted garage that had been turned into a weights room. The day Cutler observed them, the pair didn’t get much in the way of weights done. They embraced outside the front door, where Carol left her sports bag, which presumably held a change of clothes. It was only after about twenty minutes that Cutler noticed Carol’s bare arm and shoulder reach around the door to grab the sports bag. The garage was at the end of a residential property, and as he scouted around, Cutler noticed a couple of security cameras. He wasn’t sure whether they were dummy cameras or not but he decided it meant Quickie Carol was scratched from the list.
Wednesday afternoon saw Hicks meet another woman at the same Premier Inn where he had met Melanie. This venue was too public, and so Cutler didn’t bother finding out more.
Thursday he once again followed Hicks. No wonder Hicks was so fit, with a schedule like this, thought Cutler incredulously. This time Hicks drove out of town for a good hour, where he met Nicole Jenkins for a forest run and no doubt some outdoor fun. Nicole was married to a long-distance lorry driver and while he was out trying to keep a roof over the family’s head, she was out in the woods with Hicks getting back to nature.
It all seemed ridiculous to Cutler as he leaned against a pine tree and watched the coupled pair thrusting and gyrating, their pale bodies trying to get into a comfortable position. It was bit a like a BBC Wildlife documentary gone wrong. He doubted even a voice-over from Sir David Attenborough would help. He tried to add his own voice-over in his head but started to giggle and had to stop.
For Nicole Jenkins and Patrick Hicks, alas, this would be the last time they stepped off the trailway into their secluded spot for a few minutes of pleasure. The seclusion of the location was perfect, and Cutler decided there was no time like the present. After all, he had other business to attend to. By getting this done now, he would remove any further hours of surveillance eating into his own precious time.
He’d brought along a large kitchen knife for the task. He was confident that the sight of the large, shining steel blade would add extra shock value.
He waited until they’d finished and were lying breathlessly side by side, looking up and the trees.
Blade in hand he marched over and, without hesitation, set to work. After a few deliberate slashes and thrusts of his blade, Nicole was on her knees trying to stop the blood gushing from her throat. Hicks had one hand where his genitals had been and the other hand moving between a sliced jugular vein and a gushing femoral artery. For his own private amusement Cutler took out his phone and filmed their panicked final moments.
‘Patrick, Patrick – could you look this way please? That’s better. I need you to know this only happened because you couldn’t stay away from other men’s wives, including mine.
‘Nicole? Look this way, sweetheart. Lovely. Your husband – remember him? Big fella? Drives a truck? He will sadly not only learn of your untimely death but that it happened here in this wooded love-nest with Patrick-Pants-Down. I’m sure he and the children are going to be very, very upset for a while. But they’ll get over it. They’ll move on. Sadly, you won’t.’
He made no attempt to hide the bodies. No doubt they’d be found by a dog walker or jogger or a family out for a picnic.
It would be interesting to see Melanie’s reaction when she heard of the circumstances surrounding Patrick’s death. All in all, he thought as he got back on the motorway, a very satisfactory result.
Chapter Forty-Seven
He was ready. It would all end today. Ex–Royal Marine Sniper Sergeant Jared Vaughan had been in position for close to nine hours. He raised his binoculars and scanned the church and surrounding fields. A police helicopter hovered over the road leading to the church before moving off and sweeping over the fields. Other than security personnel, who had swept the church then remained on site, the only people he’d seen in the last few hours had been a couple of women arriving with flowers for the church and, more recently, the vicar. He checked his watch. Two hours until showtime. He was happy with this vantage point. The light was right and he could see the small stone church, the graveyard, the car park and the narrow lane that passed a single farm to the north of the church before reaching the nearby village of Little Wilton.
As it had been for generations of Brannons, the tiny rural churchyard below would become the final resting place for Deputy Prime Minister Duncan Brannon. The
village of Little Wilton, where Brannon was born, was just a stone’s throw away, and several members of the community who remembered the family would be in attendance. If it weren’t such a sombre occasion, today’s visitors would be hard pressed to imagine a more picturesque place to be on such a beautiful summer’s day. The rich green fields and gently sloping hillsides were the essence of a British countryside idyll.
It was to be a small private ceremony, no press. The only attendees would be family and close friends. Friends made during a lifetime in politics, including several retired and serving politicians, from all political parties, also wished to pay their respects. Prime Minister Angela Lafferty was guaranteed to make an appearance, and that was what today was about. Today was the big one. There could be no mistakes. Everything was set and now everyone must do their part.
Two nights ago, he’d once again visited George Norton. This time Norton had looked like a man one step away from eternity in hell, ready to make a deal with the devil.
On arrival at Norton’s home, he’d hog-tied George’s wife, then left her gagged, bound and belly down at the foot of the stairs.
As George walked through the front door he was greeted with the sight of his hysterical wife and a gun pressed to the side of his balding head.
‘Hello, Norton. I bet you’re surprised to see me. I guess I’m back from the dead. The only reason you’re not dead already is I would like some information. If you can’t provide that information then I have no use for you. Do you understand?’
Norton nodded.
‘Good. Now, you’re going to tell me everything. I want to know who’s involved. I want names, dates, telephone numbers and email addresses, the lot. Do you understand?’
Norton nodded again.
‘Then, if I’m happy with what you’ve told me, we’ll renegotiate our agreement. Understand?’
Suggesting it had been those he worked for, Norton had blustered and sworn he knew nothing of the attempt on Vaughan’s life until it was too late to stop it. Norton reminded him they needed each other, that they were a partnership. He went as far as to apologise (a rare thing for politicians) for his previous outburst and poor choice of words, putting it down to pressure. He hoped Vaughan’s daughter was doing well and would personally guarantee the money he needed. Immediately.
