by R. J. Parker
It was still ajar from Fitch’s inspection. She looked in. Everything seemed normal – the overgrown lawn, the unfinished patio and barbecue area. But she felt like an interloper, looking at someone else’s home. Someone else’s life. She’d only been in the kitchen that morning, gazing out at the long grass, oblivious to everything that had happened and that was about to happen. Leah suddenly seemed so far removed from that moment now.
She passed her garden and came to the Trents’s high wooden gate. The dark wood treatment on the panels had faded and had a green mossy sheen. She put her hand to it, wondering if it would be locked. But she could see that there was a dent of exposed orange splinters where it had been booted at the handle. How long ago had he broken in?
She pushed it and revealed the Trents’s immaculately kept landscape garden. An ornamental cherry tree was the centrepiece, but it was as bare as every bush that surrounded it. Dark, wet leaves were neatly piled to its right.
Then it occurred to her that Tate could still be here. Could he have called her from inside the house? Her eyes darted about the dark back windowpanes, upstairs and downstairs.
She closed the gate carefully behind her and thought about the police at the front, their attention fixed on the house next door. Leah felt a hand grasping the pit of her stomach, dragging her back as her feet took her along the gravel path.
As she neared their teal, stable door, she could see that it was also ajar. She stopped there, aware of the breath hissing quickly in and out of her nostrils.
She knocked gently on the wood. ‘Mr and Mrs Trent?’ She could hear the apprehension in her voice.
No answer. Leah could only discern the faint hum of traffic from the high street.
She pushed the door and a warm, inviting aroma rolled out at her. Smelt like home-baked bread. There was nobody in the traditional farmhouse kitchen. The only sound was the low purr of the refrigerator. Wheelback wooden chairs were neatly pushed in at the dining table and there were some fresh flowers laid out on the draining board waiting for a vase.
‘Mr and Mrs Trent?’ she said louder now she was inside. Leah wanted them to both march into the kitchen. She didn’t care if she had to find an explanation for walking into their home, she just wanted them to appear.
Please let this be Tate’s sick prank.
But no response came.
Instinct told her to back out now. They’d been in only a few hours earlier. Could they have gone out in the meantime? She cursed herself for not checking that their car had been in their drive when she’d walked into the street at the front. But their hedge would probably have concealed it and she’d have to have looked directly up the driveway and the police would have seen her.
She moved to the stripped door that led to the hallway. ‘Mr and Mrs Trent. It’s Leah.’ But she already knew there’d be no reply. She put her hand on the wooden handle and was about to push it when a noise made her freeze.
It was a low rasping sound.
Leah tilted her ear to the crack. It was definitely coming from the other side of the door … and nearby.
The noise ceased. Then started again.
Something in the atmosphere was all wrong. Leah’s skin tightened as she recalled Katya’s vacant expression, tights stuffed into her mouth.
The rasping became more insistent.
Leah kept her breath locked inside her, gripped the handle harder and then pushed the door open.
Chapter Forty-Two
In the middle of the dark tiled hallway, a ginger cat was sitting licking the underside of its paw.
Leah released a small breath. What was its name? Something to do with Game of Thrones. Mr Trent was a big George R. R. Martin fan. She couldn’t recall.
The animal straightened its head to regard her properly and then continued what it was doing.
She stepped into the hallway and looked left into the first room she came to. It was a lounge and some magazines were strewn around the tan leather sofa there. Was that sign of a struggle? The Trents seemed pretty fastidious to her. She crossed the threshold and took in her surroundings. One wall was completely covered by bookshelves and there was an antique bureau in the far right corner. No sign of either of them. ‘Mr and Mrs Trent? It’s Leah from next door.’ Her voice sounded very loud and she waited for it to finish echoing around the large room and listened intently.
Nothing.
Leah returned to the hall. The cat paused its cleaning again and tilted its green eyes up to her.
‘Hello, puss,’ she whispered. But she knew she couldn’t allow the cat’s nonchalant presence to convince her that everything was as it should be. Leah paced to the next room at the front of the house. Its pine door was closed. ‘Let’s see if they’re in here, shall we?’ Leah spoke to the cat so she wouldn’t feel she was entirely alone.
Pulling the handle down she released it and allowed the door to swing inwards. This was clearly their formal dining room. A long table with high-backed chairs took up most of the middle floor space and glass-fronted cabinets with antique tureens and platters covered the wall to the rear.
Leah quickly crossed the room and stood a foot from the net curtains in the bay window. She squinted through them at the Kia on the drive. Its presence dismissed any hope that the Trents had gone out. She felt her dread double in weight.
She fixed her gaze upon the vehicle parked on the road opposite the end of the drive. Was it an umarked police car? There was no occupant. Because of the Trents’s tall hedge that encompassed the lawn she couldn’t see anything more of the street. Maybe they were parked further up. If she needed help it was nearby but it was her house they were focused on, not the one directly next to it.
Was this some sort of trap for her and was she about to discover something worse than she already had?
The cat hissed behind her.
Leah turned back in the direction she’d just come. Nobody had followed her in. She would have heard them. She tugged open the door to the understairs cupboard and stood swiftly back. Nothing in there but a wall rack of wine bottles.
Her attention shifted to the stairs. She had to go up. But Leah remained where she was, her rapidly beating heart feeling like it was completely filling her chest.
The cat growled, slid past her legs, bounded up the stairs and disappeared. Red light spilled down from the stained-glass window at the top.
‘You’ve got to wait for me.’ But she couldn’t imbue her voice with anything but fear.
The house was silent.
Leah put her hand on the newel post and slowly started to ascend the dark chocolate carpet on the stairs. She counted them in her head. At fourteen she was at the top and in the middle of a square landing with doors off it. All of them were ajar. The cat had obviously gone through one of them. ‘Puss, puss.’ She knew the animal wasn’t going to return to her.
Leah could smell furniture polish and a floorboard creaked as she readjusted her footing. Had Tate been here? She recalled what he’d said to her on the phone.
I like to be able to inhabit a place.
She fought the reflex to flee. Tate had Elliot with him. He couldn’t have brought him to this house. Particularly if he knew the police were watching. But he’d sent her here for a reason.
Leah pushed open the door nearest her. It was a generous office. The Trents were both retired and this was clearly where they ran the household from. Box files were arranged neatly along a shelf and below it was a computer monitor and keyboard. The swivel chair was empty.
The cat meowed.
Leah thought she identified the room it had come from and walked to the door on her right. ‘Come on, puss. Where are you?’ Find the cat.
She pushed the panel hard and the door banged. Was this where the couple slept? There were two single beds next to each other. But there was no clutter on the shelves beside each, so she assumed she was in the guest room.
The cat meowed nearby. This time it echoed.
That had definitely come from the door
in front of her. Leah didn’t give herself time to hesitate and pushed on that door too. She was outside the main bedroom. A large double bed was fixed to a large grey padded headboard and there were spectacles perched on a Kindle on the cupboard beside it.
The bed was empty and neatly made, two corners drawn back ready for the couple to climb in. Leah surveyed the rest of the room. There were two large wall-to-ceiling doors on runners to her left.
The cat meowed again mournfully
Leah identified where it was coming from. There was a door to the right of the bed. Looked like the en suite. That was why there was an echo. She crossed the terracotta rug in front of the bed and stopped outside the door. It was open about half a foot.
‘What are you doing in there?’ But she couldn’t misdirect herself with the idea that she was only searching for the cat.
The animal was silent but she heard a squeaking sound.
Leah put her fingertips against the panel, and it gave easily. One slight nudge would open it wide.
The noise came again. Like a wet finger running down a polished surface.
‘Puss, puss.’ She exerted pressure on the door, put all her fingers against it and shoved.
Find the cat.
The animal was looking at her and made a guttural sound as it was revealed.
Leah’s hand went to her mouth as she saw what was wrong with it.
Chapter Forty-Three
Two and a half hours earlier
Tate parked his silver Nissan in the small car park for the bowling green again and entered Minster Street the way he had the previous night, avoiding the cameras. He walked on the side of the road opposite Leah’s house. He didn’t look across to it and tried to appear as casual as possible. He passed two occupied cars but resisted the temptation to peer directly into them. Even though he’d just driven from Eddington Park and made a note of the officers who had watched for his surrender at the gates, he guessed they might have posted at least one here.
He didn’t cross the road until he came to the right turn he’d used to access the rear of the properties. Would there be officers positioned there now? If there were any present, he’d just keep on walking.
There wasn’t a sign of anyone in the street, however, so he slipped down the lane and picked his way through the brambles.
When he reached Leah’s slightly open gate he crept past it to the next one. Would her neighbours be in? He hadn’t dared look up their driveway to see if there was a car there. Not if there were police watching. But before he could touch the panel of the gate, he could hear activity from the other side. Metal over gravel. He stood stock still as the methodical sound got closer. He looked up and down the pathway. Nobody coming either way. If the neighbour came out, he had the privacy to deal with them.
A few moments later he could hear an approaching set of footsteps over the sound, which abruptly stopped.
‘Thanks,’ a male voice said then slurped from a cup.
‘Why don’t you use the leaf hoover?’
‘Sucks up too much of the gravel. The rake’s better,’ the male neighbour replied brusquely.
Tate hadn’t been able to get a good look at them through the window last night, but they sounded elderly.
‘You’re not playing for time down here because the log burner needs cleaning?’
‘I told you, I’ll get to it,’ he snapped.
‘Less of the tone.’
‘You’ve asked me six times this morning and I said I’ll get to it.’
There was a pause as the male neighbour slurped from his cup again.
Tate moved closer to the mossy green panel of the gate and calculated he was about three feet from the couple. He put his fingers on the handle.
‘She’s still not back next door,’ the female neighbour reported.
The raking started then halted. ‘You going round there when she is?’
‘Just to make sure she’s OK,’ she assured him. ‘Must be serious if the police are involved.’
Tate could hear a scratching as the male neighbour thoughtfully stroked his beard bristles.
‘I knew things were getting worse between her and Elliot,’ she continued.
‘How?’
‘Heard them arguing when they had the kitchen window open last week. That’s what not having children does to you.’
The male neighbour sighed. ‘It’s none of our business.’ He dragged the rake across the gravel a couple of times then stopped again. ‘I’m sure I’ve seen that girl that dropped Elliot off before. Maybe she worked in The Black Horse at one time.’
‘Got a good memory for that sort of thing, haven’t you?’
He carried on raking. Didn’t reply.
‘What about her man who sneaked out last night?’ the female neighbour pushed.
Tate stiffened. They had watched him leave.
The male neighbour stopped raking again. ‘Not seen him before.’
‘Very embarrassing. Their secret flames almost passed each other in the driveway.’
‘Maybe they’re not a secret,’ the male neighbour speculated.
‘Elliot definitely didn’t want that girl hanging around. You saw that.’ There was a trace of glee in her voice.
‘It’s none of our business,’ he repeated and started raking again.
‘I’ll speak to her when she comes home.’
‘Doesn’t look like Elliot will be. He had a bag with him when he left.’
‘Perhaps she’s thrown him out,’ she wondered, breathlessly.
But Tate knew where Elliot was. Exactly where he’d left him.
‘Still don’t know why the police would have turned up like that though.’ Her feet crunched as she started to head back to the house.
Should he put them out of their misery? Tate tried the handle, but the gate was stuck. He booted the wood hard and it opened with the second impact.
He jerked the rake out of the old man’s hand. Two hard swipes and the couple were cowering bloodied on the floor. ‘Get up.’
They struggled shakily to their feet and she held up her hands as if he were holding a gun.
‘Walk inside and lead me to the bathroom.’
Chapter Forty-Four
The ginger cat was trying to get out of the far end of the deep bath nearest the taps, its paws skating and squeaking on the buttermilk acrylic. But Leah saw the Trents first. They were face down on top of each other in the bath, four feet hooked over the end nearest her – one with a backless pink slipper hanging from it.
Her brain reluctantly absorbed the details of what was in front of her. There was no water in the bath but the cat’s escape was being frustrated by the dark rivulets that spattered the sides. The blood was sprayed over the gold-yellow wall tiles, streaks that had trickled back down and set in thick lines on the grouting and along the shelf.
The animal’s paws paddled against the stained bath, its claws making a frantic clicking as the muscles rippled under its dyed fur.
Leah couldn’t move. Somewhere between her instinct to rescue the cat and the repellent spectacle before her cancelled out any ability to react.
The animal groaned as it tried again.
‘Mr and Mrs Trent?’ It seemed as if Leah’s voice was coming from somewhere behind her.
Their bodies were quite motionless.
Leah’s attention was drawn from the trapped cat to the powder-blue bathmat. There was a maroon pool there and something in it glinted the illuminated overhead strip bulb. There were three razor blades submerged in the thick liquid.
The cat finally got free and managed to clamber awkwardly onto the taps before turning its body and glaring at Leah. It hissed as it hunched low.
She’d only been talking to them a few hours previously. All she could smell was a potent, antiseptic pine aroma.
The cat thudded onto the floor as it left its perch, its paws submerged in the blood on the bathmat. It bent its head to sniff what it was standing in.
‘Mr and Mrs Trent?�
�� She had to make sure of what she already knew.
The cat shot out of the bathroom, jinking around her legs but Leah stayed rooted to the spot. She could see their clothes were wet. Had he drowned them in the bath and then pulled the plug? Cut their throats?
When I work, I prefer not to have any interruptions.
Had he needed three razor blades? Leah’s eyes were drawn back to them, set in the congealing puddle. She took a step towards the bath and saw her arm extend and retract. She had to touch a part of their bodies. They could still be alive.
Her hand was out again, fingers moving closer as she took another three paces to the bath. Now she was looking down into it and gagged as she took in the heads and shoulders of the Trents. Mr Trent was on top of his wife, the back of his bald pate glistening red. Below it she could see the membrane of blood over the hairs in the plughole.
What part of them could she shake? She ran her eyes down their stacked bodies, saw Mrs Trent’s hand curled at an unnatural angle under the weight of her husband. Mr Trent’s back didn’t rise and fall. She couldn’t look at them anymore. But she had to check. The only parts of them that weren’t saturated with blood were their legs.
She reached out to Mrs Trent’s exposed foot. Leah breathed harshly in and then gripped her ankle. It was cold, solid and immovable. She couldn’t shake it. She pinched it instead and then retreated when there was no response.
Tate had murdered the elderly couple and then mutilated them with the razor blades while the police watched the house next door.
Leah realised she was standing on the blades and recoiled in horror. Now there were only two there. She wiped her boot on the mat and the third blade came unstuck.
She headed back into the bedroom and pulled the door closed hard behind her. She leaned back on the panel and looked down at the smeared bloody footprints she’d left on the tan carpet. A set of red pawprints stretched from her to the bed. The cat was curled up at the white pillows, dark smears all over them. It watched her impassively, its green eyes not comprehending the fear in hers.
