Merciless: a gripping detective thriller (DI Kate Fletcher Book 2)

by Heleyne Hammersley

  An hour later, she’d cleaned Dennis up and stripped his bed. She’d checked him carefully for any bruises or incriminating marks but there was nothing. She’d been careful. Hitting him through the pillow had started an avalanche of slaps and pinches but she’d managed to rein in her temper over the past few days and there was nothing obvious to suggest that she’d been abusing him. She wasn’t always sure that he could feel it anyway so it felt a bit pointless. Unlike the times she stopped his medication and only gave him whisky and water to drink. The pain was etched into every line in his face when the morphine wore off and the more he drank to try to dull the pain, the worse it got. But even the sight of him writhing in agony was growing stale. She’d expected to get some satisfaction from watching him suffer, some release but, instead, she was tired and bored.

  She looked down at the bedding in her arms and thought about putting it in the washing machine but she couldn’t see much point. Instead she balled everything up and threw it in the laundry basket in the bathroom. He complained throughout; not always coherently but she managed to get the gist. He didn’t want her there anymore. He hated her. He was going to call the police. She tried to ignore his more outrageous threats and managed to get him back into a clean bed with as little fuss as possible, being especially careful when she handled him, allowing him to do most of the work, in case any bruises showed up later.

  She couldn’t seem to think past what she was about to do. There was now and there was later but later everything would be different and she could only control what happened now.

  Leaving Dennis dozing in bed, she went to her bedroom and opened the cupboard where she’d been keeping the morphine. She took it downstairs to the kitchen, placed it on the table and took a spoon from the drawer under the sink, placing this next to the bottle. Standing on one of the kitchen chairs, she reached up to a high cupboard with a sliding door. This had been Dennis’s ‘secret’ cupboard for as long as she’d lived in the house. She was never allowed access to its contents and she’d rarely caught a glimpse of what lurked inside. She knew exactly what it contained – just as she knew the exact contents of every cupboard and drawer in the whole house. She took out Dennis’s bottle of Ardbeg whisky – his favourite, from Islay. She’d allowed him to drink one of the blends that he kept in the sitting room but, like her father, she’d been saving this one for a special occasion.

  She placed the whisky next to the Oramorph and the spoon. ‘Cocktail hour,’ she muttered to herself.

  She wasn’t sure about the dosage. She’d been keeping the morphine light, sometimes going back to over-the-counter codeine and paracetamol which seemed to work reasonably well, but she wanted to keep this final dose clean and simple. He was already sedated but the Diazepam tended to start to wear off around teatime and she’d been used to giving him more with his meal. Not today though.

  She took a clean glass from the draining board – a tumbler, plenty of room for a huge dose – then she sat down at the kitchen table suddenly overwhelmed by the enormity of what she was about to do. It wasn’t like she hadn’t planned it, fantasised about it even, but the reality wasn’t quite as she’d expected. She checked her watch. Somehow she’d lost nearly an hour. She could have sworn she’d sat at the table at 5.15 but her watch said that it was nearly six pm. She needed to move, to be decisive.

  The whisky opened with a hollow pop as she eased out the cork. The bottle was over half full and she was tempted to take a gulp before she poured it into the glass. Steeling herself, she resisted the urge and held the neck of the bottle over the tumbler. As the two made contact, the glass surfaces chattered together. Her hands were shaking. She poured a generous amount into the glass, swilled it around speculatively then poured more, doubling the original measure. The tumbler was nearly a third full.

  Caroline slid the cork back into the bottle and picked up the Oramorph. It was new and the top crunched as she broke the seal. She added half of the contents to the whisky. Would it be enough? She had no way of knowing. She’d looked up lethal dosages of morphine but she couldn’t remember anything that she’d read. She added more, just a small amount; it would have to do. She stood up and walked over to the sink. Turning on the cold tap, she topped up the glass until the liquid was only half an inch from the top.

  It didn’t look unpleasant. The whisky and morphine had combined to create an amber liquid that looked a lot like cold tea. She hoped that the water might make it more palatable – not that she intended to allow Dennis any option.

  There was nothing else to do; nothing else to prepare. She was ready.

  The hallway was in darkness but she decided to leave the lights off as she climbed up to Dennis’s bedroom. She didn’t want the sudden illumination to alert him to her approach and she knew from experience how to avoid the noisiest parts of the staircase. Jeanette had taught her well.

  ‘Dennis?’ she whispered, pushing the door open.

  The figure in the bed stirred.

  ‘I’ve brought you a drink.’

  She placed the glass on the bedside table and switched on the lamp.

  ‘But, before you drink it, I want to talk to you about Jeanette.’

  Dennis struggled to sit up, his eyes wide and unfocussed. Caroline thought he must have been deeply asleep before she had disturbed him. Oh well. Plenty of time for sleep later.

  ‘Do you remember Jeanette?’ she asked. ‘My sister? I really loved her. She taught me swear words. She told me about boys and sex. Not that I believed her at the time. She was incredible. She was bright and funny and talented. I’ve missed her all my life. Do you miss her, Dennis?’

  His rubbery lips moved as he tried to form words but nothing came out.

  ‘No, I don’t suppose you do. I used to talk to her you know, after she’d gone. Nearly every night when I went to bed. I used to tell her things that had happened at school. Funny stuff, mostly, but sometimes the difficult things. The bullying and the tormenting. I even talked to her when Mum died and I was old enough to know better. Funny, really.’

  Dennis was shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite make sense of what she was saying. Finally he appeared to get his thoughts together enough to speak. ‘You were always my favourite, Caroline. And your mum’s. Jeanette was a bit wayward. I’m glad you weren’t like her.’

  ‘Wayward!’ Caroline spat. ‘She was a teenager. She was normal.’

  He flinched away from her outburst, his eyes glued to her face as though anticipating a slap.

  ‘Anyway, that’s ancient history,’ Caroline said, holding up the glass. ‘I’ve brought you something special. A cocktail. I think you’ll like it.’

  She held it out to him and he sniffed it suspiciously.

  ‘Not thirsty,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Tough shit. You’re going to drink it.’

  Caroline sat on the edge of the bed and held the back of his head. Wrapping her fingers through what little hair he had left, she tilted his face upwards and put the glass to his lips.

  ‘Drink it!’

  He clamped his lips shut and shook his head like a toddler refusing to eat his greens. Caroline responded by letting go of his hair and pinching his nostrils closed. He tried to pull away from her but she was much stronger.

  Finally he opened his mouth to breathe and Caroline poured a small amount of her concoction towards the back of his throat. He sputtered and coughed but most of it seemed to go down. Twice more she forced him to open his mouth while she pressed the glass against his toothless gums and poured.

  After the third attempt, his jaw went slack and she was able to give him more. He swallowed without complaint until the glass was empty.

  ‘Satisfied?’ he rasped, his eyes already glazing over.

  Was she? She didn’t know how she felt. Not elated or jubilant as she’d expected. More relieved like she’d been carrying something heavy in a sack across her shoulders and she’d finally been allowed to put it down. She stood up without speaking to him, placed the glass carefully on
the bedside table, and went back downstairs.

  Time to think. She needed to make it look like she’d been trying to do the decent thing; to stop Dennis’s suffering and to allow him to die without pain. Her fingerprints would be all over the bottles and the glass. Would it look like she’d made the drink and then made him drink it? Would the police be able to tell how she’d held it to his mouth from the position of her fingers? She had no way to know.

  She reached under the sink for a duster and wiped both bottles carefully before taking them upstairs. Dennis was breathing but each inhalation was deep and ragged. He looked like he was asleep but he could just as easily have been unconscious. Caroline checked her watch. She’d have to wait it out for a little while until it was time to meet Maddie.

  She used the duster to wipe the glass and then a thought struck her. If Dennis was supposed to have mixed the drink for himself how come his prints weren’t on the glass or the bottles? She picked up the Ardbeg, picked up Dennis’s right hand with the duster and tried to clamp his fingers around the bottle. Then she repeated the process for the empty glass and the Oramorph. Would that be convincing? But how did he get the bottles and glass into the bedroom? She’d intended to say that she’d brought them. But she’d wiped off her prints. If she picked up the glass, would her prints be on top of his? Would the police be able to tell? Her mind spun out of control as she tried to think her way through every possible scenario.

  In the end, she picked up each item again, leaving her fingerprints, and placed them neatly back on the bedside table. Then she retrieved the Diazepam from her bedroom – no need to hide them now – and put them next to the bottles.

  Dennis’s breathing had slowed further and was hitching in his chest. His right hand suddenly lifted up from the duvet and twitched in the air as though he was conducting an invisible orchestra then it settled again. Caroline sat down on the edge of the bed, removed the hand from the top of the duvet and tucked it underneath, shuddering involuntarily as she touched Dennis’s clammy skin. Pulling the covers up to his chin, she got up again and looked around the room. There was nothing else that she could do. It might take hours to find out if the cocktail had been lethal; hours that she didn’t have.

  A glance at her watch told her that she had less than an hour to get into Doncaster and meet Maddie.

  Leaving Dennis struggling for breath, Caroline went into her bedroom to get changed.

  24

  Fabrio’s was a Doncaster institution. Caroline couldn’t remember a time when it hadn’t occupied its corner spot near the marketplace. It was where teenagers celebrated sixteenth and eighteenth birthdays, sometimes with friends, sometimes enduring the mortification of a night out with their parents. Family-orientated with a quick turnover of tables, it wasn’t the place for a romantic liaison or a clandestine meeting but Maddie had obviously chosen it because she felt safer talking to Caroline somewhere public and crowded.

  The smell of garlic and herbs greeted Caroline like an old friend as she pushed open the door, and the warmth was almost overwhelming after the chill of the streets. She’d deliberately arrived late so that she wouldn’t have to sit on her own while she waited for Maddie to join her, and she quickly scanned the busy tables looking for the nurse amongst the crowd. Many of the tables were occupied by celebrating families. Balloons floated up from one, trailing curled paper and silver confetti. Another was strewn with wrapping paper; a teenage girl sat among the debris, surrounded by a fortress of boxed presents. The L plates and fancy dress of a hen party dominated the furthest corner; obscenities, in lowered voices out of respect for the clientele, punctuated with peals of loud laughter.

  Maddie was sitting in one of the booths opposite the door. Enclosed on three sides by the wall and high wooden partitions, they were the closest that Fabrio’s offered to privacy. She looked up from the menu as Caroline approached but didn’t smile. ‘Thought you might not come.’

  ‘I said I’d be here. I agree with you. I think we need to talk.’

  Maddie looked surprised. She’d obviously been expecting some resistance or reluctance so Caroline’s compliance seemed to puzzle her. ‘You do? I got exactly the opposite impression when we spoke earlier. In fact I’ve had the impression that you’ve been ignoring my calls.’

  Caroline slid onto the bench seat opposite Maddie and picked up a menu. ‘I was. I’ve been busy. I’m sure you understand the challenges of caring for somebody with terminal cancer.’

  Maddie scowled at her. ‘Of course. But I don’t use it as an excuse not to communicate when it’s important.’

  ‘It’s not an excuse, it’s an explanation,’ Caroline said. ‘I don’t need an excuse. Is the plan to eat here or just have a drink and a chat? I haven’t eaten all day and their pizzas are fantastic.’

  ‘Have what you want,’ Maddie said, shaking her head in bewilderment. ‘It makes no difference to me.’

  They both studied their menus. Caroline realised that she had been telling the truth when she’d said she was hungry; suddenly everything on the menu looked appealing and she was torn between pizza and pasta. Her appetite hadn’t been very good since she’d been looking after Dennis and she was aware that she’d lost weight; she’d had to put another notch in her belt and some of her jumpers hung off her like sails from rigging on a calm day. She’d need to do some shopping as soon as she found time.

  A waitress appeared and asked if they wanted drinks. Caroline ordered a glass of red but Maddie’s order was interrupted by a scream from the hen party table. The waitress sighed and rolled her eyes, obviously having a difficult evening.

  ‘Thought things would be quiet after New Year,’ Caroline said.

  ‘You’d think,’ the waitress said, turning to her, the light sparking on the diamond stud in her nose. ‘It’s never quiet, though.’

  She took Caroline’s drink order, jotted down a half of lager for Maddie and was about to leave when Caroline said, ‘Hang on. I know what I want to eat. Can we order now?’

  Maddie looked surprised but Caroline didn’t feel like waiting. She ordered dough balls and a pizza, waited until Maddie had ordered, and then added mixed olives and a salad.

  ‘Looks like all this caring has made me hungry,’ she joked but Maddie’s expression didn’t change.

  They sat in silence until the waitress brought their drinks. Caroline scanned the room, aware that Maddie was studying her closely. Caroline was reluctant to engage in conversation until she had thought about what she intended to do about the nurse’s suggestion that they go to the police. Eventually Caroline grew irritated by the other woman’s staring. ‘What? Have I grown another head or something?’

  A smile flickered around Maddie’s lips but then faded. ‘No. I’m just trying to work out what sort of person you are. I don’t know if I can appeal to your better nature, if you have one, because everything that I’ve seen so far suggests that you’re a calculating, scheming bitch.’

  ‘Whoa,’ Caroline said, genuinely shocked. She hadn’t expected Maddie to be like this; she’d only seen her as submissive and resigned to her position. This was new.

  ‘What else am I supposed to think?’ the nurse continued. ‘You encouraged me to accept money from you and didn’t tell me it came with conditions. Then you got me to risk my career and I’m not sure why. I haven’t a clue what’s really going on but I want it to end. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.’

  Before Caroline could respond the starters arrived. ‘Food’s good here,’ Caroline commented, trying to shift the conversation until she could formulate a strategy. She knew that Maddie was right; she had seriously jeopardised her career, but that wasn’t Caroline’s problem. She didn’t want the nurse to go to the police, especially as she was planning to contact them herself if Dennis hadn’t survived the night, but Caroline wasn’t sure how to stop her. She could offer more money but she suspected that Maddie had too much integrity to accept.

  Starter plates cleared, the pizzas arrived and they looked just as
good as Caroline remembered. Ignoring her side salad, she used her hands to tuck in, relishing the gooey cheese and rich tomato sauce. Part of her wondered how she could enjoy food so much after what she’d done but another part realised that her appetite was probably a reaction to the stress of the past few weeks. She’d done the hardest part and she was left feeling light, free.

  ‘How is he?’ Maddie asked around a slice of pizza. ‘Your dad. Is he coping? I’m guessing from the morphine that he’s in a lot of pain. He must have deteriorated fairly quickly after he was discharged.’

  Caroline spotted the weakness immediately. Maddie’s training had conditioned her to care, whatever the circumstances. No matter that she’d presented a hard exterior, her sympathy was her flaw. Caroline knew that she could wiggle her way into the crack, exploit it, set a charge and detonate it if necessary.

  ‘He’s not great,’ she said, trying not to smile at the enormity of the understatement. ‘He’s been in a lot of pain and he asks for the morphine quite regularly.’

  ‘You’re careful, though. You don’t give him more than the recommended dose?’

  Caroline thought about the morphine that she’d mixed with the whisky. ‘No. I’ve read the documentation in the box and even done some research online.’

  ‘And is he still aware of what’s going on?’

  Caroline took another bite of pizza, chewing slowly, considering her response. ‘Mostly,’ she said. ‘He has some periods when he’s not sure who I am but he’s usually fairly lucid. He mistook me for my mother once. Forgot that she died.’

  ‘And the sedatives? Does he need those?’

  ‘They help him to sleep. I only use them at night if he’s had an especially bad day,’ Caroline lied. ‘I don’t want him to be doped up all the time.’

  Maddie shook her head in confusion. ‘When you talk about your dad you seem so reasonable, but that time you persuaded me to give you the second prescription you were like a different person. That’s why I wanted to meet here. I don’t know which version of you is real.’