Mummy's Favourite

by Sarah Flint

  As a gap in the traffic appeared, he pulled out, turning right and accelerated away into the ether. It was a shame it hadn’t worked out this time, but he lived to fight another day and he would be back; ready to try again, as soon as the opportunity arose. He would just have to plan it better next time and make sure there was no one else around to interrupt. She belonged to him and nobody else.

  *

  Annabel fell into the policeman’s arms sobbing. She couldn’t stop the tears from coursing down her cheeks and neck.

  Why did it have to happen to her again? Why did she seem to attract all the nutters and madmen out there? She supposed it was her job that brought her into contact with them. Maybe she should change her line of work – go into the law around house purchases and conveyancing instead? At least there should be a better class of client in that field. She couldn’t stop the events going through her head. Thank God that woman had seen and called the police. God only knows what would have happened if she hadn’t.

  The policeman was kind. He helped her into the car and calmed her. But she couldn’t remember anything of use. The man’s face was hidden and his clothing was dark. He had covered her face with a gloved hand so had left no DNA on her. She didn’t recognize him. The policeman had tried to treat it as an attempted mugging at first but she knew differently. She told him about the flowers, the way she knew she was being followed. She’d already reported it. The policeman called up for confirmation before he’d started to treat it more seriously. It was part of an on-going problem, an allegation of harassment that was now escalating into a crime that was becoming more dangerous. The stalker had been lying in wait for her, gloved and hooded: who knew what his intentions were.

  Annabel’s mind was working in overdrive. There was something familiar about him.

  He had told her that he loved her, that she was his one and only. One and only. She had heard that phrase a long time ago, but where from, who had said it? There was something almost pathetic in how he had said the words, as if he was pleading almost.

  Her mind was spinning; the adrenalin turning to ice-cold fear now. She could have been killed or raped or anything. Her kids could have been left without a mother. She could be dead.

  Somehow though, from somewhere at the back of her mind, a distant memory was beginning to bubble up to the surface. A blurry face was beginning to become clear. Hopefully soon she would remember a name, a case that she had dealt with in the past, a face to go with the voice. She just hoped it wouldn’t be too late.

  Chapter 24

  ‘Bingo, I think I might have something here!’

  Charlie watched as Bet pulled out a report from a huge pile and leafed through it.

  ‘Look, it’s Helena. Not her married name, but I’m sure it’s her – same maiden name and same date of birth. Victim of a domestic assault in 1995.’

  Only she, Bet and Hunter were still there, the others having packed up for the evening, tired and disillusioned from poring through boxes of old reports and getting nowhere. Charlie and Hunter clustered around Bet now wanting to share her excitement.

  ‘Wow, that’s a long time ago,’ Charlie commented. ‘Who’s the suspect?’

  ‘Not a name we’ve come across as yet. It’s a partner from a different relationship, by the name of Gary Savage.’

  She jotted the details down and immediately keyed it into her computer.

  ‘I’ll run some checks on him now. See what comes up.’

  Hunter nodded. ‘Good work, Bet, can you get this copied and then keep looking and see if there are any more reports. If it’s happened once, it could have happened before, and if there’s nothing that crops up on this report, there might be something on another. We need to see if there is any connection between Gary Savage and Julie Hubbard.’

  Bet jumped up and almost ran to the photocopier. After hours of fruitless searching, her find had immediately injected a sense of urgency into proceedings. This was something they could actually get their teeth into.

  ‘I’ve got him,’ Charlie shouted excitedly. ‘He’s still shown living in Southwark, though not in the same house. He’s been nicked a couple of times for theft of high-powered motorbikes and driving whilst disqualified. Last time was three years ago when he was done for death by dangerous driving and no insurance. Killed a pedestrian on a nicked bike then failed to stop for police.’ She scanned through the report quickly. ‘I’ll check and see if I can confirm his current address.’

  ‘I’ve got another report,’ Bet almost screamed, returning to her computer and searching Helena’s maiden name. She scrolled down to the details. ‘For criminal damage. It says Helena had obtained an injunction against Savage but he returned and smashed a window. Both petty offences, but it sounds like he had a grudge against her when their relationship broke down if she had to take out an injunction?’

  ‘Twenty years is a long time to bear a grudge.’ Charlie typed Savage’s name into the electoral register.

  ‘Trust me, men can have long memories. I still get the odd abusive text from my first ex, and we split nearly thirty years ago. I’ve given up changing my number. If Savage is still living in Southwark, maybe they bumped into each other and it re-kindled old grievances? They don’t live that far apart.’

  ‘Right,’ Charlie scribbled some more details down on a piece of paper and handed it to Hunter. ‘He’s confirmed on the electoral roll as living in a small estate just behind the Elephant and Castle shopping centre, with one female with a 1936 date of birth, probably his mother. Street View shows it as a ground-floor flat in a small block.’

  She looked towards Hunter who was already shouting instructions down his radio.

  ‘It’s a ten-minute drive. Let’s go and get him.’

  *

  The air in the pit was turning rancid already. He lifted up the boarding, watching with pleasure as Helena squinted at the light, screwing her face up against the glare.

  Good she was still alive, and he wanted to keep it that way, for as long as possible.

  He stared down at them now, Daisy stiff and lifeless, Helena, becoming pasty behind the gag, with smears of dirt across her forehead and cheeks. The insects had begun to arrive and the pit was filling with flies and maggots, writhing and squirming, and feasting on the blood and decomposition. A fly crawled over Helena’s forehead. She didn’t even flinch; she was obviously used to it by now. He liked the thought.

  The tube from the water canister was still working well. Water filled it and the level in the tank was not too far down. He would top it up with the fresh water that he’d brought with him. Nice fresh, clean water to keep her alive longer, gradually starving to death.

  He could see the look of pathos in her eyes now. Some of the terror had gone as she’d realized he wasn’t going to kill her, at least not yet. She had a reprieve for the time being and he guessed she would be relieved that she had another day to live and attempt to plan her escape. Not that he would ever let her get away from him. She was his to do with as he liked. And he wanted her again now.

  All those years when he was the forgotten one, pushed aside in lieu of his older, more favoured brother were a distant memory; he was in charge now and he was going to make the most of it. The buzz of the insects grew louder and the smell entered his nostrils as he climbed down into the pit next to Helena. She stiffened against him and he liked the feeling. She hated him but she also needed him. He reached across and pulled her head round so that she was staring straight up into his face. Her eyes were blank like his mummy’s used to be after Tommy met his death so tragically in the accident.

  He remembered how the life had gone out of her eyes forever, the second she’d heard the news. He briefly recalled Tommy’s flailing arms, the cry of surprise, the look of panic as he’d felt the push, while edging closer to the sheer sides of the cliff to look at the seagulls. He’d been so convincing in the way he’d made himself cry when he’d recounted how Tommy had slipped, how he’d tried to grab hold of him but couldn’t ho
ld on, how Tommy had fallen to his death, his body broken and bloodied on the rocks below, the waves lapping over it as he’d stared down over the edge. It had been the first time he had killed, but he’d known even then that it would happen again. He loved the feeling of power as he shared the last seconds of his brother’s life, the last fleeting glimpse of panic, fear, knowledge.

  His mummy had known immediately that it had been no accident but she’d kept quiet. There had been no point saying something that could never be proved or disproved. But she knew, and he knew she knew, and the secret stayed between them, unspoken and unacknowledged. He would never replace Tommy, as he’d hoped, but he’d enjoyed the thrill of the kill. Everything good in her life was gone. She had nothing to live for, just as Helena didn’t now. The remaining child was nothing; the favourite was dead and all was lost, all was gone forever.

  He took Helena now. She was going to get exactly what she deserved. He looked into her blank, lifeless, dead eyes and saw only darkness and desertion, just as his mummy had looked before she died, as she died, after she died.

  He remembered now the second time he had killed; how he’d sat next to her with the knife poised at her neck while he instructed her to drink her vodka and swallow her tablets like a good mummy. Not a glimmer of emotion; Tommy was gone and he wasn’t worth living for. He wasn’t good enough, even when he’d done the things she used to like. She hadn’t liked them in the end, but he had and he was stronger now and she did what he said. And he told her what words to write in her suicide note, words of love towards him that he wanted to see, however untrue, that he’d never heard from her lips. She’d written what she’d been told in between the tablets and vodka and before she died she’d smiled. She’d smiled and her eyes had lit up with hate for him. He’d wanted to kick her plain, vicious face in, wipe away her expression, stamp on that hateful smile, but he couldn’t. She had to remain intact; no suspicious circumstances to make the death look anything more than the last desperate act of a bereaved mother, who couldn’t bear to live without their precious favourite son, and as she breathed her last dying breaths he’d known he’d lost. She’d succeeded in making him feel useless even in his last act of contempt towards her.

  He’d waited with her for several hours after she’d died, talking to her, shouting at her, but she didn’t answer and it had further angered him. A thin smile played on her dead, blue lips and her eyes, black and empty, stared up at the ceiling.

  When at last he’d phoned the ambulance, she was never coming back. Her skin was white, her cheeks were shrunken and her body was growing cold. The person who had caused him so much pain was gone, allowed to die quietly with a smile on her face. She had left victorious. It was unfair and yet her death had to be believable. It had to be that way. Two accidents in the same family within a short space of time might have raised suspicions, but one accident and a suicide from grief fitted the bill exactly. Nothing was ever suspected or said, other than in sympathy for the poor, lonely boy who had lost both his brother and mother in tragic circumstances within a year.

  He was content for a while being the centre of attention. Even when life had gone back to normal, he was as happy as he’d ever felt in his life. Things remained like that for some time until he’d stumbled upon Mary Townsend and seen the way she treated her children. All the bad memories had come flooding back into his head; all the pain and bitterness and anger, and it had grown and grown inside his brain until it had exploded in violence.

  And so it had begun.

  He was nearly there now; he grunted in relief and pulled away, allowing himself to stare into those blank eyes as he did so. Helena McPherson would be dead soon, starved to death next to her favourite daughter, humiliated and abused until the moment of her last breath. The punishment would at least be fitting this time. Very soon he would start to dig another pit ready for the next pair. He punched the earth next to Helena’s head and shouted in triumph.

  Next time though, he would keep the favourite alive a little longer and punish them too for glorying in their favouritism.

  Next time couldn’t come quick enough.

  *

  Charlie pushed the doorbell several times before stepping back and listening. Hunter stood behind her, his radio in hand, having just alerted the officers at the rear of the flat they were about to go in.

  She could hear the sound of movement from inside the hallway, a slow shuffle of slippers against wood flooring. The uniformed officers behind Hunter stood stock-still. She could feel her heartbeat quicken.

  ‘Who is it?’ the voice sounded crackly and high-pitched.

  ‘Police!’

  ‘What do you lot want?’

  ‘Can you open the door?’

  She heard a key turn in the lock and the door swung open. The face that peered around the edge was an elderly female, with deep wrinkles creased into her forehead and only two remaining teeth left, on the lower jaw. The woman glared at them, her expression angry and contemptuous as Charlie held out her warrant card.

  ‘Is Gary in? We need to speak to him.’

  ‘Of course he’s in. But I can tell you now, he ain’t gonna want to speak to any of you lot.’

  ‘Well he hasn’t got a choice. We need to ask him about a missing person.’

  She pushed on the front door and the old woman stepped back to let them through.

  ‘We wondered when you would be knocking on our door about that bitch.’ She let out a screech of laughter. ‘We heard about it on the news. Well Gary ain’t had nothing to do with her disappearance. And you lot should know why.’

  She squeezed past them and pushed open a door into what appeared to be the lounge. The room was dimly lit, with just a small central ceiling light, and the curtains were closed. A TV flickered in the corner, directly in front of a navy-coloured armchair, its cushions so worn and compressed down as to be nearly flat. As Charlie entered the room, she saw a bed along the back wall with the figure of a man lying flat, his back and head propped up and supported by a number of large pillows. A drip fed into his arm through a tube running from a bag of fluids held up on a metal prop by the side of him. His hair was ginger and swept back off his face and his skin was pale from lack of sun.

  ‘Gary, there’s some police here want to speak to you about Helena.’

  He turned towards them, a sneer plastered across his face.

  ‘Well, well, well. If it’s not the pigs! Sorry, officers. You’re wasting your time. You see I’ve hardly been able to leave my bed, never mind abduct two women and their kids, since you lot made me come off that bike. If that is what you’ve come to ask me, yet again you’ve picked on the wrong man.’

  He pulled the blanket to one side. His legs lay askew, misshapen and skinny from lack of muscle tone. He reached down and pulled at his left knee. It flopped across the bed when he released it, lying useless at an angle.

  The woman moved over to the side of the bed and straightened it, covering him over with the blanket again.

  ‘Don’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you like this, son.’

  She turned towards Charlie and Hunter. ‘He ain’t left this bed for near on three years now, and I would happily tell a judge exactly that. So I suggest you lot piss off and leave us alone.’

  Chapter 25

  A lone crow perched on the corner of the church tower. Above it, the stone spire reached up towards the heavens, bathed, as they were, in the frail light of early morning. A metal weather-vane creaked gently on the point of the spire, its arrows barely moving in the light breeze. Below the decorative castellations at the top of the tower, a black and gold clock dominated the front aspect. Its hand pointed to exactly 7.05.

  The crow ceased from preening its feathers as Charlie approached, casting a beady eye in her direction before stretching out its wings and swooping down to stand and watch instead from the top of a nearby gravestone. She picked up a twig and threw it in the direction of the crow. She didn’t want it watching her. She didn’t want anyone
watching her. Bar, her mum being there, she wanted to be alone.

  The crow did as it was bid and took flight, off out of the graveyard and away.

  She waited for it to be completely out of her sight before setting foot through the gates and into the stillness of the graveyard. It was Wednesday, but not just any Wednesday. It was eighteen years to the day from the Wednesday when Jamie, her younger brother, had disappeared from her life. It was why she had always hated Wednesdays.

  She could hardly bear to go to his grave. To do so was an acknowledgement that he was there, and even after all this time she still couldn’t quite believe he was never coming back. In her hands she clutched his small teddy bear, the one with the sailor’s hat and blue and white stripy scarf. She hated what it symbolized, the irony of the outfit, but she also knew it had been his favourite. She brought it with her every time she came here, just to show him she would always look after it; even though she had failed to do the same for him.

  As she walked towards his gravestone, she could almost hear his excited voice the day he had decided that, just as his name ended in an ‘ie’ so should she become Charlie. ‘Then we can go to-ie’s, and fro-ie’s’. He’d thought that so funny, repeating it time and time again, adding any word that ended in the same sound. Charlie, Jamie, happy, funny; laughing and laughing as he’d run up the beach at West Wittering, throwing himself on to the sand and burying himself up to his neck; pretending he was dead. How she wished it was pretend.

  She rounded the edge of the building and trod the leafy path towards where his body was buried, in the shelter of a small cluster of conifers, whose colour remained solid and strong all year round, and whose height and thickness protected him from the winds and the worst of the rain. She liked that he was protected from the storm now.