by Anita Waller
She checked her watch and saw she had at least an hour to spare before Will Monroe arrived, so she put the small bottle of milk Yolande had given her into the fridge, took down an egg cup, broke open the two capsules of painkillers and put the egg cup back in the cupboard. Claudia stood two mugs on the side, boiled the kettle, then headed across the corridor to the office.
She had an important letter to write to DI Norwood. He had treated her with respect at all times, and she wanted her actions to be for him.
She began to type.
Will Monroe was five minutes early and Claudia opened the door to him with a smile. He leaned forward and kissed both cheeks, then waited patiently while he followed her slow progress upstairs.
‘Are you in pain?’ he asked.
‘Yes, but it’s not good to give in to it. It’s the nature of the beast,’ Claudia said. ‘James didn’t know. I hadn’t had any sort of cancer diagnosis when I left him. According to St Luke’s, I’m in the last three or four weeks of my life, and they’ve allowed me home for a few hours to tie up any loose ends. While I’ve been waiting for you I’ve written a couple of letters to friends, checked with my solicitor that my children won’t have any problems with my will, generally put my affairs in order.’
‘And now I’m seeing why James wouldn’t leave you. You’re a strong woman, Claudia.’
She smiled. ‘I am. Would you like tea or coffee? I have fresh milk, but no cream.’
‘Tea with milk, two sugars please if it’s a mug.’
They eventually reached the lounge and she apologised for the suitcase on the sofa. ‘I’m taking some bits back with me. Sit anywhere else.’
‘Thank you.’ He smiled as he saw the upturned plastic box. ‘Innovative.’
‘Heather, my friend who I moved in here with, devised that. I don’t want a real one, that will do for me.’
She went into the kitchen and reboiled the still warm water in the kettle. She put a tea bag in each mug, a small amount of milk in Monroe’s along with two spoonfuls of sugar, and the contents of the eggcup.
The drinks made, she carried them through to the lounge.
She handed him the bracelet. ‘This is what I found. Had you seen it before?’
He took it out of the box, and looked at it, spending some time staring at the engraving. ‘No,’ he said eventually. ‘It’s beautiful. He loved me?’
She nodded. ‘I think so. It’s why I wanted to see you. I know you must be hurting. But can you just tell me one thing… did you start the affair or did he?’
‘It was me. I came on to him, but he never fought it. It was as though he’d always been gay, he was simply waiting for the right person, and that person was me. Right place, right time. We were together over six years, you know. I’ve been hurting since the day I realised he was missing. And according to DI Norwood, he was killed not long after he left me.’
He picked up his cup and drank, still turning over the bracelet in his other hand. ‘I can’t believe he bought this for me. I guess it must have been intended for my birthday in May.’ He looked up and spoke directly to Claudia. ‘I’ll always treasure it.’
He put down the cup and picked up the gift box, carefully replacing it inside it.
He lifted the cup again and began to drink. They talked about James, sharing memories, and slowly Will’s cup emptied. He placed it on the coffee table and cradled the box again. He opened the lid.
‘’s lovely,’ he slurred. ‘’s mine. From James…’
He leaned his head back against the sofa and tried to focus his gaze on the woman sitting in the chair. ‘Tired,’ he mumbled.
‘Then rest before you drive home,’ she soothed. ‘Close your eyes for five minutes, you sanctimonious prick.’
‘Need… sleep.’ He closed his eyes.
Claudia stood and removed the suitcase, the empty suitcase that she had placed there to prevent him sitting on that seat, and raised the recliner. She knelt, groaning at the pain that flared in her side. She waited a moment, feeling the sweat on her brow as her body tried to contain her pain.
She pulled the box out and lowered the recliner. Monroe never moved.
The gun felt good in her hand. She would have liked to have waited until he stirred, but she knew she was ready for returning to the sanctuary of St Luke’s. Time was running out.
She raised the gun, held it close to his chest, and fired. There was very little noise; Michelle had spent well on this little item. The blood splatter was gross, and she looked at the sofa. That would be no good for anybody now, she thought.
She took the cups into the kitchen, put the bracelet in a padded envelope addressed to Craig Ullyat with instructions to sell it, and went for a shower. Monroe’s blood had gone everywhere, so she changed all her clothes.
The taxi arrived very quickly, and while she was waiting she walked across the road to the postbox and posted both letters.
By one o’clock she was back in her room at St Luke’s, and finally giving in to the cancer that was eating away at her body. The pain was overwhelming her, and they upped her dosage for the last time.
Everything was sorted.
20 August
Liam picked up the mail Rosie had placed tidily on his desk and sorted through it. The pink envelope caught his eye, as Claudia had known it would. He turned it over and saw her name on the back.
He ignored the rest of the mail, and carefully opened the envelope. Years of training had taught him to be careful of anything unusual.
Dear DI Norwood,
I am now finishing my life in St Luke’s Hospice, and according to the doctors I have maybe three or four weeks. I suspect only a couple of days in reality. Yesterday, the 19th of August, I went back to my flat for two reasons; I met up with Councillor Will Monroe, or Marilyn as my husband knew him, and I wrote you this letter. I have also sent a gold bracelet to Craig Ullyat for him to sell. This is genuinely from me, if anything should come of it. I hope the boy has turned his life around.
I saved two of the strongest painkillers known to man (that’s how they feel to me) and I fed them to Monroe in a cup of tea. He was asleep within about ten minutes, and I shot him through the heart. You don’t need to go tearing around there, he is definitely dead.
This man destroyed everything. He started his relationship with my husband over six years ago, and I paid the price for that. James beat me many times, but I kept trying to save our marriage.
Because James couldn’t bear that I had taken the initiative and left him, he tried to find me at the cemetery, and attacked my best friend. As a result, she killed him, albeit accidentally. Because of that, and also because she didn’t tell me, I killed her. I fed her the tablets that you assumed was an overdose. I hope she is waiting for me to join her. We’ll have a ball in heaven. And I’m sure she’ll promise that she will never let go of a heavy suitcase at the top of the stairs again, it has a bad effect on the person who is trying to hold on to it.
It’s been a funny old five months.
Monroe destroyed my life, and now it is coming to an end. It’s strange, DI Norwood, but when you have a terminal diagnosis, it becomes very liberating. I am free to do whatever I want, and what I wanted to do yesterday was kill Monroe, so I did. There’s a lot of blood, but I didn’t spoil his pretty face, I went for the heart.
Oh, and one other thing. The gun I shot him with belongs to Michelle Baldwin. She hid it in the flat’s loft three years ago, under the third board in, as you go up the loft ladder. I went and recovered it. I think when you compare the bullet in Monroe with the bullet in George Ullyat, you’ll be able to clear up another crime. I’ve left the gun on our special coffee table.
Sorry I didn’t wash the pots, I couldn’t be bothered. Oh, and here’s Heather’s key, I’m sure she would want you to use it.
Congratulations on your promotion; my son-in-law told me about it. It’s well deserved, I’m sure.
Remember me, the quiet one, the liberated one.
Best wi
shes
Claudia Bell
Liam stared at the letter, read it a second time then yelled at the top of his voice. ‘Rosie! Neil! We’re going out!’
He handed them the letter to read as they headed down to the flat, and he heard Rosie say, ‘Shit.’
He thought that was polite.
They pulled up outside the flat and were inside within thirty seconds. They could smell the iron tang of blood and headed for the lounge.
It was carnage. Monroe was slumped on the sofa, a hole in his chest, his eyes closed. Blood had spattered everywhere, ceiling, walls, carpet, all around.
The forensics team were there quickly, and it didn’t take a genius to work out the cause of death.
The gun was bagged, and sent for immediate analysis. He didn’t want Michelle Baldwin doing a runner because she heard there had been a shooting. They put crime scene tape across the door, and a PC on guard outside.
Liam and Rosie headed for St Luke’s, showed their warrant cards to the receptionist, who went to get Yolande, as Claudia’s senior carer, to deal with them.
‘I’m sorry,’ Yolande said, when she arrived at the front desk. ‘You can’t see Mrs Bell.’
‘I don’t think you understand,’ Liam said. ‘We need to speak with her.’
‘In connection with…?’
‘We can’t discuss that with you.’
‘Well, you sure as hell can’t discuss it with her,’ was Yolande’s spirited rejoinder. ‘Mrs Bell went out for a few hours yesterday, and had a rapid decline when she arrived back here. As a result, she isn’t conscious, and so we sent for her family.’
Liam knew when he was defeated. ‘Okay. I give in. One request. If I leave my warrant card with DC Havenhand, can I just see Mrs Bell for one minute? No words, I’d just like to say a goodbye.’
‘Wait here,’ Yolande said. ‘I’ll ask the family.’
He handed his warrant card to Rosie, and took a deep breath. He’d admired Claudia Bell from the beginning, and he knew he would remember her.
Yolande rejoined them and nodded. ‘Follow me.’
Claudia looked so tiny. Her eyes were closed, and Zoe and Harry were holding her hands. Emma and David were with their respective partners.
Liam stood at the end of the bed for only a few seconds, he didn’t want to intrude on the palpable grief. ‘Bye, Claudia,’ he finally said. ‘And thank you.’
‘Michelle Baldwin, you are under arrest on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
Her blue eyes flashed in temper. ‘Fuck Heather Gower and Claudia Bell. I knew they were trouble as soon as I first set eyes on ’em.’
Agnes and Craig Ullyat watched as Michelle was led out to the police car. Craig grinned. It had been worth paying Archie Davis that twenty quid to tell him when a cop car turned up; him and his mum wanted to see that fuckin’ murderer carted away.
Michelle had a hand placed on her head to help her into the back seat, and her anger showed as she brushed the hand away. Steve was left standing in the doorway looking helpless as she was driven down the road.
Craig put his hand in his inside pocket and touched the bracelet. ‘I’m heading into town, Mum. Sell this little beauty before somebody says I can’t.’ He kissed her. ‘Takeaway tonight?’
THE END
Acknowledgments
My grateful thanks go as always to my publishers, Bloodhound Books. Fred and Betsy Freeman have always been supportive of my work, and I am truly blessed. They have a superb team in Alexina Golding, Sumaira Wilson and Sarah Hardy, who deal with queries and issues as if they didn’t exist. It is comforting to know that they can handle anything!
I also want to say thank you to all the bloggers who support authors in the best way possible, by getting our books out there in front of readers. That thank you is a massive one.
I have some fans to thank for allowing me to use their names in the book – Heather Gower, Michelle Baldwin, Jenny Taylor, Jade Pitman (and Elsa!) and Norma Ormond. Thank you all for your unswerving support, and I hope you enjoy the parts you played. Sincere apologies if I’ve turned you into a corpse, I’m inclined to do that occasionally.
My editor, Morgen Bailey, is also worthy of my thanks. More than worthy. This book would be nothing without her. She has taught me so much, and I am truly grateful.
Thanks also go to my fellow pups in the Bloodhound kennels. If queries occur during the writing of books, there is always a fellow Bloodhound author who will come up with the answer. I myself am now an expert in cadaver dogs…
This book has been difficult to write because of the subject matter. I had very little research to do despite the enormity of the subject, and it has all been written from the heart. Take comfort from the fact that in the main, malignant melanoma is curable, and we have amazing surgeons in our NHS who make the statement a fact. I am testament to that.
And finally, my love goes to Bethan, our own Christmas baby, 17.12.76 – 19.12.76, always with us.
I hope you have enjoyed the book, and please leave a review on Amazon; it only takes a minute and I love reading them. They are so important to every author.
Best wishes,
Anita Waller
Sheffield, May 2018
Copyright © 2018 Anita Waller
The right of Anita Waller to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 2018 by Bloodhound Books
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
www.bloodhoundbooks.com
Praise for Anita Waller
"This is a dark domestic chiller that gradually creeps under your skin until the very shocking and unexpected climax." Joanne Robertson - My Chestnut Reading Tree
"An excellent suspense filled read, and I'm looking forward to reading the sequel, Strategy." Mark Tilbury - Author
"Oh my goodness this book gripped me! I sat and read this book in one sitting over the weekend and honestly, I really didn't want to put it down..." Donna Maguire - Donnas Book Blog
"The story is well versed and the characters kept me intrigued throughout." Louise Mullins - Author
"Stunning, brilliant, gripping, heart breaking and touching!" Misfits Farm - Goodreads Reviewer
"My God ...this story is heart breaking yet such a pageturner...There are secrets...lies..betrayal ..murder... And a darkness ...so terrifying.... that lurks almost invisible." Livia Sbarbaro - Goodreads Reviewer
"Beware: when you pick up the book you won’t be able to let it go before you have reached the final chapter." Caroline Vincent - Bits About Books
"A brilliant follow on book from Beautiful . Kept me guessing until the end." Angela Lockwood - Goodreads Reviewer
"This book scared the daylights out of me and I mean that in the best way possible." Amy Sullivan - Novelgossip
"The author writes well, weaving the story and sucking the reader into the lives of the characters within the book." Rebecca Burnton - If Only I Could Read Faster
"This is book has all the elements needed to make it creepy, read-through-your-fingers-at-times kind of read. There is spooky suspense on every page." M.A. Comley - New York Times and USA Today best-selling author
"The author really keeps you on the edge of your seat – the twists made me gasp and she sets the atmosphere absolutely perfectly." Melisa Broadbent - Broadbean's Books
"If you are looking for a crime thriller that is somewhat unn
erving as it is every mother's worst nightmare, a fast-paced page turner that keeps you guessing. Then I definitely recommend Captor!" Dash Fan Book Reviews
"Captor will have you gripped from the beginning and won’t let you go until you have finished. It is a suspense-filled crime thriller that will keep you guessing throughout." Gemma Myers - Between The Pages Book Club
"...Waller has definitely done it again and proves herself to be one of the best storytellers in the genre of murder, necessary murder, as she likes to say." Rebecca Burnton - If Only I Could Read Faster
For Mum and Dad who would have been
inordinately proud of me!
Edna May Havenhand, née Bonnington
1921-1953
Ernest Havenhand
1922-1975
It should be noted that children at play are not playing about;
their games should be seen as their most serious-minded activity.
Montaigne (Michel Eyquem de Montaigne)
1533-1592
Essais (1580, ed. M. Rat, 1958) bk.1, ch.23
Alas, regardless of their doom,
The little victims play!
