Letting out the Worms: Guilty or not? If not then the alternative is terrifying (Kitty Thomas Book 1)

by Sue Nicholls

  What did you and Max talk about?

  Thomas: To start with I was mad with Fee, I think I ranted quite a bit. Max kept asking me questions, trying to get me to think about our relationship from Fee’s point of view, and eventually I got what he meant.

  Porterhouse: And what was that?

  Thomas: I was a selfish ba…, idiot and did nothing much to contribute to our marriage.

  Porterhouse: He told you that?

  Thomas: No. I worked it out for myself.

  Porterhouse: Would you mind telling me what else you and Max talked about?

  Thomas: Everything, more or less. I’d tell him what’d happened since our last meeting. He’d ask me questions about how I reacted and felt about situations, and about the other people I knew.

  Porterhouse: Like who?

  Thomas: Well, everyone really. Millie, Twitch, Fee, Kitty, the woman next door to Fee, friends, parents, anyone.

  Porterhouse: And did you ever feel he was asking for irrelevant information?

  Thomas: Not at the time, but with hindsight I realise that I fed him too much about Fee and the others in that house.

  Porterhouse: The house in Crispin Road, where they lived?

  Thomas: Yes. He knew what they looked like, their personalities, what cars they drove, their interests, you name it.

  Porterhouse: Did you have any reservations about telling him all that?

  Thomas: I might have been naïve, but no. I trusted him, and I liked him. He’d helped me.

  Porterhouse: Let’s go back to the day when you and your neighbour had a disagreement. Tell me about it, would you?

  Thomas: Kitty and I went to the supermarket.

  Porterhouse: Kitty is your daughter, yes?

  Thomas: Yes.

  Porterhouse: How old was Kitty at this time?

  Thomas: Seven

  Porterhouse: Thank you. Please continue.

  Thomas: OK. So, I bought Kitty a video and some other bits. After that we had lunch in McDonald's and then went back to my flat. Kitty wanted to watch the film, so I set it up for her to keep her occupied while I put the food away.

  That’s when the noise started. I mean, it wasn’t just a bit of music; it was like, thump, thump, thump. The dog was frightened, and Kitty couldn’t hear her program.

  Porterhouse: So, what did you do, Paul

  Thomas: I went round there and knocked on the door, but the noise was so loud that they couldn’t hear me, so I kicked the door in.

  Porterhouse: That was a violent act.

  Thomas: Yes, I suppose it was, but my kid and dog were terrified, and I wanted to make them feel better.

  Porterhouse. OK. Go on. What did you find inside the other flat?

  Thomas: It stank for a start. Of dirt and cigarettes and drugs.

  Porterhouse: Who was in there?

  Thomas: Two blokes, snorting coke, practically comatose.

  Porterhouse: What did you do?

  Thomas: I yanked out the plug from the music player.

  Porterhouse: The item from which the noise was coming?

  Thomas: Yeah. And told them to keep the noise down because it was upsetting Kitty and Topsy

  Porterhouse: Topsy is your dog, is she not?

  Thomas: Yeah.

  Porterhouse: What did you do next?

  Thomas: I went back, and everything was fine for a while. Then it started again.

  Porterhouse: The noise?

  Thomas: Yes. That’s when I lost it.

  Porterhouse: You became angry?

  Thomas: Yes. I went back again and hit one of the blokes and threw the music player down the stairs.

  Porterhouse: How do you feel now, about your actions

  Thomas: I wish I hadn’t done it. Kitty was frightened afterwards, and the police were called so I had to get her home as quickly as possible before she saw me arrested.

  Porterhouse: You ran away?

  Thomas: I did, but afterwards, when Kitty was safely back with Fee, I went straight to the police and told them what had happened.

  Porterhouse: Police records show that you were not arrested.

  Thomas: No. The other blokes didn’t press charges. In fact, I think they were arrested for possession.

  Porterhouse: Would you say you have a short temper, Paul?

  Thomas: I can get angry when weak people are threatened, you know, frightened or something.

  Porterhouse: Like the couple who ran the Chinese restaurant?

  Thomas: They were a lovely couple. Polite and respectful.

  Porterhouse: Tell me what happened on that evening.

  Thomas: There was a gang of yobs being rude and racist. One of them was having a go at Mrs Hung Po - sorry, I don’t know her name, that’s how I thought of her. Hung Po’s the name of their restaurant - he was yelling that she should be able to speak better English and was taking jobs from English people. The usual racist crap, sorry, rubbish, and his behaviour became threatening.

  I confronted him and told him he should leave her alone, and he became threatening to me instead. He started to come towards me, and I could see he was going to hit me, or even draw a weapon - you never know these days. Before he had time to do anything, I hit him and stamped on his foot, then I kneed him in the testicles.

  Porterhouse: I imagine he stopped then.

  Thomas: Yes. Dropped like a stone. Then his mates dragged him out, and they left.

  Porterhouse: The police arrived?

  Thomas: Yes. Mr… the proprietor called them while the fight was going on.

  Porterhouse: Was the proprietor angry with you?

  Thomas: I don’t think so. He gave me my chips on the house, afterwards.

  Things looked better for Dad. Yes, his temper was quick, but his heart was OK.

  Porterhouse: Why did you follow Fee to Mauritius, Paul?

  Thomas: Mick told me he’d recognised Max going to the airport with Fee. They had a flat tyre and were fixing it on the hard shoulder of the exit road. I realised straight away that this guy she was dating was Max, and I became worried about her. At first, I thought I was being over-dramatic, but the more I thought about it, the more I realised how much I’d told Max about her. Something told me she was in danger. The way Max used a different name and lied about his job wasn’t right, so I hot footed it over there to see for myself.

  Porterhouse: That was very foolhardy, and expensive, wasn’t it, Mr Thomas?’

  Thomas: I didn’t think about that. It seemed too important.’

  Porterhouse: How did you feel about your ex-wife, Mr Thomas?

  Thomas: I loved her.

  The case for the Defence made easier reading. It included testimonies from Maurice, Mick and Nanny Gloria.

  Nanny doubted Twitch had been raped and pointed out she was a depressive. The interrogation moved on to Mummy’s finances.

  Porterhouse: Mrs Adu, was Fee wealthy?

  Gloria Adu: I don’t know. I think she had savings because there was never any problem buying what we needed. Her father had lots of money and helped her with a deposit when she first moved into that house. I got the feeling that when he died, she came into quite a bit, and she had a well-paid job, until all this dying started. Then she gave it up to help me take care of the kiddies.

  Porterhouse: Did she make any provision for the children’s futures in the event of her death?

  Gloria Adu: Yes. She showed me where her will was, and life insurance certificates. The children will be fine, financially, thank God. She left everything to her next of kin. That’s the kiddies, right?

  Kitty sat up. Max was in debt and Mummy had money.

  In his concluding statement, Fitzsimmons, the Prosecutor, pointed out Paul’s character flaws and Max’s good reputation and reminded the jury that Paul had ample motive and opportunity to murder Mummy.

  For the defense, Porterhouse said that Paul was a loving father, who only ever became violent to protect those unable to protect themselves. He reminded the jury of examples of this: the lady in t
he Chinese restaurant and Paul’s own small daughter and dog. Paul, he told them, had loved his ex-wife, despite the way she treated him, so it was impossible that he could have murdered her. The Barrister then criticised the police investigation into the case as biased, and pointed out that Max had been unethical and had a financial motive for terminating the life of his new wife.

  The judge summed up.

  Judge Cannon: There appear to be two suspects in this case, and they are also the only witnesses to the events that unfolded on that fateful afternoon. The law demands you must be in no doubt if you are to pronounce the defendant guilty. If you believe that police procedures were carried out properly and that Mr Owen-Rutherford could not possibly have murdered his wife, then you should return a guilty plea, but if there is doubt in your mind, you must find Paul Thomas not guilty.

  And Paul was pronounced not guilty, and Max, after a further trial, went to jail.

  31 SAM

  Dogs barked, and children squealed and splashed at the slippery edge of the lake. Sam and Kitty plodded along the gritty perimeter footpath, trying to spot the place where Twitch’s body had been discovered in 1996. It was horrible to imagine her gruesome remains bobbing into view within sight of cheerful families playing French Cricket.

  Sam took in the manmade footpaths, the lifebelts on posts and the picnic benches. ‘It wouldn’t have been like this back then,’ he remarked. ‘They only developed it in the nineties. About the time Mum disappeared, I suppose.’

  Kitty read through a leaflet on the history of the attraction. 'I wouldn’t be surprised if finding your mum’s body had delayed the opening.’

  ‘I don’t suppose they make a point of mentioning that in the tourist information.’ Sam attempted a smile, but the proximity to the place of his mother’s death was proving tough.

  Kitty looked at him. ‘We can go if you like. I doubt we’ll find the place. And if we do, what good will it be?’

  Sam shrugged. ‘We’re here now, so we might as well try.’

  They wandered along the pathway, trying to identify trees from an old press photograph. In the shot, two uniformed policemen guarded a taped off barrier. There was nothing more in the picture. No forensic experts on their knees. No corpse in a black bag. Kitty was not sure it was even the site of the murder. It might simply have been where Twitch ended up. They kept their gazes on the horizon, searching for a cedar tree in the background. It looked as if it would be tall, although its top was way outside the shot.

  ‘There.’ Sam pointed across the lake. ‘Is that it?’

  They dodged bicycles and dogs and were soon in a quieter part of the lake, away from the attractions. Kitty held the picture up and every so often the two halted and looked at the scenery. But it was hopeless. Too long ago. Bushes would now be trees or even have been removed for new landscaping.

  Nearer the cedar tree, a narrow track led between the undergrowth towards the water. It might have matched the picture a little, so they ploughed through the vegetation. The smell of pine and leaf mould rose from the undergrowth and they stepped over roots and ducked beneath flailing bramble stems. Soon, they emerged into an earthy clearing, with the lake lapping at its edge. Kitty gazed out over its surface. Mallards and Moorhens bobbed about, and terns wheeled overhead. In the water to their left, a protruding log provided a perch for two Cormorants, their wings held loosely open and their backs soaking up the warmth of the low sun. A scattering of ducks spotted Kitty and Sam and glided towards them, each trailing a triangular wash. Kitty pulled the remains of a sandwich from her rucksack and they stood on the bank throwing pieces of crust at the dabbling crew. The birds’ feet wafted fronds of water weed into swirling eddies.

  ‘Look at the pattern of the weeds and the ripples.’ Sam took a photo on his phone.

  Kitty was analysing her surroundings in a more investigative manner. Fifteen ducks. The lake, possibly a hundred yards across. Trees, one cedar, several scots pines, some natural box and in the undergrowth, bracken. A cigarette packet wedged into the cleft of a tree made her think of Paul. A can of beer and a used condom discarded by the water suggesting a lovers’ hideaway. In the water, some sticks; thrown for a dog? Below the surface: weed fronds that waved and snaked in the current created by the now departing ducks. She watched the weed, with a feeling that it reminded her of something. Then she realised what.

  ‘Sam.’ She gripped his arm. ‘Look at the weed.’

  ‘I know. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, you idiot, look at it.’

  32 ANWEN

  Anwen held tight to her MacBook Air. It had cost a significant sum, and there had been an atmosphere at home since its arrival. She followed Kitty into her long living room where, on the dining table, a festoon of papers surrounded Kitty’s own laptop. On the screen was a picture of a motorbike, and as Anwen watched, the image faded to be replaced by a grinning puppy with a curly, grey coat and an endearing tuft on the top of its head.

  ‘That’s Topsy,’ said Kitty. ‘She was my dog when I was a child - my dad bought her for me. She was a puppy in that picture, but she got huge.’

  A portrait of a formidable black woman in flat shoes and a straight skirt, followed.

  ‘Nanny Gloria,’ Kitty said. ‘She brought us all up.’

  ‘All?’ Anwen had thought Kitty an only child.

  ‘Me, Sam, Josh, Lucas and Olivia. Our mums all died, and our dads had to work. Nanny Gloria was Mick’s mother - Luc and Olivia’s Grandma.’

  Anwen had seen all those people at the party, and among them a mixed-race pair who must have been Lucas and Olivia. ‘Was she strict?’

  ‘Yeah. But kind too.’ Kitty changed the subject. ‘How have you settled in at school?’

  ‘Not that well.’ Anwen put down her laptop and sat in the armchair. She scraped her nail along the fabric. ‘I’m behind with everything. I didn’t always go to school before.’ She looked up at Kitty. ‘Have you heard about my mam and dad?’

  ‘A bit. My dad told me they used to lock you up.’

  Anwen nodded. ‘Yeah. Mam thought she was doing the right thing, being hard on me and hitting me, but Cerys says it was abuse. She says I should have fun and be happy.’ Her eyes welled with tears. ‘I didn’t know being happy would be so difficult. I wish I could leave, but Cerys says going to school’s important for my future.’

  Kitty reached for a dining chair and turned it to sit in front of Anwen. She stretched across to still the girl’s fiddling hand. ‘Everything’s new at the moment. Give it time.’

  Anwen bunched the hand into a fist. ‘I don’t want to give it time,’ she said, bouncing it into her lap. ‘I don’t understand why people don’t like me.’ She looked through her tears at Kitty’s blurred face.

  ‘Sadly, people don’t always understand that you’re only different because you’ve had different experiences.’

  Anwen pulled a tissue from her sleeve and wiped her nose.

  Kitty said, ‘I had a few problems at school because I didn’t have a mum. But in time, they passed. Cerys is doing her best to be a mum for you, like Nanny Gloria was for us.’

  Anwen nodded. ‘I am grateful, but it’s hard. I sometimes wish I was back in Wales. Life’s easier when you’re on your own.’

  With a puff, Kitty stood up. ‘You’re right, but life is more tolerable overall if we learn to cope with folk. Keep going, and one day you’ll have friends you would trust with your life.’ She laughed at Anwen’s expression of doubt. Then her voice became gentle. ‘I think the reason the kids at school are giving you a hard time is that they feel safer in the crowd they understand - even if that means being nasty to someone else. It’s all an act at that age.’

  Anwen thought about this. The make-up, the cruel laughter. Could it all be a front? Kitty seemed to think they were behaving typically. She wondered if there was a book in the library about human behaviour, or she might do a web search once she had learned how.

  ‘Shall we make a start?’ Kitty nodded at
the computer. ‘Facebook wasn’t it?’

  ~~~

  The old laptop bag Kitty had given her swung at Anwen’s side as she and Kitty scooted between shoppers to the ice-cream shop. It was a tiny place, on a road junction with traffic lights. They pushed inside and Anwen’s eyes landed on the refrigerated display containing a dozen different pastel coloured ice-creams. A woman leant into the cabinet and heaped scoops of different flavours into a glass dish. Anwen watched in awe as she topped the confection with pink sauce, sweets and sprinkles.

  Further inside, a group of young mothers gossiped, sitting around a low table in squat seats and a sofa. They ate ice creams and sipped from cappuccino cups while feeding babies and herding toddlers.

  Kitty pulled two high stools together at a shelf in the window, and the pair studied the menu, their shoulders touching, and traffic and pedestrians stop-starting outside. Eventually, Kitty chose an apricot sorbet with raspberry sauce, and Anwen, with Kitty’s encouragement, went for ‘Death or Glory’, a huge concoction of ice cream, chocolates and cookie dough, topped with chocolate sauce and a chocolate curl.

  Earlier, in the flat, they had set Anwen up with Facebook, Twitter and Messenger. Kitty could not think what else to suggest. They searched Facebook for some friends for Anwen. The picture of Daisy with a seductive pout and a low neckline shocked them both, and Kitty tutted at her many profile pictures that varied only in hair - style or colour. There were also pictures of Daisy and her cronies with their mouths wide open and tongues stuck out to expose piercings.

  Anwen sent a friend request to Charlie, and to some girls who had not been unkind. Kitty set up a profile for herself, and the two made themselves Facebook Friends. It was simple to use, and Anwen was excited. This evening she might talk to Charlie online.

  The ice creams arrived. Anwen looked at her outrageous portion, worried she might be sick, then she dived in with a long spoon and fished out a chocolate.

  ‘How is it?’

  ‘Mm.’ Anwen closed her eyes to savour the creamy sweetness, pushing away thoughts of how disgusted her grim faced, skinny mother would be. Instead, she grinned at Kitty and asked, ‘What’s it like being a journalist?’