A Cold Cold Heart

by John Nicholl

  ‘So, the killer’s still out there?’

  ‘It seems so. Unless the witnesses were lying.’

  ‘Does your father think that’s likely?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I was just thinking out loud, clutching at straws.’

  His raised a hand to his face as his right eye began to twitch. ‘Look after yourself, Emily. Don’t take any risks. I’ve said much the same thing to Helen more than once. I don’t know what I’d do if either of you were harmed in any way.’

  ‘I’m being careful. I’m sure Helen’s doing the same. No woman feels safe.’

  ‘Do you find the extremes of human behaviour interesting?’

  Emily paused, wondering why he’d returned to the subject so very soon. ‘We talked about that at the restaurant; I told you about Dad working with the FBI profiler a few years back. Remember?’

  Turner nodded. ‘Ah, yes, now, there’s a man I’d like to talk to. Can you imagine the things he’s seen and heard?’

  ‘He was only in the UK for a short time on a lecture tour. I’m sure Dad would be willing to discuss it with you once the case is over.’

  He was about to respond when the phone rang and broke his concentration. ‘Ah hello, Mr Roberts, give me a second.’ He pointed towards the door. ‘Sorry, Emily, I’m going to have to take this. I should have an hour free later in the week. Ask Helen to check the diary for you. And give some more thought to my dinner invitation. We can go as friends, I won’t take no for an answer.’

  22

  Charles Turner was met by the familiar stench of human waste as he opened the door. ‘Zoe, lovely Zoe, nice to see you hanging there. I’ve had a rather exasperating day. That’s not good news for you, I’m afraid. I’m a man who likes to work through his frustrations.’

  Zoe pulled against her chains and wept. ‘Why a -are you doing this to m- me? Let me g -go. I won’t t- tell anybody. I’m b- begging you. Please, let m- me go.’

  Turner reached up and switched on the wall-mounted camera before slowly approaching her. ‘Just shut the fuck up, girl. You said much the same thing this morning, and it’s becoming rather tedious. You’d be well advised to shut your mouth before I shut it for you.’

  She was weeping uncontrollably now, drowning in a sea of tears. ‘Please. I’m begging you, p- please.’

  He drew his arm behind him and swung it forward in a rapid sweeping arc, connecting forcibly with the left side of her jaw. ‘Which part of shut the fuck up didn’t you understand? Go on, say something else, I dare you.’

  Zoe lifted her knees to her chest and hung her head to meet them.

  Turner lowered himself to the floor, gripped her face between the fingers and thumb of one hand, and looked deep into her eyes. ‘Now, tell me. Why was my mother such a total bitch? You’ve had plenty of time alone. Have you thought about it? I really hope you have.’

  She began whimpering pitifully. ‘I d- don’t know w- what to say.’

  He pressed his forehead against hers and held it there. ‘I think it’s probably best if you come up with something worthwhile, don't you? I was a good son, a loving son. Why did she let me down so very badly?’

  ‘She m- must have had a v- very good reason.’

  His expression darkened, and for a moment, he considered killing her right there and then. ‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean? Are you trying to justify her abhorrent failures? I hope you’re not, for your sake.’

  Zoe choked back her tears. ‘No, n- not at all. I’d never d do that. I never thought that, not e -even once.’

  ‘So, give me an answer; an answer that makes sense, something I haven’t heard before.’

  ‘I don’t know. I just d don’t know.’

  He jumped to his feet and stood over her with the front of his right shoe pressing down on her bare toes. ‘One last chance.’

  ‘Please let me g- go. I’ll do anything. Anything y -you want me to. Just l -let me go.’

  He turned away without responding, strode out of the room, and returned a short time later with a glass of cold tap water. ‘Right, listen carefully. I want you to follow my instructions to the letter. Just nod if you think you can do that without screwing up again? I don’t want to hear your voice.’

  She glanced up and nodded, desperate to quench her thirst.

  ‘I’ll give you some water when I’m ready, not before.’

  ‘Thank y you.’

  ‘Very good, Zoe, it seems your manners are improving. It will be easier for you if you cooperate. The end will be quicker, less painful.’

  He took a small, brown plastic medicine bottle from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and unscrewed the top; dropped two tablets in the palm of his hand and held them to her lips. ‘Put them in your mouth and chew them well.’ He slapped her face hard when she hesitated. ‘You can take the tablets, or I can ram them down your fucking throat. Make your choice. You’re taking them one way or the other, it’s up to you.’

  Zoe opened her mouth, he placed them on her tongue, and she began chewing.

  He held the glass to her mouth. ‘You wanted water, now’s your chance to have some. Come on, wash them down. I haven’t got all day. Wash the fucking things down.’

  She followed his orders.

  ‘It usually takes my guests about five minutes to nod off, although it’s sometimes quicker. All you’ve got to do is hang there and relax. Just close your eyes and drift into oblivion. I’ll wash you and attend to your appearance while you sleep. I’ll present you at your best; it’ll be your greatest achievement. Your only achievement. Mediocrity will become marvel. How does that sound? You’ll be a work of art.’

  Zoe fought the impulse to sleep, but it was hopeless. Her eyes closed tight and she dreamt of happier times. Goodnight, Mum, goodnight, Dad, see you in the morning.

  23

  Twenty- six -year- old Richard Griffiths walked down Grav’s concrete driveway with a dark and sullen expression on his face. He’d seriously considered avoiding his erstwhile future father- in -law for as long as feasibly possible, but had finally decided that if he was serious about winning back Emily’s affections, he had to man up and face the inevitable shitstorm coming his way. And coming it was, like an irresistible flood, of that, he had no doubt.

  He knocked reticently at first, half hoping he wouldn’t get an answer, but all too soon, a bright light shone in the hallway, and Grav stood to face him, like an obstructive doorman at a Cardiff nightclub. ‘What the fuck do you want? I was hoping never to see your ugly face again.’

  Richard cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry, Grav.’

  ‘It’s Mr Gravel to you.’

  ‘Look, I know I’ve been an arsehole.’

  ‘You won’t hear me arguing. It’s as much as I can do to stop myself punching you in the mouth.’

  ‘Can I come in and talk?’

  Grav didn’t move an inch. ‘You’ve got some bottle. I’ll give you that much.’

  ‘Please, Mr Gravel, just five minutes.’

  ‘Emily’s said fuck all about you visiting. Is she expecting you?’

  ‘We’ve spoken on the phone, but, no, I didn’t tell her I was coming to the house. It was a spur of the moment thing. I miss her like hell.’

  ‘You should have thought about that before shagging anything in a skirt.’

  ‘Look, can I come in or not? I just want to plead my case. Give me a chance to explain.’

  ‘Good luck with that. You’re either very brave or very stupid. I know which my money’s on. She’d like to slice your balls off.’ Grav turned and hobbled down the hallway as Emily appeared on the stairs.

  Richard followed Grav and looked up at his ex -fiancé, as she descended one slow step at a time. ‘Hello, love.’

  She glared at him. ‘Love? I think that ship well and truly sailed when you screwed those tarts, don’t you?’

  ‘Can we talk, please? That’s all I’m asking.’

  She blew the air from her mouth with an audible whistle. ‘I think you s
aid enough on the phone for a lifetime, don’t you? A sex addicts group? Really? Infidelity’s an illness, now, is it? That sounds like a lame excuse to me.’

  ‘I’m trying here, just hear me out, please. That’s all I’m asking.’

  Grav allowed the wall to support his weight. ‘Have you heard enough, Emily? I can kick him out if you want me to. It would be a pleasure.’

  She paused. ‘No, you’re all right, Dad. He’s got ten minutes. Do you mind if we use the lounge to talk privately? I don’t want him upstairs.’

  ‘No problem, love, as long as you’re sure. I’ll be outside having a cigar, if you need me. Say the word and he’s gone.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad. I know what I’m doing.’

  ‘Let’s hope so.’

  Richard beamed and knew he was winning. ‘Thank you both. It’s appreciated. I’ll do anything I can to put things right.’

  Emily sat back in her armchair, trying to look as relaxed as possible. ‘So, come on, what have you got to say for yourself?’

  ‘Any chance of a cup of tea?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s time to roll out the welcome mat just yet.’

  He pressed his lips together, and for a fleeting moment, she thought he might start crying. ‘I am so sorry. I’ve been a total prat. I know that.’

  ‘Yeah, you said that on the phone.’

  He opened his hands wide and held her gaze. ‘Give me another chance, please. I’m begging you. I’ve been working on my issues. I’ll never let you down again.’

  She smirked. ‘Issues? You were cheating; that’s the word for it, cheating.’

  ‘It was all down to my insecurity and low self -esteem. It was an ego boost, nothing more. I know that now.’

  Emily laughed humourlessly. ‘Oh, and there was me thinking you’re just another disloyal bastard who can’t keep his dick in his pants, silly me.’

  ‘Look, I know you’re annoyed, but the psychologist who runs the group says my behaviour stemmed from my childhood experiences. You know what my parents are like. I thought it was crap at first, but it made a lot of sense when I thought about it.’

  ‘You hurt me, Richard. I need you to understand that. I’d bought my wedding dress. We’d booked the church, the honeymoon. You broke my heart.’

  Richard bowed his head. ‘I know. It was unforgivable.’

  Emily checked the time, watching the seconds tick by. ‘That’s just over four minutes gone; you’ve got six left.’

  ‘I want us to get back together. I’ll even move down here, if you want me to. It’s up to you, just say the word.’

  She crossed her arms. ‘Do you really think it’s going to be that easy? You shat on me from a great height, and that’s not easily forgotten – or forgiven. I love you. I’ll always love you; God help me. But I don’t know if I can ever trust you again.’

  ‘Give me a chance. I’ll prove myself. I don’t care how long it takes.’

  ‘You’re not the only one the opposite sex finds attractive. I’ve had my opportunities. Perhaps you should think about that.’

  He tensed, no longer on the defensive. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘My new boss took me out for a meal. He’s asked me out again. He’s good looking, charming, affluent; a lot more eligible than you are.’

  He glared at her. ‘And will you be going?’

  ‘It’s not a nice feeling, is it, Richard? Perhaps now you’ve got a hint of how you made me feel. Suck it up.’

  ‘So, what’s the answer?’

  She checked her watch again. ‘I told him I’d think about it.’

  ‘Have you slept with him?’

  She paused, making him wait. ‘No, not yet.’

  ‘Thank fuck for that.’

  ‘Your ten minutes are up, time to sod off and let me think things through properly. I’ll let you know when I’ve come to a decision.’

  He leaned close to kiss her cheek but recoiled when she pulled away.

  ‘Don’t push your luck, Richard. You’re far from forgiven. I must be bloody mad to even consider it after what you’ve done.’

  ‘Thanks for agreeing to see me, love. It means a lot.’

  She chose to ignore the platitude this time. ‘You can take me to the pictures tomorrow night. I’m picking the film, and you’re paying. And don’t expect to stay the night. It’s going to be a while until we’re an item again, and that’s if it happens at all. I’m not promising anything. It’s a date, nothing more.’

  Richard smiled warmly as he approached the door. ‘Anything you say, Emily. I wonder what your dad’s going to say?’

  ‘Believe me; you don’t want to know.’

  24

  When Zoe first woke in the passenger seat of Turner’s borrowed van, she told herself that her change of circumstances was a good thing. Maybe he’d come to his senses. Perhaps he’d decided not to harm her after all. But as she looked down with bleary eyes, she realised she was wearing clothes and shoes that she hadn't seen before, and that her body smelt strongly of lavender oil. It wasn’t good at all.

  She turned her woozy head and stared across at Turner in the driving seat. ‘Where are you taking me?’

  The solicitor kept his eyes ahead as he drove along the dark country road with his headlights on main beam. ‘There’s a nice, quiet estuary beach about eight miles away, with a castle and rolling hills that kiss the sea. My mother used to take me there for days on the beach before she abandoned me. I still visit sometimes. The place is haunted by her memory and always will be. I’m sure you’ll like it as much as I do.’

  ‘Are you going to h -hurt me?’

  Turner dipped the headlights and blinked as a car sped past in the opposite direction. ‘I think you know the answer to that, but it will all be over soon enough, if you cooperate. The end game never lasts as long as I’d like. We can’t have everything in this life.’

  Zoe’s breathing quickened. ‘You’re the k -killer who’s been in the news. The man who murdered all those other g -girls.’

  ‘Well, ten out of ten. And you’re about to become the next one. How does that feel? You craved fame. You consider yourself an artist. Think of this as your fifteen minutes. Are you a Warhol fan?’

  ‘Your mother wouldn't w -want you to kill me. I know that much. She’d never forgive y -you. She’d be ashamed of what you’ve d -done. She’d hate you.’

  Turner laughed and didn’t stop for about thirty- seconds. ‘You don’t get it, do you? You look like my mother, you’re dressed like my mother, and you smell like the bitch too. It’s my mother I’m killing. I kill her again and again and again. I put my hands around her throat, and I squeeze until the light leaves her eyes. You’ll experience it yourself soon enough. It’s a form of self -therapy; cathartic’s probably the word to describe it.’

  Zoe wanted to fight; she was longing to fight. She hated him more than she’d ever thought possible. She lifted her arm with the intention of hitting out, but decided the time wasn’t right. ‘You raped those girls. Why would you rape your mother? There’s something wrong with you. You’re twisted, broken, perverted, as sick as they come. She’d detest everything you are, and everything you’ve done.’

  Turner lifted one hand from the steering wheel and slapped her hard in the face with his knuckles. ‘Shut your fucking mouth, bitch. I don’t want to hear another word.’

  Zoe repeated herself, provoking another assault, and moved quickly, lurching forward in her seat, and sinking her teeth deep into his thumb. She worried at it like a dog with a bone as Turner tried to tear his hand free.

  He attempted to steer with one hand, swerving from one side of the road to the other, but he lost control of the vehicle completely as she sank her teeth in deeper and made contact with the bone. Turner slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop, causing Zoe to smash her head and crack the windscreen, but she didn’t let go. He yelped and began punching her with his free hand until her head finally slumped on her shoulder, unconscious and bleeding. When he finally
prised open her mouth and freed his hand, his thumb was hanging, partially severed. He headbutted the steering wheel and screamed as dark blood dripped from his wound. He looked at Zoe, collapsed in the passenger seat, as the red mist descended, and he lunged at her, sinking his teeth into her neck. You’re not the only one with teeth, bitch!

  Turner spat out a chunk of Zoe’s flesh and bit her again, before throwing his arms high in the air and shouting at the very top of his voice, ‘What do you think of that, Mother? Did you like it? Do you like the blood? There’s no limit to my powers. Your little boy has become a man.’

  25

  Richard didn’t see the van hurtling towards him as he walked from his parked car on the outskirts of the town; he heard it, and he looked round to see it bearing down on him as he was about to cross the first of three lanes. By the time he tried to run, it was already too late. The vehicle hit him full on, sending him spinning onto the nearby pavement where he hit a wall with such force and velocity that his skull shattered like a boiled egg being smashed with a spoon.

  Charles Turner slowed momentarily to witness a small group of onlookers crowd around his victim’s bloody body and sped off, around a nearby roundabout with the engine screaming, over the river and out of town.

  His adrenaline- fuelled high soon paled. He punched the steering wheel hard, as a siren sounded in the distance, but relaxed when it faded to eventual silence. By the time the large green gates of Graham Roberts’ shambolic paint shop and repair centre came into view, about thirty minutes later, he was gaining confidence again, feelings of unbridled superiority at the forefront of his mind.

  Turner sped into the enclosure, manoeuvred past rows of mangled vehicles on either side, and stopped in front of a large, black, corrugated iron building, which served as an office and workshop, at the far end. He rushed from the vehicle and ran back to close the gates as Roberts appeared.