09:40
Another entry appeared on the newspaper blog page:
“The Police Had the Murderer in their Hands – BREAKING NEWS –
Our source has told us a suspect was taken to hospital for treatment for a head injury sustained after an attempt on his ex-partner’s life.
The suspect escaped and has been on the run for less than 24 hours. Unfortunately we are forbidden from printing his name at the time of writing this blog, which seems ludicrous. Do the good people of this town not deserve to know the name of someone who could end up on their very doorstep bearing a deadly surprise?
Eastcove Local can only assume the unknown local woman whom the last victim was forced to contact, is the suspect’s ex-partner. Our source is already on the hunt for the identity of the suspect and his ex. If you think you know, call the helpdesk.
If you are the ex-partner, we’re waiting to hear from YOU.”
‘You haven’t touched your coffee,’ Darrelle said. ‘It’ll be cold.’
‘I need to telephone the paper.’ I reached for the landline in a daze.
Darrelle looked confused. ‘Why on earth do that?’
I waved my hand at my laptop. ‘Read the last entry on their blog.’
Darrelle crouched down at the coffee table to read from the laptop while I punched the numbers into the phone for the newspaper helpdesk.
‘Eastcove Local, how can I help you?’ asked a female voice.
‘I want to talk to someone about the murders.’
‘Have you seen our blog?’ the voice asked. ‘Many of your questions may be answered there.’
‘I’m the ex-partner,’ I said slowly.
‘Oh,’ the penny dropped as fast as the false brightness from the voice on the other end of the line. ‘I’ll put you through.’
‘April Jones,’ said a smooth voice. ‘Editor. I understand you’re implying you are the suspect’s ex-partner? May I take your name?’
‘No. You’re not printing my name all over the papers where my child can see it. I just wanted you to know I’m a victim.’
‘If you give us your name we can quote you on that,’ April’s saccharine sweet voice dripped through the receiver. ‘We do pay for exclusive interviews.’
‘I’m not interested in money. I don’t want it implied I’m a participant in any of the murders because I’m most definitely not! If you do find out my name and use it, I will sue you for infringement of privacy or whatever. Leave me alone, it’s hard enough without being accused of being a twisted psycho!’ I flung the phone to the floor.
‘Wow!’ Darrelle looked at me, impressed. ‘You did withhold your number?’
I nodded. ‘It’s not listed anyway so it comes up as withheld.’
Darrelle turned her head back to the laptop. ‘Uh-oh. You may want to read this.’ She handed me the laptop.
10:00
Bloody newspaper blogger. Wishing I could reach through laptop and rip the entry from their site I read it:
“Editor Speaks to Suspect’s Ex – BREAKING NEWS –
Has Cut-throat Casanova turned his back on the simple family life? Abandoning a child and normality to flood a reign of terror upon our town? We can only hope it is the thought of his child which brings this gruesome quest to an end.
Cut-throat Casanova, think of your child, and hand yourself over.”
10:15
Do you mind if I switch the news on?’ Darrelle asked.
‘Go ahead; I’m sure there’s something cheery on,’ I replied sarcastically.
Darrelle flicked the television on and chose a news channel from the programme list. ‘It’s made the national news.’
I groaned and covered my eyes with my hands. ‘Everyone will know. The whole school will be talking about it.’
Darrelle shook her silky, blonde hair. ‘Don’t worry. You have nothing to be ashamed of. It says the police are looking for a local man. They’ve described him as five feet eight inches tall, aged thirty-nine, shaven haired and bearing a half-sleeve tattoo to the lower of his left arm. Anyone who sees a male fitting this description is to telephone the police immediately,’ Darrelle read from the news reel. ‘It says he was arrested for an attempt on another person’s life and is wanted for questioning in connection with a series of local murders. He’s considered extremely dangerous.’
‘I can’t believe I never really knew him.’ I shuddered. ‘Have I driven him to this? Has he gone off the rails because I broke up with him? Am I to blame for his behaviour?’ I clutched my head.
‘That’s silly talk,’ Darrelle said briskly. ‘I’ll fetch you some tablets then it’s off to bed with you.’
***
Blood Gifts.
‘We’ve had lunch,’ Darrelle informed me when I padded barefoot into the kitchen. ‘I made you a sandwich.’ She handed me a plate and I took it to the kitchen table.
‘Hey, sleepy beauty.’ Mr Cool bestowed a kiss on my cheek as he sauntered past the table and pinched half of my sandwich. He lifted the kettle and filled it at the sink. ‘Coffee all round?’
Darrelle shook her head. ‘I want to pop out to pick food up for this evening. Are you still driving the van?’
‘No, I returned it. I have my car.’ Mr Cool reached into his pocket and flipped the keys to her. ‘Can you grab a bottle of that 1997 champagne from the cellar?’
Darrelle, wrapping her elegant wool-mix coat around her slender body, nodded. ‘Only one?’ she teased on her way out.
Mr Cool rolled his eyes. ‘Better make it three. One each.’
‘Did you mean it?’ I asked Mr Cool as we sipped our coffee at the kitchen table.
‘Mean what?’
‘What you said before you left with my old furniture.’
‘Yes. I dropped it off at the charity shop.’
‘Not that, idiot. You know what I mean.’
Mr Cool frowned. ‘No… I really don’t have a clue.’
‘The thing you said about being in love,’ I said in exasperation.
‘I didn’t say I was in love, did I?’ Mr Cool’s eyes twinkled. Okay, I admit it; I’m in love with you. How about you?’
‘I can’t be in love with someone who teases me as much as you do!’
Mr Cool slipped from the kitchen stool and pulled me off of mine. ‘What about someone who will fulfil all of your sexual needs, is brilliant with children and wants to do nothing more than take care of you?’
I looked over his shoulder. ‘Oh yeah I’d like one of those, where do I find him?’
Mr Cool hooked his hand around my neck and kissed me. ‘You’ve already found him.’
14:15
‘Blimey,’ Mr Cool commented as the buzzer rang, disrupting us from the film we were watching. ‘Darrelle must have flown around the shops.’ He rose to press the entry button on the buzzer receiver. ‘Oh, it’s you.’ I heard him state coolly.
‘Saze is in, I presume?’ The unmistakable voice of Mr Dry absorbed all emotion from the room.
‘Of course,’ Mr Cool replied smoothly. ‘We were watching a film. Do come in.’
Mr Dry erupted into the lounge and I braced myself for his words. I felt absurdly nervous.
‘I bought you this.’ Mr Dry thrust a bag at me. ‘I thought it would save you the hassle of having to go out yourself, what with your police entourage and other stragglers.’ He cast a thunderous look at Mr Cool, who was now seated on the arm of the sofa next to me.
‘How thoughtful,’ Mr Cool remarked. ‘A mobile phone. You really shouldn’t have bothered. Although we’re very grateful for your concern aren’t we, Saze?’
Mr Dry ignored him. ‘I bought this also.’ He yanked a box from the other bag, discarding the plastic bag at his feet. ‘For e-books.’
I peered at the box. ‘It has a pink, sparkly case.’
‘It’s not exactly for you, is it?’ Mr Dry replied tautly. ‘May I take it through?’
‘I’ll come with you.’ I jumped to my feet.
Mr Cool re
sted ankle on opposite knee and folded his arms. ‘He can drop it off on his way out.’
‘I’ll only be a minute.’ I grasped Mr Dry’s elbow and guided him from the lounge before he pounced on Mr Cool like a hungry, big, cat.
‘Thanks,’ I said as we walked down the hallway to Daughter’s bedroom. ‘She’ll love it. She loves to read.’
‘I know.’ Mr Dry stopped short of Daughter’s bedroom door. ‘You’ve chosen then?’
‘Pardon?’
Mr Dry kept his back to me. ‘You heard me,’ he said gruffly.
‘What are you talking about?’ I hissed. ‘What’s wrong with you? You’re always in a foul mood.’
Mr Dry spun on his heel. ‘I am not.’
‘Are.’
He forced the box into my hands and grasped me tightly. ‘The headteacher tosser.’ He flicked his head back towards the lounge. ‘It’s all very cosy, isn’t it?’
‘At least I know where I stand with him,’ I countered. ‘He doesn’t jump into my bed then disappear for no apparent reason.’
‘I had a reason.’
‘Such as? Another woman? Probably the one you were with this morning before you came here. Your someone around the corner.’
Mr Dry shook me firmly. ‘Pack it in. Sometimes you behave like a spoilt child.’
‘No,’ I said petulantly. ‘Sometimes you behave like an egotistical, secretive, wanker. No, wait. You behave like that all of the time.’
Mr Dry exhaled loudly. ‘You don’t understand.’
I sniffed. ‘I don’t care.’
‘Well I do,’ Mr Dry said through gritted teeth, his eyes darkening. ‘I’m sick and bloody well tired of being cast as some kind of villain, while you cosy up to that twatting tosser in there. You will listen to me.’ He manhandled me into my bedroom and kicked the door shut.
‘You’re hurting me.’ I pouted, not knowing why I was behaving exactly like he had just said; spoilt.
Mr Dry pushed me against the closed door and placed his large hands either side of my head. ‘Stop it,’ he said. ‘Stop talking for ten seconds.’
‘You’re horrid,’ I said crossly. ‘I don’t know what I ever saw in you.’
Mr Dry kissed me roughly, his eyes darkened further by the furrowing of heavy eyebrows. ‘Me and you,’ he said between kisses. ‘We have a deeper connection than you could ever have with that blond tosser. He’d spend more time in the bathroom than you; probably steal all of your facial creams.’
Despite myself I smiled at his last comment. Mr Cool was impeccably turned out, his skin was as smooth as mine and I was certain he removed his body hair.
‘We’re electric together, admit it,’ Mr Dry continued. ‘I thought we had a thing.’
‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘A thing. We were hardly dating, you hopped in my bed a few times, for most of the time I never have a clue where you are or what you’re doing. You abandoned me at the police station. I want to be with someone I can trust.’ I pointed in the direction of the lounge. ‘He fits the bill far more than you do. I want you out of my bedroom.’
‘You’re impossible.’ Mr Dry pushed me aside and wrenched the bedroom door open.
‘So are you!’
‘You’re really doing this?’ he hissed. ‘You’re not prepared to listen?’
‘About what? You’ve said a lot yet said nothing of importance.’
‘Is everything okay?’ Mr Cool materialised at the doorway. He looked at Mr Dry. ‘Would you like me to remove him, Saze?’ He stepped to my side and dropped his muscular arm around my shoulders.
‘There’s no need.’ Mr Dry drew himself to his full height and towered over Mr Cool. ‘I was about to leave. But,’ he added darkly. ‘You won’t rid of me that easily.’
I left Daughter to her new device and found Mr Cool seated at the dining table with a newspaper.
‘That friend of yours is a peculiar type, isn’t he? Does he have any children?’
I shook my head.
Mr Cool continued with, ‘Strange how he bought your daughter a present. Do they know each other very well?’
‘Not particularly.’
‘Have you known him very long?’
‘He worked with Andrew,’ I replied.
‘That itself could be a cause for concern but I’m sure you shouldn’t worry about a virtual stranger buying your daughter an expensive present for no reason.’
I frowned. ‘What are you implying?’
Mr Cool wagged his finger. ‘It’s probably just me being cynical from working at the school and having to be on the look-out for potential.’ He coughed. ‘Paedophiles.’
‘Paedophiles?’ I spluttered. It wasn’t how I would’ve described Mr Dry. As a stroppy, arrogant, stubborn, self-centred, ignorant, threat to a woman’s heart, yes but nothing as sinister as a threat to my daughter. Then I remembered I had more than once considered him capable of murder.
Mr Cool coughed again and returned his attention to the newspaper.
14:45
I left Mr Cool with his paper. The mobile phone box from Mr Dry wasn’t sealed. Had Mr Dry already opened it? Maybe it was Mr Dry’s old phone and he was trying to pass it off as a new one.
Nope, it looked new. He’d charged it. I would have to tap all of my numbers into the phone’s contact book. There were already two numbers in the contact book. One belonged to Mr Dry. The other?
A text message arrived. No-one had my new number so it had to be Mr Dry.
“Call the other number in your phone’s contact book. And listen. For once.”
What was wrong with the man, where did he get off ordering me around? Who did he think he was? Why would I call a strange number just because he said so? I wouldn’t jump off a tall building if he told me to, so stuff him. Mind you, I was curious as to who the number belonged to.
Damn Mr Dry he knew how to wind me up, didn’t he? Butterflies fluttered inside my chest as I pressed the call button.
‘Hello?’ a female voice asked.
‘This may sound strange,’ I said. ‘But I’ve been told to call this number.’
‘I take it that you’re Saze?’ The voice chuckled. ‘My brother’s told me what to say.’ There was the sound of paper rustling. ‘Check the following dates,’ the voice continued, ‘you will have the answers you want. Do you have a pen?’
I ferreted for one in the drawer of my small desk which sat at the back of the lounge. ‘Go ahead.’
She proceeded to reel off a list of dates. ‘Did you note them all?’
I tapped the paper I had written on. ‘What about those dates?’
‘My son,’ the voice continued. ‘Is a haemophiliac. He was in hospital on those dates.’ The voice paused. ‘He has a rare blood type. He can only accept blood from someone with the same blood as him, or from someone who carries the H deficiency. If he needs a transfusion, my brother has to come to the hospital immediately to give blood. His blood is H deficient.’
‘Oh,’ I said, slowly digesting the information.
‘You understand now?’
‘I don’t know why your brother couldn’t tell me himself.’
‘Not only is my brother a very private man but an extremely modest one. I’m Sally by the way,’ revealed the disembodied voice. ‘I also happen to live around the corner from you, in King Street.’
***
Two-Faced Intoxication.
I rushed to open the main door for Darrelle who had returned from shopping loaded with bags. It was peculiar to rely on others. Even though the sun had dropped, I longed to walk outside, to pop into the corner shop for a magazine and a packet of sweets for Daughter, to stroll down to the bakers and snag the end of day reduced-price cakes. The trees, a mix of gnarled, leafless skeletons and bushy, coniferous cone-shaped monsters loomed black into the sapphire sky, casting irregular shaped shadows onto the green across the road. A movement within the trees caught my eye and for an insane moment I imagined a man standing between them, staring back as I looked out. I squeezed my
eyes shut and reopened them; maybe I’d been mistaken, a breeze could have blown the branches.
‘Are you planning on staying there?’ Darrelle asked. ‘Or will you take one of these bags for me?’
I closed the door and a thought struck me; it wasn’t windy.
16:00
‘I baked a chocolate fudge pudding.’ Mr Nice bustled in. ‘I haven’t made dinner yet, I thought I’d cook it in your oven. I’ve bought a bottle of cava but I promise I won’t get too drunk!’ He squeezed past me and headed towards the kitchen before I could reply. ‘Ah,’ I heard him say. ‘Hello.’
Darrelle looked up from stir frying vegetables and chicken on the hob. ‘Will you be joining us?’
Mr Nice looked at the bag in his hand. ‘I was going to cook Saze a meal but it’ll keep.’
‘Please join us,’ I said quickly, feeling bad. ‘I didn’t realise I’d been double-booked.’
Darrelle rested the spatula on a chopping board, wiped her hands on her apron, and held out a hand to Mr Nice. ‘Darrelle.’
Mr Nice hauled his bag onto the kitchen side. ‘Sam was full of tales about your house and the horses. You really made an impression on her. It’ll be the five of us for dinner?’
‘Six,’ interrupted Mr Cool smoothly, returning from the dining room where he had been selecting glasses. ‘We met at the last parents evening.’
‘Of course,’ said Mr Nice. ‘I remember. I was telling Saze I’ve made a chocolate fudge pudding.’ He lifted a plastic container from his bag and offered it to Darrelle.
Darrelle lifted the lid of the box and peered inside. ‘The children will absolutely adore it. They love sticky things, don’t they? I’ve made a gorgeous tarte au citron with crème fraiche and mojito sorbet for the adults.’
‘How about a drink?’ Mr Nice’s hand snaked its way back into his bag.
‘I’m on it.’ Mr Cool uncorked a bottle of the champagne Darrelle had brought from her cellar. He filled a crystal flute and passed it to Mr Nice. ‘I believe this is a good year for champagne.’
Lies Love Tells (Eastcove Lies Book 1) Page 22
