Guilty

by Conrad Jones

  ‘I don’t think I want to know,’ Jaki said, quietly. ‘I feel like I’m going to puke.’

  ‘I haven’t done anything wrong, Jak,’ he said. ‘If I had, they would have charged me.’

  ‘Toni said the police must have had solid evidence to arrest you,’ Jaki countered. ‘And her dad is a traffic cop, so she knows.’

  ‘They do have evidence,’ Richard said, ‘lies.’

  ‘What evidence?’ Celia snapped.

  ‘Yes, what evidence?’ Jaki asked.

  ‘Give him a chance to speak,’ Jake said, irritated.

  ‘Well?’ Celia said. ‘We’re waiting.’

  Her mobile phone began ringing. She stood up and crossed to the kitchen worktop to answer it. Jake and Jaki rolled their eyes and sighed. The interruption was unwelcome, but Richard felt relieved to be given a few more minutes; he didn’t even know where to start.

  ‘Hello, William,’ she answered. Richard knew William was her boss. He didn’t like him, and William thought Celia was too good for a secondary school teacher. He had been trying to fuck her since she had joined the practice, and he still was. Richard felt his anger rising. He could see the smarmy bastard rubbing his hands together at the news, and could hear his reedy voice in his head: I told you he wasn’t good enough for you, Celia.

  ‘No. I haven’t read it,’ Celia said, glaring at Richard. ‘I’ll take a look now and call you back. Thanks for letting me know, William.’

  She put down the phone. Richard felt the tension rising higher. Something was about to happen, he could sense it. Celia turned around and smiled coldly.

  ‘Apparently, your father is all over the front page of this evening’s Liverpool Echo,’ she said. Richard felt his stomach clench and he wanted to scream, as his children ran to get their tablets and laptops to read exactly what the newspaper was saying their father had done.

  14

  Coombes watched the man approach him. He was odd, this one, no doubt about it. He was going to ask him what the fuck he was looking at, but his brain wouldn’t connect to his tongue. His mouth wouldn’t work. There was something about the man’s eyes that frightened him, something evil. Coombes felt woozy. He couldn’t move. His head lolled onto his chest and he couldn’t find the strength to lift it up. The man was in front of him; he put his fingers under Coombes’ chin and picked up his head, looking deep into his eyes. Coombes tried to back off but couldn’t. The man’s eyes were dark. They seemed to look inside his head.

  ‘You’ll be feeling very drowsy now,’ the man said. Coombes blinked. ‘Don’t worry though, you’ll still feel the pain.’ Coombes twitched. ‘Do you feel a little vulnerable, helpless even?’ Coombes could only dribble in response but the man could see the fear in his eyes and it gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling. ‘Good. I’m glad you’re frightened – you should be – because what I’m going to do to you will be terribly painful. It will last much longer than you would have thought possible and, of course, you will die somewhere in the process.’ Tears formed in Coombes’ eyes. ‘Weird that,’ the man said. ‘You can’t move, but you can still cry. It’s a good thing though, I need to see you’re in pain and helpless.’ The tone of his voice changed. He sounded like a concerned adult explaining something to a child. ‘Helpless is a terrible thing to feel, don’t you think?’ the man asked. Coombes tried to speak but just gargled. ‘Helpless is what you’re feeling now. It is how I felt for years. You and your friends made me feel like that, but don’t you worry, I’m returning the favour. One good turn deserves another, don’t you think?’ Coombes gurgled again. ‘Do you remember me?’ the man asked. ‘You and your friends put me in a position where I felt helpless.’ He took off the baseball cap. ‘Look at my face. Do you remember me?’ he asked again. ‘Don’t worry if you don’t. You probably don’t. Do you know why you don’t remember me?’ Coombes looked at him, eyes wide. ‘You don’t remember me because you couldn’t give a fuck who you damage, playing your little games. Hide and seek for adults. At least, that is what you idiots thought it was. The problem is, the loser of the game goes to prison for a long time, and there’s nothing they can do about it. Helpless, you see? Just like you are now. Let me show you how helpless you are.’ He smiled and reached down to Coombes’ bait box and flipped the lid. Hundreds of blowfly maggots wriggled over each other, searching for something to eat. He picked one out, dangled it in front of Coombes’ eyes and carefully put it into his left ear. His pupils dilated as the maggot wriggled further inside. ‘I bet that will drive you mad, crawling around inside your head. The itch will drive you crazy but you won’t be able to scratch it. Can you feel it wriggling about in there? Do you feel as helpless as you made me feel?’ the man asked. ‘Four years I served because of you idiots,’ he whispered in his ear, before placing another couple of wriggling maggots in there.

  The man stepped back and watched Coombes turn red. His face looked tormented. He smiled. Perfect. He was suffering, trapped inside his body, unable to do anything to make it stop.

  ‘They’re driving you insane, aren’t they?’ he said, reaching for some more. ‘Let’s put some more wrigglers in your other ear, shall we?’ He put three in, one at a time, carefully letting them wriggle inside before placing the next one in. ‘That must be very uncomfortable. Hold on to that thought, because things are about to get a lot worse.’ Coombes let out a sob, a gargle from deep inside. ‘I know how you feel,’ the man said. ‘You want it to stop but it won’t. You want mercy, but there is none. Not for you and your friends. Mercy has left the building,’ he said loudly, in an Elvis concert fashion. He smiled and looked thoughtful. ‘Shall we get on with it?’

  The man turned around and took Coombes’ line from the murky canal. He dangled the float and hook in front of his eyes. ‘This is how the police will say you died: you were pissed on Stella, fell into the canal, got tangled up in your line, and drowned. Just another pisspot dead in the water. Happens every week.’ He grabbed Coombes by his cheeks with a gloved hand, careful not to bruise him, and forced open his mouth with his finger and thumb. ‘Now, hold still,’ he said, concentrating. ‘Open wide.’ The man pushed the silver barb through the inside of Coombes’ cheek, so it popped through his face below his nose. Blood trickled down his chin. ‘There we are. I bet that hurts, doesn’t it?’ he asked, as he wrapped the twine around his neck. Not too tight. He wanted to take his time. Checking the canal bank was still empty, he tipped Coombes from his chair into the water. There was a splash as he submerged and then resurfaced. His feet could just touch the muddy bottom of the canal. The man pulled his head clear of the water with his rod. The twine tightened around his neck. ‘Up we come,’ the man said, lifting Coombes’ head. ‘And back down we go again.’ He allowed the bubbles to become frantic before pulling him up again. Coombes’ eyes were bulging. ‘Up we come,’ the man said again, his voice soothing and rhythmical. ‘Take a deep breath now, back down we go again.’

  He let the bubbles froth to the surface for a minute, until they slowed, and lifted him up with the rod once more. ‘Up we come again. Deep breath now. How does that feel, Phil?’ he asked. ‘Not pleasant, feeling like your drowning, with nothing you can do about it, is it?’ He checked his watch. ‘Down we go again,’ he said, smiling. Coombes sank below the surface once more, only his hair showed above the water. Bubbles rushed to the surface and the man waited until they had become more erratic before he lifted his head. ‘Up we come, deep breath now, Phil. Three hours until sundown. Let’s see how long you can stay alive, shall we? Are you ready?’ he lowered the rod again. ‘Down we go…’

  15

  Richard watched in horror as his family read the news article online. He walked behind Jake, who was reading it on his laptop. The headline read:

  Merseyside teacher arrested on underage sex charge

  He wondered how far Kevin Hill had gone. It appeared he had gone all the way.

  ‘So, it’s true,’ Celia said, reading through the article at warp speed. ‘Who is this Nicola Hadley?�
� she said, looking up. ‘I thought her name was Nikki Haley?’

  ‘They spelt it wrong on their website,’ Richard mumbled.

  ‘Not that it makes any difference what her name is, if the allegations are true.’ She was reading the article as fast as she could. ‘How could you do this?’

  ‘It isn’t true, Celia,’ Richard protested. ‘Read it properly. It is speculation.’

  ‘Speculation?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That photograph on page two is not fucking speculation. You bastard!’ she shouted. Jake flicked the page and they were looking at the photograph of Richard kissing Nicola Hadley. Jake looked up at his dad, disappointment in his eyes. Richard shook his head to reassure him but the doubt didn’t budge.

  ‘Calm down, Celia,’ Richard said. ‘It isn’t what it looks like.’

  ‘Is this you, Richard?’ she snapped. Richard looked away. ‘Answer me.’

  ‘Yes. It is me.’

  ‘And this is Nicola Hadley?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Speculation means there’s no proof.’ She picked up her iPad and pointed to the picture. ‘This is a picture of you with your tongue down a thirteen-year-old girl’s throat. What part of that is speculative?’

  ‘Oh my god, Dad, she was pregnant,’ Jaki wailed. She had read ahead of the others. ‘That is sick! How could you?’

  ‘What?’ Celia said, frantically scrolling down. ‘Pregnant?’

  ‘How could she be pregnant, Dad,’ Jake asked, shaking his head. ‘Now this shit is about to get real,’ he muttered. He knew his mother was about to go psycho. ‘You can’t explain that one, Dad.’

  ‘You said it wasn’t true,’ Jaki said, sobbing. ‘You made her pregnant, Dad.’

  ‘It isn’t what it looks like,’ Richard said, touching her hand.

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ Jaki shouted. She pulled her hand away and tucked it under her arm. ‘You’re disgusting!’

  ‘Please, listen to me for a moment.’ Richard tried to calm the atmosphere, but the picture and the pregnancy said a million words. It could not be denied. He could explain so much about the circumstances around the photograph but he could never deny it. ‘I was very drunk and she grabbed me on the dance floor. It was a second, no more than that. But I didn’t have sex with her.’

  ‘She was thirteen, Dad,’ Jaki cried. She wiped snot from her nose with a tissue. ‘I don’t believe it’s in the newspaper. Everyone reads the Echo. Oh my god, no one will ever speak to me again. This is so sick. She was thirteen.’

  ‘I didn’t know how old she was.’

  ‘I hate you. You pervert. You’ve ruined my life.’ She ran out of the kitchen. Richard felt tears of frustration running down his cheeks. He could hear her storming up the stairs to her bedroom. ‘I hate you,’ she shouted again as she slammed the door. ‘I hope you die!’

  ‘You made this young girl pregnant,’ Celia said. She was incredibly calm. Too calm. ‘It says here that she had an abortion.’

  ‘I didn’t touch her, Celia.’

  ‘You can’t deny an abortion, Richard.’

  ‘Please believe me. I didn’t touch that girl.’

  ‘I have never been more disgusted in my life. You need to leave this house, right now.’

  ‘This is all lies, Celia.’

  ‘She was pregnant for fuck’s sake!’ she snapped. There was venom in her voice and hatred in her eyes. ‘How do you lie about being pregnant, Richard?’ She looked at the ceiling. ‘You tell me how she lied about being pregnant or fuck off out of this house.’

  ‘I don’t know that she was pregnant, neither do you,’ Richard said, clutching at straws. ‘If she was pregnant, it was nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Get out!’

  ‘Celia, please.’

  ‘Get out of this house,’ Celia said, calmly.

  ‘Celia,’ Richard said. ‘I know how this looks, but it is not what it seems,’ he pleaded.

  ‘Why was she even near you, Dad?’ Jake looked at him, confused.

  ‘I was drunk and she came up to me at the bar. She told me she was eighteen and that she had been left stranded by her boyfriend.’

  ‘So what?’ Celia asked. ‘You charged in on your white horse to save her by getting her drunk and fucking her on the settee?’

  ‘Don’t be crude. I know you’re angry, but that doesn’t help.’ Richard tried to maintain the fragile peace.

  ‘Don’t be crude?’ Celia said, angrily. ‘You had sex with a child and I’m crude?’

  ‘I didn’t have sex with the girl.’

  ‘Child, Richard. She was a child. This photograph tells me you’re a liar. Get out.’

  ‘I didn’t know how old she was and that photograph is misleading.’

  ‘Misleading?’ Celia snorted. ‘Taking a drunk thirteen-year-old girl back to your hotel room so she is safe, and then fucking her, is pretty misleading in my book.’

  ‘I didn’t know she was thirteen. She was stranded and couldn’t get a taxi. I offered her the settee to sleep on. That is all that happened.’

  ‘I couldn’t care less if she was 102,’ Celia said. She appeared calm on the surface but he could tell she was at boiling point. ‘You’re a married man, with children older than she is, and you took her back to your room, drunk. You fucked her and made her pregnant. You’re disgusting.’

  ‘I know it looks terrible, but it’s not what it seems.’

  ‘What do you think it looks like, Richard?’ she asked. Her voice was calm but he could feel her anger. She was on the edge. ‘Tell me, what can you see here?’ Richard couldn’t answer. ‘I can clearly see you kissing this young girl, and then, according to this article, you invited her back to your room, where you had sex on the settee and she became pregnant and had an abortion. That is what I can see. It is what everyone else will see. The police, the judge, our kids, our friends and family, will all see the same thing.’ She stared through him. He couldn’t find the words to explain; everything he thought to say sounded weak and unbelievable. ‘Tell me what else I should be seeing, Richard.’ He couldn’t answer. ‘Get some things and get out of this house. This is our family home and you don’t deserve to be in it right now.’

  ‘I didn’t have sex with that girl,’ Richard said. His chest was tight and he was finding it hard to breath. The pressure was crushing him.

  ‘Why is she saying you did, Dad?’ Jake asked. He was searching his eyes for the truth, almost sympathetic to his plight. ‘Why would she say that?’

  ‘I don’t know, son. I wish I did.’

  ‘But it says she was pregnant, Dad.’

  ‘I know it does, but that doesn’t change the facts. I did not have sex with that girl.’

  ‘Get out of this house!’ Celia snapped. She threw a mug across the room and it shattered against the wall, showering Richard and Jake with shards of pottery. ‘Leave now, and don’t think about contacting me or the kids until you hear from my solicitor.’

  ‘I’m their father, Celia.’

  ‘You lost that title when you fucked a girl younger than they are,’ Celia shouted. Richard looked at Jake and shook his head. ‘Don’t you dare look for sympathy from your son, you bastard. Get out. Looking at you is making me feel sick. You disgust me!’

  ‘Celia.’

  ‘Get out before I call the police.’

  ‘The police?’ Richard said, astounded. ‘Why would you call the police?’

  ‘Because you won’t leave and I’m concerned for my safety and the safety of my children. You’re being investigated as a paedophile. They’ll be here like a shot if I tell them that. Get out.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Richard pleaded. ‘I would never harm my kids.’

  ‘I didn’t think you would fuck a child, but you did,’ Celia said, nastily. ‘I don’t have a clue who I’ve been married to for all these years. What else have you done behind my back?’

  ‘Mum,’ Jake intervened. ‘If Dad says he didn’t have sex with her, then I believe him.’
r />   ‘Shut up, Jake,’ Celia snapped. ‘Don’t interfere in this. This is adults talking.’

  ‘I’m fifteen, Mum.’

  ‘Two years older than the girl your father fucked and made pregnant, Jake,’ Celia screamed. ‘Get out, Richard, or I swear to god I’ll call the police.’ She picked up her mobile. ‘I’ll call 999 and tell them you are threatening us. I mean it.’

  Richard held up his hands in surrender. He walked towards the back door and picked up his car keys.

  ‘I’ll call you tomorrow when you have had chance to calm down,’ he said as he opened the back door. A second mug hit the doorframe next to his head and told him it might take a little longer than that.

  16

  Google stood back while a uniformed officer smashed the lock with the big key, the affectionate term for the metal battering ram used to force entry. The door clattered against the wall and he reached inside for a light switch. He found it and flicked it on; a bare lightbulb cast a dull glow over a mountain of newspapers. They were stacked head high on both sides of the hallway, leaving a narrow gap between them to access the house. The stench of decay was suffocating. He took his torch and switched it on, pointing the beam through the gap between the walls of newspapers. Cockroaches scurried here and there looking for darkness. The owner, Reginald Wallace, wasn’t a tidy boy.

  ‘Looks like a hoarder to me,’ a CSI officer said. The smell reached him and he wrinkled his nose.

  ‘Do you think so?’ Google asked, sarcastically.

  ‘Yes,’ the CSI said, nodding. ‘I’ve seen it before. Look at all the newspapers. Hoarder, no doubt about it.’

  ‘Thanks for that,’ Google said, shaking his head. ‘Wait there while we check the place out. You first,’ he said, gesturing with his head to the uniformed officer. The officer wasn’t happy at the thought of venturing inside. ‘Go on,’ Google said. ‘You’re bigger than me and you’ve got a taser.’