by Helen Phifer
He smiled, and she wanted to tell him to fuck off. She was well aware of that because she was the one lying here with her brains all turned to mush. Instead she smiled back at him, realising she better not piss him off or she might be here for days and she hated hospitals. He left her to it, and the nurse stepped forward.
‘I’m going to try and clean you up, lovey, before you go for the scan. Make you feel a bit better.’ The nurse disappeared, and she closed her eyes once more.
A few minutes later the curtain was pushed to one side, and she heard Browning’s deep voice.
‘That was a close call, how you are doing, Lucy?’
She looked at him. ‘Been better, thank you for turning up when you did.’
He shrugged. ‘It was nothing, right place at the right time for a change. I had a copy of those notes you asked for and I had a feeling I should check on you; bloody years since I’ve bothered listening to my gut. Glad that I did. I was only going to drive past your house and post them through the letterbox. I almost had a heart attack when I saw that crazy woman standing over a body on the front lawn with her cricket bat raised above her head. She lost it big style. I think she would have carried on hitting you until… you know.’
Lucy didn’t want to know. Over the years she’d imagined the different ways she could die on the job. Death by cricket bat hadn’t even been in the running.
‘Did you lock my front door?’
He nodded, holding up the keys and her phone. ‘Thought you might need these. Is there someone I should contact for you, next of kin? Andrews said George was still down and I wasn’t sure if you’d want him here or not.’
‘God no, I don’t. Thank you, that’s another favour I owe you. I’m okay, I don’t need him here; they can sort me out and let me go home. I’m not staying any longer than I have to.’
The nurse walked in pushing a trolley with a bowl of water and various cloths on it. ‘Sorry, you have to stay overnight. Doctor’s orders; I’m going to wipe this excess blood off, so you don’t contaminate the scanner too much and then we’re going down there. It’s your lucky night, it isn’t busy at the moment. Everyone’s in here with sprains and breaks for a change.’
‘Are you up to giving me a first account?’
Lucy nodded then immediately regretted it. She began to relate the last hour to him, as the nurse continued cleaning the wounds and never said a word. When she’d finished, he closed his notebook.
‘Do you want me to wait here with you?’
‘No, thanks. I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’m fine on my own.’
‘You’re sure, I don’t mind. The wife has gone to bingo, so I don’t need to rush back.’
‘No, there’s no point in you hanging around. Thanks though.’ Lucy was touched by the concern he was showing her. It had been a while since anyone had been so kind. Her eyes threatened to fill with tears.
‘If you’re sure.’
A porter appeared ready to wheel her down to the X-ray department, and she waved her hand at him. Then closed her eyes, the movement made her stomach lurch and she’d had enough of talking.
Chapter Forty-Seven
The officer walked him from the custody suite to the glass door at the side of the building and opened it for him.
‘Are you sure you have a lift because we can sort you one out? It’s no problem.’
‘I am, you lot have done enough damage. The last thing I need is to be dropped off at home in a police van. I’ll phone my wife. She’ll be here in a few minutes.’
The door shut behind him and he inhaled the cold, salty sea air. His stomach was a mess; he had the worst indigestion thanks to the rank microwave chilli con carne they’d given him an hour ago. He didn’t know whether he would be better not ringing Jan. Right now seeing if the Travelodge had a spare room for the night seemed like the better option. How was he going to face her? All these years he’d put up with her for appearance’s sake because he knew he could go and visit some hooker to satisfy his needs. Something his wife had never been able to do even before they’d got married.
He began the long walk back to the vicarage; the fresh air would do him good. He could have a think about his predicament on the way home. A police van drove past him, loud bangs and thumps coming from inside the back of the cage. He wondered who it was inside, they were certainly angry. He’d been mad on the way here, too, but not mad enough to make such a racket. His life as he knew it was now in tatters, and he walked with his head down against the sea breeze. It was certainly freezing cold tonight; if he’d known how today was going to end he’d have brought a jacket with him. His dog collar was tucked into his pocket, along with the silver crucifix he usually wore. In all his life he’d never imagined that he’d be doing the walk of shame.
A car turned the corner and slowed down, the driver taking a long look at him. Then it sped off, and he wondered if it was someone he knew. Although he didn’t know if he knew anyone who drove such a flashy Merc. Dear Lord, don’t let it be the press. He walked faster, oblivious to the fact that his face had already been plastered on the front page of tonight’s headlines. If he thought his life had turned to shit when he’d been led out of that flat in handcuffs this morning, it was about to get a whole lot worse. He carried on walking as fast as he could, deciding to go home and face his wife. He didn’t have any money on him for a hotel and there was no point in postponing the inevitable. Better to get it over with; at least with a bit of luck she’d fuck off and leave him for good this time. He’d rather be alone than listen to her rub his mistakes in his face every single day for the rest of his life, like he knew she would. Then there was the church and his loyal parishioners – he’d let them down; the archbishop would probably find out. He supposed he should be lucky he’d managed to keep up the façade for this long.
Half an hour later, he was almost home. He’d expected the lights to be on, but the vicarage was in darkness. As he got closer he wondered if Jan had drowned her sorrows and gone to bed. He hoped that she had. At least he could sleep on the sofa before having to face her. Everything would be better in the morning, it always was. Whenever he’d spoken to people with suicidal thoughts, he’d always stressed to them that tomorrow was another day. What might seem like the end of your world right now, after a sleep and a fresh new morning, well it wouldn’t seem so bad. The only trouble was now that he was in that position, he wasn’t too sure if he was right.
He pulled the front door key from his pocket, letting himself in. The house was cold, that wasn’t like Jan. She had the heating on whether it was summer or winter. He kicked off his shoes and realised he needed to shower, feeling dirty after his stop in the cells. He was going to have to go upstairs whether he wanted to face her or not because the bathroom was up there. He didn’t lock the door behind him like he usually would, because he was too worried about facing his wife and her wrath. She wasn’t above hitting him, not that she did it very often, but she had in the past thrown pottery at his head and once smacked him with a tennis racket so hard he’d needed stitches on the side of his head. If she lifted a finger this time he’d hit back, he was cold, hungry and pissed off.
Their bedroom door was pulled to, but not shut. There was no point trying to piss in the dark; she’d go even madder if he pissed all over the floor. Tugging on the pull string, the bathroom lit up and he began to pee. He figured if she was going to barrel out of the bedroom and lose her shit with him, now would be the time. He finished and flushed the chain, still no Jan. Washing his hands he dried them and went across the hall to their bedroom, flicking the light switch. The bed was empty, and his heart skipped a beat; did this mean she’d finally left him? Christ he hoped so, life would be so much easier without her hanging around his neck like a lead weight. He crossed to the wardrobe and threw open the door, gutted to see her dowdy clothes still hanging there. The suitcases were still on top, so if she had gone she’d taken an overnight bag. He checked the small safe they had hidden behind the shoe rack – it
still had their passports and cash inside.
A noise downstairs broke his train of thought; he’d known it was too good to be true. Maybe they’d phoned her to pick him up from the station and he’d missed her. The mood she was going to be in if she’d been sitting there all this time waiting would be epic. He straightened up and let out a sigh, stuffing a wad of the cash into his pocket. He’d made up his mind: he was through with this life. He’d devoted enough time to the church and Jan; he wanted to spend the rest of his shame-filled years living the life he wanted to. Fuck them all.
He ran down the stairs ready to confront her, but she wasn’t there. The front door was ajar and he wondered if he’d shut it.
‘Jan, is that you?’
He went into the kitchen, which was in darkness. Flicking the switch it lit up and was empty. He went into the living room doing the same, and jumped to see a tall man dressed in black standing by his sideboard, holding the gold-plated photo frame that contained a rare photo of David and Jan looking happy. He couldn’t believe the cheek of the local police. How did they have the audacity to just walk into his home when he’d been let out without charge?
‘Oh, you’re not my wife. Who are you and what are you doing in here?’
‘I need to speak to you, it’s important.’
‘Christ, are you having a laugh? Not again. I’ve just been let out of custody. You lot have ruined my fucking life. It can wait until tomorrow. I’m tired and hungry. I’m not speaking to you now, get out of my house.’
The man began to laugh. ‘Have you sinned, Father? Have you begged for forgiveness or mercy?’
David looked at the man; he looked familiar. He also looked like some kind of maniac, his eyes were wild-looking, they kept darting from side to side, and there was a fine film of perspiration on his forehead. He was staring at him, and a cold sliver of fear ran down David’s spine. He didn’t know what this was about, but he knew it wasn’t good; maybe he was mentally ill and seeking solace, but at this time of night he just wanted to get him out, and fast.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Look it’s very late and I’ve had a very long day. Please can you come back tomorrow and we can talk as long as you need to?’
The man nodded, turning to leave.
David let out a sigh of relief. After today he needed an entire bottle of Jack Daniel’s to drown his sorrows. ‘Thank you, good night.’
Placing his hand on the man’s back, he ushered him out towards the front door.
He swung around so fast it knocked him off balance. Gripped in his hand was a huge butcher’s knife which he swung towards him. David stumbled backwards, lifting his hand to stop the blow. The knife sliced through his fingers, making him shout out in pain. Blood began to run from the gashes, and he looked at the man, who was grinning.
‘How many whores have you slept with this month? I wonder if your wife will be as forgiving of your little misdemeanours now that it’s such public knowledge. I shouldn’t think so, do you?’
‘You’re mad, get out of my house now. I’m phoning the police.’ He ran for the living room and the phone inside – but he never made it there.
The knife sank into the side of his neck, and he felt the hot spray of arterial blood as it began to pump from the wound. Clasping his hand against his neck, David did his best to keep moving towards the phone, but his knees gave way and he fell to the floor. He could hear his attacker laughing behind him.
‘Your filthy games are over. Do you remember me? I bet you don’t, it’s been a long time. Let me see, the last time I saw you in 1994 you were almost in the same position. Fucking that whore Sandy in the vestry. All these years later, and who’s fucked now?’
David looked at the wild-eyed man who was covered in his blood; it was hard to concentrate. Everything was going grey. He tried to remember who he could have been back then, and it hit him.
‘You’re…’ The words wouldn’t come out; his teeth began to chatter. He’d never felt this cold as the blood drained from his body.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Lucy felt the warm sun on her face and opened her eyes as best as she could, not sure where the hell she was until she heard the shouts from the old woman across the corridor, screeching to the nurses that her tea was too cold. Shit she said to herself, realising she was in hospital. After being woken up every two hours through the night to have her observations done, she’d finally drifted off. As she moved, her head felt as if it was too heavy for her shoulders. She needed the toilet and to have a look at the damage to her face in a mirror. No one had shown her last night and she hadn’t really wanted to see, but she needed to get out of here, the sooner the better. Apart from a dull thud inside her mind and the fact that she could only partly open one of her eyelids she was okay. That bloody woman was a maniac. Who in their right mind would follow someone then batter them senseless with a cricket bat? She threw back the sheet and stood up. It hurt, but it was nothing a couple of co-codamol wouldn’t make better. It just felt like the world’s worst hangover. She supposed the bottle of wine wouldn’t be helping either. She was in a private room, which was nice, one of the perks of working for the police. They tended to give coppers their own room, just in case any of the patients in the wards were former detainees.
She shuffled along to the bathroom, not locking the door in case she passed out. There was a small mirror above the sink; grasping hold of the sink, because the room was starting to spin, she looked at her reflection and shut her eyes. Bloody hell, she looked as if she’d been in a professional boxing match. Mattie would go mental if he saw the state of her now. She was tempted to take a photo and send it to him with some laughing emojis across the bottom, but she stopped herself. Knowing Mattie like she did, he’d panic and try and get a flight home – she didn’t want to ruin his holiday, even though she wished he was here. She was missing him more than she’d ever tell him. Browning was good, but it wasn’t the same. The conversation between them didn’t flow like it did with Mattie. She felt her eyes well up. Good God that knock to the head had her feeling all emotional. What was wrong with her?
She went back to sit on the bed, and noticed on the chair next to her were her slippers. She had no T-shirt or jeans and realised that they must have taken her blood-soaked pyjamas for CSI to examine. Bloody hell, she was going to have to get someone to go to her house and get her something to wear. She was damned if she was going to ask Browning to rifle through her underwear drawers and wardrobes. She looked at her phone, picked it up and dialled George’s number.
‘Hi, can you do me a big favour, please?’
‘I’m on my way to work, is it important?’
‘Not really, but I have no one else to ask. I need some clothes bringing to the hospital. I’m on Ward Six, I think. I want to get out of here and I haven’t got anything to wear.’
‘Oh shit, are you okay, Lucy? What happened, are you ill?’
‘No, I had a run-in with an angry woman. I’ll explain when you get here. Please, George, I can’t stay here any longer and I can’t ask anyone else.’
‘Give me fifteen minutes. Does Ellie know?’
‘No and I don’t want her to. Thank you.’
She ended the call, feeling even lower than she had before. It was a bit shite when the only person you could ask for help was your cheating, sort of ex-husband.
Twenty minutes later there was a knock on the door and it opened. George walked in with her overnight bag over his shoulder.
‘Jesus, Lucy, what the hell happened?’
He came and sat down on the bed next to her, his fingers lifting to brush her fringe away from the wound on the side of her head. She wanted to push him off, and she also wanted to grab his hand and hold it against her cheek. She missed the way he held her, touched her.
‘Angry woman with a cricket bat, she got the better of me. I’m fine, it looks much worse than it really is.’
‘Are you sure about that because from where I’m sitting it looks bloody
horrific.’
She pushed his hand away. ‘Yes, I am. Thank you for bringing my stuff; you can go now.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not going to leave you, you can’t just dismiss me, how are you going to get home?’
She hadn’t thought that far ahead, so she shrugged.
‘I’ll take you. It’s not a problem. Are you sure they’ve said you can go home? It’s a right mess; you’d think they’d want you to stay in to keep an eye on you.’
Lying had never been an issue in their relationship, well not with her. She hadn’t thought he’d ever lie to her either, but he had.
‘No, they haven’t. Look I can’t stop here, I have too much to do. There’s a killer walking free out there. I need to find him and stop him before he kills again. It’s just a matter of time and I won’t let there be another victim while I’m in here feeling sorry for myself. It’s not an option.’
‘It looks like you’ve already met whoever it is. You’re not seriously going to work, are you? Come on, Lucy, you need to stop thinking there’s only you who can deal with these maniacs. You let your obsession with catching the bad guys take over your whole life, over our whole life. When are you going to start living your life a little?’
‘I haven’t exactly got much life to live at the moment if you remember; I’m on my own with a part-time, angry teenage daughter and a husband who left me. I don’t have anything else better to do than hunt down maniacs.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, sorry for messing up your life. I’m sorry for leaving you… but I’m not sorry to leave the workaholic Lucy behind who doesn’t even care for herself. I loved you, I still love you, but I don’t love watching you work yourself to death or being on my own while you’re out there doing it.’
He stood up. ‘I’ll wait outside then take you home.’
Closing the door behind him Lucy wanted to scream at the top of her lungs; instead, a quiet sob left her lips and a tear ran down her cheek. Was she even doing the right thing? She’d given up her entire life for her career and that wasn’t going particularly well. There was still a killer walking around free; she’d almost been killed herself and had the bruises to prove it. She inhaled, deeply. What choice do you have, Lucy? You’ve got nothing to lose now, you will catch this man and put him behind bars where he belongs, and then you can start to get your life back together again. It’s not too late to start over.
