by John Nicholl
Kathy watched as the sliced onions slowly browned in the hot oil for a few minutes, before adding a generous portion of chopped garlic and the various multicoloured spices that brought the concoction to life. Finally she added the chicken, having decided to add the white powder when the cooking process was complete, in case the heat somehow affected the potency and effectiveness of the medication.
The curry was ready and waiting by two fifteen, which gave her enough time to shower, change her clothes and dye her hair. She knew it was another gamble. She knew full well that he may disapprove with all that it entailed; but she told herself it was a risk she had to take. One more throw of the dice. Maybe the offer of a curry would be enough to alleviate his anger and resentment for a time. Or maybe not. She just had to protect her abdomen if he hit out again. That was best. It had worked before. Why not again?
She watched through a crack in the curtains as Mike Conner drove onto the driveway at a little after five thirty. Deep breaths, Kath, deep breaths. This was it. The moment had come. Don’t back out now. Not at this late stage. Not when she was so very near. It would all be over soon enough, one way or the other. She just had to get it done.
Kathy rushed into the kitchen where the curry was simmering on the gas flame. She spooned a large portion onto a yellow porcelain plate and added the white powder just as she heard the key in the front door. Come on, Kath, you can do it, girl. Stir it in, that’s it, stir it in… perfect. It had blended in wonderfully well. The bastard wouldn’t see a thing.
He was coming down the hall. She had seconds, just seconds. Quickly, Kath, quickly. What about the taste? What about the taste? She took a spoon and tasted a tiny amount, just as he opened the kitchen door and laughed until tears ran down his face. ‘What have you done to your hair, you stupid bitch? You look fucking ridiculous.’
She forced the flicker of a smile as he walked slowly towards her. ‘I thought you’d like it, dear. You’ve always said you like blonde hair.’
He grabbed her hair and jarred her head to one side. ‘Oh I do, bitch, I do. But not framing your ugly face. It might be an idea to shave it all off and start again.’
‘I’ve made you a curry, dear. Vindaloo. Nice and hot, just like you like it.’
He let go of her hair, took off his coat and sat at the table. ‘Is there any mango chutney?’
She nodded. ‘Of course, dear. Just relax and I’ll fetch it from the fridge.’
‘Get me a beer while you’re there.’
‘Yes, dear.’
He began eating with gusto, washing down the curry with swigs of beer every three or four mouthfuls.’
‘Would you like some more, dear? You seem to be enjoying it so far.’
He yawned expansively and closed his eyes for a fleeting moment, before opening them again. ‘I’m fucking knackered. I must be going in for a bug or something.’
This was it. The moment had come. Get the bastard upstairs before it was too late. ‘Perhaps you’ve been working too hard again, dear. You’re so very dedicated to that job of yours. Why don’t you finish your food and head upstairs for an hour or two’s shut eye? I can bring you a nice hot-water bottle if you like? You like that, don’t you?’
He shovelled in another couple of mouthfuls and swallowed, before struggling to his feet with the aid of the tabletop. ‘I don’t know what the fuck’s wrong with me. I’m feeling like shit all of a sudden.’
‘Head up to bed, dear. A few hours’ sleep and you’ll be feeling absolutely fine again.’
He stumbled towards the stairs on unsteady legs and felt as if he’d been anaesthetised. ‘Who are you, my fucking mother?’
She followed close behind him out of striking distance, and urged him on. ‘I’m just trying to help, dear. Up you go. Up you go.’
He looked back and snarled when halfway up, and almost lost his footing. ‘Well, don’t fucking bother. You’re fucking useless, woman. And keep the fucking noise down until I get up. Got it?’
‘That’s it, dear. You’re nearly there. Into bed with you. Nice and snug. You’ll feel much better after a bit of rest.’
He fell on top of the bed fully dressed and began snoring almost immediately. ‘That’s it bastard. That’s it. Let’s get those shoes off your feet. I’m going to need those later.’
He suddenly shifted his position and farted, and for one awful moment she thought he may have heard her. But no, he was close to unconsciousness, breathing deeply with a stream of saliva drooling from his open mouth and running down his chin.
She reached out and shook him gently, but he didn’t stir. She shook him more vigorously now, using all her strength and weight, but still he slept on. ‘Are you sleeping, bastard? Are you at my mercy? I think so. You’re lying there. Asleep. Oblivious to my activities. You seem vulnerable enough to me.’
She checked her pocket for the empty tablet bottle and held it tightly in one hand before dropping it to the floor. This was it. The time had come. Now all she had to do was implement the rest of her plan without a single error. There was no room for mistakes.
Kathy hurried downstairs, empowered by the adrenalin surging through her system. Get the bags from the shed. That was next. Put the gloves on and bring a hammer. Don’t forget the hammer.
She turned on the radio to maximum, flooding the house with loud rock music, and headed back upstairs two steps at a time. Leave the bag and its contents on the landing. That was best. Well out of the way but easily accessible when required. That made sense. She was nothing if not organised.
Kathy took the hammer in her gloved hand and began pounding away at the bathroom door until the panel directly above the lock was cracked, splintered and fatally weakened. That’s it, Kath, that’s it, almost there. Bang… bang… bang… harder, harder and harder. That’s it, almost done.
She reached through the resulting hole when the hammer broke through, and confirmed that she could reach the lock before opening the door. Get the bastard’s fingerprints on the grip. That was the next job. She couldn’t forget a single thing.
Kathy placed the rubber-covered shaft of the hammer in her husband’s open hand, before closing his fingers around it and letting it fall to the floor. Best pop back downstairs and put the radio off. The noisy bit was done and dusted. There was no point in inviting attention from neighbours. And she had to get the knife anyway. It was a win-win situation.
Kathy stood on the landing, enjoying the silence for a few seconds more, before stripping herself naked. She put her clothes to one side in a corner well out of the way, threw the filleting knife across the landing onto the bedroom floor with a flick of her wrist, and entered the bathroom with the first bag of blood. She noticed that her hands had stopped shaking as she opened it and smothered the scarlet liquid all over her body, before rolling on the linoleum floor for a minute or two until finally satisfied with her efforts. Next, she manoeuvred herself across the landing towards the top of the stairs, all the time remaining on her back and pushing herself along with jerky movements that left her close to exhaustion. Come on, Kath, you can do it. Keep going, girl, keep going. It will all be worth it in the end.
She took a deep breath, picked up his black leather shoes from where she’d left them next to the banister and put them on. They were too big of course. Far too big, just as she’d anticipated. But they’d have to do. They served a purpose. That’s what mattered.
Kathy rose to her feet, struggled in the direction of the bathroom and flung the remainder of the first bag of blood all over the room, covering as much of the lower surfaces as possible. She then took the second bag, opened it, and poured the entire contents over the carpet immediately outside the bathroom door, so that it soaked the required area. She looked down, smiled emptily and walked back through to the bedroom, leaving obvious bloody size-eleven footprints as she went. She opened the third bag and poured most of the contents over Michael Conner’s sleeping body, ensuring to cover both hands and arms right up to the elbow in the process. As a final to
uch, she picked the knife and empty medicine bottle from the floor, covered each in blood, and pressed them into his open hand in turn, ensuring his fingers made contact with the relevant surfaces.
Kathy approached the door and looked back at her unconscious husband of three years, and thought that she may finally escape him. He didn’t seem nearly so powerful now. Not so frightening or intimidating. Just the nasty little inadequate shit that he was. She resisted a sudden impulse to pick up the hammer and cave in his head there and then where he lay. Keep control, Kath. Implement the plan exactly as intended. To the letter. That was best. There was a baby to think of now. A child she was yet to meet. Prison wasn’t an option. There was no room for murder, like it or not. She had to let the bastard live.
She left the bedroom, placed the three empty bags in the carrier bag for later disposal, opened the final bag of blood and walked from the bathroom door, across the landing, down the stairs, through the hall, followed by the dining room and finally the kitchen, trailing blood as she went. By the time she opened the back door and walked out into the darkness of the evening, the final bag was almost empty. There was just enough to drip across the concrete path to the edge of the lawn. She’d timed it to perfection. That’s what she told herself time and time again. Who was useless now? Not her. Definitely not her. She was the victor. A heroine. A triumphant survivor at the very peak of her powers.
Kathy returned upstairs and repeated the entire journey on her bare bottom, sliding through the blood as she went, and effectively creating the impression of a body being dragged through the house. The results were even better than she’d envisaged, and she decided, well worth the additional physical effort on her part. Every detail mattered.
She washed at the kitchen sink, removing any sign of blood from her flagging body, before drying herself with a tea towel decorated with a stereotypical Highland scene. It was time to head back upstairs yet again. Time to throw the shoes to the bedroom floor and get dressed. Almost time to leave. Almost time to abandon the bastard to his fate. Hang on in there, Kath. You’ve almost done it, girl. Just keep going and stick to the plan. That’s all she had to do. Just stick to the plan.
Kathy was careful not to step in any of the blood as she came back downstairs fully dressed to the nines. She looked in the hall mirror and grinned on witnessing her reflection. The blond hair and heavy make-up were a triumph. As were the glasses. Even her closest relatives would struggle to recognise her on first sight. She really was going to get away with it.
She picked up the carrier bag, checked her pockets for the cash, hurried through to the kitchen and slipped out of the back door. She had absolutely no idea of her ultimate destination as she strode purposefully in the direction of the railway station forty minutes away on the other side of the town, but anywhere else was preferable. That’s what she concluded as she walked briskly in the shadows with her head down and her collar high. Anywhere was better than him.
It was raining heavily by the time Kathy entered the red painted phone box located almost directly opposite the station, dialled nine-nine-nine and waited for a response which came almost immediately.
‘Hello, which emergency service do you require?’
She responded in a well practiced Irish accent very unlike her own. ‘Police, please.’
‘Hold on caller. I’ll put you through.’
‘West Wales Police.’
This had to be good. It had to be convincing. ‘Look, I should probably have rung earlier. I thought I heard a woman screaming when I walked past forty-two Queen’s Road in Caerystwyth about an hour ago. She sounded in one hell of a state.’
‘Did the sound of screaming come from in the house or outside the house?’
‘In the house, definitely.’
‘What’s your full name and address, please?’
And with that Kathy put the phone down. She was finally free of the bastard and her world was a better place. Goodbye, bastard. Goodbye forever. Now all she had to do was get on a train to God only knew where, create a new identity and get on with her life as best she could.
She patted her belly gently and walked onto the platform as a train pulled in. ‘We’re going to have a nice life together, baby. Just you and me makes two. On we get. Let’s pretend the last three years never happened.’
Chapter 12
Michael Conner thought he was dreaming when he first woke with DS Sarah Hodgson sitting at his side. But as he narrowed his eyes against the bright electric glare, and turned his aching head to the right and left, reality slowly dawned. He realised he was in hospital with a drip stand and monitor next to him, but had no idea why or even what day it was.
DS Hodgson rose from her seat and looked down at him ‘Good to have you back with us, Inspector. It was touch and go for a while.’
He tried to sit up in bed, but fell back when his handcuffed left wrist jarred against the metal bed frame. ‘What the fuck’s going on?’
‘You’ve been out of it for nearly three days. If the doctors hadn’t pumped your stomach, you’d have been a gonna.’
He clenched his teeth and growled at her. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’
She returned to her seat before continuing. ‘You took an overdose of your wife’s sleeping tablets. You took the whole bottle. If someone hadn’t dialled the emergency services you’d be dead and gone. You’ve got whoever it was to thank for your life.’
‘No fucking way. I didn’t take anything at all.’
She shook her head. ‘There’s no room for doubt, Mike. The drugs were in your system. It’s as simple as that.’
He looked ready to explode as his blood pressure soared. ‘Now, you listen to me. If there were any drugs in my system, I took them without my knowledge. That bitch must have given them to me. She must have slipped them in my food or something. She tried to fucking kill me. What a cow. I didn’t think she had the guts.’
‘You’ve got to love a trier.’
‘What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?’
‘The empty bottle was on the floor next to your bed. Your fingerprints are all over it. You took them yourself. You wanted to die. It’s the only logical explanation. It doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to work it out.’
He pulled wildly at the handcuffs, attempting and failing to free his arm and cutting his wrist in the process. ‘So what the fuck are these all about? I’m not a risk to myself. Get the fucking things unlocked.’
She reached across and gripped his arm. ‘I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something that you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Is that clear?’
He laughed humourlessly. ‘Is this a wind up? Is there a hidden camera somewhere? It’s a joke, right? Who the fuck am I supposed to have murdered?’
She frowned. ‘It might be a good idea to delay saying anything else until you’re formally interviewed at the station with a lawyer present.’
‘What the hell are you talking about, woman? I don’t need a solicitor. I’m a police inspector, not a fucking criminal.’
‘What did you do with the body? That’s the only bit I haven’t worked out yet. Are you going to help me join the dots?’
‘What fucking body?’
‘Your wife’s.’
He shook his head slowly. ‘You think I killed my wife? Where the fucking hell did you get that idea from? It’s ridiculous.’
She grinned. ‘Oh, I know you killed her. I know where you killed her. And I know how you killed her. We’re looking for her body as we speak. A search team, dogs, the lot. It’s just a matter of time.’
‘You’re not making a lot of sense, woman. I haven’t touched the bitch.’
She relaxed back in her seat. ‘You had us all fooled, Mike. I’ll give you that much. I had you down as a nice guy. Do you know? I actually felt sorry for you. I swallowed all that crap you spouted about your wife’s mental ill
ness. I let Kathy down. We all did. Five calls for help and we gave you the benefit of the doubt. I won’t be making that mistake again. What made you snap in the end? Why kill the poor woman?’
‘Are you fucking stupid or something? If she’s missing, she’s done a runner. You need to issue a missing persons notification and let me get back to work. Do your fucking job. I’ll have you back as a PC and directing traffic before you can fucking blink.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so, Mike. Your bully boy days are well and truly over. The scenes of crime people have been over every inch of your place. There’s blood everywhere. It’s been estimated at between four and five pints in total. There’s no way in the world that any woman could lose that much blood and live.’
‘It can’t be her blood.’
‘We’ve run DNA tests. The results were rushed through. It’s her blood. One hundred per cent. No room for doubt.’
He stared at her incredulously. ‘Okay, if she’s dead, it wasn’t me. I’m not guilty. Someone must have broken into the house. Some manic must have attacked her. It’s the only viable explanation.’
‘Nice try, but you were found covered in her blood with the murder weapon next to you on the floor. It was almost as if you’d bathed in the stuff. And your fingerprints are all over the knife, in case you were wondering.’
He just lay there looking in silence, desperately attempting to make sense of the unfathomable.
‘Your bloody footprints are throughout the house. In the bathroom, your bedroom, on the landing, on the stairs, in the hall and kitchen. You butchered her in the bathroom and then dragged her body through the house as far as the back door. I just don’t know what you did from there. Did someone help you dispose of her body? Is that what happened? Some lowlife who owed you a favour? That’s my bet anyway. Not that we need a body to convict you.’
