by Carol Wyer
‘That’s for you to find out, Robyn. I can only assist with my humble findings.’
‘Somebody really hated him,’ she said, standing up again.
‘It’s a violent but calculated act. This wasn’t a spur of the moment attack. It had been planned. Dig into his past and you’ll no doubt uncover who has done this.’ Shearer bent to cover Lucas’s body with the sheet. ‘Nasty,’ he said. ‘Very nasty.’ He stood and faced Robyn. ‘Do you want to walk the area with me?’
It was a challenge rather than a request. DI Shearer was unlikely to have missed anything at all. Robyn shook her head.
‘No. I’ll wait for the coroner’s report and see if I can find out more about Lucas Matthews. I’ve been tracking him all week. I’ll ask Patel to tell his wife that he’s dead. He’s good with people.’
Ah, Constable Mitz Patel,’ he replied. ‘Very gentle and polite. Lives with Mummy and Daddy and is barely out of nappies. Where do they get these kids from?’
Robyn bristled again. Shearer’s mood fluctuated from good to bad without warning.
‘The youth today haven’t got what it takes,’ mumbled Shearer. ‘They play all these violent video games but put them in front of a real murder victim and they go green and vomit.’
His tone riled her again. ‘PC Patel does not play violent video games to my knowledge, nor would he vomit.’
Shearer sneered. ‘Ha! That’s where you are wrong, Robyn. He threw up earlier in the bushes before you arrived.’
She opened her mouth to speak and his face changed again. ‘Only joking,’ he said. ‘Just pulling at your tight strings, Carter. You need to loosen up a little. Mind, it must be difficult to loosen anything in those clothes.’ Involuntarily, she tugged at the skirt. He rewarded her with a beaming smile that changed his face. ‘Glad to see you didn’t flinch at all.’ He nodded back at Lucas.
‘I’ve seen worse than this,’ she replied, ignoring his steady gaze. He contemplated her for a moment longer before speaking again. ‘Okay, here’s another weird thing. Not only did Lucas Matthews have his penis and testicles stuffed in his mouth but, more bizarrely, he had a furry toy rabbit tucked under his arm.’ He held up a transparent bag containing the toy. It was streaked with brown stains, no doubt from blood. She took it from him and examined it.
‘It looks new.’
‘I thought so too. It hasn’t any identifiers on it but there can’t be many shops that sell toy rabbits like that.’
‘I’ll set Patel onto it. He can check out toyshops and department stores.’
‘Yes, that’s a far more suitable occupation for him. He’ll be all right looking for furry toys. At least it won’t make him sick.’
‘You really should watch that sledgehammer wit of yours, Tom. It’ll get you into trouble one day.’
‘My dear, it already has. On many an occasion,’ he said. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get tidied up here and let Lucas head off to the morgue. I don’t want to hold you up any longer. You have a murderer to find.’ With that he dismissed her and wandered in the direction of the ambulance further down the drive, whistling as he went.
34
Then
Two years of being a drug courier and I am sick to death of it. If it weren’t for the threatening looks Dirk the dick gives me every time I ask if I can pack it in, I’d tell him where he could shove his lousy drugs. The bonus of me traipsing about with packages is that my mother hasn’t had any nasty bruises or mysterious injuries, and I receive fifty quid for every package.
I’ve used the money wisely. It’s seen me through college and an evening course I took, so when I can finally escape Dirk’s clutches I can have a career or at least a semi-normal life. This underworld life is poisonous and ageing. I’m only eighteen and already I have the world-weary look of someone much older.
The people I deal with are normally best avoided. I keep out of trouble and under the radar by dressing more like a man than a woman. Everyone thinks I’m gay because I ignore all the innuendos and suggestions from the guys I pick up from. Dirk’s men all think so too. I let them. I mostly wear combat trousers and button-down jackets with boots and keep my hair very short. My lean shape doesn’t attract attention from them either.
It’s not that I don’t like men. I do. I just don’t want anything to do with the sort of men who hang around clubs doling out drugs to kids who may die, or get hooked on them. Besides, for a while I had Liam and didn’t need anyone else.
Liam Waters enrolled in the same evening class as me. He was shy and gentle with ginger hair and blue eyes the colour of cornflowers. One evening after class, he left at the same time as me and I’m not sure how it happened but we ended up in a coffee shop, chatting about life. Of course, I lied about mine. I invented an entire family, three brothers and a dog named Billy. He told me all about his mother and father who ran a farm in southern Ireland. It sounded idyllic and the closer we became, the more I fantasised about moving to Ireland with him and helping raise new-born lambs or taking one of the three sheepdogs out into the fields.
I slept with him on our third date. He was loving and kind and generous. He didn’t pressure me into going to bed with him. I wanted to. I wanted to know what it was like to make love to someone you loved. It was beautiful.
Like everything in my life, it came to a bitter end. Dirk found out about Liam and in a drunken fury told me to end my relationship with him in case I blabbed about the drug business. I told him I would never talk but he gave me an ultimatum: finish with Liam or he’d have his goons kneecap him.
I can’t even talk about it now without a lump forming in my throat and my heart dropping to the base of my stomach like a boulder. I told Liam it was over and I was going out with someone else. He believed me. Well, he would. I am an expert liar. He gave up the evening course and went back home to lick his wounds. It seemed he was as crazy in love with me as I had been with him.
My heart has no more room for love now and I only have one emotion that drives me – hatred. It is that emotion that has helped me conjure up a plan to resolve my current predicament. I need to dispose of Dirk and I think I know how.
I’ve been researching poisons on my smartphone. You can purchase just about anything you need online so I look at procuring some tablets that might do the job called Tetramisole. Drug dealers have been known to cut cocaine with what is, initially, a white powder supposed to be used for worming animals. Large doses can poison humans, leading to fever and difficulty breathing caused by the swelling of lips and throat. Victims are at risk of losing consciousness, numbness and seizures. I like the sound of the last part. Tetramisole also weakens the immune system – making cocaine users more susceptible to infections. I don’t want Dirk to get an infection. I want him to die. I soon figure it would be difficult for me to get hold of Tetramisole without drawing attention to myself so I slip out of my room, my dark grey hoodie pulled up so no one can work out if I am male or female. I head to the local store that sells everything you could want from bath salts to kitchen equipment and writing paper to car polish. They have an extensive section on home and garden and it doesn’t take long to locate the poisons.
A couple in their sixties come and stand beside me and argue over which type of grass seed to purchase. I try to make myself invisible and stare at the flower seeds. There are various boxes of multicoloured wild flowers or boxes of huge orange blooms I’ve never seen before, mixed with bright blue cornflowers and poppies. We have a scrappy backyard at the moment. It’s mostly weeds and patio. Mum has never bothered with it other than to plonk a chair out there and sunbathe. Sometimes Dirk and his cronies go outside and smoke. Judging by the smell, they aren’t puffing on cigarettes. I often wonder what it would like if it was grassed over with borders of plants and flowers. It’d be like living in the countryside. As it is, it’s like living in a war zone.
One day, I’ll have a garden and I’ll purchase some seeds like these or real flowers already grown in pots. It would be wonderful to
sit among them and take in their scent, listen to bumble bees collecting nectar or watch their colourful heads bobbing in the breeze, like they’re agreeing with my every thought and word. I’d be able to forget all my worries then.
The couple next to me looks drab in beige and faded blue outfits. Their faces are washed out too, like life has sucked the energy out of them. The husband has a beer belly. No doubt he escapes to the local pub to get away most evenings. The wife is small and chubby. She doesn’t look like she ever does any gardening. Her voice is whiny and high-pitched and her lips thin. They are moaning about a mole that’s churned up their grass. She wants her husband to put down proper turf but he doesn’t see the point given the mole will probably churn it up again.
So engrossed are they in their discussion, they do not notice me slip the box into my plastic carrier bag and leave without being challenged. Rat poison for Dirk. It seems so appropriate.
When I get home, he’s fast asleep in front of the television. He’s been living at our house for the last seven months. I think even my mother is fed up of his disgusting habits and challenging ways. She is in their bedroom, no doubt knocked out on booze. They got in very late last night after being at the club. I worry that she’ll also develop a taste for more serious drugs given she is around them so much. All Dirk’s friends take something and spend far too much time at our house. For the moment the booze and the odd spliff is enough for her to escape from the reality that has become her life. I listen by the bedroom door. She is snoring softly. She’ll be asleep for ages. It’s time to put my plan into action.
First, I rummage in the toilet cistern. Dirk keeps his personal secret supply there. It’s in a convenient place in case we ever get raided and he has to flush it down the toilet. I heard him tell my mother to keep away from it or he’d kill her. Now and again he disappears in here for a fix. He has no idea I know that’s what he’s doing or that I have uncovered his stash. He doesn’t have much idea about anything. I take the candy to my room and tip out the contents onto a magazine laid on my dressing table. It’s grade-A stuff. I don plastic gloves I took from a petrol station in town. They are supposed to stop people getting diesel on their hands but they are equally useful to those of us attempting to poison someone we detest with rat poison without harming ourselves. I put on an extra two pairs on each hand for assured protection and shake out the amount of poison I think I’ll require then add some more ‘for luck’.
When I am satisfied I have enough to ensure he will be ingesting a fatal dose, I tip the powder back into his baggie, seal it and then replace it as I found it, in a ziplock bag inside the toilet cistern. If I am right, he’ll probably use it tonight. It’s Friday and he’ll undoubtedly toot some at the nightclub where he hangs out on a weekend.
If all goes to plan, he won’t come home in the early hours and I shall finally be free to start a new life. My father is delighted. He loathes Dirk as much as me and he and I have been planning this for a while. He says I should take Mum with me when I go but I explain I can’t. It’s time for me to morph into someone else or I’ll never be able to carry out the endgame plan. He agrees and Mr Big Ears propped up on my bed applauds silently with furry paws.
35
Abigail pulled into Sycamore Road, close to the children’s playground at King George V playing fields. The park was very popular and offered a good mix of sporting activities, family fun and recreational use, with many organised events and music festivals, especially over summer.
In spite of the late afternoon sunshine and the noises of carefree children, Abigail could not settle. She had to face up to the truth. She didn’t want her secrets. She carried a lifetime of them. She hadn’t got the energy to deal with any more of them.
She stopped at the nearest bench and sat down. Izzy was occupied watching some children racing about playing tag. Abigail stared into space, numb and oblivious to all around her. Time passed and still she sat. A cool breeze began to blow and the shadows lengthened. She tucked a blanket around Izzy who had fallen asleep. Abigail looked at her child’s peaceful face but felt nothing other than a heavy sadness that seemed to weigh her heart down. The wonderful life she had created for herself was coming to an end.
Without much thought to what she was doing, she rolled the buggy back to the car and clipped Izzy back into her car seat. A sigh escaped her lips and with it a resignation. The evidence spoke for itself and she needed to hear the truth from his own lips. She would talk to Jackson.
* * *
Abigail drove for over an hour. Dusk was falling and evening stars were now visible in a pink and orange sky as she drove past the duck pond. Izzy continued to sleep. She pulled up by the stone owl. Jackson’s Maserati was not yet back. This time she knew it wouldn’t be. He had sent a text message explaining he had missed his departure slot due to a late passenger and would now be home at ten.
Her phone buzzed with another text from a withheld number. She squinted to read the new message as she opened the car door.
This is what happens to people who hide the truth.
It had to be from her stalker. She hesitated for a moment before dragging the carrycot out of the back of the Range Rover and turning towards the front door, stopping suddenly in her tracks. Something was attached to her door. At first, she thought it was a large plastic carrier bag, but the puddle on the doorstep below it indicated it was something more sinister. She replaced the carrycot on the seat and approached the door. Her eyes identified the red stain on the doorstep and travelled upwards. The blood in her veins turned to ice. A strangled sob came from her throat. Hanging from the wooden door was Toffee, his sightless eyes staring at her, a six-inch nail through his throat.
36
The warmth of the day had gone and Jeanette wrapped a cardigan around her shoulders as she, Ross and Robyn sat outside on their patio, which was illuminated by a string of star-shaped fairy lights that surrounded the wooden structure. Several candles gave off a faint lemon scent.
Robyn stretched her legs under the table and listened to the sounds of frogs beginning to chorus in a nearby pond. At Blinkley Manor she had remembered she had been due at Ross and Jeanette’s for dinner. She had phoned and explained the situation, then, after liaising with PC Patel, had left the crime scene to belt around to their house, full of excuses and remorse. She had been persuaded to join them for a coffee.
‘What next then, Robyn?’ said Jeanette, adding a small spoon of sugar to her coffee and stirring carefully. They’d been discussing the Lucas Matthews case.
‘I’ll have to interview Zoe Cooper again and find out what happened on the night that she and Lucas left the Aviator hotel together. I think I’ll try and get Stu Grant on his own. Jackson was definitely keeping something from me.’
‘It’s quite exciting, isn’t it?’ said Jeanette, sitting next to Ross and placing a delicate hand on his knee. ‘Much more interesting than some of your recent private investigator cases, although I did chuckle when Ross told me about Bob. Fancy Ross not working out what was going on there.’
Ross shrugged. ‘I certainly didn’t see that one coming. It’s this sheltered life I lead, my dear,’ he added, smiling at his wife. ‘I’m not worldly enough.’
Jeanette scoffed, ‘You missed the signs, that’s all. Anyway, that was yet another successful result. Your case is trickier, Robyn. It’s like one of those murder-mystery cases.’
‘It’s a conundrum, that’s for sure,’ said Robyn.
‘How are you getting on back at the station?’ asked Ross.
‘It’s not as bad as I thought. Some things have changed but Mitz Patel is the same. There’s a new officer, Anna Shamash. Bit quiet but has potential. Mulholland is spinning plates and the rest of the station is occupied with a big drugs operation. It’s all hush-hush. I feel a bit weird though. It’s like I don’t quite belong yet.’
‘You’ll be fine. It’s only like you’ve been on secondment. You know that lot. Some of them won’t have noticed you’ve been off at
all. David Marker, for one. He’s always got his head in the clouds.’
Robyn smiled. ‘You’re probably right. It’ll be okay.’
They sat in companionable silence for a while.
‘Robyn, have you visited Brigitte recently?’ Jeanette asked.
Robyn had guessed the question would come up. Jeanette knew all about Brigitte and the fact it was Amélie’s birthday. Robyn had been prepared for the gentle questioning.
‘I saw them before I nipped down to Farnborough. Amélie loves her Fitbit. They’re off to France to stay with Brigitte’s mother.’
Jeanette sipped at her coffee. ‘Lovely woman. Is Amélie okay?’
‘She’s getting better. Brigitte says she doesn’t cry so much.’
‘Good. She took it badly, didn’t she?’
Jeanette was referring to Davies’s sudden death. Davies had almost finished his assignment and they had spoken to Amélie on Skype only two days before it happened. They had promised to take her on holiday with them as soon as they got back. Amélie, all smiles, full of excitement, asking questions about camels and deserts; her father, eyes shining as he chatted to his daughter. Robyn could still see them all, her and Davies huddled in front of the laptop, waving, blowing kisses. Amélie was beyond shocked when Robyn returned without her father. It had required some time for her to accept the reality of what had occurred, but for Robyn the nightmares continued.
‘And you, Robyn?’ said Jeanette softly. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m getting there.’
‘Please don’t think I’m interfering but you look drawn. I’m concerned about you and I think you might need to talk to someone professional about it all.’
Robyn’s words came out in a rush to match the sudden anger rising in her, an anger she normally kept under tight control. ‘I don’t want to talk to anyone. I’m fine. I don’t need any help and certainly not from some shrink who’ll get me to talk about my childhood memories and play stupid word association games that’ll only serve to prove I am full of remorse and anger and denial and other shit caused by Davies’ dying.’
