Lonely Hearts: Killing with Kindness takes on a whole new meaning (DI Falle)

by Gwyn GB

‘Dad, we have each other. We’ll get through this,’ Rachel says, but she knows he’s not listening to her, not in this state. If she’s honest, she’s not even sure she believes it herself.

  ‘No.’ He stops swaying for a moment and looks at her, hard. ‘No. You have to find your own purpose.’ Then he sways again, ‘I can’t bear this,’ he gesticulates around him. ‘I can’t bear any of this anymore.’

  Rachel looks at her father, really looks at him. The man he was, her dad, died that day her mother was killed. She has been sharing her home with a walking corpse for months. He has no hope left in him, no desire for life. Living has become hell. Each morning waking up and knowing that the one you love is no longer with you.

  Her father will never be happy again, life for him has become one long torment.

  It’s in those next few minutes that Rachel’s purpose in life becomes clear to her.

  He’s so drunk it’s easy to encourage her father to stumble outside with her. He leans heavily on her shoulder, breathing alcoholic fumes as he lurches from side to side or trips over a non-existent rock.

  ‘Come on dad,’ Rachel says gently, ‘let’s take you to mum.’

  On her way back into their farmhouse a few minutes later, Rachel pauses to draw a smiley face in the dust on the door. It’s over. No more pain. She’s done the right thing, she knows that, but he’d surprised her. He’d surprised her because he’d fought. When she closed the slurry tank door she heard his muffled cry and the scratching and banging on the door. She hadn’t expected that, hadn’t expected him to fight back. She thought he’d welcome death with open arms, surrendering to the inevitable peace, grasping its release and the opportunity to be with her mum again.

  Life is full of surprises.

  54

  Rachel, July 1994

  The hours after her father’s death are a blur. At first, she sat in the house for a bit on her own, waiting for her father to talk to her like her mother did, to thank her for reuniting them. She didn’t hear him, but maybe it was too early, maybe he is overwhelmed by meeting her mother again. She worries that she’s lost her mother’s company too - that now her dad is with her they’ll be happy together and abandon her.

  She gathers a few things, sorting through what she wants and what can stay. She knows she won’t be allowed to remain in the farmhouse on her own and she is eager to escape, to explore the world. See what other homes are like, try life outside their farm.

  Rachel takes her new skirt - the white one her aunt bought her with the black hem and waistband, and she puts it on. She brushes her hair until it’s silky and smooth. Then for an hour or so she wanders around the house, touching familiar things, saying goodbye. She wraps herself in her mother’s dressing gown for one last time, but her scent has faded and it now holds only the aroma of dust and a tinge of mould. She doesn’t find her mother there anymore.

  In the sitting room she sits staring at the bottles of spent whisky by his chair. She tries to remember the dad who used to sit there, the man who worked seven days a week and would never have worn his dirty boots and overalls into the house. It’s hard to see him, he’s blotted out by the depressed drunk that took his place, but he’ll come back.

  Then she walks outside to the yard. It’s quiet and the sun is just beginning to set. The sky is turning a fiery red. The relief of knowing her dad is finally out of pain, at peace, eventually brings the tears and she stands in the fields of ripening spring wheat watching the birds fly home to their roosts. The tears pour down her face, dripping onto the dry dusty earth below.

  By the time she’s walked to the shop to ask for help, her eyes are puffy with the emotion.

  The grown-ups arrive en masse to help her: police, paramedics, social workers. The yard is filled with flashing lights and uniforms. Unfamiliar faces peer at her, a blanket is put around her shoulders and she’s led to a car. Her aunt is called and that evening she is able to finish reading The Bridges of Madison County at the home of a nice foster carer, Lucy, whose eyes cloud over with sympathy each time she looks at her.

  They are all so apologetic, as though it is their fault her father is dead. Their fault he’d stumbled into the slurry pit while intoxicated.

  Her aunt arrives the next day in her silver Jaguar. She displays little emotion, and like everything she attends to in life, she deals with the arrangements with precision and efficiency. Rachel is taken back to the farmhouse to pick up her things.

  ‘Take what you need, I’m getting a clearance company in,’ her aunt informs her, ‘But I don’t want loads of rubbish, you can fill one suitcase.’

  Rachel looks at the clothes in her wardrobe and puts in just the new things her aunt had bought. She takes with her the mementoes and memories she had gathered from around the house yesterday, but the case is still only half-filled. She leaves space for her new life.

  ‘What about school?’ she asks her aunt.

  ‘You’ll be going to boarding school,’ she replies, as though there wasn’t any other possibility.

  The thought of having to share space with other girls makes her go cold, but she will survive. Her father has given her a purpose in life.

  The funeral isn’t the closure she’d hoped it would be. Deprived of going to her mother’s, she had thought it would be a great sense of occasion, but she doesn’t relate to the coffin in front of her. Her father isn’t in it - he has gone already.

  Her aunt refuses to allow him to be buried in the out of the way church in Norfolk where her mother lies. Instead, his body is taken to the cemetery where their parents are and he is interred in the family grave. There’s no big service, just a brief reading from the Vicar and then Rachel and her aunt stand and watch as his coffin is lowered into the ground.

  It’s a hot day, Rachel wears the new dress and shoes her aunt has bought her. It’s good to have comfortable feet again and not have her toes being pinched and squashed each time she takes a step. She closes her eyes by the grave, imagining herself tipping forwards and into the pit with her father. She doesn’t. She opens her eyes to the bright white glare of sunshine that warms her face.

  She’s blinded for a few seconds, but she sees her. At the other side of the graveyard, watching, is her mother. Rachel blinks and she is gone, melted into the blue sky and sunshine.

  She looks at her aunt. Her face is set. She could be one of the alabaster busts on top of the big family tombs. There’s only a flicker of something in her eyes as she watches her brother’s last descent.

  At the graveside, there is just the three of them: herself, her aunt and the Vicar. Standing under a tree are two men, the grave diggers, waiting for them to leave so they can finish their day’s work.

  Rachel likes the peace and quiet of the graveyard and she allows it to envelop her. Life is just starting.

  She has found her purpose.

  55

  Claire, 19th October 2016

  Claire is vaguely aware of Bob speaking to her and of the sounds of emergency radios barking instructions. She feels the fresh air on her skin as she’s transferred to the ambulance. Then there’s an antiseptic smell as an oxygen mask is placed over her face, but nothing more.

  Nothing more until she wakes up groggy in a hospital bed, dry mouthed and a cannula out the back of her hand. Its sharp needle is restricting her movement and a corner of the tape holding it in place is catching on the hospital blanket.

  As her eyes focus she sees Lew sitting by the bed reading something on his phone. He smiles at her as she wakes.

  ‘Afternoon DI Falle, nice of you to wake up and join us.’

  A thousand questions are running around her head, all tripping up over each other and jumbling together. She remembers being with Rachel in her sitting room…

  Hot chocolate.

  The rabbit.

  Feeling drowsy.

  ‘What happened?’ she asks.

  ‘Seems Rachel Hill drugged you with sleeping tablets, before disappearing. We think it’s because you told her about Bet
han Jones. She realised the game was up.’

  ‘Game was up? What do you mean?’

  ‘Bethan Jones thinks Rachel is your serial killer. She’s been gathering evidence on her for months. She believes Rachel was killing the agency clients.’

  Claire finds it amazing how shock can help you wake up.

  ‘Rachel? No way. Have you checked this out?’

  ‘All under investigation as we speak.’

  ‘Did she try and kill me? Where is she? What does she say?’ Claire tries to struggle into a sitting position, she looks at her body. She’s confused. Is she injured? Her head still feels woozy.

  ‘Long gone by the time we got there. Seems she didn’t attempt to hurt you, just knocked you out. We tried calling you to warn you but you didn’t answer your phone. You must have been out already. You’ll be interested to know that we found a couple of Helium gas cylinders at the house. No other evidence so far, but they certainly fit with what Mark found in the Todd Fuller case. Bethan claims Rachel was not only responsible for her brother’s death, but several others. It goes a long way back, she thinks even to her childhood. A trail of death by all accounts.’

  ‘My God! Rachel, but why?’

  ‘We were kind of hoping you were going to help us with that. Did she say anything to you? We found a dead rabbit, was that before or after she’d knocked you out?’

  Rachel scrubs at her forehead with the palm of her hand. At the moment pictures are swirling in a grey mist in her head. The mist is beginning to thin, but it’s still hard to decipher. Then a vision of the rabbit’s head hanging loose on Rachel’s knee comes to her.

  ‘Before I blacked out. She broke its neck. Said it was broken hearted because its mate had died… She talked about loneliness, about people who just can’t be happy without someone.’

  Lew nods.

  ‘That fits with what Bethan’s been telling us and the profiles of the potential victims.’

  ‘So the stalker?’

  ‘It was Bethan. She’s been watching her for months. Said she hoped to scare her into not killing anyone else. Wanted to make her suffer too so she pretended to be an obsessed stalker.’

  ‘Did Rachel know about her then?’

  ‘She’d spoken to her months before, Bethan told her she believed her brother’s death was murder and that she was his killer. They argued but nothing else happened. She thinks Rachel assumed she’d just gone away, but in fact she was gathering evidence, that was until you told Rachel that Bethan was her stalker.’

  ‘No wonder she ran - she just had to deal with me first. God, how stupid have I been?’

  ‘You’re certainly not stupid, Claire Falle. You were the one who highlighted the agency deaths. I thought you were wasting our time to be honest. I don’t think Bob was convinced either, but you’re a persuasive woman when your mind is made up.’

  ‘Yes but if this Bethan woman is right, the killer was right under my nose and I didn’t even have her down as a suspect.’

  ‘No one did. We all thought she might be a potential victim. Things were complicated by the Neil Parsons case. Seriously, everyone is in awe of the fact you persuaded Bob to look into this in the first place. Don’t beat yourself up. She’d still be at the agency planning more murders if it wasn’t for you.’

  ‘Maybe, but I let her get away. I failed.’

  ‘We’re looking for her. She won’t get far.’

  Their conversation is interrupted by the sound of footsteps and a cheery Mark Rodgers appears carrying three coffees.

  ‘Hello sleeping beauty,’ he says to her, eyes shining with warmth and concern, ‘I’m glad you’re in bed and not on my table.’

  ‘Yeah thanks Mark, funnily enough so am I,’ Claire smiles back. She might be half drugged, but he can still make her heart leap.

  ‘Thought you might need some caffeine to wake you up.’

  Mark hands Lew a coffee and puts the other by the side of Claire’s bed.

  ‘So,’ he says, sitting in the empty chair opposite Lew, ‘You were right about the agency deaths then!’

  56

  Claire, 20th/21st October 2016

  Lew drops her off at home after she is discharged from hospital. He gives her his mobile number, says to call if she needs anything. He’s being nice, maybe he’s feeling guilty about what happened with Jack.

  She isn’t quite sure what to do with herself, the shock of what happened is still sinking in. She lies on the sofa, forcing her brain to think through the fog and remember every detail of her conversation with Rachel. She writes notes, eager to be as much help to the investigation as she can.

  She remembered Rachel talking about the rabbit again. Then later, she talked about Robert Jones, almost in the same way. Two lonely souls. How many people has she killed? How many have been fooled by her gentle, understated charm and claims that she’s there to help? Thing is, Claire thinks that Rachel really does believe she’s helping her victims.

  When Lew dropped her off he asked if she was going to go for a drink with the team to celebrate their success.

  ‘I’m not sure. Maybe,’ she’d replied. It doesn’t feel like a complete success to her, not until she’s got Rachel locked up.

  Lew had become thoughtful then - unusual for him.

  ‘Claire you’ll get on better with people if you chill a bit you know.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she’d asked, surprised by his candour.

  ‘I mean, half the team is scared of you. They’re in awe of your determination and drive. It’s cool, but sometimes it helps if you show a bit of a human side too.’

  She’d felt a bit embarrassed by Lew’s honesty. Does she really come across as that driven? That black and white? The old discomfort she used to feel around Jack’s easy sociability, is re-awakened. She’ll go for the drink. She dreads the thought of it, but she’ll go.

  She knows she should call her parents, but she’s not up to it right now. She’ll wait and see if they manage to catch Rachel Hill in the next 24 hours. Her dad will only ask questions she won’t be able to answer.

  Later, as Claire lies in bed, her mind wanders to what could have happened. She could be dead. No more. A police funeral to be arranged. The thought scares her. Then something Rachel said comes into her mind, she thinks it was just before she completely passed out. Was it real or is she imagining it? She could have sworn Rachel whispered to her, ‘You’re not lonely Claire, you don’t need my help. You’re strong and you don’t need to prove anything.’

  Despite the circumstances, Claire can’t help feeling a little bit pleased about that.

  In the morning Bob is delighted to see her, in his own inimitable understated Bob way.

  ‘You gave me a fright yesterday,’ he smiles. ‘Walked in and saw you in that chair, out for the count. Thought you’d been on the balloon gas!’

  ‘You don’t get rid of me that easily you know,’ Claire jokes back, but she sees the real concern in his eyes.

  ‘The Neil Parsons case is wrapping up nicely. I suspect you’ll want to work on gathering what we have on the agency deaths?’ Bob teases. ‘Still no sign of Rachel Hill. She’s gone to ground. We need to find out all we can on her. I think you’ll find Bethan Jones’s dossier interesting reading. We’ve not charged her with anything yet, and she’s more than happy to talk to you later about everything.’

  Before she settles down at her desk to go through it all, Claire heads to the canteen for a coffee and a pastry. The after effects of the sleeping tablets have left her feeling really hungry.

  She sees them as soon as she walks into the canteen - Jack and Lara, sitting together. They look great as a couple. He’s definitely a lot happier with her than he ever was with Claire. She knows in her heart that she wasn’t happy either, she’d known that for a while, but it had been him who was brave enough to make the move for both of them.

  The realisation that their relationship had come to its natural end, dawns on her and she sees him in a different light. As she pays for
her coffee and Pain aux raisins, she smiles a hello at him. He looks surprised, then smiles back. She’ll make the peace with them both later.

  57

  Claire, 24th October 2016

  Claire spends the next few days sifting through Rachel’s life. The school reports tell of a normal child before she becomes bereft with grief following her mother’s death, abandoned to her own devices by her father. Her dad’s passing is the first question mark in Bethan’s evidence trail. Once he’s gone Rachel’s aunt picks up the pieces and puts her back together again. There are years when Bethan has been unable to find out anything on what Rachel was doing, where she was living, but there are many other years where a trail of death followed her. A slippery, glistening slug’s trail, hard to get hold of, but visible if you look in a particular light.

  Claire watches the interview tapes with Bob and Lew questioning Bethan after her arrest. The life she’s led is written on her face. Once a well-respected journalist, she’d fallen victim to the lure of alcohol. For twenty years she allowed it to ravage her body and wreck her relationship with her brother, Robert.

  ‘I tried to re-connect with him,’ she tells them, tears in her eyes, ‘but I had hurt him too many times, let him down so often, that he could barely bring himself to see me.’

  She stops a few moments and Bob offers her a tissue, but she refuses to end the interview.

  ‘I spoke to him the day he died. I was starting to try and get myself back together and I wanted to tell him. He said that he couldn’t see me, that Rachel Hill was coming round for dinner. He sounded happy, excited, said she had some new relaxation technique she was going to introduce him to. Then they told me he’d died. When I asked Rachel about that evening, asked her what he’d talked about, what had happened, she denied ever going round. That’s when I first became suspicious. Of course no one listened to me. I was drunk when I’d spoken to my brother and I was drunk when I reported it to the police. But I knew, I saw it in her eyes. So I stopped drinking and I started watching her. I saw her go to Todd Fuller’s house. I saw her go in and I saw her come out. She was carrying a suitcase both times. I’d no idea what was in it, what she told Todd was in it. But afterwards, I found out he was dead.’