by Susan Elle
Catherine rubs her free hand over her eyes and squeezes them together as if trying to erase the memory. “I thought he was taking me to my bedroom; was terrified he was going to do to me what he’d already done to my mum,” she meets Logan’s eyes then, “but he didn’t. He just picked up the chair at my desk and carried it and me back to my mum’s bedroom. Then he made me sit on it and used the duct tape to fasten each of my ankles to the outside of the two front legs of the chair,” she swallows hard, “I was totally exposed, though I still had my pants on, but he looked directly up my skirt and laughed. Then he pulled my arms to the back of the chair and bound my hands so that I couldn’t move, and all this time I hadn’t made a noise.”
She blinks rapidly and stares at Logan. “I don’t remember making a noise even when I was under the bed, but I suppose I must have for him to have known I was there.” She gives herself a mental shake to bring back her focus. “We were both helpless, now, so he could move about the house as he pleased. My mum looked over at me, tears streaming from her eyes, and I knew she was trying to tell me that she was sorry.” She laughs derisively then. “Can you believe it, I’m the one who did nothing to help her and she was apologising to me!”
Forgive me, mum...because I can’t. I never will!
Logan puts his hand to her face and gently turns Catherine to face him. “Neither you nor your mother are to blame for anything that monster did!” he tells her quietly but firmly. “And you were nine years old, what the hell do you think you could have done that would have changed anything? He was a madman; if you had caused him even the smallest grief things could have taken an even nastier turn than they did – do you honestly think your mum would have wanted that?” he asks, deliberately referring to her mother as Catherine did.
“I tried,” she tells him, and a single tear escaped her eyes to tumble unnoticed down her cheek, “when I heard her key in the door I heard myself screaming to her to get out, but my voice was only in my head – it wouldn’t come out, no matter how I tried, it wouldn’t come out.”
“And you didn’t speak again for two years?” he asks.
Catherine shakes her head. “I don’t know if I could have, I never tried. There was no reason to anymore,” she states softly, “and what would I have said if I had. My head was full of remembering – the table he brought into the bedroom, the way he laid out all his instruments of torture in perfectly neat rows, and the way he described to me exactly what he was going to do with each one before using it so brutally on my mum.” Her face looks quizzically at Logan, then. “He actually enjoyed every moment of my mum’s pain and was ecstatic when I peed my pants; said it was a sign that he’d achieved ultimate terror.” Catherine closes her eyes and shakes her head, “If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never understand the why of it.”
Catherine is exhausted; Logan can see it all over her. She can barely hold herself upright in her seat. He reaches across her to check the tension on her seatbelt then says, “I’m taking you home, Catherine. You’ve been through enough, now.” She makes to protest but Logan is adamant. “Look at you, you’re dead beat; and don’t deny it,” he warns. “I’m taking you home and you’ll get some rest. Then, if you think it’s necessary, you can fill me in on the rest.” However, he hopes earnestly for her sake that the worst is over.
“Oh, it’ll be necessary,” she tells him, a cold edge of steel lining her voice.
Chapter Six
Well, he had asked for it and Catherine had told him, all of it. Even down to that distinctive voice, she had thought she recognised on the terrace of Lakelands.
No wonder Catherine was paralysed with fear to the point where she lost control of her bladder. The very thought that a man like that was anywhere near-by would have been enough to terrify anyone.
But surely, it couldn’t have been Charles Llwyd she had witnessed torturing her mother to death as a child. He’s known Charles for years; had sold him his current home in the neighbouring village of Upper Stanton. Logan sits in the drawing room of his large detached home, contemplating the almost unthinkable possibilities.
Charles is in his early sixties now, so, that would have made him in his late forties fifteen years ago when Catherine was nine. Though she said that she’d been almost ten, he recalls, wanting to get the facts straight in his mind. But the man Catherine described had been much younger – so had she been wrong? Had she remembered the attacker’s voice wrong, after so many years and having been so young and traumatised when she’d heard it in the first place? But then he has to consider Catherine’s brilliant memory. Perhaps it isn’t just facts and figures that her brain absorbs so readily. Perhaps she has perfect recall of other things, too.
Catherine has not been home or to her office for over a week. Not since Logan drove them, back from Lakelands and insisted that she at least stay the night. Settling Catherine in her own room, Logan insisted that she hang the clothes she brought back with her, up in the wardrobe.
Now she is restless; Logan has had to go into his office today and she is left on her own to continue their work on finding the animal that murdered her mother. Perhaps I ought to phone Ben again she ponders a frown drawing her brows together, and moans aloud at the prospect. She couldn’t blame him; when he learned that she’d been back for three days before she had even thought to ring him, he’d been righteously pissed! He hadn’t quite handed his notice in, but she is sure it had been a close run thing.
“Well here goes,” she says to the empty room, and picks up the phone in the lounge to call him. “Ben, hi,” she greets him cheerily, though it sounds forced even to her, “I thought we could catch up over lunch,” she offers, “If you’d like to?”
He volunteers to pick her up, and although she doesn’t want to admit that she is still at Logan’s house, she doesn’t have her car so has to accept. “Ok, that’s fine.” Bloody hell! Catherine gives him Logan’s address and ignores the muttered oath that Ben doesn’t even try to smother. “I’ll see you at one, then, bye.”
Going back to Logan’s home office, Catherine sits back down behind his desk and studies the screen of his computer.
“Now then, where did we get to?” she asks, talking to herself. “Yes, that’s it.” She reads an article about a murder that had happened ten years ago – Logan thought it might be connected, reasoning that even if the modus operandi was different the level of violence is a match, and she has to agree. However, they have actually found sixty-three murders committed over the last fifteen years that match the criteria they have set. Sick fucks! They enter all of them onto a spreadsheet, detailing age and sex of victim, injuries sustained, duration of attack, marital status, how many children they had, and whether or not the killer has been apprehended.
Having finished the article, Catherine sits back in the chair and pushes her hands back through her hair. “Jesus...it’s a fucked up world.” When she thinks about all the families affected by the murder of a loved one, she considers herself lucky in a twisted kind of a way. After all, it has just been her, no husband or brothers and sister to worry about – just her.
Diving back into her search, Catherine doesn’t notice the passage of time and starts violently when the doorbell rings. “Christ, is that the time?”
Preparing herself before opening the door, Catherine repeats the words ‘I am calm’ in her head then plasters a greeting smile on her face. “Hi, Ben, I’m all ready, just let me get my bag.”
Ben doesn’t reply at first. “What the hell are you wearing?”
She freezes, having forgotten that she is wearing one of the dresses she bought on her recent shopping trip with Logan. “It’s a bloody dress, Ben,” she spits out defensively. “Women wear them!”
“Not you,” he states matter-of-fact. “So I’m guessing it’s a present from Logan, as you’re near as damn it living with the chap lately.” He sounds petulant and knows it but doesn’t care.
“As it happens I bought it and a few others myself,” she tells him, feeling guilty
because it isn’t the whole truth. “Now, if you’ve finished your critique of my clothing I’ll get my bag and we can go.” Dresses, I should have known!
Ben goes to wait in the car. Catherine is furious with herself for not remembering she is wearing her favourite long yellow summer dress. Now she feels stupid in it and wishes she had her comfortable tops and tracky bottoms. Grabbing up her bag she leaves a note for Logan in case he gets back before she does. Christ, it’s as bad as being married.
Climbing into Ben’s car feels awkward. She doesn’t know why, she’s been in it many times and Ben is a good friend – but it just doesn’t feel right. “So where are we going for lunch?” she asks, trying to sound perky.
“Did you really buy that dress?” is Ben’s only reply.
For fucks sake!
Catherine sighs deeply. “Yes, Ben I did, and if all you’re going to talk about is this fucking dress then you can take me back now!”
But his demeanour suddenly brightens. “Actually, I fancy going to the Horse and Hound,” he states as if she hasn’t spoken, “they’ve got a lovely garden area – we can eat alfresco.”
She doesn’t actually turn to stare at him, but Catherine does eye him warily. “That sounds great,” she frowns, forcing a smile, “it’ll be nice to have a chance to sit out in this lovely weather.” Weird!
Pulling into the car park, Ben finds an empty space not too far from the front. “There we go,” he smiles as they both alight the car. Then he turns to look at Catherine. “You know, that dress really does look nice on you. You should wear them more often.”
Catherine’s inner voice is telling her that he probably wouldn’t think so if he knew that Logan had paid half for it; but decides to keep that her little secret. “Thank you. As it happens I picked up a few more at the same time, so perhaps I will.”
Considering the topic of conversation, Catherine decides that the meal has gone well. “I’m glad you don’t mind handling things for another couple of days; I knew I could rely on you,” and she genuinely feels some of the old warmth of their friendship rekindling.
“Not a problem,” Ben assures her, glad that she feels able to lean on him, “but I do wish you would trust me enough to tell me what the trouble is you’re trying to sort out – perhaps I can help?” Oh, lord, now what.
They are walking back to the car and Catherine tries to refuse his offer of help without hurting his feelings. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, Ben, but if I need you I’ll get in touch.”
“Just make sure you do.” He tells her.
Back at Logan’s house, Catherine realises she can’t get in. Mrs Baines has gone home for the day and Logan is still at work. Glad that Ben has driven straight off, she settles herself on the doorstep to wait, but after half an hour decides to go for a walk in the rear grounds.
At the back of the house, the garden is glorious. Whoever designed this, she thinks while sauntering along a concealed pathway, is a bloody genius.
She finds a small pergola with established plants forming walls and a roof over an arrangement of seating. She sits and thinks about Logan, and about what they have been doing over this last week. He still isn’t convinced that Charles Llwyd, the man she overheard him talking to at Lakelands, is her mother’s murderer. Yes, he has known the man for years and he is, apparently, a happily married man - but so was Peter Sutcliffe, the latter day Jack-The-Ripper, happily married according to his wife, she reasons. It seems that, she hadn’t had a clue what he was up to either. So how could Logan be so sure?
Catherine goes over and over what they have discovered on the internet and their discussions about Llwyd; but it all comes back to that voice.
‘Just watch what this one does,’ he’d taunted Catherine while holding up an instrument that looked like pliers but had some kind of bolt going through the handles joining them. ‘I designed the changes my self – much more efficient now.’ He had taken each of her mother’s fingers, put the pliers around the knuckles and slowly tightened the screw to increase the pressure on the bones. Catherine remembers her mums face, her eyes bloodshot and crying while her screams, stifled by the duct-tape, were still terrible to hear; as was the ugly popping of bone when the pliers finally crushed the knuckle.
How could Logan think she would ever forget a man like that? His voice has haunted her over the years – she can hear it still.
“Catherine,” Logan smiles looking somewhat relieved, “I’ve been searching the house for you.” And so the sun shines in my world again.
“Sorry,” she smiles back, having missed him more than she realised, “locked out.” Catherine explains about lunch with Ben. “He was a bit off at first,” she recalls, “probably annoyed by the fact that I’m still not going into the office; and he has a point.”
Because I’m a selfish cow, only ever thinking about me. Sorry, mum.
“Have you ever considered making him a partner?” Logan asks while taking a seat beside Catherine. She looks shocked and bemused at the suggestion. “I’ll take that as a no,” he chuckles then draws her in for a long tender kiss. “Mmm,” he sighs as their lips reluctantly part, “I’ve been looking forward to doing that all day.” Wow! Don’t stop on my account.
Leaving his arm around her shoulders, Catherine snuggles in. “I...missed you too,” she confesses shyly; then hurriedly changes the subject. “Don’t you have to train to play rugby? I mean, are you not doing things that you normally would because I’m staying here?”
Putting a finger under her chin, Logan draws her face up to look at him and watches her blush prettily. “You are not in the way of anything important,” he assures Catherine, then bends to kiss the tip of her nose. “I spoke to Carl, the team captain, yesterday and explained that I won’t be free for at least a couple of weeks.” She wants to protest, to be unselfish enough to tell him he should go, but the memories of her mum and what that man did to her prevent Catherine.
Logan can see the conflict of emotions play out on Catherine’s unguarded expression. “What we are doing now is more important than rugby, my work or yours,” he tells her gently but firmly. “Part of the reason I had to go in today was to set things up so that they could run without me, for the most part, for at least the next few weeks.”
“I’m so lucky to have you in my corner,” she sighs and moves her head back to lean against his lovely broad shoulder.
“In your corner, in your life,” he tells her simply, “for as long as you’ll have me.” I wish I could believe that. I want to believe...
They take a companionable walk around the garden before heading indoors to resume their task.
“I’ve got a spare front door key hanging in the kitchen,” he tells her once they are inside. “I’ll get it for you now and bring a jug of coffee in – I think we’re going to need it.”
They do. By midnight, the second jug of coffee is gone, their heads are aching but Catherine has found a break at last. “Logan, look at this,” she calls over excitedly.
Leaning in to look over her shoulder, Logan is astounded by what he reads. “Good lord, it could be a mirror image of what happened to your mother,” he gasps. “I wonder if the police have put the two together – it can’t be a coincidence, opposite ends of the country maybe, but it must be the same man!”
Catherine agrees, feeling that at last they are getting somewhere.
We’re closing in, and when we find you I’ll...
The following morning they sit having breakfast together in the conservatory, looking out at another lovely day.
“You should inform the police of what you found last night,” Logan tells her as he watches Catherine nibble on a slice of toast. “Even if they have made the connection, it won’t hurt to let them know you’re still looking for answers.”
“Do you think they even care?” she asks. “It’s not like my mum was anyone important; not to anyone else, anyway.” I miss you so much.
He reaches across and takes her hand. “Your mum was, is, as important
as any other murder victim. No doubt the police have spoken to hundreds of people and followed numerous clues; but you may have made a connection that they haven’t yet.” He gives her hand a squeeze then lets it go.
“Maybe,” she agrees, “I just don’t want to get my hopes up. Finding this other victim could be a huge break, but if they’ve already connected the two its nothing more than another case to add to our growing spreadsheet.”
She is right, he knows, but Logan wants, so much, to wipe the dejection from her eyes and see them sparkle with life again. “Right you are,” he agrees, pushing his chair back to stand, “come on then. Let’s find out instead of sitting here speculating.” He holds out a hand towards Catherine and she takes it reluctantly. “It’s better to know one way or the other,” he assures her as they make their way to the lounge. “If you want privacy I can wait for you back in the conservatory,” he offers, but Catherine is already shaking her head.
“Stay, please,” she tells him, then circles her arms around his waist and just clings on to his strength. “I need you to.”
His arms fold around her lovingly, protectively. “Then I will.” He lays his cheek on the top of her head then lifts it to place a kiss there. “Let’s get this done.” With that, he guides her over to the window chair next to the telephone and she sits down to make the call.
