by Susan Elle
“You’ve been hacking into police records,” he frowns, his face now full of concern, “do you have any idea of the trouble you could get in if they even suspect that’s what you’ve been doing?”
She waves his concern aside. “I’m not stupid, I’m careful not to leave traces – there is no way they can trace any activity back to me. In fact, I’m damn sure they have no idea anyone has been looking through their records; I wrote the program I use to get in and out myself.”
Logan still looks concerned, but smiles resignedly. “Well, I hope whatever you found is worth the risks you took?”
Sitting back in her chair, Catherine looks pleased with herself. “I went back twenty-five years,” she begins, finishing her coffee and placing the cup back on the table, “and I looked for any kind of injury that would take some kind of implement to inflict.” Sitting forward in her seat again, her eyes take on a brilliant blue light of excitement. “I found loads; young boys with their knuckles crushed, or their nails pulled out or some kind of heated needle pushed up underneath them.” She watches Logan grimace. “I know; there were some seriously gruesome injuries depicted with photographic documentation. I swear, Logan, some of those photos could have been of my mum’s injuries. They were carbon copies,” she finishes, waiting expectantly for his opinion.
“So, you’re thinking these could be practice attacks prior to moving on to actual murder?” he asks, then continues when she nods. “And you found the first sign of this type of injury when?”
“Twenty-three years back,” she smiles then her eyes take on a determined gleam. “They started out in a small cluster,” she states then watches as the penny begins to drop for Logan. “Glywyth in Wales, which ties right in with the Welsh accent my mother’s murderer had,” her chin lifts defiantly, triumphantly, “and the Welsh accent that your friend, Mr Charles Llwyd, still has to this day.”
They watch each other in silence, Catherine leaning over to the coffee filter jug to top up both their cups. Picking hers up she says, “So...no comments?”
Picking his cup up, Logan drinks thoughtfully before putting it back down on the table. “Actually, I think this might be an opportune moment to bring you up to date with my own findings,” he tells Catherine and watches her expression shift to one of suspicion. “I’ve been doing a bit of deep digging of my own,” he states cautiously. “As you know, I’ve had dealings with Charles for quite a number of years, as has Arthur Kingsley.” Catherine nods her agreement. “I checked back in my own records to see if we were dealing with Charles around the time of both murders. It turned out that we were not, but when I checked with Arthur he told me that he was dealing with Charles just after the time when Harriet Leavesden was murdered.”
“But that doesn’t tell us anything,” Catherine states hotly, annoyed that her findings are being so easily dismissed.
“No, you’re right,” Logan holds up a hand of peace, “but the reason Arthur dealt with Charles after the date when Harriet Leavesden was murdered is because Charles was out of the country. He flew back three days after her death, having been in Australia for almost a month.” Logan watches the effects of his words on Catherine, first abject disbelief then reluctant contemplation as she tries to put the jigsaw of facts together to form a different picture.
“I was so sure...,” her head shaking slowly as if in denial, “...I mean, you have to admit, the coincidence is hard to believe.”
“I do agree, the coincidence is staggering,” Logan reaches across to take Catherine’s hand again, “but the facts are undeniable and concrete.” Watching her eyes close on a heavy sigh, Logan is loath to add to her misery. “Catherine, I have something else I need to discuss with you,” he tells her gently then waits until her eyes open to regard him. “It has nothing to do with the murders,” he tells her quickly then gives her hand a squeeze and takes a bracing breath. “I’ve found your father,” he informs her bluntly.
Shooting to her feet Catherine snatches her hand out of his and stares daggers into Logan. “What the fuck do you mean, you’ve found my father?”
“I didn’t mean to look,” Logan begins uncertainly, “but I found myself wondering. You have grown up thinking you have no one. You’ve clawed your way to the top of a very competitive business and have never had anyone to share that success with. No one to say well done, I’m proud of you.” He sighs deeply when she remains stiff and unmoving. “Catherine, if I’d found out he is a waster, a user, then I’d never have told you about him –“
She cuts him off abruptly. “I beg your pardon!” It isn’t a question, but a rebuke spoken so deathly quiet that an icy chill hangs in the air between them.
“I just meant...I know how reluctant you’ve been to know anything about your father; if I’d come across something hurtful then naturally I’d have spared you that.” Logan knows he is digging a hole for himself and no matter what he says Catherine will bury him in it if he isn’t careful.
“So, you get to know all my darkest secrets,” Catherine sneers down at Logan, her face a picture of utter contempt, “and then you get to decide just what you’ll let me know. What you think is good for me,” her voice remains quiet but the ice in it is freezing fast.
“That isn’t what I meant at all.” Logan stands his impressive height and build not intimidating Catherine at all. “You’re twisting what I said and deliberately misunderstanding my intent.” His hands rise then fall in front of him, “All I want is to protect your feelings.”
“You trampled all over them the minute you went behind my back.” Catherine turns, striding angrily towards the conservatory door.
“You have a sister,” Logan shoots out, stopping Catherine dead in her tracks. When she turns back to face him all colour has gone from her cheeks. “You have a sister,” he repeats more softly, “her name is Caroline Thornton and she will be twenty-six on the fifteenth of July.”
Catherine feels light-headed and reaches out a hand to the back of a chair to steady her. “A sister...,” she frowns, her mind whirling, “...a twin sister?”
“Yes,” Logan confirms, wanting to go to her but knowing Catherine will not allow it.
Pulling the chair out from the table Catherine slumps down onto it. “That’s enough,” she breathes trying desperately to pull herself together, and when she thinks she has, Catherine looks up at Logan her blue eyes cold as steel. “Not another word,” she tells him and gets slowly to her feet. “If you care for me at all you won’t talk of this ever again – not to me and certainly not to anyone else.” How could you...I never would have believed...I trusted you.
It isn’t a request, Logan knows, and it tears at him to see the pain he has caused her. “If that’s what you want,” he nods watching her leave the conservatory without speaking another word.
Logan has settled himself in the lounge with a book. He decides to give Catherine the time and space she needs to assimilate all the information he has given her. And it is there that Catherine finds him less than an hour later.
“Now tell me Charles Llwyd had nothing to do with my mum’s murder!” Catherine thrusts a sheet of A4 under Logan’s nose, her stance hard and unforgiving.
Logan takes the paper and reads the details on it with utter amazement. “Where on earth did you get this?” He is looking up at Catherine in shocked horror when comprehension dawns. “Oh god, Catherine, tell me you didn’t hack into Somerset House?”
“Ok then, I didn’t hack into Somerset House.” Her face is impassive, her attitude unrelenting. “Look at the birthplace listed for Charles Llwyd – you can’t seriously expect me to believe that is a coincidence?” Not on your fucking life.
Logan sighs heavily, turning his gaze back to the sheet of paper he still holds. “No, Catherine, I don’t. The fact that he was born and raised in Glywyth can’t be dismissed as coincidence, but it doesn’t alter the fact that he was on the other side of the planet when Harriet Leavesden was murdered.”
Catherine turns, walks over to the firepl
ace and places her hands on the mantelpiece to lean there. “I’m so bloody angry I can’t think straight, but there has to be a connection – I just have to find it,” she states more to herself than to Logan.
Getting up he moves across the room to stand behind her. Putting gentle hands on her shoulders, he turns her to face him. “I’m sorry that you’re angry, and to know that I’m the cause of it, but I promise you, Catherine, hurting you is the last thing I intended.”
Her lips tremble as she fights back the tears. “I trusted you and you went behind my back anyway.” The heat might have left her voice but it is thick with the hurt that is tearing at her insides. “Now, I just don’t know how I feel.” A tear escapes her troubled eyes; Catherine does not notice, but Logan does and bends to kiss it away.
Putting his arms around Catherine, he draws her in and is relieved when she doesn’t pull away. “I love you so much, I just wanted to give you what I’ve always had – a parent’s love and pride; I never dreamed I’d find a sibling.” He hugs her tighter and is delighted to feel her snuggle into him. “Don’t shut me out, Catherine,” he pleads softly, “I want to help you find the connection to Llwyd.”
Catherine notes his referral to ‘Llwyd’ instead of Charles and the hardening of his tone. “So you do believe me?” she asks with cautious optimism, shutting out all mention of her estranged family.
“I believe there has to be more to this than meets the eye,” he confirms, and taking her face between his hands kisses her tenderly.
Chapter Eight
It has been a week since Catherine contacted Inspector Harper with her new findings and she is growing more and more frustrated. “How can they believe it’s not him?” she asks Logan for the hundredth time. “I gave them enough proof to hang the man – he was born in Glywyth, he still had relatives living in the area when the torture assaults on young boys and youths occurred,” she raises her eyes and hands to the heavens in a hopeless plea, “and I know it was his voice.” For fucks sake, will someone just listen to me?
Logan watches as Catherine continues pacing the lounge. “I can’t even imagine how you must be feeling,” he leans forward in his chair and catches hold of her hand when she makes to stride past him again, “but I do know that we need to get out for a while. We’re both going stir-crazy, locking ourselves away in my office spending hours on the computers reading about the most horrific and gruesome crimes against humanity.” Logan tugs on her hand until she sits on his lap then leans back in the armchair taking Catherine with him.
Enfolded in Logan’s strong arms Catherine can almost believe that she really is safe from harm; but that voice is not only haunting her dreams, it haunts her every waking moment. “He’s out there,” she states softly, “and he’s waiting for me.”
Later that day, Logan virtually drags Catherine kicking and screaming to buy a new gown for Arthur Kingsley’s retirement party.
“I still don’t see why I can’t wear the one I wore last time. It’s practically brand new, I’ve only worn it once and it cost a bloody fortune,” Catherine states emphatically.
“I’ve already told you,” Logan repeats calmly for the umpteenth time, “it isn’t the 'done' thing. A lot of the people who were at Robert’s party will be at Arthur’s and, as lovely as you looked in it, you can’t appear in the same gown.”
“Don’t see why not,” Catherine states obstinately, and stands resolutely unmoving outside the boutique that Logan had brought her to previously, “all that etiquette stuff you’re talking about, it’s just another word for snobbery and stuffed shirts. The people who follow it probably have more money than sense, if you ask me!” Not that anyone is or I wouldn’t bloody be here!
“Mmm,” Logan considers Catherine until she shifts uncomfortably.
“What? What?” she repeats when Logan just continues to study her.
“Mmm,” is all he eventually says again and begins moving to circle her.
“Will you stop with the ‘mmm’ shit,” Catherine snaps out, and then begins to turn with him as he attempts to step around her. “What the fuck – Logan you are freaking me out!”
“I have just the dress in mind,” he smiles eventually. “I thought about buying it for you the last time we were here; if it’s still on the rack we’ll call it fate.”
With that, Logan opens the shop door and steps inside waiting for Catherine to follow. Bloody buggering hell!
“You are not buying me anything,” she growls at him under her breath as the same sales assistant walks towards them as served them the last time.
She gives them a welcoming smile, and asks if there is anything in particular that she can help them with.
“No...” Catherine begins, but is overruled by Logan’s swift interruption and the winning smile he gives to the sales woman.
“Yes, actually – the last time we were in you had a beautiful pewter coloured gown with a cowl neck and very simple lines,” he explains, ignoring the deepening frown on Catherine’s face, “do you still have it?”
The sales woman’s face beams. “I know just the one, and you’re lucky, we do still have it.” Then she leads the way up the stairs to the first floor.
“Why lucky, aren’t there any other idiots out there willing to spend an arm and a leg...” Catherine breaks off and stops in front of a manikin dressed in the pewter evening gown. Her jaw has dropped and when she eventually finds her voice again she says, “You’ve got to be kidding, right?” But when she looks from Logan to the sales clerk and back again she sees that they aren’t.
The sales clerk turns to Logan, and with a nod of approval tells him, “I remember the dress size, I’ll just go and get it for you.”
“Well, you had me fooled,” she sniggers, “a cross-dresser, eh? Just remember the rules, you have to show me once you’ve got it on...then I’ll tell you honestly if it suits you.”
She is laughing now, and Logan’s cheeks pink up despite himself. “For that you get to try on a few others I’ve got my eye on,” he tells her, and enjoys watching her squirm at the thought. “Now behave yourself or I’ll make you try on the whole lot.”
“As if,” Catherine chokes out as the sales woman comes back, but she looks nervously over at Logan all the same.
“If you’d like to come with me,” the sales woman holds out a hand to indicate the changing room, “I’ve also brought you the correct underwear for the dress.”
Catherine’s eyes goggle. “The dress has its own underwear...?” Bloody hell!
Smiling her understanding, and remembering Catherine’s inexperience with clothing of the feminine kind, the sales woman explains. “The underwear is designed not to have a negative impact on the lines of this type of dress. It would be a shame to spoil something so lovely with ugly lines and bulges.” As they move towards the dressing room she continues, “I was wondering about the underwear I picked out for you on your previous visit – is it to your liking?”
“It certainly is,” Logan chimes in, and receives a back handed slap to his stomach for his trouble. Letting out a groan and a chuckle, he sits down to wait.
When the sales woman emerges, Logan points out a couple of other gowns that he likes the look of and smiles his thanks when she goes off to get them. “Logan...” he hears his name shrieked from the changing rooms, “...are you completely off your fucking rocker? Have you even seen the price tag on this thing?” Catherine asks as she walks towards him wearing the gown.
His expression is one of stunned pride. “Whatever it is...,” he stands up gaping at her, “...it’s worth every penny.”
She gives him an ‘oh yeah’ smile, and then blushes when she realises that he means it. “You...you like it?” she asks hesitantly.
His warm brown eyes have melted at the site of her, moving down then up her body taking in every beautiful inch of her. “Like is too mundane a word,” he tells her quietly, moving forward slowly. “You are beautiful, and the dress is amazing...but together,” he breathes a sigh and shakes
his head, “...you look stunning.”
The sales woman stands to one side, the other dresses Logan has asked to see draped carefully over her arms. He follows Catherine’s eyes as they move to regard the woman, and gives an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to have put you to the trouble, but we won’t be needing those,” and turning back to Catherine, touches her cheek tenderly, “this one is absolutely perfect.”
They don’t notice the sales woman leave or hear her utter, “Quite so,” as she makes to return the unwanted gowns.
Joining her at the till after Catherine has changed back into her own clothes, the sales woman looks a little bit uncertain. She has packed the gown and underwear carefully in a box and put it on the counter ready for them, but which one, she asks herself, will be paying for it?
Catherine laughs as she correctly guesses the reason for the sales woman’s poorly hidden consternation. “It’s ok,” she looks at the badge the woman is wearing, “Selma – is it ok for me to call you that?” and Selma nods with a warm smile. “Ok Selma, well, we already struck a bargain,” and looking back as Logan approaches Catherine lets out another laugh. “I’m giving Logan here a dose of his own medicine, and in return he gets to pay for my dress.”
“His own medicine...?” Selma asks tentatively, looking from one to the other.
Logan steps up with his credit card in hand. “What Catherine means is...,”
“What I mean is...,” she interrupts excitedly, “...I, me, moi...,” she laughs prodding herself in the chest, “get to take him shopping for a change, and I can’t wait.”
Even Selma allows herself a quiet laugh. “I’m sorry, sir,” she apologises to Logan as she takes the proffered credit card.
“Not to worry, Selma,” and makes the woman stand tall with pride at the use of her name, “Catherine is insisting she be allowed to buy me a new suit for the function we’ll be attending in a couple of weeks – when I’ve already told her that I own a million of the damn things.” An exaggeration maybe, he thinks, but not by much.
