Killing The Girl

by Elizabeth Hill

  ‘I still feel that he didn’t, even though I convinced myself that he must have. Or that child. That child was a boy. Schmidt liked girls.’

  ‘You need to stop this now. You’re a bloody lunatic.’

  ‘It seems so wrong, him killing a boy. He never went near boys.’

  Perry turns, and I glance around. His gaze unnerves me.

  ‘What does it matter? Girls, boys, it’s all the same. He liked children. It’s all done and dusted. Schmidt is dead. We’re free. You’re free. You don’t have to worry about this anymore. You’re free of that bloody Frankie.’ His angry words are measured.

  ‘But I was free. I was free when Frankie was alive and when Frankie died. I was already free, Perry.’

  ‘What are you on about? Schmidt killed Frankie. If he didn’t kill Frankie, then you did. I can’t believe anything you say. We’ve been living in hell for years because of this. Because of what Schmidt did, or you did. Frankly, I don’t bloody care anymore – except for my part in this sorry mess. Covering up for you was not the best decision I’ve made.’

  ‘But you didn’t cover up for me, did you?’

  ‘What the fuck is wrong with you, woman? Have you gone insane?’

  He’s angry now. I need to calm him. ‘No … I’m sorry, Perry. Maybe it’s all these drugs I take.’ I pause. ‘This is a huge change for me.

  I have appeased him, but I have planted a seed that tells him I don’t believe Schmidt did it. He could see that the mess Frankie’s body was in must have taken some real force and energy, much more than I had at the time. He has registered my words and no amount of backtracking will stop it growing. He’ll be assessing this. How long am I safe as his wife now? How long before he understands that I’ve worked out who killed Frankie?

  ‘You need to stop thinking about it. Let it go. We have a life together now. Maybe go abroad for a holiday. Matthew knows some great places in France.’ He rubs my leg. ‘And if you feel you need something, counselling or anything … well, we can get you whatever, the best money can buy.’

  ‘Thank you, Perry. You’re so kind to me. You have always been kind to me. Watching over me, protecting me from other men, keeping me locked away in Oaktree House.’

  His head snaps around. ‘Now what are you saying? I never kept you locked away. You kept yourself locked away. It was you who didn’t want to venture out into the world. You who didn’t seek help. Don’t fucking start blaming me for your insanity. I helped you.’

  ‘Oh yes, Perry. You have always helped me. But as my keeper.’

  ‘Your keeper?’

  ‘Yes, my keeper.’

  ‘Right! That’s it! I’ve had enough of this. Pull over now. I’ll call someone to drive me the rest of the way. You need to take some diazepam or something. I’m going to phone your doctor. You’re going into a mental crisis again. You need help, Carol. I’ll get you help.’

  ‘Okay, Perry. I’ll pull into the lay-by on the other side of the lake where there’s plenty of room. I don’t want to make any uncomfortable moves at the moment. Is that okay?’

  ‘Fine. Just calm down.’ He fumbles for his phone but can’t locate it.

  ‘I’m fine, Perry. I couldn’t be happier. For once in my life I’m in control.’ Perry grunts so I continue. ‘Do you want to know why I said Schmidt didn’t kill Frankie?’ He says nothing. ‘I’ll tell you, so you understand my reasoning.’

  ‘Go on then, but watch the road.’

  ‘Well, as we know, Frankie was chopped up … decapitated, and there must have been a lot of blood.’

  ‘Yes, there was.’

  ‘Yes … exactly. You cleared it up. I didn’t see the state of the garden. That always niggled me; the fact that the garden was soaked for days, and not just where Frankie had been lying. So much blood to clean up, and yet I wasn’t covered in blood.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘If I had decapitated Frankie and chopped him up, I would have been soaked in his blood. But I wasn’t. I was seven months’ pregnant, and you never thought it odd at the time.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake! I don’t have a bloody clue what I was thinking at the time. Apart from keeping us out of prison. What does that prove? That I didn’t think about how much blood there was or wasn’t? I was eighteen!’

  ‘It proves you knew I didn’t kill Frankie.’

  ‘You’re mad. You did kill Frankie. You know you did. I’m just humouring you by pretending to agree that Schmidt did. Schmidt just killed the kiddie.’

  ‘I didn’t kill Frankie. He was alive when I left him. Yes, I was responsible for him chopping into his leg. And I abandoned him. But he was alive. I thought he’d bled and died from that wound. But he didn’t, did he?’

  ‘Then Schmidt killed Frankie. He’d reason to, that’s for sure; Frankie was blackmailing him about the kiddies, the paedo thing. He wanted him dead; he’d motive. Anyway, one of you did, and I no longer give a fuck which one of you it was.’

  ‘When you saw the garden, the carnage, you didn’t ask me how I did it. You would have rationalised that a heavily pregnant woman with hardly any blood on her couldn’t have repeatedly lifted an axe and chopped up … um …. But you didn’t need to figure that out because you killed Frankie. If Schmidt had killed him, you would have called the police. There would have been proof. But you didn’t. You let me believe I had killed him because it suited you.’

  Perry is silent. Fear of what he’ll do flows through me. I’m not safe with him. I’m dead if I return to our empty house. He’s planning to kill me now, but I continue.

  ‘And you had a motive.’ Ahead is the lake, where the water laps next to the road. ‘You killed him to stop him from ruining your life.’

  ‘I’m not capable of killing anyone. You know that, Carol.’ His clenched fist betrays the tension in him, white knuckles like a skeleton’s bones.

  ‘Ah, but you are. You killed your brother, too. So you have killed both of your brothers.’

  ‘What! What do you mean, both brothers?’ Perry turns again to look at me. He’s going to hit me or grab me. We have reached the lake road, where there’s no barrier separating us from the water. I estimate we’re a few minutes away from the place in the road where I have decided we will die. I can accelerate if I need to.

  ‘I read Simon’s diary. I also found letters written by your father. Your father was Frankie’s father. He was sleeping with Thora, having an affair. Did you sneak about and watch them, Perry? Did you see them together in Thora’s bed like Simon says you did?’

  The air between us quivers with violent waves of hatred that fill me with dread and resign me to my fate. He has not reacted, for fear of us crashing. Perry will not chance any damage to a single hair on his head.

  ‘Your brother’s diaries told me all I needed to know about you. You liked to torture small animals. Did you get pleasure from that? Or was it, as I suspect, that you felt nothing? You feel nothing for anyone or anything; you have no soul. Was that why Simon was afraid of you? Was that why you drowned him? Or was it because he was going to tell your mother about Thora? And then another brother arrives to interfere with your inheritance. Did Frankie want money from your father? Did he blackmail him?’

  Perry sits in stunned silence, his arm resting on his chest. My knowledge breaks his hold on me. He cannot control me any more now that I know his secrets. But there’s no way he’ll relinquish his power, so he will have to kill me.

  ‘You miserable fucking bitch. I’ll have you committed forever for this. Spreading lies about my family. How dare you. You’re just a common slut from the council estate. A dragged-up madam who dares to put on airs and graces. Stop right now! Stop!’ He throws his arm and smacks the back of his hand into my face. My nose bleeds. I taste metal at the back of my mouth.

  ‘Oh, we’re going home, Perry. We’ve just arrived.’ I press his seat belt release as I floor the accelerator and head off the road into the lake. We fly for a moment, suspended in time until the deep water rushes to m
eet us. In our remaining seconds, I scream, ‘I’ll see you in hell, Perry.’

  Chapter 68

  Monday 19 September 2016

  My psychiatrists insinuate that I’m a victim of others: manipulated by their egos and desires. I’m not sure of that. I have needs of my own; my ego demands its own pleasures. Perhaps I have confused my wants with my needs. Don’t we live in a world with ways to facilitate your choices? Who can say which of us makes the righteous ones?

  This time, my hospital stay is not at Maytree but an ordinary hospital for sane people. Initially I was comatose in the intensive care unit, but now I languish in the hive of activity and never-ending light that is a hospital ward. My spinal cord is intact but compromised. Breaking bones in your neck and spine doesn’t necessarily leave you paralysed. My surgical and ongoing care has been, and is, excellent. It’s as well they do not realise they’re saving the life of a killer.

  Perry is dead, so at least he’ll not be able to break any more of my bones. I should feel something about this – guilt for his murder; grief about his loss. But there’s nothing but relief now the stress of living with him has gone. I will not return to Cleave Farm because it is not my home and will stink of him.

  My consultant asked me why my rib and arm have healing fractures and how I had acquired them. My story about attempting to ride a horse fell apart upon deeper probing. Admitting to being a victim of spousal abuse is like releasing a dirty secret to the world. Your compliance makes you an accomplice and robs you of your dignity. They had records of my broken bones, the bash to my head when I tripped in the garden, and the burns to my hand when I misjudged the pan of boiling water. All this, coupled with the fact that he caused the accident when he lost his temper and hit me in the face. No wonder I lost control and drove into the lake.

  Yesterday, the two sixteen-year-old boys who braved the cold water to save me came to visit. The local newspaper wanted a photo. The dynamic duo are being put forward for bravery awards. One of them was excited, but the other was quiet and barely spoke as he slouched into his hoodie. His shaking hands and nervously tapping foot, along with his reluctance to speak, made me feel sorry for him. Neither had seen a dead body before. To see one that had smashed through a windscreen had been a fascinating horror for them.

  Killing Perry should incite panic attacks in me. But the fact that I am a murderer and have taken a life seems to create no further impact on my mental health. It’s as though I have already spent my life paying for my sins and have completed my penance. Or it may be that morphine, sleeping tablets and anti-depressants have neutralised my guilt receptors. Years of various mind-numbing medications have to bring some positive benefits.

  Today Matthew will take me home. Not to Oaktree House, though, as I cannot physically cope there. He wants me to move in with him. His front sitting room has been converted into a bedroom. My wheelchair can move around the ground floor and out into the garden. The utility room is now a shower room. He has declined my offer to pay for the expense, and I’m a little uneasy as to why he has gone out of his way to accommodate me. That I can communicate with anyone at any time, thanks to the internet and my smartphone, helps to convince me I will be fine there. Without those, I would not move in. There is no way I am going to become a prisoner again.

  The business survived, with Matthew and Louise running things until I regained consciousness. I’ve confirmed them as managers long term. Louise has been a godsend, and I have forgiven her for any designs she may have had on my husband. She’d better not transfer her desire to Matthew.

  Matthew arrives on the dot of visiting hours every day even though they do not keep the timings strict. I must confess my sins to him. Surviving death has made me strong. I appreciate that God, or the devil, has spared me to allow me to atone for my sins before my final goodbye.

  He kisses my cheek and asks how I am before settling onto the chair. As usual, he has brought us giant takeaway lattes and chocolate shortbread. He picks up his cup and salutes, ‘Cheers,’ with a nod of the head before saying, ‘Guess what? Louise and Emily got married last weekend. They kept that a secret didn’t they! Nice that they can make things legal after all these years.’

  ‘Louise and Emily? You mean a joint wedding?’

  ‘Louise and Emily got married. To each other. You look pale. Are you okay?’

  ‘Yes. I’m fine. It’s a bit of a, um, shock. I didn’t know they were … together.’

  ‘You didn’t know? I’m not sure how you could have missed it.’

  ‘I don’t get involved with the staff. I wouldn’t be interested in their, um … relationship.’

  Matthew picks up his coffee, puzzled at my response. ‘Anyway, everything is going well. Nothing bad to report. Your solicitor wants to see you, but I told him you’re not well enough yet.’

  ‘Don’t do that, Matthew.’

  He jumps at my anger and sloshes his drink. ‘Do what?’

  ‘Speak for me. What you should have done is ask him to call my mobile and ask me. I’m fed up with men talking around me, over me, without me, as though I’m invisible.’

  ‘We’re not all like Perry,’ he says, but sees that I’m not convinced. ‘Sorry … I was just looking out for you. I thought –’

  ‘But you don’t have to think, do you? If I’m too unwell to deal with Hamilton, I can tell him myself and arrange things myself. And yes, you’re doing what Perry did – and guess what happened to him.’

  Matthew looks around to see if anyone has heard me. ‘That’s not funny, Carol.’

  ‘It wasn’t meant to be. He started small, you know. He didn’t wade in, guns blazing, in the beginning, or he would have frightened me off. You know Perry abused me, and you were appalled when I told you the full extent of it, yet here you are at the thin edge of the wedge, doing the same thing.’

  ‘That’s unfair. I’m taking care of you, saving you the stress of things.’

  He’s offended, but I don’t care. I’m no longer in the mood for pussyfooting around. ‘I know you have good intentions but what you are doing is taking my power and control away. That was fine when I was in a coma, but it’s not the case now. If we are to live together, you must stop “taking care” of my life for me.’ Before he replies, I add, ‘I have something important to tell you before I move into your home. You may change your mind when you hear it.’ My coffee is hot, but I sip it anyway while I drum up the courage. ‘Perry and I killed Frankie.’

  ‘What?’ He puts his shortbread back on the paper serviette on the bedside chest.

  ‘And I killed Perry.’

  His head snaps around to look at me. ‘Are you feeling all right? You are pale. Shall I call a nurse?’

  ‘I’m fine. I needed to tell you. I couldn’t hold onto it any longer. Perry and I shared our secret all this time, and now he’s dead there’s no one to …’ Shrugging, I pick up my shortbread and eat. Matthew watches me; his foot taps nervously on the floor as he considers what to say.

  ‘Schmidt killed Frankie. The police had plenty of evidence, and he’d be convicted if he’d lived.’ His look is challenging, as though he dares me to contradict him. ‘Are you saying the pair of you killed the boy as well?’

  He’s sitting so far forward on his chair that I think he may slip off.

  ‘No. Perry killed the boy. I have evidence. Schmidt liked girls. He would never touch a boy.’

  Matthew sits back, repulsed, and his arm knocks his coffee, but it doesn’t fall. ‘Let’s not talk about this here. Wait until you get home.’

  ‘You don’t mind taking in a killer?’

  ‘You’re not a killer. You’re just mixed up. Your skull has a tiny fracture, and they warned that you might have memory loss. You need to forget these strange thoughts and rest.’

  ‘Will you tell my doctor?’

  ‘No.’ His reply is quick, although I know he suspects some truth in my confession.

  ‘Are you sure you want me to move in?’

  ‘Of course I do. You c
an’t move into Oaktree on your own.’

  ‘I have enough money to hire nurses, whoever I need.’

  ‘It’s not the same. You need to feel safe. You need someone to take proper care of you. Have you read the dreadful newspaper stories? Carers stealing money, leaving the disabled sitting in their excrement, starving? Anyway, you’ll still have nursing care, but under my supervision.’

  I don’t argue the point. He takes my hand and strokes it just as my consultant arrives to cast a judgmental eye over our affectionate behaviour. He will think I deserved Perry’s abuse as I’m a flirt, and that a firm hand is therefore needed to keep me in line. He’ll have no problem discharging me.

  The girl inside has settled down in her box and rests peacefully.

  Chapter 69

  Friday, 21 October 2016

  Perry’s estate is proving problematic as his will doesn’t leave everything to me. Hamilton is arranging for the trust to buy a big part of his land so that his other benefactors, and the taxman, can have their cut. We will obtain it cheaply, as the trust owns many access roads and a stream that cuts through Perry’s land. This restricts or denies access to any potential new owner and makes the property worthless. I do not want the land sold for housing, so have told Hamilton to do whatever is necessary. I need a different solicitor to deal with my inheritance as it conflicts with the trust.

  The business has to close, since it is not a viable proposition, for the same reasons of access. The business is not free to cross my land. Afterwards, though, I will start it up again and employ the same people to do the same as they were doing. It’s a shame to see it go to waste. I’ve offered an experienced organic farmer the manager’s role, and Emily will run the lavender side again. Unfortunately for Matthew, the yurt business has died a death through my lack of interest. He’s strangely uninterested in it himself and didn’t push for his investment cash back. Nevertheless, I’ve refunded him.