by Graham Smith
‘Stanton, ma’am. He’s leaving. We’ve only just missed him but we have a chance to catch him if we can find it out.’
‘Find what out?’
Beth looked up from the drawer she was rummaging through. ‘Where his wife is buried. He’s leaving. He still loved her. He’ll have gone to say goodbye. Now please, stop asking questions and help me find something which will tell us where she was buried.’
Seventy-Nine
Beth whipped the wheel over and slid her car to a halt beside a large council van with a low trailer attached to its tow bar. O’Dowd was out the door before Beth had even pulled on the handbrake.
The cemetery was quiet save for the low hum of a mini digger excavating a new grave. When she took a look around the village’s cemetery Beth saw seven people: two council workers, an elderly couple and three people standing by themselves. One of the three was a woman: that left the two men.
Both men were of a similar build to the file description of Stanton and, as both had their backs turned, they didn’t know which one to approach first.
O’Dowd pointed at herself and then Beth as she assigned them each one of the men.
As she walked along the gravel path, Beth was watching O’Dowd’s approach as well as keeping her eye on her own quarry. The closer she got, the more she was preparing herself for action. Should Stanton take flight, as had been proven with the pursuit of Gracie, she’d have to be the one to catch him.
O’Dowd’s roar broke the serenity of the graveyard. ‘Hoy! Come back here you bugger.’
Beth’s body snapped into action by the time her head had twisted to look O’Dowd’s way. Within two seconds, she’d wheeled round and was haring back towards the cemetery’s gate. She knew she ought to take a direct route rather than follow the dog-leg of the gravel path, but she knew that any time she saved going straight at her quarry, would be lost by dodging the heavy headstones and avoiding standing on graves.
O’Dowd chased after Stanton, exhortations for him to stop spilling from her lips as she lumbered along.
When Beth got to the path’s 90-degree corner she made the mistake of not slowing her pace. The gravel crunched beneath her pumping feet, but while it provided plenty of vertical support, it offered up no lateral strength to give her traction.
Her right leg was on the inside of the turn she was making and it was this foot which lost traction first.
She went down hard, rolled over twice and sprang back to her feet ignoring the rip to the knee of her trousers or the gravel rash her hands had picked up as she’d tried to break her fall.
The gate was only twenty yards away and she saw Stanton dash through it a clear ten yards ahead of O’Dowd.
Beth pumped her arms and legs as hard as she’d ever done and got to the gateway at the same time as she heard a car door slam.
Rather than waste time trying to prevent Stanton driving off, she dashed towards her own car.
Eighty
Beth slammed the car down two gears and stood on the brake with all her weight. Beside her O’Dowd was using one hand to hold her phone to her ear and the other to brace herself as Beth threw the car into the corner.
Stanton’s BMW was far more powerful than Beth’s little VW, but on these narrow country roads, its rear-wheel drive was proving a liability on the corners as its tyres struggled for traction under Stanton’s liberal use of its immense power.
It was all Beth could do to keep up with the car ahead, but that was all she had to do. O’Dowd was directing reinforcements to their location, and Stanton would soon find himself hemmed in.
Beth rounded the corner and exited onto a long straight. Ahead of her she could see Stanton’s car bouncing along the uneven road. The corner was strewn with tiny stones where rainwater had crossed from a natural gully at one side to one on the other.
She controlled the understeer and buried her foot to the floor at the earliest moment.
Stanton’s car disappeared round a blind corner.
Beth’s entire focus was on driving. Her thoughts were staccato instructions of what she was doing and what she needed to do.
Change up a gear. Bury her right foot again.
Dodge the pothole.
Scan the hedgerows looking for emerging animals or farm machinery.
Up another gear. Stand on the throttle.
Blind corner approaching. O’Dowd barking requests into her phone for support.
Down two gears.
Brake pedal kicking back. Thank God for ABS. Swing the wheel right, crest the corner as fast as the car can maintain traction.
Disaster. A huge pothole on the inside of the corner. Deep. A wheel wrecker.
No time to stop. Go round or smash a wheel.
Tease the steering wheel left a little. Put two wheels on the grass and aim to miss the edge of the pothole by as little as possible.
Don’t look at where the outside of the corner falls away down to the bottom of a wooded glade.
Success. Eyes ahead again. Feed in the power again.
Assess everything .
See the inevitable crash before it happens.
Stand on the brakes and aim for the gap that’s too small.
Stanton’s BMW was straddling the road. Its front end all smashed in from its collision with a stone wall. As she tried to steer round the back of the stationary car, Beth realised there wasn’t enough room. That her little car would tumble down the glade until stopped by a tree.
She did the only thing she could do and aimed for the back of Stanton’s car. It was the lightest part of the car and therefore would be the softest part to hit.
Even as she braced herself for the impact, she noticed the BMW’s front wheel was smashed. Most likely from a hard impact with the cavernous pothole.
The two cars collided with a thudding crump.
It wasn’t a straight head-on collision for the VW. More a glancing blow. The BMW slowed them but the VW was rebounded away in the direction of the slope.
The roadside grass offered no traction to her brakes.
Beth tried to steer a path back onto the road.
Failed.
The car was almost stopped when its front wheel crossed the edge of the slope.
‘Shiiiit.’ O’Dowd’s screamed curse was one Beth agreed with.
For a moment it balanced on two diagonal wheels until the weight of the engine pulled the car off balance.
As the little VW went into its first roll, Beth realised that instead of trying to fight the inevitable, she should have turned the car so it was facing down the slope after colliding with Stanton’s BMW.
Eighty-One
When Beth came to, she found the inside of the car was filled with the talcum powder used to pack airbags. She had to bat down the airbag from the centre of the steering wheel. The next thing she saw was Stanton looming over the windscreen. He had something in his hand and was swinging it downwards. A determined, desperate look on his face.
Something was off about the scene. It took a moment, but Beth realised the car was on its side. Down and to her left, O’Dowd was moaning.
The already broken windscreen caved under Stanton’s onslaught.
Beth fumbled into her pocket for something she could use to defend herself against Stanton.
Trussed by the seatbelt and hanging sideways, it was a struggle for her to even get her hands into her pockets let alone mount any kind of defence. The lower part of her right arm was a ball of agony and she presumed she’d either broken or sprained it during the crash.
She moved her feet to assess the condition of her legs. While they protested the movement, the pains she felt were minor compared to her right arm.
As her left hand felt for the pepper spray Beth realised she’d not yet replaced the one she’d emptied into Cooper’s face.
Stanton’s fingers grasped the edge of the now-shattered windscreen and hauled it from its rubber mounting. ‘Quick.’ He thrust a hand inside. ‘I can smell petrol, you have to get out.’
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As soon as he mentioned the petrol, it was all Beth could smell.
The urge to thrash her way free was overwhelming, but Beth knew that she’d fall on top of O’Dowd as soon as she released the seatbelt.
She reached a hand downwards and craned her neck over so she could guide her hand.
O’Dowd’s seatbelt sprang free with an audible snap.
The DI gave a series of grumbled curses as Stanton helped her climb through the windscreen.
As soon as O’Dowd was clear, Beth got herself ready for the impact when she released her own seatbelt.
With her right hand out of action and her left needed to unclip the seatbelt, there was no way she could prevent herself falling across the car and slamming into the door. Sure she could brace her legs to try and slow her descent, but that would only have limited effect.
There was one last thing to do before she reached for the seatbelt clasp. Using her left hand to give her right arm extra support, she tucked her right arm below the seatbelt so it wouldn’t snag when she fell.
By the time her fingers found the clasp, she was bathed in sweat from the effort, the agony in her arm and the fear that the car would explode into a fireball at any moment.
Beth pressed the catch and tucked her head into her shoulder as she felt gravity pull her downwards.
There was a thump to her head and her vision blurred, but she didn’t pass out this time.
Stanton was back at the windscreen. ‘Come on. Quick.’ His hands reached through the opening and grasped her right arm.
Beth screamed. She hadn’t experienced pain like that since the bottle was plunged into her cheek.
‘Sorry. Quick, give me your other arm.’
With Stanton’s help, Beth managed to clamber free. Her legs were unsteady as he led her over to where he’d left O’Dowd.
The DI was sitting in an untidy heap with blood pouring from a cut on her head. ‘What happened?’
‘We crashed.’ Beth let Stanton lower her to the ground then looked up at him. ‘Why did you come back for us?’
Stanton’s head shook as sadness overcame his face. ‘Too many people have died because of me. I couldn’t let there be any more deaths.’
Beth levered her way to her feet. Reached for her handcuffs. ‘You know I’m going to have to arrest you, don’t you?’ When Stanton didn’t answer, she pressed on. ‘Howard Stanton, I’m arresting—’
‘No, you’re not.’
Stanton trotted away from Beth, his course leading him back towards the little VW.
Beth lurched after him, but her myriad injuries meant she couldn’t begin to match his pace.
Rather that skirt the VW, as she’d expected him to, he climbed inside and sat on the window of the passenger door.
‘Stay back.’ He lifted his right hand while fishing in his shirt pocket with his left.
Beth kept going until she saw what was in his left hand.
‘No. Howard, listen to me. Don’t do it. There’s always another way.’
The faint wail of an approaching siren sounded in the distance.
Stanton’s head shook as he retrieved a cigarette from the packet and put it to his lips.
‘I’m going to see Karen, Detective.’ A wistful look filled his face. ‘Please, walk away now. I’m going to light this cigarette at the count of three and I don’t want you hurt.’
‘No! Don’t do it. Yes, you’ll go to jail for what you’ve done, but that’s got to be better than dying.’ Despite her words and the horror of what Stanton was about to do, Beth started walking backwards away from her car.
Stanton lifted the lighter so it was in front of his face. ‘One.’
Beth could do nothing but watch, powerless to help. A part of her was saying that having saved her, there was little chance that Stanton would blow himself up when she would get caught by the blast. However, his whole demeanour had changed once he’d got her and O’Dowd free. He’d morphed from being a desperate rescuer into a fatalist.
‘Two.’ Stanton’s thumb rested on the lighter’s wheel.
The approaching sirens were getting louder.
A smile appeared on Stanton’s face. ‘Just you wait there, Karen. I’m coming to join you. Three.’
The lighter sparked and a fireball engulfed Beth’s little VW.
Beth felt a whoosh of warm air and heard Stanton’s agonised screams as he burned.
Blue lights strobed across the leaves of the trees as Beth sank down and put her good arm around her DI.
The gesture wasn’t to give comfort. It was to receive it.
Eighty-Two
Beth lay down her fork then took a sip of her fresh orange juice. Today had been a trying one and if she had a glass of wine she’d only want to drink the whole bottle. Across the table, Ethan smiled at her and she returned the smile. Being around him felt natural to Beth and while she didn’t want to make plans for the future, she was comfortable with the way the relationship was developing.
Her day had started out by attending Derek Forster’s funeral and had progressed through a meeting with Mannequin and a pile of paperwork. To add a further level of sorrow to the day, O’Dowd had informed her and Unthank that Julie Thompson had died peacefully in her sleep.
As tragic as her death was, Thompson would be able to get a level of finality from it.
The case against Stanton had been made with ease. A letter had been tucked into the pouch with his ferry tickets and it had laid everything out for them.
Now the whole sorry affair was over she felt nothing but sadness for all the victims and their families. The victims’ families would get some closure, but Stanton’s family had still lost a loved one, even if he’d been driven to murder.
She’d never forget Stanton’s final letter. It was haunting in its honesty as he bared his soul and admitted his guilt. His handwriting grew erratic as he neared the end and there were splotches on the paper which Beth attributed to teardrops.
To whom it may concern,
I do not blame my wife. I never have. I never will. She was taken in by the seducer Derek Forster. If she’d told me that she’d chosen to sleep with him, I could have found a way to have forgiven her. Could have found a way to get past the hurt and the betrayal.
She didn’t choose though. He chose for her. I don’t believe she was seduced. I believe she was raped. That Derek Forster forced himself on my sweet, gentle Karen against her will.
After what had happened with Harriet, my Karen took her own life rather than hurt me by telling me what he did. That was the cruellest hurt of all. She hid her diary at the back of a drawer. She must have known I’d find it one day.
It was almost a year after her death that I found her diary. I’d thought I was coming to terms with her death. Reading Karen’s diary broke my heart, and if I’m honest with myself, my brain. All I could think of was getting even with the rapist whose seductions had destroyed my wife; my life.
I believed he was responsible for Harriet’s death until my sister called this morning and told me that the Lakeland Ripper had confessed to raping and murdering Harriet.
I wanted Derek Forster to suffer for his actions.
I sent the letter to the chief constable warning that the mayor had killed and raped. I admit that I was the one who planted child pornography on his PC. It shames me to admit to this, but I was the one who killed Felicia Evans and planted evidence with the intention of framing Derek Forster. At the time I killed her, I told myself she was dying and I was easing her suffering. I was a fool. Last night I set Derek Forster’s house on fire. I checked the news. He died in the fire. It was then that I realised what a monster I had become.
I am far worse than Derek Forster. His seduction or rape of my Karen, whichever is the truth, was unforgivable. But I killed the mayor and Felicia Evans through a desire to seek a primal revenge. That is even worse.
I knew what I had to do, so I booked a ticket on the earliest ferry I could, and got ready to reunite myself with Karen. Th
ey say that drowning is an easy way to go. I will know in a few minutes. Wait for me my beautiful darling. I will be with you soon.
To the world, I am sorry. I have done things that were unforgivable and rather than cost the state a fortune to try, and then imprison me, I am going to be with my wife.
The first time she read the letter, Beth had been unable to think of anything but Stanton’s last moments. He’d more than likely saved her and O’Dowd’s lives. Then rather than face imprisonment, he’d gone back to his original plan and had chosen to take his own life.
Instead of the peaceful drowning he’d planned, Stanton had died screaming in agony. It was a terrible death and, along with the sleepless nights Beth had had about the fire at Forster’s house, she’d also had nightmares about what happened on that slope.
Despite all this, she knew she had to push those events from her mind and concentrate on the future.
Ethan took a glug of his beer and leaned out of the way as the waitress removed their empty plates. He rested his hands on his stomach and gave Beth another one of his heart-melting smiles.
The chefs at the Drover’s Rest would never win any culinary prizes, but they were very good at traditional pub grub. Beth’s lasagne had been excellent, and the way Ethan had wolfed down his mixed grill spoke of the quality of the cooking.
Beth had been pleased when Ethan had suggested they dine here again. If he hadn’t, she would have.
As nice as the meal was, she knew she’d never bring Ethan back here though. Neck Kisses had just walked in and had ordered, ‘the usual’.
Now Beth had confirmation her one-time attacker was a regular, she’d be back. Alone and prepared to give off the impression she was single. She’d be friendly with Neck Kisses, have a joke or two and then, when she knew more about him, she’d cash in on the justice that was due to her.
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