You'll Be Sorry

by Emmy Ellis

Still watching her.

  She’d become used to his behaviour. At first, she’d found his silent stare endearing, then disconcerting, and now fucking creepy. It seemed he never tired of watching her, almost as though she was a suspect in one of his cases.

  She uncorked the wine and carried it and the glasses to the island. God forbid she poured it without letting it breathe first. A second black eye wasn’t on her agenda today. Her cheek had swelled to twice its usual size, the skin beneath her eye the colour of a ripe plum. Her latest pair of sunglasses—large lenses—would hide it well when she visited The China Cabin in the morning for a replacement cup.

  “You’ll need to buy another cup tomorrow.”

  Bastard always knows what I’m thinking.

  “I will.” She took a seat beside him, picked up her fork, and stabbed a twirl of pasta.

  Surprised that her stomach rumbled, she ate while staring out at the patio. Moonlight cast a silver sheen on the swimming pool’s surface, and with a jolt she realised she hadn’t swum her usual lengths today. He’d told her she had to do it so she didn’t put on any weight. That was why she wasn’t allowed children.

  She’d let her dinner settle then go for a swim—if Dan allowed it at this time of night.

  His fork jabbed into the back of her hand. Kerry squealed and jumped up, and her own fork clattered onto her plate. She clutched her injured hand to her chest and looked at him for confirmation as to what she’d done wrong.

  “You. Didn’t. Microwave. My. Meal. Darling.”

  Her legs weakened. How could she have forgotten to do that? Blood seeped through her fingers, but she didn’t glance at her hand, didn’t dare to. Her gaze remained on him.

  He shoved his stool back, and it teetered then toppled to the floor on its side, the heavy seat cracking a tile straight down the middle. His eyes widened, only to narrow into slits. He slammed the fork on his plate.

  “And you’ll have to ring someone to replace that tile. Won’t you?”

  He walked towards her, his face contorted from rage, pulled his arm back, and—

  His phone rang. Dan lowered his fist, glared at her for a few seconds.

  Presenting his back to her, he barked into his mobile, “Yes? What, now? Okay. Give me five.” He shoved his phone in his pocket then rushed at Kerry, gripping her chin with hard, unrelenting fingers. “Lucky for you I have to go out. Lucky for you some dead fuck will be taking up the rest of my time instead of you.” He flung her face away from him. “And lucky for you, I expect I’ll be out all night, so you can sleep soundly.”

  He pushed her against the island. The edge dug into her scalded back, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out. He traced a line from her knee to mid-thigh and slid his fingers beneath the hem of her negligee. His hand rose.

  “Someone forgot to shave, too.” He stepped back as though repulsed. “Kerry, when will you learn to do as I say?” He backed away from her to the kitchen doorway and made his fingers resemble a gun. “Boom!”

  He left the room, his ribald laughter an eerie reminder of how much she hated him.

  The front door slammed. She tiptoed to the living room window and hid behind the beige curtains, peering out to make sure he’d really gone. He got into his car and reversed in a shower of gravel. His taillights dimmed to red pinpricks in the distance, and only then did she release her held breath.

  Back in the kitchen, she examined the tile. The zigzag crack resembled her road of life, darting in uneven directions.

  Who’d have ever thought I’d have ended up like this?

  Dan had stopped her seeing her parents and former friends. She had no one but him. No one to turn to. Her mum and dad were probably glad to be rid of her anyway.

  She walked over to the sink and turned on the cold tap. Cool water trickled over the four stab holes and cleaned away the blood, eased the throb a bit. Thankfully, he’d missed the bones. Even if he hadn’t, he’d have expected her to carry on, business as usual.

  The wounds clean, she patted them with some kitchen roll and wound a bandage around her hand. Once done, she busied herself covering the food plates and put them in the fridge. Waste not, want not, as Dan always said. Ironic, when her love was wasted on him and she’d wanted his so badly back then.

  Not any longer.

  With the kitchen clean yet again, she stripped and walked out onto the patio, the slabs warm in spite of the time. The night air bathed her skin, and she stepped to the edge of the pool and wished she could dive in, crack her head open on the bottom, and drown. Sadly, the human desire for survival still swirled inside her—and possibly the desire to get away from Dan, outwitting him, too—and she jumped in and swam her fifty lengths.

  Refreshed, she stood at the shallow end and, resting the back of her head on the ledge, let herself float to the surface. She closed her eyes. The bark of a distant dog filtered from somewhere farther down the lane—Mr Franks’ wolfhound if she wasn’t mistaken.

  The doorbell chimed. She climbed the steps to get out. The bell pealed again, and after grabbing a towelling dressing gown from the nearby pool house and wrapping it around her, she padded to the front door. The bandage on her hand was sodden. Uncomfortable. Peering through the peephole, she frowned at the sight of Ted Dowling and another copper on the other side.

  Had Dan had an accident on the way to work?

  No, she wasn’t that lucky.

  She turned the handle and swung the door open. “Ted! Lovely to see you.”

  His frown deepened, and he scowled at her. “Your face. Are you all right?”

  “Oh, that. I banged it earlier while swimming. You know, slipped and smacked my face on the edge of the pool. That’s why I was swimming tonight. Catching up on what I missed after I had my accident. Silly me.” She paused for breath. “Anyway, what brings you here?”

  The dark-haired officer narrowed his eyes. “What about your hand?”

  She hid the bandaged one behind her back. “Burnt it while cooking.”

  Ted straightened and adopted his professional stance. “May we come in?”

  His sombre tone gladdened her a bit. Did she dare to hope Dan had died?

  “Of course.” She stepped back and opened the door farther.

  Ted and the other man walked past her and into the living room. She joined them there, amazed at how uncomfortable Ted looked wringing his hands. She was used to seeing him sprawled out on her black sofa, enjoying a football game on the telly. He stood in the centre, legs a foot apart.

  “Please,” she said and gestured to the sofa. “Sit down.”

  Ted did as she’d asked and pulled his notepad and stubby pencil from his shirt pocket. The other officer moved to the window.

  “Kerry, this is Mark Lendall.”

  Kerry smiled at him, sat at the other end of the sofa, and placed her shaking hands in her lap.

  Ted said, “You know a woman called Sara Westholm, yes?”

  Kerry cocked her head. “Yes. I think I told you about her once. She’s my friend.”

  “Yes, I said that to DI Hicks. That’s why we’re here.” Ted cleared his throat. “When was the last time you saw her?”

  Without hesitation, she said, “Today. We met at the coffee shop in Gradley around two o’clock.” She’d picked the next town over so they didn’t bump into Dan. So he didn’t join them and spoil things.

  He scribbled something in his notebook. “What time did you leave her?”

  She scrunched her brow in thought. “Oh, three-thirty, three forty-five, something like that. Why?”

  “And do you know what her plans had been for this evening?”

  “No, but Dan said he saw her tonight at that Italian restaurant in Holland Square. You know the one, Brassio’s.” Her heart thrummed painfully. “Why all these questions?”

  Ted stuck the pencil behind his ear and gripped his notebook with both hands. “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, Kerry, but Sara’s been murdered.”

  The room seeme
d to spin. Kerry slapped a palm to her chest, and her breath stuck in her throat. She closed her eyes, Ted’s last words roaming through her head. She couldn’t process the information, didn’t want to believe it, didn’t understand how…

  A hand rubbed her back, and she jumped, snapped her eyes open. Officer Lendall sat beside her, tracing circles on her spine. Ted stood and walked to the window, looked out.

  “Do you have anyone who you can call to sit with you?” Lendall asked, his eyes full of concern. “I don’t like to leave you like this.”

  She shook her head. “No, just my husband. Dan…he was called out…Sara’s my only friend…I-I…”

  Lendall tilted his head. “Would you like me to stay with you until your husband comes home?”

  Kerry shook her head. She needed to be alone. “No. No, I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

  “Can I get you something to drink before we leave?” he asked.

  She shook her head again, tears burning. It was strange to have someone who seemed to care. “No.” She looked at him. “I-I don’t want to keep you, and I…making a drink will help me come to terms with…” She blinked.

  “If you’re sure.” Lendall stood.

  Ted turned from the window. His face appeared to have aged since he’d walked in. “I’ll let Dan know you’re alone. Maybe he can come home.”

  “No!” she said a little too quickly. “No. I promise I’ll be okay.”

  Lendall latched his gaze on to her bandaged hand and shook his head.

  Chapter Five

  Dan arrived at the scene, the fat bitch’s body still in situ. It hung limp, her tongue bloated and black, and a livid bruise ringed her neck.

  I’d have liked to have wrung her neck but couldn’t bear to touch her manky skin.

  He snorted and gained the attention of milling uniformed officers. He snorted again—nosy bastards—and approached the body, pleased with his handiwork. Joe Hicks stood in front of Sara and jotted notes. Upon Dan’s arrival next to him, he stuffed his notebook in his inside suit pocket and puffed out a breath.

  “How the fuck did she manage to get up there?” Dan asked.

  “She didn’t.” Joe shook his head. “Some bastard put her there.”

  “Must have only been an hour or so ago because I saw this woman in Brassio’s earlier. Gave her a lift as far as the main road, too.”

  Joe frowned and gaped at Dan. “What the hell did she want to be dropped off at the main road for?”

  Dan gave a rueful smile. “Said she’d planned on starting an exercise regime. Wanted to walk the rest of the way. Weird that, because before I offered her a lift, she said she had a taxi waiting outside ready to take her.” Dan held his hand up to his mouth, rubbed his stubbled chin. “Though she did mention meeting some bloke for dinner.” Let Joe think a boyfriend offed her. “She bought a takeaway. Two portions of meatballs.”

  That, at least, was true.

  Joe’s frown deepened, and he looked down at the woman’s bags. “Hmm. Ted said Kerry knew her.”

  Dan nodded. “Yes, she was her friend.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah, shit. This is going to hit my wife hard.”

  Joe’s attention returned to the body. To the ghastly copper hair, the gross tongue, the ring of obesity around her wrist, the bulging eyes. “I sent Ted and his partner to tell her. You must have passed one another on the road.”

  Dan shoved his hands in his pockets. “Good call.”

  Joe yawned.

  “Didn’t you sleep much today?” Dan asked.

  “No.”

  “Want to go back to the station?”

  Dark shadows circled Joe’s eyes, and deep creases lined the sides of his mouth. “Would love to, but I’ve got to wait for SOCO.”

  “I’ll do it.” Dan stared at Sara and held back a smirk.

  “Are you sure?” The lines by Joe’s mouth smoothed a bit.

  “Yeah. Bugger off.” Dan clapped him on the back.

  “Cheers.”

  Joe walked away, his gait that of a tired man. Dan waited until his friend had driven off then told two lurking uniforms they could wait down by the wall with the others until SOCO arrived. They smiled and immediately produced packets of cigarettes, holding them up for his approval.

  “Yeah, go and smoke, but make sure you do it on the other side of the crime tape, and don’t flick the ash or leave the filters on the ground.”

  Dan fancied a fag himself, but he’d wait. He turned back to Sara and mused on how Kerry would take the news. She’d have to make a new friend now—hopefully one he approved of, or even better, she wouldn’t make any at all. She’d be so upset she’d probably need his support. If his plan worked out, she’d want him like she used to, before things had gone to shit.

  “You know, Sara, you got too close to my wife, see. Could have tainted her view of me further. Right now, there’s a chance she’ll go back to how she was, but with you still on the scene, I doubted that very much. So you had to go.”

  A stiff breeze shunted her body sideways, and she appeared to nod.

  “So glad you understand.” He chuckled and walked around her. “I’ll tell you a secret. I was a kid born on the wrong side of the blanket, slung up by a single mum alongside three brothers, all of us with different fathers.” In front of Sara again, he stared at her bloodshot eyes. “Shocked you, did I? I told myself I’d become someone worth being. Someone people looked up to. I managed that all right. You looked up to me, didn’t you? And to think you thought I was flirting with you. What a fucking joke.”

  He peered towards the officers in the distance. Grey clouds of smoke puffed into the air and dissipated the higher they sailed. Another breeze ruffled his hair, and a uniform raised his hand at Dan. He raised his back and spun round to Sara once more.

  “Did you see that, you fat fuck? See the way that bloke raised his hand to me, eh? People see me as a professional—it’s amazing what you can do when you set your mind on something—and Kerry proved no different, falling for my charm hook, line, and fucking sinker. A bit like you did.”

  Sara’s eyes seemed to bulge even more.

  Dan scuffed his foot along the ground, heedless of regulations regarding scene contamination. “Make a pact with Dan Stone, and it stands for life. Mess with Dan Stone, and you pay dearly. Do you hear what I’m saying?” He laughed and disguised it as a cough.

  “You know, my mum relied on heroin and splayed her legs for any punter who approached her at night on the corner of our street. Dirty slag.”

  On a roll now, he continued his one-sided conversation. “Kerry said I’ve changed. I didn’t change, she did, but we’ll get back to how we were. She became mine the day that wedding ring went on her finger, and she’ll stay that way.”

  A sound gurgled from Sara’s mouth. Escaping gas.

  “What’s that? Did you say divorce? Not likely. Kerry’s mine for life.” He resisted the urge to tear Sara down and wrench her limbs from her body. “Ah, life is strange sometimes, isn’t it? You learnt a good motto too late: Don’t mess with Dan Stone.” He gazed back at the police officers. A white van pulled up and parked in front of the crime scene tape. Officers climbed out and conversed with the uniforms. Dan quickly turned to Sara.

  “Standing here talking to you isn’t making my mood any brighter.”

  Footsteps sounded on the gritty ground. Dan swivelled, lifted a hand to the approaching SOCOs in their white outfits, and quickly said, “Now you’re dead, I’ve got my wife all to myself.”

  He smiled and swallowed a surge of laughter threatening to erupt. “Our conversation is at an end,” he said, his voice low. “Sleep well, you ugly, redheaded bitch.”

  * * * *

  Dan left SOCO to it and made his way towards the small crowd of uniforms. Ted had come back from telling Kerry and stood alone, his arse resting on the wall’s edge, his gaze on the ground. Grey hair peppered his temples, and his skin had wrinkled radically these past few months. A middle-aged spread pro
truded over his waistband, and Dan contemplated telling him he needed to get to the fucking gym pretty sharpish, the flabby prat.

  Ted looked up. “What a tragedy.” He shook his head. “I’ll never get used to seeing them. Been on the force a long time, as you know, yet every fresh one is like the first. They get to me every time.”

  Dan sighed inwardly. Ted gave too much of a shit sometimes. “I know, I know. Listen, Joe said you went to see Kerry for me.” He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The nicotine rush joined the heady buzz already floating through his veins.

  “Yeah.” Ted frowned.

  “Good man. Damn shame it was her friend.”

  “Yeah.” Ted pushed off the wall. “I reckon it’ll take Kerry a while to get over this.”

  “It will.”

  “She was distraught. Said it was the only friend she had.”

  The comment annoyed Dan. He sucked hard on his cigarette. “The only female friend, yes. She’s still got me.”

  “Good job she has. She’ll need you over the next few weeks.” Ted stared at the wharf in the distance.

  Silence descended. Dan took in the activity down the way. A luxury yacht drew up to the platform, and workers converged upon it, unloading boxes and suitcases. He squinted to better see a figure emerge on deck. A man. Tall, broad, looked like he kept himself fit.

  Damn rich bastard.

  “I take it our lot are down there asking the usual questions?” Dan said.

  Ted’s gaze remained to his right. “Yeah. Reckon they’ll be done soon. Those men are busy, and the wharf’s too far away for anyone to have seen anything much.”

  “Hmm.”

  Movement up ahead brought several uniforms into view.

  “Looks like they’re coming back now,” Ted said.

  “I’ll see if they’ve heard anything.” Dan strolled towards them, sure he’d covered all bases.

  Chapter Six

  As Mark had driven back to the crime scene, his mind was on Kerry Stone. Something wasn’t right with her, despite her just being told of her friend’s murder. He knew a frightened woman when he saw one, and Dan Stone’s wife was one of them. Her flinch at his touch confirmed it, as did her swollen face, blackened eye, and that bandage. She’d said she had nobody…so who else but her husband could have smacked her one? Her tale of banging her face…he’d seen through that right away, and he shook his head at Ted accepting her explanation without a murmur.