You'll Be Sorry

by Emmy Ellis

  Now, at his post beside the cordon, he accepted this would be a long night. His thoughts strayed to whether the Stones had children. He’d seen no evidence of one in their home. No toys, no dummy on the coffee table, nothing. In fact, if they had kids, he’d be surprised. The house was too pristine. Oh, she could have cleaned up after she’d put them to bed, but with no photos anywhere in sight… And that house. How the hell did they afford it on Stone’s pay? Although he was a DI, his wages didn’t amount to the level that large home cost.

  He shrugged. None of his business.

  Ted approached him after talking to Stone. “What did you think of Kerry? Nice woman, isn’t she.”

  “Seems so.” Mark stared at the body, then at Stone walking towards the other uniforms. Mark was certain he’d seen him talking to the corpse before SOCO had turned up.

  “Damn near killed me to tell her the news,” Ted said. “She’s such a…quiet, good woman. I’m a bit nervous at leaving her alone.” He bit a nail. Spat it out. “Though I’m not saying she’d do herself harm or anything like that. No, I reckon she’ll be all right.”

  Ted’s comment unnerved Mark. He was frustrated that he didn’t know the woman better, and thoughts of her unable to cope with the news bugged him. With such a frail disposition, and his suspicions that her husband treated her badly, who knew what could tip a woman like her over the edge?

  “Shall we go back, make sure she’s okay?” Mark asked.

  Ted stared at the dangling body, contemplating. “Um…nah. Best we leave her. Dan knows how she took it. He’ll get back to her as soon as he can.”

  Mark’s intuition told him Stone didn’t give a shit how Kerry took it. As soon as Mark had arrived in Harmondsey and started work at the station, he’d clocked Stone as an arsehole. Though the bloke hid it well, Mark had spotted the signs of a bully right off.

  He frowned. People loved Stone. They fawned over him, almost tripping over themselves to get in his good graces. Why didn’t they see what he did?

  Probably because they haven’t been raised by an arsehole just like him.

  Lucky for Mark, he didn’t interact with the DI much, and he was grateful for that. During the times he did come into contact with him, he gritted his teeth and got on with his job. Stone’s swagger, his shifty eyes, his comments laced with derision, all rasped on Mark’s nerves. If he didn’t love working here so much, he’d transfer again to get away from him. Just hearing him in the station got on his bloody wick.

  He stared after him, annoyance stirring inside him as Stone pointed and issued orders. The uniforms scurried to do his bidding. Stone lit a cigarette and swaggered to his car. He leant his arse on the boot and gazed at the corpse in the distance. A smirk tweaked his lips, and Mark shuddered. What the hell did he have to smirk about?

  Mark remained on guard at the cordon. Other officers left the scene, their interviews with the wharf workers over for the time being. A couple of SOCOs, now on hands and knees, sifted over the ground beneath Sara. He didn’t envy them their job, trying to find something, anything that could lead to the killer. And the fact that Miss Westholm still hung above them, white-clad people inspecting her clothing, her body, picking off lint and whatever else they found…it didn’t seem right.

  Jesus. I hope her family gets some justice.

  As the night made way for morning, slits of murky light sliced through the surrounding trees, and he pondered on the kind of man who committed murder. How did he live with himself? What was he doing now? Sleeping off the previous night’s exertions? Would he switch on the news first thing to check the reports and revel that his handiwork had made it on the telly?

  Sick.

  He’d learnt to read those brought into the station while he stood at the back of the interview room and listened to what they said. Most of them had no remorse, seemingly unaware of the devastation they’d caused, whether it was a murder or theft. They’d wanted to do it, didn’t see why they shouldn’t, and their understanding of their crimes was so far removed from his that he had a hard time comprehending their motives.

  Got to be wrong in the head.

  Stone approached him as fingers of daylight brightened the wharf, and Mark flexed his arms and legs, stiff from standing in one place for so long. The DI didn’t look tired—on the contrary, he appeared so wide awake it was as if he’d had a full night’s sleep—and his clothing remained crisp. Mark stiffened and clasped his hands behind his back.

  “You can get off home now,” Stone said and walked to his car. He lit a cigarette. Once seated, he jabbed a button on the dashboard, and orchestral music filtered through the open window.

  Twunt.

  Mark waited until Stone had driven away, then headed for his patrol car. Ted stood beside it, his head resting on folded arms on the roof. He lifted his face. Bloodshot eyes.

  “Damn tired,” Ted said. “I’ll sleep well today.”

  “Yeah. Come on.” In the car, Mark said, “Back to the station. One of the worst parts of the job, the paperwork.”

  “Shit.” Ted massaged his brow. “Forgot about that. The extended shift isn’t over yet then.”

  “I’m thinking of taking time off. I need the break after…”

  “Yeah, you and me both.”

  Mark fired the engine and drove away, his mind whirling with the dead woman and Mr and Mrs Stone.

  * * * *

  After he’d showered and dressed, still wide awake, Mark went into his kitchen in Gradley. He’d cleaned the previous night, his obsession due to living in squalor as a child. Restless, he switched the kettle in for instant coffee. His stomach soured at the thought of it, and he grabbed his leather jacket, leaving the flat for the coffee shop down the road. He could relax there, and people-watching would give him a chance to think things through. Stone had pissed him off beyond reason, and he needed to sort out why, going back to his childhood once again to relive various scenarios.

  Why I torture myself, I don’t know. Can’t change the past, only learn from it…

  I should learn not to keep returning there, but people like Stone bring it all back.

  In the car park beneath his block of flats, he got in his Jeep, his legs too tired to walk. He rested his head back and stared at the cinder-block walls, his body weary, mind on full alert. He’d stay awake today, sleep tonight—no work later. At least by then he’d be so tired the nightmares wouldn’t visit. He hated them, hated the times he woke in a sweat, the vision of his father still filling his head, the belt, his cowering mother…

  He started the engine and pulled out into the street. He’d park outside the coffee shop and visit the shopping centre first. He needed the distraction. Maybe spending some money would keep his mind away from troubling thoughts.

  In the shopping centre, he chuckled at his weakness of will. Kerry Stone occupied his thoughts. Her sad eyes and puffy face stirred something inside him—a need to protect her, get her away from Stone. But what if she had banged her face while swimming? What if his overactive imagination was at work and he’d picked up on something that didn’t exist?

  The sports shop drew him, and he browsed the various tracksuit bottoms. He could do with a new pair for jogging. A hoody caught his attention. After paying, he wandered around, no direction in mind.

  He felt empty. Lost.

  Chapter Seven

  Kerry woke to the sound of birdcalls. Her eyes itched from crying into the early hours, and a furry residue coated her tongue. Too much coffee. She sat up. Her head spun. The clock read five past six, so she hauled herself out of bed, took the bandage off, and got into the shower. The water startled her fully awake, and as she stepped out of the cubicle, she avoided catching sight of her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t need to see her face to know what it looked like. Dan would have a fit, which always brought to mind the same question: Why hit my face if you don’t like it bruised?

  She dried off and put on a pair of jeans and a black, snug-fitting T-shirt. After running a brush through h
er hair, she slipped her shoes and sunglasses on, picked up her keys and bag. About to leave the house, she stopped, one foot outside, the other in the hallway. She should really leave a note.

  In a bold move, she decided against it.

  Kerry left the house and, in her car, she sat and contemplated the past twenty-four hours. The news of Sara’s death had stirred something other than grief inside her. Prior to meeting Dan, Kerry had always been a strong person—being brought up by parents who hardly noticed her saw to that—so why did she allow him to control her? In the days before Dan, she’d vowed to walk out on any man who hit her after the first time—yet she’d stayed and had lost count of the instances he’d walloped her. Something about him just…prevented her from leaving. Fear, yes, fear played a big part. She’d seen this man in action, knew he’d find her, and when he did, he’d do unthinkable things to her as punishment.

  He hasn’t even started on the hardcore beatings yet, so he said.

  But they would come.

  When Ted and Mark Lendall had left last night, she’d cried for the loss of her bubbly friend, but conversely, she’d gained strength—and a stronger determination to leave.

  To walk away. Hide from him.

  The magnitude of doing such a thing had loomed before her in the darkness of their bedroom, and the early hours had provided her with solace. The air so still, the world so quiet, had given her the chance to think things through. She knew no one who could help her—or who would want to. No one to hide her. No one to believe her.

  He’s perfected the way he presents himself to such an extent that…shit, I wouldn’t believe me if I wasn’t me.

  She switched on the engine, again thought about leaving a note, and dismissed it. She had to make a stand at some point, and today was it. He’d beat her, maybe even go further than he had before, but she’d take what he gave, all the while making plans to secure her freedom.

  A weight lifted from her, and, despite the early hour, she reversed out of the driveway, floored the accelerator, and sped away.

  * * * *

  Kerry drove for what seemed like hours, thinking, thinking, thinking of how she could be free. She could go now, just drive until she found a place. Without a deposit? Yeah, right. If she secured a job, Dan would find her by running her National Insurance number through the database and send out an alert. He’d come and get her, ensure she returned home. Should she sell the car? Of course, it would have to be a cash sale, and she’d make out she didn’t have the papers; the vehicle belonged to Dan.

  Everything belonged to Dan.

  For the past few years she’d been salting money away. Pennies. The majority of her purchases had been on credit cards (Dan liked it that way—he could keep tabs on her spending), but if she withdrew cash for purchases, she had to produce receipts and lay them out on the table for his inspection. A pound here and there made it into an old bank account in her maiden name, but it totalled a pitiful amount. She’d maybe manage to eat for a week on it. She was fucked any way she looked at it.

  It seemed every new avenue that presented itself morphed into a spiteful cul-de-sac, U-turns and reversing the story of her life.

  Kerry pulled out of her thoughts and focused on the road she currently travelled. The real road. She turned off at the next left and, familiar with Gradley, drove towards the shopping centre. This could be her alibi for today. She’d left early to get her shopping done before coming home to cook for Dan. What with Sara’s death, she’d forgotten to leave a note…

  At the centre, she strolled aimlessly, uninterested in buying or doing anything but browse. Nothing caught her attention, and listlessness filled her to the point she searched out the nearest coffee shop and stepped inside. The rich aromas reminded her of the times she’d met Sara here, and a lump of grief stabbed her throat. She swallowed it away, determined to remain strong. She’d cry for her friend once she’d found freedom.

  A latte purchase later, Kerry opted for a low-seater sofa and sank into its comfort. The people surrounding her, did they know how lucky there were? Or were they? Any one of these women could live a life like hers, though no one else had sunglasses on inside. She contemplated which was worse: mental or physical abuse. She suffered both so gained no respite between blows. Bones healed, bruises faded, but the atrocities inflicted on the mind remained. Tiredness swept over her, and before long, she fought to keep her eyes open. She shook her head and rubbed her eyes beneath her sunglasses, wincing at the pain from her cheek.

  One day I’ll go out without these on.

  She leant her head back and closed her eyes. Just for a second, she thought of nothing, but then the turmoil seeped in, oozed, an untreated ulcer, bleeding its infection into every section of her mind. A notepad, that was what she needed. Somewhere to write everything down so she could deal with one thing at a time. But where would she hide it?

  So many roadblocks.

  The seat at the other end of the sofa sagged, and a whoosh of air from whoever had sat gusted up, the smell of leather heavy. She snapped her eyes open, sat straighter, and reached forward for her coffee.

  “Here, let me.”

  The voice—one she knew—gave Kerry the courage to face the speaker. A blue-jeaned, white-T-shirted Lendall shared her sofa. A black leather jacket lay across his lap. She shuffled closer to the sofa arm and took her coffee from his hand—a hand that bore unmanicured nails, bringing her great relief. Would she always have an aversion to men who took care of their hands?

  “Thank you.” Heat crept into her cheeks. She glanced around to check no one she knew from Harmondsey was in here. Then again, Dan had let her know during a discussion once that although she may not know people, people knew her, and he’d find out who she’d spoken to and when.

  ‘I have eyes everywhere, Kerry.’

  She rested her elbow on the sofa arm and cradled her chin in her hand, determined not to allow the officer into her personal space. Too dangerous. The baristas behind the counter suddenly fascinated her, the way they weaved around one another, never spilling a drop of coffee.

  “I love the smell in here, but I don’t think I could work in it,” Lendall said.

  Kerry didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, she stared at the massive menu on the far wall.

  “I’d get sick of it. Reckon it’d put me off coffee for life.” He laughed, an uneasy, hesitant chuckle, and Kerry felt sorry that she couldn’t speak to him.

  Dan wouldn’t like that.

  She continued staring at the wall menu.

  CARAMEL LATTE: 2.99

  “D’you know, I come here when I’m troubled,” he said. “Something about this place helps me put things in perspective.”

  I know what you mean.

  MOCHA (LARGE): 3.49

  “How do you find life in Harmondsey?” he asked.

  I live in that big house you visited. A huge house with no love, scared shitless most of the time.

  He sighed. “I’ve got to talk to you, even if you don’t reply or appear to be listening. You up for that?”

  Yes. She nodded slightly.

  “I’ve got a hard job, as you can imagine. The things I see, notice…”

  VANILLA FROTH: 99p. TODAY ONLY!

  He reached for his cup from the low table. Sipped, and the sound of his swallow… Dan would have commented on that noise, would have said it was disgusting.

  WE NOW DO A RANGE OF ICES!

  CHOCOLATE, VANILLA, MINT CHOC CHIP, HONEYCOMB, TOFFEE, STRAWBERRY.

  LARGE CONE: 1.99

  SMALL CONE: 0.99

  I have to go. I have to go home. I have to get out of here. I can’t be seen with him. I can’t risk Dan finding out. I…have to stop doing the ‘I’ thing. I—

  “One of the men I work with, he’s such a knob,” he said. “But everyone likes him, and I’ve wondered why they can’t see him for what he really is. I’m new, and everyone else has known him a long time, so maybe I need to give it a few weeks before I make a final judgment, but this
bloke’s unreal.”

  Did Dan send you here? Did you follow me?

  BUY ONE GET ONE FREE! BRING YOUR FRIEND AND ENJOY A COFFEE TOGETHER! ALTERNATIVELY, WE’LL REFILL YOUR SECOND CUP WHEN YOU’VE FINISHED THE FIRST!

  “Acts like he’s such a nice man, but I’ve seen him when he thinks no one’s looking. Nasty piece of work. Got this stare on him. I can’t put my finger on what’s wrong, but you mark my words, he’ll slip up one day.”

  You should have stopped talking to me. Now I want to stay here and find out who you mean—or was that the plan you two came up with?

  “Take last night. Dead body turns up, and that man, I watched him. I swear he was talking to it, having a full-blown conversation. Who the fuck would do that?” He sipped, swallowed, sipped, swallowed.

  Oh God. He’s talking about Sara. Got to be. Get up and leave.

  Kerry stood but, instead of exiting, she joined the queue at the counter. “Refill, please.” She handed the barista her cup and glanced to her left.

  Mark Lendall leant forward. His hands dangled between open knees, and he stared at the floor, his brow furrowed.

  Christ. The lengths Dan will go to. Using that bloke there, trying to get me to talk. He must think I’m stupid.

  Maybe I am. Must be; I’m still with him.

  She should have gone to another police station and told them everything, but he’d said he knew too many people in too many places. Hadn’t he proved that the time he’d tracked a psychopath and brought him to justice? Back then, his people-finding skills had amazed her. Now, they were the reason she remained stuck in a god-awful situation with a man who—

  No, she wouldn’t think about the things he did. What was the point? Those thoughts only brought upset, made her feel mental.