Retribution (Sebastian Trilogy Book 3)

by Rosen, Janey

  “May I please see DI Chambers? I understand he’s based in this police station.”

  “Is he expecting you?” he asks, smiling kindly.

  “Not exactly,” I tell him. “But he gave me his card and said I could get in touch with him any time.” I push the creased business card across the desk, beneath the protective screen separating us. He regards it closely but shakes his head. He tells me that he thinks the senior officer is out but puts through a call to his support staff; DI Chambers is indeed away for the rest of the day. Damn. Having built up the courage to come, I’m loath to delay what I have set out to do this afternoon. As I deliberate my options, a door is unlocked to my left and a uniformed officer appears, asking if he may help me in his superior’s absence. It’s not ideal, but I accept his invitation to follow him to a private interview room.

  Officer 2973 Craig Waters, ‘Drip’ to his colleagues he tells me with a hint of mirth, is an amiable young man. It may be that I’m getting older but police officers look so young to me these days. As do doctors. He leaves momentarily to fetch me a cup of coffee, having gratefully accepted his offer. The room is miniscule and depressing. I can understand why people confess to crimes in here, merely to escape the confines of this little cell. The only furniture comprises the table at which I am sitting, two black plastic chairs, a grey metal filing cabinet and a small corner table on which a wilted potted plant sits dejectedly. In the centre of the table is bolted a voice recording machine and a CCTV camera blinks from the ceiling to my right.

  “Here you go, Mrs. Dove.” He places the mug on the pre-stained pine table and places a yellow folder in front of him, resting back on his chair with a leg folded across his knee. “I’ve got your file here. I see DI Chambers has been dealing with you so it’s probably better if he speaks to you next week. He’s on leave for a few days after today. Unless it’s urgent?”

  “It is urgent. Yes.” Fiddling with my watch, a present from Sebastian, my longing for him increases but my intention is clear in my mind. Scarlett is going to be exposed as the murdering manipulator she is. “I want to file a Temporary Restraining Order against someone and I want to do it today.”

  Sitting forward on his plastic chair now, his eyes lock with mine. He can’t fail to notice the hard determination evident in my expression. “I see. Do you believe your life to be in danger?” He takes a pen and small notebook from the breast pocket of his short-sleeved uniform shirt and opens the page, scribbling something that I can’t see.

  “I believe a woman has repeatedly drugged or poisoned me with the intent to kill me.” His expression remains unreadable as he continues making notes. “Furthermore, I believe that the same woman is responsible for the deaths of my husband and son.” Breathe, Beth.

  “Uh-huh.” He doesn’t look up from his notebook. “Would you please explain why you think this is so?”

  “It’s in my notes.” I sigh, a little exasperated at the thought of trying to explain the entire story once more and certain that DI Chambers would have recorded Ruth’s telephone call in addition to his visit to my home and our conversation. PC Waters excuses himself and—tucking the folder under his arm—leaves me alone once more so that he can telephone DI Chambers and collect the necessary forms. A gentle vibration in my bag alerts me to a text message. Hoping that it’s Sebastian, I hurriedly retrieve it.

  Hey sweet cheeks where are you? X

  Ruth. I should have left a note for her. No wonder she’s worried.

  Be back soon. Think there’s some champers left. Crack open a bottle, I need a drink! X

  I slip my phone back in my bag, resisting the temptation to text Sebastian. My thoughts turn to Bella, hoping she’s having a wonderful time in town with her friends, anxious that she’s safe and mostly wondering where the years have gone. Joe would have grown into such a handsome young man. He’d have turned eighteen one day, causing me the same worry as my daughter, although it’s easier with boys—not the same sort of worries. He’d have gone to university, built a career and had a family of his own.

  The cold fury builds in me with the contemplation of what Scarlett has taken. She has snatched not only the life of my son but of his sons. Their sons. Their grandchildren. Fuck. All the generations she has deprived this world of, and for what? To satisfy her own deranged need to gain the love of a man. My man. Glancing at the palms of my hands, the droplets of blood surprise me. I didn’t realise that I had been clenching my fists with such ferocity that my nails had cut my own flesh. Taking a tissue from my bag, I dab at the small wounds, relishing the pain; sometimes pain feels good. Pain is what I need to make me feel better. Explain that to the psychiatrist, Beth, you fruit loop.

  The door opens and PC ‘Drip’ returns, his stride more purposeful. He casts me a smile that tells me he no longer thinks I’m crazy. “Okay, Mrs. Dove. I’ve spoken with DI Chambers and he’s in agreement that you proceed with the Temporary Restraining Order. He’s also asked that our medic take some blood samples once you’ve signed the papers. Is that okay?” Nodding my acceptance, we set to work going through the forms together.

  The on-call doctor arrives at five o’clock, nearly two hours after the call is put through for him to attend and take my blood sample. After several texts to and from Ruth, I’m sure there will be little champagne left for me by the time I get home. I badly need a drink. The doctor is friendly enough, dutifully taking two vials of blood and completing his forms. He tells me the results will be phoned through to me as soon as they are available, and they won’t go through my own doctor.

  As he picks up his leather attaché case, he turns me and asks, “I just need to check, are you on any medication at the moment?” I can’t lie, but it will be recorded in my notes that I’m on anti-depressants. Of course, I haven’t actually taken a single one.

  “Yes. I take anti-depressants. I have them here.” The doctor takes the packet from me and writes down the dose and name of the tablets. “Will they show in my blood?” My cheeks flush with guilt.

  “They will, yes. It’s a full toxicology screen,” he replies before departing with a curt nod.

  PC ‘Drip’ shakes my hand firmly at the door. “We’ll be in touch, Mrs. Dove, as soon as we have any news. The boss is liaising with the police where Scarlett lived previously so we should have a fuller profile of the young lady shortly.” He extends a hand and grasps mine firmly.

  “Thank you so very much for listening…for believing me.”

  “It’s my job, Mrs. Dove. Don’t mention it. You take care now, okay? You need to call us if she makes any attempt to contact you or come near you. The TRO will be processed this evening so it’s as good as done.”

  ***

  Ruth pours champagne for us both and chats light-heartedly about Bella and her friends. My daughter called during the drive home: she sounded drunk but very happy. The maternal worry has set in. It’s a cool, early summer evening, almost cool enough for the central heating. English summers generally live up to expectations of being unpredictable and today is no exception. Cuddled under a fleece blanket with Ruth, sipping champagne with my best friend and knowing that the wheels have been set in motion to bring about the demise of Scarlett and the restoration of my relationship, I feel a sense of peace that has eluded me for a very long time.

  “What have you done, Beth?” Ruth could always read me like a book. She has her legs extended over my lap and is trying to steal the blanket. “You seem different. Spill the beans.”

  “I did it, Ruth. I went to the police and filed the restraining order against Scarlett.”

  Ruth spits a mouthful of champagne over the blanket, her eyes wide in disbelief. “You did what? Without me?” She reaches for the near empty bottle and tops up her glass before putting the bottle to her lips and draining the last drops. “Fucking hell, Beth. You do realise all hell is going to break loose now, don’t you?” She shakes her head in admonishment and drains her glass, as do I.

  “Yes, sorry.” My cheeks flush. “I would hav
e asked you to come but it was a rather last minute decision. When Sebastian left me, it just felt like my only option to save us. She has to leave if he wants me back, Ruth. Under the terms of the order, she can’t be in the same place as me. I’m not sure how to tell him, though. He’s going to be furious initially so it’s going to require tact and timing.”

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Beth? He could view it as malicious.”

  “I’m sure. I’m doing this for Joe and Alan too, and for Bella. Please trust me. I know I’ve done some crazy things in my life but this is the right thing to do. I have to right the mistakes I’ve made and this is the first step.”

  Ruth leans forward and embraces me tightly. “Don’t be hard on yourself, Beth. Yes, you’ve made some mistakes—some howlers—but the accident wasn’t your fault. Anyway, whatever you do, know that your best friend and partner in crime is right alongside you.” The first seeds of doubt sprout forth in my mind. If Sebastian does view this as a malevolent act, it could be the end of our relationship, but then we’re screwed if I don’t do something; Scarlett will never leave willingly. Sebastian said he would evict her, but then she gets away with murder. No. I have done the right thing, as time will tell.

  Sleep evades me in spite of the champagne. I can’t switch off until I know Bella is home safely. She sent a text message at midnight to say they were having a ball and going to a third nightclub. The clock beside me glows 2:45 and still she’s not home. I tell myself not to worry, with distant memories of my own eighteenth birthday and the worry I caused my parents. Still, I feel restless. The mobile phone display is blank, just the time and date blinking at me. I tap out a message to Sebastian.

  Hi darling. I miss you. Can’t sleep ’til Bella’s home xxx

  Hitting the ‘send’ button, I can visualise him in bed, his messy hair flopping slightly over one eye, dark shadowed jaw relaxed and his powerful legs on top of the white linen. He always gets so hot in bed. Hell! He is hot in bed. Letting the phone drop onto the duvet, my fingers travel to my wet folds, circling my throbbing clit in a rhythmic, quickening effort to quench my sexual need for him. The mobile phone vibrates beside me. Sebastian. With my available hand, I answer the call, my breathing laboured, climax so deliciously close.

  “Sebastian,” I rasp, maintaining the steady rubbing, my pussy so wet that my fingers glide and slip over my pulsing nub.

  “Elizabeth. What are you doing awake at this hour? You need your rest.” The deep, sleepy growl of his voice intensifies my arousal still further. All I can do is breathe into the phone like a pervert. “What are you doing?” His words hang expectantly.

  “Touching myself…thinking of you.”

  His breath catches. I hear the rustle of sheets and his breathing quickens. “Is that so? Well, well, my naughty girl. Describe precisely what you are doing.” I suspect that he is doing the same. He moans into the phone and commands, “Tell me.”

  My back arches as I slide one, then two fingers deep into my soaking channel. “Finger fucking myself,” I purr. “I wish it was your cock. Need you. So much.” Orgasm is moments away, I can feel it building. Just one more flick of my clit and I will be lost.

  “Fuck,” he pants. “I’m. Stroking. My. Cock. Fuck. So hard for you. I’m oozing, baby.” His words are my undoing. The orgasm wracks my body from my core. The fire sweeps through me, crying out his name as the tremors persist. As I become aware of him once more, he rasps, “Good girl. Oh. Fuck. Here it comes,” and he shouts my name as he finds his own release.

  “Sebastian, I miss you.” My whispered words are barely audible over his laboured breathing. “I love you and want to be with you.”

  “Soon, darling. We’ll be together soon.” His voice is husky. In my mind I visualise his arm around my shoulders, my head on his chest, listening as his thudding heart settles. “I talked to Scarlett today.”

  “And? When is she leaving?”

  “She’s trying to find somewhere, Elizabeth. She’s job hunting. I saw her looking online. You’ll be back where you belong shortly, with me at Penmorrow.”

  “Yes,” I whisper. “Where I belong.”

  We talk for another few minutes, until his voice grows sleepy and he cuts the call. Soon afterwards, I hear a taxi pull up and then the bang of the front door, followed by the unsteady footsteps of my daughter. Sleep claims me. Bella is home, all is well.

  ***

  Bored at home, after too much time moping around, Ruth convinces me to go to work. I’ve missed my colleagues and my little office. It feels good to have a sense of purpose once more but a little disheartening that our business runs so well without me. Everyone is so warm and eager to stop by my office to say hello. Ruth has done an outstanding job of running the business in my long absence. We are exceeding our financial projections; Sebastian will no doubt be delighted that his investment is returning a handsome uplift. Ruth emails him the management accounts each month and he can’t fail to be impressed though he rarely mentions it. Glossy brochures on my desk await my attention this morning. New offices have just been released in town; we have long since outgrown the current offices so a move is much needed. Sipping a mug of coffee, I flick through the brochures when my mobile phone rings. “Elizabeth Dove speaking.”

  “Mrs. Dove, good morning. DI Chambers here. Is it a good time to talk?”

  “Yes, yes of course,” I stammer, his call taking me by surprise. “Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting your call. I thought you were on leave?”

  “I am on leave but I wanted to speak to you. We’ve got some news, actually. Some rather disturbing news.”

  Chapter 13

  Chewing the end of a pen impatiently, I await the news wishing DI Chambers would spit it out, whatever it is. “Go on please,” I urge.

  “The blood results have come back from the lab. Perfectly normal, just shows fluoxetine which of course corresponds to the anti-depressants you are taking.”

  “I see.” Oh my God. The enormity of this statement hits me squarely in the stomach and knocks the breath from my lungs. I’m aware that I’m gasping for air and can hear the officer saying my name over and over yet I can’t speak. Scarlett was lacing my food. There is no other explanation for how the drug is in my blood. I haven’t swallowed a single tablet knowingly. What do I do? Think, Beth. Think.

  “Mrs. Dove, whatever is the matter?” His tone is insistent. If I can’t talk to him, trust him, who can I trust?

  Taking a deep breath at last, my voice is calm. “I didn’t take the medication. I have never taken a single tablet prescribed for me by the psychiatrist.”

  There is silence as he considers what I have just told him. When he speaks, confusion is evident in his voice. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” he says gruffly. “You told me, and the police physician, that you have been taking anti-depressants. Are you saying you lied?”

  “Yes,” I murmur shamefully. “I’m afraid I did.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “Because everyone wanted me to take the pills. Nobody believed that I wasn’t going mad. I had no choice.”

  “I think perhaps we should talk face-to-face. Where are you?” he asks. Having given him the address of my office, he tells me he will be here within the hour. I am in so much trouble.

  How do you get yourself in these situations? I ask myself. Think. I have to think. Now he knows the truth, the police will arrest Scarlett, search her room at Penmorrow, and uncover a secret stash of pills. I wonder where she is getting them. Perhaps she has a black market supplier. Maybe she has been prescribed them herself. Or is using up an old supply of Libby’s. So many questions still unanswered, so much explaining to do.

  Someone softly knocks on my office door. “Come in,” I call.

  The young pretty secretary who was sent to us by an agency this morning to cover illness, peers around the door. “Sorry to disturb you, Beth. There’s a gentleman here to see you. A policeman called DI Chambers.”

  “Show him in, Sandra.
And make some coffee, please.” My mouth is dry, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. Nerves. I must calm down. “Thank you for coming.” I shake DI Chambers’s large abrasive hand and indicate for him to sit on the worn sofa, swivelling my executive leather chair around to face him. This puts me higher than he, giving me the advantage of power according to interview techniques. “I’m sorry to eat into your valuable time off.”

  “Quite all right, Mrs. Dove.” He smiles, placing the familiar yellow folder beside him.

  “Elizabeth. Beth. Please.”

  “Beth. Very good. Now then, you say you haven’t been taking any of the medication prescribed for you?”

  “No. That’s correct. I wanted to appease my family and friends, let them believe I was getting better by taking the pills. But, deep down, I knew that Scarlett was drugging me somehow. The hallucinations, the paranoia—it was made worse after she prepared food or drink for me, you see.” He makes notes in a worn blue notebook. Sandra taps lightly on the door and enters without waiting for a response, placing a tray of coffee cups and a plate of chocolate biscuits on my desk. I thank her and she leaves, closing the door behind her. “Please help yourself.” I indicate to the refreshments. DI Chambers takes a cup and biscuit, munching noisily as crumbs litter his lap.

  “So,” I continue. “I thought that, by coming back to Dorset and away from her, it would prove what she had done. If my head cleared and the symptoms disappeared, when I knew I wasn’t taking the medication, then that would evidence her guilt.”

  He shoves the last morsel of biscuit in his mouth and reaches for another. “May I?” he asks, the biscuit in his mouth before I can answer.

  “Please do.” I smile. “The fact that the anti-depressant has been found in my blood should be evidence enough for you to take this seriously.” Leaning forward in my chair, my eyes lock on his, my expression imploring and urgent.