by Ricki Thomas
Elaine placed her hand gently over Paul’s, he continued to speak, his expression fraught. “Well, she found Maud, my great granny, first, and Maud took to us both, I was still a baby, straight away, but when Mum was introduced to Julia, well, Julia wanted nothing to do with her.” Elaine’s face softened as she clutched his hand sympathetically. “When Maud was put into this home, I remember the date well, the fourteenth of July two thousand and seven, well, Mum and I had no idea where she had gone. For all we knew, she could be dead. But now, I am so pleased, because after such a long search, I have finally found her again.” His voice cracked with emotion, a rogue tear wandering down his cheek was hastily wiped away.
Elaine felt torn, she felt desperately sorry for this gentle man, he seemed genuine, but she needed to find a way of verifying his story. Maud’s illness was so advanced she couldn’t tell day from night, she wouldn’t be able to help. Paul interrupted her dilemma. “Look, all you have to do is check the date she was admitted, that will prove I am who I say I am, won’t it? Well, as good as, anyway.”
Her snap decision made, Elaine relented: she felt she had no right to keep the two people apart. “Hold on then, if the date’s right, then I’ll let you visit her, but keep a low profile because I’ll be in big trouble if this gets out. Fourteenth of July last year, you say?”
Paul rushed into the stiflingly warm room, held his arms out wide, and ran towards Maud. “Oh, Granny, my dear Granny, I have missed you so much. It’s Paul, Granny, it’s me, I’ve missed you so.” Paul hugged the old lady, who sat awkwardly in her bedside chair, gently. Elaine was certain she saw the twitches of a smile on Maud’s lips, so she relaxed her guard, closing the door quietly behind her. That was her good deed done for the day.
Katie leant over the bucket in the blackness of her prison, she carefully lowered her face to the water, sucking on the saturated gag until her thirst was quenched. She had no idea how long it had been since Paul left, realistically it may only have been five minutes, but it seemed a lot longer than that. Gauging a sense of time with most of her senses dulled was impossible.
Katie wondered if anybody back home had noticed her missing yet. Before they’d taken the train journey, she knew Paul had imprisoned her for over a week, but now she had completely lost track of time. All she knew for certain now was that Paul had told her he would come back, and that he planned something with her on the thirty first of May, something to do with a duty. Even though Paul was her captor, Katie found it difficult to hate the good-looking man: perhaps she even felt wretched for him that he had this mental disorder, whatever it was. Maybe when he had finished with her, maybe he would let her help him, get him fixed or something.
Her stomach growled and the pain shifted through her abdomen. She was starving, and the water didn’t satisfy her hunger at all. Katie felt lonely and cold, and, unaware that her own mind was lapping towards Stockholm Syndrome, she wanted Paul to return soon. He may not talk much, but at least he was company, and no one had ever shown such care towards her before.
Whenever he heard footsteps in the corridor outside Maud’s room, he would talk cheerily, as if he were updating her on his latest accomplishments, but as soon as the steps dissipated, his stories halted. The innocent, yet vacant and gnarled woman sat, oblivious to his hateful stare. Her bony fingers were clenched unknowingly into fists, her head lopped to one side, her eyes were unseeing. Maud’s legs, propped on a low footstool, were unmoving, but her mouth churned periodically, a dribble of saliva seeping over her chin. Footsteps echoed on the stairs, methodically clipping towards the room, Paul launched into an animated story again.
“You just wouldn’t believe it, Granny, I was so pleased when …” The footsteps stopped and the door handle creaked. “Oh Granny, you’ve done it again.”
Elaine entered, her heart leapt at the sight of the lovely young man wiping Maud’s mouth with a tissue. He adores her, she thought to herself. “Mr, er …”
Paul flinched convincingly. “Joyce. Paul Joyce.”
“I’m sorry, Mr Joyce, but it’s really time you went, now. Mrs Anton will be here soon, she comes every Saturday.”
Sighing, Paul rose, he stooped towards Maud, his lips brushing her cheek lightly, and stepped towards the door. He forced a tear to his eye, which Elaine noticed as planned. “I have to thank you, so, so much. Will you let me come back and visit my dear Granny again?” He was laying this on too thickly, but Elaine fell for his lies with ease.
She smiled widely and chuckled. “I think that would make Maud’s day. Not until Monday, though, I’m off tomorrow.”
“Are you working Tuesday?” Elaine nodded in reply. “Then let me come Tuesday, I have an engagement Monday, so if I come Tuesday, I can spend more time with her.” Her agreeable smile signed Maud Blessing’s death warrant.
Tuesday 27th May
She felt so, so weary, not through lack of sleep, but starvation. Her body had ceased to crave food, the gnawing pains long gone with acceptance of her fate. Her listlessness smothered her, her mind no longer caring if she live or die. Katie wished Paul would come back, she needed him: his presence would stop this numbness.
Lethargically, Katie dipped her head into the bucket. There was scarcely any water left, and her lips pushed forward, probing for the liquid in the darkness through the damp gag. Finally the material saturated, and her tongue lapped gently at the stale water. She swallowed painfully. Barely satiated, Katie’s final surge of strength abated, she felt herself falling once more into a deep slumber. Her tense face relaxed as her body succumbed to the ebbing sleepiness, cooling as her nose settled into the water. She choked lightly, her throat gurgling soundlessly, and the blackness around her darkened. A feeble spasm rippled through her body. Katie drew her final watery breath, and the loneliness was gone.
Elaine had been surprised at how excited she was when she had arrived for her shift that morning. Mr Joyce, or should she be familiar and call him Paul, well, he was coming to see Maud again. They hadn’t arranged a time, so Elaine busied herself with mundane chores, unsuccessfully trying not to think about his kind face, his slim, dare she say it, sexy body.
A man in his mid eighties, one of the newer residents, wandered into the hallway, his gentle face vague as he roamed aimlessly. Observing his frail body, it was difficult for Elaine to believe that Albert Cheeseman had been a Sergeant Major in World War II, he was now in the middling stages of Alzheimers. Elaine enjoyed that sweet stage, with most of the residents, anyway. Some were confused and had a tendency to violence when frustrated, but most, like Mr Cheeseman, were like children, in awe of their surroundings, pleasant, and wondrous.
Elaine stepped out from behind the reception desk and hurried towards Mr Cheeseman. “Albert, dear, where do you think you’re going?” She laid her arm loosely on his shoulders and took his hand, tenderly guiding him towards the day room. “Come on, dear, you mustn’t be wondering around on your own, must you? Let’s sit you back down.” Albert smiled appreciatively, and made no objection to being steered back in the direction he had come from. The main door squeaked open, Elaine glanced over her shoulder, and her heart flipped when she spotted Paul. He smiled, sending a deep fluttering through her stomach.
“Be with you in a minute, Mr Joyce,” she grinned, her heart now racing, “I’ll just settle Mr Cheeseman in the day room.”
Paul put his holdall on the floor and mindlessly perused the notice board until Elaine returned. They exchanged a few pleasantries, and she led him through the maze of corridors, and up the stairs, finally reaching Maud’s room. Opening the door, she stood aside to let him in.
“How long can I stay?” Paul’s cold eyes were settled on the old lady, Elaine failing to notice the unusual sense of urgency in his voice.
She glanced needlessly at her watch. “I’m here until six this evening, after the dinner shift. As long as you’re gone before, I don’t know, five forty-five when Sarah gets in to take over, well, you can stay until then.”
“Per
fect. That’s plenty of time.” The coldness abated as his face crinkled into a smile.
Desperate to continue the conversation, but with no more words to say, Elaine turned to leave. Suddenly she stopped, an excuse found. “Oh, she has lunch at twelve, and dinner at four thirty. Would you like me to sit with you?” Hopeful.
Paul patted the holdall. “Oh, she won’t need meals today, I’ve brought some treats for her, we’ll have our meals alone, if that’s okay?”
This wasn’t going to plan. Elaine struggled for another reason to spend time with him. “Um, I should warn you, Mr Joyce, but it’s quite difficult with Maud now, she finds swallowing difficult, it’s a bit like feeding a baby, I guess.” Being childless, it was a true supposition, but a correct one all the same.
Paul was starting to feel agitated, his manner became abrupt. “It’s okay, I spoke to Mum, she’s a nurse, she advised me what food to bring. We’ll be fine.” He glanced over his shoulder at Maud. “Won’t we, Granny.”
Resigned in defeat, Elaine stepped out and closed the door behind her. “Damn!”
Paul wasted no time. He waited until Elaine’s footsteps dissipated, and strolled across the small room towards the frail lady, who sat, as she had three days previously, in her bedside chair. He placed Katie Joyce’s sports bag on the bed, unzipped it, and lifted out a couple of cans of diet cola, some fruit, some crisps, and a bar of milk chocolate, placing them on the bedside table, followed by a small length of rope. Next, he pulled out a carrier bag, unfolded it, and retrieved two small vials of liquid, and two syringes from inside.
Just as he had done for Katie before their journey to Peasenhall, he filled one of the syringes with a mixture from the vials, and, once it was full, did the same with the second syringe. Paul opened the drawer of the bedside cabinet, slipping both syringes inside, and re-wrapped the vials, returning them to the holdall. He took the bag from the bed, and dropped it onto the floor.
Paul smiled, he paused for a moment to listen for any disturbances, but the silence eased him, and he continued with his plans. Leaning across the bed, he lifted the blanket, pulling it towards the end of the bed, exposing the fresh cotton sheets. Placing his hands underneath Maud’s arms, he dragged her awkwardly onto the bed, straining to lift her gnarled body. He laid her gently against the headboard, the pillows sinking lightly with the weight of her head as it lopped to one side. A dribble of spittle ran down her chin. He didn’t wipe it away, he didn’t have an audience this time.
As quietly as possible, Paul dragged the still warm chair towards the door, he hooked the back under the handle, and tried the door. It wouldn’t budge: he rubbed his hands together, relieved to be able to stop worrying about interruptions.
Settling himself softly on the side of the bed, Paul rolled the sleeve of Maud’s flannelette nightdress as high as it would go, he opened the bedside drawer and removed one of the syringes. Having once been a blood donor, Paul knew roughly how to locate a vein on the inside of the elbow, and he tied a tourniquet at the top of her arm with the rope. He squeezed Maud’s hand into a fist repeatedly until her veins bulged expectantly, finally inserting the needle through her papery skin. The syringe empty, he took the second one and dispensed it into her blood stream.
Paul pressed lightly on the tiny puncture mark until it stopped bleeding, and wiped the area with a tissue, rolling the nightdress sleeve back into place. During the entire operation, Maud had made no sound, and no physical objection. She just stared, her unseeing eyes wide open, unable to defend herself even if she’d realised she was being murdered.
Paul took the spent syringes and replaced them in the carrier bag, along with the vials. He stuffed the bag back into the holdall, took the food from the bedside table and placed it on top, arranging it neatly to conceal the carrier bag. In hindsight, he retrieved a can of cola, cracking it open and taking a large gulp to quench his thirst.
“From now on I will call you Julia. You will die today, of poisoning, just as Julia Bradnum did exactly fifty-six years ago. She didn’t have Alzheimers but, like her, you are eighty-five. You were placed on this earth, dear Julia, for me to fulfil my duties to God, and now it is just a matter of time until I have finished with you. And as with the original Julia, your passing will be seen as a sad, but timely death. John Bodkin Adams was never tried for Julia’s death, and nor shall I be for yours. You will die peacefully, I’ve made sure of that, I did my research. Just relax, don’t be scared.”
Paul strode to the door and removed the chair, quietly dragging it back beside the bed. He slumped into it, satisfied, and took another long swig of the cola, glancing at Maud once his thirst was quenched. Her breathing was shallow, slightly quickened, and Paul smiled at her tenderly. She was dying, and he knew that God would be pleased with him.
Felicity Barnham, who had served the hunted man and Katie Joyce at CMC Electrical Stores just under two weeks before, had been interviewed again, and on the strength of her very basic description, and Caroline Merris’s more detailed account, a photofit had been prepared of the man. During the past couple of days constables had spent hours talking to, and showing, the likeness, along with a recent photo of Katie, to staff at Liverpool Street station.
Suffolk Constabulary had also taken copies of the two pictures to Saxmundham train station, but nobody could clearly remember having seen either the man, or Katie. A few witnesses vaguely recollected that they may have seen them, but no specific, definite sightings.
Krein was at a loss. Although his line manager, Detective Chief Inspector MacReavie, was now officially in charge of Annabel’s case, Krein was still doing most of the legwork, not that there was much to do at the moment. After all, without a precise witness account, without either credit card being used, and without Annabel or Katie’s bodies being found, the only option he had was to wait, and hope for a lucky break soon.
The forensic examinations of Gregor Keeley’s Escort were now finished, and the results had given them no clear leads. It had been verified from medical records that the blood in the car was from Annabel, and the foetus had been proven to be hers and Greg’s. Only Annabel’s blood had been found in and around the car, and although the details of all the other DNA found had been fed into the National DNA Database, the daily matches had so far brought no results.
It was a possibility to eliminate many of the hairs found in the car by taking the DNA of all Annabel’s known friends and acquaintances, but this would be a costly exercise, one that the Thames Valley Police Force could well do without if they could possibly avoid it. There were no untoward fingerprints, nothing at all that could help them any further, found in Katie Joyce’s unusually immaculate flat, and even if they had a hundred fingerprints and a hundred DNA samples, without a suspect to compare them with, they were of no use.
Krein had still not admitted to Gregor Keeley that the foetus had been found near the Escort. He reasoned uncomfortably that it must be obvious to Greg, now, that his wife would not be found alive, and subsequently he would also have to come to terms with the fact that his fourth child would never be born. But to tell a man that his child had been ripped from the womb so sickeningly, how could Krein tell him that? It would come out one day, but Gregor Keeley wasn’t coping well at the moment: he couldn’t make it worse for him.
Paul was quietly reading a book to Maud, he had found it in her bedside cabinet. He wanted her to feel comforted in her last hours, he wished her to die happy. She wasn’t conscious anymore, her blank eyes had closed a short while before, her breathing slight, and, on feeling her wrist, Paul had noted that her heartbeat was slow, occasionally irregular. She had suffered a mild seizure, but that had passed in moments. A sharp knocking on the door jolted Paul, he felt a bead of sweat spring to his brow. “Come in.” He hadn’t noticed any footsteps approaching, he’d have to be more careful.
Elaine popped her head around the door, she frowned. “Why is Maud in bed?”
Paul raised his finger to his lips to quieten Elaine, and whispered,
“We had a light lunch, then her eyes started to droop. I lifted her into the bed for a nap. I thought a quick snooze wouldn’t hurt her.”
Elaine opened the door fully, stepping closer, relaxed, and smiled, charmed by his gentle caring. “Okay, that’s no problem. Has she been good? Did she eat without too much difficulty?”
Paul bristled, wishing the girl would just leave them alone. He tried consciously not to rouse suspicion by speaking abruptly. “She’s been fine, she had some banana, a small piece of chocolate, and half a yoghurt. She seemed to enjoy them all.” He held up the book for Elaine to see. “I was just reading this novel to her, she always liked to be read to, especially once her eyes began to fail. I know she’s asleep, but I thought she would appreciate it anyway.”
Mildly myopic, Elaine squinted towards the book. “Emma by Jane Austen, oh, that’s a lovely story. She is lucky to have you, you know.”
Paul stared at her, his irritation plain. “I know. So can you let us carry on.”
The smile left her lips, the glare made her uncomfortable. She mumbled as she backed through the door. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Once the door was closed, Paul laid the book on the bed, bent down, and opened a side pocket on the holdall from which he pulled out a pair of scissors and another carrier bag. He took them across the room to the mirror that sat on a wooden chest of drawers, grasped a bunch of his mussy blond hair, and chopped at it roughly, close to the darker roots. He placed the shorn locks inside the carrier bag, and took another clump of hair.
