games Leanne and I used to play when we were small. Dolls’
hospital. Our favourite. We had a doctor’s kit and would
diagnose all our dolls’ illnesses and prescribe treatments.
The memory of the doctor’s kit makes me think again
of my mother. That camera put in her room. I feel hatred
suddenly. Anger and a knot of violent thoughts towards the
man who posted that gross video of my mother’s breathing.
Her new home has been fully briefed. She’s to receive no
mail or gifts or anything at all to her room. No visitors
unless cleared by Leanne or myself. She should be safe now.
Should be…
I think once more of that cold water squirted in my
face. I put my hand up to my cheek, remembering the
fear of pain and disfigurement. And then I think of what
my poor mother faces so stoically every single day and
my fear makes me feel ashamed.
Finally, I trek to the kitchen to make coffee, a headache
starting. I’m still trying to process the puzzle of Claire and her charity. Is she a fraud? A trickster? What the hell is going on?
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I return to the office with my drink and bury myself
in more research. It’s good to be working but it’s lik-
ing diving down a rabbit hole. The deeper you go, the
weirder it all gets. I find more evidence on social media
linking Claire and Paul Crosswell. I find an old newspaper
cutting of a civil court case against him over a security
contract for a shopping centre. The court case failed and
there was little press coverage. But with more digging
I discover that Paul Crosswell was accused of providing
false promises and disreputable business practices. So –
Claire and Paul. What exactly are you up to?
I tap my fingers against my lips. This personal alarm.
What if it’s a scam? Linked to Paul’s businesses? What if
this is purely about making money; what if they’re just
using the women targeted by stalkers.
I realise I need more evidence. But why would Claire
make up such a dreadful story about a sister? I realise
that I am quite possibly on to a very good story here. It
feels shocking that Claire would dare to try to use me, a
journalist. But then I think of how vulnerable I must have
seemed to her when I first made contact. My anger at her
audacity now morphs to something else. Excitement? Yes.
The adrenaline is pumping. I’m glad to have happened
across a proper story after too long out of the office. If
Claire really is duping genuine victims of stalking, she
deserves everything I can throw at this.
I pick up my mobile and dial Matthew Hill’s number.
He may be able to help me investigate Claire and Paul.
Also, I need to know what the hell is happening regard-
ing Alex.
Is it Alex?
Is it over?
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CHAPTER FIFTY
Him – before
He takes two weeks off work and watches Brian every
day. He takes great care not to be spotted by his gran. A
hat. Sunglasses. A large scarf wrapped round and round,
covering his mouth. Shabby clothes.
Brian is a slob – even heavier now. He must be in his
late fifties but looks much older. In the past he claimed
to work for a bus company but there’s no evidence of
working now. These days Brian doesn’t take his filthy,
fat self far – mostly to the pub, the off-licence and the
bookies. But there is a pattern. Good.
He makes notes on his phone checking Brian’s precise
movements each day.
His stomach crawls as he sees that some mornings Brian
sits on a bench near a children’s play park. Just watching.
And then he gets lucky. At the same time and on the
same day each week, Brian makes a trip to the bookies,
using the long and narrow alley behind the disused ga-
rages near the old shoe factory. Most people don’t like to
use that alley. Children are warned to keep away. Only
a creep like Brian would take that route.
He checks the alley very carefully. No CCTV cameras
anywhere near. Good.
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He goes back to work and thinks every single day
about how to do this. He has horrible dreams about the
past. And then delicious dreams showing Brian’s face as
he turns and sees him.
Sees the hammer.
Just occasionally he wonders if he can really do this.
But most days he’s surprised to find that he is looking
forward to it. The full stop. If his gran is determined to
stay in her flat – if the place really means so very much
to her – then this has to be done.
He waits a month and takes another week’s holiday.
He checks very carefully what to wear to limit the risk.
Gloves, obviously. But there is so much more to think
about. Forensics will look for fibres and hairs too.
He realises that however careful he is, he may be
caught. Still, he finds that it is decided.
So he packs his change of clothes inside a sealed bag
in his rucksack. He puts on his gloves, his hat and scarf
and his sunglasses.
He checks himself in the mirror. And he feels alive.
For the first time in as long as he can remember, he
feels alive.
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CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Alice
I jiggle my right foot up and down and glance around
me. It feels so weird to be back in the editor’s office. It’s Tuesday and I am thinking of that first phone call, when
Jack brought me in here to report it to Ted. It feels a
lifetime ago. A different Alice.
‘So – are you happy with what Helen has suggested?’
Ted raises his voice a little as if to draw me back into the
room. Helen from HR is smiling, gathering her things.
I uncross my legs and put both feet flat on the floor.
‘Yeah. Yeah. Sure. I’ll start back on Thursday. I’ve got
a good story to work on actually, Ted.’ I see the glint of
interest in his eyes. The paper may be dying but Ted’s
hunger for a story is not. He’s old-school and will never
stop chasing the headlines. I wonder what he will do
when redundancy comes.
I wonder what I will do.
We both wait for Helen to make her excuses and leave
the room. The compromise is that I’ve had to agree not
to work Wednesdays until the police feel more sure that
any threat to me has diminished. I will work Saturday or
Sunday instead, taking each Wednesday as a day in lieu
unless and until Alex is charged. The company claims to
be thinking of my safety but is clearly still worried about
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what might happen on their premises. I suspect insurance
might be an issue, quite apart from the moral debate.
‘So, here’s hoping it really is all over for you, Alice.’
Ted is leaning back in his chair. ‘Right. Let’s hear what
this story’s about.’
I look
at him and wonder if I should tell him that
other truth. Who I really am. How I tricked him into
giving me this job in the first place.
No. Not yet…
‘Got some more digging to do, Ted. But it’s someone
trying to rip off victims of stalking.’
His expression changes completely.
‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘I know what you’re thinking but
I can make this work without making it a totally personal
piece. I’ll find other victims. Hopefully someone local to
comment other than me.’
He tilts his head.
‘It’s a good story, Ted. I have more work to do but
it’s about someone making up nasty stories to win people
over and make a fast buck.’
‘I thought we agreed no personal crusades, Alice.’ He
looks anxious. ‘We can’t be drawing attention to you on
this topic. Not until the guy targeting you is caught, so if
you work on this story, you keep me fully in the picture.
No risk-taking.’
‘Promise.’
Ted pauses then, frowning. He shuffles some pieces
of paper before continuing.
‘Look. I’ve not found this easy, Alice. Stuck in the
middle with HR breathing down my neck. I want you
to know that we’ll do your own case justice, when the
time is right; when they nail the guy. Trust me, we’ll
put the bastard on the front page, but I need a charge
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Teresa Driscoll
and a case. I’ve just got my hands tied for now.’ He looks
sheepish. Maybe even guilty? I don’t know what to say
in reply. I do feel upset that HR made me take holiday.
But I haven’t been straight with Ted myself, so who am
I to judge? ‘We’ve missed you in the office, Alice. The
place hasn’t been the same without you. And we’ve all
been worried.’
I feel touched. Ted never talks like this. I just nod my
thanks as my phone buzzes. A message from Gill, one
of the campaigners over the demolition of Maple Field
House. I’ve already sneakily told her I’m back on the story
full-time. She wants to meet up to go over coverage of the
demolition. I daren’t tell her yet that I’m not supposed to
be working Wednesdays. I’ll need to find a way round it.
I stand and move across to open the door, noticing
again who’s in the office and who is missing.
‘Is Jack out on a story?’ I glance across at my empty
desk and Jack’s space alongside it, then back at Ted.
‘Late shifts this week. He’s definitely been missing you.
Like a bear with a sore head.’
‘He just misses me fetching his coffee.’ I try to sound
light as I leave Ted’s cubicle. I chat briefly to the three
others bashing away on deadlines and then head out to
my car.
I phone Gill to confirm I’m properly back from my
break. She suggests doing a feature on one of the families
already moved from the flats to a new house with a gar-
den. She wants the story on the demolition to focus on
the positives going forward. I agree and promise to talk
it over further. Families are moving into new homes in
phases. A lot are still in temporary accommodation while
the new housing is completed by the local housing asso-
ciation. But I need to be careful that I don’t put a gloss
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I Will Make You Pay
on the situation too soon. I need to check that things are
moving forward smoothly and that everyone is keeping
the promises made when the demolition was agreed.
Next I realise I must decide whether to stay on at
Tom’s or move back to my own house. I try ringing my
landlord to double-check that the light fitting has been
sorted and that the change of locks has been signed off.
We’ve agreed a new, stricter procedure for who’s allowed
to handle spare keys for the property, and I need reassur-
ance all is well before I return. There’s no reply, only an
answerphone, so I head back to Exeter to Tom’s.
He’ll be pleased, but I find as I drive that I am thinking
of Jack – out of sorts while I’ve been off. I feel the frown.
Why did the office think Jack was on a day off when I
bumped into him at the café? He said something about
a teacher-award story but I wonder if he’s working on a
different story on the quiet that he doesn’t want anyone
to know about. Maybe something for the nationals?
Jack’s ambitious. I don’t want to drop him in it with
Ted if he’s freelancing on the side. I’ll ask him discreetly
when I see him.
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CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Him – before
It was not at all as he expected.
There was more adrenaline. More blood. More buzz…
Changing his clothes in one of the disused garages
afterwards, he can feel his heart still pounding in his
chest. He always knew this would be the most vulnerable
time. If someone finds Brian too soon – before he has
time to change and get away – he will almost certainly
be discovered.
It will break his gran’s heart.
But he has planned well and he finds that he is more
exhilarated than scared. He moves quickly. He strips the
bloody clothes and puts them in the bin bag inside his
rucksack. The blood spurted further than he expected
and he notices some flecks on the backpack straps. Damn.
He should have thought to bring a second bag. No mat-
ter. They are only small specks and he will burn the bag
along with all the kit later.
He changes his gloves, hat and scarf – careful to have
brought spares of each. And then he sets off across the
derelict car park past the old shoe factory, over the fence
and across the patch of rough grass, weaving his way the
mile back to his car.
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I Will Make You Pay
He has checked all the camera positions and is me-
ticulous with his route. He throws the rucksack in the
boot of the car, on top of a plastic liner, and retrieves his wallet from the glove compartment, taking off the hat and
scarf so he will appear different – calm and ordinary – if
picked up on any road cameras.
He drives home carefully – no speeding – and avoids
the motorway, then he quickly lights the log burner in
his small sitting room. He watches the hot flames as he
cuts up the bloodied evidence, feeding pieces one by one
into the fire. Then he scrubs his hands and his nails and
sets out on foot to buy fish and chips, making sure he
strikes up a jokey conversation with the server. An alibi.
Just in case. No. I was home. Just watching telly, then fish and chips. Why?
Later he sits with his chips and his tomato sauce and
he finds that he is still exhilarated. There is no call from
his gran. Or the police.
Nothing on the news yet.
He looks at the ketchup. And he closes his eyes to
replay the scene over and over. Brian’s shocked face. The
thud of the hammer agains
t flesh. And skull.
The shock at so … much … blood.
In his head, remembering all those years in school,
dreaming of power; dreaming of an eagle with sharp
claws. Swooping. Slashing.
Dreaming of being a grown-up.
On such a high now that his grown-up self feels so
alive; that it was all much more satisfying than he could
ever have imagined. So that in the end he couldn’t help
himself in that alleyway earlier; he kept the hammer blows
coming long after Brian was still.
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CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Alice
I place my hand just above the frying pan to test if it’s
hot enough for the fish. Wow. Searing.
‘Not long to supper.’ I raise my voice so Tom can
hear me in the sitting room but there’s no reply. I stand
in the doorway to see that he has headphones on. I repeat
myself even louder. He lifts one cup away from his ear –
hears me say supper – and gives me a thumbs up. I smile.
He smiles. I feel quite up this evening. It’s Tuesday still,
nudging ever closer to the next D-Day, but with Alex
safely behind bars again, I’m starting to feel a little less
afraid. And the thought of returning to work has really
buoyed me. Also – I am moving back into my house on
Friday. The keys are all carefully logged.
It’s going to be all right, Alice.
I twist a little more salt and pepper on to each tuna
steak before lowering them into the pan, stepping back to
avoid the first sizzle. I want it to be a nice meal tonight, to thank Tom for his patience. For making me so welcome.
I haven’t found it easy spending so much time together.
He knows this, and he knows too that I wouldn’t have
chosen for us to, in effect, live together like this so soon.
But it’s been a good bridge and I’m grateful. I can finally
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see a path back to calmer times. I just need to be wrong; I
need the police to say it was Alex after all. That it’s over.
I check the clock on the kitchen wall and flip the
fish. Great colour. I feel hungry and reach across the
counter to pour two glasses of wine as my phone rings
in my pocket.
Jack’s name. I feel an involuntary frown – not under-
standing why he would ring at this hour. We’re eating
late. ‘Hi, Jack. Sorry. Listen, I’m right in the middle of
cooking. Late supper. Can I call you straight back?’
‘I’m sorry, Alice, but I’m at work and I don’t know
I Will Make You Pay (ARC) Page 27
