She looked away, holding back her tears. ‘Don’t try anything stupid, and remember what I’ve told you.’ Then he slammed the door after him. As she heard the turn of a key and a bolt lock her away again, she flung her head back, letting out a guttural cry.
02:06 a.m.
‘They say we should get snow.’
Rachel Larson was hugging her coat tighter around her body, bracing herself against the strong wind. She’d given up trying to light her cigarette after several attempts against the gale. The yellow flame from her lighter appeared fleetingly in small sparks before dying.
‘I should give up,’ she said, pulling the cigarette from her dry lips and throwing it to the floor.
‘Hey, I would’ve had that,’ said her friend, Olivia Jones, who stooped to pick it up. Her cold fingers barely felt the cigarette between them as she put it in her coat pocket.
‘Livi, that’s been on the floor.’
‘Your point?’ She turned her back to the wind, wild blonde hair thrashing around her face.
‘The pavement’s dirty.’
‘I’m sure I’ve had worse in my mouth, Rach,’ she laughed, turning to face her again. ‘In fact, I know I have.’
‘You skank.’
‘Isn’t that what punters pay for?’
Rachel forced herself to bury her smile. Olivia grinned then checked her watch. ‘Where are all the desperate lonely men?’ Rachel shrugged and checked her own watch. ‘Have you managed to get hold of Nola yet?’ Olivia asked, seeing the worried expression on her friend’s face.
‘No.’
‘I’m sure she’s fine.’
Rachel shook her head. ‘It’s just not like her. We have, like, this unwritten rule to always check in with each other when we see a new client.’
Olivia shrugged, then caught the eye of a man lingering around the local Nisa supermarket opposite where they stood. He gestured towards her, a simple nod of his head.
‘Customer at last,’ she said, turning to face Rachel. ‘I’ll see you in a bit, yeah?’ Rachel forced herself to smile but could not hide the worry in her eyes. Olivia reached out and rubbed her shoulder. ‘She’ll be all right, Rach, you’ll see. She may be back at the flat by now. You know Nola. She’s like a bad fucking penny… She always comes back.’
‘Maybe.’
The feeling that all was not well pinched Rachel’s body. She shivered but was unable to shake the feeling. As Olivia turned to leave, she reached out for her arm. ‘You’ll be careful, won’t you?’
Olivia smiled and nodded. ‘I’ll see you later, Rach.’
She watched Olivia disappear from view towards the back of the Nisa with the man. She looked at her watch for the hundredth time then checked the streets around her.
It was definitely quiet tonight and the thought of going back to her flat, which she’d shared with Nola this past year, was a comforting one. As the wind picked up again, the blast of icy cold made the decision for her.
She turned off down the high street and followed the road around, walking the next three blocks to her home very quickly, passing the rundown blocks of flats and maisonettes with some dread. She’d had a few near misses around here. The dark corners and dead ends were a breeding ground for dark deeds.
It was a relief when she finally climbed the iron stairs that ran up the side of the local shops to her flat. She closed the front door, blocking out the cold behind her. She could smell the pungent scent of fat as she took her boots off in the cramped hallway.
She hated living here, but being directly above a chip shop did have the advantage of keeping the flat reasonably warm during the cold weather, which helped keep her heating bills down. The less her bills cost, the fewer times she had to lie on her back to pay them.
Tonight, though, felt extra chilly so she plugged in the electric heaters in each room, turning them up high. She went to Nola’s bedroom, and smiled a little at the “Queen of Fucking Everything” sign on the door, before she knocked.
Silence.
‘Nola? You in there?’
She tapped her knuckles on the door again and pulled the door handle. The room was how Nola had left it the day before. Clothes were strewn across the unmade bed, make-up left out on the floor in front of a full length mirror, along with her hair dryer and a wrap of something white and powdery. Rachel’s heart sank and she took out her mobile from the pocket in her jeans.
‘Nola, it’s Rach,’ she said as her call was immediately diverted to voicemail. ‘I’m worried.’ She didn’t know what else to say and left a long pause before finding her voice again. ‘Please, call me as soon as you get this.’ She checked her watch again.
02:43 a.m.
‘If you’ve not been in touch by midday…’ She broke off mid-sentence. ‘Just call me.’ She hung up, pushed the mobile back in her pocket and went to the kitchen.
After she’d eaten and got ready for bed, she checked her mobile again. There was one text message from Olivia, saying she was OK, but nothing else. Unable to ignore the feeling of dread inside her belly, she curled up in her bed, the duvet wrapped tightly around her, but was unable to sleep.
02:43 a.m.
Her feet were like blocks of ice. Nola flexed her toes to ease the numbness. She’d wolfed down her food, without a moment’s thought to savour the taste. When she heard the door unlocking again, she closed her eyes with dread. The man was soon beside her and she noticed he was carrying a large leather pouch. He laid it on the table carefully, his fingers lingering on the drawstring cord. He was trembling. He forced himself to move away.
She shut her eyes tight, as if it would make him disappear when she opened them again. She prayed silently that this was all a dream. A twisted nightmare she would safely wake from.
She’d be frightened but unharmed.
He cleared a space for himself on the floor in front of her and waited for her to look at him. When she finally did, it was through bloodshot eyes.
‘Can I have some socks and shoes, please? My feet are so cold… so cold.’ Her heart sank when he shook his head. She sat up straight and leaned closer. He seemed so normal towards her most of the time. It was only if she pressed him, or became agitated, that he changed, like a switch being flicked on and off. She guessed if she played along with him, acted normal – or as normal as she could be – she might find a way out of this.
‘I won’t try to escape,’ she said. His eyes narrowed, suspicious. ‘If you promise you won’t hurt me, I won’t try to escape.’ She spoke with such conviction that he almost believed her.
He shook his head.
‘Do not make promises you have no intention of keeping.’ He paused, allowing his words to sink in. ‘Now’s the time when you should be thinking about the life that grows inside of you, rather than yourself.’
His words visibly shook her.
Her eyes widened. ‘How’d you… How could you know…’
‘Know that you’re pregnant?’ He smiled. ‘You should dispose of your rubbish more carefully. You can tell a lot about someone by what they throw out each week.’
He saw the shock on her face. She spent the next few moments thinking back to the longest three minutes of her life, when she’d taken that pregnancy test. She knew what the answer would be before the double lines appeared in the results window.
She’d been throwing up regularly and her body ached all the time, like she was expecting her period, but it hadn’t come. The aches continued and she was so tired, much more than usual. When the test had shown positive, she’d discarded it and buried her head in her hands, feeling nothing but despair.
She knew if Daryl found out there would be big trouble and she could kiss goodbye to her earnings. Then there was her life. It wouldn’t be worth living. This business had a strong hold on her and she doubted she had the strength to fight it.
‘How far gone are you?’ he asked. When she didn’t reply, he looked at her, eyes fierce. ‘You’ve been to see a doctor, haven’t you?’ Her head lowered an
d she shook it solemnly.
He got to his feet and glared down on her. ‘Why not? Don’t you care?’
‘No, I don’t care. Why should I? I obviously don’t know who the father is. It could be anybody.’
He looked exasperated, turning away with a mock laugh, running his hands roughly through his dark hair. He paced up and down, before turning on his heels and peering down at her.
‘So, you were going to carry to full term then drop it down some side alley like it’s rubbish and carry on business as usual?’
Nola snapped. ‘Who the fucking hell do you think you are?’
When she saw the surprised look in his eyes, she felt a wave of confidence grow inside her. She pulled herself to her feet. ‘It’s not as if I was planning on going full term. Not that this has anything to do with you,’ she said, jabbing her finger hard in his chest. ‘Who are you to judge me?’
He rushed at her then. He gripped her face with both his hands, forced her eyes to look at his.
Inside he was reeling at the insolence. It took all his strength not to lose control completely and snap her delicate neck. He tried to focus on why he was doing this, why she was there.
‘I’m trying to help you. Give that life inside you a chance, yet you mock me,’ he spat, his mouth just inches away from hers.
A look of defiance washed over her face. ‘I’ll scream the place down before you even lay another finger on me!’
A cruel grin spread across his face. He pulled her head violently to the side and whispered in her ear. ‘Soundproof room, Nola. Do your worst.’ He released her head and took a step back, before swinging his fist square into her jaw.
*
03:36 a.m.
Second chances. Second chances. They could be tricky things. Obstacles almost. He wondered if it was a sign of weakness to break his own rules, bend to anyone and suffer the consequences. He’d given people second chances before. His mother had been one of them.
No, he thought. His mother had more than a second chance. She’d had many, and failed each time. They’d been wasted on her. He didn’t want to be tested. He was the teacher, not the pupil. She would bend to him and if she didn’t, that was it. Literally game over, even if it did hurt him a little.
Sometimes a conscience, be it small and almost invisible, had its drawbacks. Its hidden problems. A conscience was overrated.
He’d tried. It wasn’t working.
Despite wanting to offer her a second chance, he found she was leaving him with little choice. He’d expected some resistance, but unlike the woman before Nola, he’d expected her to fight for her life to save the baby that grew inside her.
Nola Grant wanted to live, but for herself, not for her child. He could see it in her eyes, feel it in her body when he touched her skin. The need to survive radiated from every pore but she was only making it harder and harder for him to justify letting her live.
He felt sad, desperate, and that he’d failed. Failed her, the child, himself… and because of this, he could feel the familiar knot of shame pull at his insides.
A conscience is overrated. He was trying to believe his own thoughts, but his heart tugged away at him inside.
Nola Grant must die. She must die, so that others might stand a chance to be touched by his hand and steered back to the right path.
She must die… she has to.
*
04:06 a.m.
Nola had spent the last half hour swearing at him, spitting her filth like a person possessed. Her legs lashed out at him violently whenever he tried to come near and calm her.
Inside his head, he could hear his mother’s voice screaming obscenities at him back when he was a small boy. Nowadays, he couldn’t abide the language. It tapped into a pain deep within him and he knew he couldn’t stand much more. He was nearly at breaking point.
‘I won’t tell you again,’ he said, turning to face her, his finger pointing. ‘This is your last warning.’
Her head shot backwards as she laughed. It didn’t sound human.
He used his hands to cover his ears, drowning her out.
She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. He was acting like a little child. She half expected him to start stomping his feet in a paddy and she felt more confident the more he seemed to crumble in front of her.
His spine stretched upright, as if he’d just been shocked. He looked at the pouch he’d put on the table earlier, then at her mouth.
Sound seemed to be sucked from the room, and all he could see was her mouth moving, spouting more poison.
Open. Shut. Open. Shut.
He reached for the pouch, pulled away the cord, and took out a pair of scissors. He hadn’t intended on using any of the items in the bag: the knuckleduster, the pliers, the lighter. He was only going to frighten her with them, so that she’d fear what he might do if she didn’t obey him. If she didn’t see reason.
Nola Grant was beyond seeing reason by now.
He thought she’d have been ideal for his plans. That she would embrace the new life offered to her. A second chance to teach her. A chance to leave her current way of life behind and raise her child with none of the trappings that life entailed. But she was pure filth, inside and out, and she would never change. She didn’t want to… There were others. Others more worthy, deserving, more in need. He’d had enough of her abuse.
He clasped the scissors in his palm.
He edged closer.
She kicked out, screaming insults at him. He blocked out her words, let them wash over him. She meant nothing to him any more.
A conscience is overrated.
As her leg kicked out again, she caught him in the thigh. He stifled a groan, but remained focused. He grabbed her leg, pulling hard, knocking her off balance.
Her body crashed to the floor, collapsing in a heap at his feet. Before she could react, he was down on her, grasping her in a headlock with one arm. With his other hand he gripped the scissors in his sweaty palm, and weighted her body down with his own.
He released her head, pried open her mouth and pulled at her tongue.
She gagged, spluttered, but he maintained his grip, forcing the scissor blades either side of the thrashing muscle.
She froze.
She felt the metal edges scrape her soft flesh. She whimpered, helpless.
‘Hold your tongue or lose it!’
He roared so close to her ear, she thought the drum might burst. ‘Do you understand me?’ He felt her head nod. He could feel the fear radiate from her body in waves so strong, he could almost taste it.
She had to die. He knew this now, but it had changed his plans somewhat. Nola had been a mistake, but he’d learn from it.
She whimpered when he removed the scissors and released her body from under him.
She curled herself up into a ball, her back towards the wall, head tucked down with her chin resting on her chest. He saw her body shake violently as sobs overcame her. He allowed her a few moments of respite before the inevitable came.
08:32 a.m.
Rachel woke to the sound of someone banging on her front door. She bolted from the bed and ran. She flung open the front door, ignoring the cold that flooded in from outside.
‘Nola?’
‘Erm, no,’ replied Olivia, standing with a large McDonald’s paper bag under one arm. She stared at Rachel from head to toe. ‘You may wanna put more clothes on, Rach,’ she said, pushing her way over the threshold. ‘It’s like minus ten or something.’
Rachel looked down at her thin pyjama bottoms and bra, but she didn’t care. The cold was nothing compared to the inner torment she’d had to put up with all night.
‘I got us breakfast,’ Olivia said, heading towards the kitchen. She started pulling out the cardboard cartons from the paper bag. ‘I hope you’re hungry.’ She took a large bite of her burger. ‘Oh, that’s good,’ she said with her mouth full.
Rachel looked at her, despondent. ‘I thought you were Nola.’
Olivia stopped c
hewing, keeping her eyes trained to the floor.
‘I’ve still not heard from her.’
Finishing her mouthful, Olivia turned to face her. ‘You told Daryl yet?’
‘Have I hell,’ Rachel said, reaching for her burger. ‘He’s been calling though.’
‘What you been telling him?’
‘I’ve been avoiding answering.’
Olivia gave a mock laugh. ‘FYI, that’s not wise.’ Rachel threw her burger down on the counter and rested her face in her hands.
‘I know, I know,’ she said. ‘I’ve left him a voicemail saying she’s been with a punter for a few days, that she’d been paid up front, but I can’t keep it up much longer.’ She picked up her burger again and took a large bite. ‘He’s started leaving me nasty messages already,’ she said between mouthfuls.
‘Course he has, that’s Daryl.’ Olivia chewed the last mouthful of her Big Mac and dusted her hands together, sending crumbs to the floor. ‘Look, way I see it, Nola’s gone AWOL ’cos she don’t want to be found. You can’t force her, Rach. She knows the price she’ll pay if she runs out on Daryl – we all do.’ She placed a hand on Rachel’s shoulder.
Sadly, Rachel knew from personal experience just what he was capable of. Daryl Thomas was their pimp. He ran their lives for them, as he did with all of his girls. He took a big percentage of what they earned on the street, dictated to them what to wear, how to act, and told them who they could talk to, and what he would do if any of them tried to walk out on him.
Rachel had tried it once – a long time ago now it seemed – and she had nearly got away from him. If it hadn’t been for another girl giving her away (Rachel never did find out who), she would’ve been free of him. On that occasion it had taken seventeen stitches to put her head wound back together and another five in her split lip, followed by several trips back and forth to the hospital until her arm was fixed again after a difficult break. All things considered, she’d got off lightly, compared to what Daryl had done to others.
She watched Olivia pull out her hairbrush from her bag and run it through her long hair, and wished she could be more like her; living each day as it came, and never really worrying about anything.
The Principle of Evil: A Fast-Paced Serial Killer Thriller (DCI Claire Winters, Book 2) Page 4
