Sandy backed out of the room again, taking the beer with her.
Half an hour later, he was dressed in his new jeans, a black t-shirt and brown leather jacket. A pang of guilt, for the way he'd treated Sandy, twisted in his chest.
Downstairs, Tyson sat at the dining table eating fish fingers and beans.
"Hey, bruiser." Carl ruffled his son's hair.
Tyson screamed and pulled away from him. "Naughty Daddy."
Carl laughed.
"Don't do that, Carl, you know he dun't like it."
"All right, keep your hair on." He laughed again. "Sorry about before, San. You know I get grumpy when I'm tired."
"It's okay."
Sandy smiled, but he could tell she still smarted from his earlier treatment.
"Tell you what—let's go to the park on the weekend—feed the ducks."
"I feed the ducks?" Tyson's eyes lit up.
"You sure can." Carl winked.
"That would be nice. It's ages since we've done something as a family." Sandy now smiled.
"That's crap, we always do stuff as a family," Carl snapped.
"You know what I mean. Outside the house and away from the telly."
Carl looked at her sharply, and she cowered away. "Sorry."
"Right, I'm off. I won't be late." He kissed her cheek and grabbed her left tit, squeezing it hard.
Sandy squealed and backed off cupping her breast.
Carl left feeling quite upbeat. He whistled a tune as he walked down the path and jumped into his van.
Twenty minutes later he pulled into the motel carpark. He checked his reflection in his rear view mirror and smiled. Feeling quite pleased with himself, he got out and headed towards the building, and tapped on the door.
***
I parked on the side of the road outside the entrance to the motel.
My stomach churned and I thought I might be sick.
The clocks had changed for British Summer Time on Sunday, and the setting sun created an eerie glow.
A couple of floodlights lit the entrance to the reception and one feeble bulb had been mounted on a post at the end of a long, low building. The apartments themselves had wall lights to the side of the doors.
I skulked through the gate, past reception, sticking to the far fence-line, hidden by the row of shrubs and trees alongside it. There were three vehicles parked up in the numbered spaces. Gavin's blue Camry in number six, a light coloured Nissan in number eight and a white van with Pilkington's Plumbing emblazoned down the side panel parked in the visitor’s bay.
The numbers corresponded with the apartments lit up from within. I gathered Gavin must be in apartment six. Doing a full circle of the car park, I kept to the outside edge and with Gavin's dark clothing I thought I'd be invisible if anybody appeared.
I reached the furthest part of the building and like a criminal, silently made my way past the first two apartments, both of which were in darkness.
When I reached number eight, I leaned against the window and listened, barely breathing. The TV blared, but I couldn't hear anything else. After a few minutes, with just the sounds of Coronation Street filling the room, I presumed the occupant must be alone.
I made my way to number six and once again, pinned my ear to the window. At first I heard nothing except faint music then a strange grunting sound. It took me a few moments to recognise the sound.
Horrified, I staggered away from the window almost screaming, and I began to shake uncontrollably. Gavin and a mystery guest were inside having sex.
On wobbly legs, I ran back to the far end of the building and into the bushes, throwing up at the base of a tree.
My head reeled and I needed to sit down. Although hidden from the motel, the chain-link fence didn't hide me from the trucking company next door. On unsteady legs, I made my way back along the fence-line and crouched behind the plumbing van, sitting down on the edge of the concrete.
I had no plan from here. I'd hoped to find that it had been a wasted journey and that I'd hear Gavin snoring away to himself tucked up in his room.
I took a deep breath, needing to control myself while deciding what to do. Something needed to be done to stop Gavin committing this awful crime. But what?
I tried to think rationally, but my brain kept throwing random snippets of information into the mix making me dizzy. I couldn't shake off that disgusting grunting sound.
The dirty rotten bastard couldn't keep it in his trousers even though he knew he would infect anyone he had sex with. He must be sick in the head as well as the body.
There were no other vehicles parked anywhere near the motel except for mine. So I figured the plumber's van must belong to Gavin's guest.
I fished my phone out from the baggy sweat pants pocket and dialled the number on the van.
After several rings, a woman answered.
"Pilkington's Plumbing, Sandy speaking."
I panicked, hung up and vomited once more, this time just missing my feet.
My phone rang with a withheld number. "Hello?" I said, tentatively.
"Hi, I just missed a call from this number. Do you have a plumbing problem?"
Shit! My heart almost stopped along with my breathing. With a spinning head, I found myself saying, "Er-erm. Yes, sorry yes I do. When can you come? I have a leak."
"My husband’s left his phone here but he shu’nt be too long. Have you turned your wa'er off?"
"The what, sorry? Oh, the water. Yes, it's off," I said.
A child began to cry in the background.
"Soz about this." Sandy laughed. "Not very professional, is it."
"Oh, don't worry, you go and see to the little one and I'll call back later." I hung up.
So, not only did he have a wife, but a little child too. My blood ran icy cold. These men were animals. This had to stop. I couldn't stand by while more innocent people were harmed. Maybe I couldn't make a difference the world over, but I could make a difference right here, right now.
It may be too late to help the guy in the room, but I'd be damned if I'd allow him to hurt his wife and child.
I skulked back to my car and lay in wait.
Chapter 6
The evening had gone with a bang—literally. Carl laughed to himself, amused by his own joke.
He eased out of the car park, his stomach rumbling. He would be ready for a bowl of stew when he got home. Thinking about home, he felt guilty once again for the way he'd treated Sandy.
He always felt like this when he wasn't with her, vowing to treat her better. But as soon as she opened her big fucking trap she made him want to slap her all over again. He'd swear she did it on purpose.
Not tonight though, he'd pamper her tonight. She had a tough time with Tyson, who was autistic. He was harder to look after than most kids his age.
Carl blamed Sandy's side. Her mum had been a few sandwiches short of a picnic and her brother a schizo. Trust him to marry into a nut-job gene pool.
She did look after him, though. For all her faults, she wasn't a bad wife—never nagging at him, not that she'd get away with it if she tried—and he had more freedom than most married men. Yeah, she wasn't a bad old girl, ugly as fuck, but okay. Plus she had great tits.
He'd get in, have a quick shower and maybe he'd be up to a bit of a cuddle on the sofa, put a smile on the old girl's face.
A movement in the crotch of his jeans made him laugh out loud. His penis never failed him. He rubbed himself as it engorged with blood. Maybe he wouldn't even bother with the shower—bend her over the kitchen sink and give her what for as soon as he got in.
He stepped from the van with one thing on his mind.
Suddenly, a car mounted the pavement behind his van and a short, middle-aged, white-haired woman got out charging towards him. Her finger pointed at his face.
"I know where you've been," she screeched.
"Lady, I've got no idea what you’re on about." The woman unnerved him and he took a step backwards bumping into the van.
Carl's arse almost emptied itself into his jeans.
"Watch your mouth," he hissed. His eyes darted around, making sure no-one overheard the crazy bitch.
"A little more information for you to chow down on. Are you aware he'd riddled with AIDS?"
Shocked, Carl couldn't respond. He tried to absorb what she'd just said, wanted to deny it, shrug her off as a nut case, but he couldn't. He stared at her with his mouth wide open instead.
"I wonder how your poor wife will feel when I tell her you've been putting her life and the life of that little kiddie of yours, in danger.
"Whhooaa …" How did she know about Sandy and Tyson? He couldn't think straight, but when she turned towards his house and began marching down the path, he lost it.
He leapt forward grabbing her by the shoulder and yanked her back with all his might.
She slammed against the side of the van.
"Listen, lady." Thankfully he'd found his voice. "I haven't a clue what the fuck you’re on about, but I suggest you get out of here while you still can."
"I'm going nowhere until I speak to your wife and inform her exactly what she's married to, and that's a promise."
"We'll see about that." Carl grabbed her upper arm and pulled her towards him. Spinning her around he pinned her back against his chest and picked her up bodily. Her legs were kicking like a wild animal, but he wasn’t fazed. He rushed her to the back of the van and bundled her inside, slamming the door behind her.
She screamed and the van shook violently. He had no choice but to get her away from there.
He jumped in behind the wheel and sped to a quiet lay-by at the end of the street giving himself a chance to plan his next move.
***
I'd messed up big time, jumping in feet first without a plan. I should have thought about his reaction. Of course, he wouldn't want me to tell his wife his sordid secret.
I intended to wait for Gavin's guest to emerge from the motel room, to make sure he was the plumber. However, when he strolled out and got into his van I saw red. Following him had seemed the only logical thing to do. I couldn't allow him to go home and infect his wife.
Now, trapped in the back of his van, the enormity of my actions began to hit me. There would be nothing whatsoever to connect me to this man if I vanished. He could kill me and dispose of my body and that would be the end of it.
I fumbled in my pocket for my phone, realising I'd left it on the dashboard of the car. I needed to keep my head and hatch a plan if I was ever going to escape from this.
Scrambling around in the dark, I tried to find something to defend myself with. My fingers wrapped around a metal shaft, a heavy tool of some kind. I bounced it off my palm a couple of times.
Moments later the van slowed, coming to a complete stop. We hadn't gone very far. I held my breath and waited.
Nothing.
Just as I thought he must have already scarpered, I heard the driver door open and close. Footsteps rounded the back of the van.
I sat, poised, on my bottom with my legs in the air. I'd have one chance to escape, the brute was triple my size. My heartbeat thundered in my ears.
As the door began to open I kicked out with all my might and my abductor flew backwards as the doors hit him with force. I leapt from the van, landing on top of him and striking him repeatedly in the face and head with the tool.
I realised he wasn't fighting back. In fact, he wasn't moving at all. My stomach lurched as I looked at him.
A pool of blood running from underneath his head shone in the light from a nearby lamppost. This didn't make sense. I'd hit him hard, but in the face.
Standing up on shaky legs I couldn't work out what had happened, but one thing I knew with certainty.
This man was stone dead.
Chapter 7
On the final stretch of his journey, Adam's car phone rang. He hit the loudspeaker button.
"Hey, Frances. What's up?"
"Stanley, there's been a homicide in Pinevale—Carl Pilkington—the local plumber. He's had his head bashed in."
"I'm still a good hour away, can you text me the address and I'll meet you there," he said.
Fifty minutes later Adam pulled into Hannah Street, a cul-de-sac in Pinevale.
Adam parked his grey Mondeo on the main road and walked down the narrow, busy little street towards the pandemonium of flashing blue lights.
Despite the late hour, every house had spectators spilling from doorways and upstairs windows.
Adam flashed his ID at the uniformed officer and ducked under the police tape. He rounded the white transit van parked at an angle in a layby backing onto woodland and spied the object of everyone's attention.
A middle aged, Caucasian man lay face up in a pool of blood.
Adam spotted his colleague, Detective Holly Frances, standing by the side of the van, her phone to her ear.
She hung up when she noticed him. Running a hand through her silky brown hair, she sighed, clearly relieved to see him.
"Fill me in, Frances," he said.
"Carl Pilkington—seems to have cracked his head on the edge of the curb. There is trauma to his face however, and footprints on the inside of the van doors. Looks as though someone kicked their way out, and crashed the victim to the ground in the process.
"Any idea who?"
"No, nothing yet. Mr Pilkington lived about halfway up the street. His wife said he arrived home around 9pm, before vanishing again.
At around ten-thirty, Charles Brentworth discovered the body while walking his dog."
"Any weapon found? His face is a bit of a mess." Adam bent down to get a closer look.
"Nothing yet. Although somebody's been through the tools in the van. Forensics are onto it and hope to find some fingerprints."
Adam nodded as he straightened up. "Seems like he was up to no good if you ask me. Pulling up here, someone shut up in his van, but he got his just desserts by the look of things."
"Yeah, I agree. Bit of a dodgy character by all account—there have been several domestic incidents over the past few years. The wife never pressed charges though."
"Where is the wife?" Adam asked.
"Sandy Pilkington, lives at number forty-three. She's there now. A neighbour is sitting with her."
"I'll go and have a chat." Adam scooted around the crowd and back underneath the tape.
Sandy Pilkington sat at the window watching the comings and goings, rocking silently.
Adam introduced himself and sat on the edge of the blue leather armchair.
She nodded at him as silent tears ran down her cheeks. She turned back to the window. "Do you know who done it?" she asked, with no emotion in her voice.
"Still early days yet, Mrs Pilkington, but it seems somebody may have been trapped in the van. Would you know anything about that?"
This time she spun around to face him, her eyebrows drawn tight together. "No, that's crazy, who would be in the van?" she cried. "I saw him through the window when he got home and he was smiling as he got outa the van. I went into the kitchen to warm his supper an' ten minutes later he'd gone. All this dun't make sense." She bent and shook her head.
"I know, and I also know the last thing you want to do is answer any more questions, but I have to ask."
She nodded, her bony leg twitching up and down.
"Where had your husband been tonight?"
She shook her head again. "He din't tell me. Just said he was going out and he'd eat when he got home."
"What time did he go out?"
"Not sure. He got home at about six and had a baff. So prob'ly seven or somefing like that."
"Did he often go out at night without you knowing his whereabouts?"
"Now and then. He din't like me questioning him. He said I should train to be one ov you lot." She half smiled, showing a full set of uneven teeth, before her face crumpled and she faced the window again.
; Chapter 8
I stumbled through the front door and collapsed in a heap behind it. Only then did I allow the tears to fall.
I had no real memory of getting home. I had been disorientated as I ran away from the van, relieved when I realised we'd gone only about two hundred metres from where I'd parked my car.
When I saw I'd left the driver's door wide open, and the keys in the ignition, I thanked God it hadn't been stolen.
I stopped twice on the hard shoulder of the motorway to vomit, not that I had much to bring up, but I kept dry retching.
I couldn't get the sight of the dead man out of my mind. I couldn't believe my actions had ended with someone losing their life. I had no doubt it would have been me lying there with my skull bashed in if I hadn't done it.
I pulled myself to my feet and walked into the bathroom stripping off Gavin's clothes. As I dropped the sweatpants to the floor, a loud clang made me jump. I reached into the pocket and pulled out the wrench-type tool I'd used to attack my abductor.
Dried blood covered the circular head and once again my stomach lurched. I dropped it to the tiles and threw up in the sink, before splashing cold water onto my face and in my mouth.
After a shower, I wrapped the wrench in a pillowcase and stashed it at the back of the airing cupboard under a pile of bedding and towels. Then I threw Gavin's clothes into the washer on a hot wash cycle before going through to the lounge where I poured myself a large brandy.
The alcohol didn't seem to have any effect tonight. I paced every room, waiting for the washer to finish before transferring the clothing to the dryer. I wouldn't be able to relax until all the items were washed, folded and back in Gavin's wardrobe.
On one of my many journeys through the house, I noticed the light flashing on the hall phone. I hit the button and the electronic voice informed me one new message had been left at 9.05pm.
"Mel, it's me. Just letting you know I'm off to bed. I can't remember if you're working tonight, so you're probably not even home yet. Anyway, I'll speak to you tomorrow. Goodnight sweetheart. I love you."
Psychological Thriller Series: Adam Stanley Boxed Set: Behind Shadows, Positively Murder and Mind Bender Page 26
