Love You to Death: An Absolutely Gripping Thriller with a Killer Twist

by Caroline Mitchell

  She was wading through her paperwork when Jack lumbered in, hands deep in trouser pockets, his broad frame filling her tiny office.

  ‘What about ye?’ he said, grabbing a ginger snap from the pack on her desk.

  Ruby wanted to tell him about the email, and the young journalist that was sniffing around, but the words would not come. Mentioning their relationship – if she could even call it that – in the same sentence as Nathan was mortifying. Whatever the future held, Ruby could sort it out on her own.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  To say Monica was overjoyed to see her might have been taking it a bit far. As disappointing as it was, Lucy had to exercise patience. But the clock was ticking. Now the news of Emily’s death had been broadcast the police would be on her trail. But they could search all they wanted; they would never find her. She had made sure of that.

  ‘Please, take a seat,’ Monica said, gesturing to the sofa as she invited her inside. A chemical smell assaulted her nostrils, and Lucy’s eyes fell on the bottle of pillar box red varnish on the glass coffee table. How slutty, she mused, then dismissed the unkind thought. It rose like a blackbird along with her annoyance, and she took a slow breath to calm herself down. She perched on the edge of the sofa. She was still waiting for her homecoming welcome, but Monica was yet to open her arms for a hug.

  ‘How did you find me?’ Monica said, sitting in the furthest chair from the sofa.

  ‘The records became available when I was eighteen,’ Lucy replied. ‘Although it took a while to find you with your married name. Aren’t you pleased to see me?’

  ‘I don’t know how to feel,’ Monica said, her face devoid of emotion.

  Lucy folded her manicured fingers into the palm of her hands. Her palms itched, and a thin sweat had broken out on her upper lip. ‘Of course, you’re bound to be in shock. But it took a lot of guts for me to come here. I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t.’ She sighed sadly, hoping to shame Monica into a better reaction.

  But Monica just stared at the deep pile carpet, dry-washing her hands.

  It was early days, Lucy told herself; her new mother needed some time to process the information. But disappointment was already setting in.

  ‘Can I get you a drink? Tea, coffee, a glass of wine? I don’t know about you but I could do with a stiff drink.’

  ‘I don’t drink,’ Lucy said, flatly.

  Silence fell between them. Monica fidgeted with the cuff of her blouse, clearing her throat for words that did not come. A car drove past outside, blaring a drum and bass song. It was one of those days that was too nice to spend inside, and the window blinds trembled as a light breeze filtered in. Lucy blurted out the words balled up in her throat: ‘Why did you give me up?’

  Monica’s eyebrows shot up, but she did not meet Lucy’s gaze. ‘It was such a long time ago… I didn’t find out I was pregnant until I was too far gone.’ Her fingers rose to her lips as she inhaled a sudden intake of breath. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… ’

  Lucy raised her hands, deflecting her apology. She had hoped that Monica stayed childless because she had been waiting for her daughter to find her. But she had been wrong. Monica was just a selfish bitch, with no time for anyone but herself. Lucy rose from the sofa, trying hard to suppress her anger.

  ‘This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.’

  Monica flushed. ‘I’m sorry. I know you’re saying you’re my daughter, and I believe you, but I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Am I not pretty enough, is that it?’ Lucy said, bitterness lacing her voice. ‘I mean, look at you. Why would you want to be seen with someone like me?’

  ‘No,’ Monica said, rising from her seat. ‘Of course not. Looks don’t come into it.’ She frowned, as if searching her brain for a better choice of words. ‘I’m just not cut out to be a mother. The best thing you can do is forget all about me.’

  ‘I think it’s best I leave,’ Lucy said.

  Monica opened the living room door to show her out.

  Lucy followed her into the hall, her heart sinking. This was not how she imagined it. This was wrong, all wrong. She allowed her fingers to slide over the brass owl ornament on the table. Surely Monica didn’t really mean what she said? She was probably scared that she wasn’t up to the job. But that was natural. All new mothers felt that way, and it was too early to write off their relationship just yet.

  A sly smile crossed Lucy’s face as she wrapped her fingers around the legs of the ornament. Swinging back her arm, it cut through the air as she brought it down on the back of Monica’s head.

  * * *

  Confidence was the key when removing a body from a property, and Lucy dragged her through the adjoining garage into the back of the sports car without much effort. The yappy dog had been dumped in the boot, to be released on a housing estate a few miles up the road. Lucy didn’t kill animals. She wasn’t a monster, after all. It had been a few years since Lucy had driven an automatic but after a couple of jerky movements she got away.

  * * *

  It was a shame that she’d had to get blood all over Monica’s expensive cream blouse, Lucy thought, as she finished securing her into the basement chair. She stood back and surveyed her work. Perfect. You could barely see the washing line wrapped around her wrists, and it looked so much better than that ungainly rope. Monica’s head lolled to one side, her long wavy hair cloaking her face. Even unconscious, she looked pretty. Lucy leaned in and inhaled the scent of her hair. It smelt of flowers. She drew back, wishing she had been prettier, brighter, or charismatic enough to win her around first time.

  Never mind, she’s here now, the voice in her head whispered. Monica would be fine once she got over the shock of having Lucy in her life. She smiled. It was time to prepare for the perfect moment. One that would seal their relationship for ever.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ‘He’s a brute of a man when he’s drunk,’ Joy said. She was sitting in a chair next to the window, with a small glittery red hair clip pinned in her hair.

  Ruby tried to disentangle herself from thoughts of her meeting with Helen. ‘John doesn’t drink,’ she said, talking about her brother. At least, that’s who she thought her mother had been referring to moments before. John was several years older than Ruby, and had emigrated to America when he was still in his teens, lured by the prospect of working for a building firm, of which he now owned a large share.

  ‘No, not John. That Mr Crosby. I saw him. Kicking that boy up and down the garden like a football.’ It became clear who her mother was talking about; although it was a memory Ruby did not want to revisit today. Meeting Nathan had brought back a pang of longing she had worked hard to shake off.

  ‘He’s evil, that man, he never lets up on those boys,’ Joy said, her eyes twinkling with conviction.

  ‘I know,’ Ruby said, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. Nathan could have done anything with his life. But he had ended up running the family business out of a sense of loyalty to a mother who had failed to protect him.

  ‘Him and his brother are asleep, upstairs. Proper smashed her face in, he has.’

  She was talking about the day Nathan’s father almost killed his mother, Frances. Ruby allowed Joy to rake through the various embers of her memories, wondering why the most traumatic days were the ones that stuck the firmest. They’d had their fair share of happy days, too, and she looked back at her childhood with fondness. So why was her mum so caught up with reliving Nathan’s past? Perhaps she still carried guilt for not calling the police when she had her chance. But it was too late for that now, and Ruby wished she could release her mother from the torment of reliving it over and over again. It was worse for Ruby, because each memory was painfully clear for her too.

  * * *

  It had been a Friday night. Fish and chip night. Her favourite day of the week. Since her father’s death, her mother had done everything she could to maintain a semblance of normality. Ruby had just got to sleep when she was awoken by screami
ng and yelling next door. She crept downstairs as the crashing continued through the thin walls, and she and John pleaded with her mother to call the police. But her mother refused: not because she didn’t care but because, if she did, it would cut off all ties. They had worked out a code. If things got bad then Mrs Crosby would call out a secret word, ‘Never mind’. Ruby had pressed her ear against the wall to listen, willing her to shout the words. It was when the shouting subsided that she got frightened.

  Joy’s lower lip trembled as she spoke, looking deep into Ruby’s eyes. ‘As soon as he left, I ran next door. She was lying on the floor, blood in her hair, up the walls: she was a right mess. When I think of your dad… he never raised his voice to me. How is it that good men like him die when people like Crosby live?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mum,’ Ruby said, enjoying the first lucid conversation with her mother in weeks. She remembered her mum shouting at her to grab the boys while she hoisted Mrs Crosby’s arm over her shoulder like an old battered drunk. John was holding the door open, keeping watch in case Mr Crosby returned. Ruby had found Nathan and Lenny on the stairs, shaking like leaves in an October wind. But even as she brought them to her room she knew the brute would be back, and three hours later he was hammering at their door.

  Joy shouted at him to go home, and Ruby caught the quiver in her voice. The safety chain was weakening as Mr Crosby’s giant fists forced their way through, the white cuff of his shirt stained with blood. He may have been her older brother, but John was of no use when it came to confrontation, and quickly locked himself into his bedroom upstairs. It had been that way for as long as she remembered. Ruby had established herself as the stronger of the two from an early age. Her heart pumping, she ran to the kitchen, and returned to the hall just as Mr Crosby slammed his shoulder against the brittle wood. The chain vibrated; one of the screws fell to the ground: the chink chink sound deafening to Ruby’s twelve-year-old ears. Her mother pressed her frame against the other side, but it was no match for Mr Crosby, who was out of his mind with rage.

  ‘She thinks she can hide from me?’ he spat. ‘I’ll teach her a lesson… I’ll teach the lot of ya.’

  Ruby rushed towards the gap and raised her hand, plunging a fork into the back of Mr Crosby’s hand. He screamed in surprise, pulling back his fist. ‘You little bitch!’ he bellowed, but it afforded them enough time to shut the door and pull across the deadbolts.

  The sudden sting of pain as the prongs entered his flesh stalled his momentum, making him stagger back onto the pavement. Neighbours had begun to gather outside, and two men from nearby gently approached him, guiding him by the elbow. ‘Jimmy, she’s had enough for one night. C’mon, let’s get you inside.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Jimmy said, clasping his head in his hands, as if to fight the torment in his mind. ‘She’s coming home tomorrow.’

  Ruby knew that was how it would be. Because that was how it had always been.

  The next day, Mr Crosby had the decency to look sheepish as he gently knocked on the door, holding the biggest bunch of flowers Ruby had ever seen. A present for his wife to make up for the beating he had given her the night before.

  ‘What do you want?’ Ruby said, gaining some satisfaction at the four pinprick scars on the back of his fist. Narrow-eyed, she stood aside as her mother pushed past.

  ‘Ruby, go to your room; this is for grown-ups.’

  But Ruby refused, her lean frame merging into the corner of the living room as Mr Crosby was allowed inside. He was wearing his suit, the silver tiepin matching his cufflinks. His fingers were layered with rings. Everything about him shone. Everything except the grazes on his knuckles: a reminder of his brutality. He was a handsome man, but he had a coldness about him. A hardness that was not to be reckoned with. Ruby’s heart burst with pride that she had stood up to this giant, and she couldn’t understand why her mother let him in. ‘Sometimes you have to do a deal with the devil to keep the peace,’ Joy had once said, but it did not make sense with Ruby. Not then.

  Ruby screamed at her mother after they left. ‘How could you, Mum? You should have been calling the police, not letting them go back.’

  ‘Oh Ruby, one day you’ll see that life isn’t black and white. She’s not ready to leave him, not yet. But when she is I’ll be the one she turns to. If I call the police now she’ll just clam up and Jimmy will never let them around here again.’

  Ruby sat beside her and took her hand. ‘Mum, I don’t understand, why is everyone so scared of him?’

  ‘Because he’s a very powerful man, Ruby, and it doesn’t pay to cross him. I know you were trying to help, but you mustn’t get involved again.’

  ‘But the police… ’

  Joy turned, speaking in a harsh whisper. ‘You’re never, ever to mention the police in this house again, do you hear me? And certainly not in the presence of Mr Crosby.’

  Ruby nodded sullenly, although she didn’t understand. And now, as her mother recounted the story, she wondered how life would have turned out for Nathan had her mother done the right thing. For Ruby, joining the police felt like she was righting a wrong because she could not bear to spend the rest of her life believing she was powerless against the likes of Jimmy Crosby. She did not expect her mum to be proud of her, but some acknowledgement would have been nice. Joy fell into silence, and Ruby checked her watch. With a full shift ahead, it was time for her to return to work.

  * * *

  Harmony Williams led the visitor to where Joy Preston was sitting. ‘You are one lucky lady,’ she said to Joy, fixing her cushion as her guest sat beside her. ‘Your daughter only left, and now you have another visitor. Have you won de lottery or something?’ She chortled.

  Joy stared blankly, barely registering her visitor’s presence.

  ‘I think she has,’ the guest said. ‘With people like you looking after her.’

  Harmony beamed. ‘Honey, I’m the lucky one, working with all these fine folks. We have a saying where I come from: de older de moon, de brighter it shines. Now you have a good day.’

  The visitor leaned forward and patted Joy’s hand. ‘We will. This visit is long overdue.’

  * * *

  ‘Close the door behind you,’ Ruby said, catching a few inquisitive glances as she beckoned Luddy inside. He was wearing a new tie. A pink number, for which he had received merciless teasing after he admitted it was a present from his mum.

  ‘I was just going to offer you a doughnut,’ Luddy said, placing the open bag on the table. Eve had been late to work for the second time this week, and the old police rule of buying doughnuts for bad timekeeping still held.

  ‘Cheers,’ Ruby said, plucking out a sugary pastry. ‘I need you to do something for me, but it’s got to remain between us for now. Are you OK with that?’

  Luddy nodded, a smile rising to his lips. ‘Sure, what is it?’

  ‘I’m asking you because I trust you. I don’t want this blabbed all over the station.’ She sucked the sugar from her fingers and handed him a copy of the email Helen had given her earlier in the day.

  Luddy’s lips moved as he read the print accusing Ruby of sleeping with Nathan and Downes.

  ‘It’s slander,’ Ruby said, watching his eyes widen. ‘So I want you to see if you can trace the sender. Put your enquiries through the system as intel received from an anonymous source. If anyone asks, refer them to me.’

  ‘Sure thing, Sarge… Ruby. But shouldn’t you report this? “RIP”? It sounds like a death threat to me.’

  ‘It’s not a death threat,’ Ruby said, unwilling to elaborate. ‘But if you find the source I want you to report back to me alone. How’re your enquiries going? Any joy?’

  ‘I’ve got an appointment to speak to Charlotte’s husband. He’s given us a solid alibi, and she didn’t have any enemies.’

  ‘Apart from Lucy,’ Ruby muttered. ‘No sign of the murder weapon that killed Harry Edmonds?’

  Luddy shook his head, his glance returning to the paperwork. ‘You’re not in any t
rouble, are you? It’s just that I’ve heard of the Crosbys, and they’re a pretty nasty bunch.’

  ‘Which is why I want to keep this between us. And no, you don’t need to worry about me.’ She picked at the remains of her doughnut. ‘Do you know what would go nice with this?’

  ‘A cuppa tea,’ Luddy said ruefully, shoving the paper in his back pocket before taking her empty mug.

  But there was more to the email than Ruby was letting on. As much as she tried to deny it, her past was catching up with her, and it was only a matter of time before the truth was revealed.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Mr Lockwood looked every inch the grieving husband. Flabby bags hung under his eyes, and his bald patch shone underneath the spotlight in the hotel bar. Leather furnishings, soft music, and a relaxed atmosphere. A soothing location to meet a grieving widower. It was late evening, and having sent Luddy and the rest of the shift home, Ruby was happy to take the enquiry. She introduced herself and hoped that their meeting would be fruitful. She had vowed to leave no stone unturned. Sometimes, revisiting the past was better than trying to siphon through the myriad of information and phone calls to date.

  ‘Thanks for meeting me at such short notice. Are you staying long?’ Ruby said, shaking his hand in a firm grip. It was something her tutor had taught her when she joined the police. A weak handshake did not inspire confidence.

  ‘I’ve no definite plans. But I hope to stay a few more days… ’ His voice tailed away as he stared at his glass of overpriced water.