by J. A. Gill
'You'll call me as soon as you have any news won't you?'
'Of course I will, now don't get yourself worked up, I'm sure she's fine.'
Eighteen
I went to the King's Head pub first and looked around. It was a quiet night and the barman assured me he'd not seen Monica or any of the teachers that evening. I drove the mile or so to the school half expecting to get a call from Nana telling me Monica had arrived back home.
It was dark now and my headlights lit the driveway as I approached the school. The car park was empty and I was now getting a little more concerned. I sat in the car and decided to call some of Monica's girlfriends. They all told the same story: None of them had seen or heard from Monica as it was her teaching night.
I was turning the car and starting to head out of the car park when out of my rear-view mirror I saw tyre tracks across the playing field close to one of the teaching blocks. I turned the car and pulled over close to the grass. I grabbed my Maglite torch from the glove box, clicked it on, shone the light on the tracks and followed them. The tracks ran the length of the school building. As the torch lit the side of the teaching building I noticed the wall was scratched and chipped as though something heavy had run up against it and scraped along it. Further on and at the corner of the building I noticed blue paint and then glass from vehicle lights. I began to move faster and then I began to run. I quickly passed the end of the school building and came to some tennis courts. I shone the torch on the tyre tracks and followed them up and around the tennis courts, then through the darkness I caught site of Monica's blue Ford Fiesta. I could see the doors were open and the car looked empty.
My heart was beating out of my chest as I approached. I shone the torch at the windscreen as I ran at full speed over to the abandoned vehicle. I couldn't see Monica. I began to panic, cursing under my breath as I frantically searched the car. What had happened?
I ran round the back of the car and there on the grass was Monica, she was on her knees trying to get to her feet. I sat her down and checked her over. There seemed to be no serious injuries, thank God. Her face and blouse were bloodied from a cut to the head. Her blouse was torn. She looked pale - so very pale. I was scared of what might have happened to her, so many thoughts ran through my mind. She told me about the two men and Anya. 'They weren't interested in me, they wanted Anya. We both fought but they were so strong. They took her. There was nothing I could, I tried to fight but one of them hit me.' She touched the cut over her eye. 'That was the last thing I remember. Then you arrived.'
I held her close and helped her to her car. I drove her to the car park at the front of the school, there we switched cars and I drove her to the hospital in my car. She didn't want to go to the hospital, she wanted to go home, but I insisted she get checked over. I called Nana and she looked after Alice and Faith that night. I stayed at Monica's side while she got checked and the following morning, after assurances from doctors she'd sustained no serious injuries, Monica was allowed to go home.
Nineteen
The room was white and sterile in appearance. There were two fold-up chairs and a microphone stand with microphone. The microphone went nowhere, it was simply for appearance, but they both knew that.
Vlad had explained that he was only interested in real talent and in this room, one to one, he would know instantly whether or not Clara was the real deal. If she was, then not even the sky was the limit. He'd make her a global superstar. He had both the money and the connections.
Vlad had been very attentive while he listened to her sing, she could tell he was impressed. Why wouldn't he be, her mum, dad, grandparents, friends and the rest of her extended family had told her many times since she was about 4 years old she was amazing and that she had a gift. By the time she was 18 they were saying it was shocking she hadn't been snapped up by a record label. By the time she was 21 she'd had a top ten hit as part of a girl band but that had not lasted when the lead singer got caught up in a sex and drugs scandal with a rapper named RIPPEMUP. Back when they were flying high in the music charts she and the other girls in the group had secretly called him "Flippin'-muppet". That was back when they thought the dream would never end.
The record label had blamed their being dropped on poor sales. They also suggested it was to do with the minor incident when a small quantity of cocaine was found in hand luggage before a flight out of Canada. That was of course complete rubbish -- drugs were handed to them freely at the time and almost considered a perk. The truth was all record labels were struggling and piracy was to blame. Illegal downloads were killing the music industry and until a new business model was found even the most talented artists were being dropped. During the final tearful meeting she still remembers them saying: This isn't the end of the road for you girls, you're so talented. This will all blow over and we'll be in-touch. Think of it as a time to recharge your batteries. This isn't about you, it's about the changing face of the music industry.
Well screw them, she was a fighter. What most people don't know is that every successful singer is first and foremost a successful businessperson. She never heard from them again and that's fine, she's over it. Eventually they'd be begging to take her back and when they did she'd dictate the terms of the contract, she'd be the one with the power. In her heart she knew one way or another she'd be front page news again.
Her time was now, she could feel it. Today was just a business transaction nothing more. And for this type of transaction she wouldn't need cash. So many artists these days were breaking into the music industry independently and she knew she had as much talent as any of them. From what she'd heard, though she couldn't remember who had told her, this guy Vlad was well connected. He was certainly wealthy, which meant he was successful. All these Russian types were rich. Oligarchs, most of them. The house was huge, he'd given her a tour and he'd been a real gentleman. He dressed well and smelled gorgeous. Her priority now was to make sure she was top of his to-do list. And if that meant she had 'to-do' him then she was comfortable with that.
Soft music played through speakers in the ceiling and she swayed seductively to the music. She knew she was hot. She worked out every day, she hardly ever ate carb's and drank more water than a fish.
Clara moved in to close the deal. She ran her fingers through Vlad's hair and began to unbutton his shirt. She wasn't a big a fan of tattoos but she'd make an exception on this occasion. Just as well, this guy was a walking gallery. She slipped her hand inside his shirt and ran her nails over Vlad's hard body. Someone else works out she thought.
She unfastened her dress and let it fall to the floor. She gave him her best and most innocent smile, one that sort of said, 'whoops, look what just happened, now what shall we do?' She'd read somewhere that most famous women had to kiss a few toads to get the top. Fortunately, this guy was hardly a toad and her mantra these days was, 'whatever it takes'.
Vlad got to his feet so she could unfasten his belt. She could see he was ready. They kissed and he lifted her with ease. She wrapped her legs around him as he gently lowered her to the floor. He is strong she thought. Now he was over her, kissing her neck, caressing her breasts and stomach. She unzipped his trousers and pushed them down. His hand moved from her thighs to her lips, then her face and then to her neck.
Clara tried to lift her head to kiss him again but he held her down by her throat. That's okay, she thought, he likes to be in charge. Then he was squeezing, gently at first, then gradually harder. At first she smiled, then she was confused, then concerned. She opened her eyes and looked at him. There was no mistaking his intention. His eyes no longer sparkled. Now they reminded her of the cold, black, dead eyes of a shark. Clara tried to move but he was a dead weight on her. Tears welled in her eyes. She struggled to breath. Panic overwhelmed her as the stupidity of her situation dawned on her with crystal clarity. No one knew she was there, he'd deliberately asked her to be discreet and to tell nobody. She was helpless and alone in a house with a psychopath.
She kicked
and clawed and scratched but that had no effect on him, he hardly noticed. She felt herself being lifted like a doll and pushed against the wall. Suddenly it all felt so surreal, it was as though she were an observer who had no control over the situation happening around her. Over his shoulder she could see the fake microphone stand. 'It's simply a prop,' he had said. 'Some performers prefer to perform with a microphone. I want to make you feel at ease so you perform at your best. This is all about you, I have a feeling you are going to stir something deep inside of me.'
He had flattered her, told her what she wanted to hear. Suddenly being famous no longer mattered. She spoke to God for the first time since she was a child. She promised him that if he'd help her now she'd be happy to never sing again. Then at the moment Vlad showed her the knife she knew for sure God wouldn't be rescuing her and in fact it was Satan with his dead black eyes and not God who had appeared for her today.
Twenty
It was 4 a.m. and the streets were deserted apart from the occasional road cleaning vehicle and taxi. Jimmy and Chris were under strict instructions to dump the woman's body in the Thames. It seemed a strange thing to do as the previous bodies had been found really quickly. They knew better ways to dispose of a corpse, after all that was their speciality and why they were in such demand all over the UK and Europe. Still he'd insisted and he was paying for their premium rate service. So they just did as they were told.
'She's staying with her mother at the moment,' said Jimmy.
'Your Aggie?' said Chris.
'Yes. Said she had to have a little time to herself,' said Jimmy solemnly. 'Time to yourself, I said to her. I'm out all bloody day. And sometimes I'm gone for days on end. Time to yourself? How much more time to yourself do you need you stupid cow?'
'Perhaps that was a little strong, mate?'
'Yeah, it was. I was annoyed. You understand?'
'Of course I do,' said Chris. 'And rightly so, with everything you do for her. You don't think your Aggie is, well you know...'
'No. There's no one else. It crossed my mind so I followed her and for a bit I watched the mother-in-law's house as well. Plus, I went through all her stuff back home. I found nothing to indicate - you know.'
'So what are you thinking?'
'You know I think she might be menopausal. You know, that thing some people get in middle age. Men go get a sports car or a hot twenty something while women become even more emotional but with hot flushes to boot.'
'You reckon it could be that?'
'I'm no psychologist but all the signs are there. More irrational than normal. Snappy. Crying a lot. Comfort eating. Banging on about romance and surprises and holidays and affection. Talking to her mum for hours on end. Not wanting to go out as much, in fact I can't remember the last time we went to the pub together. And you know, not wanting to, well you know what I mean.'
'Blimey. Really? Well, if you don't mind my saying she has put on a bit weight recently. Still very attractive, don't get me wrong. But maybe a little softer round the edges.'
'There you go see, you noticed the signs as well,' said Jimmy. The two men were silent for a while as they contemplated their considerable body of evidence, neither of them really sure what to say.
'You'll figure it out, Jimmy. You and Aggie are so good together,' said Chris. He hadn't seen his mate like this before and wanted to help. Yet, at the same time, he felt ill-equipped and more than a little awkward. Relationship talk of this nature was usually part of the male 'no fly zone'.
'Yeah. It'll come good,' said Jimmy almost inaudibly.
In an effort to lift the mood Chris tried to think of something upbeat to say. In the end he just said, 'Right, we must be nearly there. Let's get this body dumped in the river. Then we'll head over to the Butter Fingers cafe and I'll treat you to a nice bacon and egg roll with brown sauce, how does that sound?'
'Great idea. I might even have a few fried mushrooms.'
'This'll do, this looks as good a spot as any. There's no one around, we'll dump her over the side here.'
'Spot on, let's get this done.'
'You know, I decided to put extra sheeting down in the boot, I was worried about leakage.'
'That makes sense. Though you always do such a good job wrapping, I don't really see leakage as a problem, then again it's always worth taking those little extra precautions. It's what makes the difference between amateurs and professionals.'
'Of course it is, the prisons are full of amateurs who cut corners. It must be hell waking every day in a cell and knowing you're there because you got sloppy.'
'Talking of which, you know I think it might be time to move on, make this our last drop for this Russian. I'm not so sure this Vlad the Wolf is the full picnic. I mean, why use us when he has his own men and all he wants is a river drop? It just doesn't stack up.'
'You know I was thinking the same thing. This is the sort of thing we left behind years ago. Yeah, the money is good but any idiot can drop a body in a river and these days the risks are way too high. We could end up on bloody YouTube.'
'That's settled then. I mean we've got all the equipment for making bodies vanish: Incinerators, liquidisers, acid tanks, chippers and shredders and here we are outside freezing our nuts off at an unsociable hour about to do an old school body drop.'
Suddenly the two men were back to their old selves and everything seemed right with the world. Chris felt relieved to hear Jimmy humming a little of Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody as they swung the body high over the railings and into the Thames. It was good to see his mate back to his old self again. 'I'll tell you what. After brekky, we'll swing by Covent Garden and pick up some flowers for your Aggie, she'll like that.'
'That's not a bad idea. We'll make a fresh start,' agreed Jimmy.
'Good man. Right let's go get a cuppa and a fry up. And later I'll make some calls, put the word out we're back on the market for some professional work. While you my friend are making up with your Aggie.'
'Now that, sounds like a plan.'
Twenty-One
Simon Baker sat in a bamboo chair in the corner of the room. He was sweaty and out of breath and right now wasn't happy. 'Idiot. That was too close,' he mumbled and chewed his thumbnail. He looked at the bed and the room. In his mind, he went over the events as they should have been. He pictured himself skillfully prizing open the patio door then moving silently through the house. In his planning he was over her when he grabbed a clump of hair on the back of her head and forced her face down into the pillow. It was simply a case of holding her there until she passed out and finally suffocated.
In reality she bucked and kicked like a rodeo horse and he ended up on his backside on the floor. Then like a lunatic she was in his face screaming at him, hitting him and throwing at him anything she could lay her hands on. The whole thing was a narrowly avoided disaster. Having to improvise wasn't fun at all. He'd ended up having to punch her to the ground and corner her and strangle her with the cable from a bedside lamp. Baker shuddered. He felt dirty. He felt like a monster. He wasn't supposed to feel this way. This was supposed to be retribution for what she'd done to him, not a scene from a low budget slasher movie. He kicked the lifeless body which was lying in front of him. 'Stupid, stupid, woman. Look what you made me do. First you ruin my life then you ruin your own murder.'
Baker began to laugh. He laughed and then he sobbed like a child. After a few minutes he wiped his nose on his arm, sniffed and cleared his throat. 'I should have drugged you, that would have made things simpler. I specifically chose not to do that because I was going to tell you who I was while you suffocated. You spoiled that. Now of course, you're dead and you don't even know why.'
Baker got to his feet and started dragging Faye through the house to the bathroom. He turned on the taps and checked the temperature. Odd, he thought. No need to check the temperature, not like she's going to complain. But it seems the right thing to do. Should have drugged her for sure, it would have made things easier. No distressful fighting. How w
ould I have explained it if I'd ended up with a black eye or scratched face? And look at your neck now and your face, all bruised and blotchy. It's not how I pictured this scene, not at all how I pictured you.
Baker stepped over Faye. 'Excuse me a moment I just need to get a few things.'
Baker went to his rucksack in the kitchen and while he was there he flicked on the kettle and put a teabag and milk in a cup ready for later. He grabbed a Tupperware box from his rucksack and went to Faye's wardrobe and to her chest of drawers.
'Aha.' Baker turned off the bath taps and pulled back the shower curtain. He then decided it would be better to remove the shower curtain completely. He grabbed Faye's wrists and pulled her completely into the bathroom and turned her so she was alongside the bath. He was about to lift her when he decided he should take some photographs.
'Won't be a minute, I just need to grab the camera.' A few minutes later he returned with a tripod, Nikon camera and his rucksack. After taking a few shots from various angles and feeling disappointed with the lighting he gave up. Instead he decided it was time to create his scene.
Worried about hurting his back Baker decided to do the move in three stages. First, he started by lifting Faye to a sitting position on the edge of the bath. Second, he lifted her arms and wrapped his own arms around her body in an attempt to lower her into the bath water. In reality he was unable to hold her there and was pulled into the bath as Faye slumped backwards into water. Bath water spilled over the sides and out across the bathroom floor.
Baker took some towels from the heated towel rail. 'Don't want any accidents, do we?' He got down on his hands and knees and began furiously mopping. 'Right that's that. Now let's top up the bath and then we're almost done. Wasn't so bad was it?'
Picking up the silk scarf he'd found in Faye's drawer he gently tied it around her neck. He stood back to look. Satisfied he opened the Tupperware box. 'Look at this,' he showed the lifeless body the contents of the box. 'Rose petals. Just for you.' He sprinkled the rose petals on the water around Faye and then placed one of each eye and few in her hair. 'For when the police officers arrive. We want you to look amazing.' He stood back and looked at what he'd created. 'Faye, you look beautiful. Just like Ophelia. It's better than you deserve, if I am being perfectly honest. You were a real bitch. You and the others have only got yourselves to blame. You're the reason I am doing this, I was perfectly happy. But sadly you decided to be a bitch and here we find ourselves.'
