by Helen Phifer
She winked at him and they all laughed.
‘I have a feeling we’ll be seeing quite a lot of each other, Annie, so please do. I was never big on the doctor thing and if you need a prescription let me know.’
He left and Annie sat down in his chair, letting out a sigh.
‘You know, he’s quite dreamy as well. Look at us. I never got the chance to tell you about my ex husband, Mike, did I? He was a bit like Heath and very handy with his fists. In fact he almost killed me one night and when I woke up in the hospital I decided then that I was never going back.’
‘Oh, Annie, I had no idea. I’m sorry to hear that. I can’t believe that someone as strong as you had an abusive husband.’
‘I don’t talk about it really; I still get ashamed – but look at us, two women who had to fight for our lives against abusive husbands to finally find happiness with a couple of dreamboats.’
‘Well, why not? Don’t we all deserve a happy ever after?’
‘Yes, we certainly do and if I had a glass of champagne I’d drink to that.’
‘Me too. What will happen to Heath now? I mean, will he ever be let out of prison? I really hope not because I think with him out of my life I might just be able to finally start living again.’
‘He’ll go to court for a full trial, because Will said that he pleaded not guilty when he was interviewed. It will take months for them to gather the evidence and for it to get to court – which means even more agony for those girls’ families. Hopefully Will’s team will find more than enough evidence to prove to the world what a complete liar he is.
‘Why would he plead not guilty? I can’t believe it. I mean he had those photos of those girls enlarged and hung up on his studio wall for everyone to see. I can’t understand why I never noticed before or why none of his clients thought they were funny.’
‘Probably because they just thought they were supposed to be some kind of dramatic statement, a tribute to his art and skill.’
‘It’s so creepy to know that he had pictures of dead girls on the wall; that’s not normal behaviour, is it? Wouldn’t he be better off pleading guilty?’
‘It would certainly save the families having to go through the horrors of a court case but most killers enjoy the attention. They are quite often living for the thrill of daring to do what no one else would. He’ll get to relive it over again through the courts and the newspaper coverage.’
After ten minutes the door opened and Paul came back into the room.
‘My stupid car won’t start and the tow truck won’t be here for another four hours; apparently they are having a record-breaking number of call-outs and being a single male with no screaming kids or elderly parents I’m not a priority.’
‘I’m going now, so I can drop you off. But how will you get back for your car?’
‘I’ll bring my motorbike. I can leave that here for now because I rarely use it and besides they might not be able to get the car started so it might need to go to the garage. At least then I won’t be stranded.’
Annie hauled herself up and hugged Jo once more, holding her tight.
‘I’ll see you soon, Jo. Thank you again. I don’t think I will ever stop thanking you. Now make the most of this being waited on by the nurses, because you’ll be home before you know it.’
‘Where I’ll take over and wait on her hand and foot. I always knew my medical training would come in handy one day. Not to mention my fabulous baking skills. I’ll have you fattened up and feeling better in no time at all.’
Paul kissed Jo one more time then left with Annie.
Chapter 30
Heath Tyson’s house on the edge of the woods stood out now it was surrounded with blue and white crime scene tape. Like some morbid fairground attraction, it had been named ‘The House of Horrors’ by the local paper; the nationals had picked up the story and when Will had called into the village shop the black and white photograph which had been taken by a local photographer – the one he really didn’t like – had screamed at him from the front cover of every single newspaper.
Inside and outside the house had been photographed, videoed and searched from top to bottom several times over; it had been Will who had found the hidden safe yesterday that none of them could gain entry to, despite several of them trying. It had taken them until today to find someone to come and open it. The locksmith had spent the best part of forty minutes cursing under his breath and wiping sweat from his brow but he’d finally done it. Will had watched the entire time, holding his breath and keeping his fingers crossed behind his back because up to now they hadn’t found anything concrete that proved that Heath had killed those two girls. They had the death photos of them on the studio wall and that was it; he hadn’t actually killed Tilly or Annie, thank God, although he very nearly had – but not in a cold-blooded way. He had left them in the fridge, drugged up and hypothermic, but not dead. Most killers would have just got on with it and it was puzzling him why Heath hadn’t killed Annie whilst he had the chance either – not that he’d wanted him to, God forbid, but it was niggling away inside him. He’d only hit Jo with the axe in retaliation for her hitting him first and if he got a good lawyer they would claim it had been nothing but self-defence. They needed some kind of concrete proof that would result in the right conviction against him. Will wanted him locking up and the key throwing away so he’d never be able to look at or photograph any more women.
The bright flash from the crime scene investigator’s camera broke his daydream as the contents of the safe were photographed in situ. His white paper suit was uncomfortable and his rubber gloves were irritating him; it was warm outside and he could feel the beads of sweat forming on the back of his neck. He still felt tired, even though he’d slept all night. When he’d asked the Chief Super if someone else could take over from him because this case was too personal, his answer had been that they were short staffed and he was already up to date with the case. Much to his dismay, the man had told him that it didn’t make sense to take him off it – and he’d actually had the cheek to say that no one in his family had died, so Will could carry on. That was probably the closest he had ever come to punching a senior officer; the man was so insensitive – thank God no one had died, but it had been a close call for Tilly, Annie and poor Jo, who had come off the worst of them all.
Will leant down and looked inside at the contents, hoping to find a murder weapon, but all that was inside was an antique, brown-leather photo album with the words Memento Mori in gold script on the front. Where had he heard that phrase before? He couldn’t remember. Taking it out he began flicking through the pages. It was very old and most of the photographs were black and white with the subjects wearing Victorian clothing. Most of the pictures were of babies and children, but there were a few snaps of adults as well. He shivered – they truly made him feel uncomfortable as he stared at them. They were awful; not the sorts of photos you’d want to put on the mantelpiece for everyone to stare at. He realised why the words were familiar. A while ago he’d seen similar pictures on the internet; they were called Memento Mori – mourning photographs of the dead. Although, it was hard to discern which ones were actually dead because there were two, three siblings or parents posing next to them. As he flicked through them, intrigued by the quality and the effort that had gone into them, he shivered. They would stick in his mind forever.
As he got three quarters of the way through it there were some much more modern photos – an elderly woman in her nightgown who had quite clearly died at home in bed, her yellowed, sunken skin and slack jaw making her look a lot different to how her family would want to remember her. He turned the page and this time it was the same woman but her false teeth were in her mouth, her eyes were shut and she had a slight smile across her lips making her look much better. Her thinning, wispy grey hair had even been brushed and she looked as good as a corpse could look. Will frowned; why would he have these pictures; why would he even want these? The woman was still under the same duvet cove
r as in the previous picture so she hadn’t been moved to a funeral home where you would expect that sort of work to be carried out. There was a black leather doctor’s bag on the chair next to her. He flicked the page to see an elderly man who was dead in his armchair, his eyes frozen open, staring into another world, a look of horror on his face that would certainly upset his family or whoever it was that found him. He turned the page; this time the same man had his eyes and mouth closed, again in a half smile.
Will didn’t understand what he was looking at. How on earth could Heath have gained access to these people who were recently deceased to take their photographs, without family members complaining or telling him to fuck off? It didn’t make any sense whatsoever. He flicked the page – another woman, this one middle-aged but with a plastic bag over her head. How had he got access to these most private, final moments? None of these had been taken in his studio. Unless he’d killed them as well, but how would he manage that without arousing suspicion from their families. They needed to find out who these people were. It was as if he was trying to recreate the vintage Victorian photographs from earlier in the album. Next there were the girls from the stills that had been hanging on the studio wall. There were a lot more of these photos; he must have enlarged his favourite shots of them because he had taken so many. He lifted the album closer to his face; these photos had definitely been taken in this studio, but there was someone else there when it happened. He stared at the blurred image in the background to the far right of just one of the photos. It wasn’t Heath because it didn’t match the position he would have had to have been in to get the shot. Turning the pages, he flicked backwards and forwards until he realised what he was seeing. On the next page there was no one except the dead girl in this picture, but there was something on the floor that he did recognise. A black, leather doctor’s bag like the one from the earlier photo of the elderly woman; a bag that looked exactly like the one Paul Miller had been carrying the day they found Annie. When it had all gone horribly wrong, Will had been shirtless because he’d taken it off and had been pressing it against Jo’s neck to try and stem the bleeding. He had been so relieved to see the doctor come running in he couldn’t help but notice that he had his black bag with him. It had puzzled him then because how had he known that they would need medical help? But in the chaos that had ensued he’d forgotten all about it. A cold feeling spread down Will’s spine as it all came crashing together and he could see the full picture of what had happened. He stood up and began to give out orders to the officers who were standing around.
‘We need to find Doctor Paul Miller – like now. I think he’s the killer – Tyson was just his puppet and his official photographer. Where is he? Someone go get me a search warrant. We need to search his surgery and house. We need to find him now. I want armed task force officers to the hospital right now because Jo Tyson could be in grave danger.’
He took out his phone and dialled Annie; it went straight to voicemail.
Annie chattered with Paul about anything and everything on the drive back to the village, but he seemed quite distant. She put it down to the week they’d all had; they were all still in shock about it, not to mention tired. It was so sweet how Jo had found her knight in shining armour, just like she had found Will. Halfway along the road to Hawkshead he asked her to turn off onto a narrow lane.
‘Would you mind? It’s a bit rundown and bumpy, but I keep my motorbike in my dad’s barn. I don’t have any room for it at my house. Parking is bad enough at the best of times and I’d hate it to get damaged. It’s my pride and joy.’
‘No, of course not, although I have no idea where we’re going so you’ll have to direct me.’
He smiled at her. He’d known all along that he couldn’t have her in his life – she was far too big a risk. If Jo was to be a part of his life then that meant her new-found best friend would want to be, and it wouldn’t work. No, it wouldn’t work at all because she was a copper, her husband was a copper and every fucking person she knew worked for the police – and he hated the police. It would only be a matter of time before she realised that he wasn’t the nice man they all thought he was. Oh, he wasn’t a wife beater like his loser of a brother, Heath. No, he had some morals inside his twisted head – but he did like the power of being able to dictate whether someone should live or die. He knew without a doubt she would see straight through him. At some point he would let his guard slip – it was inevitable because he wasn’t invincible; he was only a man at the end of the day. He directed her to the rundown house that had once belonged to his and Heath’s father, but which was now empty and had been for the last fifteen years. Well, it was empty if you didn’t count their father’s corpse that was buried out in the barn. He’d had a grand old time killing him whilst Heath had waited in the house with his camera, desperate to take photos of him once he was dead, but not of the killing. Heath was a thug and a bully but not a killer – no, he’d left that part of it to Paul, which was a good job. He didn’t mind it. His medical training had taught him early on that life was a fragile thing. Sometimes you lived and sometimes you didn’t; there was nothing more to it.
He tried to keep his voice calm. He didn’t want Annie to suspect the frenzy he was silently working himself into. It was a shame Heath wasn’t around to photograph this one; he’d never done a pregnant woman before. Although, to be honest, Heath would probably have chickened out with his twisted set of morals. But after he’d killed her he could have photographed her and her dead baby; they certainly would make stunning pictures.
‘You have to take a sharp right turn which will lead you to the drive up to the farmhouse; it’s only a few more minutes and then you can get on your way. I’m sure you have lots to be doing, but I really appreciate the lift. It’s so kind of you and it means I can get back to see Jo much quicker.’
Annie opened her mouth to speak but a small gasp came out as the pain came again, this time far more severe than the last one. He looked across at her.
‘Is everything okay?’
She nodded her head.
‘Yes, at least I think so. I’ve had a couple of twinges since I arrived at the hospital.’
‘How far on are you again?’
‘Seven months.’
‘You’ll be fine, I wouldn’t worry too much – they’ll be Braxton Hicks contractions and they’re quite common at your stage of pregnancy. It’s just your womb having a practice run. When you’ve dropped me off, go home and run yourself a warm bath, take a couple of paracetamol and try to get some rest. You’ve had a hell of a week and your body needs a break – doctor’s orders.’
Annie laughed. ‘Yes, doctor, I will. That sounds like a great idea.’
She pulled into the overgrown drive and wondered why it was such a mess; his dad must be a bit of a recluse if he lived like this. She stared into the rear-view mirror and felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The girl with the long blonde hair was staring back at her; Annie watched as a trickle of bright red blood dripped from the gaping wound at the side of her head down her cheek. Her blue-tinged lips were moving but Annie couldn’t hear her or read her lips because she was trying to keep calm and not run the car off the narrow, overgrown drive and into a tree. Her heart was pounding; she didn’t understand why the girl was there. Annie had made the connection, once she’d seen the photos on Heath’s studio wall, that the girl who had visited her was the same one who was lying dead in the picture, and who had been buried in the unmarked grave that Will had been called to. They had found her killer; surely she should be able to move into the light now? She shouldn’t still be stuck here, following Annie around.
Annie shivered. The temperature had dropped in the car and she saw tiny particles of ice begin to form in the condensation on the bottom of the windscreen. The farmhouse came into view and she was shocked to see just how decayed the building was; no one could possibly live inside of it because the roof had all but collapsed and there was ivy growing out of every window and do
or frame. Annie looked in the mirror, hoping the girl had gone – but she was still there, staring at her, trying to tell her something that she couldn’t hear, so she began to talk about the first thing that entered her mind.
‘What a shame such a beautiful building has been left to go to ruin. It would make a beautiful family home. Maybe one day you and Jo could renovate it and move here.’
‘I know. My father died almost fifteen years ago. It was in a right old state before then and I’ve been too busy with the practice to do anything about it. My brother could have made an effort, but he never did. He doesn’t come here now. Not since my father’s death.’
‘Oh, that’s a real shame. I didn’t realise you had a brother, although I don’t know why I would, to be honest. It’s not any of my business. I guess I just imagined you as an only child.’
He wondered what the best thing to do was – to kill her now in the car, or to get her out of the car. Yes, that would be best. He didn’t want her blood and his DNA all over the car – it would make it far too easy for the coppers who would eventually find it. He directed her to a large, half-collapsed barn around the side of the house.
‘My bike is just in here. Thank you so much for the lift, Annie. Would you mind just hanging on for five minutes in case I can’t get the bike started? Otherwise I’ll be stranded here.’
She wondered why he would even leave an expensive motorbike in a decrepit barn that belonged to a ruined farm in the middle of nowhere. Rural theft was rife; she would be amazed if the bike was even in there. It had probably been stolen long ago.
‘No, of course not. I don’t mind at all.’
She gasped as the pain came again, taking her breath away.
‘Why don’t you get out of the car and have a walk around? It might be cramp? Stretching your legs will help ease the discomfort and pain.’
She opened the car door and hauled herself out. Why would she have any reason not to listen to him? He was a doctor and knew what he was doing, or at least she hoped he did because she didn’t fancy giving birth here in the middle of a ramshackle barn with no Will to hold her hand and wipe the sweat from her brow. He walked across to the huge barn door and pushed it open, stepping into the blackness inside. Annie tried to straighten up; this one was taking its time to go. When the pain eased off she took out her phone to ring Will and tell him where she was, just in case she needed him. She dialled and heard the beeps that told her there was no signal. Bloody story of my life. The best thing she could do was get in the car and get home, ring him from the house phone. She waited to hear the sound of a motorbike engine revving but there was none; in fact there were no sounds coming from the barn at all. She walked towards the slightly open door and the darkness that waited beyond.
