“You legend!” said Mel.
“Come on, wash your pits, we’re going out for tea – that pub you love over the tops!”
“Yes!” said Mel, as she headed towards the stairs. “I’ll get some clean clobber for those two.”
“No, me mam’s coming, she’s having them. It’s date night!”
“Yes!” said Mel again, as she headed off up the stairs, laughing as she went. The thing with that freaky copper would have to wait, she decided, as she threw her work-clothes in the dirty wash and jumped in the shower. “Cos this is date night! Date night, night!” she sang, loosely to the tune of Thriller.
*****
The conversation with Pete about Sergeant Knight’s harassment never came up. It just wasn’t possible. Each time that Mel had promised herself that it had to be done, and revved herself up to do it, she’d bottled it.
That day, when Pete had brought home the thousand pounds, that should have been the day. Mel regretted not doing it, because the following day, it wasn’t possible to bring it up. The following day after that, it still wasn’t possible.
Four days after Mel’s phone had been unblocked by Sergeant Knight, he text her. This time, he wanted to see her private parts. That text made her feel physically sick. But the threat that followed, the threat of pulling Pete over and showing him the picture that she’d sent, well, that put things into perspective. She sent the filthy picture.
The demands kept coming. Some of the pictures that she took gave Mel a buzz, like that first one had. Others, well, she just thought they were weird, and creepy. These text messages were exchanged for about a month, and during that time, Mel had mellowed to the situation. It no longer felt like blackmail, or a threat. She had begun enjoying this weird, seedy little game. It was the only way to get through it, she decided. But it wasn’t long until Sergeant Knight had demanded a more physical interaction. With his large collection of intimate photographs, his power was enormous.
And once the “affair” had started properly, there was no going back. Mel had been sleeping with Sergeant Knight, or Jason, as he had become known now, for almost a month. They’d meet once, sometimes twice a week, for sex. Nothing more, nothing less. They’d had very respectable afternoon sex, checking in at the Premier Inn Express near Heaton Park a couple of times, paying cash for the room. They’d had very rough, very urgent outdoor sex in Worsley Woods a few times. Wherever it was, whenever it happened, it was just sex, and Mel just went along with it, hopeful that soon, Jason would get bored of her and find a new victim. She just got on with it, feeling that she was in far-too-deep to be able to do anything to stop it, now.
*****
About a week before Sergeant Knight disappeared, Mel and Pete were in bed. They’d both been shattered, nodding off in the living room at about half nine. They went up and got ready for bed, the plan was to have an early night, but the trip upstairs had woken them up, and they’d started talking and one thing led to another. After a while, they were both wide awake, and the tiredness was gone.
“I’m starving now. Can’t stop thinking about my guts.” As he said it, Pete’s belly made a loud rumbling noise that made them both giggle. “Bang on cue!” he said, patting his big wobbly gut as Mel continued laughing. A few minutes later, Mel had gone downstairs to make a cheese-on-toast supper for herself and Pete, when Pete heard her phone vibrate on the bedside table. He gnored it, but then it vibrated again, so he grabbed it, and swiped the screen to see who was ringing at this time.
It was a photograph, and a text message. Jason had text Mel a photograph of his erection. “Can’t wait until this is inside you tomorrow. Usual time and place you filthy little slag.”
Pete was sick when he saw it, all over the bedclothes. He couldn’t help it, it just came up, and sprayed out of him. He was shaking violently, ice-cold shivers enveloped his entire body. He was sweating, and freezing cold at the same time, his teeth were chattering together as though he was outside in the cold. Mel came upstairs and found him, curled up in a ball.
He told her to stay away, warned her that she might catch it. He put it down to a virus, he put it down to something he’d eaten. He took the guest duvet downstairs and got on the settee, telling his wife that he’d be fine. Mel was worried, Pete had gone a seriously weird colour, he was so pale, and he looked like he’d seen a ghost, or something. She’d never seen him looking so unwell, and decided to take his advice, and stay away from him – just in case she did catch it.
Mel never realised that she’d had the text messages. Pete had deleted them, with his shaking, trembling fingers, while Mel was grilling the cheese. Mel never knew that her husband had read the message, the message that had made him have such a paralysing reaction. She knew none of it. She just thought that Pete was ill.
Pete lay on the settee, staring at the ceiling, for the longest, most torturous night of his life. His mind was whirring, his body was trembling. He couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t actually believe that Mel could do that, not to him, not to her Pete. No way. Suddenly, the extra visits to the gym, the odd late night at work, the extended nursery hours – it was all starting to make sense. Not that this sense brought with it any comfort. Pete just couldn’t believe that Mel, his Mel, could do that to him. That she could go off with another bloke. That she could do that. Ruin everything.
Pete’s whole life was in ruins, as he lay on that sofa, tossing, turning, trying to get that text message out of his head. Trying to get the shock of that photograph of his wife’s boyfriend’s penis out of his head.
It was the longest night. Pete Meyer didn’t get a wink of sleep on that long, torturous, never-ending night. And it was that sleep deprivation, that mental exhaustion, the emotional and physical pain that started the chain of events which led to Jason Knight’s disappearance.
*****
Pete was gone by the time that Mel had got up to feed Thomas at six thirty. She didn’t give it another thought, as Pete would often be up and out before her, especially when he had a big job on. He’d always say that he preferred to be doing overtime before work, that way, if there was no over-time, he’d get an early finish.
But today, Pete Meyer wasn’t working. He had only one objective, and that was to find out who Mel was screwing behind his back. Knowing that Mel would spot his van a mile off, Pete went down and parked up at the Salford Car Hire showroom, and hired a little silver Citreon Spark for the day. By seven-thirty, Pete had left his van at the showroom, and had headed off in the little hire car, back in the direction of the family home.
Pete drove along the main road, past the entrance to Renshaw Crescent, spotting that Mel’s car was still parked on the drive. He drove along a little further, before pulling into a space between parked cars. He pulled on the hand brake and checked the time. It was five to eight. Mel had normally left by now, the kids started nursery at eight. She was probably too busy arranging her next shag, thought Pete, and he could feel the colour draining out of his own face as the harshness of the situation caught up with him again. He noticed that his breathing was heavy and laboured. He still couldn’t believe that this was happening, that Mel could do that. And look at him, talk to him, kiss him, laugh at his jokes, as though everything was just normal.
Eventually, Mel whizzed past in her silver VW Beetle. Pete turned the engine key, indicated and pulled off, realising that the simple act of just driving behind his wife, and his babies was absolutely gutting him. His eyes were filling with tears as he followed behind at a distance. He parked up a good distance away from the nursery school, and his heart was breaking as he watched Mel take Thomas’ car seat in one hand, and walked holding Holly’s hand with the other. Holly was trying to skip, and Mel looked flustered, like any mum on the morning school run.
The heart-break, it was a new sensation for Pete. He’d never experienced it before. It was like a cold, almost. A flu – it drained you, completely zapped your energy. It made everything happen in slow motion. It made Pete become a zombie almost. He
couldn’t think about anything else except Mel, and this man, and even though it was making him physically ill, there was nothing he could do to stop it. It was all he had in his mind. The usual things that he thought about, work, his mates, his football, it was as though they didn’t exist anymore. All that mattered was finding out who Mel was sleeping with. There were absolutely no thoughts beyond that. Pete wasn’t planning the next stage, he wasn’t imagining the confrontation, wasn’t throwing punches around in his mind. All that mattered right now, was that he discovered who Mel was going to meet.
Mel was soon back in the car, and heading off to the school where she worked. Pete realised that he wasn’t really doing a good job of being inconspicuous, as he drove a few metres behind his wife, at one point staring into the mirrored reflection of her eyes as he waited behind her car at the traffic lights. He was relieved, and frustrated to see that she drove directly to the school where she worked. He was relieved, because it meant that for a few hours at least, she wasn’t going to be sleeping with somebody else. For a few hours, nobody would be touching her, kissing her, loving her.
But he was frustrated, because he knew that the time until her car came back out of there would make very long, painful, punishing hours.
*****
It was a long, slow, agonising morning. To Pete, it felt as though somebody had died. He felt angry, and confused. He couldn’t understand what was going on, and he
couldn’t stop the pain in his skull. His head was churning around with awful, haunting thoughts and visions, constantly rotating around like a tumble-dryer of mental anguish. Pete’s tears were dried up, he’d never been one for crying, but today, he realised that he’d depleted his supply, and that made him feel weak, and hopeless.
Mel’s silver Beetle passed Pete’s hire car at 11.45. He felt as though he’d been winded, as he saw her checking her make-up in her mirror as she whizzed by. This felt like a fresh betrayal, as he turned the car key, and set off following behind his wife, as she headed off to have sex with another man on her lunch-break from work. And all she seemed concerned about, was whether her make-up looked alright.
Mel was driving west out of Swinton, towards Kearsley. It wasn’t long before she was slowing her car down and indicating to turn right. Where was she going? Thought Pete, unfamiliar with this area. It looked like a quiet little country lane. He decided that he’d have to continue going straight ahead, otherwise he was bound to be spotted. Shit. He looked in his rear view mirror as the Beetle disappeared from view, and he began looking for an opportunity to turn around. He soon reached a side street, which he pulled into, performed a three-point-turn, and pulled out back onto the main road, heading back towards Swinton. He was looking for the turning that Mel had gone down.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” shouted Pete. He was banging his hand against the steering wheel. He could feel that he’d lost track of her. He’d waited all morning, the minutes had passed as slowly as hours, and now he’d lost her at the first turning. He indicated left and turned into the road that Mel had gone down. It was a steep hill, in quite a densely wooded area. He passed underneath a railway bridge and found himself with only one road to drive along. His anger was beginning to recede now that he could see that Mel hadn’t managed to lose him. A little further along the road, Pete saw a sign. “Welcome to Clifton Marina.” Just beyond the sign was a car park, and Mel’s car was parked there. She was sat inside. It looked as though she was looking at her phone. She was alone, which brought a sense of relief to Pete, although he knew that he was playing tricks on himself. She’d come down here to meet a man that she was screwing, he had to remind himself, as he felt the cold sweat enveloping him for the umpteenth time this morning.
Pete stopped the car about sixty metres away from Mel’s. But he felt that the position was too vulnerable. He could clearly see her. And by that logic, he figured that she would be able to see him too, if she looked up from her phone. Pete looked around the car park. There were four other cars there and a BT van. The only vehicle that had anybody inside was the van, and it was two blokes in hi-vis jackets eating a chippy lunch with blue plastic forks. Pete made a mental note of the other vehicles that were parked up. He decided it would be best to move his hire-car further up the lane, out of sight. He just needed to get away from this car park, he felt that he was going to be spotted any second.
The engine was still running, so he put it into reverse and manoeuvred the car out of the parking bay, and headed off, back up the lane towards the railway bridge.
And that’s when he saw him. That’s when he saw the bloke that was shagging his wife. He was beeping his horn and gesturing his hand at Pete, it was almost a swipe movement that he was making, suggesting that Pete should get out of the way. Pete reversed the car a little, and allowed enough room for the man to squeeze through in his dark blue Ford Focus. The car driver didn’t say thanks, or wave, or even make eye-contact. He just drove past wearing a sarcastic grin on his lips. That was him. Pete could feel it, right in his gut.
Pete parked the car where it was and began walking quickly down the hill, back down towards the car park. His adrenaline was thumping. He couldn’t ever remember feeling this hyped up. Not even that time a month or so earlier, when that Sanjeev had tried to rip him off for all that money. Pete had never felt like this is his entire life, he felt drunk, and he felt as though he wasn’t actually there. It was as though he was watching what was going on, not actually taking part. He sneaked along the line of bushes at the back of the car park. Mel was out of the car now, she was walking over to his, she was saying something. Pete kept going, creeping along the back of the bushes, trying to be as quiet as possible, but making endless crack and crunch sounds as his feet crushed old twigs and branches in the undergrowth.
What Pete saw his wife doing to the man in the car changed everything. All he had hoped for was a resolution. He had been praying that there had been a mistake. That he’d got it wrong. It was clear, as he peered through those bushes, into the dark blue car, that he hadn’t got anything wrong. If anything, it was much worse than he had imagined. His brain just wasn’t ready to see that, and he had to lie down, where he was, in the twigs and dog dirt behind the bushes. He was paralysed with grief.
After a while, of silently crying, just lay there, shaking and trembling on the cold, damp, stinking floor, Pete managed to motivate himself enough to stand. He began limping off, crouching low as he went, wishing that he’d never come here, hoping that he’d one day be able to forget that image that he’d just witnessed.
He got back to the car, looking around to see if anybody had spotted him, but not really caring any way. He got inside, and tried to get the key to stop shaking around, and just go inside the slot. He started the car and drove off, up the hill. He saw a driveway for a house at the very top, and decided to pull in there. Pete needed to follow this guy’s Ford Focus, when he had finished having fun with his wife. He needed to follow him. He needed to find out who he was, where he lived, what he did.
Pete’s first instinct was that the car driver was from Mel’s school. That was the only thing that he could think of. He was sick in his lap, as he recalled what he had just witnessed. He looked around half-heartedly for something to wipe the watery vomit with, but there was nothing. He just sat, and waited, allowing the substance to soak into his t-shirt and trousers. His pulse was making a sound in his ears, a constant, monotonous beat and his vision was blurring too, in time with the beat. Pete felt as though he’d had a skin-full, he’d never felt like this before. It was like he was drunk, with the hangover from hell, and was suffering with the flu as well. His chest felt heavy, almost every breath that he took felt laboured and difficult. If he could just stop breathing now, if he could just die, sat here, covered in his own puke, that would make everything okay, he thought.
After around fifteen minutes, Mel’s car zoomed past, and she began slowing down and indicating to turn left, back towards her school. Pete sobbed to himself, as she pulled out of
the junction and drove away. He sat, and waited, and waited for the blue Focus to come along. The time went on, and Pete began wondering if he’d missed another turning down the lane.
It was another ten minutes until the car finally appeared, which came as a great relief to Pete. He thought that he’d missed his chance, and was trying to work out a way of being able to catch Mel with him again. But he never wanted to catch Mel with him again. Not ever.
As soon as the blue car reached the junction, Pete put his own car into gear and pulled out of the driveway, maneuvering the car up to the junction, and indicating right, just as the blue car in front of him was doing. Pete was looking at the man’s eyes in his rear view mirror. He didn’t seem to notice, he certainly didn’t look at Pete, he was just looking around, waiting for a gap in the traffic. He looked as though he didn’t have a care in the world. The brake lights went off, and the blue car started pulling out. Pete decided to go with it – there was no way he wanted to risk losing this car. He’d never had to follow a car in his life, and he’d already managed to lose Mel earlier. It was okay though, there was enough space to get through.
Pete was following the blue car, and they were heading in the opposite direction, away from Mel’s school, heading in the direction of Bolton.
A few minutes passed without incident and Pete allowed the blue car to get about thirty metres ahead. He was nervous, and on-edge. He didn’t know what he was going to do. He was thinking that he might run the guy over when he gets out of the car. He was thinking that he might speed up at some traffic lights and ram the hire-car into the back of the Focus. His mind was flooded with ideas and thoughts of violent payback. The scenarios that were going through his mind did not shock, or surprise him, but they did make him feel even more agitated and stressed. He wondered if he could run into the man’s car door, as he was getting out of the car, and trap him between the door and the car body. There was a great deal of hatred and violence running through Pete’s mind as he continued trailing behind the blue Focus at a safe distance.
ROAD TO NOWHERE : DCI MILLER 3: Another Manchester Crime Thriller With A Killer Twist Page 22
