He didn’t need to speak as she came into the room and knelt before him.
The rush of power was faint, but he still felt it, as she pulled down the zip to his trousers and took him inside her mouth.
He needed more though.
Pulling her to her feet, he twisted her round and flung her face down onto the bed. Yanking her pyjama bottoms down, he applied a condom and within seconds was buried deep inside her. Grabbing the hair at the nape of her neck, he yanked back hard, satisfaction seeping into his soul as she cried out in pain.
Huddling over her as he pounded, he put his hands round her throat and squeezed, hard.
Hearing her breath choking in her throat as she tried her best to inhale through the vice-like grip, his body shuddered. It wasn’t anywhere near the scale he would feel when he finally had Clarice, but it was better than doing it himself.
He felt the woman’s thin body go limp beneath him.
Dirty bitch. She loved it.
He discarded the used condom in a carrier bag lying on the floor, tucked himself back into his trousers and stood over her, staring. She wasn’t a pretty girl. Her body was thin, undernourished, and he could see the ribs protruding outwards from her chest. She had yellowing bruises on the right hand side, indicating she had taken a beating in the not so distant past. Turning her over, he saw the black circles underneath her eyes, the gauntness to her cheeks. He placed two fingers against the bruises now covering her neck, checking for a pulse. It was still there; faint, but beating none-the-less. Pulling out his wallet, he peeled off two ten pound notes, threw them on the bed beside her and left.
Only six days to go now.
10th June, 1720 hours – Whitworth residence, Sunderland
‘Matthew, tea’s ready,’ yelled John from the bottom of the stairs as he tore open the envelope in his hand. His son had, as usual, come in from school and made his way straight upstairs to his room to play on the computer games he loved so much. John had literally gotten in from work and put tea in the oven.
Getting no reply, and not hearing any sound from upstairs, John sighed, and pulled the letter out, flicking it open, as he started up the stairs. Seeing the title at the top of the page, he stopped. It read Angus, Marshall and Stead; the solicitors firm Carolyn used. Frowning, he read on.
Mr Whitworth,
We have had a formal request for full custody of Matthew Whitworth, date of birth 19.06.2005. Matthew himself has asked that he be allowed to remain with his aunt, Carolyn Fredericks. He indicated that he is suffering some emotional problems at the moment and that he had no intention of returning to your address at this time, advising that if he is taken there then he will just run away. Obviously we have concerns for Matthew because of this, and feel that it is best he remains where he is at the present time for his own safety and welfare. Whilst this letter is not saying in any way that full custody has been granted – this is something that will be discussed in depth at the hearing next week, for which you will receive a further letter. It is requested that you do not attend the Frederick’s address without contacting either ourselves, or Carolyn directly to arrange for an access session.
Again, to clarify, you are allowed access to Matthew with permission, and this letter is merely a recommendation at this stage, but he was very upset when we advised that he should initially return to you, and we feel that having him leave Carolyn’s care at the present time would be detrimental to his health. He has seen a GP at Carolyn’s surgery in regards to the way he is feeling at the present time, and the GP also recommended he remain where he is for the time being. As stated, we will be in contact shortly regarding initial hearing date for the full custody application by the Fredericks, and would recommend that you attain the services of your own solicitor unless you intend to represent yourself in this matter.
Sincerely,
TJT, on behalf of Angus, Marshall and Stead Solicitors
John stepped back down the two stairs and back into the hallway at the bottom, shock evident on his face.
My own son doesn’t want to live with me?
John felt his fury simmering. How had he not seen this coming? Carolyn had had her claws in Matthew since Eve had gone into the home. His son had no more need of women like her in his life. And who the hell did that solicitors think they were? Advising him not to attend the address where his son was. They had no right!
What the hell do I do now though? Fuck it, I’m going to get my son. He needs to be with his father damn it!
Grabbing his car keys, John revved the engine and pulled off the driveway, his tyres squealing in protest. By the time he arrived at Carolyn’s address, his anger filled the car like a thick mist. Leaving his keys in the ignition and the engine running, he jumped out and stormed up the path to the front door.
Lifting his fist he began banging loudly.
‘Matthew! You come out of this house and speak to your father!’
He tried to control the tone of his voice, but failed miserably, his yells echoing down the street. Through the haze, he saw the curtains twitch in the window beside him, and froze as he saw his son staring back, fear in his eyes.
John took a step back, staring back at the eyes that were so like his own, but that were looking at him like he was some kind of monster.
He’s afraid of me. I’ve never laid a hand on the boy, how can he be afraid?
The door opened a crack, the metal chain holding it at the required distance, and Carolyn peered out at him, her disdain evident.
‘You were told to contact me if you wanted access, not just turn up screaming like a raving lunatic.’
Her voice was calm, her eyes determined.
‘You’ve got no right to take my son. He’s my boy, for God’s sake,’ replied John, maintaining his control despite wanting to punch the face of the woman in front of him.
‘He asked to stay. He says all you do is fiddle with the computer and that you have been yelling and muttering at him. He told me you had no food in the fridge for two days. Someone needs to look after the child. With poor Eve still in the care-home, you’d think you’d care more for your son than your stupid computer contracts.’
‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ he hissed, bubbles of spit flying out between his pursed lips. He took another step towards the front door, he leaned in close. ‘I will fight you with every fibre of my being. That boy is my son. He needs his father whether he realises it now or not. I will not allow a bitch like you to take over his upbringing.’
‘Then I’ll see you in court,’ replied Carolyn curtly, before closing the door firmly in his face. He heard the latch click as she locked it for good measure. Now he had a choice, go home and prepare for the court case, or stay and kick off trying to get his son back, which was what he really wanted to do.
He wanted to make his sister-in-law pay: she obviously thought she was better than him. She’d always had that air of superiority, even when Eve had been put in the home; she’d interfered, not thinking him capable of looking after Matthew who was only four at the time. She needed bringing down a peg or two. And so did that damn solicitor! How dare they take money off people to remove children from where they belonged? Matthew belonged with him.
He glared at the house for a few seconds more, before turning and storming down the path back to his car. Slamming the door with such force he thought he might’ve damaged the hinges, he again revved the engine and sped down the street.
If she wants a bloody fight, she’s got one. The ignorant bitch will pay, and so will the arseholes she’s paying. How dare they!
Chapter Twelve
11th June, 1005 hours – Whitworth residence, Sunderland
John woke with a pounding headache. He had paced the house for hours the night before, thinking about what he needed to do now. Slowly a plan had begun to form.
First on his list was the solicitor – with him out of the picture, Carolyn would feel fear. And that’s what he wanted, her to be so scared she was ready just to drop the
case for fear of reprisal. She’d never be able to prove it was him; he’d make damn sure of that. And then, when she gave him Matthew back, he’d make her life a living hell. He’d wipe her bank accounts, blacken her credit file, put her into arrears with every bill she’d ever had. And eventually she would come crawling to him, begging him to help her. And he would take her in, ever the good brother-in-law.
Then she would learn what happened to people who tried to hurt him. She’d likely end up under the patio so to speak, but he’d enjoy getting her to that point. She would end up a shell of what she was now, and it would all be down to him.
Picking up the phone, he dialled the number at the top of the solicitor’s letter.
Putting on his best phone voice, he spoke. ‘Good morning. I wonder if you can help. I am after speaking to someone who signed this letter I have but unfortunately, I don’t know the name. It’s signed TJT?’
‘OK, Sir, no problem. That would be Teresa-Jane Tulley. I can see if she’s available if you would care to speak to her?’
‘That’s fine thank you, I’ll be writing my reply. Thanks for your help.’
He smiled as he hung up the phone. Now he had her name and where she worked, it was time to find out the rest. Opening his laptop, he set to work.
11th June, 2005 hours – Desperado’s Restaurant, Sunderland City Centre
‘This is lovely. I’ve never been in before, have you?’ asked Ben, taking a small sip from the glass of rosé in her hand. She’d looked around with interest when they had entered a few minutes ago, taking in the red and orange walls, the pictures of salamanders and sombreros and the astonishing collection of tequila bottles behind the bar. Whoever had designed the restaurant had done it well: mirrors were strategically placed to aid with lighting, tables were set to perfection and it was bustling with people.
‘Yeah, a few times. Me and TJ eat out regularly and this is her favourite place.’
‘It’s great that you two are so close. Have you always been that way?’
Jacob nodded, ‘Even before Mum and Dad died we were always like two peas in a pod. She’s great. She’s done so much for me. I can’t imagine her ever not being there. She’s pretty busy at the moment with her PhD and working for the solicitors, so we don’t get together as often as we’d like. I probably see her twice a week at present.’
‘Next time we go out, you’ll have to invite her.’ Realising what she’d said, she felt her cheeks colour. Next time? We haven’t even finished this time yet!
Jacob just smiled. ‘Definitely.’
Ben felt a hand on her arm as the waiter appeared beside them.
‘Very sorry for the delay, your table is ready now if you’d like to follow me.’
11th June, 2059 hours - Angus, Marshall and Stead Solicitors, Sunderland
TJ locked the main door behind her with a soft click. She was always the first in the office and the last to leave. She was still at the stage in the law firm where she was trying to prove herself, and granted the partners had been giving her more cases to work, but she wanted it to get even better. She wanted the cases they didn't think they would win easily. She wanted something other than custody battles and property return requests.
Her PhD was well underway. Her research on the economy and impact of joblessness on the unemployed, and the laws governing the social implications of such things was not something she had initially opted for, but now she was working on it she realised how important it was to be instrumental in making the government understand that changes were required. It was slow going and difficult: it meant speaking to a lot of people who had suffered misfortune, getting their stories and understanding what they were going through.
She earned plenty to pay her bills, but already she knew she wanted to be able to work the pro bono cases more often, somehow change her law knowledge into something that could help even more people.
Double checking the door was locked, she turned and made her way to the small private car park at the rear of the offices.
John watched as she finally came round the side if the building. He could already feel the rage burning inside him. This bitch was responsible for Matthew wanting to leave him. He hated solicitors. The only person they did anything for was themselves, lining their already heavy pockets with the cash of people who had nothing better to do than to complain about other people.
He knew all too well that if Eve was capable, she would have put him through a divorce, or tried to at any rate. He never would have let it happen – women had no right putting men through that kind of humiliation – no right at all. And there should be punishment if they tried.
In that moment, he decided to change his plan. He wanted to see the fear in her eyes as he showed her where her place was, how far beneath his shoe she actually sat. Clicking open the car door, he grabbed the socket wrench from the passenger seat and strode over to her silently.
He watched as she reached her car and fumbled in her hand bag for her key.
His mind suddenly went blank, and he stopped, his face twisting into a grimace. Before he could doubt his decision, he raised the wrench above his head and swung it round hard. It connected with the side of TJ's face with a sickening crunch and she fell to her knees, dazed. Blood started pouring from the gash to the side of the head, and she looked up at John, confusion in her eyes.
'You shouldn't interfere in other people's business. I'm here to teach you that women have a place, and that is far below the superiority of men. Who do you think you are taking other people's lives in your hands, twisting the truth so that fathers don't have custody of their kids?'
He felt a sense of power unfurl in his stomach. This pathetic woman was kneeling before him, covered in blood from a wound caused by his own hand. She had no clue who he was, no clue why he was even there. Smiling now, he bent down and cupped her face in his hand roughly.
'You have been deemed not worthy. You will never do to another man, what you have done to me.'
With that statement in mind, John raised the wrench again and swung at her face. He heard a loud crack as it connected with the side of her face, shattering her cheek bone and jaw. She slumped to the floor with a soft whoosh of air.
John smiled as he bent down. The dim glow from the outside light in the car park was just bright enough to show the slow pool of blood forming on the Tarmac beneath her face. He knew he had hit her hard enough - there was no way any woman would survive a blow like that to her head. He was confident - it had said as much online, outlining the perfect angle from which to strike, explaining that the impact would likely cause swelling in the brain and eventually death.
He was sure there would be nobody around at this time of night to find her - her crumpled body would be discovered the next day by her colleagues and then the police would get involved. A niggle of doubt started to form - what if they could tell it was him? Working quicker now, he grabbed her handbag from beside her and pulled out the Radley purse. He opened it and removed the cash and cards, then flung it back down on the floor beside her. Reaching back into the bag, he pulled out her mobile phone and switched it off, placing it alongside the purse contents and into his pocket. Now the police would think it was a robbery.
Pleased with his actions, he made his way back to his car and got inside, the engine roaring to life as he turned the key. He didn't even glance at her as he pulled away from the street outside the car park.
TJ couldn't see much through the streams of blood covering her eyes. Her face was burning and she could feel her body wanting to pass out. Gritting her teeth together, she pulled a pen and notebook from her handbag and watched as the man walked to his car and got inside. The angle of the road was such that she would be able to see his registration plate as he pulled away. Angling the pen above the paper she watched. Her mind surprisingly clear, at least for the moment, she painstakingly jotted down the numbers she saw, ND13K. Before she could finish though, her mind went blank. She felt herself slipping, falling into darkness, and too
tired to fight now, she let go.
11th June, 2115 hrs - Boxmania Gymnasium, Sunderland
Stan threw the heavy bag over his shoulder and left the gym. He'd had a long work out, slowly punching out the kinks in his neck and shoulders. His left cheek was a little tender and he opened his mouth and rotated his jaw from side to side. It had been a good match, taking on one of the featherweights who had been after some additional coaching for an upcoming match.
The road to his apartment was long, and usually deserted at this time of night. He heard a car squeal as it pulled away from the kerb a short way ahead, and went back to thinking.
Introducing the boxing ring at the centre was definitely one of his more fruitful plans. Brian had been patting him on the back ever since, but he knew what the kids needed. The ring was the perfect place for them to vent, and in the few days it had been up, the behaviour had dramatically improved, the lads in the centre wanting nothing more than to finish their work, then box.
It was a habit of his to know his neighbourhood; he knew what was going on where and with whom. He glanced at the rear of the solicitors as he always did when he passed – they'd had a break in a couple of months back, and since then he'd made a more conscious effort to check both that building and the other commercial ones in the street.
His steps slowed as he saw the crumpled form of a female on the floor. Dropping his gym bag, he made his way over to her and placed two fingers on her neck. Her pulse was thready and weak, pounding softly against his fingers like the soft swell of waves on sand. Careful not to touch anything else, he pulled his mobile from his pocket, pressed 141 followed by 999 and asked for the ambulance. Speaking softly, he advised them of the situation, hung up and picked up his bag. He didn't like attention, she was still alive and there was nothing more he could do for her. He could watch the events unfolding from his kitchen window if he hurried home.
I've Been Watching You: a stunning crime thriller from The North East Police Series Page 13
