by J. S. Spicer
Bathroom light off, she lit a couple of candles and left the door open to let just a crack of light in from the hallway. Lowering herself into the water her skin tingled with heat, but she could already feel the tension drifting up along with the steam, out of her body, evaporating.
She lay there for a while, head empty, cleansed by the water and the scented vapour. As her body became accustomed to the temperature of the bath she slid down further, immersing her neck, chin, ears. She bent her knees, sinking deeper. Her dark hair splayed out on the surface. Sound was muffled. Peace was restored.
Resurfacing she felt her whole body sigh with contentment. She swirled the foamy water with her fingers and pushed her feet up between the taps, propping them against the cool porcelain.
This was just what she needed.
She felt pampered, cleansed, renewed. She closed her eyes. Just the gentle flicker of candlelight flashed against the back of her eyelids.
The harsh buzz of the intercom caused her eyes to fly open. She sat up quickly, making the warm water slosh all around her.
“Damn!” The takeaway was early. Normally that was a good thing, but not when you’re naked and soaking wet.
She stood and grabbed her white fluffy robe off the back of the door. Engulfed in it she hurried into the living room.
Jennifer pressed the release as she spoke into the speaker, “OK.” At the same time she reached out to unlock the door, pulling it open a couple of inches. It would take the delivery man only seconds to climb the few stairs to her flat.
She heard footsteps ascending.
Money! Where was her handbag?
She scanned the living room; there it was. She’d dropped it on the floor next to the coffee table.
She scrambled over, still tying the belt on her robe. The footsteps had now reached the landing. A moment later they halted right outside the partially open door.
“Just a sec!” she called over her shoulder, tipping the contents of her bulging bag onto the carpet in her rush.
She felt a draft behind her, the chilly corridor air tumbling into the warm flat.
There was her purse. She grabbed it and started to rise.
Before she could turn around a strong hand grabbed a handful of her hair. The shock of the contact and sudden presence behind her left her breathless. The purse fell from her fingers. She tried to twist away but was pushed forward, suddenly and forcefully. Her vision fractured as she made contact with the coffee table. Lights danced in her eyes as a bolt of pain shot through her head.
Then nothing.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Mother had been difficult; one of her bad days. He knew she couldn’t really help it, when the pain got bad she became unreasonable. It was the fear he supposed, and the constant discomfort. He did his best, but on the worst days she was demanding, waspish, sometimes downright cruel.
An undercurrent of rage flowed deep; she should be grateful. There was no-one else queuing up to take care of her, to put up with the moods and demands and all the unpleasantness.
He’d followed Jennifer around the shops earlier that day. She was with another woman; her sister he thought since they looked very similar. He’d kept close, but not too close. He would have liked to have eavesdropped on their conversations but today was just about observation. There’d be time enough for interacting.
He was still riding high on their last encounter. They’d spoken, albeit briefly, outside the sandwich shop the other day. He didn’t think she’d remembered him from the train that first time. Briefly that annoyed him, angered him. How could she have forgotten him so easily? But then he realised it might be for the best, a fresh start. She’d smiled when he spoke, that was good, it confirmed what he thought; they were connected.
After trailing after her and her sister he’d gone back home, intending just a quick shower and a bite to eat. After the restaurant the other night his fear had been she might go out on Saturday evening as well, perhaps even meet up with that same guy again. He’d determined therefore to be more vigilant, but Mother had spoilt his plan.
It was after seven by the time he found himself standing across the street from her flat, lost in the shadow of a doorway which gave a clear view of Jennifer’s living room window. The curtains were pulled shut but he could see a lamp on inside. He folded his arms around his body and tucked his already numb hands into his armpits. Another cold night on the street. The forecasters said the temperature would drop even lower tonight. Joseph could take it. After all he just needed a couple of hours, maybe three. It was Saturday night but Jennifer Kim was no party animal. If she was still home by nine thirty or ten then he was confident she was in for the night. He was already starting to plan out the next day’s schedule when a worrying thought occurred.
Maybe she’d already gone out.
She’d been known to leave a light on before. He watched carefully, taking more notice now. A light within was no guarantee the flat was occupied right now. He had a good idea of the layout thanks to his previous ‘visit’. The light creeping around the curtains was from the lamp near the door. What about the TV? It was on the other side of the room. He should be able to see the bluish flicker of the television screen but there was nothing. Nor had he seen any signs of movement, no shadows moving around within.
The possibility that he might be standing there like a fool when she wasn’t even home started flurries of panic in his chest. Once the seed of doubt had been planted it wouldn’t go away; he needed to be sure. He couldn’t stand there impotently for hours. His time must be used wisely, efficiently. First, establish if the flat was empty or occupied. He’d have to go round the back using the small side entry. He didn’t like using it too much. Out here on the street he had every right to be where he was. Back there, if he was seen, it would be construed as trespassing. Still, there was no helping it.
Joseph started to step out of his hiding place then stopped. Headlights flashed over him as a car turned into the street. It stopped right opposite; right outside her flat.
He withdrew again into shadows, his eyes locked on the car. Was it the guy from the restaurant again? He forced the calm. He had to wait and see. They may be visiting someone else. The car door opened. Joseph didn’t recognise the man, but saw him look up at the window; the same window Joseph had been watching. Who was this guy? He clenched his fists so tight he felt the fingernails digging into his fleshy palms. The man walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. He took something out. Joseph shifted to one side, trying to get a better look, even as the visitor headed for the door, the door leading up to Jennifer’s flat.
Then realisation dawned; he almost laughed out loud. The man carried a white plastic carrier bag in one hand, a scrap of paper in the other. The car engine still droned sleepily at the curb; delivery man. She’d ordered takeaway.
The delivery man pushed at the intercom button. Would Jennifer come down or let him up? Myers hoped she’d come down, grace him with a glimpse as a reward for his diligence.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
The bitch wasn’t cooperating. She was on her knees on the living room floor. Naked. He’d removed her bathrobe whilst she was still dazed from the blow to the head, then used the belt from it to tie her hands behind her back. Partly to increase her vulnerability, but mostly just because he wanted to. He’d like to take time to really appreciate her body, but time wasn’t a luxury. Besides, he was disgusted by her snotty whimpering. At least he didn’t have to worry about being disturbed. He’d already searched the flat. It hadn’t taken long, the place was tiny. He hadn’t found what he was looking for, but his search had told him that Jennifer Kim lived alone. Only one toothbrush in the bathroom, only her underwear in the bedroom drawers. The place was all scented candles and scatter cushions. If her accomplice was also her boyfriend at least they didn’t live together. It was possible the guy might still show up. Perhaps he even had a key. Hugh felt no need or desire to grapple with the man he’d seen, but the bolt across th
e front door assured he wouldn’t be interrupted. Jennifer was another story. She was the weak link, and he would make her talk.
He looked into her tear-streaked face, all screwed up with fear.
He tried again.
“Where is it? The stuff you stole?”
She shook her head. Again. It was really starting to annoy him, this pathetic denial.
“From the bank, bitch. I know you were in on it. I saw you with him.” He leaned in closer. He had one hand at her throat, with the other he pulled at her hair so her face was upturned, forced to look right into his eyes. Her forehead was cut where he’d slammed her into the coffee table, not deep but it had bled quite a bit. The blood had mingled with her tears, staining her cheeks almost comically. She continued to sob, ‘please, please’, but that just made Hugh angrier. She was starting to remind him of Carol; the pleading and crying, it was sickening.
“There’s no point lying to me, I know. Either you tell me where the stuff is, or you will die.”
Her eyes widened. Her fear had found a new level. The sobbing ceased but she moved her head from side to side.
“I... I don’t know...”
He wrapped both hands around her throat. “I told you not to lie,” he said, his voice dropping low, quiet and dangerous.
Even with his hands round her neck she was still trying to shake her head, still trying to fool him. He squeezed harder.
Then another idea occurred.
During his search of the flat he’d noticed the bath, still full of water.
“Up!”
He hauled her to her feet, one hand still at her throat, the other arm pinning her to his side as he guided her towards the bathroom.
“Move!” She was starting to struggle now. Her survival instincts were finally kicking in now some of the shock and initial pain had worn off. Hugh tightened his grip. She tried to resist him, digging her feet into the carpet. He moved her easily. Then she tried to curl up into herself, but he kept her upright with pressure at her throat. Finally he had her in the bathroom.
The water was colder now. Most of the bubbles from earlier had dissolved to leave a smooth soapy surface.
He kicked at her legs until they buckled, forcing her back onto her knees again. This time facing away from him, leaning over the bath as he stood right behind her, pressing against her back. Slowly he pushed her head down, his fingers fiercely entwined in her damp, dark hair. She struggled again, harder this time, her knees banged painfully against the side of the bath as she tried to pull away from the water now inches from her face, but he was too strong.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he growled in her ear as he pressed her down again. “Not until I have some answers.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Something was wrong.
The takeaway guy had left, muttering angrily to himself. He was still holding onto the bag of food.
She hadn’t answered the door.
The lamp was still on. Had she gone out after all? But then why order the food?
He hesitated only a moment then hurried across the street. He walked right past the front door and a few steps further along the pavement ducked quickly into the dark passageway which led to the rear of the properties. He’d done his homework. He knew every exit, every window of her home. He knew the layout by heart; drew pictures of it and imagined being there. With her.
He’d already used the fire escape once, a rickety, rusty metal walkway barely clinging to the back wall of the run of terraced properties. Jennifer’s kitchen window looked out onto it. He’d broken in before, just that once. It had been a big risk, but it had been worth it. There was only so much you could see with binoculars or from peering through windows. The night she’d had dinner with that man he’d waited in the dark for hours. Once he was sure she’d be sleeping he’d prised open the kitchen window and crept inside. It had been glorious. For a while he’d just watched her sleep, listening to the rhythm of her breath. Then he’d spent time exploring her home; touching, smelling, tasting. It had brought them closer together, he’d felt it deep to his core. It had been so intimate.
It was dark at the back of the row of houses and shops. Lights blinked from a few windows but the mosaic of cobbled yards were shadows on shadows. He knew there were dustbins and other obstacles so crept carefully. He dare not make a sound. He reached the yard directly beneath her flat and paused. The air was less biting here, sheltered by brick and tumbled down fencing. There was a light up there. He counted to be sure. The kitchen was dark, but the bathroom light was on.
He moved on, quickly reaching the base of the fire escape. He climbed, pausing every now and then to make sure no-one had heard the frequent creaks and groans of the metal beneath his feet. It seemed to take forever to reach the block of light that he knew was her bathroom window, though in truth he’d only left his hiding place across the street a few minutes ago. He paused at the edge of the frame, listening to the sound of his own breath.
Was she just on the other side, barely feet away from him? Only a layer of brick and a pane of glass between them? He rested his hot brow against the cool window frame. The touch of it delighted him. He closed his eyes and listened.
His eyes flew open at the sound of a man’s voice. Very close; very angry.
Then another voice; Jennifer. He couldn’t make out what she was saying, but he could tell she was upset, frightened even. The bathroom blind was pulled down, but there was a tiny gap just at the very bottom. Joseph had to know. He leaned in, keeping his head low, and put his eye to the sliver of light creeping under the blind.
When he stood upright the fear of being heard, of getting caught, no longer plagued him. It had been replaced by a rage so powerful he felt it throbbing at his temples.
Joseph moved on.
He knew how to open the kitchen window.
It was a hasty exit; undignified too.
Joseph had recognised the older guy, the one hurting his Jennifer. He’d watched the bank long enough to know who everyone was, especially the male employees.
He didn’t understand yet what it was all about. Why Jennifer’s boss was at her flat, or why he was trying to kill her.
It had come as a shock, that first glimpse through the window; Jennifer naked, her attacker holding her over the side of the bathtub. He’d been pushing her head under the water. Myers had seen Jennifer’s legs thrashing wildly in panic and desperation.
Joseph had put a stop to that. He’d been through the kitchen window in a flash. The Bank Manager was so intent on what he was doing he never even heard Joseph coming.
Joseph had moved swiftly up behind the man, who continued to force Jennifer’s head down. She was still fighting, but she was weakening. The sound of the gurgling water was awful.
Joseph had hit him. Hard. The Bank Manager was knocked from his feet but quickly struggled to get up. Joseph just had time to pull Jennifer from the water before the other man was upright again. As she slid to the floor he noted the cut above her eye; it made him angrier still.
Joseph hit him again. It felt good. He could see fear now in the man’s eyes. The tables had truly been turned on this bastard.
It was surprisingly easy. Joseph was much stronger, and much more determined. He was more righteously enraged.
He’d kicked the Bank Manager’s legs out from under him. As he went down his head bounced off the side of the bathtub. Joseph felt a rush of distaste as he saw blood starting to spread from the wound on the man’s head. But also justification, now he’d been struck a blow to match Jennifer’s wound.
He could have left it at that. He probably should have left it at that. But he didn’t. This man had tried to take something precious from him. What he had with Jennifer was too special to allow him to get away with that.
Just like the blow to the head, he would inflict the Bank Manager’s own brand of punishment. He grabbed Hugh Bishop, who was now glassy-eyed and limp. He picked the man up bodily, one arm round his neck and his other hand th
rough his legs. He raised him up to chest height then plunged him downwards, sending him headfirst into the bath water. Unlike Jennifer there was no thrashing of the legs, just a few feeble shudders, mere ripples, then stillness.
Easy.
Joseph had looked at Jennifer, still lying on the bathroom floor, still gasping for breath. She had stared at him, her eyes full of terror but also confusion. He’d smiled at her upturned face. See how good he was to her?
Then she’d screamed.
Hence the hasty and undignified exit.
Jennifer still had plenty of fight left in her. He hated having to knock her out, but she was being unreasonable.
Wrapped up in her dressing gown he’d slung her over his shoulder and hurried from the flat, using the front door this time. All the commotion coming from Jennifer’s bathroom wouldn’t have gone unnoticed.
He had to get away; far away.
Still, he smiled. Joseph had kept his head. He’d been smart. The Bank Manager had inevitably driven there. It had just taken a second to find the keys in the dead man’s jacket pocket.
Even as Jennifer had begun to come round, starting to struggle on Joseph’s shoulder, he’d been clicking the button. Soon enough a satisfying beep-beep and flash of lights up ahead led him to the black Volvo.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
She couldn’t get warm. She was curled into a ball, her bathrobe pulled tight around her body. Although now dry the earlier dampness, in her robe, her hair, had left behind a clammy chill. Jennifer shivered, but maybe that wasn’t just the cold.
The room she was in was small and empty. There was carpet on the floor but it was worn thin, threadbare in places; she could feel the uneven floorboards beneath where she lay. She had been here for hours. At first she’d drifted in and out of consciousness but for some time now had lain awake. Her eyes had gradually adjusted to the dark. Enough to know there was nothing here, and thankfully no-one here. Now light crept in, slow and faint at first. The window had been boarded up, but dawn was seeping in through the thin gaps, faintly illuminating her surroundings. The wallpaper was old; a once lively, even garish, floral pattern had now faded. In one corner there was a dark stain where damp had turned to mould. The place smelt musty, old, neglected.
