by J. S. Spicer
“He didn’t make a fuss. He got everything else; what remained of the estate, the house, the money. From what I can gather the jewellery was worth a lot, but it’s not like he was left a pauper.”
“Can you remember Aunt Roberta’s last name?”
She gave him a Cheshire cat smile. “Why, yes. Her last name was Fitzsimmons, Roberta Fitzsimmons.”
Finally he had something to write in his notepad.
CHAPTER FORTY SIX
“How is it?”
She stared, her mouth full of a bite of half-chewed ham sandwich. She gave a curt nod. He continued to watch her; expectant, eager as usual. She finished chewing and swallowed.
“It’s good.”
It wasn’t. How could you go wrong with a ham sandwich? The bread was the cheap, white yeasty variety that stuck to the roof of your mouth and the ham was clearly out of a tin. There was nothing else, no butter or mayo, only the congealed clumps of jelly clinging to the slivers of ham. Still, her body craved the nourishment.
“Thank you,” she added, taking another big bite. That pleased him.
Jennifer wanted to keep him happy today. She needed him to relax, to let down his guard.
When he’d brought the food he’d stuck his ground this time. Standing in front of the open door, watching. Waiting. He wasn’t going to leave her alone like he did with the soup. At first she resented his presence. She was tempted to refuse to eat while he was in the room. She didn’t appreciate putting on a show for him, like he was doing her some great favour for bringing the food. When he showed no signs of moving she decided to try and use it to her advantage. If she wanted to escape she’d have to play his game, at least up to a point. He needed to believe they were connecting.
“Good ham,” she lied, as she continued munching her way through the sandwich. He watched with a satisfied smirk until she’d finished off the last bite. Then, with a triumphant flourish, he produced a green apple from his trouser pocket. He polished it against his tatty jumper then held it out to her. Jennifer didn’t want to touch the thing let alone put it in her mouth, but she reached out her hand and let him drop the apple onto her palm. She forced a smile and took a bite. She couldn’t refuse. The sight of the open door was a torment to her. She was sure if she could just get out of this room then there would be hope. His eyes never left her as she continued to bite chunks out of the apple. She was afraid if she left too much on the core he’d see it as ingratitude.
When she was finished he held his hand out for her to return what was left of the apple. He held up the core, looking at her bite marks in the flesh of the fruit. He was enjoying himself as he gazed at the remains of the apple with pride shining in his face.
Satisfied, he turned to go.
“Wait!”
He stopped and looked back, a mixture of confusion and hope filled him.
“I need to use the toilet,” the words tumbled quickly from her mouth. She tried to make it sound normal; a call of nature, not a desperate attempt to escape.
She watched the shadows of doubt cloud his eyes. He chewed on his bottom lip as he considered her request.
“Please,” she appealed, taking a step towards him and forcing herself to make eye contact. “I really need to go. Please.”
He hesitated for just another second then nodded. He moved out of the room, stopping on the landing outside the door. She followed, slowly; hardly able to believe she was actually getting out of that awful room. She felt her heart beat faster in her chest as her bare feet stepped across the threshold.
He stood to one side; to the right of the doorway. Behind him she could see the head of the stairs; he was blocking that way.
He pointed in the opposite direction, to her left. Just a few feet away there was another door. It was ajar and she could see the rim of a bath through the gap. Sudden and unbidden the memory of Hugh Bishop’s murder crashed in on her. How he’d been held under the bath water, pinned down until his limbs had become still. She felt bile rise. The ham sandwich and apple were threatening to come back up. Jennifer steadied herself against the door frame.
“Well?”
She couldn’t make eye contact this time, not with the image of his kill at the forefront of her mind. She forced her feet to move towards the bathroom.
As she pushed open the door she saw that it was tiny. A bath, a basin and a toilet; all were a dirty, pale green colour. The linoleum on the floor looked old, stained and torn in places. Specks of black mould flecked the tiled walls. Jennifer’s eyes drifted over the tired old bathroom until they rested on the window over the sink. It wasn’t very big, but it was big enough. She could see the handle on one side and saw no evidence of a lock. Jumping out of a window hadn’t been her plan. She’d hoped to just make a run for it. But now she was here, with her captor watching her every move and blocking the only other exit, she was willing to risk the drop.
She stepped inside and began closing the door.
“Leave it open.”
“What?” She looked at him in horror. “I don’t want you to see.”
“Don’t shut it all the way then,” he said.
She slowly pushed at the door until he said, “That’s enough.” There was still a gap of several inches. Jennifer stood for a moment, staring at the back of the door. Tears sprang to her eyes. Weakness and the feeling of hopelessness that threatened to crush her were eroding her resolve. She fought to maintain control of her emotions. She’d stood there for a few seconds staring before she realised she was looking at a bolt on the inside of the door. She could lock herself in. That would give her time to get out of the window before he broke through the door.
It was a rash plan. He’d know what she was up to right away, but she had to at least try.
She cried out in defiance as she slammed the door all the way shut and slid the bolt into place. Immediately the force of his body hit the other side. The wood trembled and shook, but the lock held.
Jennifer ran to the window. In a moment she’d yanked up the handle and pushed the window wide. Leaning out she felt a surge of hope. Just a few feet below there was a flat roof, jutting out beneath the window. From there the drop to the ground was more than manageable.
She squeezed through the window, hindered slightly by her bathrobe which snagged on the latch. She tugged it free and dropped onto the roof below. Its rough surface scratched at her bare feet but she ignored the discomfort. A brief glance over the side showed her the best place to drop. She knelt, turned, and eased herself over the edge. Her toes scraped painfully against brick as she lowered herself until she was hanging by her fingers.
She let go.
The cobblestones were cold and hard. They hurt her feet and jarred her back, but she had to run. She hurried across the yard, heading for a low fence beyond which were fields stretching into the distance. It would be easier to run on grass; less painful. She heard a loud bang nearby; a door had been flung open with force.
He was coming.
In moments she reached the low fence and clambered over it. She’d done a lot of running at school. She could sprint when she needed to, and she’d never needed to more than now.
She heard fast, heavy footsteps thumping across the cobbled yard behind her.
She didn’t look back. She just ran.
CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN
Joseph was furious.
When the bathroom door had slammed in his face the rage within had flared and coursed through him. He’d been so kind to her, so good to her, and this was the thanks he got. He’d saved her life from that madman in her flat, kept her safe. He’d even fed her. Then she betrayed his trust. Instead of gratitude, at the first opportunity she’d turned her back on him. He’d been too soft, that was the problem. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
He knew she was going out through the window. After throwing himself at the bathroom door a couple of times he turned and charged down the stairs and out the back door. As he dashed across the yard she was already climbing over a low fe
nce. Joseph followed, hauling himself over the fence with less finesse than Jennifer, but on landing in the field he took off at speed. She was fast, at least to begin with. He wasn’t the best runner in the world, he knew that, and at first feared she’d pull away from him. Then he realised he was closing the gap. She was quick but she was weak. She was beginning to slow down. Soon he was close enough to hear her laboured breathing, joining with his own ragged gasps. She sensed him closing. She tried to push on harder but stumbled.
She managed to keep upright and moving, but her stumble had cost her valuable ground. Joseph found extra reserves, spurred on by the rapidly diminishing gap between them. On his first attempt to catch her he missed by a hair’s breadth. On his second he grabbed a handful of her robe and yanked her from her feet. With a cry of anguish she was pulled to the ground.
In desperation she tried to fight him off, kicking out frantically and twisting this way and that to break his grip. It was no good. He was stronger and fuelled by rage, and her fear and determination weren’t enough to overcome him.
Joseph pinned her to the ground, straddling her and using his body to hold her in place. When she still struggled he lowered himself onto her, laying his full weight on top of her. He seized her wrists and pushed them above her head; forcing them into the long grass to still her thrashing arms. He pushed down on her with every part of himself until his bulk made it hard for her to breathe.
She was trapped beneath him. His face was pressed against her cheek. Jennifer looked past her captor’s pockmarked cheek and the thick tufts of sandy hair sticking out around a fat earlobe. Past that, past his heavy, stale breath and clammy body, she could see the sky. It wasn’t a beautiful sky; there was a veil of paleness high in the atmosphere. Below it dark clumps of clouds bumped across the sky in a wind that she couldn’t feel as she lay, pinned beneath this man, on the damp earth. Still, she loved the sight of that sky. She loved the way the clouds swirled and danced; revelling in their freedom.
Freedom!
Joseph lay on top of her until she stopped struggling. She’d worn out quickly. Soon enough there was no more kicking or thrashing. She just lay there, beneath him. Occasionally a sob escaped her or he felt her body shiver. He took his time; waited. He needed the time to get his own breath back; the run across the field had taken a greater toll on him than he liked to admit. Besides, it was pleasant, the two of them lying there, bodies pressed close together and his face pushed into her neck.
When he was sure he had her subdued he sat up, letting go of her wrists but still straddling her where she lay in the damp grass. Her bathrobe had become untied in the struggle, falling around her like a crumpled halo. In her disarray one side of Jennifer’s naked body was revealed. Joseph looked down at her and felt a delicious warmth rush into him at the sight of her flesh; a shoulder, a breast, the curve of her waist. Very slowly he inched backwards, downward. He wanted to see more.
Jennifer, becoming aware of her exposure and realising her arms were free, started to tug her robe back around her.
Joseph lunged at her again, this time his hands found her throat. “Don’t!” It came out as a hiss.
She froze. He’d been angry before, but not like this. He eyes were too bright and he was breathing hard again, but not from exertion this time.
He was squeezing but she could still just about breathe. She feared to move, to speak. She was certain the slightest wrong decision on her part would make him squeeze harder. He could kill her, right here in this lonely field.
She tried not to cry. She had to stay calm; she had to stay alive.
Jennifer looked into his face, sweaty and blotchy with fury. There was something else too. Was it shame?
She risked movement. Very slowly she moved aside her robe again. Covering herself had enraged him. All she could think of to save herself was to reverse that.
He noticed the movement. For a second his hands gripped tighter, then, as he saw what was happening, they loosened their grip. The more of Jennifer he saw the lighter his hands were around her throat. She pulled open the bathrobe until once again half of her was uncovered.
Jennifer trembled, from her fingertips to the core of her being. Was she inviting something worse than death by doing this? But his anger had scared her more than anything. She watched his face, saw the eyes mist over and the mouth slacken.
He released her neck. Then, to her surprise, he stood up and took a step back. He just stood there. Jennifer started to rise but he held up one hand, palm outwards.
Stop.
She lay back down, shivering and half naked.
Then he nodded at the other half of her robe, the portion still covering her. Tears leaked from her eyes as she reached for it and pulled it aside so he could see everything.
CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT
It took every ounce of Aubrey’s self-control not to grab the gun hidden in the back of his van and go storming into the Myers’ house. His anger with this total stranger was threatening to consume him, but he had to keep his goal in sight. He needed money. So he needed his jewels. Without them he was trapped. Without them he was lost. But he had to remain calm and be patient. There was a house a little way down the street from the Myers’ having some renovation done; plenty of workmen and deliveries coming and going. His van would attract no attention with so much activity going on, so he parked it nearby, positioning it on a corner which offered some concealment but more importantly gave him a good view of the area. Now all he had to do was wait.
The mother left the house first. Aubrey glanced at the time. It was just after 11am. She was bundled up in a woollen coat and hat and carrying a large shopping bag. From his vantage point he saw her turn the corner and walk the dozen yards or so to the bus stop, where she immediately fell into conversation with another woman already waiting there. Within minutes the number eight bus pulled up. It went to the town centre. Mother Myers was off to the shops; she’d probably be gone a couple of hours at least. Without the old lady there to scream the place down the temptation to get closer was too hard to resist. Aubrey slipped out of the van, harbouring fantasies of stringing up Joseph Myers and dishing out some pay back for his sliced shoulder and missing backpack.
He headed for the back gardens again; ducking into the passage running behind the houses when no-one was about.
He was almost at the double gates at the rear of the Myers’ property when he heard the snap of the bolt and saw the gates shudder as they began to open. He stepped back out of sight. A moment later he heard an engine fire into life. The Volvo.
Should he run back to the van? Follow Myers to see where he went? He might be ditching the car. That’s what Aubrey would do in his place; he’d get rid of the one thing tying him to the crime. At the last second he decided to hide, squeezing into the gap behind the now wide open gate. With both Myers and his mother out of the house Aubrey had the perfect opportunity to conduct a thorough search. As appealing as his revenge fantasies were it was more important to find the backpack. As the car pulled out he ducked down and quickly scuttled into the garden, trusting that Myers was too focused on manoeuvring the vehicle into the narrow alley to see him.
Hiding behind the garage he listened. He heard the car door open and the scrape of the gates being behind pushed back into place. Moments later there was the sound of the car door closing then the crunch of gravel beneath tyres as the car moved away.
Now thankful for the overgrown garden he made his way to the backdoor, retracing his steps of the night before. Daylight brought benefits but also risks. He saw no curious faces at the neighbours’ windows but moved swiftly. He’d be safe once he was inside.
The house was no more inspiring in the light of day; clean, but dated and stuffy.
Joseph Myers room was the obvious target but Aubrey was meticulous and searched the rest of the house first, moving quickly and efficiently from room to room. He checked drawers and cupboards even though only a fool would stash precious jewellery in such places. Then he checked c
ushion covers, behind furniture, under the carpets and on top of kitchen cupboards. He checked for loose floorboards and behind pictures, even beneath the plastic liners in the bins. Satisfied he’d checked everywhere else he finally moved into Myers’ own bedroom.
Joseph Myers must have occupied the room since his childhood years judging by the faded, dog-eared posters of 90’s pop bands pinned to the side of the compact wardrobe. The curtains and duvet cover were a bold checked pattern that Aubrey suspected his mother had bought for him. The furniture looked cheap and he quickly searched a chest of drawers and the wardrobe but came up empty handed. The more time he spent in the room the more frustrated he became. There was no sign of his backpack, and something about the room was off.
Myer’s bedroom had furniture and clothes, socks and deodorant, a coat hanging on the back of the door and a couple of inexpensive watches, but that was it. There were no books, magazines, games consoles, nothing recreational or to show what interested him. Aubrey hadn’t come across a computer but like many Myers probably used his phone for the internet, and he would have that on him. Nevertheless the room was lacking, suspiciously so.
Aubrey stepped back out onto the landing and turned back to stare accusingly at the unyielding room he’d just left.
Maybe he should have followed Myers in the car.
Hands on his hips he sighed loudly in the silent house.
“Fuck!”
He dropped his head in a moment of hopelessness. Then, angry at his own self-pity and disgusted by the garish patterned carpet beneath his feet, he threw his head back instead, gazing upward. There, directly overhead, was the loft hatch.
Five minutes later he’d found what was missing from Myers’ bedroom. The guy had created a real nest up among the rafters. He’d crudely boarded out the floor and rigged up a bare bulb. Beanbags provided seating. As well as a laptop and digital camera there was a foot high stack of porno magazines and DVD’s.
