Rowan tried to conjure her dad’s voice but even that small comfort was denied to her. She would die in this stinking house, and she would die alone without any comforting thoughts, without her father’s voice telling her it would all be OK. Reaching the top step, she automatically turned left, head bowed as she concentrated on the worn floorboards beneath her feet. Trying to block out any emotion, she shuffled towards the room in which she knew her life would end.
‘I love you, Dad,’ she whispered the words and felt her young heart break.
‘Rowan, how lovely to see you again.’
Rowan paused in utter confusion, she knew the voice, recognised the welcoming tone. Her head snapped up, a tiny spark of hope rose in her shattered heart. When she saw the familiar woman standing in the room her mouth sprang open, though when she spotted the body at her feet, all that came out was a scream of horror. The man who had held her captive first in the cellar and then in this small, festering bedroom, was sprawled on the floor; what little hair he had possessed had gone leaving behind a skull cap slick with blood.
‘Fuck me,’ she heard the man at her back hiss in shock.
Rowan’s eyes felt as if they were locked open, all she could see was blood, blood everywhere, sprayed up the walls, over the floor, down the woman’s coat, dripping off the huge knife in her gloved hand, then her eyes moved lower and the true horror slammed home as saw the grey slithering entrails that spilled from the stomach cavity of the dead man.
Rowan heard the strange sound bouncing around the room, she had no idea that it was her own scream blasting out in a never-ending torrent of terror.
The woman smiled, her right hand holding the knife that continued to drip blood onto the cutting-room floor.
‘Don’t just stand there, Rowan, come closer then I can see you properly.’
Rowan’s young mind could take no more and she pitched forwards into an abyss of darkness.
For a moment, the woman looked disappointed but then she shrugged, the smile still on her blood-speckled face.
‘Honestly, children today have no stomach for the harsher side of life,’ she said easily.
Acton looked into the room in disbelief, when she turned her cold eyes on him he felt his insides curdle.
‘Come in, Mr Acton, I want a word with you.’
Taking a quick gasp of offal-stinking air, Acton did as he was told.
87
‘I don’t really come into Carl’s study anymore,’ Polly explained as they stood in the small, carpeted room. The blinds were up, the rain loud as it hit the glass, the darkness outside was absolute. A computer stood on a walnut table in front of the large window, a well-used red Chesterfield chair in the corner. One wall was taken up by a huge bookcase crammed with medical tomes, another wall, to Marnie’s left, had three wall shelves, each lined with pictures in small silver frames.
Squeezing past, Polly moved to the shelves and lifted down a picture. ‘Clarisse Wold is the lady in the middle with the white hair,’ she handed the picture over.
Marnie studied the image, it had been taken at some black-tie function, half a dozen people were lined up for the camera, four men and two women. Marnie looked closely at Wold, she looked to have been in her late fifties, tall and sturdy, she held herself with a kind of stiffness that matched her smile, almost as if she found the whole ‘smile for the camera’ business tedious. She looked like the type of woman who loved the outdoors, possibly riding a horse across someone’s land as she chased a fox down, her eyes shone forth from a narrow face topped with steel-grey hair.
Marnie looked at the two men who flanked her, neither of them looked happy to be in close proximity to the stern-looking woman.
Polly pointed to the one on the right. ‘That’s Carl,’ she explained wistfully. ‘And the one on the left is Arnie—’
‘Arnie?’ Marnie’s head snapped up.
‘Mm, he’s a solicitor, he—’
‘Phelps?’
Polly looked surprised for a moment and then she nodded. ‘That’s right, he was Carl’s solicitor and worked for the board of trustees. Do you know him?’
Marnie looked back at the image, Phelps was smaller than the woman at his side, and looked on the portly side, his shirt stretched over his ample stomach, his bow tie slightly askew as if he was unused to wearing one.
‘I know of him,’ Marnie replied as she thought of Phelps keeping Rowan Hall locked in his cellar, the chemical toilet in the corner, the stink of the place – cloying and foul.
Walking over to the shelf, Marnie placed the picture back before looking at the other images. When she spotted the young woman smiling in a large garden she lifted it down and turned to Polly.
‘Is this Beth?’
Polly sighed and nodded. ‘We look alike, I know. That was taken during her therapy when we thought she had turned a corner.’
Marnie glanced at Polly before looking back at the picture, they did look alike, both mother and daughter sharing the same genes, the same slender face and fresh good looks.
‘Do you have any idea why someone would want to kill my husband?’ Polly asked again, the tremor back in her voice.
Marnie looked up at her before turning to place the photograph back on the shelf, her eyes straying back to the image of Wold with Phelps on one side and Hardy on the other. The woman’s eyes appeared to glare out at her, a coldness in the depths.
Turning, she drew in a short breath. ‘Arnie Phelps is missing, we know he had been keeping Rowan locked in the cellar of his home, but by the time we arrived he had vanished, taking the girl with him.’
Polly’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. ‘What?’
‘And now he turns up in a photograph with your husband and Clarisse Wold.’
‘But—’
‘You said Wold works on the board of charities that oversee the hostel where you work?’
‘Well yes, but—’
‘The same hostel that John Hall worked at?’
Polly’s hands were suddenly clamped beneath her chin. ‘What are you suggesting?’ she whispered.
‘In my experience, people are normally killed because they have found out something, something that others want to keep hidden.’
‘But that’s ridiculous …’
‘Is it?’
Polly tried to think of a reply but all of a sudden she was lost for words.
‘Did your husband ever mention anything to you, any worries or suspicions about Wold or Phelps?’
‘No, never,’ she replied instantly.
Marnie closed her eyes in concentration as she worked through the facts, when the door in her mind opened and the truth showed its face she almost gasped. She thought of the three of them in the picture, each linked, each working for the charity, now Hardy was dead and Phelps missing along with Rowan Hall. Polly had stated that her husband had never mentioned anything untoward to her about either Phelps or Wold and yet he had ended up dead and the only reason Hardy would keep his mouth closed was if he was involved in some way. But involved in what? Marnie pictured a young Beth Hardy going off the rails rebelling against a stepfather who seemingly treated her like his own. Polly had said that Beth had everything a girl could want and Marnie had no doubt that she had worn all the latest fashions, had all the latest accessories, but in the end what value could you put on material things if you were unhappy. She thought of the accusations made against Carl Hardy by his stepdaughter, but what if the lies hadn’t been lies? What if Beth had been telling the truth and she had been threatened in some way to retract her statement?
‘Are you sure about Arnie Phelps?’ Polly asked nervously, her hands still clasped beneath her chin.
Marnie blinked herself back to the here and now. ‘We’re positive. Now, I want to know about Wold – where she lives and how she made her money?’
A sudden blast of wind threw a scattering of leaves against the window and Marnie saw Polly Hardy jump at the sound.
‘I don’t know much to be honest.’<
br />
‘You’ve met the woman?’
‘Well, yes of course, we—’
‘What did you make of her?’
Polly Hardy grimaced. ‘Let’s just say she wasn’t the feminine type.’
‘What does that mean exactly?’
Polly started to pull at the robe again in agitation. ‘I always got the impression that she thought the majority of women were weak. As if the fact she had been born female had made her somehow harder, as if she had to prove herself in a man’s world.’
‘And did she?’
‘God yes, she made a success of her life but at what cost?’
‘Did she ever marry?’
Polly nodded. ‘Yes, but I believe her husband died some years ago.’
‘What about children?’
Polly pulled a face. ‘Not according to Carl, besides I could never imagine someone like her having kids.’
‘Why not?’
Polly thought for a moment before answering. ‘The truth is, I only met her on a handful of occasions; don’t get me wrong, she was brilliant, absolutely brilliant at raising funds for the hostel and the other homes. But I always got the impression that she had no actual interest in those who were forced to stay there.’
‘Perhaps it was just a power trip for her,’ Marnie offered.
Polly started to chew her bottom lip again, her hands twisting together, fingers entwined. ‘I remember one occasion; she was there at the hostel and a child of one of the women had picked some flowers from the garden, she ran over to Wold to give them to her. But instead of just taking them she started to lecture the girl about picking flowers. In the end, the girl was in tears but it didn’t seem to bother Wold at all, she just turned and walked away as if she couldn’t abide the show of emotion.’
‘What about money?’ Marnie asked as another howl of wind punched the window.
‘To be honest, I’m not entirely sure how she made her money, though I do remember Carl once telling me that her husband had worked in the medical profession.’
‘So, your husband had known the man?’
‘Oh no, he’d died long before Carl came into contact with Clarisse Wold.’
Marnie felt the pressure of time tighten around her heart, she had come here hoping to learn more and yet now she had more questions than answers.
Then she thought of Rowan and her resolve hardened. ‘Do you have an address for Wold?’
‘She lives in a huge, rambling pile on Maypole Hill, I only know because Carl had to drop some paperwork off there once. I waited in the car, I can still see her now, standing at the door, I waved and she ignored me completely.’
‘Can you give me directions?’
‘Do you know the Star Inn on Maypole Lane?’
Marnie nodded.
‘Well, turn right at the side of the pub and follow the road to the top of the hill, you’ll see the house on the left – it’s the only one for miles around.’
‘OK and thanks for your help, I—’
‘But what about Carl? What about this Jimmy Rae?’ Polly asked.
Marnie hesitated. ‘Look, I promise as soon as I know more then I’ll come and tell you.’
Polly nodded tearfully, ‘Thank you, I’d appreciate that,’ she said, following Marnie back through the house to the front door. Opening it, Marnie grimaced as the wind howled and the rain lashed down.
‘Thanks again,’ she said and before Polly could reply she was running down the drive, the wind tossing her hair across her face.
Polly Hardy wiped yet more tears from her cheeks before closing the door quietly.
88
Acton tried to avoid looking at the body on the floor, he knew he was standing in a mess of blood and chunks of flesh but the woman who stood before him seemed unconcerned. Williams was standing to the left, well away from the gore, the girl lay where she had fell.
Acton glanced at the wax coat the woman was wearing, he could see the blood glistening on the fabric like a slaughter man after making a kill.
‘So, Mr Acton, we meet at last,’ she said, the smile still hovering around her thin mouth, her eyes shining ice-cold.
Acton opened his mouth, unsure what he was going to say. ‘Look, I was telling Williams that I’ve done as you asked, I—’
‘You have performed admirably, Mr Acton, and I dare say all you want is to collect the rest of your earnings then you can run and hide from Mr Rae?’
Acton tried not to breathe through his nose for fear of catching the scent he knew was there, the stink of the disembowelled, the dark tang of spilled blood.
‘Rae will be looking for me and I can’t stay around here,’ he replied in a quiet voice.
The woman looked up at him and yet to Acton she seemed to fill the room with her presence. He thought of Rae and the temper tantrums he had thrown over the years, the way he would rage and stamp his feet before lashing out. Over time he had got used to the way his boss behaved and occasionally he had found Rae’s antics comical in an overblown way.
But there was nothing comical about the woman who stood before him, her hands dripping blood, no humour in her eyes, just a cold, dark void of nothingness.
‘I thought you wanted to take over from Rae?’ she asked, tilting her head slightly.
‘Well, yeah, but I can’t do that while he’s still around, can I?’
The woman shrugged, lifting her shoulders inside the heavy jacket. ‘So, what would you suggest?’
Acton licked his lips in indecision. ‘If you could take care of him then I’d be prepared to wave the rest of the cash.’ From the corner of his eye, Acton saw Williams flicker a tight grin.
‘You want me to kill Rae – is that what you’re suggesting?’
Acton nodded.
The woman broke eye contact to look at Williams. ‘I think our friend here has been labouring under a misconception, Mr Williams.’ Williams grunted and she turned back to Acton, he could feel the clammy sweat of fear clinging to him as she fixed him with her piercing eyes.
‘I have no interest in Rae’s pitiful empire, no interest in his drugs and whorehouses. The truth is he served a purpose, muddied the waters but I am more than happy to leave him be for now.’
Acton felt his mouth drop open in shock. ‘But I thought—’
‘You thought you would fill his shoes, thought you would stab him in the back and take over,’ she took a step forwards and Acton shrivelled inside. ‘The truth is, Mr Acton, I like to have people around me I can trust and you most certainly don’t fall into that category.’
‘But he said it would all be sorted, he told me Rae was finished and if I did this thing then I would have it all,’ Acton’s voice rose anger as he jabbed a finger at Williams.
‘I think you’ll find that Mr Williams implied certain things but he made no promises. He suggested certain scenarios and your greedy little mind filled in the gaps.’
‘But—’
‘You see, I told Mr Williams what to tell you and I trust him implicitly so I know exactly what was said and what was promised. I agreed to pay you a set amount for doing certain things. Now, I agree you have done what was asked of you but for now you will stay here and—’
‘Here?’ Acton gasped.
The woman smiled. ‘Come, Mr Acton, I am sure you have stayed in worse places.’
‘But why?’
Her face changed, the smile fell from her lips, her narrow cheeks seemed to draw in and her eyes ignited. ‘Never question me,’ she spat, ‘I own you, Mr Acton, body and soul.’
Acton swallowed the terror and nodded his head rapidly.
‘Now, get the girl and put her on the bed, you fucking imbecile!’ she roared, the spittle flying from her mouth.
Acton spun away, shocked at the sudden change in the woman. Walking across the room, he dipped and picked the girl up, then turned and walked on unsteady legs towards the bed, every step drove home the fact that the woman now owned him. Dropping the girl onto the bed he felt his soul shrivel as he r
ealised he was damned.
89
Conway had his foot planted to the floor, the car blasted along the road, the wind buffeting the vehicle, rain lashing the windscreen.
‘Slow down,’ Marnie warned.
Conway glanced at her, his face coated in sweat, his face gaunt. ‘But …’
‘If you want to get pulled for speeding then be my guest but the time wasted explaining what we are doing hitting seventy in a forty zone will be down to you.’
With a heavy sigh, Conway eased off the gas as Marnie’s phone rang, she snatched it from her pocket and checked the number, when she saw Reese’s name flashing up at her she tapped at the screen in relief.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked, hurriedly.
‘I’ll live. Now tell me where you are?’ The DCI replied in a gruff voice.
Marnie started to talk, explaining about her conversation with Polly Hardy and how she had come away with the name Clarisse Wold.
‘And you think Wold could be involved in some way?’
Marnie paused before answering. ‘To be honest, I haven’t a clue but she’s the one thing that links Carl Hardy, Phelps, and the hostel.’
Silence stretched out, broken only by the howl of the wind and rain.
‘OK, check her out but make sure you take that bastard with you.’
Marnie frowned in surprise. ‘I thought you would have wanted Conway left in the car?’
‘Yes, well, we both know that won’t be happening, besides the whole thing is already fucked, at the end of the day someone cut up Whitlow and the guy on the bed so I don’t want you going in there alone.’
‘Clarisse Wold has to be at least sixty, I can’t see her taking on someone like Whitlow and—’
Cut The Threads: A Serial Killer Thriller That Will Keep You Hooked (DS Marnie Hammond Book 2) Page 29
