The Strangler's Daughter

by Amy Cross

  “For what?”

  “A session on the booze,” she says with a faint smile. “Wait, you do drink, don't you? Don't tell me you're one of those freaks who never get wasted.”

  “I have a glass of port at Christmas,” I reply, although I immediately realize that I probably sound ridiculous. “Sometimes.”

  She stares at me, and I feel a little awkward.

  “Thank you, Lisa,” she says.

  “For what?”

  She steps closer and puts her hands on my shoulders.

  “For being the catalyst that's getting me out of this village,” she continues. “Seriously, I needed what happened today. You might not realize it, but I think you just changed my life for the better, and I'll never forget that. If you're ever in London, look me up and we can go out for a beer. Or a chamomile tea, or whatever shit you like.” She pauses. “I'm probably gonna shoot out of Forkworth in the next day or two. I'll be in the pub tonight if you wanna come chat, but otherwise, if I don't see you before I go...”

  Her voice trails off.

  “Peace, Lisa,” she adds, before taking a step back. “If you really like living in this quiet little village, then more power to you. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I hope everything works out for you. I hope you're happy. That's all any of us can aim for, right? To be happy.”

  With that, she turns and walks away along the lane before I have time to think of anything worth saying.

  “Bye,” I say after a few seconds, but I don't know that she even hears me.

  Once she's out of sight, I turn and start wandering back down the hill. As I pass the cafe, I glance inside and see Caitlin's aunt Delia using the vacuum cleaner. The sign on the door has been turned to read 'Closed', and I can't help thinking that Caitlin's crazy to change her entire life just because of one argument on one afternoon. Then again, maybe it's the best thing for her, and I can't help but smile a little as I make my way toward the village green.

  I'm a catalyst!

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Ten years ago

  I can hear them all downstairs, talking about Mum and about other things. It's as if our house has been invaded, and I've managed to sneak upstairs so that I can get some time alone. It's not that I don't like people, it's just that I find them exhausting and I like to be able to get away.

  Standing on the landing, I listen to all the voices. It's good to be up here, high above them, and I just hope that they don't think I'm being rude.

  I turn to go into my room, but at the last moment I see that the door to Mum and Dad's room is open. Or rather, to Dad's room, because I guess that's what it is now. I know that Dad has already moved some boxes of Mum's things to the top of the stairs, and he told me he's going to take them to a charity shop. That feels a little quick to me, but I suppose I shouldn't judge how Dad grieves.

  I hesitate, then I look downstairs to make sure that no-one's coming, and then I go and push the door open all the way so that I can see into the main bedroom.

  Wow.

  Dad's done a lot already. He's pretty much taken everything out of all the cupboards and drawers, and lots of Mum's stuff is piled up in the corner as if that too is going to be carted off to a charity shop. I know I shouldn't feel sad, but it's as if Dad can't wait to rip out all traces of Mum. Even her perfume has been piled up and put in a box ready to be taken away. I guess I'm just upset at the idea of everything changing so fast.

  Her phone is on the bedside table. I suppose it's good that Dad fetched that from the hotel room.

  I turn to leave the room, and then I stop as I see a cabinet on the dresser. That's new, and as I take a step over I realize that the cabinet has a large, heavy-looking lock on its front.

  I reach out and try to open the cabinet, but it's locked and there's no sign of a key anywhere. I look around, and then I check the drawers, but I still can't find the key. Taking a step back, I try to work out where it might be, but then I realize that I have no right to go snooping around in Dad's things. I guess he just got the cabinet so that he could keep things safe, although it's not as if anyone else in the house would start looking through his stuff.

  Only me.

  As I stare at the cabinet, I start to wonder whether I'm the one Dad's trying to keep things from. Then again, why would he do that? And what could be so important and secret that he has to get a cabinet and hide it away. At the same time, the cabinet is right there on the dresser, as if it's in pride of place, which makes me think that Dad's proud of whatever's inside.

  Then again, whatever he's hiding, I guess it's none of my business.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Today

  “You were out for a long time today,” Dad says as I step into the living room.

  “I ran into someone,” I reply, stopping suddenly. Why didn't I think ahead and come up with a story? Do I even need a story? Why don't I just tell him the truth. “I was in the cafe with her for a while.”

  “You were, huh?” He stares at me, and he seems a little troubled. “I didn't know you had any friends, Lisa. Sorry, that might have sounded a little harsh, but you know what I mean.”

  “It's complicated,” I reply. “She -”

  Before I can finish, I hear a brief, distinct mewing sound coming – I think – from the kitchen.

  “What was that?” I ask.

  “What was what?” Dad replies.

  I open my mouth to mention the sound, but in that instant I hear it again.

  “Is that coming from the kitchen?” I ask.

  “I don't hear anything coming from the kitchen,” he says, but now there's a very faint hint of a smile on his lips.

  Sure enough, I soon hear the same sound again.

  “Huh,” Dad says. “You might be right. Why don't you go and take a look?”

  I hesitate, before making my way past him and heading into the kitchen. As soon as I reach the door, I see the most beautiful little brown kitten trying to get out from a small carrier. I freeze, not quite able to believe what I'm seeing, and the cat mews again as it looks at me.

  “Her name,” Dad says, coming up behind me, “is Topsy, but that's just the name the breeder used for her. You can, and probably should, pick a new name for her.”

  Turning to him, I'm utterly lost for words.

  “I was thinking about our conversation yesterday,” he continues, “and it occurred to me that maybe I was wrong. Maybe you are ready for the responsibility of a pet. I've even arranged to get a cat flap installed. And don't worry, you don't need to go out and get a job or anything like that. I'll cover the costs, including the vet bills. I'll help you get up to speed with this little ball of fur. Just don't expect me to cuddle it too much, and it absolutely does not go into my office or my bedroom, is that understood?”

  I look back over at the cat. I still can't believe that this is really happening.

  “Well?” Dad says. “Are you going to stand there gawping, or are you going to go and introduce yourself to that monstrosity?”

  Stepping over to the carrier, I look down at Topsy and feel a swelling sense of love in my chest. I've never been responsible for an animal before, not in my entire life, and now for the first time I have something that's dependent on me. I'm terrified in case I do something wrong, but finally I open the front of the carrier and reach in to take the cat into my hands. The poor little thing seems a little scared at first, although I'm quickly able to scoop her up.

  “What are you going to name her?” Dad asks.

  “I think Topsy's fine.”

  “You should give her a new name.”

  I reach down and snuggle my face against Topsy.

  “I like Topsy,” I explain.

  “That's not the point,” he replies. “You need to stamp your authority on her. One way of doing that is to show her that things are different now. You're not her friend, Lisa. This is your first lesson. You're in charge of her life, and it'll be better for both of you if you take that responsibility seriously. Trus
t me, the cat will thank you for that.”

  “I don't know...”

  “Choose a name for her.”

  I stare down at Topsy's cute little face. She already looks so much like a Topsy, it's hard to imagine giving her any other name, but I guess I should listen to Dad.

  “Tabby,” I say, figuring that it's close to her original name.

  “You don't want to go with something a little more imaginative?”

  “I like Tabby,” I reply.

  “Okay, fine.” He comes over to join us. “I suppose she is cute, isn't she? She's as cute as a cat can be, anyway. Which isn't saying much. You know you'll have to feed her, don't you? And you'll have to make sure she has water at all times.”

  “I'll read up on it,” I say, before glancing at him. “Thank you, Dad. I never actually expected you to get me one. I won't let you down, I promise.”

  “Maybe I'm just soft-hearted,” he grumbles, as I look back down at Tabby. “I just don't want you to be alone, Lisa. Not ever. And now you won't be, even if... Well, you know what I mean. Now you've got a proper friend. Just make sure you look after her.”

  I wish he'd make his mind up. One minute Tabby's not my friend, and then she is. Sometimes I think Dad makes things up as he goes along. His lack of consistency can be really confusing.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Ten years ago

  “So, Virginia,” Dad says, once all the other guests have left, “I suppose you'll be heading home today, won't you?”

  He sets another pile of dirty plates on the side, and then he turns to look at Grandma. She's standing in the doorway, but she's been strangely silent since she came back in from the garden.

  “I've checked out of my room at the pub, yes,” she replies. Her voice sounds different somehow. Curt, and clipped. “I have a taxi booked to take me to the train station.”

  “I'd offer to drive you myself,” Dad says, “but as you can see, I've got quite a lot of tidying up to do.”

  “I'll help!” I say, hoping to make him feel better.

  “The taxi will be fine,” Grandma tells him. “I want to get home as quickly as possible, I have a great deal to get done. Don't worry, though. Just because I won't be here in Forkworth, that doesn't mean I'll be out of your lives. I might have been busy in the past, but with Michelle gone I fully intend to be much more involved. It'll be almost as if I'm right here with you.”

  I smile, but then I notice that Dad's face looks like thunder as he starts loading the dishwasher.

  “In fact,” Grandma continues, “I was thinking of coming back the weekend after next. There are a few loose ends that I want to look into. But you needn't worry, I won't be staying at the pub on that visit.” She pauses, watching as Dad puts more plates into the machine. “I'm going to stay at the hotel at the Bell Road Hotel in Kemberside.”

  Dad freezes.

  It takes me a moment to realize that this is the hotel where Mum and I were staying when she...

  I mean, it's the hotel where Mum died.

  “Is that right?” Dad says cautiously, as he resumes his work with the dishwasher. “That's a little far out of town, isn't it?”

  “Not particularly,” Grandma replies, “and anyway, I have some business to take care of there. There are some people I want to talk to.”

  “At a hotel you've never been to before?”

  “It is where my daughter died, David.”

  Dad freezes again, and this time he turns to her.

  “Michelle was my only child,” Grandma continues. “You can understand that I want to understand what really happened to her, can't you?”

  “I don't know that you'll find much there,” he replies. “The aneurysm -”

  “I just want to understand the circumstances,” she says, interrupting him. “All the circumstances. I intend to start with the night she died, and then work backward from there.”

  “Backward?” Dad says, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

  “I want to know what was going on in the days and weeks leading up to her death,” she explains. “I want to see the bigger picture.”

  Dad glances at me.

  “Lisa,” he says cautiously, “perhaps you'd like to go through to the front room and check that we haven't missed anything.”

  “The girl can stay,” Grandma replies.

  “Lisa, go,” Dad says.

  I turn to head to the front room.

  “Lisa, stay,” Grandma says.

  I stop in the doorway, and I really don't know what I should do next. I turn to see that Dad's glaring at me.

  “I really should get going now,” Grandma mutters, before taking her bag from the chair, “but I'll be in touch.” She comes over to me. “Lisa, honey, you have my phone number and my e-mail address. If there's anything you need, anything at all, you must get in touch immediately. Any time of the day or night, I'll be there. For anything.”

  “She has me,” Dad points out.

  “And me,” Grandma says, glancing at him briefly before turning and heading out of the room. “Don't worry, I can see myself out. I'll be in touch in a couple of weeks. I hope the clearing up doesn't take too long.”

  I watch as she steps outside and shuts the front door. Once she's gone, the house seems very still and quiet. I turn to Dad and find that he's staring at the hallway, and I can't shake the feeling that I didn't quite understand what just happened. Grandma seems angry with Dad, and Dad seems angry in return. Or maybe scared. It's weird, but I get the feeling that Dad's scared of something.

  “Can I watch TV?” I ask, figuring that it'd be good to focus on something else.

  “Go and check for dirty plates first,” he replies.

  “Can't I do that later? I want to -”

  “Do what you're told!” he yells, storming over to me and grabbing my arm, before shoving me through into the front room. “Now!”

  Shocked, I step back and stumble. I almost fall, but I manage to steady myself against one of the armchairs.

  “I'm sorry, Lisa,” he continues, “I didn't mean to shout, I just... It's been a long day. I'm going to go upstairs and take a nap. If there are any more plates, put them next to the dishwasher and then... Do what you want.”

  I watch as he heads up to his room, and then I take a deep breath in an attempt to hold back tears. That's the first time in my life that Dad has ever shown any sign of losing his temper, but he flared up so easily. I make my way to the front room and check for plates, and then I turn the TV on and search through the channels until I find something good to watch. Even as I settle down, however, my mind is racing and I keep thinking about Dad's momentary outburst.

  It takes a few minutes before I really get into the show I'm watching. Even then, I feel strangely unsettled, as if I can't quite forget what happened just now.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Today

  “Ow, claws! Claws!”

  I wince as Tabby tries to climb up onto my shoulder. We're on the sofa, and I've been completely ignoring the film that I was supposed to watch tonight. Instead, I've been struggling to fuss Tabby and keep her happy, and several times now I've managed to get myself clawed. Still, I guess that's part of the learning process, and I know she doesn't mean to hurt me.

  “Here you go,” I say, picking her up and smiling at her. “Mummy's right here, and she isn't going anywhere.”

  Mummy?

  Should I call myself that?

  Just as I'm debating the issue, I hear Dad going into the hallway, and a moment later I hear the tell-tale sound of him slipping into his jacket.

  “Are you going out?” I ask, as I glance at the clock and see that it's almost 9pm.

  He doesn't reply instantly, but then he appears in the doorway.

  “Just popping out for a walk,” he says. “I might drop into the pub for a drink.”

  I stare at him.

  “I'll be a couple of hours,” he adds. “You'll be fine here, you've got that little creature to keep you company. Have you
been reading up on how to look after it?”

  “Everything's under control,” I tell him, although I've got to admit that I feel uneasy about him going out again tonight. “Don't worry, there won't be any pee stains on the sofa or anything like that.”

  “There'd better not be,” he replies, before turning and heading to the door. “I'll get the cat flap installed tomorrow.”

  “Actually,” I say, “I was thinking about what you said earlier, and I think maybe she should be an inside cat. At least for now.”

  “Whatever you wish, Lisa. It's your cat, after all. You make the decisions.”

  I sit and listen as he goes outside, and then I flinch slightly as the door swings shut. Alone in silence now, I start to wonder whether Dad got this cat for me as a distraction, and then – right on cue – Tabby reaches out and swipes my arm with her left paw.

  “Ow!” I gasp, as I set her down on the sofa's other cushion. “You know, if you keep doing that, you won't get as many cuddles.”

  As I say those words, my phone buzzes, and I realize that I might have received another news report. When I look at the screen, I see that there's an update from one of the local papers:

  Police in Kemberside have tonight warned anyone who shares leaked images online that they will be liable to prosecution. The move comes after leaked photos, reportedly acquired from a stolen camera used in the autopsy of twenty-nine-year-old murder victim Heather Ringfield.

  Police sources say that they've been in contact with social media companies, and that in many cases the images are being blocked before they can appear on websites. That's not enough to scrub the pictures completely, however, so detectives are stressing that anyone sharing illegally acquired material will face the full force of the law.

  Without even waiting to read the rest of the story, I go to Google and try to find the images. At first, all I find are links to sites and pages where the pictures have been removed, so I'm forced to try a few other options. Just as I'm starting to think that I won't have any luck, I scroll down a message-board and let out a gasp as I see a close-up shot of the dead woman's face.