by Jay Gill
Cutler smiled to himself and thought, Tina, you have no idea.
“Not much further now,” she said. She started rooting around in her purse for her front-door key.
“Would you like me to help?” It would make it easier, he realised, if he went to the front door with her and opened it.
“I’m okay. It’s somewhere here.” She shook her purse, dropping her phone in the process.
“Is anyone at home to make sure you’re going to be okay?” Cutler crouched down and picked up the phone.
“I threw him out, that bastard.”
“So there’s no one else?” Cutler’s cold eyes watched her response.
“No, I’m all alone, you cheeky Lamb, you.” Tina found the key and looked Cutler up and down. He looked somehow different. No longer friendly. “He might be inside. He will be inside. If he’s not, then the girls I share with will be.” Tina was suddenly acutely aware of her vulnerability and was trying to force herself to appear sober.
Cutler looked at the house, which was dark; not a single light was on. He smiled at her. “It’s always nice to know there is someone waiting for you when you get home.” Tina’s hand began to shake uncontrollably. “Would you like me help with the key, Tina?”
Tina swallowed and, without looking back, ran up the steps to the front door. She dropped her shoes as she struggled with the key. He could hear her whimpering as he got up close. As the key slid into the lock Cutler pushed open the door and Tina fell inside. As Cutler shut the door behind them, Tina crawled on her hands and knees along the hallway. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder at the monster she’d let into her home.
In the darkness she could hear his heavy breathing, and then came his monotone voice. “We’re going to play a new game. I’ve not played it before, Tina. I’ve played other games, but not the sort you and I are going to play. You’re the first.”
He followed her as she continued to crawl, too scared to stop. Not even for the few seconds it would take to get to her feet.
“I’m not going to lie to you, Tina. It’s going to hurt. But if you do as I say and I’ve enjoyed you, then I’ll let you live. I promise.”
Tina pushed open the kitchen door at the end of the hall and moonlight flooded in.
Cutler looked down on her. Still on her hands and knees, she looked incredible. She looked how he’d imagined. He grabbed her ankle, yanked it back and flipped her over.
The scalpel glinted in the moonlight. That got her attention. “Are you going to do as I say?”
Tina didn’t need to say anything; he could see all he needed to in her wide eyes.
“Good. You know, I don’t think we need the bedroom. Right here will do just fine.” Cutler knelt down and gently caressed Tina’s neck.
“Shall we begin?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
There were things on the to-do list, but weren’t there always? He was sitting in the car park finishing his Starbucks coffee and almond croissant. On the way over from the hotel that morning he’d caught himself singing along to “Sex on Fire” by Kings of Leon. Singing along to the radio was something he hadn’t done in a very long time.
As he entered the back of the store, he felt a spring in his step. This was the new and improved Michael Cutler. Cutler the Unstoppable. Cutler the Great. Cutler the Magnificent.
The knot in his chest that he’d carried with him for years had gone. There would be no more hiding from who he was. Nothing was beyond his reach anymore. For all these years he’d been burying his true nature deep down in a dark place. It had made him weak. Today, he finally felt released into the light. From now on, once he’d decided on what he wanted he would just reach out and take it. From now on, he’d hide from nothing and no one. He was free. And it felt good.
He used to listen to motivational speakers in the car as he drove from store to store. It had to be said they were all pretty much peddling the same wisdom. Each one would just dress it up differently, but, essentially, they were putting fresh lipstick on the old pig, as they say. Right now, he kept hearing the same line over and over in his head: “Whether you say you can or you can’t, you’re right.” Something along those lines, anyway. That didn’t sound quite right, but it was close enough.
Inside, he could feel he was becoming who he was meant to be. He no longer felt scared or lacking in confidence; for once in his life he was happy. He knew who he was and he understood his place in the world.
He tapped the six-digit key code and entered through the back of the store. He put the remainder of his coffee on the desk then put his briefcase down. He fired up the PC in the storeroom and printed off the sales figures. When he heard voices from the front of the store, he guessed the staff had started to arrive. He looked up and smiled, expecting whoever it was to eventually make their way to the back of the store. They didn’t.
From his seat at the desk, he peered through the shelving and listened as two young sales assistants, whom he recognised as Tim Friar and Chelsea Randall, took off their coats and hung them up.
“Creepy Cutler’s in today,” said Tim. “I think he’s got the hots for you.”
“Don’t be stupid and don’t be mean. He’s all right. I don’t know why you have a problem with him.”
“You’re joking, right? He’s a freak.” Tim pulled a face.
“You just don’t like him because you never get the sales bonus.”
“I don’t get the bonus because I don’t give a shit about this crappy job.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m telling you, that guy could rape you with those eyes of his.”
“Don’t say that, Tim. That’s disgusting. He’s always been really sweet.”
“There you go – that’s why he’s nice to you. You’re so naive. I’ve heard stuff about him. He was almost fired a few years back for stalking some girl. That was when he lived up north. Then he got transferred down south.”
“Shut up.”
“No, it’s true. Ask anyone.” Tim was enjoying scaring her.
“He’s married. He’s got kids.”
“And? Nutters usually are married. It’s how they cover it all up. They need to look like regular family men, so no one will suspect. Everyone knows that.”
“Okay, that’s enough. You’re scaring me, and you can’t go around saying stuff like that. It’s not nice.”
“Why? I swear it’s true.”
“You just can’t say stuff like that. And you don’t know for sure. I know what you’re like. You’re just making it up.”
“Stay close to me and I’ll protect you.” Tim pulled Chelsea close and gave her a squeeze.
She giggled. “So that’s your game. Get your hands off me. We’re at work.” Cutler listened as the two of them kissed. “Okay, that’s enough. Somebody might come in,” said Chelsea, pushing him away. “I said get off, Tim. You’re such an idiot. You’ll get us both fired.”
“Later, then?”
“Yes, later. You wait here for a second. I’m going back in the store.”
Cutler watched Tim through the shelving as he hovered by the coats for a bit, then, rather than go back into the store, he went through to the kitchen to make himself a coffee. Cutler followed him.
Tim was eating a biscuit while tapping the top of the sugar tin with a teaspoon, like he was playing the drums. Cutler silently closed the kitchen door and moved in close beside him.
“Good morning, Tim.”
“God – Christ. Bloody hell, you scared the shit out of me,” said Tim, dropping the spoon into the sink with a clatter. “I nearly choked on my biscuit.”
“You know, Tim, spreading rumours and lies can be dangerous. I once read that in medieval Europe a liar’s mouth would be forced open with a special device, and then grippers would be attached to the tongue. Once a firm hold was established, the tongue would be slowly ripped out. Can you imagine the pain? Nasty.”
Tim tried to look innocent. “I guess that would do the trick,” he said, attem
pting a joking tone. “Mind you, you can’t believe everything you read. Coffee?”
“I’m fine, thank you, Tim. I just wanted to catch you alone. So I could say good morning.” Swift as a panther, Cutler grabbed Tim’s throat and stepped close. He could smell Tim’s cheap body spray. “And one last thing, Timmy Boy.” Cutler squeezed hard, his fingers pinching deep into Tim’s windpipe. “If I ever hear you’ve so much as mentioned my name again, I will pull your fucking tongue out. I will rip that sucker clean out of your dumb fucking skull. That is something you can believe.”
Cutler heard footsteps. He released Tim then turned and walked away.
Tim fell against the worktop, held his throat and gasped for air.
As Cutler left the kitchen, he passed Chelsea, who’d come back to find her boyfriend.
“Good morning, Chelsea,” said Cutler with a wink. Loud enough for Tim to hear, he added, “Tim’s been at the chocolate digestives again. A piece went down the wrong way, but luckily I was on hand to offer assistance. Could’ve been nasty.
“Anyway, he’ll live, so long as he takes my advice.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Vaughan held Becky’s, hand. It was soft, cold and feather light. His daughter was eight years old and should have been out in the sunshine playing with friends, having sleepovers, watching movies, being cheeky and laughing.
He remembered the summer, she must have been four or five, when he was on leave and they’d spent every day together. He was fixing up the house and she was his little helper. They’d really bonded that summer.
Every day she’d get the paintbrushes and the rollers ready, and together they’d painted the walls, then rubbed down and repainted the woodwork. She was so small she couldn’t reach much higher than his chest height with the roller, so from time to time he’d lift her so she could reach the top of the wall. Either that or he’d hold her while she stood on the stepladder. Sometimes she’d let him, but most of the time she’d insisted on doing it herself. Right from that early age she was strong-willed and knew her own mind.
Becky opened her eyes and looked at him. He smiled, and she smiled back.
“Hello, baby,” he said softly. “You’ve been sleeping. Can I get you anything? Would you like some water?”
“No, thank you, Daddy. I’m fine. I saw you smiling. What were you thinking about?”
“I was just remembering you helping me decorate this house. Do you remember?”
“Yes, that was fun. Except when you got paint in my hair.”
“Did I? Wow, you’ve got a good memory.”
“Yes. I told Mummy it was an accident and that you didn’t mean to do it.”
They both laughed, and he savoured the moment before the sadness crept up inside him again. He kept smiling and squeezed Becky’s hand. Inside, the injustice coursed through him like a raging fire. He had to fight back the crushing thoughts of her lying in bed in this darkened room, day after day.
Fiona came into the room with tea. “I heard you two laughing,” she said. “What are you up to? I hope you’re not planning mischief.”
“Not us,” said Vaughan. He winked at Becky and they shared a secret smile. “I’ve got to pop out for a while, sweetheart. I’ll be back as quick as I can, pinky promise.” Vaughan wiggled his little finger and Becky wiggled hers. He kissed her on both cheeks and the forehead and blew kisses as he left.
Fiona followed him to the car. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but we have to decide what we do next. She’s getting weaker and sleeping more and more. I think it’s time she went back to the hospital.”
“No,” said Vaughan with ferocity in his voice. “No. As soon as she goes back to the hospital, we lose control. If we do that, they’ll dose her up on God knows what and she’ll be gone within a month.”
“For Christ’s sake, Jared, we can’t just keep hanging on. It’s not helping her. You must see – she’s nothing more than skin and bones.”
“We’re getting the treatment. Let them know I’m getting the money.”
“I’ve done that, but we can’t keep telling them that. I can tell they don’t believe me anymore. Don’t you understand?
“We’re not giving up. We’re not giving in. Never. As long as there’s a chance, we fight. And if you go behind my back and admit her to the hospital it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”
Fiona took a step back, her face ashen. “So, you’re turning on me now? Who the hell do you think you are? I’ve been here since it started. You ignored it. Went off to fight on the other side of the world instead of being at home with me to fight for her.”
“That’s not fair, and you know it. I’m here now. And I’m fighting. And I’m going to win. We’re going to win. So leave me the fuck alone and let me sort this out.” Vaughan climbed into the car, slammed the door and drove away without looking book. He could hear Fiona screaming after him. Cursing him.
He gripped the steering wheel tightly and focused, pushing away all unnecessary emotions, just as he had been trained to do. He had a job to do, and he could not afford the luxury of peripheral distractions. Breathing steadily, deliberately, he thought back to his training and the serenity of the pine forest at dawn. Birdsong the only sound echoing through an otherwise silent forest. The strong scent of pine on the breeze. The cool morning air in his lungs. The dampness of morning dew. Calm and quiet determination was what he needed to complete the job. Nothing more.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Crowds had been waiting all day for the arrival of celebrities Sophia Ray-Summers and Carson Day. Their touching portrayals of Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Philip’s relationship, and eventual marriage after the Second World War, had earned them countless award nominations. The movie had met with critical acclaim ahead of the premiere, meaning the pair were drawing larger-than-anticipated crowds in London’s Leicester Square. With huge numbers of fans and so many big names in London this evening, additional armed-response officers had been deployed; security was tight.
Among the guests walking the red carpet were cast members as well as invited guests, including TV celebrities, comedians and officials. The crowd screamed, shouted and called out for attention while cameras flashed and mobile phones were held up in hopes of celebrity selfies. News crews, celebrity reporters, bloggers and YouTubers lined the red carpet to ask their questions and receive what they knew would be well-scripted replies.
Ben Drummond, the ex-secretary of state for defence, walked gamely up the red carpet hand in hand with his wife, smiling and waving to a crowd he knew had no interest in him. This whole awkward exercise filled him with immense displeasure. This bloody movie had better be good, he said to himself. The sooner this humiliating charade is over the better.
It had been the PR agency’s idea. We need to raise your profile, they’d insisted. We’ll get you on a few chat shows, a celebrity TV competition. We’ll organise the writing of your memoirs; some controversial and juicy revelations from your time on the benches would be helpful. The public want inside secrets. Who’s screwing who, when, where and how.
Your name has value, they said. You can have a career in the public eye after politics, but we need to start “getting you out there.” Telling your story.
The whole evening filled him with utter dread. He hoped there wouldn’t be a repeat of the last premiere he’d attended. He’d spent the last hour in complete discomfort, stifling yawns and fighting to stay awake. At least Phillipa was enjoying herself. His wife looked beautiful tonight, and he could tell she was excited by the whole event. That in itself was worth it. He owed her some happiness for a change. Seeing her like this reminded him of the young woman he’d met all those many years ago. Where had the time gone? He squeezed her hand a little tighter to get her attention and then smiled at her lovingly. It had been a long time since he’d seen her so happy.
Through the crowd, he watched as a couple of Met police officers questioned a man. They were asking him to show them the contents of his rucksack and
the scruffy oik was protesting his innocence. Probably a pickpocket or druggy, thought Drummond.
The procession began to bunch up, and the awkwardness escalated as he was forced to stand and face the crowd. Should he approach people and speak to them or speak to his wife and pretend the crowd wasn’t there? Fortunately, a journalist started to wave to them. Not someone he recognised but a welcome distraction nonetheless.
She was a petite brunette in a figure-hugging emerald dress with some sort of cropped leather jacket. A modern look, Drummond supposed. She was half his age and very much his type. Her bright eyes, tanned silky skin and welcoming smile drew him towards her like a magnet. He smiled warmly and mentally undressed her as they spoke. Focus, Ben. Remember the promise you made to look but not touch.
Her name was Saskia, and, due to the relaxed atmosphere, she kept questions light and upbeat. When she touched on the recent shootings, he did his best to keep his answers brief. The exchange went well, and he even managed to move the conversation on to his forthcoming TV appearances and drop in the joke the PR agency had given him about his philandering past.
Overall, he was pleased with his performance. And for the most part, he’d managed to keep his eyes away from Saskia’s delightful breasts. Drummond looked to his wife for reassurance. None came. She could read him like a book. He’d fooled no one but himself. Phillipa ignored his lack of integrity and continued to smile and wave to the crowd as together they moved a bit further along the red carpet.
Ben Drummond knew nothing of what happened next. One second, he was wishing he could apologise once more to his wife for his lack of respect and past indiscretions, tell her how deeply he loved her. The next second, he was flat on his back choking on blood. His body spasmed for a few seconds before it shut down completely. The armour-piercing bullet had torn through him with catastrophic results. Had it been a few inches higher, it would have taken his head clean off.
