HE WILL KILL YOU an absolutely gripping crime thriller with a massive twist

by Charlie Gallagher

  ‘She said she knows where she can get help,’ Tim said.

  * * *

  Grace was standing in the living room, looking over at Craig’s back. He was still at the front window and hadn’t said a word since the police left. He tipped the blinds slightly, just enough to be able to see out. From her vantage point she could see beyond him. She saw the blue lights come on, flashing and flickering through the slats. Their intensity dimmed as the car moved away. Then they were gone.

  Craig turned to her immediately. ‘Where were we?’ he said.

  ‘Please, Craig. Please let me go to bed. Just let me go to bed! I’m tired, okay? I’m not going anywhere.’ She kept her voice low and soothing. It was deliberate. She knew he couldn’t take it if she raised her voice when she was scared. He called it whiny.

  Craig was shaking his head. She had seen it too many times. It wasn’t a normal shake, as if he was simply denying her request; it was faster, as if he was trying to shake the bad thoughts from his mind. He needed his head testing. He wasn’t right. She didn’t recognise him anymore.

  ‘You sit in your seat.’ He stopped to look down through eyes that didn’t blink. His words were suddenly very deliberate, his feet were shoulder width apart and his strong arms hung wide as if his broad chest was tensed. His hands were bunched into fists. His voice was so low she would have missed it if she hadn’t heard it so many times before.

  ‘Please, Craig . . .’

  ‘You sit in your seat.’

  ‘I just—’

  ‘SIT IN YOUR FUCKING SEAT!’ He raised his head to the ceiling and his eyes bulged as if they might burst from their sockets.

  Her whole body flinched and she inhaled with a shocked whimper. She knew she wasn’t going to win. When she opened her eyes he was half turned back towards the window.

  His head turned back slowly to face her. ‘I swear . . . if you make me shout again . . . if someone calls them mugs back . . . if they get to stand in my house, taking the piss out of me again . . . You will answer for it, Grace. And it will be your own doing. Now, I am going out, and you sit in your seat when you’re told. You know this.’

  Grace swallowed hard. She knew she was going to have to move but her feet wouldn’t. It was like she was frozen to the spot. She focused. She tried to console herself. If she did as he asked, he would go out. She would have some time on her own at least. Just her. She managed the few paces to the single seat sofa, the same sofa where she had bunched up the duvet when the police had knocked at the door so she could cover up what was underneath. Craig whipped the duvet off. Her stomach always fluttered when she saw it. The solid, black steel of the bench vice where the left arm of the sofa should be. She tried not to linger on it, as if by ignoring it, it wasn’t real. But it was real. Two twelve-inch steel plates, each with a nobbled surface, faced each other to form a crushing pair of jaws. It was designed to grip solid metal to the point where it wouldn’t move, no matter what was done to it. It worked well on flesh, too, and could cause catastrophic damage.

  She sat in the chair. She was still trying not to look at the vice directly. Her left arm stayed by her side but she made sure to lift it before he did. It was agony if he lifted it up for her. It still hurt enough doing it herself. She felt a flash of pain and then a dull ache where blood tried to move through the damaged part. Her left arm didn’t quite lie straight anymore when she rested it on the solid base. The steel felt so unforgiving, even just through her elbow.

  Craig pulled the blinds tightly shut then walked back to her. He tugged back the sleeve of her top. She bit her lip. He reached for the handle of the vice, which turned on a buttress thread. It was designed so that when it was screwed shut it was impossible to part unless the thread turned in the other direction. The handle was on the side and lower down, designed specifically so that she couldn’t reach it without snapping her arm.

  She closed her eyes. She couldn’t watch this part. She felt the ragged steel plates push into both sides of her arm at the same time. They stopped for an instant where he adjusted his grip to turn it again. Some days were tighter than others. Tonight he was angry, she could tell. She bit down again, harder this time to stop from crying out as the jaws clamped tighter. She knew if she made a noise it would make him twist it even more. She could feel the pinch; the blood being pushed out until it felt like it was pushing directly on the bone. She exhaled loudly, almost a groan. She couldn’t help it.

  She opened her eyes to see him stepping back. She fought to get her breath. She had to really concentrate to be still, she felt every movement through the damaged bone. She considered begging him to loosen it. Sometimes the pain was bearable. Not tonight. She had begged him before when he was angry. He had only tightened it more. That was how the bone in her arm had been broken in the first place. He liked to teach her a lesson. He rubbed at his mouth. His eyes were still wide and he looked agitated.

  ‘You make me do this, Grace — you know that, right? I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to have to, but you make me do this.’

  She couldn’t speak. The pain was too much. Her breathing was long and laboured as she tried to cope. He was pulling on a jacket. He was sweating more and wiped at his brow.

  ‘You make me do this!’ he said again.

  And then he was gone.

  Chapter 4

  Grace’s diary

  Monday 4 February

  I’m writing this back in the chair. It is now six evenings in a row. I checked back through the pages of this diary to be sure. All of the days seem to blur into one now. It’s getting worse. The pain is so bad.

  I could tell I was going to get hurt the moment he came home from work. I heard his car pull up. Just the way he closed his door.

  Tonight I upset him. I knew it was going to happen. I was trying not to give him an excuse to start. I made him dinner and then I was just trying to keep out of his way. He was watching TV. I dropped some pans when I was clearing up. It was nothing really but he went mad. Shouting at me, saying that I was hurting his head, that he had been at work all day. He was screaming at me. I kept quiet. I was waiting for it to end. I put my head down, he spits when he shouts. But I don’t think he liked that. He grabbed my bad arm and it caught me by surprise. It hurt so bad, I screamed. I didn’t mean to. I knew straight away that he would be angry. He just stopped. He stopped shouting and he let me go and he looked all surprised. Straight away he was at the window. It was like he knew they were coming.

  Two police officers came. Two men. I didn’t want to talk to them. I know he doesn’t like me talking to them and I could tell I was going to pay for it when they left. The short one spoke to me in the kitchen. I think he was a sergeant. He said his name was Tim. He seemed nice. He said he wanted to help. He said he knew what was going on.

  But he doesn’t.

  He told me about you, Maddie. I said we had met already and that I would talk to you if I needed to. I do need to. I have needed to for a long time. This is how I do it. I talk to you every day. In here. But soon, when the time is right, I will have the strength to show it to you.

  He’s getting worse. I know it will need to be soon or it will be too late. This diary gives me hope. You told me to write it down when I could and you were right. This is how you will know what was happening at 17 Campbell Road. This is how you will believe me.

  Whether I get to give it to you in person or not.

  Right now the chair is as tight as it has been since the night my arm changed shape. It has to be broken. It is even more misshapen now, it is getting worse. I need to go to hospital. I need something for the pain. I know he won’t let me.

  I shouldn’t have screamed. I should be more controlled. I can’t talk to the police. Not yet. Craig tells me they won’t listen to me anyway. They won’t believe me. He says I’m useless.

  But I know you’ll listen to me, Maddie. And I know you will help me.

  I have taken photos. They are dated. I need to hide it all now.

  If he
knew, he would kill me, Maddie. I know that. I know you’ll help me.

  I know you will.

  Grace xxx

  Chapter 5

  Maddie Ives turned into Southwall Street, Langthorne, and killed the engine. They were in the same beaten-up car they had used earlier. It was a good choice for blending in. Southwall Street was in the Epping Hill Estate, a two-mile square of concrete with a reputation as the most depraved and crime-riddled in the county. Toby Routledge lived among the tightly packed buildings; his was a top floor flat that they could just make out from their position. His girlfriend was registered as living there too with their eighteen-month-old son, but intelligence had her spending most of her time at her mother’s address nearby. Any risk assessment, however, would have to include the assumption that the baby was there tonight, certainly if they got to the point where they were looking to force entry. Maddie was hoping that wouldn’t be necessary. She was just off the phone to Vince Arnold who had agreed to assist — which made the door going in on the end of someone’s foot far more likely.

  ‘Vince is coming. He’s out with his skipper. They’re going to do our arrest and we’ll stay for the search.’

  ‘Of course he is!’ Rhiannon giggled in the seat beside her.

  ‘And what is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘What do you think? There was never any doubt he was going to come running to your call!’

  ‘He’s far from subtle is our Vince. One of the good guys though. I’d much rather have him on my team.’

  ‘Is he wearing you down? He always tells me he is!’

  Maddie laughed harder. ‘Maybe he is!’

  ‘Just a few days ago you said it would be a cold day in hell before you stepped out on a date with that man.’

  Maddie’s attention was drawn to the top floor window. A light had come on in the furthest window. ‘Well, I haven’t checked the forecast recently.’

  ‘That’s his kitchen, right?’ Rhiannon said. She must have been looking up at the flat too. They had both been in there a few times before. Toby Routledge was a well-known local burglar. He was the worst type — the ‘creeper’. He liked to break into homes in the dead of night, usually while occupants were asleep upstairs. He got off on the thrill of it. He preferred small electrical items such as mobile phones and tablets, but he would take jewellery and cash if he came across it — anything that was on show. And his first port of call with stolen goods was always Barry Lyle’s filthy little shop in Langthorne’s High Street.

  The light in the top window clicked back off again, just as Maddie was aware of headlights in her mirror. A marked police car slid past. She pushed her door open.

  ‘Time to rock and roll,’ she said.

  The night air carried a chill that nipped at her neck. The rain had stopped at least. She zipped up her jacket and pulled it tighter as she walked to the pavement to greet the two officers. She could see the only entrance to the flats from her position and her attention moved away from it only briefly to greet the two men.

  ‘You cold, Detective Sergeant Ives?’ Vince’s wide grin reflected the street lighting.

  ‘There is a chill in the air, Vince. Not that you seem to be feeling it. That uniform suits you.’ Maddie referenced his return to uniform after his plain-clothes assist earlier in the shift. Now he was stood in a black, short-sleeved, POLICE-marked T-shirt. It gripped tightly around his biceps. She reckoned he ordered them a size too small. His stab vest also looked like it was made with a smaller officer in mind.

  ‘I don’t feel the cold so much. If you ever need warming up, you let me know!’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ Maddie moved the conversation on. ‘I’ve seen a light go on and off since we’ve been here. It was literally a minute, so we know someone’s in. No one’s come out.’

  Tim Betts’s breath was visible as he spoke. ‘We’ll go give him a knock then.’ He shifted from one foot to another as if he might be the one in need of Vince’s radiant warmth.

  The communal door to the building was wide open. There was some trampled mail on the floor and more of it pushed over to one side or stuffed on a shelf off to the left. Maddie and Rhiannon hung back a few paces. Maddie scanned the envelopes quickly and noted a lot of them were addressed to Mr T. Routledge, distinctive as bill reminders and demands. He was bailed to this address from a previous burglary offence but police hadn’t been here for a few months. She hoped the build-up of mail wasn’t a sign that he had moved out.

  The carpet on the wooden staircase was thin and cheap. There would be no silent approach. Each step either boomed or creaked. Toby’s flat was on the top floor. Vince’s knock sounded more like an attempt to smash the door down than to attract the attention of the occupant. He waited just a couple of seconds before he made his second attempt.

  ‘WHO IS IT!’ It was a male voice from the other side.

  ‘That’s him,’ Maddie said.

  Vince nodded. ‘Police!’ he said.

  ‘The fuck do you want?’

  Vince’s nostrils flared. There was a short landing, not enough room for two officers to be on it at the same time. Vince turned so he was fully facing the door. Tim Betts had to move down a couple of steps to make room. Vince’s frustration was tangible.

  ‘I ain’t talking to you about it through a door, Toby. Open it up or I will.’

  ‘You gonna smash my door in? You got a warrant?’

  ‘Yeah. Open up and I’ll show you.’

  ‘You ain’t got nothing!’ Toby shouted back. ‘I open that door and you’re gonna nick me. I ain’t even done nothing.’

  ‘If you don’t open the door I’m gonna nick you for wasting my time. You got five seconds before I come in.’

  ‘What you nicking me for?’

  ‘FOUR!’ Vince bellowed back.

  Maddie could hear mumbling from the other side of the door but could no longer make out words.

  ‘THREE!’

  ‘All right, yeah! But I ain’t done nothing. You better not be here to nick me.’

  ‘TWO!’ Vince started banging the door again. This time it was with the bottom of his fist. It got progressively louder.

  ‘ALRIGHT!’ Toby screamed from the other side. Vince stopped. There was a moment’s complete silence, then a scraping sound. The door pulled open.

  Vince stepped in immediately. Tim followed him. Maddie could hear Toby protesting about how they couldn’t just come in like that. By the time she walked through the door Toby was stood in handcuffs and nicked for burglary. His arms hung down his front. His pigeon-chest was bare, on his bottom half his dirty tracksuit bottoms were unzipped to make flares. The flat was stifling hot and stank of cannabis. The untidy living room was just about all there was to the flat. A clothes hanger stood against the window with a few items of baby clothes clinging to it. More littered the floor around it. There was an open pizza box with some bits of chewed crust. It looked like it had been yesterday’s dinner. She could see two mobile phones next to it on the table.

  ‘CID in da house!’ Toby flicked his gaze from Maddie to Rhiannon, who moved in behind her. They’d met a few times, enough for him to recognise them instantly.

  ‘How have you been, Toby?’ Maddie said.

  ‘I’ve been arrested! I suppose this is your doing, is it?’

  ‘No, this is your doing, Toby. You just can’t help yourself, can you?’

  ‘I ain’t done nothing. Burglary? I swear, every time something out there gets chored you come knocking on my door. You lot are just lazy, ain’t nothing more to it. Something gets chored so you come after the last bloke you nicked for choring stuff. I know people. I see them out there, getting away with all kinds of shit because you lot are banging on my door every time. You need to get out there and do some detecting, yeah? The people you really want are out there now, laughing.’

  ‘I’m sure they are. I seem to remember you giving me the same speech a couple of months ago. Just before I charged you with three burglaries at a care home for
the elderly. These people that are actually doing all the stealing, they’re using your fingerprints, too, are they? As much as I appreciate your advice, you won’t mind if I ignore it completely, will you?’

  ‘You ain’t got no prints!’

  ‘You upgraded to gloves now then, have you?’ Vince chipped in.

  Toby jerked his head to Vince as if he had something to say. He seemed to change his mind quickly. ‘The care home thing was ages ago,’ he said to Maddie. ‘I been nicked two times maybe since then and you got nothing.’

  ‘Third time lucky!’ Maddie grinned. She picked up the more modern-looking phone from the table. ‘What’s the code for this then, Toby?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Of course you don’t. I’ll have to try and track down the owner for that then, won’t I?’

  ‘That’s my phone! My mum got that for me. She’s got a receipt. Two, five, eight, zero, okay? So you can check it here. You can see it ain’t got nothing on it and you don’t need to be taking it away. I still ain’t had my last phone back.’

  Maddie pulled an evidence bag from her pocket. She wrote the code on the front and dropped the phone in. ‘We’ll see,’ she said.

  ‘You lot just do what you want. I swear, one day . . .’

  ‘One day what?’ Maddie rounded on him. ‘What’s doing what you want if it isn’t crawling through someone’s window to steal their belongings just because you’re out of drugs? One day maybe you’ll realise that you can have whatever you want, you just need to go out and work for it.’

  ‘Are we going, or what? I got a life to get back to.’

  ‘I don’t see much evidence of it here, Toby.’ She looked to Vince while Toby was mumbling into the floor. ‘Take this winner to get dressed will ya. It’s freezing cold out there. Can’t have him crying about that, can we? We’ll get the search done.’