Retribution

by Jay Nadal

  “And where does he work, Mrs Goddard?”

  “He has a private tutoring business at the Knoll Business Centre.”

  Scott gave Abby the slightest of nods. “Mrs Goddard, there isn’t an easy way of saying this, but I’m sorry to say that a body was found just a few hours ago, and we believe it’s your husband. We found a driving licence in his name in a jacket, and a picture seems to resemble the victim. Of course, if you’re willing, we would need you or another next of kin to formally identify that it is your husband.”

  Samantha Goddard fell silent, staring at an imaginary spot on the floor in front of her. Her eyes searched for answers; her brow furrowed. Silence filled the room.

  Scott and Abby closely observed Samantha’s reaction. Relatives of victims often reacted in different ways. Some cried hysterically, others displayed anger and some fell into a silent shock. Samantha Goddard fell into the last camp.

  Scott nodded in the direction of the kitchen telling Abby to rustle up some tea. “Mrs Goddard, are you okay?”

  “He’s gone…” she said in bewilderment.

  “At the moment, we believe it is your husband. And we’re very sorry for your loss.”

  “He’s gone…he’s finally gone. I’m free,” she said, her eyes darting around the floor as her mind processed the news.

  Perplexed by her answer Scott probed further. “I’m sorry, Mrs Goddard. Can you clarify what you meant when you said ‘I’m free’?”

  “I’m…free,” she said in slow, soft monotone slur. Her eyes levelled with Scott, pointing towards her bruised and battered face. “I’m free of this. He can’t hurt me anymore.”

  “Are you telling me that Laurence Goddard assaulted you and caused those injuries?”

  She nodded in reply as she looked down to hide her face.

  Scott didn’t know if her reticence was out of embarrassment or shame.

  Abby appeared in the doorway of the lounge. “Guv, a quick word.”

  Scott made his excuses and joined Abby in the hallway and followed her into the kitchen. Abby picked up a newspaper from the kitchen table and handed it to Scott. The Argus front page from earlier in the week had reported on the death of Christopher Johnson. It wasn’t the story that caught Scott’s attention, but the fact that the picture of Johnson had been circled in red marker and a few small red crosses had been placed beneath it.

  Scott looked back at Abby as she raised her eyebrows in response. “You might want to see this as well,” she said, handing him a note.

  It was a handwritten note.

  My darling Christopher. I can’t believe you’ve left me. I’m so heartbroken. S xx

  “The handwriting looks pretty similar”

  “That’s what I was thinking, Guv.”

  With the note in hand, Scott walked back into the lounge and sat opposite Samantha Goddard. “Mrs Goddard, did you write this?” Scott asked, holding the note in front of her.

  She briefly glanced up at the note, her eyes widened in surprise, before staring back down towards the floor. She nodded once.

  “Who is Christopher?”

  When she wasn’t forthcoming with a reply, Scott decided to push. “Mrs Goddard?”

  She opened her mouth but paused for a moment as she looked away, a tear escaping down her cheek. “Christopher Johnson…”

  They had come to break some devastating news, but had stumbled upon the writer of the note they’d recovered from the first murder, and pending her confirmation, probably the second murder.

  “Mrs Goddard, I’ll arrange for an officer to take you shortly to identify the body. After that, we’ll need to talk to you at the station about this message,” Scott said, waving the note.

  The team buzzed with the news of a small breakthrough in the case. Raj and Mike had returned from officer safety training, and together with Sian were listening to details from Abby.

  “So do we think Samantha Goddard was also involved with Giles Rochester?” Raj asked.

  “It’s quite likely. I’m just about to go down and interview her, so will know shortly.”

  “Saucy tart, married and shagging two other blokes,” Mike uttered under his breath.

  His comment was swiftly admonished. “Any further wisecracks like that from you, Mike, and you’ll have the guv to answer to,” Abby said.

  Mike raised a brow in defiance as Abby headed off to the interview suite, knowing full well he should have kept his mouth shut even if he’d meant it.

  33

  Samantha Goddard had been given time to dress before being taken to the mortuary where she’d confirmed the body was indeed her husband. The female officer accompanying her had reported to Scott that Mrs Goddard had expressed no emotion on seeing the body, or since.

  Scott and Abby deliberated outside the interview suite. Abby leant up against the wall. She yawned and stretched as she looked up towards the ceiling. Clocking off time had come and gone a long time ago when her shift had ended at six p.m. It was shifts like this that wore her down. She had frantically called in favours from grandparents so the kids were looked after. With a fresh body and Samantha Goddard’s admission to the note, it was going to be a long night. With her grey suit now crumpled, her brown hair hanging loosely, the hairband discarded a long time ago, she was in desperate need of a shower and her bed.

  “Do you want to lead on this one, Abby?”

  “Fine with me,” she replied as she pushed the door open, stifling another yawn.

  Now that Samantha Goddard had had an opportunity to wear something more appropriate, Abby saw a different woman. She had initially had her hair up in a bunch with no make-up when they had visited earlier in the evening. Now her hair was neatly combed down in a long bob to her shoulders with a subtle side parting. Golden highlights came off the parting offering a contrast to her light brown hair. She wore a light blue blouse with dark-coloured jeans. Abby couldn’t help but notice that despite her bruises, she had a round pretty face with dark brown eyes.

  “Once again, we’re sorry for your loss. Samantha, your husband was attacked in his office. Had he been in trouble recently, or has he mentioned anything about being worried?”

  Samantha sat upright in the chair facing them, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest. “No, he…we never talked much,” she replied softly.

  “Had he been in any trouble in the past that you know of?”

  Samantha shook her head slowly, unable to offer anything of substance. Her eyes slowly moved from Abby to the table and back. Her eyes darted around the room, as she shrugged her shoulders in bewilderment.

  “Can you describe your relationship with Laurence?” Abby asked.

  Samantha paused as her mind fought to find the right words. “We didn’t have a relationship. You call this a relationship?” she said, pointing to her bruised face. “After he left Edmunston, things were okay. He was excited about setting up his tutoring business. More recently he changed. He became moody. He’d come home late. He was always drunk. A drink was never far from his hand.”

  “And you can’t explain why there was a change in his behaviour?”

  “No. He became horrible. He was always angry, really angry, almost resentful. He’d shout a lot, drink alone, throw stuff around the house and then come upstairs and well…” Samantha’s voice trailed off to whisper. “I tried to avoid him as much as I could. He was a horrible, nasty person by the end. I couldn’t take it anymore. After he raped me, I just wanted it over. He can’t hurt me anymore, and I’m pleased about that.”

  “Wanted it over enough to harm him?”

  Samantha looked up, her brows furrowed. “No…no, of course not. Are you thinking that I had anything to do with this?” she protested.

  Abby pushed. “Samantha, we have to explore every avenue, and you had enough cause to want him out of your life.”

  “Yes, I did want him out of my life, but that was it, just out of my life and gone…just gone, away, away from me, but certainly not dead. I didn’t deserve to b
e his punchbag,” she defended.

  Abby nodded in sympathy as Scott watched Samantha. Her pain and anguish were clearly evident as Abby questioned her in depth.

  “What was your relationship to Christopher Johnson?” Abby asked.

  Samantha stared into a corner of the room, her eyes lost in despair and shock. “He loved me; we were lovers.”

  “How long were you in a relationship with him?”

  Samantha smiled, as she thought about happier times with her lover: their walks across the Sussex Downs hand in hand, cosy meals in remote Sussex pubs where no one would know them, and of course their passionate lovemaking. “About two years.”

  “How did it start?” Scott asked.

  “We had a school barbecue which we were invited to. Laurence as usual got drunk and made a fool of himself. He turned on me and pinned me by the throat to a tree. He was so angry. He said I was dressed like a tart; that I was desperate for it.” Her eyes became damp. “Chris saw what was happening and stepped in. He organised a taxi to take Laurence home, whilst I stayed back. Chris took care of me, made sure I was all right. He was a handsome, caring man…”

  “And you began a relationship after that point?” Scott asked.

  Samantha nodded in silence.

  “Were you having a relationship with Giles Rochester?”

  “Yes.”

  “At the same time as your relationship with Christopher?” Abby prompted.

  “Yes.”

  “Was there any particular reason that you began a relationship with Giles?”

  Samantha turned to Abby. “He was a lovely, kind, caring man, too, I guess. A man with a big heart. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for me. He had this cheeky confident smile, and well, I couldn’t help myself. He was always there for me. I could call him whenever I felt down, and he’d always find a way of cheering me up. He hated the way Laurence treated me. On more than one occasion he wanted us to go public and begged me to leave Laurence.”

  “So you were having two relationships and your husband didn’t know about either?” Abby probed.

  “I don’t think so. He was too wrapped up in his own world. If he’d found out he would have beaten me senseless. And not because I’d cheated on him, it would have been out of pride and control. I think he felt like I was his property.”

  “Were you not worried that Christopher and Giles would find out about each other considering they both knew each other?”

  Samantha gazed intently at Abby, her mind numb. “I guess I’d never thought of that. I guess I was grateful that people cared enough to want to be with me.” She shrugged.

  “Why didn’t you leave if he was so abusive towards you?” Abby asked.

  Samantha shook her head, her mind searching for a valid reason as to why she stayed. Confusion clouded her thoughts. Her mind was a whirlwind of doubts, justifications and questions. Why did I stay? Did I love him? Perhaps I was too scared to leave? Where would I have gone?

  “I wish I knew. I don’t know why I stayed. I guess a part of me still loved him. He was my husband. He was stressed. Don’t they say that you always take your stress out on those closest to you?”

  Abby interlocked her fingers in front of her and placed them on the desk between her and Samantha. From experience in the job, Abby knew that many partners involved in relationships with domestic violence realised it wasn’t simply a matter of walking out the door. Leaving was a process.

  It was difficult for many people to understand why a person would stay. Every case was different and there could be many reasons they stayed. Abby knew from her DV training that strong emotional and psychological forces kept the victim tied to the abuser. Sometimes basic situational realities like a lack of money keep the victim from leaving. They could convince themselves that their abusive partner would change because of their remorse and promises to stop the violence.

  She’d even known in several harrowing cases that the victim had stayed out of fear because their partner had threatened to kill them if the abuse was reported to anyone.

  Victims often felt fearful of change, many carried guilt that it was their fault the relationship had come to violence. They felt helpless and trapped, with nowhere to go. Many women were worried about the harm to their kids, or just plainly believed that the police wouldn’t take their claims seriously…especially if the victims were males.

  Sadly, in Abby’s view, a domestic violence victim like Samantha could see an affair as an essential lifeline. Someone who could be an ally to her, who cared about her, and gave her purpose and made her feel good about herself. A lover who made her feel wanted…not neglected. The violence and the mental and physical abuse had driven Samantha to seek solace, support and love from those who offered it, just to validate her own self-worth and existence. With her fragile confidence and low self-esteem, she needed to confirm that she was loveable, desirable and wanted.

  “Perhaps, but beating you black and blue is a step too far in my book. It’s common assault.”

  “Did you write these notes?” Scott asked, holding up several clear evidence bags with handwritten notes that they’d recovered from the properties of Johnson and Rochester.

  Samantha gave the bags a cursory look before nodding. “Yes, I wrote those. I know what you’re thinking. That I’m like some black widow that uses people, but you have to understand, I needed them, they needed me, they loved me, and I loved them. I’ve felt so empty inside for so many years, when they came along, they made me feel alive. They made me feel wanted. They gave me all the things Laurence couldn’t give me. Perhaps I was being greedy.”

  “Where were you earlier this afternoon, Samantha?” asked Abby.

  The question took her by surprise. “Are you still thinking I had something to do with this?” she asked with a raised voice. The first sign of emotion either officer had witnessed.

  “Well you had a good reason. Your two lovers are dead. Your husband drove you away, and you’ve suffered abuse at his hands. Perhaps you were angry over everything you’ve lost?”

  Samantha shook her head vehemently and denied any involvement in Laurence’s death. “Yes, I hated what he’d done to me. He was a bastard to me, but I could never kill him, or anyone for that matter.”

  “Mrs Goddard?” Abby asked again.

  After a lengthy, reflective pause, she spoke again. “Belinda Evans…yes, Belinda, my neighbour, can vouch for seeing me this afternoon. We chatted after Belinda had arrived at my door with a parcel that had been delivered to her house accidentally.”

  “Is there anything else that you can think of that may help us piece together why your husband was attacked?” Scott asked.

  Samantha rested her chin in the palm of a hand as her mind tracked back looking for answers. Had she seen anything? Had anyone been lurking around outside that looked out of place? Had there been any crank calls to the house? Had Laurence said anything out of the ordinary? Think! Think! Her mind raced. It all seemed a blur. “Wait…yes, a few weeks ago he collapsed in bed drunk again. A few hours later I was woken by his restless sleep. He muttered something. He said, ‘I’m sorry. They made me. It went too far’.”

  34

  A week had passed since the investigation had begun. Scott and his team were no closer to identifying the killer. He had to admit that a few loose ends had been tied up, but he wasn’t even touching the sides of the investigation. With pressure mounting from senior officers, there was a real risk of the investigation being passed over to a new senior investigating officer if results weren’t imminent.

  If there was one thing Scott hated more than anything else, it was failure. It wasn’t a prospect he had dared to entertain. He would go above and beyond to get a result in whatever he did whether it was personal or professional. He would put in extra hours to get the job done, and he would push harder in his fitness regime if it meant he’d stay in peak condition. It even extended to when he sat his inspector exams. He had locked himself away in his bedroom for two weeks and learnt P
ACE, the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984, parrot-fashion in order to pass.

  His sense of failure was never more poignant than the day he’d lost his beloved family. His life was turned upside as he stood there helpless, witnessing his wife and daughter mowed down in a hit-and-run accident. He should have been able to protect them. It was his duty to protect those he loved most, and he’d failed. It was a heavy, dark burden that weighed him down every waking minute and haunted his dreams at night.

  At the time of the accident, friends and colleagues rallied around to reassure him that he wasn’t to blame. After all, it was an accident he couldn’t have prevented. But they weren’t inside his head; they couldn’t see and feel the mental torture that ripped him to shreds. How could they? They meant well, but it didn’t make things any easier.

  The sense of guilt he felt was now his life sentence. It was the fear of failure that spurred him on.

  The morning hadn’t started the way he’d planned. A briefing for nine a.m. had been pencilled into his diary. DCI Harvey and Superintendent Meadows had insisted on Scott giving them an update first thing ahead of their meeting with Assistant Chief Constable Anne Grayling. The pressure was mounting, with both Scott and DCI Jane Harvey becoming decidedly more uncomfortable as the case progressed.

  Chief Constable Lennon was clearly worried about how he and his force looked in front of his Masonic members who had a vested interest in Edmunston-Hunt School and were now asking discreet questions. And for this reason Lennon was demanding answers.

  A surprise call from Mary Harrison, the deputy principal of Edmunston-Hunt, had meant a change to his plans as he made his way over to Ditchling to meet her. As far as he was aware, she’d been signed off with stress following recent events and was due back to work imminently. A curious voicemail message from her about a development with Matthew Edrington had piqued his interest.

  Scott had pleaded with DCI Harvey to cover for him and spin any old yarn about being called away to deal with a development in the case. At this stage, he couldn’t be certain if there was anything of value that Ms Harrison had to offer or whether it had any bearing on his ongoing investigations. It was the fact that she had mentioned Matthew that had compelled him to follow through.