Shell had drifted in and out of consciousness that night in the hospital, but she’d never forget the look of pure hatred and disgust in her father’s eyes. How he had kicked her mother, grabbed his coat, and walked out the door.
Shell felt a cold chill up her spine as she bent over to switch the vacuum off. At the time, she’d spent a few nights in hospital and now, as she subconsciously rubbed her head, it was only the psychological scars that remained. It didn’t take the police long to find her father, though. He was arrested a few days later, pissed up in a pub a few miles away, and charged with the attempted murder of her mother.
Her father had initially pleaded not guilty – which meant Shell had had to give evidence in court, thankfully via video link– but it was all part of his desire to exert power and control over the women in his life.
He argued publicly with his solicitor during the trial. But continued the mind games after the damage had already been done to Shell’s fragile emotional state by eventually changing his plea. He was convicted of attempted murder against her mother and GBH against her. Due to the brutality of the offence – he’d beat Shell’s mother so bad that nearly all her bones were broken – he received the maximum sentence: life.
The thought of what she and her mother had had to endure all those years ago was still too much to bear. Shell hated when the post arrived; she was crippled by the constant fear that she’d find out he was eligible for parole.
Her mother’s diary had been produced as evidence. It detailed the years of abuse, both sexual and physical, that she’d endured at the hands of Shell’s father. Shell had kept this diary and it made for a very dark read. Her mother had survived the brutal attack, but something had died inside her that day. Shell had been taken into care as her mother turned to alcohol and drugs to escape the memories, and eventually prostitution, to pay for her mind-numbing addiction. She overdosed a few years later and Shell would never forgive her father for that.
Shell snapped out of the painful stroll down memory lane and carried on with the job at hand. She picked up her cloth and cleaner before she leaned against the window and looked down at the traffic rushing past in the street below. Never forgotten, she knew this abyss would rear its ugly head again. She was just grateful that she was able to push the dark thoughts aside and focus on the positive things in her life. She had made something of herself and wouldn’t let her father get the last laugh. She had to admit though, sometimes it was hard to keep her anger in check and she feared what that could lead to. Would she turn out like him?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Lucy had spent Tuesday and Wednesday at work making sure her cases were up to date and her appointments were covered. She had the Thursday off to deal with personal matters.
The family courts were busy on Thursdays. Patrick and Lucy had met with their solicitor and handed over the paperwork that Lucy had spent weeks preparing. They were going for permanent custody of Siobhan, since it looked like social care were going to withdraw their involvement with the Quinns shortly. Although Lucy had been concerned after she had let slip about Rory spending weekends, she had been assured by Claire that the case with Siobhan and her custody would be dealt with on its own merits. Their solicitor and Cafcass also believed that there would be no issues; Rory was not a permanent resident, the agencies just wanted to ensure that there would be no further disruption to Siobhan’s home life.
Becky Parks was sitting at the other side of the waiting area and kept shooting daggers at Lucy. She looked drunk.
As a married couple, and with Lucy’s job, social care and their solicitor felt they had a strong case of securing permanent special guardianship and residency.
While Patrick and Becky were in the courtroom, Lucy rang Sarah to keep her updated.
‘Are you sure you are doing the right thing, Lucy? You could be bringing more problems into your life. You’ll be tied to Patrick then and find it harder if you want to make … changes.’
‘I hear what you’re saying, Sarah, but I know what I’m doing.’ Lucy stubbornly ended the call. She made so many excuses for Patrick that she almost believed them herself.
He was having a bad day.
He was tired.
He’s under a lot of stress.
He can’t cope with his feelings.
So many excuses. Instead of facing the fact that maybe he was just an abusive, controlling asshole.
A few hours later, Patrick came out of the court room with a big smile on his face.
‘Do I even have to ask?’
Patrick grabbed her and hugged her close. ‘The judge gave me the residency order. Siobhan will be coming home with me tonight!’ He kissed her. ‘I think a drink is in order!’
Lucy rolled her eyes.
‘What? Just a few drinks.’ He gave her an innocent look.
‘But Siobhan will be with us. She’s been taken away from her mother due to Becky’s drinking. How is it going to look if we go out to the pub and then pick her up drunk?’
‘So what? I’m not getting pissed. For fuck’s sake, Lucy, why do you have to turn a happy day into a bloody argument every. single. time?’ Patrick headed for the lift, a cold glint in his eye. ‘Well, are you coming?’
Lucy grabbed her bag and tried to lighten the mood. ‘OK. I guess one drink won’t hurt.’ She wanted to smooth things over, to avoid confrontation. It didn’t always work though, and she wondered why she bothered.
‘Forget it.’
As they headed for the bus, Patrick’s phone rang.
‘Hello? Right, OK. Well when can I pick her up? Right. OK. See ya.’
‘Who was that?’
‘That social worker, Claire. Siobhan is going to stay at her grandparents’ tonight. I have to pick her up in the morning and take her to school. I’m going to the pub. You coming or what?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Maggie looked at all the crime scene photos and material collected in the Talbot case. No fingerprints were found on the syringe and no DNA evidence was collected. CCTV footage showed a white van in the area, which PC Reynolds was tasked with tracing. There were no other witnesses.
Holding up one of the photos, Maggie looked closely at the injuries. Hands mutilated – was the killer sending a message? Maggie felt there was something personal to this crime. For Maggie, a crime scene photo was like a film in her head: she could picture the crime as it happened.
She looked across her desk at Mark. ‘What do you think occurred?’
‘Sorry, what?’
‘These images. I can see, almost step by step, what I think the killer did. They knew where Talbot would be – it was carefully planned – and they had everything they needed with them. They followed him and, when they believed they wouldn’t be seen, snuck up and hit him from behind. The pathologist’s report suggests that the killer searched his pockets and found the empty syringe. They wanted to inject him with an air bubble to kill him.’
‘I was still trying to work things out but what you’ve said is interesting. I was wondering about the syringe – that obviously didn’t work. What else do the pictures tell you?’
‘I think when the needle failed, they turned him over. It looks like all three wounds to the body were done around the same time – so let’s say throat first, and then the legs – just to be sure. The killer used a hammer or heavy-duty meat tenderizer to bash the shit out of Talbot’s hands … why? A statement maybe? He’ll never hit a woman again?’ Maggie ran her fingers through her hair.
‘Sounds plausible. So it was revenge?’
‘Perhaps … Though after speaking to Wendy Parker, I don’t think it was her. Too frail. And her daughter was in hospital, it couldn’t have been her. So, who? Drew was an only child, and his parents are devastated. They claim he has no enemies but, given his lifestyle, I find that unusual. Perhaps he screwed someone over? Maybe this has nothing to do with domestic violence.’
‘Let’s see if anything comes from that white van trace. Reynolds should ha
ve something soon enough. Who is interviewing Talbot’s erm … associates?’ Mark started typing something on his computer. ‘Looks like Kat is on the case. We’ll see if she can shed any light on that front.’
‘Sounds good.’ Maggie tapped the photos on her desk with her pen. ‘Maybe you could give Lucy a bell and see if she has anything on this guy. He’s a repeat offender, so he must be known to probation.’
‘Will do, Maggie.’
Maggie’s gut told her that they were missing something. A piece to the jigsaw that would point them in the right direction. If only the dead could speak …
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Most people lived for the weekends, but not Lucy. Ed and Maria had plans on the Friday, so it was agreed that they would collect Siobhan early Saturday morning instead.
With another weekend of being alone with Patrick looming, Lucy feared how he’d behave. Guilt overwhelmed her when she selfishly wished Siobhan could miss out on a weekend with her grandparents and stay at home. The poor kid shouldn’t be used as a metaphorical shield. Patrick’s moods were unpredictable. This is what worried Lucy the most. What made Patrick dangerous? He had control over his behaviour and would only make snide remarks when Siobhan or Rory were in the house. His excuses for the violence were another manipulative technique to exert control over her.
Patrick was still asleep. He couldn’t even be bothered to drag his ass out of bed and say goodbye to his daughter. Rory was coming around later, and Lucy hoped she wouldn’t have to make more excuses for his father. She could see the look of disappointment in Rory’s eyes every time she had to explain where Patrick was, or why he wasn’t ready.
Being older than Siobhan, Rory had more of an understanding of Patrick’s moods and had learnt to tailor his own behaviour accordingly. That killed Lucy. She had no fear that Patrick would hurt his children, at least not while she was in the picture, but there had been times when angry outbursts and insults were aimed at Rory. When Rory would storm out of the house and weeks would pass before he came around again. When Lucy would be walking on eggshells, concerned that if Rory said anything to his mother, social services would be all over them again.
Why don’t I just leave?
Any time something had happened with his father, Lucy had felt some overwhelming responsibility to smooth things over. She’d message Rory on Facebook to find out if he was OK. Lucy shamefully admitted to herself that part of her genuine concern for his well-being was a selfish desire to make sure he wasn’t telling his mother anything. Like his father, Rory seemed to bottle things up inside and she at least wanted to give him the opportunity to get it out. She almost felt like she owed him that. Guilt lay heavy at Lucy’s door, for she had no one she could share all her feelings with, in case it exposed the reality of her situation.
There was a stirring upstairs followed by a loud groan. He’s up. Lucy grabbed the laundry basket and put the kettle on. Patrick did his usual stomp down the stairs, then sidled up behind her as she was bent over, loading the washing machine. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her in to him.
‘Perfect position. Fancy a quickie?’
Before she could answer, there was a knock at the door. Thank God. Lucy slipped out of Patrick’s grasp and made her way to the door. It was Rory. Lucy gave him a hug and offered him a cup of tea, gesturing him inside.
‘Only if you’re making one. I don’t want to put you out.’
Lucy adored his politeness. Very unlike his dad.
‘Of course, she is! You need to learn a woman’s place, son. Go on and have a seat.’ He turned towards Lucy with a sneer on his face. ‘I’ll have a coffee, and make sure it isn’t your usual strong shit.’
Lucy was pleased to stay out of their way in the kitchen, letting them catch up. Before long she heard the roar of race cars from the television and knew they would be immersed on the PlayStation for hours. Lucy poured the tea, losing herself as she stirred in the milk. Once she handed the boys their drinks, she returned to the kitchen to make a start on her weekend routine of cleaning, laundry, and anything else that Patrick had not done throughout the week. So pretty much everything.
Things were calm over the weekend despite the initial blip and they enjoyed Sunday evening watching films. It was times like this when Lucy remembered why she fell in love with Patrick. Seeing him enjoy himself, laughing and being kind to her. He even made her a drink before bed.
Maybe it will be OK after all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Lucy woke up in complete darkness. The red numbers on the alarm clock flashed 4:30 a.m. Her head was banging. Unable to recall much of the events of the night before, she felt as if she’d been drugged. Patrick had often joked that he could easily slip GHB into her drinks and do what he wanted to her. As much as she feared this, Lucy could never bring herself to believe that he would actually go that far. Between her legs, the pain was excruciating. Like fire. Red raw. Everything was hazy in her mind. Reaching up to her head, she ran her fingers through her hair.
She felt so stupid. She should never have trusted Patrick when he offered to make her a drink, but they’d had such a good weekend with Rory that she had let her guard down. Sunday night was spent watching a movie with Siobhan when she came home. It had been a good evening.
Has he drugged me? No. No. Even he wouldn’t stoop that low, would he? Her head pounded as a series of flashbacks ran through her mind like a flicker of film clips.
Patrick’s hand around her throat. Squeezing tightly. The other covering her mouth as she tried to scream. The glazed, evil eyes.
Oh, my god!
Fear and panic set in. She sat up and frantically looked around the bedroom. Where was he? She threw the blankets off, pulled on her leggings and T-shirt, wincing as the pain seared through her. Hoping she couldn’t be heard, Lucy tiptoed out of the bedroom, checking the landing before she went any further. She could hear snoring from the spare bedroom. Lucy didn’t want to wake Patrick. As quietly as she could, stifling a whimper as another shot of pain sliced through her, Lucy went downstairs, sat on the couch, and began rocking herself, hugging her knees close as she cried silent tears.
Time ticked by, and two hours later the drugs – or whatever Patrick had given her – was still in her system, her head fuzzy with tiredness. There was movement upstairs. Fear gripped her. What should she do? It was only six-thirty in the morning, but she messaged Sarah anyway.
Are you free before work? x Lucy
Hey, Luce! You’re up early! Yes, I’m free, Why? Everything OK? xx Sarah
No. I need to get out. Sick of this. Can you meet me? Costa? xx
Get out? What do you mean? Never mind, tell me when we meet. What time?
Looking at the clock on the wall, Lucy texted back.
Would an hour be OK? x
That would make it just after 7.30 a.m. and plenty of time to be ready and out of the house. Patrick would have to make sure Siobhan got to school or be the one to explain why she was missing – Lucy couldn’t think straight and didn’t care what the consequences might be.
OK, Luce. See you soon. xx
She went through the laundry basket left in the dining room and dressed as quickly as she could. Retrieved her shoes and was just about to sit down when Patrick walked in the room. She fumbled with her phone and quickly deleted the messages from Sarah. Turned it on silent and hid it in her pocket. He’d question her relentlessly if he heard a message come through and accuse her of cheating, even when she showed him the messages.
Why was he up so early?
Patrick looked sheepish.
‘Morning.’
It was as if nothing had happened last night, as if they were just a normal couple. But she didn’t want an argument, so she put on her brave face and asked him if he wanted coffee.
From the kitchen, she shouted out to him, ‘I’m going into work early to catch up on a few reports. You’ll have to drop Siobhan at school. Have you got anything planned for the day?’ Determined not
to let him win this time, Lucy struggled to keep her voice steady.
‘What is this? The Spanish Inquisition?’ He laughed, but Lucy knew the tone behind it. Her silence went unnoticed.
‘I’m just going to call Steve, probably go around his later this afternoon. He said he may have a few days’ work for me. I’ll drop Siobhan off, but won’t be able to get her this afternoon.’
Lucy was curious about this ‘Steve’. Patrick had only started mentioning him recently and she’d never met him. But if it meant she was left alone, and not questioned about going into work early, she was happy enough to leave him to it.
‘OK.’ Lucy grimaced in pain. She put his coffee on the table, kissed his cheek, grabbed her coat, and walked as fast as she could to the bus stop, each step more excruciating than the last.
When she arrived at Costa, Sarah wasn’t there so she ordered herself a strong coffee and chose a table as far away from everyone else as possible.
‘Hey, Lucy.’ Sarah smiled as she waved and walked towards her. Before Sarah could even sit down, the tears flowed. Sarah wrapped her arms around her and whispered ‘Hey. Hey, sweetheart. What’s wrong? I know things at home haven’t been great. Is that what this is about? Enough is enough, Lucy. You need to tell me.’
Sarah listened as Lucy relayed what she could remember from the night before. Then the dam broke. She was crying and talking through her sobs, reliving years of abuse and telling Sarah about everything she had experienced. Lucy felt worthless but having Sarah to confide in helped.
‘Oh, my god, Lucy. You don’t deserve this. Can’t you see that? I knew something was going on. Damn … what kind of friend am I? I should’ve been there for you.’
‘It’s not your fault, Sarah. I would have denied it all anyway. I know I should know better. I think of work, the people we deal with … I see Patrick in them … all of them. Every day. I wish he was dead. It scares me. He scares me. If I leave though, what will happen to Siobhan and Rory?’
Dead Inside Page 7
