Dead Inside

by Noelle Holten

  The knock at the door made her jump. ‘Will be with you in two minutes,’ she shouted. She scrubbed the counter for the third time, her heart racing, hoping that it was Patrick on the other side of the door. Shell splashed her face with cold water and washed her hands, drying them on the tea towel that lay by the sink. With one final look in the small mirror on the windowsill, she made her way to the door and opened it with a big smile on her face.

  ‘Oh …’ She frowned. ‘It’s you. I thought you were someone else.’

  ‘Charmin’, cuz,’ Louise said as she pushed her way past Shell.

  ‘Don’t make yourself too comfortable, Louise, I’m expecting someone.’ Shell watched as she plonked herself down on the couch.

  ‘Oooooooh. Do tell. We haven’t had a proper chat in ages.’ She put her feet up on the coffee table and Shell glared at her.

  ‘How about I meet you at the pub tomorrow and we catch up then? I seriously need to finish and get myself sorted. This place is a mess!’ She tapped Louise’s feet.

  Louise looked around the room and rolled her eyes. ‘Are you crazy? This room … this house, is pristine, Ms OCD. Don’t worry, I get you’re a bit highly strung right now, so I’ll see you at the pub tomorrow eve. Seven-ish OK?’

  ‘Yep. Great … now go, please.’ Shell practically pushed her cousin out the door and slammed the door behind her. Thank God for that. Shell went back into the kitchen, did another quick wipe of the surfaces and popped the kettle on. The floorboard creaked behind her.

  ‘I hope it’s me you’re thinking about.’

  ‘Oh, my god, Patrick! You scared the shit out of me!’ Shell was shaking as Patrick stepped across the room and put his arms around her.

  ‘Calm down, babe. It was just a joke.’

  ‘Wait. How did you get in?’ Shell was sure she’d secured the door after Louise left.

  ‘The door was open. How do you think? I ain’t bloody magic and haven’t mastered the art of picking locks yet.’ He laughed.

  ‘Oh … OK. Weird … oh well! It’s amazing to see you, love.’ She planted a long, passionate kiss on Patrick’s eager lips.

  ‘Feel the same, babe. If you’re making a cuppa …’ he looked at the boiling kettle, ‘then I wouldn’t mind a brew.’

  Patting Shell’s bottom, Patrick made his way to the living room and sat down. Shell felt so lucky to have him and couldn’t understand why his wife was such a bitch. She was glad that Lucy didn’t treat Patrick the way he deserved. Otherwise he wouldn’t be sat in her living room right now. She handed him his tea and sat down next to him.

  ‘So … what did you want to talk about?’ A nervous croak escaped her lips.

  ‘Well. I have this chance for a job, you see.’ There was a glint of excitement in his eyes and Shell smiled. ‘But my car needs some new brakes and tires. I won’t be able to get there if I don’t get those things sorted.’ He sighed and looked sadly into Shell’s eyes. ‘Lucy’s moaning about money, even though this would help our situation and – I’m embarrassed to ask – but I was wondering …’

  Before Patrick could even finish his sentence, Shell grabbed her wallet and started leafing through the notes. ‘How much do you need?’

  ‘Ah, Shell. This is why I love ya. Are you sure you can afford it?’

  ‘Yes. Now tell me, how much?’

  Did he just say he loved me?

  ‘It’s going to be a couple of hundred.’ Shell’s cheek flickered slightly. ‘It’s too much, right? Look – sorry. Forget it. I shouldn’t have asked you. I’ll just have to look for another job or figure something else out.’ Patrick put his tea down on the table and made a move to get off the couch.

  Shell rested her hand on his leg, pushing him down.

  ‘Don’t be silly. I just don’t have that much in my wallet. Let me grab my coat and we can go to the cashpoint … yeah?’

  ‘If you’re sure.’ Patrick smiled.

  Patrick was still smiling as he walked to the pub, Shell’s cash in his pocket. For someone who thought she was so clever, he marvelled at how dumb Shell could be. She didn’t even bat an eye at his excuse for getting into her house. He had found her spare key when he’d been waiting for her to get ready one day, took it, and made a copy. The next time he was around, he put the spare back. It was actually tagged spare key, and Patrick just couldn’t resist. He’d thought how easy it would be to sneak in and steal some of her possessions when he she was at work.

  Patrick could get a fair whack for some of her things. Shame there were so many people around the area who would tell Shell if they saw him going into the house. He couldn’t risk that – not yet anyway. He wondered how much money he could get off her before she started asking questions.

  That’s what he loved about women like Shell – desperate to be loved, they would believe, and put up with, any shit. Sad cow. He walked into the pub and ordered a pint of Stella. It wasn’t the classiest of places, worn carpets and chipped paint on the walls, but it was comfortable and cheap.

  ‘What’s with the big smile on your face?’ Kevin queried.

  ‘Just a happy man, Kev. A happy man.’ Patrick saw Robert Millard sitting in the corner looking a bit forlorn and shouted over, ‘You OK, Rob? Would a pint cheer you up?’

  Raising his head, Robert nodded and said, ‘Cider, mate … and thanks.’

  Patrick carried the drinks over to the table. ‘So, what’s up? Woman troubles again?’

  ‘Sort of. Don’t know if you heard but Louise and I split. Again. Bitch called the coppers after a stupid row and now I’m on fucking probation. One foot wrong and I could go to fucking prison.’

  Patrick’s curiosity got the better of him. ‘Oh yeah. Who’s your probation officer?’

  Unsure whether Robert Millard had put two and two together, because Lucy used her maiden name for work, Patrick waited for the answer.

  ‘Lucy – bloody bitch she is.’

  A swell of anger bubbled inside. Patrick’s jaw clenched. He knew it was ironic that other people insulting his wife infuriated him when he did it on a daily basis. ‘What’s her last name?’

  ‘Not a clue, mate. Not that interested to be honest. Don’t get me wrong,’ he gave Patrick a wink, ‘she’s a bit of all right, but I think she’s going out with a copper.’

  Patrick sat upright in his seat.

  ‘And why would you think that?’ His jaw tensed as he choked on his anger.

  ‘I see them together all the time. At the probation office, the group, and a few times in the coffee shop before the group starts … hey, man, why do you look like your head is going to explode?’

  Realizing that he could use this information to his advantage, Patrick took a deep breath to calm down.

  ‘I’m OK, mate. Just felt a little funny there. Can I get you another cider?’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Maggie looked across the room and smiled at Pete. She opened her bag and took out her laptop, ready to hook it up to the main police computer on her desk. She had heard from some of the others in the team that DI Calleja had been worried when he’d been asked to head the DAHU. She could understand his misgivings after watching the Violent and Sexual Offender Management Team struggling with resources, trying to deal with the most serious sexual and violent offenders. Apparently the DI was concerned that the good record he held in terms of conviction rates would start to plummet.

  Although she had been with the team only for a short while, she was more than confident that they would get the desired results to keep the higher-ups off their case. When the DI had told Maggie about the civilian joining the team, she’d been looking forward to observing Dr Kate Moloney’s work with both the victims and perpetrators of domestic abuse. Kate came highly recommended, having played a massive role in developing the domestic abuse programme that many of the charity organizations currently used to reduce reconviction rates for domestic abuse perpetrators. Maggie had settled quite quickly into the team, so she had no fear about Dr Moloney doing the same. Her qu
alifications as a criminal psychologist would be an asset to the DAHU.

  The team had been told that Dr Moloney would be popping in to meet them all today, and Maggie was startled out of her thoughts when she heard the phone ringing in DI Calleja’s office. Moloney had arrived. When the front office receptionist walked in ten minutes later with a young, goth female, Maggie could see the look of confusion on her colleagues’ faces. The young lady was escorted to their office and introduced as Dr Moloney. Maggie raised her hand and covered her mouth as she tried to hide her smile. DI Calleja did less well to cover his surprise.

  ‘You need some help closing that mouth of yours?’ Dr Moloney joked.

  Maggie thought she detected a faint Irish accent. Maggie couldn’t help blushing; with her raven hair, dark and distinctive make-up, she was curious how someone so young could have all the accreditations behind her. For some reason, she was reminded of the conversation she had in the café with her brother and shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

  ‘Am I not what you were expecting, Detective Inspector?’ Directing her response to the DI, Dr Moloney leaned over and looked at the ID badge hanging around his neck. ‘Calleja? I can assure you that I’m old enough – and clever enough – to take on this job.’

  It seemed Maggie wasn’t the only one staring.

  ‘Uh … OK … you caught me.’ The DI put his hands up in the air. ‘I guess I wasn’t expecting someone who … erm … looks like you, to be a criminal psychologist.’ Everyone in the room laughed as his neck reddened. ‘My apologies, Dr Moloney. Would you like to see your office and then come back and properly meet the team?’

  ‘There’s no need for formalities. Yes, if I could leave my things in my office and meet everyone, that would be grand.’

  The team watched as DI Calleja and Dr Moloney made their way to the box-sized room with dull grey walls, a desk, chair, filing cabinet, and bookcase, which was just off the openplan area.

  ‘This is perfect.’ Kate touched the walls and bookcase and smiled. She seemed to be taking note of where she’d put her pictures, charts, and reference materials.

  ‘Great!’ the DI said. ‘I know it’s kind of small but when they set up this unit, the cutbacks meant we had limited space and bodies. To be honest, I was a little shocked when they agreed to second you to my team!’

  ‘Well, with the rise of murders within the context of domestic abuse, and Staffordshire having such a high volume recorded, I think they’d have a lot to answer for if they didn’t.’

  No one could argue with that. Maggie liked Kate’s enthusiasm and attitude immediately. She hoped that her energy wouldn’t be dulled by DS Hooper, who had a knack for putting people’s noses out of joint.

  ‘Right then. I’m looking forward to meeting the team … lead the way.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  When Mark had suggested meeting up for coffee before the evening’s offender group started, Lucy felt a few butterflies in her stomach. Mark knows you’re married. He’s just being nice! But that didn’t stop her from daydreaming. She knew he wanted to ask her about Drew Talbot, but she also hoped he was using that as an excuse to see her. Looking up from her computer screen, she caught Sarah’s eye.

  ‘OK. I give in. What’s with the big goofy grin? And why do you keep looking at the clock?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just happy the day is nearly over.’

  ‘You have a group tonight, so that can’t be the reason.’

  Lucy shuffled some papers on her desk. ‘I know. I’m meeting up with Mar— PC Fielding for coffee before the group starts. So, it’s a bit of a break.’

  ‘Oooooooh, Mark now, is it? Oh, my god, you should see the colour of your face! Ha ha! Beetroot suits you.’

  Lucy looked around the room to see who was within earshot and made her way over to Sarah’s desk.

  ‘Ssshhhhh. OK, OK. I have to admit, I do think he is quite good-looking. It’s just a silly crush, all right. Not even that. Mark’s a nice guy. Besides, he knows I’m married, and more importantly, I know I’m married.’ Lucy smacked Sarah’s arm playfully.

  ‘I was just teasing, Lucy. Haven’t seen you smile like that in a while, though. I won’t tease you about it … much.’ They both laughed. Sarah picked up her mug and headed towards the kitchen.

  ‘Have fun on your date.’ Sarah then laughed, and it was clear to Lucy she wasn’t waiting around for a reply.

  Lucy met Mark at the café just across the road from probation before the facilitators were due to go over the group practice. She felt so at ease with him and, although he was good-looking, Lucy would never cheat on Patrick – it wasn’t in her nature. Mark pinged question after question at her, but Lucy had nothing new to add. She only knew Talbot because of the presentence report, and his previous officer had nothing of significance to say either. They soon changed the topic, because the group would be draining and they would need something light to focus on. The conversation was so engrossing and it felt so good to laugh and relax that Lucy didn’t notice Patrick staring at her through the window.

  Back in the probation office after their coffee, Lucy read through the list of attendees and rolled her eyes at the names of the ‘regulars’. Serial perpetrators, never likely to change. Lucy did notice a few new, unfamiliar names and made a note to investigate them.

  Lucy and her colleagues would be running the group alongside a police officer. The first in the country to pilot this way of working, probation were keen to get involved. There was every chance that an offence may be disclosed within the group, but in order that the group felt ‘safe’ in discussing their offending behaviour and history, any individual who disclosed an offence couldn’t be arrested until after they left probation property. She had been thrilled when she learnt that Mark would be one of the officers involved. Although she knew Mark had a strong dislike for domestic abuse offenders, he was good at what he did and left his personal feelings aside when it came to the job at hand.

  Sitting at her desk as she prepped for the group, Lucy couldn’t believe she’d had to show Patrick a letter from her boss, outlining her role as programme facilitator and also advising she’d get paid £50 per session, just to prove why she’d be working later some nights. In the end, Patrick seemed to warm to the idea – no doubt because of the extra money she’d be earning.

  Lucy loathed having to explain herself to Patrick. Sitting at her desk she clenched her fists and once again found herself fantasizing about beating Patrick to a pulp. It was wrong, especially given her job – but Patrick brought out those feeling in her. She could kill him some days, and most other days, she just wished him dead.

  Shaking away those thoughts, Lucy focused on the task in hand. The meeting was about to start. She sipped her coffee and quietly ran through the briefing on the new programme that she and Sarah would be delivering. Sharon Bairden, who worked closely with the victims, probation, and the police, would be acting as a mediator between the offenders on the group and their victims.

  Lucy and Sharon got on well. Sharon was a feisty Scottish woman who held her own in the most difficult situations. Lucy admired Sharon’s assertiveness and often wished she could be more like her. Having worked for a number of years with victims of domestic abuse, there wasn’t much Sharon hadn’t come across. So many times, Lucy had wanted to reach out to her, but she worried what Sharon would do with the information. The irony was, Lucy knew what she needed to do – she just couldn’t find the courage to do it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Lucy watched as the men filed into the room and took their seats. It was a small enough group, but the tension was palpable. These men did not want to be here, and most wouldn’t last. A group that started with twelve individuals often ended with only six or eight. Lucy sometimes questioned whether these groups even made a difference. It wasn’t the right way to think, but her own personal experiences sometimes overshadowed her professional objectivity.

  Scanning their faces as they took their seats, Lucy wa
s struck by how ‘normal’ they all looked. But she knew there was nothing normal about these men. Rape, constant beatings, threats, emotional torture – that only touched on some of the things their victims suffered daily. While these men sat around, joking, making derogatory comments about the ‘bitches’ in their lives, their victims were sitting at home, alone and terrified, wondering what would trigger the next episode of abuse. Not all women stayed in these relationships; some found the strength and courage to stand up to their abusers.

  If only …

  ‘Hey, earth to Lucy!’ Mark’s distinctive voice bellowed across the room.

  Lucy reddened as he approached.

  ‘Sorry, I was miles away. Thinking about how I wish I could be anywhere but here on a Thursday night.’

  One of the men overheard her comment and shouted back, ‘You and me both, love! This is bullshit!’

  Mark glared and reminded him that Lucy had a name and another unwelcome comment would end with him being escorted off the premises. Lucy didn’t recognize him, but something about him put her on edge. He was in his late fifties, with a chiselled and worn face, and judging by the telltale bright veins littering his nose, he liked a drink. This is what the job did to you – Lucy imagined the police were the same – everyone you come across becomes an instant assessment. What label or box do they fit in to? Do they abuse substances? Are they violent? Should you keep your kids away from them?

  Mark playfully nudged Lucy’s arm.

  ‘There you go again. Off with the fairies. You OK?’

  Lucy laughed. ‘Of course, it’s been a long day. Right, should we get started?’

  The session seemed to go well, if you could describe a group of men talking about the different ways they abuse women in their lives as ‘well’. There were the usual challenges – the jokers, those who talked over others, those who made snide remarks – but nothing Mark and Lucy couldn’t handle.

  During the break, Lucy scanned the attendance sheet and felt the blood drain from her. She was sure she’d read about this guy – Michael O’Dowd – in the newspaper a few years ago.