The Death of Me

by Natalie Hames

  “How are you, today?”

  His soft southern accent penetrated the silence and she knew she was allowed to turn around.

  “I’ve brought you a KFC for a treat and some fresh clothes.”

  He placed a pale blue dress on the foot of the mattress and waited for her reaction from behind his black balaclava. Grace slowly reached down and picked it up and rested it on her folded knees, immediately noticing the label with a familiar supermarket branding. Tears prickled her eyes as memories of home and her mother doing the weekly shop at the same store flooded her mind. Did he buy them from the same branch? Was her mother shopping at the same time as him, stood behind him in the queue?

  “Hey, no need to get upset. It’s nothing special, I just thought it would suit you,” he said as he watched the first tear escape from her eyes and roll down her pale cheek.

  She pulled the sleeve of her jumper over her hand and wiped it across her face to hide her emotions. He had no idea of the real reason the dress had upset her and she preferred to keep her thoughts hidden.

  “It’s fine, thanks,” she whispered.

  He sat with his back to the wall at the side of the door in silence as she ate the food while it was still warm. The branch of KFC must be close by as the food was still piping hot and she silently wracked her brains to think where it was located. She must be close to civilisation, to people living their lives.

  “I’ve got another treat for you when you’ve finished your food,” he said as she picked away at the last remnants of meat embedded between the bones. “I’m going to prepare you a nice bath so you’re fresh for your new dress.”

  Grace stopped chewing. Over the time she had been imprisoned he had set up a portable water heater and had used it to make her a tepid bath. He would lead her up several flights of stairs, handcuffed with a black pillowcase over her head, only releasing her when they reached an old decrepit bathroom and he had locked the door. Baths had been few and far between during her captivity and she dreaded and welcomed them in equal measures.

  “The boiler’s been on while you’ve been eating so should be nice and hot by now. I’ll be back soon.”

  Grace opened her mouth to speak but the combination of words got scrambled and didn’t come out in time, before he left locking the door behind him. She closed the red and white carton with nothing more than bones left inside and wiped her greasy fingers on the small thin lemon wipe which had been tucked inside. The dress laid at the foot of the mattress, perfectly and precisely folded, triggering memories of shopping trips with her mum and arguing with her sister over which flavour crisps to buy with Elspeth usually getting her way.

  Memories of home crashed over her, bringing with them a surge of panic as the reality of her imprisonment hit with sharp precision. Would this ever end? Would he ever set her free and let her return to her family? Panic had caused a trembling, affecting her whole body, inside and out. She clenched her small hands into fists as the adrenaline spike morphed into a deep seated anger and the jaggedness of her fingernails gouged deep crescents into her palms. Determination, stronger than it had been since she was first captured filled her, giving her a new found strength.

  During the time she had spent locked away a level of trust had been forged between them and many of his initial safety precautions had become lax. Grace had watched, keeping note of every slip she might be able to use to her advantage - the door not closed immediately, not making her wear cuffs when he took her for a bath – they all had formed chinks in his armour. She paced the small room, trying to think up a plan to escape. People must be close by and if she was only able to escape the building someone would be sure to hear her screams and come to her aid.

  As she continued to walk the perimeter of the small room a strange and unwelcome feeling crept over her. It was a feeling she wasn’t able to identify at first and she pushed it away but it persisted, swirling inside her and mixing in with the determination and anger. It pitted into her solar plexus and nagged relentlessly. Maybe it was fear? Fear of the repercussions she would face if she didn’t manage to break free, but she dismissed it. She had felt more fear than most people had in a lifetime and she knew she was well past it. Maybe it was the thought of seeing her family again? Would they be pleased to see her or would life never be the same again? A vision of her father’s face filled her mind. The times they spent together on Greenwich Park and the games they would play.

  Movement from above caused her to stop and let out a small gasp. Her senses told her it was him, returning as he had promised. She glanced over at the blue dress at the foot of the mattress and the surge of determination flushed over her once again, pushing away the feeling she had been trying to identify. Footsteps overhead. His regular, heavy booted pace travelled across the floor above till they reached the top of the stairs. Doubt and rational thought left her mind as she focused on the door which was about to open and she squatted slightly ready to charge the second it opened.

  It was definitely him. A silence fell as the footsteps stopped on the other side of the door and Grace felt a trickle of sweat as it ran down from under her arm. The first bolt at the top of the door slid across and she imagined it opening on the other side. His routine was always the same. A faint jingle of keys followed by the rattle of the deadlock against the solid oak door as he tugged it open. She swayed slightly, shifting her meagre weight from one leg to the other in anticipation as she tried to stop the adrenaline weakening her legs. Unlocking the door took a matter of seconds yet right now it seemed an eternity and a brief flick of doubt along with the unidentified feeling sparked through her mind. It was too late to reach the mattress and kneel facing the wall.

  Grace listened as he tugged the door handle on the other side. Bracing herself, she squatted low as if about to go in for a rugby tackle. Her fists formed tight balls, teeth clenched hard and an icy freeze enveloped her flaming hot body. The door jolted as it met with resistance from its frame, swollen from the damp. Another tug and it opened half way not checking she was over on the mattress. She launched with all her might, hitting the door with so much force it sent him flying backward and left her with a clear escape path. Surprise gave her the advantage and she leapt the first three steps of the basement stairs, her hands grabbing the ones ahead to pull her up and help her weakened legs, aware he was clambering to his feet.

  “No!”

  His yell pierced the dank basement giving her more impetus to reach the top of the stairs where daylight was shining through the open door. Her bare feet gripped the concrete steps as she scrabbled, her only focus was the light when she reached the top until one of her feet caught the tail of the oversized shirt she was wearing. She stumbled. Her knees and shins bashing the edge of the unforgiving steps and scraping her skin but the adrenaline masked the pain. Now two thirds the way to the top her heart started to fill with a sense of premature relief as she continued to climb with the sound of his heavy boots closing the distance behind.

  “Ugh!”

  Grace felt the air leave her chest as a weight descended on her back, flattening her between the stairs and his body as he pinned her down. Gasping, she grabbed the hand rail and locked her fingers around it, kicking furiously beneath him as he grappled and pushed her wrists downward to unlock her grip.

  “Please,” she screamed as she stared into the eyes of the balaclava covered with an opaque nylon. “Let me go. Please!”

  Tears of desperation burst from her eyes as she felt herself being pulled back down. Her shirt rode up against the concrete as he pulled her bare, blood streaked legs, the young soft skin on her back scraping on each step. Powerless against his strength she beat her fists against his shoulders in the hope of setting him off balance until they both landed at the foot of the stairs. Grabbing one of her flailing arms to pull her up, he wrapped his arms around her to trap her movement and lifted her off the floor as he walked her back to the room. Grace kicked as her legs dangled and she turned her neck to see the last glimpse of daylight
from the top of the stairs disappear.

  She curled up on the mattress, sobbing and shaking while he secured the door. A silence fell. Only the sound of his breathing as he sat slumped against the wall at the foot of the mattress told her he was there in the room. Slowly her sobbing subsided and a strange sense of acceptance arrived to give her comfort. She became aware he had moved close, the heat from his body inches away as he sat beside her in silence.

  “Why won’t you let me go?” she asked, her words choppy from crying.

  He slipped his hand out of its glove and gently stroked her hair.

  “You’re my girl,” he said softly as he lay down beside her, his hand sweeping gently down the side of her body as he started to kiss her forehead.

  Chapter Nine

  The meeting with Mick Burns was scheduled for seven am, sharp. Phil Harris arrived early and sat quietly contemplating the evidence the team had gathered so far in the hunt for Grace Dalton and deep inside, his conscience prickled. The anguish emanating from Tom Dalton overshadowing the hard, cold unemotional evidence laid within the thick manila file identifiable only by bold black marker. A man’s future hanging in the balance by some words written on paper and flimsy forensic evidence. Despite the facts, the media had kicked up a storm as confidential information about the case had been leaked into their hands, itching for a front page story. He hated the press but he had refrained from making any comments or rising to any of their slurs about his capabilities for fear of antagonising them further. All it would take to blow the case apart and end his career would be for an overzealous reporter to discover the history between Tom Dalton and himself. The consequences were unthinkable and he shuddered as he visualised the headlines.

  Mick Burns had deliberately kept the team assigned to the case small. Yet still, the press had managed to discover sensitive information and had twisted it to boost sales. Distrust had infiltrated the team as the months of investigations had drawn a blank, each detective quietly suspecting the other but never expressing it out loud. The silences and tension in the air every time he walked over to members of the team told him all he needed to know about whom they suspected. Anticorruption had interviewed everyone on the team in an attempt to find the source of the leaks and he knew the large sums of money leaving his account had caught their attention. He hated the transparency required by the job. It wasn’t so much them looking at how he ran his financial affairs, more what they revealed within his and Katherine’s private life which left a bitter taste.

  Movement over the top of his desk partition caught his eye as other members of the team started to filter into the briefing room. Not wanting to be the last to enter, he got up from his seat and headed over to join them grabbing the case file from his desk. Mick was known for his punctuality and arriving behind him would result in more frowns of disapproval being cast his way.

  “Morning,” he said, remaining calm and polite to the rest of the team as he took his seat a couple of rows from the front.

  The team sat apart from each other, spread out enough so as to leave several seats between each of them and Phil was aware of Jason discretely observing him. A paranoia played within his mind and he glanced at the clock on the wall to see how much longer it would be until Mick arrived to disperse the heavy atmosphere within the room. Conscious to avoid eye contact, he opened up Grace’s file and tried to give the impression he was absorbed with its contents, skimming over the pages he had already studied hundreds of times. This meeting would determine which route the investigation would take and the likelihood of Tom Dalton being arrested and prosecuted for the disappearance of his daughter weighed heavy on his conscience.

  The door flew open, wrenching him away from his troublesome thoughts and DCI Burns strode in creating a gush of air as he headed straight for the front of the room.

  “Morning everyone,” he said in his usual curt and authoritative way. “Right, let’s get down to business.”

  He turned his back to the team and faced the large board where evidence in the case had been laid out, and he scanned it for a moment.

  “Any new leads?”

  He fired his question directly at Jason, and Phil noticed his shoulders stiffen in response as he confirmed there had been no new evidence come to light.

  “Right, so the question now is where do we go from here? She’s been missing for over four months, now.”

  After a brief pause, Jason raised his hand.

  “Sir, the evidence we’ve gathered all points towards Mr Dalton.”

  Phil noticeably flinched and it caught Mick’s peripheral vision.

  “Do you want to say something, Phil?”

  Sweat started to form under his arms as the team were now all focused on what he was about to say and he wracked his brain for the right combination of words.

  “I…I just think it’s too obvious, Sir. The evidence is based on supposition.”

  Jason let out a small scoff and turned back around to face the front of the room, shaking his head.

  “You don’t agree, Jason?” Mick turned the question to him.

  “Honestly Sir, no. The man knew exactly where to find the place the victim was abducted. The chances of that must be hundreds to one against, especially in the dark.”

  “But it is possible?” Mick asked.

  “It’s possible to win the lottery on the first go Sir, but highly unlikely. Forensics found Grace’s blood and hair at the scene. Footprints matching Tom Dalton’s shoes were found at the exact spot and evidence of matching foliage was found on his clothes confirming he was there.”

  Phil winced but took care not to let it show. He now wished he had thought up a better argument for Tom Dalton’s innocence but he didn’t dare push too hard.

  “Okay, so what you’re saying is we have enough evidence to take this to court?” Mick concluded.

  He fidgeted slightly. Jason was a promotion-hungry man and he knew getting a conviction for such a high profile case would stand him in good stead to move him up the ranks. It would also look good on his own record.

  “I think Mr Dalton is the prime suspect in the disappearance of his daughter. There was tension within the family, especially between the mother and other daughter and she wasn’t popular at school either.”

  “Name me a teenager who doesn’t cause tension?” Phil interrupted, unable to contain himself.

  Jason prickled at being questioned and his face took on a hard, cold expression.

  “And you’d know about teenagers then, Phil?” he quipped.

  The words left his mouth with sharp precision and hit Phil, hard.

  “That’s enough,” Mick, boomed. “I’ll not tolerate petty squabbles in this team. Jason, get Dalton in and formerly charge him. Phil, come with me.”

  The team looked at Phil sheepishly as he stood up from his chair and followed Mick out of the briefing room, through the pool of desks and into his office, closing the door behind him with a bang.

  “Take a seat.”

  He gestured for Phil to sit in the chair opposite then sat down hard in his own chair at the other side of his desk.

  “I understand your concerns Phil, but I’ve studied the evidence of this case very closely and everything’s pointing to Dalton. The CPS agree and they’re happy for us to prosecute.”

  Mick leant forward and placed his elbows on the desk.

  “I need you to get a grip. You’ve been given a chance to prove you’re a good officer after what happened in the Fletcher case.”

  “Sorry sir, I just feel that the Fletcher incident will follow me whatever I do,” Phil answered, not knowing what else he should say.

  “The fact remains you got too involved, too close to the suspect. It set the case back, gave the unit a bad name and resulted in a delayed conviction which, if you’d have followed procedure would have prevented a second murder. We all make mistakes Phil, but it’s going to take some time and skilled police work to get your credibility back.”

  “I understand, Sir.
I’ll do my best.”

  Phil felt himself shrinking into the seat as the details of how he missed vital evidence which pointed to Anthony Fletcher murdering his stepdaughter were recalled. Every day since, he had lived with the guilt of knowing his negligence had allowed him to go on to kill again and it weighed heavy on his shoulders.

  “I didn’t realise you and Katherine were trying for children.”

  Mick suddenly took the conversation in a totally different direction. It was a characteristic which had served him well, setting many a guilty party off-balance and causing them to slip up during questioning, and the technique also caught Phil.

  “How do you know?” he replied, sharply.

  “Calm down, Phil. Anticorruption went through your file and told me about the large sums being transferred from your account. They look into everything when they’re investigating the possibility one of us is accepting bribes from the press.”

  Phil glanced away. Discussing his personal life at work was alien to him and he fought hard to keep the two separate.

  “You must be under a tremendous strain. My cousin went through IVF for three years, cost them a fortune.”

  Phil shuddered at the mention of the financial implications. The decision had been made before Jason had overtaken him due to his blunder on the Fletcher case. Katherine yearned for a child so badly it was consuming their lives. He had estimated they had enough money for three attempts but hadn’t the heart to tell her that unless he managed a promotion there would be no more.