The Man Behind Closed Doors

by Maria Frankland

  But Lee’s phone call had unnerved her. She decided that a glass of wine wasn’t actually a bad idea after all. She managed to bluff her way into the club. “My husband’s inside,” she smiled sweetly at the bouncer. “He’s got my pass in his wallet.” She found herself a dark corner and tried to zone out the stuffed animal crap and wild children going on all around her. She needed to think straight. She hoped Lee wouldn’t turn up. If he did, she was sure he would struggle to find her. But she’d keep looking over her shoulder, just in case.

  By the time she summonsed enough courage to get moving with it all, over an hour had passed. A man had offered to buy her a drink, which she’d accepted but he’d quickly given up his efforts of trying to make conversation with her. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Or for being chatted up. It was time to find out whether Paul was in the cottage now. Then she could decide on the next thing to do.

  It was Paul’s car Alana spotted first at the end of a row of cottages. There was only one cottage with all its lights on. She could just about make out the shape of someone moving around inside. She edged closer. There was no point in putting it off any longer.

  Alana listened to Michelle shouting.

  “Bet Alana’s the reason you don’t want anything to do with me!” That comment pleased her – clearly she was still an issue between them. “You can’t keep one woman satisfied, let alone two!”

  “Stop it Michelle.” She strained to hear what Paul, in a quieter voice, was saying in response.

  “I think it’s about time you were honest with me.”

  “Michelle, don’t start again.”

  Alana’s temper was rising as she witnessed first-hand what was probably a daily occurrence.

  “Not now, not here, Emily’s in there.”

  You poor bloke, thought Alana. She really doesn’t deserve you!

  “Bit late for that, don’t you think? Is that why you don’t want sex with me anymore?” Alana could hardly stand the sound of Michelle’s grating voice. “Cos of her?”

  “No. Because of you!”

  Good, Alana thought. They’re definitely not having sex anymore.

  “You bastard!” The force of the expletive rang out into the serene June evening. If there was anyone around, they would have heard it.

  Alana jumped as a door slammed. Crouching lower behind the bin, she listened as furious footsteps stormed away from the cottage.

  She’ll have gone to drown her sorrows like she always does, Alana thought to herself. At least I can go and talk to him now.

  All was quiet for a while. Alana stayed behind the bin knowing this was her chance but not daring to take it. She decided to go for a little walk around first, get her head straight and pluck up the courage. Michelle would be gone a while if she was going back down to the bar.

  Half an hour later Alana’s leather sandals slapped against the steps to the cottage door as she ascended them. She listened for a few moments, heard nothing, so tapped on the door, then immediately panicked and resisted the urge to run away.

  “Paul,” she called softly. “Are you in there?”

  “You!” shrieked Michelle as she swung the door open. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “I-I thought you’d gone out,” Alana stammered, her body rigid with shock. Oh shit!

  Michelle yanked Alana inside the cottage by her wrist. “Go on then!” Fury sparked from her eyes. “I’m waiting for an explanation! And it better be good!”

  “Look at the state of you!” Alana looked Michelle up and down calmly. This was the best way to handle it. Talk down to her. It couldn’t be difficult. “You’re a disgrace. No wonder Paul’s cleared off. You’re pissed out of your brains. All you care about is drink.”

  “That’s not true,” Michelle said quietly. Then her voice rose. “And what the fuck would it have to do with you?”

  “He’s my friend,” Alana retorted, staring into Michelle’s face, which was contorted with rage. Maybe this was how it was all supposed to happen. “And I care about him.”

  “I bet you do,” Michelle replied, her lips curling furiously as she leaned against the kitchen counter and folded her arms, studying her opponent. “Alana, we’re having a family holiday. I want to know what you’re doing here!”

  “I came to check he’s OK.” Alana’s voice was even. In her temper, maybe Michelle would clear off and Alana could wait with Emily until Paul came back.

  “OK?” Michelle shouted. “Who? My husband? Of course he’s OK, you stupid cow! Why wouldn’t he be?”

  “Because you’re a violent, bullying bitch, that’s why!” Alana retorted, her voice rising. Checking herself, she lowered it again. “Don’t think he hasn’t spoken to me about what you’re doing. He’s that miserable with you, he’s got to confide in someone!”

  “He’s been talking to you!” Momentarily, the rage appeared to drain out of Michelle.

  “Of course,” Alana said smugly. “We’ve become close.”

  “He’s my husband!” Michelle’s eyes glittered, with what Alana see, was jealousy. She stood straight and dropped her arms by her sides. Both hands curled into fists. “I’ve always known you couldn’t be trusted.”

  “Don’t you think you should keep your voice down?” Alana looked down the corridor of the cottage. “Isn’t Emily asleep?”

  “Don’t you say my daughter’s name!” Michelle shrieked, as she stepped closer to Alana. “She’s nothing whatsoever to do with you!”

  “I spend a lot of time with her actually,” Alana smiled, coming further into the cottage and hoisting her handbag back up on her shoulder. She was on her guard; she knew at any moment, Michelle was likely to go for her. “We enjoy each other’s company. You don’t deserve her, the way you carry on!”

  “Look here you.” Michelle spoke in a more controlled voice. “Emily is my daughter and Paul is my husband. I don’t know what business you think you have turning up here like this, but I would like you to leave. Now!”

  “I’m going nowhere.” Alana glanced backwards out of the open door. “Not until I’ve spoken to Paul.”

  “Why? What the fuck do you want with my husband?”

  “You’ll see.” Alana smirked, noticing how worried Michelle looked. And she should. Alana was going to win him, whatever it took.

  “You’re already married, aren’t you?” Michelle poured dregs from a wine bottle into a glass, her hands shaking. “Piss off back to your own husband and leave mine alone!”

  “You’re pathetic. Look at you with your bottle of wine. You’re not fit to have Paul. How you treat him. And Emily for that matter. They would be happier with me!”

  “With you!” Michelle slammed down the bottle. “Don’t be ridiculous. If you want a child, then bloody have one of your own!”

  Alana felt the familiar cloud pressing on her.

  “What’s up with you?” Michelle sneered. “Lost for words suddenly? That’s not like you!” She took a step closer to where Alana stood, waving her wine glass as she spoke. “Oh, of course. I’ve just remembered. Lee can’t get you up the duff, can he?”

  Alana could not think of a retort.

  “You haven’t got it in you, have you?” She took a swig of her wine and laughed raucously.

  “Shut your nasty mouth?” Alana moved closer to Michelle, so their faces were almost touching. Venom was escalating in her. God help Michelle if she pushed her much further. “Good God, you stink, woman.” She grimaced as she inhaled a faceful of stale alcohol. “No wonder Paul doesn’t fancy you anymore!”

  “At least I can give him babies.” Her face hardened as she jabbed Alana in the shoulder. “What is it? Do you think I’m going to roll over and let you take my husband and daughter away from me? Go on…” she cocked her head towards the door. “Piss off from here and book yourself into a sterility clinic or something.”

  “You evil cow!” Alana hissed as she tried to slap Michelle but instead screamed as Michelle grabbed her between the legs, nipping as hard
as she could.

  “Barren bitch!”

  “Take your dirty hands off me,” she grunted, as she reached and grappled for the empty wine bottle. She was going to pay. The bottle slipped out of her grasp and crashed onto the floor, splinters flying in all directions. Michelle squeezed tighter.

  “What the hell is going on?” Paul appeared in the cottage doorway. “What are you doing here?”

  Alana was in agony from where her groin had been gripped. “She’s an animal.” She lurched towards Paul. “I’m leaving Lee. So you can leave her now.”

  Michelle slammed her palm upon the handle of a knife that had been discarded on a chopping board.

  “And what are you going to do with that?” Alana laughed as Michelle stood facing Paul.

  “Michelle. Are you nuts? Put the bloody knife down. We can sort this out.”

  Alana noticed the rapid rise and fall of Paul’s chest as the blade of the knife reflected onto his chin. “Enough Michelle,” Alana backed away from them. “You’re going too far.”

  “I’ll decide when I’ve gone too far.” Then, turning her attention back to Paul, she said. “At least now I know I wasn’t going mad. It’s been her all along, hasn’t it?”

  “No. She’s just a friend.”

  “No wonder you can’t get a hard-on with me. Not when you’re wishing you’re with that slag.” She waggled the little finger of her other hand, the knife still pointing towards his chest. “You’re crap in bed anyway. Do you know how many times I’ve faked it?”

  Alana watched as they stood, breathing into each other’s faces and then gasped as Paul suddenly grabbed the handle of the knife and turned it around to point at Michelle.

  “You’ve made my life hell for long enough. I can’t take it anymore.” He looked to be tightening his grip on the handle. He brought his elbow back as Michelle’s scream perforated the air.

  Alana leapt in between them, her shoes grinding the broken glass onto the tiles as the knife speared Michelle’s chest. Alana took the full force of the huge spurt of blood. Gasping, Michelle staggered back, knocking a bin over and banging her head against an open cupboard before sliding down the cupboard onto the floor.

  Alana was excited at what Paul had done and sickened in equal measure. Vomit filled her mouth and she swallowed it back down. She’d never seen as much blood in her life. She grabbed a towel and crouched over Michelle until their eyes were level.

  “Help me,” Michelle croaked. Alana wrapped the towel around the handle of the knife before curling her fingers around it. She heard Michelle wheeze as she gritted her teeth and forced the knife further into her, hitting an obstruction and hearing the crack of bone. More blood spurted up at her. She twisted the knife as she unwound the cloth. Michelle lost consciousness. She stood, staring at her for a few moments.

  “What have we done?”

  Alana rose from her crouch taking care to sidestep the pooling blood.

  “Oh my God. What the hell have we done?” Paul repeated.

  Alana backed towards the cottage door. Then, with one last look at Michelle and Paul who stood, gripping the work surface, staring at his wife, she slid her sandals off, and strode away into the shadowy dusk, the towel in one hand and her sandals in the other.

  Chapter Fifty Six

  Calvert has appeared to listen intently to Alana’s version of events. “Then what did you do?”

  “I started running,” admits Alana. “I wasn’t going to hang about, was I? I knew the police could come at any moment.”

  “You decided to let Paul take all the blame?” Calvert frowns. “I thought you were in love with him.”

  “I was. I am.” Alana, exhausted, drops her head into her hands. “I panicked! We didn’t plan to kill Michelle. She pushed us both over the edge. I honestly didn’t mean for Paul to take all the blame.” She takes her face out of her hands, her hair moist with sweat and tears, clinging to the sides of her face like seaweed to a cliff. “I knew about her self-harming and thought that would be blamed.”

  “So,” continues Calvert. “When you realised Paul had been arrested for the murder of Michelle, why didn’t you come forward then?”

  “It was him who stabbed her first. I just finished her off. Although to be honest, I thought he would be bailed. The more time that passed,” Alana sobs, “the more scared I was to own up. Especially after she died. I never thought she would die.”

  “What do you think happens when someone is stabbed in the chest? Where did you go next? You must have been covered in blood.”

  Michelle’s scream had resounded in Alana’s ears even when she was too far away to hear. She thought she would probably hear it for the rest of her life. Running towards the woods that bordered the holiday park, she was certain that at any moment someone would come up behind her, then she was overpowered by the smell of Michelle’s blood. Forced to stop, she leaned against a tree and vomited her insides out; the hot liquid spurted through her nose and splattered over her feet. Weeping, she continued running towards what looked like a clearing in the woods. She could hear the rush of the sea.

  “Then what?” Calvert’s voice jolts her back into the room.

  This was something she had never wanted to relive. “I had a carrier bag in my pocket, so my jacket went in there with the towel, I tied it up and it went into the bin. Then I ran out into the sea to wash the blood off. It would be easier to return to the hotel, soaked to the skin and say I’d fallen in rather than be splattered in blood.” Alana recalls the loneliness of that night and tears slide down her face. “I stayed on the beach and dried out for a while. I could hear the sirens – I didn’t know if she was dead or not.”

  “What time did you return to the hotel?”

  “I don’t know. It was late. I managed to get to my room without being seen.”

  “Didn’t you ever consider coming forward?”

  Alana pauses. “My husband suspected I’d been there,” she replies. “I wanted to confess but he stopped me.” She is going to bring him down with her. As much as she can. “He seemed to think that leaving a bunch of flowers on Michelle’s grave somehow exonerated us.”

  “He’s being questioned too. Am I right in thinking you went home the next day and carried on as normal?”

  “Yes.” Alana speaks in a small voice. She looks at DI Mexborough who has been writing notes.

  “We’ll leave it there,” announces Calvert. “The time is,” he checks his watch, “twelve thirty seven pm. This interview is concluded. A long tone sounds from the recording machine as Calvert presses the stop button and ejects the two tapes.

  Alana’s watching him through her tears as he seals and initials them. “What’s going to happen?”

  “You’ll be returned to your cell. We’ll bring you back out when we’ve been authorised to charge you.” He passes the tapes to his colleague. “You’ll appear in court in the morning and will no doubt be remanded in custody until your trial.” He looks towards Melissa. “Do you want a few minutes with your client before we lock her back in?”

  Chapter Fifty Seven

  Melissa stifles a yawn and stretches as the police personnel vacate their seats. “Yes, if you don’t mind, thanks.” It has been a long morning. She looks at Alana who again has her head in her hands. It’s true what they say about beauty only being skin deep. She’d been taken aback by how pretty Alana was when first arriving at the station, despite being somewhat bedraggled. She can still hardly believe this demure woman in front of her was capable of such violence.

  “Well that was a surprise.” Melissa’s voice sounds throaty after sitting in silence, listening for so long. “You told me you were innocent prior to the interview.”

  “I know. But I’ve told the truth now.”

  Melissa looks at the trembling woman. “You should have told the truth in the first place.”

  “I thought you were on my side.” Alana’s bottom lip wobbles.

  “It’s not about sides. I’m paid to represent you and I can
only do that if you’re straight with me.” She glances down at the extensive ream of notes she has taken throughout the interview. “Is there anything else I should know?”

  Alana shakes her head. “It’s all out in the open. What do you think will happen?”

  Melissa thinks for a moment. “It will go in your favour that you have finally admitted it. But what will go against you is the fact you have allowed so much time to elapse before telling the truth.” She pauses. “I can’t say to be honest. I would guess at about ten years, of which you’ll probably serve five if you’re lucky.”

  “Five years,” Alana gasps, her shoulders shaking with sobs. “I can’t do it. I’ll crack up.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Melissa says, coolly. “People can endure far more than they imagine.”

  Alana seems to momentarily brighten. “If I know Paul’s waiting for me, I can cope with anything.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” mutters Melissa as she makes for the door of the interview room to signal she has finished her conversation with her client.

  Epilogue

  Wife Killers Finally Get Justice

  The people responsible for the death of Michelle Marie Jackson were finally brought to justice earlier today.

  It was in June last year that thirty-six-year-old Michelle was stabbed to death in the presence of her six-year-old daughter, at their holiday cottage in Filey. The incident happened following a row between the couple that had been overheard by neighbouring holidaymakers.

  Paul Jackson, of Osbaldwick, York, had already served four months as a remand prisoner, having been previously charged with his wife’s murder, of which he was acquitted.