Nothing but Meat: A dark, heart-stopping British crime thriller Page 19

  She felt empowered at the thought of separating her life from his. The cycle was broken and she was soon to be free from the shackles of that miserable sham of a marriage.

  Being single, being alone had never seemed so attractive to her and the idea of it filled her with a sense of excitement and unrestrained liberation, but here in the darkness, with her mind in turmoil she had to admit, somewhere in the mix there was also a dash of dread.

  Simone chastised herself for being so sensitive and considered what Caroline Sheppard and Victoria Redman had gone through and how scared they must have been.

  In death we are truly alone, she thought and the thought scared her.

  Simone was deeply involved in the most important case of her life; it was arguably the most high profile and disturbing case the region had ever seen and she wanted to dedicate all of her time to it, but how could she not have considerations for her private life? She had been beaten to a bloody pulp and forced from her home. She needed to see a solicitor and begin divorce proceedings. She needed to bring direction to her life and try to get things in order but she couldn’t sacrifice the case. She wasn’t going to pretend that it wasn’t a massive opportunity on a professional level because it was, but it was more than that, she had been given a chance to prevent more murder and to apprehend the one responsible for the deaths that had affected her so deeply. She thought about Victoria Redman and knew that no matter how disastrous her own life had become she could never ignore the fact that a young girl had been murdered and the one who did it was still out there. The decision was made - walking away from the case wasn’t an option.

  When West told Simone that Caroline Sheppard had been pregnant it gave the victims connection and a small piece of the puzzle slipped into place.

  The man they sought knew her, and knew her well enough to be privy to the news of the pregnancy that was still in its early stages. Either she or Gary Stevens had trusted him enough to tell him the news and the knife in her belly was meant to inflict the most damning of wounds. When Caroline Sheppard squeezed Simone’s hand as she slipped closer to death, she was dying with the knowledge that both she and her unborn child had been murdered.

  Simone put her hands on her own belly and imagined that one day she might experience the feeling of life kicking inside her, but for now she felt only the ache of a swollen bladder.

  18

  Sylvia Croucher never imagined the day would come when people would describe her as the grieving widow, but now they could, and when they did they were technically wrong because she and Russ never married.

  They both knew that most people, especially their parents, thought it strange that the pair of them remained unmarried after nearly fifteen years, but what did that matter? They had both married before and neither one of them had found the same level of happiness during their respective marriages as they had since they found each other. That wasn’t to say that they had they completely ruled out the idea of doing it again, it just wasn’t a subject either one of them felt particularly strong about. However they may have reconsidered their priorities had they known their time together was to be cut short so suddenly and unexpectedly.

  The day that changed everything was a warm unassuming Saturday, the sun was sinking in the clear sky and the air was filled with busy insects and the sound of lawnmowers whirring in the distance. Russ was in the back garden lighting the barbeque while Sylvia prepared homemade hamburgers in the kitchen.

  When she heard the sound of breaking glass and the clatter of steel she assumed Russ had knocked his wine glass onto the patio, or worse still the entire bottle. She shouted out to him, something along the lines of, ‘What have you broken now?’ and went to investigate his clumsiness. She saw him immediately, collapsed in a heap on the tiled patio floor next to the upturned barbeque and she ran to him through rounds of scattered coal, broken glass and red wine. When she got to him she checked his vitals but he was gone; Sylvia had been a nurse until her late twenties and she knew dead when she saw it. She went back into the house, called for an ambulance, hung up and promptly vomited into the kitchen sink. She returned to the garden and spent the longest and worst moment of her life sitting with him while she waited for the paramedics to arrive.

  She learned shortly after that a brain haemorrhage had taken Russ from her; a fatal event that was as unpredictable as it was unpreventable, but at least, they told her, the end was instant and painless. The information answered her questions but was little consolation and although his death was instant, she didn’t believe for a second that it had been painless.

  That was three weeks ago and now house was deathly quiet as Sylvia closed the front door behind her. She locked it, pulled the chain across and stood alone in the darkness listening to the silence. She had just returned home from a pleasant evening spent with friends but as the door clicked shut all their positive distractions washed away as her heart sank painfully in her chest and the loneliness of grief gripped her once again in its icy fist. Being alone had never bothered her before because it had only ever been for a few nights at a time, usually during the rare times when Russ had been away on business, but now…well now he was never coming back and when her doctor told her it would be a ‘…difficult adjustment…’ she openly laughed in his face. She was offered medication but refused; she knew that in time these awful feelings would pass, and while they were with her they were all consuming but also strangely comforting and somehow helped to remind her she was alive.

  She found now that her imagination was more furtive than she ever realised and her mind constantly played tricks on her. She became jumpy at bumps and creaks late in the evening from unseen areas of the house.

  Their house.

  She considered selling, but it reminded her so much of Russ she couldn’t imagine leaving. Not yet anyway, it was still too soon. He’d only been in the ground a fortnight. Well, he was cremated and his ashes scattered but that’s what people say isn’t it?

  Only been in the ground a fortnight.

  They lived a few miles from a nature reserve and often went for walks there all year round. It was a peaceful place, a huge wooded expanse surrounded many lakes where the wildlife roamed free.

  It was particularly beautiful after snowfall and she loved wrapping herself in thick layers and spending frozen Sundays at the lakes, just the two of them together, holding hands in the silence of a still winter day.

  Winter was her favourite time of the year, not like it was now; like the last time she was there.

  She went there alone in the sweltering heat of the hottest summer in years, summoning the strength to say goodbye to him for the last time. The woods were alive with the hum of tiny life and insects buzzed her ears as she made her way slowly to the edge of a lake. When she was satisfied with the location Sylvia took the urn from the cotton bag and hugged it to her chest. Tears stung her eyes while she waited for the right moment, seconds passed and she wondered if there would ever be a right time to finally say goodbye. She blanked her mind from her actions, removed the lid and emptied the urn in one swift movement, and as the ashes spilled from the rim a soft breeze tugged at her blouse and carried him gently across the water. It had been the right time.

  Releasing him into the wind was the right thing to do, she wanted to say goodbye for a final time. She didn’t want to keep the ashes; she didn’t want an urn with Russ inside. What if, as time passed she neglected to clean it and it just sat at the back of a shelf gathering dust? What if one day, when time had healed her wounds and her life had moved on, she rediscovered it and considered, even if only for a split second, to put it in the attic or even throw it away? She knew she had done the right thing.

  Apart from making their wills they never talked about their wishes if one of them died but she knew Russ would want her to move on, he would want her to be happy. She also knew he wouldn’t want to become an object on a mantle-piece; nothing more than a morbid talking point if anyone even dared mention it.

  Sylvia wal
ked into the lounge and considered watching television but decided it was too late; she had been at her sister’s house for dinner, it had just gone eleven and Sylvia knew that if she started watching something she wouldn’t be going to bed until the early hours. She needed to go to bed and try to get some sleep.

  As sisters they had always been close but when Russ passed Natasha had become Sylvia’s rock.

  What to do when someone dies isn’t something most people think about until the time comes and now it had Sylvia was lost. There had been so much to do and Natasha had been there every step of the way, she had gone with Sylvia to register the death and been instrumental in organising the funeral.

  The evening at her home had been one of many engagements planned over the next few weeks. She had never had so many dinner and lunch invitations from so many people and she was amazed and grateful at the way her friends and family had rallied around her in this time of grief.

  She loved their company, she had known them all for years and was under no pressure to be cheerful, and they all understood that even though she tried her best to be enthusiastic, she wasn’t the most upbeat of dinner guests at the moment.

  She went upstairs, showered in the en-suite and climbed into bed. She lay there for a time and watched the glow of the bedside light on the ceiling, listening to the empty cavernous sound of loneliness. She half expected to hear the toilet flush, for the bathroom light to snap off and for Russ to walk into the room and to climb into bed next to her, but she heard nothing except the creaking of a house that was now too big for her and the beat of a heart that literally hurt in her chest. She cried softly, but only for a short time and wiped her face with a tissue. She whispered to herself, ‘Stop being sad,’ and turned out the light.

  He waited in the dark.

  It was easy to remain undiscovered in such a large house, not like the last time; last time he was still for hours while he waited in her bedroom. But it was worth the wait; she was so young, so scared, such a sweet little piggy it made the cramped muscles and the tedium of waiting all worthwhile.

  This time though he could flex his muscles and keep the blood flowing without a problem. He was hiding in one of the spare bedrooms down the corridor well away from the master bedroom. He knew she wouldn’t come in here tonight, why would she? She was alone now and there was nothing of consequence in here.

  He checked his watch; it was 2am and he had been in the house for almost twelve hours. She came home earlier, probably after work and he listened as she watched TV before getting changed and going out for the evening.

  While she was out he had studiously kept clear of the windows and always careful to put things back exactly as he had found them after he occupied himself with her private belongings. Her scent was important to him.

  Even when she was in the house he was so sure she wouldn’t come into the spare room he had considered laying on the bed and taking a nap, but there was always that slim chance that she might have so why take the risk? He had a plan and he was going to stick to it. Focus and patience was the key, never deviate from the plan and all would go smoothly. It would soon be time to attack the sow. His thoughts gave him an erection and he just couldn’t wait.

  When the time was right he opened the bedroom door. It squeaked and excitement built in the pit of his stomach. Some part of him wanted her to hear his approach, part of him wanted her to fight because he would have an idea of what to expect later. He doused the rag and put on the mask; he just couldn’t wait for her to see it.

  Sylvia had always been a heavy sleeper but now she was alone her dreams had become vivid and noisy and fuelled by grief, they caused her to drift in and out of consciousness throughout the night and more often than not she would wake up with a headache or feel more tired than when she went to sleep.

  Her eyes snapped open in the darkness and the tremulous nightmare silenced abruptly. She was lying on her back in the same position she went to sleep in.

  Somewhere a floorboard creaked…

  …Footsteps!

  Then a pipe clicked in the roof space.

  She cursed her imagination, rolled over and drifted off again.

  Sometime later she woke again with the creeping feeling that something was in the room with her. Somewhere in the recess of her mind she could vaguely remember hearing the creak of floorboards and the sound the bedroom door makes as it brushes across the carpet. They were lost to a dream those sounds but they still felt real. Another sensation cut through the confusion of sleep.

  Had something touched her hair?

  She sat up and stared across the room towards the closed curtains. Was that a silhouette standing in front of them? She wondered if it was Russ coming to say goodbye. Her eyes were blurred with sleep as she stared at the shape, looking for definition; even movement but she saw nothing. It was her mind playing tricks in the darkness. She considered turning the light on but she didn’t want to admit to being scared. And what if she was confronted with something frightful that shouldn’t be there?

  Then it moved.

  No, surely not?

  It moved again, and as if in confirmation there was an accompanying creak from a pained floorboard. She gasped and snatched franticly for the bedside lamp but knocked it to the ground as a shadow appeared in the corner of her eye. She turned; more alert now and saw a hideous face bearing down on her, white and ghostlike. She felt material press down hard on her face, covering her mouth and nose as another hand pressed tightly against the back of her head. She flailed out and tried to scream but it was futile. A thick, vaporous stench flooded her lungs, choking her and making her gag into the cloth. Her struggles quickly weakened and she slipped into a blackness reserved only for nightmares.

  The Origin of the Tooth:

  Part 4

  Gifts - 1993

  For many years now the Ghost had believed that something malevolent travelled with him wherever he went. Anyone who assumed he was alone when they passed him in the street, stood behind him in line at the supermarket or waited next to him at the bus stop would have been wrong. They could have never known the dark angels had attached themselves to him any more than they could have known the things he had done.

  The more he considered it the more convinced he became that the faces he saw in the cold water of Uncle Derek’s bathtub had shown themselves to him for a reason and clung to him ever since, they had latched themselves onto his back and looked over his shoulder as he committed his crimes. They watched the things he did, the terrible things, and they joined him in the pleasure and the excitement he felt when he took lives and tore worlds apart.

  It wasn’t a one sided relationship; he was sure these dark angels communed with him by rewarding his efforts. He was gifted with fresh meat, new means with which to despatch them and elusive qualities that confounded the authorities.

  He was sure they had rewarded him for killing Tom Peterson’s mother. She was his first and he was rewarded generously; he could never have hoped or imagined a more perfect gift as the one received when he stumbled upon Angela Baily.

  His angel.

  She satisfied him both physically and emotionally and sparked the fire inside him that had burned ever since.

  When he killed his own biological mother he did it for his own personal vengeance and he worried that the dark angels might find that act too self-indulgent and leave him forever but the reward that awaited him confirmed his dark companions revelled in her death as much as he did.

  His work took him to London; a thriving city which was, amongst other things packed with potential victims.

  He travelled the Underground at rush hour, more often than not nursing an erection, they were so close to him he could smell them; their morning perfume and their evening sweat, he pressed himself against them knowing only thin layers of clothing separated their naked bodies and wished he could see inside their minds.

  He was going through a phase of targeting piglets in business suits, he liked the fact that they spent a lot
of time over their appearance and they usually had more money and a better house than the pierced hippy chick in tie dyed T shirt, frayed denim shorts and stripy tights that was his usual target.

  One morning a woman in a business suit really caught his eye and he discreetly studied her as she read her copy of The Virgin Suicides. She was probably in her late twenties, she was wearing a smart dark suit and her skirt sat just above her knees. He looked at her legs and her shoes and imagined her naked. He looked at the curls of long brown hair that spilled over her shoulders and watched her fingers as they lightly touched the next page until it was ready to turn. He paid attention to her every curve and every line until the train began to slow.

  When he saw her mark her progress with a folded corner and push the book into her bag he was careful to stand just before she did, guessing the coming stop would be hers, and if it wasn’t, he would just look confused and sit back down.

  He had no need for concern, she stood shortly after he did and waited close to him as the clacking rhythms slowed and the train gently jerked to a halt. He exited the train just ahead of her and walked slowly along the platform, she soon hurried passed him, allowing him to slip in behind her and follow her to work while enjoying the view of her legs and the curve of her sexy backside as she walked. She never looked back and even if she had, he knew she would see right through him.

  He watched the line of her underwear beneath her tight skirt and considered how adept he had become at blending in. People rarely noticed or remembered him and it seemed at times as though he was practically invisible to the outside world, it was a skill he had worked on ever since meeting the German man in the wood, a meeting he was sure the dark angels had orchestrated, the man had called him Little Bear but he also told him he would need to be invisible, like a ghost, and he had heeded his advice ever since.