The Perfect Husband, page 25
His words chilled me.
‘How?’ I mumbled.
Damien looked first at Tara, then back to me. ‘Poison.’
‘Poison?’ I repeated.
‘There’s froth around his mouth,’ Damien explained when I looked up at him in confusion.
Oh, my poor baby…
I shook my head as more desperate tears fell.
‘But Jay’s in Manchester. He came back last night with another police escort to collect some things he’d forgotten earlier,’ I stated.
‘He definitely left last night?’
I could hear the doubt in Damien’s voice. He didn’t say any more.
I looked down at Sebastian.
Could he have done this? Could Jay hate you so much he would kill the one thing you love more than anything else?
You know the answer, Sophie.
Something struck me.
‘Can you pass me that blanket, Tara?’
She nodded and picked up the mohair cover from the other end of the couch. She placed it next to me.
‘Thanks,’ I mumbled.
I laid Sebastian carefully down on it. I then shakily stood up, forcing myself to look at the foam coming from Sebastian’s tiny open mouth as he lay on his favourite blanket.
I turned and headed to the kitchen. First, I checked the drawer. The key wasn’t there. Then I saw it lying on the counter.
How is that possible?
Jay could have placed it there last night before he took Sebastian and… poisoned him?
I then pulled open the kitchen cupboards under the sink and frantically started throwing everything across the floor.
‘Hey, Sophie? What are you looking for?’ Tara asked, worried as she stood behind me.
‘Hydrochloric acid for unblocking the shower. Jay bought two bottles the other day and…’ I stopped.
They were missing.
I stared in horror at the space where they should have still been.
He took them yesterday evening, Sophie. That’s why he came back. He wanted the two five-litre bottles of hydrochloric acid.
‘Sophie, look, forget I said anything,’ Damien said, coming over to the kitchen area.
I turned to him, my expression wild. ‘He took the bottles. He came back last night and he took them.’
‘Are you certain?’ he asked.
‘I put them at the back of this cupboard on Friday night,’ I explained. ‘And now they’ve vanished.’
Damien didn’t say a word. Neither did Tara.
‘Can I get a toxicology test to prove that he poisoned Sebastian?’ I questioned.
‘Maybe call the police?’ Tara proposed.
Damien cleared his throat.
We both turned to him. ‘The bi-folding door was left open, Sophie. Sebastian could have got out and walked around to the front of the cottage.’
‘So?’
‘You have lilies there. Close to where Sebastian was found. Lilies are poisonous to cats.’
‘But…’ I faltered as tears of anger and frustration fell. ‘The door was locked last night. I checked,’ I insisted.
But had I checked? I never used that door. I was now starting to doubt myself. I was so exhausted and traumatised by the past few days’ occurrences that it wouldn’t be unusual to have missed something.
It isn’t ‘something’, Sophie. It’s a door, and you checked them all last night.
Also, Jay had calculatedly told the police he was going to Manchester, so there would be no need to send a patrol car around to drive past the cottage.
I thought back to PC Penrose’s callous, contemptuous words: ‘He couldn’t get further away from you if he tried!’
What had Jay said to convince him that I was somehow in the wrong? That I didn’t deserve protecting? That Jay was above breaking the law, exempting him from his bail conditions?
What gave that police officer the right to put your life in jeopardy? Yours and Sebastian’s lives. All because his shift was finishing, and he saw you as a waste of his time? Not worthy of having the law implemented on your behalf. To protect you against a man – your husband – already charged with assaulting you.
WHAT RIGHT DID HE HAVE?
More so when his colleague, PC Jess Kimbrell, went all out to have Jay charged, to prevent him from letting himself into your home in the middle of the night because he would kill you.
I felt a hand delicately squeeze my shoulder.
I glanced up at Tara.
‘Come on, let me tidy all this up. Yeah? You sit down and drink the tea I made you. It will help with the shock,’ she suggested.
I resisted telling her that nothing would ever take the shock away. It would always follow me, be with me, haunt me. Instead, I nodded, accepting her kindness.
I sat at the kitchen island, sipping sweetened tea while choking on tears every time the tsunami of wrenching pain hit me.
Tara had found an unopened box of tissues, most of which I’d reduced to scattered, soggy clumps of scrunched-up grief.
‘Do I call the police?’ I asked them when there were no tears left in me.
Tara looked to Damien.
‘I don’t know what they can do, to be honest. If the police say he left for Manchester, then…’ He shrugged.
But did Jay leave for Manchester?
I shivered as if icy cold fingers trailed down my spine.
Jay did this to Sebastian as a warning.
I swallowed as my grief was overshadowed by fear.
He let himself in to the cottage in the dead of night. Did he watch you? Did he think about pouring the acid that’s missing over your face as you slept?
Oh God…
‘If it makes you feel better, call the police. But without any evidence, I doubt they’ll do anything. Especially if Jay is in Manchester now,’ Damien reasoned.
‘Sophie, I need to go as I have to get ready for work,’ Tara apologised, ‘but Damien will bury Sebastian if you want?’
I swivelled the bar stool to face the bi-folding doors that opened out onto the back garden and the Atlantic Ocean beyond. I questioned whether Sebastian would want to remain here forever.
Without you.
At that moment, I knew I would never stay here. I would sell the cottage and leave Jay’s dreams, Jay’s promises and Jay’s deadly threats behind me.
I shook my head. ‘No,’ I mumbled. ‘He’s coming with me when I leave.’
Tara gazed at me as if I had lost my mind.
‘I want him cremated,’ I explained.
She nodded, giving me a sympathetic smile. ‘That makes perfect sense.’
Damien cleared his throat. ‘Look, my shift doesn’t start until 2 p.m. Why don’t I take Sebastian to the vet for you?’
‘No, I’ll do it,’ I replied.
He raised his eyebrow at me.
It was then I realised I must look deranged. I was an ugly crier at the best of times, but Jay’s assault on Sunday had left bruising, now compounded by swollen, puffy, bloodshot eyes and a raw, red nose from repeatedly blowing it.
‘I think you might be better staying here and getting some rest,’ he persisted. ‘I think it will just traumatise you even more. If you want, I can ask the vet to see if they can determine what happened?’
‘Okay,’ I reluctantly conceded, fighting the compulsion not to let Sebastian go. ‘Thank you,’ I added, looking first at Damien, then Tara.
I gently wrapped Sebastian in the mohair blanket and, kissing him, forced myself to release him into Damien’s arms. Jay had robbed me of my family and now he had taken Sebastian from me. What would be next?
A few agonising hours later, I was still awaiting a return call from the police. I had called them when Tara and Damien left to report Sebastian’s suspicious death.
My phone finally rang. It was an unknown number.
‘Hello,’ I hurriedly answered.
‘Hi, Sophie?’
‘Yes,’ I replied.
‘Hi, this is PC Gareth Davidson, calling about your cat’s sudden death?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ I answered, breathing a sigh of relief.
‘From the notes here, you believe someone poisoned him?’
‘Yes. My husband, Jay Bradley.’
‘Ahuh,’ he replied. ‘I checked the records, and he’s in Manchester? He went there last night after the police escort back to the family home,’ he evenly stated. I could hear the scepticism in his voice.
‘Yes, I know that, but he has keys to our home.’
‘He signed in at the agreed police station in Manchester at 8 a.m. He also provided an address where he’s residing until tomorrow when he returns for his court hearing on Thursday morning.’
‘Yes, and he could have poisoned Sebastian—’
‘Sebastian’s the cat?’ he interrupted.
‘Yes,’ I replied, frustrated that he wasn’t taking me seriously. ‘Jay could have poisoned him and then driven up to Manchester?’
I heard him sigh. ‘I’ll come out and look around if that makes you feel better?’
‘Please,’ I immediately answered.
‘But it won’t be for a few hours,’ he advised.
‘No, that’s fine.’
I disconnected the call and turned to the CCTV camera in the corner of the lounge.
I walked over to it and stared up at the black round orb. The surveillance system was disconnected on my phone. However, as the admin password holder, Jay could have disabled my iPhone, while his was still operational.
Are you watching me, Jay?
The initial fear I felt at this thought evaporated as anger coursed through me.
Did you watch me sobbing hysterically as I held Sebastian’s body? DID YOU?
I stared into the camera, willing him to be watching me. To see not fear, but pure, unadulterated rage in my eyes.
You haven’t succeeded, Jay. I’m not dropping the charges.
You’ve taken Sebastian from me. So now, I have nothing left to lose.
37
Consumed by grief, I didn’t notice the hours fade away. Even the midday sun and unblemished blue sky eluded me, obscured by the grey shadows, surrounding me like ravenous spirits devouring all light.
A knock at the door by the police dragged me out from the darkness that consumed me.
I followed PC Davidson around the cottage as he diligently checked the doors and windows, realising that he was only here to reassure me. He suggested that the second bi-folding door was left open by accident. As he pointed out, the key was on the kitchen counter. As for Sebastian’s death, he had refuted my suggestion that Jay was in any way involved because of logistics: he was in Manchester. PC Davidson also agreed with Damien’s suggestion that the lilies could have poisoned him.
‘The vet is performing a toxicology test you say?’ he questioned, as he stepped out of the front door.
‘Yes,’ I answered as he turned to face me. ‘To determine whether Sebastian was poisoned and if he was, whether it was a natural toxin, such as the lilies, or if it was a household chemical.’
‘How long before the results?’
‘By the end of tomorrow or Thursday.’
He nodded. ‘I’m sure you’ll find it was the lilies. They are toxic to cats, and if he wasn’t used to coming outdoors, well…’ He paused, giving me a sympathetic look. ‘Or you might find he digested a poisoned mouse or ant bait. I’ve come across that before.’
I didn’t reply. My gut feeling was that Jay was instrumental in Sebastian’s death.
PC Davidson looked across at the lilies. ‘You can see they’ve been disturbed,’ he pointed out.
I could see for myself that something had been digging around them. But it could have been foxes or other cats, not necessarily Sebastian.
What were the odds that the first time Sebastian escaped, he died from poisoning?
‘Look, I think it was just coincidence that your cat managed to get out,’ he reassured me. ‘You have nothing to worry about regarding your husband, he’s in Manchester until tomorrow evening, and will be checking in at the police station in Truro when he returns.’
I stared at him, feeling anything but reassured.
‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Go on,’ he warily invited.
‘If I wanted to protect myself from an intruder, or…’ I faltered. ‘My husband?’
He nodded.
‘Can I keep a knife on me or something like a baseball bat under my bed?’
I was fearful if I defended myself against him, I would end up in prison, like other female victims who tried to protect themselves from their abusive partners. Instead of being buried by the state, which would have been their outcome if they hadn’t killed their abuser, they ended up incarcerated. If I didn’t have some weapon at hand, I would be powerless to fight him off, ending up another statistic. I couldn’t stop thinking about the missing hydrochloric acid.
How do you defend yourself if someone throws acid over you?
He raised his eyebrow at me as he rubbed his hand over his sandy-coloured receding hair, not liking the implication of my question. ‘Look, I wouldn’t be thinking like that. Anything that’s premeditated will get you arrested.’
‘So, I can’t keep a knife under my pillow in case he lets himself into my home with the intention of killing me?’
He cleared his throat as he broke away from my gaze. ‘To be clear, you can protect yourself using an object as a weapon in the “heat of the moment”, but I am advising you not to have a weapon on you that you wouldn’t ordinarily have in that situation to avoid it becoming pre-planned.’
I frowned at this statement.
‘Such as a knife on your person or in the bedroom. Or a baseball bat under your bed. Now, if you were in the kitchen and grabbed a knife to defend yourself, that’s different. It’s not premeditated.’
I remained silent.
How was I supposed to protect myself without being seen as the assailant?
‘If someone enters your property without your consent, you can protect yourself without waiting for them to attack you first. But…’ He faltered as he held my confused gaze. ‘You must stop attacking the intruder once you are no longer in danger. And whatever you do, do not pre-plan an attack. If you believe someone is intending to enter your home without permission and hurt you, you need to involve the police.’
Someone? Not someone, my husband… And I have involved the police.
‘Do not take matters into your own hands,’ he insisted.
I nodded. ‘Thanks for clarifying that for me.’
‘Right, well, if you have any other concerns, call us,’ he concluded.
‘Actually, I do. The security cameras in the cottage,’ I began. ‘I can’t access the account and I’m scared he’s watching me.’
The look in his eye was enough for me to know he thought I was completely paranoid. ‘When I read the case notes, it said that the surveillance cameras are down?’
‘Yes, but maybe Jay shut it down, so there was no footage of him assaulting me, and he has now turned the cameras back on? I can’t tell if he has blocked me from the account, or if it is genuinely down. He’s the account administrator,’ I explained.
PC Davidson sighed. ‘You could ring the company that installed it?’
‘I did and left a voicemail. They haven’t come back to me.’
‘All right, when I get a chance, I’ll call your husband and check it out.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, relieved. ‘When?’
‘If not today, then tomorrow,’ he said.
‘Where will my husband be staying on Wednesday evening?’ I asked as he started to walk away.
He stopped and looked back at me. ‘He said a hotel in Truro.’
‘You spoke to him?’
He nodded. ‘He was adamant that he never returned here last night after the police escort. That he understands his bail restrictions.’
I felt sick. I was certain Jay would have been the model citizen when he talked to him.
Why wouldn’t he be?
And if he understood his bail conditions so well, why did he flagrantly break them when he parked outside for fifteen minutes glaring up at the cottage? At me?
‘He also made it quite clear that he has no intentions of coming near you or the property again. That whatever the outcome of his court hearing, he’s staying in Manchester.’
I remained silent.
Unconvinced.
‘I’m telling you this to reassure you. Rather than you living in constant fear, looking over your shoulder, while your husband moves on,’ he explained. ‘Or thinking about carrying a knife, which carries with it a four-year prison sentence or an unlimited fine, or both.’ He shook his head at me. ‘Whatever you are thinking, don’t! That’s my advice. He’s moved on, you need to as well before you injure yourself or someone else.’
I wanted to scream at him: How? How do you move on when your husband has threatened to kill you? When your husband is biding his time, assuring the police that you’re not at risk from him? He’s the good guy in all of this, and you’re just the irritating, hysterical woman spitefully making a drama out of a minor domestic.
‘When I talked to him, he sounded genuine. He wants the hearing over with to put it all behind him,’ he added to appease me.
Of course, he would say that to you… I would have said exactly the same thing.
Another thought came to me.
Maybe he has moved on romantically.
I recalled the text I’d read on his old Nokia phone from Rachael while he was held overnight by the police. Did that mean he would let go of his hatred of me? I doubted that very much. Not when my actions had blown our relationship up, exposing it for everyone to see.
‘Look, Sophie, think on about what I’ve said,’ PC Davidson advised.
I looked at him, itching to leave and get on with some genuine policing. He was in his late thirties, five foot eleven, slim but muscular and exuding self-assurance.
‘Have you ever been terrified? Not just scared, but I mean terrified?’ I found myself asking him.
His expression confirmed my suspicion.
