The Cop, page 8
He searched for his car keys, finding them on the table next to his cap. ‘There had better be for your sake. I should be home sometime around six. Have everything ready and waiting as per usual. And make certain it’s tasty and presented well. Something that looks good on the plate. Do you think you can manage that much without another catastrophic failure?’
‘Oh, it will be ready, Mike, I can promise you that much. It will be ready to serve on your arrival. All you’ll have to do is eat it.’ He thought he detected an unlikely spark of defiance in her tired eyes, just for a fraction of a second before it faded away. He considered the possibility, trying to read her thoughts, but then dismissed the idea out of hand. She was broken, worn down, downtrodden and undermined. His methods had been a triumph. There was no reason to concern himself. She had, he concluded, no fight left.
Kathy slumped into the nearest armchair when her husband finally closed the door and headed for his car. She listened for the roar of the powerful engine, unwinding somewhat as she heard him manoeuvring the vehicle off the driveway and into the street. Kathy rose to her feet with a sudden burst of newfound energy, born of a combination of anticipation and hope, then hurried into the lounge where she watched from the picture window, peeping out from behind the curtains, right up to the time Conner’s bright-red sports convertible disappeared from her sight.
Kathy waited for a minute or two, ensuring he wasn’t about to return to catch her out as was his custom, before picking up the phone with a hand that wouldn’t stop shaking. She dialled and waited, counting away the seconds until she finally heard her sister’s reassuringly familiar West Country tones at the other end of the line.
‘Hi, Anna, it’s Kathy, is it safe to talk?’
Anna Oakes lifted a pottery mug to her mouth, sipping her sweet black coffee, savouring the honey on her tongue.
‘Yeah, that’s not going to be a problem. Tom’s in the upstairs bathroom getting ready for work.’
‘Are you certain he won’t hear us?’
‘Not a chance, he’s got the radio on. He likes his music turned up loud.’
‘I can’t believe how quickly the weeks have passed. It only seems like yesterday we were sitting in my lounge and you filled that first bag.’
‘Yeah, I know what you’re saying.’
‘This is it, the time has arrived, sis, there’s no more room for delays. I’m having to wear loose clothing. There’s only so long that’s going to convince. And the phone bill arrived yesterday morning. He hasn’t asked for it yet, but it’s just a matter of time until he does. There’s only so long I can keep it hidden without being caught out.’
‘Are you getting out of there?’
‘Yes, soon, very soon.’
Anna bounced a curled knuckle against her mouth. ‘Do you need me to do anything for you?’
‘No, you’ve done more than enough already. I’ll always be grateful.’
‘Well, if you change your mind, if you think of anything, anything at all, all you have to do is ask. You know where I am.’
Kathy hesitated.
‘Anna, there’s likely to be a great deal of conjecture in the local media in the coming days about what’s happened to me. People are going to be saying and writing things that aren’t true. I need you to understand that and to promise me you won’t ever give the game away. By all means, tell people you knew of Mike’s violence towards me, that may well help my cause. But make no mention of what we’ve done together. That’s absolutely crucial if I’m going to escape him and stay safe. I’m so sorry to put that burden on you, but there’s no other way. Secrecy is everything. It’s central to my chances of success. And it will keep you safe too. The last thing you need is Mike finding out you’ve helped me. You know exactly what he’s like.’
‘You’ve got nothing to worry about, my lips are sealed.’
‘You can’t tell anyone, Anna, not even Tom or Mum, especially not Mum. This has to be between the two of us and nobody else, whatever people ask you. And they will, believe me, they will. The police will get involved, that’s inevitable.’
‘I know, I know. If anyone ever finds out what we’ve done together, they won’t have heard it from me, guaranteed.’
‘If my plan works, if I get away, I’ll contact you as soon as I’ve settled in wherever I end up. You know, when it’s safe to do so. And you mustn’t try to find me. That would be dangerous for both of us. You do understand that, don’t you?’
Anna wiped away a tear.
‘I’m going to miss you terribly, Kathy.’
‘And I’ll miss you, too. But that’s how it’s got to be, for my sake and the sake of the baby. Can you imagine the life he or she would have if we stayed, even if the baby survived for long enough to be born? It doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘Tom has just switched the radio off. He’s opening the bathroom door. He’ll come downstairs soon.’
Kathy choked back her tears.
‘Okay, that’s our key to bring our conversation to an end. I love you, Anna, and thank you. I couldn’t have done this without you.’
‘I love you, too. Please get back in touch as soon as you can.’
‘We’ll be together again one fine day. Just you wait and see. We’ll have our time in the sun. And that bastard will be just a memory.’
Anna swallowed her sadness.
‘Best of luck to you, sis. I hope things work out brilliantly.’
Kathy’s brow furrowed and her heart ached as she forced a brittle smile.
‘Yes, fingers crossed, I’m going to need all the luck I can get. There’s no going back now. I’ve got to see it through to the end. Say a prayer for me, sis, today’s the day. By tonight it should be done. If everything goes to plan, I’ll be on my way.’
12
Almost twelve weeks had passed since the initial implementation of Kathy’s plan, and she was ready to take the final 460 ml of blood from her arm at two o’clock that afternoon. She’d become reasonably skilled at the necessary procedures with practice, and the insertion of the needle no longer held the fear it once had, despite it being somewhat blunter than it once was. Kathy had considered asking Anna to provide a replacement, but she decided against. The importance of minimising the risk of discovery outweighed the various potential advantages.
Kathy sat upright in a comfortable armchair, tightened the cuff, pumped her arm, inserted the needle with a minor grimace, and watched as the bag slowly filled with dark-red blood. This was it. The day she’d waited for with a heady mix of excitement and trepidation. The day she’d anticipated for three long months, as her husband’s hateful behaviour deteriorated still further. The day of days had finally arrived.
Kathy stored the last bag of her blood underneath the loose wooden floorboard in the garden shed along with the others, before returning to the house with the bottle of sleeping tablets clutched tightly in one hand. She wiped her shoes on the rubber doormat, ensuring not to leave even a hint of dark earth. She checked the clock for the umpteenth time that day, and continued her preparations for her husband’s eventual arrival.
Kathy decided on chicken vindaloo as her final offering, partly because it was her husband’s favourite meal of all, but mainly because she thought that the pungent, aromatic flavours would best mask the taste of the ten powdered sleeping tablets she intended to include in the recipe. Kathy scratched her head as she took the various spice jars from a perfectly arranged cupboard secured to the wall to the left of the cooker. She placed the glass containers on the countertop with the labels facing outwards, looking at each in turn. Salt, turmeric powder, dried red chillies, cinnamon, garlic cloves, coriander, cumin, ginger, and green cardamons. They were all there. And she’d be adding a generous promotion of finely chopped fresh onions, coriander, and green chillis too. A delicious, heady mix of strong flavours to tantalise the taste buds. Surely not even Mike would spot the medication in the recipe. Surely that was beyond even his detective nous. Everything depended on her assumption being correct.
Kathy sat at the kitchen table and silently acknowledged that she was finding physical tasks increasingly demanding as she crushed one tablet after another into a fine powder with the back of a hand-me-down, tarnished teaspoon, which had once belonged to her much-loved maternal grandmother. It took Kathy almost forty minutes, much longer than she’d anticipated, to complete the task and she was panting hard, like an overheated dog in need of water, by the time she finally finished squashing the last pill to her satisfaction. She sat back, sucking in the air as she looked down at the small pile of white powder on the table in front of her. A glass of cold water, that’s what she needed. And a five- minute break, that was acceptable, wasn’t it? A little rest before continuing. Kathy stared at the clock yet again, focussing on the second hand, seconds becoming minutes in the blink of an eye. She had sufficient time, didn’t she? Yes, yes, of course she did. Of course she did. A little rest was essential if she was to perform to the best of her potential. Five minutes shut-eye and then start cooking.
Kathy closed her tired eyes and began picturing the hours ahead. She rehearsed her intentions in her mind, seeing herself succeed with one necessary task after another until she finally triumphed. She repeated the mental process, meditating on her success until it felt real, as if it were actually happening in real time. She pictured it and pictured it again until she believed she really could achieve the favourable outcome she desired if she followed her plan to the letter and didn’t deviate from it even for a single second. Kathy sat there for another ten minutes or so with her eyes tight shut, bouncing a foot, crossing and uncrossing her arms, unable to get comfortable, and telling herself insistently that she was doing the right thing, that she could win, that she could defeat the monster man, however great his powers, however evil his intentions. This was it, her moment, the time for rest was over. She had to start cooking.
Kathy stood at the cooker, red-faced, watching for a minute or two as the finely chopped onions slowly browned in the hot oil, before adding a generous portion of crushed garlic and the various bright, multicoloured fragrant spices that brought the concoction to life. Next, she dropped in the diced chicken, having decided to add the white powder when the cooking process was almost complete, for fear that the heat may somehow negatively affect the potency and effectiveness of the medication at the worst possible time. Kathy turned down the gas flame, dropping in the powder a little at a time. A few granules, then a few more, stirring the mixture with the same wooden spoon with which she’d made the soup only weeks before. She peered into the wok, turning off the heat as her mind drifted back in time. So much had changed since that awful day. She felt like a different person now. A more hopeful person; no longer a victim but a woman seeking control of her destiny. Or at least that was what she hoped. So much depended on her success. For her, for her child, she had to hold her nerve.
The tasty looking curry was ready and waiting, precisely as planned. That gave her more than enough time to shower, change her clothes and dye her hair blonde. She knew it was another gamble on her part. The bastard may well disapprove of her new look, with all that it entailed. But it was a risk she had to take. One more throw of the dice. She repeated the thought, encouraging herself on. And maybe the offer of curry would be enough to alleviate his anger and resentment for a time. Or perhaps not, there was no way of telling. He may well explode whatever she did or said. She just had to protect her abdomen if he hit out again. That was the best. Protect the baby. Her number one priority. And then strike back when he least expected it. It was her turn now. His turn to suffer. She had to get on.
Kathy watched through a crack in the lounge curtains as Conner drove his sports car onto the driveway at a little after 5.30 p.m. that afternoon. Deep breaths, Kathy, deep breaths, this was it. The moment had come. Don’t back down now, not at this late stage. It would all be over soon enough, one way or the other. She just had to get it done. Inaction was failure and no option at all.
Kathy rushed into the kitchen where the curry was simmering gently on the gas flame. She spooned a large portion onto a white porcelain plate with a trembling hand as she heard his key in the front door. Come on, Kathy, you can do it, girl. She moved the curry around the plate, searching for even a hint of the white powder in the mixture, as she resisted the impulse to panic. Stir it in, that’s it, stir it in… perfect. It had blended in wonderfully well. The results were better than even she could have hoped. The vicious bastard wouldn’t suspect a thing, would he? Nagging doubts invaded her mind. Oh God, what if he did? She felt her confidence slump. Hold it together, Kathy, hold it together, girl. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart. There was too much to lose.
Mike was striding down the hall now, his heavy footsteps reverberating around the room as if to announce his arrival and beat her down a little further. She had seconds, just seconds before he appeared. Quickly, Kathy, quickly, how did it taste? Oh God, what about the taste? She took a spoon and lifted a tiny amount of the mixture to her mouth just as he opened the kitchen door. He looked her up and down, slowly, disdainfully, laughing until tears ran down his detestable, youthful face.
‘What have you done to your hair, you stupid bitch? What a total numpty! You look fucking ridiculous!’
Kathy forced the flicker of a smile as he sauntered towards her, desperate to hold her nerve, urging herself on.
‘I thought you’d like it, Mike. You’ve always said you like blonde hair. You said you fancied my sister when she dyed hers, remember?’
Conner grabbed her right ear, digging in his fingernails as he jerked her head to one side, holding it at an awkward angle, making her whimper.
‘Oh I do, bitch, I do. But not when it’s framing your ugly face. I like it on sexy women, women with style and grace. You’re not one of those women. You’re a fuck up. I don’t know what the hell I saw in you in the first place. It might be an idea to shave it all off and start again.’
‘But we’re twins. Identical twins, we look the same.’
Mike snorted, digging in his nails a little harder. ‘Your sister carries herself with confidence and style. You don’t and you never will.’
Kathy glanced at him, then at his plated meal, and then at him again as he loosened his grip.
‘I’ve made you a fresh curry, vindaloo, your favourite. Nice and hot, exactly as you like it. I thought you deserved a treat after your hard day.’
He let go of her, took off his coat and sat at the table as if nothing of any significance had happened. As if their relationship were normal. As if he was an ordinary man.
‘Is there any mango chutney?’
Kathy nodded with feigned enthusiasm.
‘Of course there is, sweet. I made sure of it. Take a seat, and I’ll fetch it from the fridge. I’m ready to serve your meal whenever you’re ready.’
‘Get me a beer while you’re there.’
Kathy delivered the chutney jar and a can of chilled lager to the table, followed by his plated meal, piled high.
‘Are there any poppadoms?’
‘Um, no… I, er, I didn’t have the ingredients.’
‘You are fucking useless, woman!’
‘I’ll make sure they’re available next time.’
He lifted a forkful to his mouth.
‘Oh I know you will, Kathy, because you understand the consequences of letting me down again.’
Kathy stood and watched her husband closely, full of hope as he chewed and swallowed one toothsome mouthful after another, eating with gusto.
‘Is it to your taste, Mike. I can add a little more spice if you’d like it better. I’m here to serve. All you have to do is ask.’
He chose to ignore her, washing down the curry with repeated swigs of cold beer every three or four mouthfuls until his plate was almost empty.
‘Would you like some more curry? You seem to be enjoying it. There’s plenty more in the wok. I made more than enough for seconds.’
He yawned expansively, closing his eyes for a fleeting moment before opening them again and pushing his plate to the floor.
‘Just shut the fuck up, woman. I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me. I’m knackered all of a sudden. I must be going in for a bug or something. I hope it’s not something I’ve caught from you.’
Kathy raised her eyebrows. This was it. The moment had come. Get the bastard upstairs before it was too late. He’d be far too heavy to carry.
‘Perhaps you’ve been working too hard again. You’re so very dedicated to that job of yours. Why don’t you head to bed for an hour or two’s shut-eye before the boxing’s on the telly? I can bring you a nice hot-water bottle if you like? You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You said the heat helps you relax.’
Conner struggled to his feet with the aid of the table, yawning at full volume.
‘I don’t know what the fuck’s wrong with me. I’m feeling like shit all of a sudden.’
‘There’s a bug making the rounds. I heard a report on the local radio news.’
‘I haven’t heard anything.’
‘Why not head up to bed? I’ve changed the sheets, nice and fresh. A few hours’ sleep and you’ll be feeling absolutely fine again. I think there’s some soluble aspirins in the bathroom cabinet if you’d like some? They should do the trick.’
Conner stumbled towards the staircase on unsteady legs that felt as if he’d been anaesthetised.
‘Who are you, my fucking mother?’
Kathy followed close behind him, just out of striking distance, urging him on as he lost his footing on the first step, stumbling and almost falling.
‘I’m just trying to help you, Mike, that’s all. Up you go. Come on, up you go. I’ll fetch that hot-water bottle I mentioned as soon as you’re under the covers.’
He turned his head, glaring back at her, snarling on approaching the landing, gripping the bannister with both hands for fear of falling.
‘Well, don’t fucking bother. You’re useless, woman. And keep the noise down until I get up. Got it? I don’t want to see your ugly face again unless I call you. Have you got that into your thick head?’
