The Cop, page 9
Kathy studied him from the comparative safety of the landing as he approached the bedroom door.
‘That’s it, Mike, you’re nearly there. Into bed with you. Nice and snug. You’ll feel much better after a bit of rest.’
He fell on top of the bed fully clothed, snoring almost immediately, oblivious to Kathy walking towards him and standing at his side.
She looked down at him.
‘That’s it, you bastard, that’s it, sleep away, let’s get those shoes off your feet. I’m going to need those later. They’re part of my plan.’
He suddenly shifted his position, farting loudly, and for one awful moment she thought he may have heard her speaking out, elucidating her internal dialogue like she’d never dared before. But no, he was close to unconsciousness, breathing deeply with a thin stream of saliva drooling from his open mouth, running down his stubbled chin towards his neck.
Kathy reached out tentatively and shook her husband, but he didn’t stir. She shook him again, more vigorously this time, using all her limited strength and weight to move his body backwards and forwards, but he slept on oblivious to her activities. Kathy released her fragile grip, smiling as her confidence suddenly soared. ‘Are you sleeping, monster man? Are you at my mercy for the first time in your sad life? I think so. I really do think so. You’re lying there, drugged, snoring, totally unaware of my intentions. You’re not in control any more. You seem vulnerable enough to me.’
Kathy checked her pocket for the empty tablet bottle, holding it tightly in one hand before dropping it to the floor. This was it. The time had come. Now all she had to do was implement the rest of her plan without a single error. There was no room for mistakes. Everything had to be perfect. Nothing less was acceptable. He’d taught her that. Now to take full advantage.
Kathy hurried downstairs two steps at a time, empowered by her early success, adrenalin surging through her system, driving her on. Get the bags from the shed. That was next. Put on the surgical gloves and bring a hammer. Come on, Kathy, you can do it, girl. She’d started, and she’d finish too.
Kathy turned up the radio’s volume to maximum, flooding the house with reassuringly loud rock music, before heading back upstairs. She left everything she was going to need on the landing, well out of the way but easily accessible when required. Yes, yes, that was best. That made sense. She was nothing if not organised. And everything was progressing even better than she’d hoped. She just had to keep going.
Kathy took the hammer in her gloved hand and began pounding away at the bathroom door until the wooden panel directly above the lock was cracked, splintered and fatally weakened to such an extent that she could see through to the other side. That’s it, Kathy, that’s it, bang, bang, bang, harder and harder, almost done.
She reached through the resulting hole when the hammer finally broke through, confirming that she could reach the internal lock before opening the door. Get the bastard’s fingerprints on the hammer’s grip. That was the next job. She couldn’t forget a single thing. Not if she were to make it stick.
Kathy crossed the landing and placed the heavy steel hammer’s rubber-covered shaft in her husband’s open hand, closing his fingers around it, ensuring each digit made contact with the rubber, and then letting it fall to the floor. Best pop back downstairs and put the radio off. The noisy bit was over, done and dusted. There was no point in inviting attention from interfering neighbours. Not when the distraction was no longer required. She had to get a knife anyway. It was a win-win situation. Everything was progressing perfectly.
Kathy returned back upstairs, standing on the small landing, appreciating the silence for a few seconds more before stripping herself naked. She put her clothes to one side, in a corner well out of the way, threw the filleting knife across the landing onto the bedroom floor with a flick of her wrist, and entered the bathroom with the first bag of blood held tightly in one hand. She noticed that she’d stopped trembling for the first time in months as she opened it carefully, smothering the scarlet liquid all over her body. Kathy lowered herself to the floor and began rolling on the linoleum for a minute or two until finally satisfied with her efforts. Next, she manoeuvred herself across the landing towards the top of the stairs, all the time remaining on her back and pushing herself along with jerky movements that left her very close to exhaustion. She encouraged herself on as her body flagged. Come on, Kathy, you can do it, girl. Keep going, keep going. It will all be worth it in the end.
Kathy inhaled deeply, sucking in the air and exploding it from her lungs, before picking up her husband’s highly polished black leather shoes from where she’d left them next to the bannister. She put them on her feet, first one and then the other, tying the laces as tightly as possible. They were too big of course, far too big, just as she’d anticipated with her much smaller feet. But they’d have to do. They served a necessary purpose. That’s what mattered. They were an essential part of the plan.
Kathy struggled in the direction of the bathroom and flung the remainder of the first bag of blood all over the room, covering as much of the lower surfaces as possible. She then took the second bag, pouring the entire contents over the carpeted floor immediately outside the bathroom door, so that it soaked the required area. Kathy looked down, smiled emptily without parting her lips and walked back to the bedroom, leaving visible size- eleven bloody footprints as she went. She opened the third bag and poured most of the contents over Michael Conner’s sleeping body, ensuring to cover both his hands and arms right up to the elbow in the process. As a final touch, she retrieved the sharp knife and empty brown plastic medicine bottle from the floor, covered each in blood, and then pressed each in turn into his open right hand, ensuring his fingers made contact with the relevant surfaces, leaving the desired prints in the correct places.
Kathy approached the bedroom door, satisfied with her progress, looking back at her unconscious husband, the man who had brought so much unbridled misery into her life, and she truly believed that she may finally escape him. He didn’t seem nearly so powerful now, not so frightening or intimidating as he lay there, eyes open, staring into the unseen distance but seeing nothing at all. Kathy didn’t see a terrifying monster any more. Just the nasty little inadequate lowlife bully that he so obviously was. She resisted a sudden impulse to pick up the hammer and cave in his skull there and then where he lay. To beat him mercilessly until he breathed his last breath, or take hold of the razor-sharp knife and cut off his balls. It would feel so good to castrate the bastard. So very good to vent her pent-up rage! But what would that achieve? Nothing, once the initial euphoria had faded. There would be an inevitable price to pay. Imprisonment, incarceration for however long a court thought appropriate. It was almost a price worth paying to make him suffer as she had. But what about her baby? What about her child? Keep control, Kathy, keep control and resist the temptation. Implement the plan precisely as intended, to the letter and nothing more. That was the best. Prison wasn’t an option, not for her, whatever he deserved. There was no room for murder, like it or not. She had to let the bastard live.
Kathy left the blood-drenched bedroom without looking back, placing the three empty bags in an orange supermarket carrier bag for later disposal. She opened the final pack of blood as she walked across the landing, down the stairs, through the hall, followed by the dining room and finally the kitchen, trailing blood as she went. By the time she opened the back door, walking out into the cold, semi-darkness of the evening, the final bag was almost empty, with only a few remaining drops left at the bottom. Kathy held up the bag at eye level and smiled. There was just enough to dribble across the concrete path to the edge of the lawn. She’d timed it to perfection. That’s what she told herself. Who was useless now? Not her, definitely not her! She was the victor, a heroine, a lioness, a triumphant survivor at the very peak of her powers. The monster man’s dominance was at an end. His bullying days were well and truly over. Here was hoping it stayed that way.
Kathy returned upstairs, repeating the entire journey on her bare bottom, sliding through the blood as she went, and effectively creating the convincing impression of a dead body being dragged through the house and towards the back garden. The results were even better than she could have hoped and, she decided, well worth the additional physical effort on her part. Every detail mattered. The murder scene had to be totally convincing whatever questions the police asked themselves. And they would. They definitely would.
Kathy washed at the kitchen sink, removing any sign of blood from her flagging body, paying particular attention to areas of skin that wouldn’t be covered by clothes. Once satisfied with her efforts, she dried herself with a tea towel decorated with a stereotypical Christmas scene, throwing it into the carrier bag along with everything else for later disposal. It was time to head back upstairs once more. Time to throw the shoes onto the bedroom floor. Time to get dressed. Almost time to leave the house for the very last time. Almost time to abandon the obnoxious bastard to his fate. Hang on in there, Kathy. You’ve almost done it, girl. Just keep going and stick to the plan. That’s all she had to do. Just hold her nerve and stick to the plan.
Kathy was careful not to step in any of the slowly congealing blood as she came back downstairs, fully dressed to the nines. She looked in the hall mirror for a moment and grinned on witnessing her reflection. She looked so very different from the woman she knew so well. The bright-blonde hair, heavy make-up and dark sculpted eyebrows were a triumph. As were plastic framed glasses with their non-prescription tinted lenses, which he’d sometimes used for his computer work when it suited him. They were, perhaps, a little large for her delicate features, a little manly possibly, but they certainly served their purpose well enough. Either way, they would have to do.
Kathy was filled with a new sense of calm confidence that grew exponentially as she lowered her gaze, walking on by. The disguise was almost perfect. She really couldn’t have done any better. Even her closest relatives would struggle to recognise her at first sight. She really was going to escape and triumph. Everything was going her way. She was on the winning side for once, and he destined to lose. No mistakes, now all she had to do was keep it that way.
Kathy glanced nervously in every direction as she left the house for what she hoped was the very last time. She half expected to be caught out almost immediately. To be captured by some unknown adversary who’d drag her back, returning her to her husband’s clutches, as if she’d never left. But to her relief, there was no one to see. No prying eyes looking to catch her out, no spies, if such people even existed outside her husband’s head. The world seemed oblivious to her existence and that, she decided, was just fine with her. She picked up her pace, staying in the shadows, avoiding every street lamp, the orange sodium glow of which seemed brighter than she remembered. Almost like spotlights in a prison camp or on a Broadway stage. Kathy had absolutely no idea of her final destination as she strode purposefully in the direction of the railway station a mile or so away on the other side of the city, but anywhere else was preferable. She repeated it in her head. It really didn’t matter where she ended up, as long as it was far away, where nobody recognised her or cared who she was. She just had to get on a train and go. To travel in continued hope and expectation. It wouldn’t be easy. There would be trials. There were always trials. But what did it matter? He wouldn’t be there. That was the crucial factor. She’d be free of his attention. Anywhere, absolutely anywhere, was better than being with him.
Intermittent rain began to fall from a dark and leaden sky as Kathy entered a red-painted phone box almost directly opposite the station’s main entrance. She took a deep breath to steady herself, sucking in the cold night-time air and counting slowly to five, calming her jangling nerves before dialling 999 and waiting for a response that came almost immediately.
‘Hello, caller, which emergency service do you require?’
‘Police, please.’
‘Hold on, caller. I’ll put you through.’
‘Devon and Cornwall Police, how can we help you?’
Kathy paused, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. This had better be good. It had to be convincing.
‘How can I assist you, caller?’
Kathy responded in a well-practised southern Irish brogue, very different to her usual accent. ‘I thought I heard a woman screamin’ when I walked past forty-two Moonlight Drive ’bout an hour ago. She sounded as if she was in one helluva a state. Totally terrified so she was. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it ever since. I should have rung sooner. I wish I had now. I didn’t want to get involved.’
‘Did the sound of screaming come from inside the house or outside of the house?’
‘It came from inside, definitely inside. I’ve no doubt at all.’
‘And you say this happened about an hour ago?’
‘Yes, that’s correct. That’s what I said.’
‘Can you be more specific, give me an exact time?’
‘Um, no, sorry, not really, I didn’t look at me watch. An hour is an estimate rather than a statement of fact. I didn’t mean to mislead you. That’s the last thing I’d want.’
‘Okay, caller, I understand. What’s your full name and address, please?’
Kathy put the phone down. She pushed the heavy door open with new-found energy she hadn’t known existed, fastened the top button of her scarlet coat against the cold and headed towards the ticket office, a beaming smile on her face. Now all she had to do was get on a train to God only knew where, create a new identity and get on with her life as best she could. She was finally free of her tormentor. Her world was a better place. A happier place, soon to be free of fear. Kathy pictured her husband’s boyish face in her mind’s eye and spat her words, addressing him as if he was there to listen but posed no threat at all.
‘Goodbye, you vicious bastard, goodbye forever! You’re going to get exactly what you deserve. You made my life a misery, and now it’s your turn. You’re going to suffer as I did. My new life is about to begin.’
Kathy patted her belly gently and smiled contentedly as the unmistakable noise of a siren sounded in the far distance before suddenly fading away to silence. She talked as she walked, whispering her words in soft reassuring tones, almost like a lullaby.
‘We’re going to have a nice life together, baby, so much fun. Just you and I make two. Let’s pretend the last few years never happened. Let’s make out as if I never met the bully boy with his deviant needs and abhorrent behaviour. You never knew him, and we’ll keep it that way. Let’s say that your father was someone else entirely, someone nice, someone of whose memory you can be proud. A soldier, maybe, or a sailor, someone who died a hero before you were born. We are going to be so very happy together. Just you wait and see. I’ll make certain of it. I’m going to protect you and never let you down. If hell can be a place on earth, then so can heaven.’
13
Kathy boarded the first available train, waiting hidden on the platform for about twenty minutes before her journey to liberty continued. She found a seat in a quiet carriage at the furthest point from the buffet car, having told herself insistently that fewer fellow passengers were likely to pass by, with the reduced risk that entailed. Kathy was still confident in her disguise. She’d thought it through, planned it in detail and executed it to the very best of her ability. But the fewer people who saw her, the better. That’s what she told herself. Mike would have been found by now, whether unconscious or drowsy. Police activity would likely be frantic. It seemed obvious. It made absolute sense. All that blood and her nowhere to be found. They’d be looking for a body, her body. She had to stay off the radar, anonymous, incognito, hidden in plain sight. Being recognised would ruin everything.
Kathy closed her tired eyes and slowly drifted into a fitful sleep, her head vibrating against the glass as the throbbing diesel engine sped the train’s six carriages through the dark West Country countryside towards Bristol Temple Meads Railway Station – an approximate two-hour journey away. She was dreaming again now, emotionally resonant, wild, imaginary images and sounds playing in her head like a dramatic horror film she was forced to both watch and experience. Mike had woken prematurely from the effects of her drug-induced cosh and had read her thoughts. He was chasing her, hunting her down and getting nearer with every second that passed, murderous intentions at the forefront of his mind. She kept running, but not nearly fast enough, as her legs weakened and threatened to fail. Mike was gaining on her, his face contorting, spewing hate. And then she tripped, fell, and he was looming over her, as he had many times in life, with a clenched fist raised high above his head. She screamed as Mike reached down, clutching her throat and squeezing as she pressed herself hard against the ground.
For one brief awful moment Kathy thought her dream had become a grim reality when shaken awake by the uniformed ticket inspector on reaching her intended destination. She stared up at him with wide, haunted eyes that gradually relaxed as her dream faded and reality dawned. She sighed and settled. It was just a dream, a nightmare, the creation of her subconscious mind, nothing more than that.
‘Sorry to wake you, love. We’ve reached Bristol.’
Kathy thanked him in a trembling whisper, rising to her feet, half expecting her husband to suddenly appear and drag her back to her prison home as if she’d never left. She glanced to the right and left with quick furtive movements of her head on stepping into the aisle, but as she looked out on the bright lights shining in nearby buildings, she instinctively decided to continue her journey. Why not travel on to Newport, Cardiff, Swansea and beyond? The further she went from her home city, the better… why not stay on the train? It seemed so clear, so logical as if staring her in the face. Every mile she journeyed was to her advantage, a potential bonus that shouldn’t be ignored. And rural West Wales seemed the perfect choice for her new life, with its modest population, remote villages and rolling green hills that kissed the sea. It seemed so right. Why hadn’t she thought of it before?
