Murder Game Page 4

  She shivered. Told herself not to think about Julia and what she might be going through now. According to Adam, Gerry had stormed out.

  Well, that hadn’t been a surprise either.

  Chapter Six

  Mo Beckett poured the tea and, as she stirred in milk, thought about what she’d overheard last night. That Gerry was a rum fucker, a bully who needed a good talking to. Mind you, he had a mouth on him and would soon have plenty to say in return to anyone who tried to help him see what an arsehole he was. Julia would be well shot of him, although Mo suspected the bastard had come back, talked her round and promised her the world. Some men were good at that.

  Mo had suffered with one herself for years. Thank God she hadn’t had any children with him. He’d been too selfish—the same as Gerry, really—to want to share her with anyone else. When she remembered what a shell she’d become over the years with him, how he’d manipulated and changed her life, she shuddered. Jack had been a wanker through and through, had managed to estrange her from her family so he’d ended up the only person in her life. His family didn’t have anything to do with him. He’d said they were bigots and that he couldn’t abide a bigot.

  She laughed at the hypocrisy.

  The time he’d broken her nose and collarbone had been the turning point. Having to tell the nurses that she’d fallen—again—and wasn’t she just the clumsiest woman ever, she told herself to stay with Jack until she’d healed. The month or so that had taken had given her the time she’d needed to make an escape plan. Him being killed in an accident on the construction site he’d worked on had helped too. She’d played the grieving widow as a front for the neighbours and his colleagues, but inside she’d felt nothing—nothing but relief.

  And escape she had. Here, in this house, she’d come to know and understand herself. Attempts at reuniting with her family were met with silence, though. Maybe they’d moved away, or, more likely, they’d had enough of Mo and her Jack issues, choosing to leave her to it for good. But she had her little dog, Juno, a mixed breed that leaned towards being a Yorkshire terrier to look at. And she didn’t have to worry about a job. She’d come out of her time with Jack quite well off, their house sale amounting to enough that she’d paid ten years rent in advance on this place with several thousand in the bank. Yes, that might have sounded mad to some, to pay so much rent, but to have such security had been uppermost in her mind at the time. An agreement had been set up between her and the landlord, signed and sealed by their solicitors, that if she had to move or they were going to sell the house, her remaining rent would be returned.

  So helping Julia was second nature. She’d spotted the signs in Gerry from the moment she’d met him but had kept her opinions to herself. It wasn’t long before Julia started confessing how awful her life was and, having been through similar herself—and much worse—Mo had known exactly what to say in order to help Julia see sense.

  She hadn’t seen sense yet as far as Mo knew, but time would see to that.

  There was a blot on the landscape, though. If anyone got hold of Mo’s medical records and saw what they said, they might not be inclined to take advice from her. After Jack’s death she’d had a bit of a…breakdown, and had stayed in a…hospital for a while. There were words like ‘episodes’, ‘manic delusions’, ‘a tendency to wander when distressed’ and all sorts, indicating she’d gone mad. She hadn’t—of course she hadn’t—she’d just been so relieved and had so much stress to get out of her that she’d laughed hysterically one time too many and had been admitted. She had follow-up visits after she’d been released, and once she was deemed fit to live among society again, she’d grabbed the chance to leave her old town and life behind and start anew.

  The knocker sounded, and she walked through to the front door, smiling at Julia standing on her doorstep. Bloody hell, the woman looked so different. Her long hair was washed, shiny and brushed nicely, and she’d put on a pair of jeans and a decent T-shirt instead of her usual tracksuit bottoms and baggy, sick-stained top. A new woman, that’s how she appeared.

  I hope it’s because he’s fucked off and not charmed his way back into her knickers. Please, if there’s a God…

  “Come on in,” Mo said, stepping away so Julia could wheel the pushchair in. “And how’s the little man this afternoon?”

  Julia parked the pushchair then closed the door. “We slept for twelve hours, can you believe that?”

  “And I bet you feel great for it. You certainly look a lot better. Come through.”

  Mo led the way into the kitchen, taking the teas from the side and putting them on the little wooden dining table. Juno was out in the garden, gambolling about, and providing it didn’t rain he could stay there. She didn’t hold with animals around babies. Juno tended to be a bit snappy, and besides, too many germs could be transferred. The way some people allowed their dogs to lick children—

  YOU DIRTY FUCKING BASTARDS

  —churned her stomach.

  They settled at the table, and it was unusual for Julia to be sitting there without Ben squealing on her lap, his face red, contorted by either rage or pain, his hands balled into fists so tight Mo had wondered if there was something seriously wrong with him. It was nice to take pleasure in a conversation without his vocal accompaniment.

  “So how come you and Ben managed such a sleep marathon?” Mo asked, needing to know more about what had happened with Gerry last night but not wanting to push the issue unless Julia brought it up.

  “No idea.”

  Julia’s eyes sparkled. She was alight with…with something like the first flush of love. Mo’s stomach sank. That’s what had happened, hadn’t it. Gerry had wheedled his way back in, given her a good time in bed, made her feel wanted again. And now Julia believed things were back to normal and everything would be wonderful.

  “So what’s happened then?” Mo asked, unable to stop herself. “It’s got to be something big for you to be acting and looking like this.”

  Julia laughed. “You must have heard what was being said, it was loud enough. And you’ll never guess what I caught him doing.”

  Mo could guess but said, “What?”

  “Wanking at the bedroom window.”

  Oh, shit. So she’s finally caught him.

  “Pardon?” Mo hoped her expression was one of surprise. She picked up her cup and drank a large gulp.

  She’d known all about Gerry playing with his todger. Getting Juno in at night was sometimes a trial. He refused to come in, so more often than not she had to chase him around the garden. The first time she’d seen Gerry at the window, she’d been coaxing Juno out from under the rosemary bush. She was sure Gerry hadn’t seen her out there, his focus straight ahead and not directed her way, and she’d been disgusted. Several times she’d tried to bring the subject up with Julia, but she hadn’t the heart to heap more hassles on the downtrodden woman.

  Things like that could tip you over the edge.

  “Yep, playing with his damn self.” Julia took a sip of her tea, closing her eyes in bliss as she swallowed. She opened her eyes again and stared through the glass in the back door. “I caught him, and you probably heard the argument that followed. He left, and I haven’t seen him since.”

  “What? He didn’t come home last night?”

  That was unusual for Gerry. When he wasn’t working he was at home, keeping an eye on Julia, Mo suspected. Then again, what if he was having an affair? What if he’d made friends with some woman on his rounds and realised Julia and Ben weren’t important anymore? She could only hope that were true.

  “I slept on the sofa after crying my eyes out,” Julia said. “Stupid cow. I couldn’t get to sleep for ages.”

  “Bloody hell. And you’re okay with him not coming home? Him having a bit on the side?”

  Julia tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She shrugged. “Last night I wasn’t—when we were rowing. I felt really sorry for myself, but this morning? Well, midday when I finally woke up, I felt free. I’
ll pack his things in a bit.”

  Was that just bravado talking? Mo hoped it wasn’t. Seeing Julia like this was so wonderful that Gerry returning, staying, and swiping all that happiness away again would be devastating to watch.

  “Blimey,” Mo said. “So what are your plans for the rest of the day?”

  “Well, I’ve cleaned so that’s not on my list. Maybe go home and start gathering his things together. Do you want to help?”

  “God, yes. Seeing the back of him will make my day.”

  * * * *

  With Gerry’s possessions in black bags stacked beside Julia’s front door, Mo had that satisfying feeling of a job well done. While they’d packed, Julia had really opened up, expressing her dreams for the future in between stowing things into bags and seeing to Ben.

  “It’s going to be all right, I know it,” Julia said as Mo prepared to take her leave. She glanced through the living room doorway. “And to think all this time Ben might have been upset because I was upset. They say children sense things, don’t they. What if all that screaming had been because he sensed the tension? Sensed that Gerry didn’t love us? I mean, look at him. He’s sparko again.”

  Mo stepped forward to peer at the crib. “It makes you wonder, doesn’t it.” She checked at her watch. “Listen, if he isn’t back by his usual time, why don’t you nip to mine about eight? I’ll make you dinner. We can drink a bottle of wine between us now you’re not breastfeeding. You can celebrate your freedom.”

  “You’re on.”

  Mo left Julia’s. She could feel it in the air that yes, things were going to be okay now. Mo had got away from Jack, and Julia was well shot of Gerry. She’d help Julia to mend, and once her neighbour was steady enough, Mo could step back to watch her fly solo.

  Once home, she let Juno in—the bugger trotted indoors no problem—and set about making dinner. A curry, that’s what she’d do, then if Julia didn’t come round the leftovers could be popped in the freezer.

  Time fled. Juno scratched at the door to be let out again. Night was in full swing, and she went into the garden to bring in the washing. She draped it over an airer on the upstairs landing then put some rice on to boil, tsking as her tea towel fell off the hook on the wall and landed beside the lit hob ring. She put it back, telling herself off for having it hanging so close to the cooker in the first place, and made a note to buy one of those rubber holders she could attach to a cupboard, well away from any heat.

  Juno started barking. Mindful of how annoying it had been when that Scottish man’s dog had done the same at all hours, she called him in. The barking stopped, and she just knew he’d gone under that bloody rosemary bush again. In the garden, she hunkered down and peered beneath it.

  “Come out of there,” she said, irritated that he could be such a pest. “Come on, out!”

  Footsteps scraped in the lane that ran along the bottom of the garden. Mo stood upright and jumped, startled to see a neighbour staring directly at her.

  “Dog got through a gap there, I think,” the neighbour said. “Just saw him legging it into the woods.”

  “Oh, for fu—thanks,” Mo said. She went inside. Checked the rice, which had begun to boil. Turned the heat down then scribbled a note for Julia, muttering, “If that dog plays me up… And I bet he’s been digging a hole under that bush.”

  She left her house, pinning the note to the front door, then turned right and right again, into the lane. Opposite her garden, she entered the woodland, calling out for Juno and getting no yips or yaps in response.

  Sighing, she walked on, thinking that if the rice boiled dry or that bloody tea towel fell off that hook again, Juno would have a lot to answer for.

  Chapter Seven

  I’m standing in the woods waiting to follow number two.

  I’m tired. Stands to reason, doesn’t it, digging such a big hole. The grave problem has been solved. There’s a huge log in the woods, and over time, a week, actually, I slowly shifted it from its resting place of God knows how many years by loosening the earth around it. Once that had been done, I’d thought on whether the log would be too heavy to shift by myself. When the branches and whatnot had been stripped away from the ends, revealing a hollow inside, the relief in me was massive. I could move it. Time and creatures had eaten away at the innards, and although a good bit of strength was needed to roll the log, I’d managed well enough. Nigh on two hundred spiders, worms, and ants were on the damn thing’s underside, all of them either dropping off onto the ground or scurrying to find somewhere else to live. It had been creepy, seeing them crawling like that. Bugs don’t usually bother me, but that amount? Gross.

  The log idea had come during a sleepless night, and the plan itself, my dry run, had to be put off for a week so I could sort that log. That was okay. I hadn’t had any more messages from The Sender, so I guessed the fine-tuning of details was still being done. I’d wondered why it was taking so long, but I didn’t know the ins and outs of these things so told myself not to worry. So long as I stuck to the plan I didn’t foresee any problems.

  Two nights, that’s how long it had taken me to make the large hole sufficiently deep enough. Two nights that were seven hours of hard labour each. It meant an aching back, strained leg and arm muscles, and a weird sense of not being myself during the day through lack of sleep, but it was well worth it. People had asked if I was on something—I’d laughed at that and said no—and blamed having things on my list that needed sorting. I’d laughed at that too. They had no idea what list I’d been talking about.

  Satisfied with the way the dig had turned out, I’d rolled the log back over the hole, making sure the ends were on solid ground. The difficult part had been to know where to dump the mud. Several hedges now hide piles of it, shoved beneath them throughout the woods. Going back and forth with the wheelbarrow I’d nicked out of next door’s shed had been back-breaking work, and once I’d dealt with Gerry last night, I’d retrieved some of the mud and covered him with it.

  And I did something else, too, but I don’t want to go into that.

  There are four nights to go. If tiredness is present now, who knows what the end of the plan will bring. Sleep will have to be reclaimed gradually so as not to alert suspicion. Life has to appear to be going along as normal. Yesterday, when Grumpy Guts asked what was wrong, I’d replied that I felt under the weather.

  “You look under the weather, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  I did mind. What if he talks before I can get to him? It’ll be nice to kill that man. Not nice in an enjoyable way—doing this hasn’t been enjoyable at all, not like The Sender promised it would be—but nice that other people won’t have to suffer because of him.

  Last night had been surprisingly easy. It was the after effects I found difficult to deal with. There are still a couple of days left before Glasgow Man returns to the street—Robert, his name is—so I have time to scrub the others off my list first. Which makes me think of Gerry. He was so obvious at his window, touching himself, going by the way he’d jerked his arm. Then the row had erupted between Gerry and Julia, and it had seemed as though an omen had been put in place, gifted by giant hands, propelling me outside once Gerry had entered the woods. The bat is a brilliant idea, something The Sender spotted in a crime show, one of those American efforts where the workings of forensics are shown in great detail. Putting such a simple thing onto the spikes…who would have thought it would give such a groggy effect?

  It had worked wonders on Gerry. No more man in the window. No more wet towels for Julia. No more obvious cock-jerking.

  Dirty bastard.

  But the best bit is knowing Gerry won’t be missed. If anyone calls round for him, as far as they’ll be aware he’s left. Who cares where he’s gone?

  There’s no turning back now.

  I wonder which person to choose after Mo.

  This is weird. It’s like I never strangled a man last night. Never dug a huge hole. And that is so odd, as it doesn’t seem as though I’ve do
ne that. It’s almost like my mind has sectioned things off, letting me be my usual self until night comes. I looked up schizophrenia online to see if I had it, to see if I’m two people inside one body, but I don’t think it applies to me.

  A little while ago Mo was in her kitchen, cooking something on the hob. Her tea towel had fallen, giving rise to such a splendid idea that I’d almost danced.

  Juno, that ugly little dog, had barked, sensing me there. Scraping away the debris that had been plugging a large hole in Mo’s fence, I’d watched Juno dive through it then into the woods as though a huge adventure lay ahead.

  And it did.

  Mo had come out faster than I’d expected, but it had worked out all right in the end. I’d told her where Juno had run to, and once the woman had gone inside to leave her house via the front door, fate had put things into action. On hands and knees, I pushed myself through the hole in the fence. Crawled soldier-style along the edge of the garden. Entered Mo’s house with my black bag onesie on. Gloves, I’d put gloves on. Flicked the tea towel off the hook. Walked back out again. Soldier on the ground. Onesie rustling. Hid behind the rosemary bush. Waited. Mo had come down the lane and disappeared into the woods. I came out through the hole. Put the debris back. Had a quick look at the surrounding houses to check for spies. Nothing. No one. Another quick look, this time at Mo’s cooker. The first tendrils of smoke were spiralling upwards as I’d turned and followed Mo.

  And now, here I am. Ready to strike number two.

  * * * *

  Juno must have decided to be a little brat. Deep in the woods, Mo called out to him over and over, but the sod wasn’t responding or anywhere in sight. Conscious of the pan being on the hob, she contemplated returning home to take it off. Instead, she opted to ring Julia. Patting her pockets for her phone, she realised exactly where it was. On the counter beside the cooker.