Silent Victim Read online

  ‘Here’s to new beginnings,’ he said, gently clinking his crystal glass against mine. ‘I’ve sold the house.’

  My hand raised in mid-air, I stared at him. ‘Our house?’ I lowered my glass, unable to drink its contents. I knew this moment could come, yet hearing the words leave his lips made me feel sick inside.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, his tone forcibly light. ‘I had a lovely couple view it today. Cash buyers. They want to restore it to its former glory.’

  ‘Really? But there’s so much to be done . . .’ I said, amazed he’d accepted their offer without telling me. I should have been annoyed, but I’d made him put his life on hold for long enough. I knew I could not stay here for ever.

  ‘They’re artists; they fell in love with the setting more than anything. They’re very keen.’

  My face was a picture of calm but inside my heart felt like a jackhammer. ‘Did they check out the land?’ I said, praying the answer was no. What if they had? Alex said they were artists. People like that would immediately be drawn to the trees that bordered the paddock. What if they’d discovered my secret? The police could be on their way right now. I might never see Jamie again.

  ‘No – it was raining and they didn’t have any proper shoes. They offered the full asking price without seeing it. A dream sale.’

  I knocked back the contents of my glass, the once pleasant bubbles now leaving a vinegary taste in my mouth. ‘Looks like we’re moving to Leeds,’ I said, knowing Alex had probably already earmarked a property to buy.

  ‘You’re going to love it,’ he said, the relief visible on his face as he reached over and squeezed my hand.

  I offered him a tight smile, my mind on the body I’d buried in our back yard.

  CHAPTER SIX

  EMMA

  2017

  With Jamie home and tucked up in bed, it felt as if the whole house was sleeping. Alex snored softly, tired from a full day’s work then coming home and cooking as well. I stared up at our low-beamed ceiling – the cobweb magnet, as Alex called it. At six foot two, he had to duck slightly each time he entered a room. Everything was small in our little L-shaped cottage; it was easy to see why he was fed up of it. It was not as if it were filled with happy memories for me either: my mother’s departure, nursing my terminally ill father, and what had happened out back . . . It felt entrenched in misfortune. I only hoped that the new owners would have more luck.

  Alex was quiet and thoughtful when we first met. Our friendship was firmly established before he made his feelings clear. He knew I was still recovering from what I called a ‘bad relationship’, although that was as much as I told him at the time. It was the little things that endeared him to me: smuggling food into the library when I was snowed under with studying, and knowing when I needed some time on my own. When I was struck down with a bad case of the flu it was Alex who nursed me through it. When I was snotty and dishevelled it was Alex who missed important lectures to stay by my side. Alex’s continued support was a debt I was only able to begin to repay when his father died from heart failure, squeezing his hand tightly as the man he loved most in the world was lowered into the ground.

  Alex gave me the courage to believe that I deserved a better life. Family was everything to him and, after we married, all he wanted was to seal our union with a child. Getting pregnant with Jamie had been worth all the sacrifices it took to get there. But now there was a cloud on the horizon, threatening to break a storm over our happy home.

  The more I thought about what I’d done, the sicker I felt inside. The truth was rotten and festering. I pictured it as something ragged, dragging itself across the mudflats to make me account for what I had done. Lying in bed with no street lights to soften the night, it was easy to allow my imagination to run riot. I had been reckless, crazy. Christ! I still had the shovel in my shed. Why hadn’t I gone back there, buried the body deep and disposed of the evidence? It was the same reason I stopped going to church after it happened. Because I could not face it, that’s why. I forced myself to think about what I had done. Luke’s body was out there, but what state was he in? It had been four years. Had he fully decomposed? Or had the wildlife picked his remains apart? My stomach lurched at the thought. And then a flashback, in glorious detail, making me sit up in bed and gasp for breath.

  Alex stirred beside me. ‘You all right, love?’ His words were muffled, thick with sleep.

  I smoothed his tousled brown hair. ‘I was having a nightmare. I’m going to get a glass of water. You go back to sleep.’

  But as I wrapped my dressing gown around me, I knew the truth was a nightmare from which I could not awake. I crept to the kitchen, working my way through my options, trying to view them as dispassionately as possible. I could return to the body and dig a deeper grave, yes, but what if the new owners had the site excavated? Then what? A chill descended and I switched on the kitchen light. An energy-saving bulb hung limply from its pendant, devoid of a light shade. The last time I had tried to fit one, it had driven a shock down the length of my arm right down to my toes. Alex seemed happy to allow the place to fall further into disrepair because it was another reason for us to leave. Shuffling to our wide, square kitchen sink, I filled a glass with water from the tap, forcing myself to focus. I needed a plan B. I could gather up Luke’s remains, burn them, dispose of what was left somewhere safe. But how? I was a thirty-year-old woman who dealt in wedding dresses. I couldn’t do this alone. You murdered him quickly enough, my subconscious rasped.

  I took a shuddering breath. The idea of going back there made me sick to the core, but I told myself that the man I’d buried had been more of a danger alive than dead. I stared through the window at the moonless sky, comforting myself with the thought that Luke could no longer threaten me. But that was a lie; he was still reaching out from the grave, calling my name. There was no ghost haunting the Strood, just Luke. I had to go back there and deal with the body: only then could we move away and start again. A new home, a promotion for Alex and private schooling for Jamie – it was all we had ever wanted and it was within reach. I just needed to be strong enough to get through this.

  I sipped my water, not realising I had bitten my lip until I tasted the warm tang of blood. I remembered the stained shovel, the blood oozing down on to Luke’s shirt collar then into the soil for the insects to feast on. My breath sharpened. I began to think about the meal I had eaten that day and how it was lying in my stomach, working against me. Dark thoughts reached out like tentacles in my mind. I closed my eyes, willing myself to think sensibly. Tomorrow I would go to Colchester, place Jamie into nursery then ask Theresa to cover so I could finish work early and return home. If Alex found out, I’d say I was checking the fencing before the buyers returned. I’d dig up Luke’s remains and dispose of them for good. This time somewhere nobody would ever find them.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  EMMA

  2017

  The balls of my feet ached from standing in my heels. After a busy morning, I was happy to turn the Closed sign on the door for lunch. Not that I was complaining. Being occupied kept my mind off my problems. But I could not exercise avoidance for ever. As soon as Theresa came to cover my afternoon shift, I had to go home.

  ‘Something wrong with that?’ Josh eyed me from across the circular table as I poked at my salad.

  ‘It’s a bit limp,’ I said. ‘I should have put it in the fridge.’ Our staffroom was blisteringly warm. It comprised a small table and chairs and a kitchen counter with the usual appliances: microwave, fridge and sink. It smelled like a greenhouse: tropical plants took up most of the room, a joking reminder of Theresa’s disapproval of the high heating bills. But I couldn’t have my brides trying on wedding dresses with goosebumps on their skin.

  ‘Want some of mine?’ Josh offered, nodding towards his lunch box. ‘Mum made loads.’

  ‘No, you’re all right. I’m just tired,’ I said, listlessly prodding some beetroot with my fork. ‘I had a really lucid dream last night, and it’s bee
n running around in my head all day.’ This much was true, though I could not tell him the real reason behind my unease.

  ‘Was it one of those dreams? I had this dream about Tom Hardy the other night . . .’ he said, his blue eyes glinting as he flashed me a cheeky smile.

  ‘Tom Hardy didn’t feature,’ I replied, wishing I could come clean. The more I came to know Josh the more I liked him, but there was no way I could burden him with the awful truth. I should have been confiding in Theresa, but I couldn’t risk her judgement either.

  ‘I was in prison,’ I blurted, feeling my muscles tense. ‘I’d done something terrible, but I didn’t know what it was. I woke up crying because Alex wouldn’t visit me.’ I pushed my food away, the thought stealing what little appetite I had.

  Josh swallowed the bite of cheese sandwich he had been chewing. ‘That’s a bit heavy. Where did that come from?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, using the lie to facilitate a conversation I was dying to have. If I didn’t speak to someone soon I would explode. ‘It got me thinking. What would you do if you were married to someone and they did something really bad?’ To pose such a question to Josh was not out of the ordinary: we were forever discussing moral dilemmas to pass the time when the shop was slow. My heart beat a little faster as I waited for his response.

  ‘Ooh, how bad are we going? Bank robbery? Kidnapping?’ He rummaged around his lunch box, plucking out a Mars bar and a bag of crisps.

  ‘Nobody robs banks any more. Hmm . . .’ My fingers tapped the table as I pretended to come up with the act that had been on my mind all day. ‘Let’s say . . . murder. A one-off. In the heat of the moment.’

  ‘That’s tricky,’ Josh said, his eyes thoughtful as he soaked up the challenge. ‘I guess I’d stand by them, at least until I knew the truth. If I loved them then I’d like to think I’d stay, because someone I love could never do something like that on purpose.’

  ‘Top marks,’ I said. ‘Me too.’

  ‘Is this where you confess to murder?’

  A flush rose to my cheeks as he broke the silence with laughter. ‘Can you imagine it?’ Josh said. ‘You can’t even kill a fly. I won’t go calling the police anytime soon. Now that sister of yours . . . she’s one to watch.’ He gave me a wink as Theresa strolled in.

  ‘What have I done now?’ she said, shrugging off her rain-speckled coat and hanging it on the back of the door.

  ‘Moral dilemma time. You’ve married the man of your dreams, but on your wedding night he’s confessed to murder,’ Josh said, embellishing my earlier scenario. ‘The cops are coming to lock his sorry backside up. Do you dump him or hang around?’

  ‘Dump him. Murder is murder.’ Theresa finger-combed her windswept hair, her words delivered without a moment’s hesitation.

  ‘This is the man of your dreams we’re talking about,’ Josh said.

  ‘I’d bang him first,’ Theresa laughed, mulling it over. ‘Maybe stretch to a few conjugal visits?’

  I forced a laugh, the thought of prison continuing to make the prospect of food unappealing.

  ‘Aren’t you eating your lunch?’ Theresa said, taking a look at my discarded salad.

  ‘I had a big breakfast,’ I lied.

  ‘Really?’ She narrowed her glare, as if she somehow knew better. But then she did. Theresa knew many things about me.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LUKE

  2002

  I smiled at my own ingenuity as I glanced at Emma, who was sitting on her own in her usual seat at the back of the class. Lunchtime detention was an excellent excuse for having her all to myself. Emma, on the other hand, seemed unimpressed at being kept in for failing to complete her homework. It was the first time it had happened, but it was time to progress things between us and I could only do that by getting her alone.

  ‘Why don’t you sit up front so we can chat?’ I asked, standing from my desk. A recent haircut, a new set of clothes: I had made a special effort with my appearance in order to reel her in. Not that I knew who or what she found attractive; everything about her was closed off, hidden from view.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Emma said, picking up the tin box containing her charcoal pencils.

  ‘Well don’t seem so thrilled about it,’ I smiled, bending down to retrieve a piece of paper that had slipped from her grasp. ‘Anyone would think you were being sent to the gallows.’

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ Emma said dolefully, taking her chair.

  I leaned forward, grabbing the seat beside her. ‘What’s wrong? It’s not like you to miss handing in your homework. I thought you enjoyed our classes?’

  ‘I do,’ she said, earnestly meeting my gaze. ‘It’s just that . . .’ she pursed her lips, seemingly unsure of herself. Her barely brushed hair, her unironed shirt, her appearance gifted me clues.

  ‘Having a tough time at home?’

  ‘Yes,’ she nodded, and I smiled inwardly as I detected a slight wobble in her chin. ‘You live on Mersea, don’t you? Is that the east or the west side of the island?’ I asked, hoping the gods would favour me.

  ‘The east,’ she said glumly. ‘Nothing around but sky and land.’

  It was exactly the response I wanted. Had she lived on the west, she could have benefited from the close-knit community that inhabited it. As it was, my little Emma was all on her own. After checking the coast was clear, I briefly rested my hand on her back. ‘You know what they say – a problem shared is a problem halved.’

  ‘But the homework . . .’ she said, glancing at the half-finished drawing of a drooping sunflower.

  I removed my hand, marking the paper with my pen. ‘Consider it done. A-plus, your best work yet.’ I gave her a wink. ‘We’ve got ten minutes. Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?’ I wasn’t really interested in her pitiful home life, but her physical presence was intoxicating. It was not often I was graced with such innocence in a fifteen-year-old girl. Her attention drawn inwards, my gaze crept to her skirt, which had risen above her knees. I looked at her face, now twisted with the effort of discussing problems that seemed buried too deep to reach.

  ‘Is it your family?’ I said, sympathetically tilting my head to one side. ‘You can trust me. I know what it’s like to grow up feeling like you don’t fit the mould.’

  ‘Do you?’ she said, a flicker of light reaching her eyes. I had hit the bullseye first time. Quickly I formulated a backstory, something that I hoped mirrored her own. I knew she came from a one-parent family, and was not part of the popular groups in school. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I didn’t have many friends growing up, and there was nobody I could confide in about what was happening at home. I felt isolated from everyone else, because their lives were so different to mine.’

  Emma nodded sadly. ‘That’s how I feel too.’

  I gave her a gentle smile, conscious time was ticking away. ‘Mum did her best after Dad died, but she couldn’t cope with bringing up a family on her own. That’s why I had nobody to turn to when . . .’ I paused for effect, it was best to leave these things vague. ‘Well, none of that matters now. All I’m saying is that you’re not alone.’

  ‘It’s why I couldn’t do my homework,’ she said, her voice low. ‘Dad wasn’t well and I had to call the doctor. Sometimes he finds it hard to breathe. He was meant to write a note but he was asleep when I left for school and I didn’t want to wake him.’

  So not only was my little Lolita isolated, she played nursemaid to her father too. Perfect. Such commitment afforded little time for outside friends. The bell rang in the hall to signal the end of lunch.

  ‘I tell you what,’ I said, ‘why don’t you stay behind after school for some extra art tuition? We can have a chat, work out a plan for improving your exam results. You’re a talented artist, Emma; if we put in the extra work your pictures will be fit for the school exhibition this year.’

  ‘Really?’ she said, her face glowing from the compliment. ‘Mum used to exhibit her drawings, they were hung on the walls of the craft shop in Mersea.’


  ‘Well, there you go; you’ve obviously inherited your talents from her.’ I smiled. ‘Now, get moving, you don’t want to be late for your next lesson.’

  I watched her as she walked away, her step lightened from the effect of my words. Her desperation would fuel our blossoming friendship. Delicious anticipation beckoned. I had baited the hook, now all I had to do was land her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ALEX

  2017

  ‘Congratulations, Alex – we’ll be sorry to see you go.’ Charles took me firmly by the hand, his gruff exterior temporarily lightened by his smile. His cheery disposition told me that his well wishes were genuine, and I returned his smile, feeling real hope for my future plans. It was a shame that his marriage to my sister-in-law had not worked out, but thankfully he had not allowed his personal life to colour his attitude towards me.

  ‘Thanks, I’ve been waiting for this for a long time,’ I said. The resignation of the divisional manager in Leeds had come just at the right time.

  ‘Sounds like you’re all primed for the role. You’ve sold your house, I hear?’

  ‘And about to offer on another,’ I said, hardly able to believe that the millstone around my neck would finally be disposed of. With a slap on the back, Charles told me to finish early for the weekend. For once, I didn’t disagree. I’d put in enough unpaid hours to be entitled to a half day to sort things out. I had lots to do, and hoped we could move as soon as Mark and Kirsty signed on the dotted line. I’d narrowed the search for our new home to two really promising places, and I wanted to persuade Emma to come to Leeds for viewings. Both houses were stunning: four bedrooms, glossy designer kitchens and lots of room for Jamie to run about in. I couldn’t wait to get him out of our ramshackle Mersea home. Emma used to tell me that the nearby beach made up for our lack of space. It was true that Jamie loved to go crabbing, searching the rock pools for the latest finds. He would come home, eyes bright, his tongue tripping over itself as he excitedly described his day’s excursion. I consoled myself that there would be far more opportunities in Leeds for him as he grew up, and plenty of chances for trips to the seaside during our holidays. From an early age, I’d had my future planned out. I wanted a successful career, a happy marriage and, to top it all off, a child. It hadn’t been easy to get to where I was now, but as I stepped out into the car park with the sunshine on my back, I felt truly blessed. It was only natural to want to move to a bigger home and be near my mum as she got older. Thankfully, Emma loved my mum and treated her as her own. Leaving the shop would be hard, but she was a brilliant businesswoman, and opening a new branch would be something for her to get her teeth into. So why, when there was so much to look forward to, did something seem to be holding her back?