“So shall we get started, honey?”
His right fist collided with her jaw, sending her crashing into the container behind her. Stunned, she raised her hands to defend herself, but the blows kept coming. She pushed him away, but the next blow nearly took her head off and she fell heavily to the ground.
What was happening? She tried to scramble to her feet, but he was already on top of her. Instinctively she lashed out. She had dealt with violent punters before, but always with the help of Mace—she had never engaged in hand-to-hand combat like this.
Now he was pinning her down, his strong hands encircling her throat. Squeezing harder, harder, harder. She rammed her fingers into his left eyeball, but he jerked his head away, out of her reach. She could see the blood pumping through a vein in his neck and she slashed at it with her fractured nails. Surely he would release his grip if he started to bleed out? It wasn’t meant to be like this. She wasn’t meant to die in this miserable place.
She fought for all she was worth. She fought for her life. But it was too little too late, and after only a few seconds the lights went out.
80
Tony was relieved to see that Nicola was asleep. It was late, but she often struggled to get to sleep. Tony knew that had she been awake, had those deep blue eyes looked up at him as he entered, he would have confessed everything to her. He wouldn’t have been able to hold back, such were his feelings of confusion, exhilaration and shame. As it was, he just had to exchange a few stilted sentences with Violet—staring at the floor and claiming tiredness—before she went on her way and he was left alone with his wife.
Tony had never been unfaithful before and he still loved Nicola. Loved her even more, if that was possible, now that he had the shame of his infidelity weighing on his conscience. He didn’t want to hurt her—he’d never wanted to hurt her—and they had always told each other everything. But what was he going to say to her now?
The truth was that he was still buzzing. He and Melissa had made love twice more before he eventually left. The policeman at the door looked at the thick file under his arm and seemed to buy that he had been diligently taking Melissa’s testimony all the while. Tony felt another pulse of shame; not only had he betrayed Nicola, he had betrayed his colleagues too. He had always been a good copper—where had this sudden fall from grace come from?
He knew where. Of course he did. He’d tried for so long to tell himself that his life with Nicola was the norm. That it was okay. He often told inquiring friends that he had married for life and that if these were the cards that they’d been dealt, then that was fine by him. But it wasn’t and never had been. Not because he wanted more, but becauseNicolahad been so much more.
She had opened up everything for him. Whereas he came from a family of nomadic low achievers, she came from a family that was successful, cultured and driven. Whatever she did—whether in work or play—she did with utter determination, a will to succeed and a real sense of fun. And he missed her. He really, really missed her. Romantically she was impulsive and surprising, sexually she had been imaginative and mischievous, and emotionally she was always so giving. She could give him nothing of that now, and though he berated himself for thinking she was turning into his friend, that was the bitter truth of it. She would never be a burden, but she might be something less than his wife.
This, he had always thought, was the real betrayal. But what about Melissa, then? This was something new, something dangerous. It was crazy, but he already had feelings for her. It couldn’t be love—because he’d only just met her—but it felt like something similar. Having been starved of love and affection for so long, he was now overdosing on it.
And he didn’t want to stop.
81
Helen stood stock-still, barely able to breathe.
The first signs of trouble had come with repeated calls to her mobile from Southampton Central’s Media Liaison unit, flagging repeated attempts by theMailto get access to her. Then the same again from Hampshire Police HQ, and this time it was the editor of theMailwho had called. There was confusion all round—Media Liaison had assumed it was to do with their current investigation into the killings in Southampton, but actually they wanted to talk to Helen about someone called Robert Stonehill.
At the first mention of his name, Helen had switched off her phone and raced back to the nick. Once there, she had demanded sight of tomorrow’s front pages. Most led on the ongoing hostage crisis in Algeria, but theMailhad gone for something different.SON OF A MONSTERwas splashed across the front page and beneath it a grainy, sinister-looking picture of Robert, shot from a distance on a long lens. Marianne’s police mug shot leered out underneath, with the details of her crimes rehashed with relish.
Dropping the paper, Helen sprinted from the media suite, down the stairs and out to her bike. As she raced to the outskirts of the city, one question kept swirling round and round her head.How? How had they found out?Emilia must be involved somehow, but Helen hadn’t told anyone about Robert, so unless he had... No, it didn’t make any sense. When had Emilia suddenly become omniscient, able to penetrate the most secret chambers of Helen’s life?
All she wanted to do was find Robert and comfort him. Protect him. But as she approached Cole Avenue, she could already see the press pack assembling. A TV crew had just pulled up, and there was a growing crowd of hacks ringing the doorbell, demanding an interview. Helen’s first instinct was to barrel through them to find Robert, but wisdom prevailed and she stayed where she was. Her presence would only inflame the story, and the Stonehill family had enough to deal with already.
How could she help him? How could she stop the shitstorm thatshehad brought crashing down on this innocent young man? This was her fault and she cursed herself bitterly for her weakness in ever contacting Robert. He had been happy. He had been ignorant. And now this.
In trying to save him, she had damned him.
82
She was splayed out on the ground, lifeless and pliable, her arms snaking out in capitulation. She was his now and he took his fill. He didn’t bother to wear a condom. In a few hours he would be on his way to Angola aboard the PZRSlazak. By the time they found her, he would be long gone. He always made good use of his shore leave, and this time had been no exception.
It had taken him a while to gather himself after he’d strangled her. It always did. The adrenaline raged through him—his heart beating as if it were going to burst—and stars danced in front of his eyes. He was breathless and exhausted even in his triumph. The cuts on his face stung sharply and his senses were supercharged—every drip of water sounded like an approaching footstep, every blast of wind like a shrieking woman. But there was no one else here. It was just him and his prey.
She was just like all the others. Sinful, dirty and cheap. How many had he killed now? Seven? Eight? And how many had fought back—reallyfought back? None. This one had been tougher than most, but like all the others, sheknew. She knew that she was fallen—that she had given away any chance of salvation thanks to her own depravity—and that was why they were happy when he relieved them of their suffering. Did they know or care that they were going straight to hell?
He shuddered to a finish. Closing his eyes, he savored the moment. The tension that had been building up within him week upon week was already starting to dissipate. Soon he would feel that all-pervading calm that was so rare but so precious to him.
He opened his eyes, hoping to indulge himself with one last look at her bloodless face. But as soon as he did so, he froze.
Her eyes were open. And she was looking straight at him.
Next to her was her bag. And in her right hand was a very large knife.
“Bitch!”
