Read Killing the Beasts Online
Authors: Chris Simms
Killing the Beasts (42 page)
Fiona kept absolutely still, nausea building in her stomach. The belt buckle again, then the bed creaking. A single pair of footsteps crossed the room. The bathroom taps came on for a while. Fiona willed someone to say something. If they started speaking again, she would know the girl was all right. The footsteps came back across the room.
Still no talking. The bed creaked, there was a grunt of effort and then something heavy thudded to the floor. Fiona slipped out of bed, heart racing. The footsteps moved around for a while before they crossed the room, slower, more laborious. Concentrating on keeping her balance, she tiptoed over to her door and peered through the spyhole. Like a nightmare sequence in a horror film, the fish-eye lens gave a distorted view of the corridor. She heard the door to the next room open and her view was suddenly filled by brown material. She glimpsed wavy chestnut hair, then he was gone. Moments later the door at the other end of the corridor from reception banged shut.
She went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. Had she really just heard a prostitute being murdered? Two glasses were by the sink and she filled one, gulped the water down. Her eyes were bloodshot and her head felt full of cotton wool. She drank another glass, then went back to bed. A chill went through her and she drew the covers up. The person had been carrying something over his shoulder, obscuring Fiona’s view of his face. But whatever he was carrying, it was heavy.
She should go and tell Dawn. She’d started to fold the covers back when the doors from reception burst open. Drunken laughter. Someone running down the corridor, turning and running back. A key turned and a door slammed shut. Fiona sank back down in the bed. Everything seemed worse at night, she told herself. At home innocent rattles became the sounds of burglars testing the patio doors, the creak of wood the sound of a rapist’s foot on the stairs. She decided to wait until morning, see if daylight could put things in perspective. Uneasily, she lay back and closed her eyes.
As soon as her watch reached six thirty, Fiona climbed out of bed, wincing as the action set off a pounding in her head. She drew the curtains. Weak daylight filtered into the room, the streetlights lining the A still on. Mist filled the bingo hall’s car park. Thank God, her car was still there, the only vehicle left. She examined her face in the bathroom mirror. The cut above her eyebrow still looked nasty: some swelling remained and the beginnings of a bruise was gathering below the skin, screaming that she was married to a wife beater. While she dressed, nose wrinkling at the stale smell trapped in her clothes, she thought over what had happened in the night. She decided to tell Dawn, see what she reckoned.
Out in the corridor Fiona looked uneasily at the next room. The door hadn’t shut properly. She pushed with her fingertips and it swung open. The room was identical to the one she’d slept in. She walked nervously past the bathroom doorway into the main part of the room. The top blanket was stretched tautly across the bed, the pillows plumped up.
Nothing looked as if it had been touched. Fiona glanced into the bathroom. The sink was bone dry, every surface wiped clean. The possibility that she had imagined the entire thing occurred and, fearful of seeing an abused woman with the beginnings of madness staring back at her, Fiona avoided her reflection in the mirror.
No. She couldn’t deny the glimpsed figure passing across the view from her spyhole. Staring at the bed once again, she thought of the object on his shoulder. It had been wrapped in something brown – the same shade as the blanket covering the bed. Fiona turned and checked the top shelf of the flimsy wardrobe. One spare pillow, but no spare blanket. The discovery gave her suspicions some foundation and she got down on her hands and knees, scanned under the bed. A small white object lay against the skirting board. The tips of her fingers just reached it and she slid it out from the shadows.
Looping curled script gave the business card an exclusive air:
Cheshire Consorts. Evening companions for the discerning gentleman.
Fiona flicked the card over. Scrawled in biro on the back was the name Alexia, followed by a mobile phone number.
She went to the window, eager for a glimpse of normal life going on outside the horrible scenario unfurling before her. The daylight was getting stronger, more cars flowing past on the A57 towards the city centre. Back out in the corridor, she saw Dawn emerge from the room nearest reception and dump a pile of sheets into a linen cart.
‘I was just coming to give you a knock. The day manager’s due any minute. I need you out of here.’
Fiona hurried down the corridor, gulping back the emotion that threatened to erupt as tears. ‘Dawn, I know this sounds mad but, I think I heard someone being strangled last night.’
‘Where? Outside your window?’
‘No. In the next room.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I could hear everything through the walls.’ She breathed deeply, forcing herself to slow down. ‘A couple came in just after three thirty this morning. At first the sounds were them, you know, having sex. But then they changed to choking. It was horrible. I’m certain he killed her. Not a word was said after the struggling stopped. I heard him moving around the room, there was a loud bump and then he walked across the view from my spyhole, carrying something wrapped in a blanket over his shoulder.’
‘I’d have seen him come through reception,’ Dawn stated flatly.
‘He went out the other way, through the fire-escape door at the other end of the corridor.’
Dawn’s eyes skittered nervously towards the door to room number nine. ‘No, I don’t think anyone was in that room last night. Listen, Fiona, you’ve got to leave. I could lose my job here.’ She opened the doors to reception and beckoned. ‘Come on.’
Fiona hesitated, looking back down the corridor, wondering if the sounds could have come from another room. She pressed her fingers against her temples, trying to suppress the ache pulsating through her skull. ‘But Dawn, that door wasn’t properly shut. I looked inside and the spare blanket is missing.’
Dawn’s voice was agitated. ‘Half the spare blankets are missing in this place. Please, you’ve got to go.’ Her hand flapped more desperately.
Fiona walked reluctantly through the double doors and across the reception area to the exit. Dawn produced a sheet of paper.
‘Here. This place is run by decent people. I rang last night after you went to bed. They’re expecting you to call.’
She looked at the number, knowing she had nowhere else to go. ‘Thank you, Dawn. You’ve been so kind.’ As she folded the paper into her pocket she felt the business card in there already.
‘Look! There was this as well. Under the bed.’
But Dawn’s eyes were on the main road. ‘That’s him.’ Fiona looked, saw a silver Volvo turning into the car park.
‘Take care, Fiona.’ The outer doors swung shut.
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