Shiver Sweet (17 page)

“We’re sorry for your loss,” the chubbier officer said.

“You’re sure it’s my husband?” Christa asked.  “I mean, this is definitely the tattoo on his leg, but...  he got it to cover up a burn.  A pan of boiling water tipped on him when he was a kid.”  She waved the photo.  “But you’re sure it’s him you found and not—”

“Yes. We’re sure,” he confirmed.  “He’s been killed.  Like we said, he was strapped to a sledge and pulled along the street.”

Nicola’s mouth gaped.

“Why a sledge?”  Christa buried her face in her hands then glanced up.  “It makes no sense.”

“And the condition of the body indicates he was killed last night.”

“No way!  Last night?”  Christa gaped, staring at the officers in disbelief. 

“Do you have any idea of his whereabouts last night?”

Christa glanced at Nicola.  “He was here.”

Both officers turned to face her.  “What time was this?”

Nicola gulped and shook.  Several seconds passed in an awkward hush.  Oh, fuck.  How would she get around this?  “Oh, about er... eight or nine,” she replied, forcing the words out of her throat as the officers’ eyes remained fixed on her, as though probing around in her thoughts.  “I’m not exactly sure.  He wanted to speak to Sarah, to umm... Christa.  He was here for barely five minutes, then left.”  She glanced away, and fiddled with her hair. 
Please stop staring at me.

“I see.  And what did he want to speak to Christa about?”

Nicola held herself stiffly to control her shakes, struggling to stop her bottom lip quivering as she spoke.  “He didn’t say, j-just said he’d catch up with her another time.  I-it didn’t seem urgent.”

“Did he drive?”

Nicola nodded.  “In his car.” 
Stupid answer.
 “O-oh, and he wanted to collect his motorbike.”  Oh, shit. 
That’s even worse.
  The bike was still in the shed.

“And how did he appear to you?”

Nicola held her hands behind her back, tugging her fingers through nerves.  “Fine.  Just his usual self.”

“Did he say where he was going?” the tall black officer asked.

Nicola shook her head, and forced herself to engage his probing brown eyes.  “He didn’t say much at all.”

After several more questions which left Nicola in a hot sweat, the officers frowned, broke their gazes and one scribbled in a notepad.

While Nicola held herself stock still, wincing, Christa cleared her throat and looked at the Officers.  “So... so you’re s-saying it was Brian’s car he was strapped to?  My daughter’s Uncle?”

“Yes.”  He nodded, while Christa glanced toward the door.  Thankfully Sarah was still upstairs, listening to music and mustn’t have spotted the police turning up.  “He’s been helping us with our enquiries at the station.”

“Where is he now?” Christa asked.

“Still being questioned and his car examined for evidence.”  There was a ring of uncertainty in the officer’s voice.

Christa must have picked up on it too.  She glanced up from the photo.  “Y-you don’t think Brian has anything to–“

“We’re still making enquiries at this stage.  His girlfriend’s waiting to drive him home from the station.”

Her wet eyes widened.  “
C-Claire’s
with him?”

“Yes.  She spotted the sledge attached to his car and tried to signal him to stop.”

Tears spotted Christa’s jeans while she stared blankly ahead at the lovely Victorian fireplace they had repainted together only yesterday.  Life had basically dropped off a cliff since then.  Nicola wanted to sit on the sofa next to Christa and hug her.  Hell! She needed more than a few hugs herself.  Did the police think that Brian had something to do with this?  No.  Not possible.  But why, of all the cars in the world, would John be strapped to Brian’s?  And why would anyone do something so horrific with his body at all?

Nicola normally melted at men in uniform.  Today, she barely dared raise her eyes above the dark fabric of their knees.  She struggled to place one foot in front of the other across the carpet without tripping up.  She grabbed the tissue box off the book shelf.  She handed one to Christa, then took one herself and dabbed her eyes while Christa explained to the police the last time she’d seen John, and that they were in the midst of a divorce and only talked by phone recently.

The officers didn’t need Christa to identify his body in person.  “Too damaged to be formally identified,” the tall officer said.

Nicola reckoned he was trying to put it in a delicate way – a tough task. 

But John would have looked anything but delicate.  Being dragged along the road had probably ripped the skin right off his face.  According to the police, Brian had already told them that he suspected it was John on the sledge from his signature red trainers. 

“Dental records have been confirmed,” the tall Officer said - and the unique tattoo on the marbled skin of his burned calf also left no doubt.

Nicola walked to the rear of Christa’s sofa, no longer able to absorb the officers’ words.  She needed space.  Air.  Found it hard to focus.  It was all a jumble, noise in her thumping head.  With tears spilling, she rubbed Christa’s shoulder from behind, while Christa fanned her face with a magazine.  Thankfully, Sarah was being spared this horror - still upstairs blasting Bieber tunes at the back of the house.  “I’m so sorry.  This is... awful.”  Nicola wobbled away to the window and stared out to get her head straight.  She tugged the neck of her sweater up higher to her chin while a ribbon of worry wound around her throat.  Her breath caught.  Would the police notice her swollen jaw or makeup covered bruises peeking out of her neckline from last night’s attack?  Or would they sniff the bleach that still lingered and start asking about it?

But then, perhaps their presence was a sign; the moment to tell them what happened.  The police were right here, right now, and could protect her from those thugs storming back in once she blurted the truth. 

Nicola wiped her eyes, spun on her heels and stepped forward, summoning a dose of courage.  “I...  er...“ 

“There was a message on the body,” the officer said.  “The words ‘my duty,’ were inked into his back.”

Christa straightened on the sofa.  “Inked?”

“Yes, with a knife or razor of some sort.  Barely hours old.  Not a professional job.  Do you have any idea what that could mean?”

Christa’s breath juddered.  “My duty?” she squeaked out.

“Yes.”

Christa lowered her gaze and blew her nose.  “N-no.  I-I don’t know what it means.  Poor John.”

Nicola’s knees weakened and she stopped dead, grabbed the back of a chair to steady herself.  A shot of curiosity poured through her.  Something about the way Christa had said that didn’t ring true.  Why?  Is she hiding something?

Nicola drew a breath of composure. 
Get on with it
.  “I... er... I need to say something about–”  Nervous as hell, her eyes swept the corners of the room where the ornate scrolls and swirl patterns of Victorian-style wallpaper met the moulded cornice they had lovingly restored a few months ago.

The cameras! 

Oh, crap.  She felt a stab of panic.

Those photos and the knife!

Double crap.

That’s why the words refused to pass her lips.

If she let everything unravel, here and now, what would happen?

An all-consuming panic constricted her breathing.  Conscious that the cameras would capture the reaction in the room if she spoke out, heat rushed to her cheeks and she withdrew.  The men would surely storm straight round and kill everyone. 

Yes.  These men were police officers.  But that didn’t mean they weren’t normal people with a family who loved them; people who had no idea they’d just entered the glass house of hell.

“Have you thought of something?” The officer raised a brow in question.

Oh, crap.
 
Can’t risk it.
 It was not paranoia.  Those men were watching.  She just knew.  “N-no.  I.. So you don’t think it was an accident?”  Stupid, stupid question!  There were words tattooed into his back for God’s sake!

“This is a murder enquiry,” the officer stated.  “We’ll know more once the forensic pathologist does a full exam.”

Nicola didn’t know exactly where it was hidden, but a camera was here in the living room.  Somewhere.  Her skin crawled like ants were all over her.  She lowered her gaze.

Those men had to have known that doing such a stunt would mean that the police would pay a visit to Christa, his wife.  Nicola gulped.  Of course those monsters were watching her right now.  Probably drinking up the whole damn scene.

Concern for everyone’s safety fuzzed her brain.  Could the police protect them if she didn’t know who these men were?  Yes.  But what about her loved ones?  Who was protecting them at this moment?  No one.  And what about tomorrow and the day after that?  What would happen when they left the house and Sarah went to school?

She tried to picture details about her attackers.  Did one have a tattoo on his knuckles?  Another a limp?  No, that was an injury from the fight, he was probably walking fine by now.  If she could just give the cops something to go on to speed up the search, then they could arrest the men before they hurt any of her family.  No unique details came to mind, and besides, they’d all worn masks.  Hell, even one of the police officers fit the vague descriptions in her memory, chubby, broad-shouldered, bit rough looking – for all she knew it could have been him.  She’d never pick those men out in a line-up.

It was no good. 

Hopeless mess!

Details were grainy and jumbled at best within the dark void of her reeling brain.  Their accents were nondescript in her memory, and although she’d seen one man’s face, it was a blur, and she’d never be able to describe them as anything other than frightening men in masks. 

Last night, Nicola had searched every inch of the house for a clue as to who they were or where they came from before slumber overtook her.  She came up empty.  If only they hadn’t located the tablet computer in the coat cupboard, that might’ve offered a lead.  And if she hadn’t been too scared witless to leave the house for fear of the men thinking she was doing a runner, she could have gone to see if that abandoned car was still on the street, and written down the number plate.  Too late now.  The car would be long gone seeing as the guy knew she recognised him from the crash.

“I hope Brian’s okay,” Christa muttered into her hands.

Cursing her attackers’ thoroughness, Nicola pondered what to do while the police continued talking to Christa. 

One monstrous question plunged into her brain.  Why would those men do anything to cause the police to come to the real scene of John’s murder?  They had made it perfectly clear that they didn’t want any cops sniffing around.  Perhaps it wasn’t even those men.  Who was it?  Joyriders found the body and decided to... No.  Of course it was them.  Who else would have done such weird shit to a corpse?  And selecting Brian was not random.

A cold sweat broke through her pores.  Was it a test of her compliance?  She turned and let her eyes do a quick sweep for the camera wondering if the men were watching her, analysing her body and lip movements right now.  And if she failed to stay silent they’d... Oh, heck!  They’d make good on their promise.  Punish her family.

Nicola clenched her fists harder and heard paper crumple in her hand.  Oh, crap.  The note!  She shoved it deep into her pocket so no one could see it.  

Was this stunt with John really a test of her compliance? 

Or worse.  A warning?

Oh, fuck.

A double layer of worry tightened around her heart.  Hell!  Had those men seen her via the cameras trying to slip Christa a note?  Is that what sparked this evil act?  Could they have pulled it off this quick?

Nicola shuddered.  Yes.  A warning.  That had to be it.  And Nicola had received the message louder than a siren blaring. 

For those men to deliberately allow John’s body to be found, and to keep Nicola alive, then they must be supremely confident that... they were untraceable?

The police officers looked at Nicola as she gnawed her bottom lip.  “Are you okay, Miss?  Do you want a drink of water or to sit down?”

“I’m fine.”  She inhaled a quivery breath and returned to staring out the window.  She’d have to phone her parents, her gran, get them to disappear for a few days.

“Has your husband had any recent arguments, or any incidents happen that you can think of?” an officer asked Christa.

“No.  I err...  We’re going through a divorce, so it’s messy right now.  But outside of that, I can’t think of any problems he was having.  But then I wouldn’t know.  We were barely on speaking terms.”  Christa sniffed.  “What happens now?”

After the police finished talking to Christa, they offered their condolences again and Nicola showed them out. 

Still trapped in a wave of shock and blinding fear, she hovered outside the office in the hall while Christa shouted upstairs several times, competing against the music, for Sarah to come down for a chat. 

Nicola’s eyes misted when Sarah skipped past her in the hall.  Poor girl.  She had no idea what was coming.

“What’s up, mum?” 

Christa wrapped an arm over Sarah’s shoulders and guided her through to the living room.  “Come in here, sweetheart.”

The truth would put their lives at risk.  Nicola didn’t have to question whether she wanted to protect them.  It was ingrained.  Christa welcomed her into her home when she didn’t have a place to stay, rarely judged her, and always went out of her way to offer encouragement and support.  Their close bond was incredibly important to Nicola, and she would not question going above and beyond to protect Christa and Sarah.

“Look, sweetheart...” Christa began, and broke the news.

“Dead?” Sarah screeched.  “How?”

Christa explained in a clear and gentle, but edited way.

Sarah’s gasps and sniffing exploded into thundering sobs which echoed down the hall.  It fired chills through Nicola as she stood in a red haze, listening behind the open living room door.  Poor girl.  Sarah loved her step-dad and this was not something she should have to deal with.  It sounded as though the news was sucking all life from her little body.