The Black Widow (4 page)

She glanced the bright flames as they began to dance in the darkened room before she pulled the bedroom door shut.

***

Huddled on the sofa with the duvet wrapped around her body, Cheryl waited. Her heart pounded furiously against her ribcage and she shivered with a mixture of fear and excitement.

Dave hadn't seen her and the bedroom was now on fire.

So far, so good.

The crackling sound and a faint roar told Cheryl the fire was burning. She strained her ears, trying to hear any screams from Dave, but she heard nothing.

Come on, come on, come on,
she thought, willing the smoke alarm to emit its shrill cry.

As soon as it did, she would run outside screaming hysterically. She had decided to run straight to Nicole, figuring she would do exactly that in a real emergency. She pictured herself banging on Nicole's door, vulnerable and sexy in her sheer see-through negligee. No one would suspect her, she was confident of that.

But I'll have to be careful.

She knew she would have to spend a lengthy amount of time 'grieving' for Dave. That meant no going out, no enjoying her money, and no men.

No. For the next 6-12 months, she'd have grieve hard and put her life on hold. She thought of all the new furniture and clothes, the jewellery and the holiday she wanted, and groaned. It was going to be hard, but nowhere near as hard as staying married to Dave and waiting for the day he left her for someone else.

Where the hell is the smoke alarm?

Anxiety suddenly clutched Cheryl and she began to panic.

Why the hell isn't the fire alarm going off?

She needed that alarm to go off, otherwise how was she going to explain how she ended up outside of the house uninjured while her husband burned alive if not for the fire alarm that woke her and saved her life?

Cheryl sucked in a horrified breath. In all her clever planning on killing Dave and making it look like an accident, she had forgotten to check the batteries in the smoke alarm.

Oh my God
, thought Cheryl as she sniffed the air frantically. She could smell the smoke, faint but distinct.

I've gotta get out of here! What if it spreads down the stairs too quickly? What if I'm overcome with smoke before I can get out? What if the ceiling collapses on me? What if—

She jolted and cried out as someone suddenly began pounding on her front door and windows. Cheryl heard both her and Dave's names being called out in panic-stricken voices— voices she recognized as Nicole and James.

She felt like clapping her hands in delight.

This was perfect. With the way this was panning out, it looked as though her forgetfulness may actually help.

When a woman plans to kill her husband with fire while she's in the house, does she forget to check the smoke alarms batteries?

No, she doesn't.

She does escape alive and uninjured however, when her neighbours spot the fire and rouse her from her sleep before she can be harmed.

Cheryl rushed down the hallway to the front door, clutching the duvet around her shoulders, mussing her hair and rubbing her eyes to make it appear she had been in a deep sleep.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," she called gruffly, thinking that's how she would sound if awoken in such a manner on a normal night.

The voices became more urgent and she grinned. Re-arranging her expression to appear shocked, confused and wary all at the same time, she pulled her front door open after twisting the key in the lock and removing the guard chain.

Blinking under the sudden harsh glare of the porch light, she glimpsed James a second before he grabbed her and roughly pulled her out of the doorway. Nearly throwing her to Nicole, he then rushed inside the house. Cheryl saw him run down the hallway and up the stairs, taking them two at a time, before Nicole grabbed her.

"James!" Nicole screamed. "No!"

"What's going on?" Cheryl asked, her face registering panic. "What's happening?"

A sudden loud roar filled the air and both women looked up towards the sound. Cheryl covered her mouth in genuine horror, her eyes wide with shock as she saw the ball of fire in the bedroom window.

Dave was in there. She had done this.

"Dave!" she shrieked.
There's no way he's gonna survive that.

Nicole still gripped her shoulders as she screamed for James and Cheryl screamed for Dave. Other people suddenly appeared around them and Cheryl recognized a few of her neighbours.

And...Action!

She let go of the duvet and ran for her house, appearing, to those watching her, to try and rush inside for her husband. Someone grabbed Cheryl, a man from the feel of his large arms, just as she knew they would and she wailed.

"Dave," she screamed pitifully. "I have to get Dave. Let go of me!" She beat at the person with her fists and tried to get away from him. Even in the intensity of the moment, the large arms gripping Cheryl sent a thrill down her spine. Pulling her away from the front of her house and seemingly trying to prevent her from looking at the hungry fire eating her bedroom, the man herded Cheryl back to Nicole. Nicole was unable to comfort Cheryl however as she cried out James's name again and again.

Oh God, what if I kill James?

The thought sent pure panic through her and she struggled ferociously in the man's arms. He spoke to her with soothing words but held her in an iron grip.

How would she live with herself if she killed James? He was a good man and didn't deserve to die, unlike Dave. How would she ever look Nicole in the eye again?

Just as the sound of sirens filled the air, Nicole let out a wail that sounded part grief and part relief. The man holding her swung around and Cheryl saw James stagger from her house.

But no Dave.

Nicole rushed to him and hugged him, sobbing in his arms.

"Calm down Cheryl," the man holding her said. She looked at him in recognition. It was Tom. She vaguely wondered where his bitch of a wife was and wondered whether she felt any jealousy at Tom holding her like this.

Cheryl rushed towards James and Nicole, Tom allowing her to drag him but retaining his firm grip on her, apparently still concerned that she would try and run into the house.

No chance of that, bud.

"Dave," she gasped as tears streamed down her face.

Damn I'm good.

James looked at her, his face twisted in a painful grimace as tears tracked down his soot-covered face. "I'm sorry, Cheryl," he rasped, his voice damaged by the smoke. "I...couldn't get him out." He began to sob as Nicole held him.

Someone grabbed Cheryl's other arm. It was Karen, Tom's wife, her face one of shock and grief as she stared at Cheryl in horror. Cheryl flung herself at Karen and felt the woman's arms encircle her. She wailed dramatically, then made her legs give way beneath her.

Tom grabbed her around the waist as Karen tightened her grip.

"No, no, no, no," she wailed. "Dave! Please God, no!"

I did it. He's dead. Now for step two—get away with murder.

Chapter Three

Mike groaned into the phone.

"It appears to be an accident," Carl, his partner of eight years told him. "But we need to check out the scene."

Mike told him he was on his way and swung his legs gently out of bed. Leaning forward with his face in his hands, he sighed as Carl's words repeated in his mind. 'House fire, one fatality, One survivor. Burn patterns consistent with some sort of accelerant being used.'

The fire department felt sure it was some sort of accident, but they wanted homicide there to check it out.

Mike turned and checked on Mandy, hoping he hadn't woken her. Sleep was the only escape from grief and the moment.

The lamplight that shone through the thin curtains highlighted Mandy's face. Still sleeping, the phone hadn't woken her. Mike resisted the urge to reach out and stroke her face.

Even in sleep, she looked heartbroken. His throat constricting, he stood quietly and left the bedroom.

Mike walked to the bathroom at the end of their long hallway. If an accelerant appeared to be used, then why would they still consider the fire an accident?

This is just what I need. A house fire on the worst day of my life.

Someone died asshole
, he thought,
there's someone out there hurting far worse than you.

Mike new he was being selfish, but he doubted that anyone in the world felt the enormous grief he felt right then.

Apart from Mandy.

He closed the bathroom door, washed his face, brushed his teeth and combed his hair before dressing in the neatly folded clothes he laid out every night in the event of being called out.

He exited the bathroom, and halted.

Since arriving home with Mandy late that afternoon, he had avoided looking into the spare bedroom, not easy since it was right next to the bathroom. He squeezed his eyes shut in emotional pain.

Don't look, don't look.

Unable to fight the urge, Mike stood in the doorway and observed the spare bedroom. His eyes took in every inch of the large room and this time he could not stop the solitary tear as it made its way slowly down his right cheek.

Months ago, before their hopes and dreams had fallen and crumbled around them, he and Mandy had stripped the room, pulling out all the spare bedroom furniture, pulling up the carpet and peeling the wallpaper from the walls.

They hadn't redecorated yet, eagerly waiting to see which colour it would be: blue or pink. Mike remembered their enthusiasm that day, their happiness and certainty of their future as parents. They had been overcome whilst they sorted the room and had ended up making love on the floor and strips of wallpaper had stuck to his knees and Mandy's back. They joked about Mandy falling pregnant from that time.

But Mandy hadn't fallen pregnant that time. Or the month after. Or the month after that.

After 18 months and some tests, they had found out today that there would be no children for them.

Ever.

There would never be a baby in this house, and this room would be a constant reminder. With no furniture, carpet or wallpaper, the room was barren.

Just like Mandy.

Mike sucked in his breath as the sudden startling thought. His heart thundered in his chest as he imagined Mandy even suspecting he was thinking such a thing.

He couldn't control the thought, it had popped into his mind, but he still felt guilt and a sick feeling deep in his stomach.

That's just what I need, a side order of guilt.

He gritted his teeth angrily and strode down the hall. His mind replayed the scene from the doctor's office from the day before, since it was now the early hours of the next day.

The doctor, usually a friendly always smiling man that Mike enjoyed seeing, had sat them down and regarded each with sorrow in his eyes. As soon as the words "I'm very sorry, but" had left his lips, Mike's world collapsed on top of him. The rest of the speech was a hazy blur but he heard enough of the conversation to understand the implications of the doctor's words. His heart had ached with grief as the doctor revealed it was Mandy who was unable to conceive; Mike's test results had been fine, and she crumbled in a heap of heartbroken sobs out of her chair and onto the floor.

Mandy would never be able to have children of her own. It was, as the doctor worded it, impossible for her to ever conceive.

Mike felt a sob clawing its way up his throat and he swallowed continuously as his eyes stung with hot tears. He had not cried. Apart from the odd solitary tear, he had kept everything inside, for he was afraid. Afraid that if he began to cry, he would never be able to stop.

Mandy had cried, and she had not stopped all day. All day Mike had held her and comforted her, lying to her by promising her it would be okay.

How can it ever be okay? How will we get through this?

The thought scared him for, as he'd been consoling Mandy, she had not been there for him. Her grief was understandable, but hadn't she realised that Mike needed comfort also.

I'm a bastard
, Mike thought.
A selfish bastard.

But it would have been my baby too.

Pushing his thoughts aside, the most disturbing one being the possibility of losing Mandy as well as the children they would never have together, Mike went to the garage and got into his car.

***

Pulling up outside the address he'd called Carl for from his garage, Mike groaned at the scene that greeted him.

It was utter chaos.

The people milling around reminded him of ants pouring from their hill. He saw bunches of civilians standing around in small groups, most wearing pyjamas, while police and firemen rushed backwards and forwards as various emergency vehicles constantly alerted everyone to the horror that had occurred with their flashing lights.

Mike stared forward and tried to prepare himself mentally for the scene awaiting him. His emotions were already raw, and, though it sounded incredibly selfish since a person had died here tonight, he really could do without this. As a homicide detective, he was supposed to focus completely on the case at hand, but how could he be expected to right now?

I'm not a damn robot.

Telling himself that he had not just lost a loved one in a house fire, that there were folk out there who had just lost a son, brother or friend, he stepped out of his car.

Approaching the house, Mike's bad feeling worsened.

The house was large and detached with gardens on all four sides; a family house.

But Carl had said one fatality and one survivor.

Could one adult and one child be living here? The result of a separation in which the wife got the house.

Mike pictured a child surviving this fire, only to be orphaned. Or worse, a parent surviving the fire that killed their child.

How would you go on with your life? Mike couldn't picture it.

He observed the front of the house as best as he could whilst trying to appear as a professional homicide detective eager to get inside and begin his investigation.