The Doll's House (30 page)

M
addy had been smiling since she opened her eyes. She thought she must have been smiling in her sleep. She knew why. Ben was lying right next to her.

She turned on her side, watched him. He was still asleep, breathing shallowly. She didn't blame him. It was still early. The weak morning light was only just daring to creep round the thin curtains that came with the rented house. Maddy was only awake because she was too excited to sleep. For a few reasons. All of them to do with Ben.

He was sleeping on his side, his face towards her. She could feel his breath on her skin. She closed her eyes momentarily, enjoyed it as a purely sensual experience. She opened them again, resumed watching him.

I'm not weird
, she thought.
I'm not obsessed. I just love watching him sleep. What's wrong with that?

She turned on her back, still smiling, glancing at him from time to time. She felt safe with Ben in her bed. Just next to her, even. Or just somewhere in the same house. If he was near her she felt that nothing and no one could get to her. That everything was going to be OK.

And the fact that he was going to help her give Gwilym his comeuppance made things even better.

She wasn't usually a vindictive, vengeful person. Live and let live, and all that. She could usually see the good in someone, even someone who had done horrendous things. But after the previous night's conversation with Ben, after hearing that she wasn't the first, that Gwilym had done even worse things to other girls before her… she knew that giving someone the benefit of the doubt wasn't always the best thing to do. Sometimes you just had to take a stand. Do something for the common good. And that was just what they were going to do with Gwilym. She wanted to make sure that no more girls went through what she had been through. And she was so happy that Ben was there to do it with her.

She moved the duvet back, turned away from him. Careful not to disturb him or wake him. She slowly slid out of bed, grabbed her thick terrycloth dressing gown, wrapped it round her naked body, put her feet into her furry slippers. If Ben hadn't been in the bed with her she would have been wearing pyjamas and even bed socks. The house was cold. But she had him to keep her warm. Besides, she liked to feel his naked body against hers. No, she
loved
it.

Another night and he still hadn't pressed her for sex. He knew she was still sore from her termination so he hadn't pushed her. ‘When you're ready,' he had said, kissing her shoulders. ‘It'll feel all the better because we've waited.'

She smiled at the memory. There was something about him that was so old-fashioned. Gallant, even. Or maybe she had just never had a boyfriend who treated her decently.

She made her way downstairs to the kitchen, put the kettle on. Boiled up enough water, made two mugs of tea. She put milk in, not knowing how he took it, and went back upstairs.

There was nothing worse than cold tea, she thought, but she didn't want to wake him.
Should have made it with lemon
, she thought,
instead of milk
. That way if it went cold it would still be drinkable.

She crept over to the bed. Stood looking down at him. He was still sleeping peacefully. She smiled again. Felt something intense flutter inside her that she had never experienced before.

She placed his mug of tea carefully on the bedside table. Straightened up again. As she did so he moved, turned over. The scar on the inside of his wrist caught the light. She reached out tentatively with her free hand, stroked the ridges.

And suddenly couldn't breathe.

Ben had woken suddenly and sat up, his hand going straight to her throat, grabbing her, squeezing and twisting. She tried to scream, to let him know it was her, that it was OK, but the only sound she made was a guttural gargle. Tea was being splashed and spilt everywhere. She looked him straight in the eye, imploring. But his eyes, those usually kind, soulful eyes, were nowhere to be seen. Instead, two dark, angry coals were staring at her like something from a horror film.

And then he realised who she was.

His grip relaxed, his hand pulled away. His eyes returned to normal.

‘Oh my God,' he said. ‘I'm so sorry…'

He jumped out of bed, enfolded her in his arms. He looked at her, his features now the soft, familiar ones she was used to seeing. His eyes were brimming with compassion.

‘I've… I've spilt the tea…' They were the only words Maddy could find.

‘Doesn't matter,' he said. ‘Come on. Let's get back into bed.'

They did so, Maddy slipping out of her dressing gown and beneath the now damp duvet. She was shivering. Ben kept his arms tight round her.

‘I'm so sorry,' he said. ‘I do that when I wake up sometimes, I've been told. Ever since I was little.'

‘It's OK,' she said.

‘No,' he said, ‘it's not. Maddy, that was awful. I should never have done that to you. Never.'

‘It's OK…' The words just tumbled out. She kept repeating them like a mantra, every time he apologised. She didn't know what else to say. She thought he didn't either.

‘Here,' he said eventually, leaning over to the bedside table, coming back to her. ‘Here's my tea. Let's share…'

They did so, Ben putting the mug to Maddy's lips, letting her drink as if feeding a small child or a wounded animal.

The tea was finished. Ben replaced the mug. They lay together, Ben with his arms wrapped protectively round Maddy, for a long time. Neither spoke.

‘You OK?' he said eventually.

She nodded.

He shook his head. ‘I don't know what gets into me sometimes. Hitting out at you, Jesus. Now doing that to somebody like Gwilym I could understand. But not you.'

‘Gwilym,' she said.

‘Yeah,' said Ben. ‘You still up for it? Getting your own back on him?'

She nodded.

‘Good. Good to hear it.'

‘When… when shall we do it?'

‘No time like the present.'

‘Today?'

‘Why not?'

‘How?'

He smiled. ‘I've been thinking about that. I've got a plan…'

He told her. She tried to listen, to pay attention to his words. Tried not to stare at his scar as he spoke.

M
arina was in the kitchen, clearing up after giving Josephina her breakfast. Her daughter had gone off to watch TV while holding intense conversations with her stuffed toys and dolls. Marina was wiping down the surfaces, thinking about another mug of coffee. The phone changed all that.

It was in her jeans pocket. She had checked it every few minutes, just in case she had missed a call or somehow hadn't heard it or felt it vibrate. It was only when she had taken her mind off it and got on with other stuff that it had rung. Typical.

She checked the display, saw who it was. Anni. Her heart began to hammer once more.

‘Hello?' She was out of breath just from saying that one word.

‘Got the test results.'

Every single possible answer began to pinball through Marina's mind. This was what she had been waiting for. This was what she had been dreading. ‘That was quick.' She knew she was stalling, playing for time, trying to compose herself. She didn't know whether she wanted to hear. Which would be worse.

‘Yeah, well, I told him it was a rush job. Told him a bit about what had happened. Couldn't do it quick enough.'

Marina waited.

‘Positive. Flunitrazepam. Rohypnol to you and me.'

Marina felt her legs give way. She had to sit down before she collapsed on the kitchen floor.

Positive
…

‘It was easy, really. I told him what to look for. He found it. Said it must have been an old batch, that he must have had quite a stock of it from a while ago. It was clear. Nowadays they put something in it to turn the drink a different colour so you know you've been spiked. Means you're not the first.'

Positive
…

‘You there?' Anni's voice light, solicitous.

‘Yeah,' said Marina. ‘Yeah, I'm here.'

‘Well stay where you are. I'm coming over.'

‘You're… what? What for?'

‘Because you haven't told Phil. Because you've got no one else to talk to about it. And because we have to decide what we're going to do next.'

‘What… we're going to do next?'

‘Look, Marina, I know this must be a bit of a shock to you. But not that much of a one, really. This is what you were expecting. What you thought the test would show up. And it has. Give me a couple of hours. I'm on my way.'

Marina looked round her kitchen. Seconds earlier the biggest thing in her life had been deciding whether to have another coffee. Now it was trying to decide how best to bring a serial rapist to justice.

No. That wasn't true. The coffee had just been a distraction. It had always been about Gwilym.

‘You there?' Anni's voice again.

‘What? I'm… yeah. I'm here.'

‘OK. Good. Look, you took that glass illegally, so it might not be admissible in court. But we'll find a way to get him. Don't worry. Hang in there. I won't be long.'

She rang off.

Marina put the phone down. Sat down.

Maybe she would have that coffee after all.

D
etective Constable Patsy Yardley had had enough. And it was still early morning.

She pulled the hood of her anorak tight round her head, looked along the towpath that stretched from the back of the Mailbox all the way past the Gasworks Basin, right to the Sea Life Centre, and wished, not for the first time that morning, that she was still in bed.

‘Think of the overtime,' said her partner, Detective Constable Pam Chapman.

‘Normally I would. But that's not much compensation this time.'

‘Think of the glamour, then.'

Patsy ignored her partner, kept walking along the towpath. The rain battering them. Patsy could barely see through her glasses. Both of them wore padded anoraks to keep out the cold and the wet, and they were glad of them. But there was another reason Patsy was glad she was dressed like that. It made her look as sexless as possible.

They had been given the task of tracking down violent sex offenders from the list that Elli had generated. The two they had visited the night before could be struck off the list. One was morbidly obese – nowhere near a match for the photo – and also a ponytailed biker. He protested that he shouldn't have been on the sex offenders register, that it was all a mistake. He'd been stitched up by someone from a rival gang. Been set up with an underage girl who lied about her age. That was all. And yeah, he'd been violent. But only to the person who'd set him up.
Wouldn't you be the same?

But all the time he was talking to them, proclaiming his innocence, Patsy had been aware of him trying to mentally undress her. Aware of something dark and twisted lurking inside him. They questioned him about Glenn McGowan. From his answers, whatever else he might have been, they knew he wasn't involved. Another one off the list.

The next one had been getting ready to go on a date. Pam had asked him who with. He became cagey, reticent. When she persisted, he became angry. They knew he had done time for child abuse and spousal abuse. He was a predator, a planner. He played the long game, insinuated himself in the life of a single mother, got to know her, moved in on her kids. Got them where he wanted them, then started to have his fun. He had nothing to do with the murder of Glenn McGowan. They were sure of that. But they did make a note to check up on him, find out who he was seeing. They didn't want him to repeat his patterns of offending. They didn't want him to find a new victim.

They kept walking along the towpath.

‘Is it much further?' asked Pam from beneath her hood.

‘Are we there yet? Are we there yet?' Patsy replied in a childlike, sing-song voice, mocking her.

‘Piss off.' Pam walked faster. Eager to get it over with. ‘Where's this next one?' she added. ‘Wouldn't want to miss it.'

‘King Edward's Wharf,' Patsy replied. ‘Just along here.'

‘Always fancied a houseboat,' said Pam. ‘Something romantic about them. You know, pootling along, parking up here and there, some handsome lock keeper wearing an Aran sweater looking like Liam Neeson popping up to help you…'

‘You'd never be able to stand upright, Pam. You're nearly six foot. Get real.'

‘I know.'

‘And your lock keeper might be wearing an Aran sweater, but he'll look sod all like Liam Neeson. More like Brian Blessed.'

‘Yeah, all right. It was just a little fantasy, that's all.'

They reached King Edward's Wharf. A block of new flats contrasting with the brightly painted houseboats moored below.

‘Which one is it?'

Patsy checked her list. ‘Along here.'

They walked along the side of the wharf, counting the berths. The houseboat chimneys were smoking, roofs steaming where the rain hit and met the warmth from inside them. Patsy had to admit they did look nice and cosy. But then anywhere would on a day like this.

‘Here it is.' Pam stopped walking. The berth they wanted was on the opposite side of the flats. It was next to a set of crumbling Portakabins, fenced off from the path by a sad-looking mesh barrier. In contrast to the rest of the well-maintained wharf, the path here was covered in weeds and rubbish. The boat matched its surroundings. It wasn't as old as the other houseboats but it was in much worse condition. Rotting and rusting, its roof and walls mildewed and leaking. Curling gaffer tape had been used to temporarily patch up holes that were now letting in water. Its windows were rattling and ill-fitting.

The two women shared a glance.

‘Someone lives here?' asked Pam. ‘Looks like it's ready to sink.'

‘Let's get it over with, then,' said Patsy. ‘What's the name?'

‘Scott Sheriff,' said Pam, looking once again at the list. ‘Let's get this done and go and find a café on Broad Street. I'm soaked through.'

Patsy put her hand on the door to knock. It was open.

They exchanged another glance.

‘Mr Sheriff?' she called. ‘Hello?'

No reply.

‘Mr Sheriff?' she called again. ‘It's Detective Constable Yardley and Detective Constable Chapman, West Midlands Police. Could we have a word, please?'

Nothing.

Another shared glance.

‘We're coming in, Mr Sheriff, just want to see that everything is OK…'

Patsy pushed open the door and immediately recoiled. The smell coming from inside complemented the exterior completely. ‘Jesus…'

She stepped inside. And hurriedly came out again.

‘What… what's the matter? What's there?'

‘Call it in,' said Patsy. ‘We've got a body.'