Flowers for the Dead (10 page)

While standing outside, looking in at families, he imagined he was part of them. Felt himself lift up with the strength of his longing and join the laughter until he could believe he was basking in the warm glow of the electric lights, laughing with his brother and sister as they played a board game together, while Mum and Dad looked on.

When he walked slowly home, his face was as serene as an angel’s. Blood drops on the pavement, running from the picked scab on his knuckle, proved he was all too human. But he held on to the contented feeling even when his mother got hold of him.

In the darkness every sound seemed louder. Adam hated those hot, heavy noises, those wet gasps. They made him feel sick, but he was getting better and better at escaping reality.

Suddenly his mum moaned in frustration and gave him a clip round his head.

“Will you stop being distracted and get on with it?” she hissed. “Don’t you want to make me happy? Are you really that selfish? What have I done to deserve such a son, after everything I’ve done for you…”

“I-I-I’m sorry,” he whispered back.

He did what he had to do, but in his head he was in a fairy tale. He was the handsome prince with his big sword, slaying dragons that had his mother’s face. He loved the way they writhed in death.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

~ Nettle ~

Cruelty

PRESENT DAY

Following Laura is a doddle. Thanks to her bright hair, she stands out on the crowded Tube. When she hops on an overland train at Liverpool Street, she does not even glance over her shoulder, and when she settles in a seat she starts reading on her tablet. That is the joy of modern technology, everyone is oblivious to the world around them; instead they are listening to music, posting on social media, reading books, watching programmes, all while on the go. Adam barely has to try to be subtle as he watches her.

Only when she gets off does he take a moment to look around him – and is stunned. He is in Colchester, his old home. It’s a sign, it must be. She really is the one for him.

Fighting down the elation, he concentrates on tracking her as she walks. This part is always the hardest, but he knows how much distance to fall back in order to evade suspicion. When she goes through her front door, he holds back for a minute before getting closer and is gratified to discover that not only does she live in a ground floor flat, but that she has kindly put her full name under the doorbell.

Armed with that knowledge he goes home for a few days and does some research. Despite the hot September weather outside, he is eager to be inside, glued to his computer. It does not take him long to get the lay out of her flat by typing the address into Google and finding the old details online from when it was up for sale.

He leans closer to the screen, fascinated. It was once the ground floor of a house, but the property was converted into two flats some years ago (a few taps on the keyboard and Adam discovers it was actually in 1982). The floor plan comes in particularly handy, as do the exact measurements of the rooms. He studies them for some time after copying them onto his computer.

By the look of it, there is a main front door that is shared by both flats, and opens into a porch with two proper front doors. Laura’s is on the right. Once through that, there is a long thin corridor that also acts as a hallway. Leading off from it on the right are two doors, one for the lounge, one for the kitchen. To the left of the hall are a built-in cupboard, which Adam assumes is shaped inside because the stairs up to the top flat would run above it, then the doors for the bedroom and bathroom. The kitchen can also be accessed from the large lounge, he notes.

By checking Facebook he is able to discover a bit about Laura’s past as well. He’s interested to note that she used to be on the site a lot; there are lots of happy, smiling photos of her with family. He likes the fact she is wearing elegant but natural-looking make up in the snaps. He hates someone who lays the make up on with a trowel, but at the same time believes a woman should always make the effort. His gran, the shining example of ultimate womanhood and what it takes to be a lady, always wore a touch of mascara and a hint of blusher and colour on her lips because she said you never knew who might pop round. The thought of someone seeing her not ‘done’ was terrible to her.

The Facebook updates from Laura suddenly stop four years ago. Around that time friends posted all kinds of messages offering their condolences. By piecing together the comments, Adam works out that there was some kind of car crash and Laura’s whole family was killed.

His heart goes out to her. She is all alone, just like him. Perhaps one day they can sit and talk about what it is like to lose your family.

“You’re not alone any more,” he whispers out loud, a finger gently stroking the cheek of her profile picture.

***

Ever the dutiful friend, Mike tunes in to
Crimewatch
on the allotted day. As the theme tune starts up he is rolling a cigarette back and forth in his fingers, trying to put off the moment of lighting it. Daisy refused to hug him the night before, announcing that he was “all stinky with nasty smoke”, so he is feeling extra guilty about his habit. He never smokes in front of her, but she has the nose of a sniffer dog. He knows he ought to quit, that she is terrified of losing her one remaining parent, but with so much going on he needs something to help with the stress.

Finally it is time for the reconstruction of Julie Louise Clayton’s last known movements to be shown. Mike puts the unlit fag down, takes a sip of tea instead, then a couple of custard cream biscuits – and almost chokes when he sees Simon.

The DCI is indeed wearing his shiny grey suit, which has a strange two-tone effect on the screen. He has combined it with a lemon shirt and mint green tie with lemon and pale pink stripes. Despite looking like a Neapolitan ice cream he manages to speak with gravitas and sincerity.

“Julie Clayton was a young woman in the prime of her life. A journalist on a paper, she also took time out to mentor underprivileged children, and wrote and illustrated children’s stories in her spare time. This was a very talented young lady, whose own story was cut tragically short. Please don’t let her unsolved murder be the end though; if you have any information, I urge you to contact Reading CID.”

Simon does not make any reference to possible links to other murders – they do not want that getting out and national hysteria being caused.

The next day Mike calls Simon to congratulate him, and is told that within twenty-four hours of the BBC programme going out over three hundred people have contacted the police. Now it is a question of trawling through all the information.

Like every copper, Mike knows that in over twenty-five years the show has been credited with helping to solve fifty-seven murders and countless other crimes, from the notorious kidnapping of Stephanie Slater to the capture of the M25 rapist. With such publicity, everyone feels confident that Julie’s murder will get the break it needs soon.

***

EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO

Sara was gazing at Graeme as though he was the most fascinating person in the world. Ever.

He was boasting about a case he cracked recently, involving smuggling, while his wife hung on every word. Listening to him was clearly more interesting than wiping down the kitchen counter, but Adam could not help noticing she held the cloth ready, just in case.

“So how did you catch him in the end?”

“People always make mistakes. Always,” Graeme said.  “Criminals always get cocky. Eventually they get complacent and make mistakes, even when they start out being careful. Even the clever ones can be caught out just because of boasting. That’s what happened this time; one of the gang started boasting to the wrong person about what they were getting away with. We were tipped off, and set up a sting operation. Now four men are behind bars for smuggling.”

“Oh, you’re so clever. I never would have thought of that. But how you can deal with liars and criminals all day every day…” she shuddered.

“But they only got caught because they were boasting?” Adam checked quietly.

“What was that, honey?” urged Sara. “Speak up. Come on, we’ll never hear whether you have something interesting to say if you don’t pipe up.”

“I was just saying…”

“Still can’t hear you. Come on, you can do it.”

As usual, his mother’s ‘encouragement’ shut Adam up. Things had not grown easier for him now that he was a teenager. He opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish, but no words would come now.

“Hmmm? Oh dear, won’t it come out?” She looked so sad as she said it that Graeme walked around the kitchen table and put his arm around her. She put her hand on his chest and gazed up at him.

“Do you want a coffee?” she asked suddenly. “I know how much you love your coffee.”

Graeme took her up on her offer and she started bustling round. “You know, I was reading about an amazing coffeemaker the other day. The review said it was the best on the market, was better than you get in most professional cafés. It looked gorgeous and they even do it in bright red, to match our plates and toaster.”

Her husband tried to hide his snort of suspicion. “You sound like you’re leading up to something.”

“Oh, you know me so well,” she smiled artfully.

Adam realised why she had pretended to be so fascinated with Graeme’s work story: she was trying to worm her way into his good books so she could get what she wanted.

“How much?” Graeme asked, dubious. When Sara said the price he really did snort this time. “How much?! No, no way, sorry, honey.”

Sara pouted prettily. “I just want to make our home perfect. I never had that growing up. I know luxuries don’t matter to you because you had them all the time…”

“We can’t afford to throw our money away on silliness. Instant coffee is fine.”

One thing about Sara, she knew when to push and when to back away. This was a battle she would not win right now.

She gave a disarming smile to her husband. “Well, drink your nasty instant coffee and tell me more about the case. You know how much I love hearing.”

“Better not. Let me tell you about one where the people have been court martialled now instead. That way no sensitive information risks getting out. Can’t be too careful.”

He launched into a brief description of an attack on a woman. The man had been caught thanks to good old-fashioned military police work and DNA evidence.

Adam listened with interest. It was not the detective work that grabbed him, it was the forensics. The science appealed to his logical brain. He was okay at sciences at school. Not that he really excelled at anything there, he found it too stressful being around people all the time; people who wanted nothing to do with him; people who tried to talk to him but he lacked the confidence to talk back. He was a serious boy for his age, older than his thirteen years in many ways, yet emotionally arrested in others. Even with the passing years, he found it no easier to articulate his thoughts and feelings to the outside world.  

He was a clever child though, and since his parents had bought him a computer his life had been transformed. Now he had a way to see the world and learn everything he could ever wish to know, and never have to speak to a soul. And the first thing he had learned? To hide his search history. He did not want his mother knowing anything about him. Shutting her out was now second nature to him, as automatic as breathing.

As a child he had hero-worshipped his dad, but now he started to hate him almost as much as he did his mother. Not because Graeme did anything wrong. More because he didn’t do anything.

He didn’t see what a monster he was married to.

He didn’t protect his only child.

He didn’t realise that catching stupid criminals did not mean that he was clever.

Adam no longer wanted to be like him. In fact, he though his dad may be the most unintelligent person on the planet.

For all that, though, it was with a heavy heart that he waved Graeme goodbye three days later. Graeme had been hoping to be home for longer, working from the barracks where officially he was based, but he had been assigned to protection duty for a VIP that involved him travelling to Germany.

“When will you be back?” Sara sniffed tearfully.

“I’m not sure. Could be days, could be weeks. Sorry, honey, but you know what it’s like.”

“I know…it’s just I’ll miss you so much.” She wiped at her face, and laughed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t get like this every time you go. I know it makes it worse for you.”

Graeme folded his tiny wife in his arms, rubbing her back like a baby. “You know I miss you too, right?” he whispered to her, then looked at his son. “You’re the man of the house again, okay Adam?  Look after your mother and do as you’re told.”

“O-of course, Dad.” Then Adam let himself be hugged for a second, all three of them together, before he broke away, skin crawling at his proximity to his mother. She was really laying on the waterworks this time.

“I’m sorry,” she apologised again.

Graeme gazed at his wife lovingly. Thought for a moment, then spoke softly.

“Hey, I know what will put a smile on your face. Why don’t you buy that coffee maker?”

“Are you sure?” she gasped. Threw her arms round her husband and kissed him. “Thank you so much, you’re the best husband in the world.”

“Ha, well, I’ll be looking forward to the world’s most expensive cup of coffee when I get back home.”

With a final quick kiss on the cheek he broke away. Shook Adam’s hand. Then got into the car and drove away, waving through the window.

The second he was out of sight, Sara sighed cheerily. The tears had stopped and she had a big grin on her face as she fished her car keys from a pocket.

“I’m nipping into town to fetch the coffee machine up from the shop. It took a fortnight to arrive, but is finally ready to collect,” she told Adam, then drove away, humming merrily to herself.

When she returned she had a present for her son, a new Joe Bloggs t-shirt. He didn’t squirm, knew better than to flinch as she held it up against his body.

“Everyone wears these. You’ll look trendy,” she smiled, her hand lingering on his arm.

Adam was growing up fast and now stood only a little shorter than his father. He was skinny though, so still felt like the weak, feminine child he had always been, but he was sticking to the regime his dad had given him, doing press ups every day so that he would not be laughed at so much.