The Celibate Mouse (29 page)

A young woman opens the door and rushes me inside before I can introduce myself. ‘I’m Gloria,’ she announces, takes my coat and leads me through the hallway into a study, complete with roaring fire. Before I can ask her anything, she disappears. The walls are lined with books; chocolates nestle on the desk amongst stacks of papers. Perhaps Gloria is the secretary.

A movement outside the window startles me; something red has flashed by. I put my coat and handbag down and walk toward the window to look out, but as I skirt the desk I notice the drawer is slightly open. Something metallic picks up the light.

A cold lump forms in my stomach and spreads rapidly throughout my body. It’s a laser. The type teenagers aim at aircraft – or at a vehicle being driven along a country road after dark.

A swirl of movement behind me, but before I can turn, a hand wraps around the base of my braid. The knuckles bite into my flesh. ‘I’m sorry you saw that, Susan.’ Before I can react, he swings me around and punches me in the stomach, then twists my plait around his fist, tight against my head and throws me to the floor. My scalp feels as though it is on fire. My face is being mashed into the carpet; I can’t breathe.

He yanks me to my knees and propels me across the room toward the fire. No, no – I grab for his genitals. Somewhere, sometime, he’s learned to street fight. He jerks out of my reach and pushes my head back down onto the carpet. Out of the corner of my eye I see him reach for the poker.

I twist my body sideways and manage to hook my foot back around his leg. We fall to the floor. His grip on my hair doesn’t loosen for a second. The fire screen tips half-way into the fire, spraying sparks onto my skin. I can hear myself grunting.
Save your breath
. He scrambles to his feet and heads for the door, towing me along the floor by my hair. The pain from my scalp is so bad I can’t concentrate.

I cling onto the bottom of the door jamb as we pass through, but he chops his hand down on my wrist. As he hauls me along the hall, I try desperately to get a grip on his jeans to slow him down, but he turns back and kicks me viciously in the ribs. My face bumps painfully on the polished floorboards; my clothes don’t protect me from skid rash. Suddenly, he pauses. The pressure on my scalp is momentarily released but he doesn’t let my hair go. I lash out with my feet, almost unbalancing him again, but beyond a curse, he shows no sign of discomfort.

Then he starts towing me again, while I try to clutch whatever I can. Glass is breaking somewhere. He steps through a doorway, swings me across the floor. My head crashes into the bottom of a cupboard. Before I can regroup, he throws himself onto me. Someone is screaming – is it me?

No. His hands are fighting for my throat. I tuck my chin into my chest, dig my fingernails into his face and jerk sideways. We roll over and over, his hot breath blasting me, eyes popping with hate. I catch momentary glimpses of the young woman who let me in. Her mouth is wide open.

Stop screaming and get help.

CHAPTER 41

In the Nick of Time

Marli & Brittany

Sunday: late morning.

‘Y
ou can’t do that!’ shouted Marli, as her sister pulled on a red anorak and grabbed her bag, preparing to follow their mother’s car. ‘Mum said we had to go straight to Mrs Winslow’s and she’d ring us there. I’ll tell!’ she finished childishly.

‘Well, go on, ring
Da-vid!
Be a sneak,’ snapped Brittany. Marli, frantically punching her father’s mobile number into her phone, didn’t reply. Brittany ran down the hallway, knee-deep in dogs and fell over the puppy, who let out a series of pitiful yelps. Marli rushed out of their room. ‘You didn’t have to do that!’ she screeched angrily.

‘I didn’t mean to!’ The wind snatched Brittany’s voice away as she pelted down the steps. Marli one-handedly thrust all the dogs into the kitchen, almost screaming with frustration as the metallic voice announced her father’s phone was switched off or out of range. She raced for the side verandah, in time to see Brittany backing her car out of the shed.

‘She’ll recognise your car, you idiot!’ she yelled to her sister.

‘Oh shit.’ Brittany was nonplussed, before she remembered their cousin, Ally’s car, which was started regularly to keep the battery charged. She turned off the motor, grabbed her bag, leapt out and ran back into the shed, glancing over her shoulder. Their mother’s car had turned onto the main road, heading for Ipswich. She scrabbled for the keys which were kept under the driver’s seat. She had just backed out and turned around when Marli came running out of the house again, dragging on a windcheater, dilly bag hanging off her arm.

‘I’m coming too,’ she screamed, wrenching the passenger-side door open to hurl herself in.

‘Pooh, you smell of wet dog!’ Brittany put her foot on the accelerator. A steady electronic peeping distracted Marli, who dived into Brittany’s bag and took out her mobile phone.

‘What’s this doing?’

‘Gimme–’ Brittany reached over, took it out of Marli’s hand, pressed some buttons and handed it back. Marli’s eyes widened, as she looked at the road map displayed on the screen. A small red dot travelled along the road to town.

‘That’s Mum’s car!’ announced Brittany, peering through the windscreen into the driving sleet which deflected off the wipers. ‘Tell me if she turns off.’

Fascinated in spite of her disapproval, Marli watched the red dot move up the screen. ‘Is this legal?’ she asked nervously.,

‘Sandy uses one!’

‘Sandy has a
license
to use one and look out for speed cameras,’ Marli replied.

The sisters maintained a cranky silence until they reached the city and began to negotiate the traffic, when Marli flipped her phone open again and began to text.

‘Who are you texting?’ Brittany snapped, exasperated by the slowness of the traffic.

‘Dad. I have a nasty feeling about that phone call mum got. She’s already been attacked and he needs to know. He’s in town this morning, so he won’t be far away!’

Brittany’s smirk, worn for the duration of the trip, vanished immediately. Their father had told Marli where he was going, but didn’t think she had a right to know? Jealousy flared. ‘Mum’s not really in danger. Like, it’s broad daylight? Come on, Marls, get real!’ she growled, but a slight tremor in her voice betrayed her uncertainty.

The red dot stopped in front of what appeared to be a park, thirty metres ahead.

‘She wouldn’t meet someone here! Like, it’s freezing outside?’ Brittany peered through the sleet. Their mother’s Renault was three cars away, but there was no sign of her. They moaned in unison, thinking they’d have to drive endlessly around the block, but suddenly a car pulled out in front of them. Ignoring the horns blasting behind them, Brittany swooped into the parking space.

‘Mum’s gone into that building.’ Marli pointed to the back of the park. ‘I can’t see what it is though ...someone’s let her in.’

‘You stay here.’ Brittany pushed the car door against the wind, wrestled briefly and stepped out, hunched against the cold.

Marli tried their father’s number again; to her utmost relief, he answered. ‘Dad! A woman rang mum and said for her to come into town because she had something to tell her about the murders. Mum’s just gone into a house at the back of the garden. The woman let her in.’

‘Where are you?’ he asked, urgently. Marli heard the sounds of traffic in the background.

‘On Athertons Street, just before the mall. We’re parked beside a garden. She’s gone into a place like an old house in the back corner amongst a lot of oleander bushes. Can’t see what it is from here!’ She went on to describe the building.

‘Bloody hell! Stay out of there! We’re on our way to–’ The signal broke up. Marli shook the phone impatiently. Her father’s voice came back, loud and clear. ‘What are you doing?’

Marli made herself keep her voice level. If she sounded reasonable, her father mightn’t actually kill them for spying on their mother. ‘Brit has a thing some bloke gave her at the party the other night. A GSP tracking device,’ she explained, reading the caption on the leaflet which Brittany had tucked into her phone cover. ‘She put the tracker under Mum’s car and we’ve been following it on Brit’s mobile. I’m scared something’s wrong. Wouldn’t the woman tell the Ipswich police if she was ... genuine? And how did she know who mum is?’

‘Stay where you are.
Don’t
follow your mother into the building. It’s dangerous! We’ve just discovered–’ his voice vanished again. Marli could have screamed with frustration.
‘Dad!’

‘–murderer, so stay away where you are, Marli!’

The call dropped out before she could tell him Brit was already pushing into the shrubbery near one of the windows. Marli snapped her phone shut and leaned forward to keep her sister’s red windcheater in sight. She forced her door open and lurched around the front of the car, cannoning into the parking meter.

‘Oh God, we haven’t put the money in!’ she cried, holding her breastbone where she’d smacked against the metal. Fighting tears, she scrabbled in her pocket for change, slammed money in and ran across the garden, straining to see her sister. As she reached the clump of bushes, Brittany appeared with a brick in her hand, swung her arm back and threw the brick through the window. When the glass stopped falling into the room beyond, she whipped her coat off, threw it over the sill, grabbed the ledge and hauled herself through, head first.

As her sister’s legs disappeared, Marli hoisted herself up to the windowsill and looked inside. It was a study, with papers blowing all over the place. Her sister scrambled to her feet and waved her arms urgently.

‘He’s got mum! Ring dad!’ She cast around desperately, then ran to the fireplace, snatched up the poker and ran from the room.

Marli called their father again. ‘Dad, a man’s got Mum! Brit smashed a window and she’s gone after them!’

‘For chrissakes, I told you to stay where you are. We’re almost there, stay put!’

She could hear sirens in the distance, and nearby someone was emitting hear-splitting shrieks. Mum? She scrambled over the ledge and fell head first into the room. Sounds of a struggle came from somewhere in the depths of the building. Casting around her for a weapon she spotted the doorstop.

She blundered into the hallway, staggering under the heavy iron weight, past a large empty room with stacked chairs along one wall. The sound of crockery smashing and screaming got louder. She reached the kitchen, gasping for breath.

A big man was rolling over and over on the floor, trying to strangle her mother. Her mum’s head was tucked into the man’s chest, her hands gripping his ears. His face was contorted into a hideous, wide-mouthed scream. His eyes bulged. Her sister was whacking his back with the fire tongs. A strange young woman was backed against the sink, screaming.

Marli darted into the room, skirted around the bodies on the floor and smashed the doorstop down on the back of the man’s head.

CHAPTER 42

Delivered from Evil

Susan

Sunday: mid morning.

A
familiar face looms over me. What’s David doing here?

Then–Marli’s voice?

‘Mum, mum!’

‘Wha–?’

‘Mum, it’s us!’

My eyes refuse to focus at first, but then I zero in on their shocked, ashen faces. Blue uniformed legs are all around me. A ring of faces stare down, reminding me incongruously, of Jack Harlow lying dead in the middle of the showground.

The faces give way to paramedics, who crouch over me, bringing out their tools of trade.

‘Are you in pain?’
What do you think? I’ve been scalped!

‘No, I’m fine.’

Behind them, David appears, face twisted with anxiety. Brittany and Marli are sheltering under his armpits. I watch him unpeel them from his person and pass them over to a policewoman, before kneeling beside me. His hands shake as he touches my face. I am not badly hurt, but detachment holds me in a dreamlike state. ‘Susan, thank God. If it wasn’t for the girls, we couldn’t have gotten to you in time.’ He glances at the medics and asks if I can get up.

‘In a moment. We haven’t finished examining her,’ they say firmly, poking my ribs and running their fingers across my scalp. Strands of my hair are stuck to a medic’s fingers. My head aches and rivulets of fire are searing my scalp. Once they pronounce themselves satisfied I’m alive, David takes my hands and assists me to stand. My legs buckle, but he swoops me off my feet and carries me out of the house to a bench beside the front door.

‘You know what I have to do. Constable–would you take my wi–Detective Senior Sergeant Prescott and her –our–daughters back to the station?’ The policewoman by the door looks at me solicitously. ‘Ma’am, I’ll have a car brought around.’ She calls for a patrol car and the girls and I are handed into the back seat as though we are princesses. Marli wails about Ally’s car being on a meter. I don’t give a damn about mine; let the parking inspectors do their worst. A uniformed officer asks for our car keys and details. ‘My handbag’s back in there–somewhere–’ I say, vaguely. ‘Study, I think. Coat too.’

‘I left mine in the car,’ says Brit.

‘I locked it,’ Marli contributes, ‘but I lost my bag.’

Having been assured my colleagues would sort everything, we huddle together in the back of the squad car all the way to the station.

***

Sunday: early afternoon, at the police station

‘Mum, did you know
he
was the murderer?’ asks Marli, as we sit in the client’s lounge, sipping hot chocolate. I’m finding it hard to drink and talk, my stomach and ribs ache and my scalp is raw. Brit is in a trance, not able to do anything, much less abuse anyone.

‘No, I have to admit I didn’t, but I have an idea why.’ I sift through my theories. The girls watch me, round-eyed.

‘Well, why?’ asked Brittany, taking a sip of her hot drink.

‘I suspect that all his life he’s been driven by ambition and just when his goal is within his grasp, an old family scandal threatens his future career.’

Deep, burning hatred, waiting to come out, like acid DNA.

‘Briony Feldman, Sir Arthur’s biographer, is digging into the family archives so he couldn’t have it come out. None of them could. Trouble is, deep down the perpetrator is unstable and probably a psychopath, unfortunately for his victims.’

Marli screws up her face. ‘Who is he then? I’ve never seen him before.’

‘His name is–’

David walks into the canteen, accompanied by his partner, Senior Sergeant Peter Hensen. They are smiling and looking very pleased with themselves.

Marli jumps to her feet, looking distraught. ‘Is he dead? Did I kill him?’

‘No. But he’s going to have a terrible headache!’ David beams, as they sit with us. ‘Brit, you saved your mother’s life by swinging a brick through the window. You forced him to drag her away from his study and that slowed him down. And Marli, if you hadn’t stopped him when you did–’

He shakes his head. ‘John Glenwood remembered who he was going to see when he was attacked and run off the road and Pete discovered that the–’ words appear to fail him. ‘He was a sharp-shooter in the forces in 1960s in the UK, Queens Medal no less. No problem for him to pick off Harlow, in spite of his age. Just
that
warranted bringing him in. We interviewed Lily earlier this morning and discovered he’s Kathleen’s son, the one she had to Bob Jellicott. He’s a lot older than he looks–63. Ferna and her first husband brought him up as theirs. He’s actually Daniella’s half-brother. He had a lot to lose if the authorities discovered he had an uncle and a grandfather who were murderers, so he had a two-fold purpose in shooting Jack, but I’ll tell you about that later.’ His eyes flick to the girls.

‘Well, it explains his desperation,’ I say, wearily.

‘I don’t know how he could do that to Edna, though, poor old girl. Jack Harlow I might be able to understand,’ David finishes grimly.

‘But, dad, who is he?’ insists Marli. Even Brittany is curious.

‘Oh, it’s–’

The door swings open. ‘Detective Inspector Maguire!’

The Chief Superintendent has arrived to pay his respects.