The Teacher: A shocking and compelling new crime thriller – NOT for the faint-hearted! (2 page)

‘But it’s only ever a matter of time when it comes to people like you, Jeffrey. You’ll do it again, you won’t be able to stop yourself. But even if you don’t, you could have a heart attack right here at your desk and when they go through your drawers they’ll find that flash drive. I have seen those pictures on those files. I’ve seen how you watch the boys. How long before you aren’t just looking any more? People find those files and they draw their own conclusions.’ The voice was so cold, so completely emotionless, not even mocking, nothing. ‘Don’t forget I saw first-hand how much you like to watch.’

Jeffrey drew in his breath as he felt a hand on the small of his back, slowly travelling upwards, gently sliding between the protruding bones of his shoulders. He imagined the hand on his bare skin as it reached the back of his neck, stroking tenderly, brushing through the sweaty tendrils of his dishevelled hair. His body stirred at the welcome touch of masculine fingers.

‘Stop it!’

‘I bet you imagined this a hundred times when I was younger, back when I was your type. You wouldn’t have told me to stop then,’ the man whispered in his ear. ‘That’s how you like them, isn’t it, Mr Stone? Well I’m sorry I’m not that boy any more. I’m a man now.’

‘What’s in the box?’ Jeffrey finally asked as he exhaled.

‘Go on and have a look. I know how you like choices, so I’m giving you a choice.’

Jeffrey’s hand hovered over the lid of the box. It was hand-carved and valuable, made from black ebony with an undecipherable image etched into the surface. His mouth dried as he opened it to reveal what was inside. It took every muscle he had to hold himself upright as he stared at the contents, feeling the blood drain from his face as the room began to spin.

‘Do you know what that is?’

‘Yes,’ Jeffrey said, although he could no longer hear his own voice over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. He looked down at the pear-shaped metal device.

‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Look how delicate the embossing is, the level of detail on those leaves,’ the voice said, so close to his ear now he could feel the warm breath on his skin. ‘Why don’t you pick it up?’

‘No.’

He felt the man’s hand grip the back of his neck, he was strong. The man’s body pressed against him in a way that both aroused and terrified Jeffrey. He caught the first glimpse of the man as his hand reached for the instrument in the box. It was big and strong, unfamiliar and yet there was something like déjà vu coursing through Jeffrey’s memory.

‘There really is something for everyone. I thought this was particularly appropriate for you. The Pear of Anguish. You know, back when these were invented, they believed the sentence had to fit the crime and the punishment should be carried out on the part of your body that had sinned.’ He moved even closer to Jeffrey, his grip tightening and his voice lowering to a deep whisper. ‘You’re a liar and a sodomite … Where do you think I should put this?’

‘Please …’ Jeffrey offered futilely.

‘Do you remember how these work?’ He released Jeffrey and took a step away, taking the pear with him, beginning to pace. ‘If I turn this screw at the end then the sides start to expand out, eventually making the circumference three times larger. Let’s say, for example, I put it in your mouth. Of course, first I would have to get it past your teeth – that’s likely to knock a couple of the front ones out. As it’s expanding, of course, it will force most of the rest of them out of their sockets. Without anaesthetic I am sure you can imagine how painful that will be.’

‘Stop …’

‘Then your jaw will dislocate, which will most likely cause swelling in the back of your throat, not to mention how old this is, it’s probably rife with bacteria. By the time your airway closes over you will be in so much pain I doubt you will even notice the lack of oxygen. It will be a slow death, hypoxia most likely, as one by one your major organs shut down. The flow of oxygen will be pitiful, but still enough to keep you alive and in agony for a good few minutes. In terms of pain, a minute may as well be for ever.’

‘Enough!’ Jeffrey shouted, his voice reverberating. He stared down at his clenched fists. They were white with fear.

‘Of course, that’s only if I put it in your mouth … You’re not likely to die the other way, although I suspect you’ll wish you had.’

‘You’ll get rid of the photos if I do this?’ Jeffrey’s heart was in his throat as he looked up at the noose, understanding that he had no choice, that this had always been the only possible end for him.

‘You are getting the easy way out, Jeffrey, trust me. I promise I will destroy any evidence if you do this one thing for me. I would rather not draw too much attention to your death. You owe me this much.’

Jeffrey stood up on the chair, the feet sliding against the highly polished wooden floor. Once his neck was inside the noose all he needed was two seconds of insane courage and the decision would be out of his hands.

‘I can’t.’ Jeffrey’s voice broke and his eyes prickled with tears, warm, wet fluids ran down his leg on to the chair and floor.

‘This will all be over in a few seconds, you can do it, I believe in you.’ A little warmth from the cold voice? ‘Isn’t that what you used to say to me?’

Jeffrey filled his lungs with as much air as possible, as though that might help in some way. The chair wobbled a little and he grabbed hold of the rope; he just couldn’t keep his balance. The man finally walked out from behind him and they stood face to face. The man pulled the black hood from his head and looked Jeffrey proudly in the eyes, this was the last thing Jeffrey would ever see. Jeffrey kicked the chair and his feet dropped, for a second he thought he might be able to touch the ground but his feet danced around desperately searching for some leverage and found just more air. The rope burned with each tug but he felt like he had no choice but to struggle, his body still grasping for life whether he wanted it to or not. Then came the darkness, and as his eyes blurred to a sliver, the smile.

The Father

Adrian Miles’ cheeks burned red under the heat of the sun. The sheets stuck to him as he turned over in his bed away from the open blinds. He remembered why he hadn’t shut them as he saw the girl stirring next to him. She opened her eyes.

‘Good morning.’ She smiled. He was glad the sun was in her eyes and she couldn’t see him searching his memory for her name. ‘I had a great time last night.’

‘Me too,’ he lied. It was not that he didn’t have a great time, he well might have, but the facts were a little blurry.

The phone rang and Adrian was grateful for the interruption.

‘I’ll just get dressed,’ the woman said.

‘Hello?’ he said into the receiver, his eyes fixed on Hannah? Anna? As she got out of bed she walked across the room naked, sweeping her clothes up off the floor as she went. He couldn’t entirely remember at what point over the course of last night he had managed to seal that particular deal. The situation was all too familiar to him. The absence of memory, the nameless semi-clad woman and the realisation that next time maybe he should just go to their place so that he wouldn’t have to make nice in the morning. He could just disappear. Not the first time these thoughts had occurred to him, but at the time he was always too drunk to apply any kind of rationale.

‘Adrian, I need you to take Tom today,’ Andrea said on the other end of the line, her voice as cold and to the point as ever, she never called unless she absolutely had to.

‘Hasn’t he got school?’

‘The school’s shut, something’s happened over there, sorry this isn’t much notice but I need you to take him.’

‘Can’t he stay home on his own?’ Adrian paused before continuing, unwilling to divulge any specific information about his personal life to his ex. He hated having to jump to her commands but ultimately knew he had no choice; not if he wanted to spend time with his son. ‘I have to work later.’

‘No, he can’t, he’s thirteen, Adrian, he can’t be alone all day, just take him in with you and sit him in the corner, step up to the bloody plate, would you?’

‘Hey, you are the one who made the rules and I’m just the one who follows them. I thought you understood how important today is for me …’ He tried not to sound resentful – it didn’t take much to make Andrea angry enough to refuse him access of any kind.

‘Don’t do it for me, do it for him.’

‘Can I use your toothbrush?’ the girl called from the bathroom doorway. Adrian cringed before nodding and waving her away, he could hear Andrea’s scorn through the receiver. Even though she didn’t want Adrian any more, and hadn’t done for quite some time, she still managed to make him feel like he was betraying her in some way.

‘Is someone there with you?’

‘I’ll be there in ten minutes.’ Adrian hung up and sighed. He walked to the bathroom, the girl stood in her underwear brushing her teeth with his toothbrush. She shot him a foamy smile in the reflection of the mirror. He ignored the pangs of lust as his eyes travelled up and down her body. She spat into the sink and he sighed before saying, ‘I have to go, let yourself out!’

Adrian scanned the floor for the cleanest pair of trousers he could find. He caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror. He had scratch marks across his chest and as he ran his fingers over his tired chin he noticed that his stubble was dangerously approaching beard territory. He should probably smarten up before returning to work, but it wasn’t going to happen. These small acts of defiance made him feel like a little bit less of a bitch. He pulled yesterday’s shirt over his head and grabbed his keys off the bedside table.

Adrian kept the car running and beeped the horn, he saw the neighbours’ curtains twitching and decided to beep again, making sure Andrea’s neighbours knew that she hadn’t always been the princess she was now, she had slummed it once at least. A ten-minute drive and yet it was like being in another world, just three digits on the postcode felt like entering another country, a cleaner, happier country. Not that the lower end of the city was a ghetto or anything. This regency-period neighbourhood stood high above Exeter city centre, past the prison and the red light district, near the University. All the front gardens were vibrant and blooming. The front doors all freshly painted and the lawns mown. Each house had a clear vista of the little people down below. It even seemed sunnier here. The light bounced off the grand white house. The sun was not diffused by the endless grey terraces that surrounded the tiny plot his modest home occupied on the wrong side of town. Tom walked towards the car with his shoulders hunched over, still uncomfortable in his ever-growing frame. He was just a kid, and yet he was only three years younger than Adrian was when he got Andrea pregnant, and now that Tom was an adolescent, Adrian couldn’t help but compare himself to him. He reminded Adrian of himself, except Tom didn’t have the same hang-ups. At least Adrian hoped he didn’t. They say the first-born child always looks most like the father in order to help the bonding process but it hadn’t helped much in Adrian’s case, if anything it just made him a little sad.

Andrea was standing in the doorway scowling at Adrian, dressed in her power suit, anyone would think she was a lawyer or something, but no, she worked as a personal shopper in a high-end department store, hardly the end of the world if she took the day off. Adrian had fought long and hard for access to Tom and he could not say no to having him, because he knew she would use it against him, that’s just who she was. She looked good though, she always had looked good and she probably always would. He reluctantly settled his eyes on the curves of her finely toned body. It was as though she had been sewn into her outfit. There wasn’t a wrinkle or a pull in the perfectly tailored ensemble. Her thick black hair was pulled back into a silky bun and the brightness of the diamond studs in her ears flashed against her milk-chocolate skin. People often thought Andrea was Indian or Latin American due to her exotic skin tone but she was in fact half English and half Irish. Adrian looked at her full red lips and looked away before she caught him.

‘I’ll pick him up later on,’ she said before switching tones. ‘Love you, baby.’

‘Bye, Mum.’

Tom got in and Adrian pulled away. The familiar awkward silence filled the car. Adrian would have liked to attribute this phenomenon to Tom being a teenager, but the truth was it had always been this way between them, every other weekend for the last seven years. Andrea had tried to shut him out completely, underestimating how motivated Adrian would be about this particular subject. He had fallen in love with Tom from the moment he had first seen him, he had tried his hardest to provide for Andrea but nothing he ever did was enough. Before Tom even turned two Andrea had remarried and she and her new partner had tried to block any kind of access for Adrian. He had finally managed to get regular visitation when Tom was six but by then the damage was already done. Tom and Adrian’s relationship had been strained ever since.

‘So how come your school’s shut? Do you know?’

‘Yeah, my mate Alex texted me,’ Tom said excitedly. ‘His dad’s a teacher there. They found Mr Stone hanging in the atrium, killed himself, like right in the middle of it.’

‘Is that a surprise?’ Adrian didn’t know much about the school Tom attended, Andrea had always maintained it was the best school in the area and so Tom would go there and that was that. She’d made a point of telling Adrian that his input on this matter wouldn’t be needed and so he left all the school stuff to Andrea.

‘Shyeah!’ Tom looked at his dad like he was crazy. ‘Apparently there’s going to be some kind of inquiry.’

‘No, I mean, did he seem depressed or suicidal or anything?’

‘He was pretty miserable but then most of the teachers at that place are, they’re all uptight, you know?’

‘Still don’t like it?’

‘It’s OK, bit poncey.’

‘Well a lot of kids out there wouldn’t mind going to that poncey school, Tom.’ Even though Adrian himself felt exactly the same way about the school, and there was no way Tom would be going there if it weren’t for his stepfather’s money.

‘I know,’ Tom mumbled before slumping back in his seat.

Silence resumed and Adrian kicked himself for pulling out one of those parental lines, he didn’t know how to deal with Tom really. His only reference was his own childhood and he knew that was not the norm, so he resorted to using variations on lines he had heard on cheesy sitcoms. To diffuse the silence he turned the radio on, he could feel Tom’s disapproval at the folk jingle so he turned to another station. After a few minutes of fiddling with the buttons he gave up and turned it off as they pulled up outside his house.

The one thing Adrian did have right was his lounge. Tom would play it cool but he looked forward to spending time with his father’s gaming set-up, if nothing else. Adrian spent most of his money on what most adults referred to as toys. Andrea had never asked for child support because after they broke up she fell into a relationship almost immediately with a much older, much wealthier entrepreneur. Every month since Tom had been born Adrian had used some of his wage to buy a toy for him, but not just any toy, collectable toys.
Star Wars
,
Star Trek
, DC or Marvel, anything that was highly sought after, it would all belong to Tom one day, when he was old enough to appreciate its worth. Every year Adrian would have to insure it all with detailed photographs and lists of everything he owned in case of a house fire, most of it was completely irreplaceable, but it was also incredibly valuable. His whole lounge was shelved from wall to ceiling with pristine boxes on every possible surface. Try explaining to a six-year-old that they aren’t allowed to play with any of the cool stuff.

Tom sat in front of the large LED screen and turned it on, the surround-sound kicked in and the whole room came alive. Adrian knew the TV was too big for the room, but he also knew it would win him brownie points so he bought it anyway.

‘Have you got “Zombie Flesh Hunters 2”?’

‘That’s an eighteen.’

‘All my friends play it, they’ll probably all be online today, I won’t tell Mum, I promise.’

‘Well, you’ve only got two hours before I have to go to work,’ Adrian said.

‘For fuck’s sake!’

‘Tom!’ Adrian shouted, the loudness of his voice rang through him and he took a deep breath, his son stared at him wide eyed. He felt the ghost of his father standing behind him. He shook it off. ‘Just watch your language, please, mate.’

‘I’m not your mate,’ Tom hissed.

Adrian opened the cupboard and tossed the game to Tom, seeing the hint of victory in Tom’s hidden smile. Adrian left the room, he hated raising his voice, but even more than that he hated being played.

All traces of Adrian’s house guest had gone from the bedroom, the only evidence she had been there was that the bed was made and Adrian’s clothes were in the basket instead of on the floor. Even this small deed made him feel trapped. Fear of commitment was an understatement. In Adrian’s case, it was a phobia. When Andrea had left him and taken his son he promised himself he would never put himself in that situation again, it was as though his heart had been ripped out. Whoever said it’s better to have loved and lost clearly had no fucking idea what they were talking about. In the bathroom Adrian looked in the mirror again. He checked his eyes weren’t still bloodshot. As it had been six months since he had been allowed on the premises he probably shouldn’t go back to work looking like a drunk, not after the way he had left – or been asked to leave. Last night he had needed the Dutch courage though and so he drank, he met a woman. It was the same old story, just a different night. He got in the shower; he could hear the blood-curdling screams and shotgun blasts through the floor as he washed away his hangover and whatever remained of his interlude.

Adrian stood outside the police station wishing he had never given up smoking. Taking a deep breath he walked through the glass doors with Tom in tow.

‘Hey, Tommy.’ Denise Ferguson beamed from behind the desk, obviously trying to avoid eye contact with Adrian. He suspected this would not be the last awkward encounter he would have today.

As Adrian pushed the second set of doors open he noticed the volume of the discussion change, along with the pace, everyone slowed down. He felt eyes on him so he kept his eyes on the floor and walked over to his desk.

‘Detective Miles?’ Adrian looked up. DCI Morris was standing in the doorway to his office. ‘Come here, would you?’

Adrian motioned to Tom to wait there before walking into the DCI’s office. Tom pulled out his phone and started messing around, headphones in to avoid being patronised by any of his dad’s colleagues. Morris closed the door behind Adrian, who was glad to be out of that room for a moment. Morris had a warm smile on his face which made Adrian feel ill at ease.

‘DCI Morris,’ Adrian said.

‘Take a seat, please, Adrian.’

Adrian sat in what felt like the naughty chair, you didn’t get invited in here for just anything, a serious chat was at hand. DCI Morris didn’t look a day older than the first time Adrian had met him almost twenty years ago. Of course, when Adrian met him he looked about sixty. It was the bald head; it’s hard to age a man without any hair at all. Adrian realised this after taking a few witness statements in the early days – if there was a bald man involved you could pretty much forget a reliable description, witness accounts would span teenagers, pensioners and everything in between, depending on the visual capabilities of the witnesses themselves.

‘Sir.’

‘It’s good to have you back, you’ve been missed.’

‘Look, sir, about what happened—’

‘As far as I am concerned, Adrian, it’s over and done with now, things happen, they shouldn’t but they do. The inquiry is over and I think six months is quite enough time to get yourself sorted. A “No further action” order is better than nothing. At least next time you will know to take a little more care when logging evidence.’

‘There won’t be a next time, sir.’ Adrian cringed. ‘And thank you for speaking to the commission on my behalf.’