Need You Dead

  ‘They’re adorable. But my husband hates them. He was just about to leave for work this morning when one of the puppies got out of the conservatory’ – she pointed at the glass door – ‘and pooed on the carpet. Corin picked up the poo in his hand and pushed it into my face. Then he punched me, several times, screaming that he was going to kill me, and take them to a dogs’ home when he got back this evening. Then he hit me again. I ran upstairs and locked myself in the bathroom, and called – dialled – 999.’

  ‘The Control Room told me that, according to our records, it’s the third time this has happened in recent months – we want to try and help you to be safe.’

  Lorna Belling nodded and wiped her eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I know I’m being a nuisance. I’m just at my wits’ end – I’m really scared of him.’

  ‘You are not being a nuisance at all,’ Juliet said.

  Lorna’s phone pinged with a text and, momentarily distracted, she peered at it to see who it was from.

  ‘Where does your husband work?’ Matt Robinson asked.

  ‘A tech company, South Downs IT Solutions.’ She looked at the text message again.

  Juliet Solomon wrote the name of the company down. ‘How does he get to work?’ she asked

  ‘By train. He’s lost his licence – for drink-driving.’

  ‘Is that why you’re selling the car?’

  ‘No, that’s – well, was – my reason.’ She pointed in the direction of the dogs. ‘I need to get an estate car for that lot. But there’s a bit of a story behind selling the car – some fraud involved.’

  ‘Do we know about this?’

  ‘Yes, your colleagues do know – but it’s not connected to . . .’ She opened out her hands in a gesture of despair.

  Robinson stepped away and spoke into his radio.

  ‘Who owns this house?’ Juliet asked her.

  Lorna pointed at her chest. ‘Corin was made redundant not long after I met him. He moved in with me, then we got married.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Seven years ago. Since then we’ve remortgaged but I own the larger share.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell him to leave, Lorna?’ Juliet asked her, gently.

  ‘I’m planning to,’ the woman said. ‘But you know what it’s like, there’s never a right time.’ She pointed at the huge tank. ‘There’s five thousand pounds’ worth of tropical fish in here – he’s the only one who knows how to clean and maintain it.’

  The police officer peered at it for some moments. ‘Have you thought about sushi?’ she asked.

  Lorna laughed, lightening up for the first time. ‘I wish.’

  ‘Would you like me to contact one of our DV caseworkers for you? They could help you,’ Juliet said.

  ‘DV?’

  ‘Domestic Violence.’

  After some moments she said, bleakly, ‘Yes – please – thank you.’

  Matt Robinson came back over and sat down. ‘There’s a car on its way to your husband’s office. They’ll arrest him as soon as he arrives.’

  Lorna clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Please don’t.’

  ‘You can’t live like this, Lorna,’ Juliet said.

  Lorna burst into a flood of tears. Then she looked at her watch.

  ‘Oh God,’ she said. ‘My client’s due – my first of the day. My eight o’clock.’

  The two officers stood up. ‘I’ll call the caseworkers, Lorna. Someone will be in touch, OK?’

  Lorna nodded.

  ‘And if your husband turns up back here, don’t let him in, but call 999 immediately.’

  As the two officers climbed back into their car, Juliet Solomon turned to her colleague. ‘You know the saddest thing of all with domestic abuse, Matt? So many of the victims are terrified to leave and face an uncertain future alone. So they find excuses why they have to stay or why they won’t kick their partner out.’

  ‘Like cleaning the tropical fish?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  9

  Monday 18 April

  Just over an hour later, as her client was leaving, Lorna’s phone rang.

  ‘Hello?’ she answered.

  ‘Lorna Belling?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘My name’s Cassandra Montagnini, I’m a Domestic Violence caseworker. Is it safe to talk?’

  ‘Yes, yes, it’s fine. Thank you.’ She glanced at her watch. Her next client wasn’t due for half an hour. She had two more bookings this morning, then the prospect of another very interesting lunchtime!

  Screw you, ‘Greg’.

  ‘So, how are you, Lorna?’

  ‘I’m OK.’

  ‘The officers told me about the incident at your home a little earlier this morning. Would you like some help from us? We can give you support to try to make you feel safer.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I would, please.’

  ‘OK – I wonder if we can just talk things through.’

  ‘I have my next client coming in about half an hour – I’m a hairdresser.’

  ‘Would you like me to call back later?’

  ‘Now is fine.’

  ‘OK, if your client comes we can continue later. Is that OK?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘How did your husband hurt you?’

  ‘He punched me in the face and chest, and I think I may have a cracked rib. He usually hits me where it doesn’t show. He also tried to push dog crap into my mouth and covered my face in it. Now I’m really terrified of him. He does this when he gets into a rage about something, which seems to be more and more of the time these days.’

  ‘What are you frightened of, Lorna?’

  ‘The police said they’re arresting him. He’ll be livid when he comes home. It’ll be even worse.’

  ‘OK, I’ll talk to them. I’ve been told they’re waiting for him to arrive at his office, where he’ll be arrested. We will make sure that if and when he is released you are safe. OK?’

  Lorna thanked her again.

  ‘How are you feeling in yourself?’

  ‘I’m just so depressed, I’d never hurt myself but I constantly feel like shit.’

  ‘Have you considered moving out at all?’

  Boy, had she considered that. For the past eighteen months of her living hell she’d been planning her new life with Greg Just waiting for him to give her the word and she was out of here. Now, from what she had learned, that was not going to happen and she was back to square one. ‘Yes,’ she answered.

  ‘Other than how you feel, are you healthy, Lorna?’

  ‘I’d say so. I walk the dog or go to the gym most days.’

  ‘Your husband has quite a history with the police. He’s been arrested for attacking you twice previously, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes. But this is the first time I’ve spoken to your organization.’

  There was a brief pause. Lorna heard the putter of typing on a keyboard.

  ‘Do you and your husband have any other problems?’

  ‘No, but money’s tight. He had a very good job as a salesman with a tech firm, but when he got done for drink-driving and lost his licence, he lost his job. He got another job with this firm in Burgess Hill, but at much less money, so he’s not contributing much.’

  ‘How else does he treat you?’

  ‘He’s very controlling. He calls and texts me throughout the day, wanting to know what I’m doing, who I’m seeing, and why I’m not at home whenever I go out. It’s driven me to getting a second phone he doesn’t know about, so he can’t track me all the time.’

  Cassandra Montagini said, ‘Lorna, from what you have told me I think we need to get someone out to you to complete a proper risk assessment. Would you be comfortable with that, and, if you are deemed high risk, that I refer you to an Independent Domestic Violence Advisor?’

  ‘Um – well, I – I don’t know. Yes, I suppose I’d be fine with that,’ she said, hesitantly. ‘Actually, I’d be very grateful.’

  ‘Perhaps we should consider moving you some
where else, before your husband is released? How would you feel about that?’

  ‘I – I – can’t – I’ve got clients booked in to see me – I can’t let them down. And we have all these tropical fish – I – he has – he has to look after them – I mean he – and I have – six tiny puppies.’

  ‘Your safety is the most important thing at this stage, Lorna.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, I appreciate that. But I can’t leave – not at the moment. Not until the puppies are old enough in a few weeks – they’ve all been reserved. But I have to keep them until they can go to their new owners.’

  ‘All right, what I’ll do is have an advisor call you as soon as possible. Are you going to be in for a while?’

  ‘I am, yes, until around lunchtime.’

  As soon as the woman ended the call, Lorna read the text that had come in on her new private phone. Very few people had the number.

  Instantly, her spirits lifted a little.

  Only to be dashed again, moments later, by another incoming email on her laptop from the current bane of her life, Mr Nasty.

  I’m not going to go away, so you had better reply, because you are going to have to speak to me again eventually. You’ve had your telephone company block my calls. But not only do I know where you really live, I know what’s going on in your other place, your secret place, your nasty, dirty little secret place. Might be worth offering me a refund for that reason alone. I’m running out of patience, Mrs Belling.

  10

  Wednesday 20 April

  It had all been so naughty back then – so deliciously naughty! The clandestine meetings in their secret love nest, a tiny, shabbily furnished studio flat. Snatched hours whenever they could both get away, breathless with the excitement of seeing each other, and both feeling the terrible wrench each time they parted.

  The flat was on the third floor of a dilapidated apartment block on Hove seafront, overlooking the King Alfred leisure complex. They didn’t care that the lift never worked, that the entrance hall and stairwell smelled of damp, nor that the wiring was a fire hazard. All that mattered was they had somewhere to meet, with a double bed – albeit a bit rickety – a little fridge where they could keep wine chilled, and a bathroom where they could freshen up before returning home to their respective spouses. She’d made it look as homely as she could, with a couple of framed photographs of themselves, scented candles, and a sheepskin rug on the floor.

  Lorna had found it and it was ideal for many reasons. It was an easy location for them both to get to, with plenty of parking in the side streets. The rent, which they shared, was cheap as chips, because the building was due to be refurbished as part of the redevelopment of this whole area, and the landlord, happy to accept cash monthly, didn’t ask any questions. A big bonus was that nothing overlooked it. They were private.

  Not, Lorna thought, that she and Greg would have been here for much longer. When they’d originally taken it, believing his promises, she’d figured it would be for a few months only until he left Belinda, and they’d find a proper home together. The months had dragged into a year, then a year and a half. But not any more, oh no. Soon Greg and this place, which once she had loved but now hated so much, would be history.

  And that numpty with his vile emails and pathetic hint at blackmail – he’d be history soon, too.

  As would Corin.

  She had her own plans now, a decision she’d made over the past weekend after discovering the truth about Greg. She was going to visit her sister, Melanie, in Australia and look into the possibility of making a new life there. Mel was a year younger, but they had always been so close they could be twins. Recently divorced from a wealthy stockbroker, and living in a gorgeous beachfront house in Tamarama, Mel was having a ball. And imploring Lorna to come out and join her.

  Well, she had made up her mind, and she was off. Going to start a new life. Without Corin’s knowledge she had started putting up for sale, through eBay and Gumtree, everything she possessed of any value – jewellery, handbags, the Cartier watch she’d inherited from her mother. She’d originally advertised the car because she needed a more practical vehicle for the dogs. But now she wasn’t going to need a replacement and the cash would be useful.

  There had been a big hiccup on that particular sale, but hopefully it would soon be sorted.

  The puppies were going to be fine, she’d already taken deposits for all of them, and over the next few weeks they would be gone to their new homes. Someone her best friend Roxy knew, whose dog had recently died, was keen to take the puppies’ mother. Sorted. Nearly. Very nearly. Her excitement was growing by the day, helping her get over her anger towards Greg. Every few hours she would go online and google Sydney. Staring at the stunning views of Tamarama Beach and neighbouring Bronte, Bondi and Coogee. And at the Sydney waterfront. The blue ocean, the brilliant sunshine.

  The sunshine that Corin, a total mood hoover, seemed to suck out of the sky. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d noticed the sun shining when she had been with him. Greg had changed that, he had put the light back into her life. Until . . .

  Until . . .

  Standing in her dressing gown, preparing herself for her confrontation with the bastard, she stared out at the ominously dark sky and falling rain, feeling the draught through the window and listening to the constant rumble of traffic along Kingsway down below. Stared at the dreary, crumbling red-brick edifice of the King Alfred – the pool where she had learned to swim as a child. Then around at the tiny room. The worn carpet was pink – old-lady pink, as Greg had jokingly called it. The walls were knobbly Artex and the ceiling was the colour of nicotine. The sagging double bed had a fake-fur throw she’d bought when they first got the place; there was a two-seater sofa, an armchair with a busted spring and a tiny kitchenette with a breakfast table. Through louvre doors was a bathtub, also in old-lady pink, with a hand-shower with a rubber hose that you stuck over the taps, a matching washbasin and loo.

  The wiring scared her. Every time she came in and turned on the light, sparks shot out of the switch. She used a three-pin plug in the bathroom – which Greg said was illegal – for her hairdryer. On a couple of occasions she’d mentioned the wiring to the landlord, but he had never got back to her.

  Right now she could not wait to leave.

  A Van Morrison CD was playing. Days Like This.

  With a huge grin, she began to nod her head along to it. Balling her fists in the air, she suddenly sang out loud, ‘Days like this! Yayyyyy!’

  Then her phone – her private phone – pinged with a text.

  On my way! 29.272 mins to arrival! Crazy to see you!

  Get naked for me!

  Shit, she thought. Shit, shit, shit. She looked at her watch. It was 5.25 p.m. An hour sooner than she had been expecting him at the very earliest. Shit!

  She ran into the bathroom and stared in the mirror. Her hair looked like she’d been through a tornado, and her make-up could have been applied by Jackson Pollock. She turned on the taps, and whilst the bath was filling she peered into the rapidly misting-up mirror and started to sort out her face, glancing intermittently at her watch. She wanted to be ready for the bastard and looking her best for the confrontation.

  She plugged in the dryer, carefully, holding it with two fingers. As she switched it on there was a fizz and crackle from the socket. The machine whirred into life and she directed the hot air at the mistedup mirror. Some minutes later, when the bath was full, she dropped her dressing gown, eased herself into the tub, and began soaping her body, thinking back dreamily over the past couple of hours.

  In what seemed like an instant later, a good fifteen minutes before she expected him, Greg in a sharp navy suit, striped shirt and a collegiate tie at half mast, was towering over her, holding in his hand a bunch of weary-looking flowers, which had petrol station written all over them.

  ‘My baby! God, I’ve missed you!’ He leaned down to kiss her on the lips, and as he did so, she turned her head away, offe
ring him her cheek.

  ‘Uh?’ he said, standing back up with a frown.

  ‘Fuck you,’ she said.

  ‘Hey, baby – what is it?’

  ‘Had a nice time in the Maldives last month with poor, sick “Belinda” did you? Helped her recover her mental state?’

  ‘It was shit,’ he said. ‘I’ve told you. I had a terrible time. We barely spoke a word to each other for the entire fortnight. I woke up every morning wishing it was you with me.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘I promise you, Lorna. Every single day I said to myself, “Another shitty day in paradise. Because I’m with the wrong woman.”’

  ‘Go and take a look at my laptop on the dining table, Greg. Do you really think I’m an idiot? Go on, take a look! I’ve left it on, and disabled the password, so you can sodding see for yourself.’

  He backed out of the room. After some moments he came back in. ‘Where did you get that from?’

  ‘Does it matter, Greg? You had a terrible time, did you? Poor you. It doesn’t look like you were having a terrible time – you and Belinda look quite cosy to me.’

  ‘Baby, listen – please listen to me. I know what it must look like.’

  ‘Do you? Do you really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No you don’t, you have no idea.’

  ‘Listen—’

  ‘No,’ she interrupted him. ‘You listen to me for once. I’ve believed your bloody lies all this time. Now I know who you really are, you bastard. Greg! Ha! Did you really think I’d never find out? How stupid do you think I am?’

  ‘Baby!’

  ‘Baby!’ she mimicked. ‘Don’t baby me. I’m not your baby. I’m not your convenient little shag on the side. Not any more.’

  ‘Hey, I love you, baby.’

  ‘No, you don’t love me. You just love shagging me.’

  ‘It’s not like that at all, trust me. Please, baby.’

  ‘I’ve trusted you for all this time, you lying creep. God, I feel a fool.’

  ‘Lorna – Jesus – don’t be like this.’

  ‘Oh, how would you like me to be? Naked in bed, listening to more of your lies? For months you’ve been promising to get me away from my nightmare with Corin. For months you’ve told me one lie after another about poor, sick Belinda.’