Why I Want You Dead Read online

  A K Shattock

  WHY I WANT YOU DEAD

  PROLOGUE

  It was time.

  I pause for a moment outside of your window as I watch you enjoying the evening television; like a hunter observing their prey.

  It was time. The moment I have been waiting for years.

  The hunger, the need for revenge was pulsing, throbbing inside of me.

  I let myself into the house, silently. Take a detour to the kitchen. There is no need to switch the light on, to alert my presence - I could find my way around this kitchen with my eyes closed.

  Then I creep into the living room.

  You don’t even flinch, captivated by the football match rerun flashing on the television. As usual, you are self-absorbed in your own, selfish world. The anger, the hatred was still so raw.

  Then you notice me. You appear confused at first and then you greet me. I nod back as a reply, as I drift across the room, setting up my scene wordlessly. I arrange myself in the right position. You still haven’t noticed the knife hanging loosely in my hand.

  I’m flexing my arm. The blade glints. I would never have imagined it would end this way. But you did this to yourself. Somebody else would have killed you, if I hadn’t. You are lucky. Perhaps another wouldn’t have been so merciful.

  I pull your head back and you yelp in surprise. Your eyes widen as you take in what is about to happen. I smile.

  Who says revenge isn’t sweet?

  MARY

  CHAPTER ONE

  It was such an awful day.

  The wind was almost strong enough to blow me over and the freezing rain pelted the side of my cheek as I hurried out of the bus and towards the house; a beautiful, rather expensive four-bedroom detached residence in a cosy, picturesque neighbourhood in Dulwich, London. My poor azaleas that I had planted alongside the gravel path the weekend before, were now flat on the ground, scattered in the dirt, looking very sorry for themselves.

  I huffed in frustration, internally cursing the terrible British weather. It was supposed to be Spring. I had wanted to celebrate the end of winter by treating myself to some new flowers for the front garden. It was now abundantly clear that I had completely wasted my time.

  I pulled my expensive, woollen Marks and Spencer coat tighter around me as I jogged up the front path. I had hoped it was time to pack away my winter coats in the attic. laughed at suggested it. I was now glad that I hadn’t. Greg had me the previous week when I had

  “If you put that coat away, it’ll be guaranteed snow next week!” He hadn’t been wrong. If it snowed right now, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised.

  Again, I sighed heavily as I finally made it to the front door and fished inside my handbag for my keys. Greg had been right. Why was Greg always right? It was such an annoying trait of his.

  I often wondered what it was that had drawn me to Greg so much in the first place. I had met him back when I was in my late twenties; him in his late thirties. He had been rich, handsome, athletic and cocky. I, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. Poor, drab, sincere and insecure. Was that saying always true? Opposites always attract? It was certainly the case for Greg and I.

  As a habit, I found myself checking my surroundings before I went inside. As of late, I had recently seen strange men standing outside of our house, peering into our windows. I had no doubt that they were looking for Greg’s partner. Ever since he had returned to the country, he was nothing but trouble. However, fortunately at the moment, there was not another soul in sight.

  I let myself into the house and was surprised to find that it was completely dark inside. It wasn’t even that late. I peeked at my watch and saw that it was exactly 19:38. His dark blue, North Face jacket was hanging on the banister of the stairs. His car was in the driveway. Greg should be home. Why weren’t the lights on?

  “Greg,” I called out. “I’m home!”

  No answer.

  He must have dozed off in a chair somewhere; another sign of aging that he swiftly denied. Secretly, I was glad. It meant that I had more time to think of a story to explain where I had been. There was no way that he could know the truth.

  Not that anything had happened.

  I had been stood up. Again. I just couldn’t understand it. Was I being played? Was this some sort of trick or satisfying revenge for what had happened in the past? I tried to shove the thoughts out of my mind, as there was no point dwelling on it. I had other worries to deal with.

  I removed my coat and hung it on the coat hooks; and then moved Greg’s coat onto the hooks as well. The stubborn man had never in thirty years of marriage hung up his coat in the right place; despite telling him again and again. I bit my lip, resisting the urge to shout.

  I then made my way into the living room. Strangely, it was also pitch black in here. The black-out curtains were firmly shut. I had been one hundred percent sure I had drawn them this morning. It wasn’t like Greg to remember to shut the curtains at night. It was then I could smell it. The stench of blood. The strong, sickly smell slowly filled my nostrils. I couldn’t explain it, but suddenly I could feel this huge sense of fear and dread, to the point where I was temporarily frozen on the spot.

  My eyes gradually adjusted to the dark. Indeed, Greg was napping in his chair. He was in his favourite softgreen armchair that was directly opposite the large flat-screen television that was mounted on the wall. Weirdly, the television wasn’t even on. I could see the tufty bits of greying hair on the back of his head. But there was an eerie silence. Something was wrong. A black, circular stain could be seen underneath the armchair. The stench of blood was now much stronger. Panic was starting to build up inside me. “Greg?” I choked out, my voice barely a whisper. Slowly, my hand reached for the light switch. The room was suddenly clear. I stepped carefully towards the armchair.

  Greg was sitting, unmoving in the chair. But he wasn’t napping.

  His eyes were open, and glassy. A deep incision had been made across his throat. Blood had soaked his clothes, the chair and the carpet below. Another cut had been made along his face.

  It looked like he was grinning.

  I screamed and I screamed, until I couldn’t scream anymore.

  And then everything went black.

  TOBIAS

  CHAPTER TWO

  Detective Inspector Tobias Mitchell strode into the meeting room at the station early Monday morning; his long, dark trench coat flowing behind him and a travel coffee flask firmly clutched in one hand. Tobias had never thought in a million years that he would be the organised, preppy office-worker-type to take in a travel mug religiously everyday. He couldn’t deny that it made sense in the end. Endless takeaway coffees were costing him a fortune and he was tired of all the dirty looks he was getting from hippy, vegan types in the street when he discarded the used paper cups. He thought they would be grateful that at least he was making the effort to dispose of them properly instead of littering, but no, it still wasn’t enough. So there he was, sipping his cheap instant coffee from his fancy travel flask in his self-allocated seat in the back of the meeting room; waiting for his colleagues to arrive.

  First, it was DS Simmonds who entered. “Morning Tobias,” she said, smiling. Tobias nodded and greeted her back. He couldn’t help but notice that the whites of her eyes were extremely red and her dark, wiry hair was more unruly than usual. It looked like she hadn’t slept in a month. That was probably the effect of having three young children under five years old. Tobias did not know how she managed it. And truthfully, he did not want to know.

  Next, it was DS Harris. “Nice mug, Mitchell,” he smirked, as he heaved his huge backside onto one of the seats at the front; his uniform strained against his oversized tummy and his thick, black hair was lim
p and greasy. Idiot, thought Tobias.

  “Nice wig, Harris,” Tobias couldn’t resist replying. “What’s it made of?”

  Harris’s face was a picture of bewilderment as he tried to figure out what Tobias had just said.

  “Oh leave him alone, Tobias,” Simmonds sighed. She had recently lost the patience for their frequent onesided banter sessions.

  “Right, let’s get started!” Superintendent Fowler was often heard before he entered a room. Sure enough, he barged in, the door flung into the wall, tables and chairs shaking. His bald head was as shiny as the gleaming belt on the front of his carefully tailored uniform.

  “I have an announcement. We have a new Detective Sergeant starting with us today.”

  Tobias resisted the urge to sit back, clap, raise his hands and rejoice to the tremulous God of the Metropolitan Police Service. Finally, finally they had an addition to the team.

  Tobias had been fighting for years for an additional DS. The increasing workload for this already understaffed, underfunded department was just getting too much. Unsurprisingly, neither Simmonds nor Harris had yet made the jump from sergeant to inspector. Tobias had hoped that his trainee DC Matthew Waterhouse would have been able to join their department but unfortunately, Matthew had decided that field work and near death-experiences wasn’t for him and that he’d rather stick to the intelligence and Cybersecurity side of things. Tobias had tried not to feel personally hurt by Matthew’s decision, but it was hard not to. He had thought they were a great team.

  But today was the day his dream was about to come true.

  In swooped in the new Detective Sergeant; a woman in her early thirties. The first thing that Tobias noticed about her, were her intense, beautiful eyes. They were the sort of blue you’d only expect to see in a Greek sea. And they were very large; almost too big for her face. Her hair was light-brown and short, pulled back tight across her head into a ponytail. She had a slim figure and was wearing a typical detective, light blue, cotton shirt and suit trousers; made slightly more casual by the dark grey denim jacket she wore on top.

  “This is DS Phillips,” barked the Superintendent. “I want no messing or fraternising,” he glared across at Tobias and Harris, as if he was her new overprotective, possessive dad. “Make her welcome and update her with everything she needs to know. We’ve had to request her urgently due to the heavy influx of crimes over the past few weeks. The priority at the moment is a murder case.”

  Tobias was intrigued. Every week this past year had a ‘heavy influx of crimes’, and they hadn’t pulled in a new DS for the sake of it. What was so different now? “Yesterday, the body of a middle-aged man was found in his home, discovered by his wife of thirty years. His throat was slit, and there was some postmortem disfigurement to the body. No evidence of breaking and entering. No obvious motive. Nothing stolen. Murder weapon not yet found. Potentially premeditated,” the superintendent coughed. “The only suspect at the moment is the wife with no alibi. She is to be held for protection and questioning.”

  Postmortem disfigurement? This could only mean one thing. They were worried this could be the start of a set of serial killings.

  Tobias’s mind went back to a case around a couple of weeks ago. An elderly man had been stabbed to death in his home. At first, it had appeared to be an unfortunate, savage result of a robbery that went wrong. On closer inspection, Tobias now began to remember, there had in fact been some postmortem disfigurement found on the body of the man. They had investigated profusely, and sadly had not managed to make an arrest. There was no evidence to be found, no motives, no witnesses. The poor old man’s death took a back seat to their forever, ongoing list of fresh murders, and nobody had even glanced at his file since.

  “Mitchell, you will take this murder case with DS Phillips. You will show her the ropes and get down to business with this case. I want a main suspect with a motive by the end of the day. Simmonds and Harris, you will take on the rest of the outstanding cases. We need to make a dent in the ever-growing list of unsolved cases. If we don’t show any improvement soon; our department will be up for scrutiny. And I will not be responsible for you if anything should happen to you in the fallout,” Fowler scowled across the room once more to continue making his point. Some professionals in their life of work mellowed with age; but for the superintendent that was clearly not going to happen.

  “Gladly,” said Tobias, beaming. For the first time in ages, he was itching to get to work. It was like he could finally see the light at the end of a very, very long tunnel. Finally, another colleague with more expertise. They could actually solve some cases after months of dead-end after dead-end. It was like he had been handed a life-raft after being stranded, bobbing about in a hectic, rocky sea for years. “Well enough with the dilly-dallying and get to work,” Fowler barked. Tobias stood up and went over to DS Phillips, hand out.

  “Hi, I’m Tobias,” he said with a warm smile. “Nice to meet you.”

  But the smile, neither the handshake was returned. Those blue eyes remained cold. Almost suspicious. “I’m Natalie,” she replied, straight-faced, her arms remained folded. “I suppose we’ve got a job to do.” Tobias gave her a brief show-around of the station and collected the paperwork regarding the murder, including the address. A few minutes later, they were in the patrol car. She had barely said a word the whole time, only nodding in acknowledgment at Tobias’s comments and awful attempt at a tour. “Where did you come from?” Tobias said conversationally, as he warmed up the car. “I haven’t seen you around before. And you definitely have a London accent.”

  Phillips raised her head. Or ‘Natalie’ as she had volunteered earlier. Was it still too early for first name terms? “I am from London, yes. But I trained up near Derbyshire.”

  “Aaah, you’re a northerner now,” Tobias winked. “What was it that brought you back? I thought Yorkshire tea was nice?”

  “I wanted to move back home,” she said simply, her face not giving anything away. “Have you always lived here?”

  “Pretty much, London born and bred and most likely, here I will too, be dead,” Tobias said cheerfully. He then wanted to slap his forehead. It was too early in their professional relationships to make jokes, especially dreadful ones. She probably thought he was a complete idiot.

  “Right,” was all she replied. Which pretty much confirmed that suspicion.

  Tobias listened to the car rattle in silence as they carried onto their destination. He couldn’t think of another possible word to say to take away the awkwardness. He fiddled with the radio; pretending he was looking for something really specific when really he was just flicking through all the radio stations mindlessly. He didn’t want to feel disappointed, but it was hard not to. However, it was early days. Clearly, it would take time for this woman to open up. Perhaps she had had a hard time up in Derbyshire?

  Eventually they pulled up at the right house. It was a very pretty, very middle-class type of residential neighbourhood. It was hard to believe that a man had been brutally murdered here only the night before. Tobias parked up along the side street, wordlessly.

  The murder had taken place in a beautiful house, in a quaint, expensive corner of Dulwich. It was large and detached; which indicated straight off that this married couple had money. The garden was well looked after; despite the morbid weather of recent. The surrounding neighbourhood was almost painfully quiet; it would’ve been difficult to guess that they were actually only a few miles away from the hostile, noisy city. The only source of activity were the forensic vans that had pulled up outside the house; filled with bustling criminal investigators in their space-man-suit-like attire.

  Within minutes, they were analysing the crime scene. “Vic was a sixty-six year old male, married with no children. The wife was the only family that resided in the house with him and discovered the body last night. No sign of forced entry,” Tobias strode around the downstairs living space; his sharp eyes scanning every nook and cranny. “Suspect most likely was known
to the Vic.” Phillips nodded in agreement. He came to a stop in front of the dark, blood stain on the soft-green armchair and living room floor carpet, in an otherwise delightfully well furnished room. The body was decorated and long-gone, but

  someone had helpfully drawn out the position of where it had been found with chalk on the armchair, which was ridiculously old-school. Tobias was irritated that they hadn’t called the on-call detective overnight so that someone could’ve properly viewed the body and crime scene. But of course... there hadn’t been an on call detective last night; they were so short staffed, there were constant gaps in the rota. Thankfully DS Phillips had arrived. Hopefully, her arrival would make all the difference.

  The room was already scattered with evidence identification markers. There were various forensic people in their disposable white suits, clicking their cameras and doing a last minute search. Tobias would’ve greeted them in a more friendly manner, if he knew who the hell he was talking to. He decided to nod to them instead. It was still too early in the morning for forced small chat.

  “Vic was found upright in a chair,” Phillip’s eyes were following the scene, in one hand she held photographs of the body. “The Vic was on the larger side - approximately one hundred kilograms. There are no blood-drag marks across the floor. Vic was most likely murdered in the chair. Which indicates he likely knew and trusted the suspect very well.”

  Tobias nodded, impressed. “And what do we know about the weapon?”

  “The weapon used was a kitchen knife,” replied Phillips. “It was found back in the knife rack on the kitchen work-top earlier this morning. Some of the Vic's blood was found on the blade. The wife’s fingerprints were found on the handle. The dimensions of the blade fits the incisions on the Vic’s neck.”

  “What about the angle? Was the perpetrator standing in front or behind him?”

  “Definitely behind,” Phillips’ blue eyes glided over the glossy photographs. Tobias had a look and had to agree. The incision was long, clean and deeper on the right side of the Vic’s neck. Such an incision would have been difficult to accomplish head on. The postmortem cut along the Vic’s mouth however, had definitely been done face-to-face. Whoever had done this; it had been personal. “The perpetrator is lefthanded, judging by the incision and where the blood was found on the blade.”