Why I Want You Dead Read online

  Tobias raised his eyes to his new colleague’s. “And what hand is the wife?”

  She held his gaze. “Left-handed.”

  “Male or female, what do you reckon?”

  DS Phillips paused. “I would say… a lot of strength and precision was needed to hold the Vic’s head back and make such a cut. Male is more likely, though we can’t rule out a woman with good upper body strength.”

  “And what about CCTV footage?”

  “Says here that the cameras on this particular street had been dismantled due to the residents protesting against their ‘invasion of privacy’. There were no strange sightings of any vehicles or potential suspects on any footage in the surrounding areas around the time of death.”

  “That’s a shame,” said Tobias, irritated. “I guess for the people around here, preserving their extramarital affairs among the neighbours was more important than their genuine safety.”

  They finished their search and couldn’t see anything else significant. It was time to gather and question the suspects.

  “You did a great job in there,” said Tobias, as they made their way back to the station. He didn’t know why he felt he had to say it. In fact, he probably sounded very condescending. She might have been a forensics expert with years of experience over him for all he knew. Though judging by her age, that was surely unlikely.

  But Phillips didn’t seem bothered. “Thanks,” was all she said. If she was happy about the compliment, she didn’t show it. She’d sat back in the passenger seat of the patrol car, examining the crime scene photographs further. She didn’t make any effort to make any further conversation. She was a woman of very few words; something that Tobias had a very hard time accepting.

  “Hey,” Tobias said, interrupting the silence, his mouth dry; not quite believing what he was about to do. “I feel like if we have to work together, we should get to know each other a bit better. Do you fancy going for a drink later on? Professionally, of course.” He wanted to kick himself. The last comment just made him sound creepy, not reassuring. Since when did he become so socially inadequate?

  He could see her giving him the side eye, as if she was assessing him. It was a good few moments later before she put the photos down. She flashed him a small, beautiful smile, a glimmer of personality shining through; much to his surprise.

  “That would be nice,” she said sincerely.

  MARY

  CHAPTER THREE

  My eyes flickered open spontaneously and the bright sunlight that had filtered through the yellowed curtains burned the retinas of my eyes. I winced, clutching my forehead; briefly wondering why I was experiencing the onset of a hangover when I hadn’t drunk alcohol in years. Then it hit me. The images of the night before. Greg’s face. His smiling, grinning, dead face.

  I gasped and jolted upright on the bed. I could feel the onset of a panic attack coming along. Was this a nightmare? It had to be.

  I then realised I did not recognise my surroundings. It appeared like I was in some sort of run-down hotel room.

  “You’re up,” a voice stated from behind me. I spun around.

  My sister Elizabeth blinked at me from across the room in the single bed opposite mine. I stared at her in surprise. I didn’t remember her coming. She lived all the way up in Newcastle.

  “Mary?” she said gently, her soft brown eyes concerned. “Are you alright? Do you want me to get you something to eat?” She waited for me to say something. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

  “Do you remember what happened?” she said, sadly. I shook my head slowly. I didn’t want to remember anything at all.

  “I drove down straight away when I got the call,” she said gently, reaching across for my hand. “You were being questioned by the police when I got here. They had trouble getting any information out of you. They let me take you out and I booked us into this hotel room. They want you to go back today. They said the detectives will want to speak to you.”

  I gazed back at her, numbly. None of her words were making any sense.

  “Gr…Greg.” It took a lot of effort to say his name. “Someone… killed him.”

  Elizabeth nodded, tears building up in her eyes. “I’m so, so sorry, my love.” She had loved Greg almost as much as I did. “We’re going to sort this out, you know. We’re going to find out who did this… awful, awful thing.”

  I still sat there, motionless. I was surprised to find there was no urge to cry. Perhaps I had let it all out the night before. Or perhaps I was still riddled with shock. It was hard to tell.

  It was Elizabeth who prompted me to get dressed, to have a sip of water. She pulled me gently along the corridor, out of the hotel and safely into the passenger seat of her car.

  Before I knew it, we were back at the police station. I vaguely remembered the dirty, limestone building from the night before. Images were coming back to me; like flashbacks. It wasn’t the first time I had gaps in my memory. My brain didn’t seem to have any trouble with blanking out memories that it didn’t want to remember.

  When I was younger, it used to be a huge problem on a night out after partying and drinking; I would wake up in a mess not remembering a thing and I would have to go back and follow the trail of what happened that night. boisterous, aggressive, The witnesses would describe this lecherous woman; one that was

  started fights and stole off people. Somebody that didn’t sound like me at all. But apparently it was.

  It wasn’t long before I stopped drinking completely. The horror of constantly hearing about all of the bad behaviour that ensued after consuming alcohol was unbearable. I lost friends. I even lost the trust of my own family. I quit alcohol cold turkey and never looked back. I met Greg and we started our life together. Everything was going well. Until it happened.

  And then it all started again.

  I then began to have moments where I would wake up from sleep and be completely unaware of what had just happened. As far as I knew; nothing untoward went on during these moments. I would subtly question Greg the next day regarding the night before; and his usual reply was a shaky laugh. “Wow, was that film really so boring that you blanked it from your memory?” he’d say.

  In truth, I slipped into a sense of denial. I learnt to ignore these episodes. The thought that there were periods of my life that I didn’t remember; absolutely terrified me. So I didn’t let it bother me full-stop. I just accepted that they happened and carried on with life. I stopped questioning Greg. Although, recently, I began to notice the hand-shaped bruises that had formed along my wrists. Had Greg been reciprocating my angry episodes, physically? He never mentioned what had happened during those moments; so I assumed that they weren’t anything to worry about. I hadn’t done anything bad - something that I was graciously relieved about.

  Until now.

  The thought hit me like a bullet train.

  My mind went back to yesterday. What had I been doing last night? I had gone out to meet someone. Someone who I thought I would never see again in my lifetime. Someone from deep inside my past. Had that been real? Would that even have been possible?

  I didn’t meet them in the end. I was stood up. Just like the previous times before.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and concentrated. I envisioned my memory like a net; attempting to sweep and catch any fragments I could.

  “Mary?” Elizabeth said softly. “We’re here. We have to get out of the car now.”

  I shot back to the present. I could feel Elizabeth tugging on my arm as she tried to help me out the car. She supported my left arm and she guided me into the station. She set me down carefully on a metal bench as she went to speak to the officer at the desk. “Please, come with me and I’ll take you to the interview room. The detectives haven’t arrived yet, but they will be here shortly. You can make yourselves comfortable outside before they come,” the officer beckoned for us to follow her.

  Again, Elizabeth was at my side and we swiftly made our way along lots of corridors. I was aware of
the smell of damp; heavily combined with coffee. The heating must’ve been broken or kept switched off; because I could feel myself on the verge of shivering. Eventually, we made it to this important room that had slightly more comfortable, but still hideous chairs lined outside. I then realised the police officer was a young woman. She smiled kindly at us; the youthful beauty of her dark, caramelised skin and wonderful braided hair was a stark contrast to the ugly, dingy and drab hallways of the station. “Would you like a drink? Tea or coffee, whilst you wait?”

  “Two teas would be amazing!” Elizabeth smiled. “Both with milk. Mary likes a spoon of sugar in hers.” I felt a whoosh of appreciation for my sister. What would I ever do without her? Close, like two peas in a pod since birth. Nothing I ever said or did ever fazed her. I could always rely on her to look after me. Funnily enough, I had never been any good at looking after her.

  “Coming up!” the officer’s gentle eyes then moved towards mine. “I’m just going to tell you now that unfortunately your sister can’t come in with you when the detectives come to talk to you. But of course she can wait for you outside.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes lit up with worry. But I had been expecting this. I didn’t want her to be present. She didn’t need to witness this horror.

  As we settled down on the lumpy chairs, the flashing images returned.

  The kitchen knife, the one with the neon green blade. The blood.

  “Mary,” Elizabeth began, taking my hand. “I just want you to know, I’m going to be there for you every step of the way.”

  My knife. How did my knife get there? Why did the killer use this knife?

  “I’m not going to go home anytime soon. I’ll stay with you as long as necessary.”

  Who would do this? Why would the killer use my knife? Did they want to make it look like I did it? Why would they do that?

  “Mary? Please look at me. We need to talk about this. We need to decide what we need to do. I would completely understand if you don’t want to stay in your house. How about you stay at mine?”

  The police. They’ll think I did it. The knife is mine covered in my prints. I must move it before they come. I’ll wash it under the tap. They will assume the murderer hid the weapon or took it with them. They’ll never think it was me.

  “I know you hate Newcastle, but I think this would be the best thing for you. You don’t want to be in that house with all those memories. And I can’t leave Keith and the dogs that long. You can spend some time with the boys as well. They’ll love to see you. You can stay as long as you need.”

  But why my knife? If this was premeditated, surely they would have brought their own weapon? Why target me too? What have either of us ever done to anyone? Nothing was stolen. Somebody really hated Greg. Somebody really hated me.

  “I’ll clean out the dogs’ room and I’ll make it look really nice. You’ll have your own bathroom and we’ll go out for walks to take your mind off things. We don’t have to talk about anything. Just walk in silence; just you and me... and the dogs.”

  Who would hate him that much? Enough to brutally murder him?

  I do. I hate him that much.

  “Nooo,” a small wail escapes my lips. It couldn’t be true. It just cannot be.

  “I know, it’s not the best room. But it’s the easiest to clean out at short notice… I promise I’ll make it look nice. The dogs won’t even be allowed back in there.” That small part of me is resurfacing. The awful, evil part of me that I wanted to bury. The part of me that hates Greg with a passion, so much so that I can barely contain it.

  The knife. I found the knife in my hand.

  “Please don’t make that face, Mary. I know what happened to you is truly, truly awful and I could not be anymore sorry. But I’m willing to look after you and you’re going to have to bear with me when it comes to accommodation. Not all of us can afford a posh detached house in London.”

  What truly did happen during those blackouts with Greg? What could make me hate him so much? Enough to… kill? Was that really a possibility? I wasn’t so sure anymore.

  “STOP!” I screamed, clutching at my head. Elizabeth jumped in shock. I brought my legs up to my chest and rocked back and forth in the chair. It couldn’t be. What have I done?

  “What is going on here?” A man’s voice interrupted; presumably the detective. My peripheral vision had become severely blurred. “Mrs Fielding? Are you ready to be interviewed or do you need more time?” “I don’t want an interview!” I cried, tears flowing down my face. I had never felt so out of control in my life. I was breaking. “I confess.”

  “I’m sorry, what was that?” The young-looking detective with tousled, sandy hair and a long trench coat, leaned in closer, his face a picture of bewilderment. Elizabeth stood alongside him. I had never seen her look so afraid in my whole life. “I confess!” I screeched, the corridor suddenly deathly silent.

  “I did it, I killed him!”

  TOBIAS

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Detective Inspector Tobias Mitchell just could not believe his luck.

  A confession. Straight out. No effort needed. Right there, in the corridor. He hadn’t even needed to exhaust his amateur, intimidating voice and intense staring interview techniques.

  Admittedly, it was strange how quickly this woman had given into her burning guilt. He would have given her a week. Three days at least. It was hardly surprising either. Most murders were the result of domestic violence. After that, he would’ve suspected a robbery; however nothing had been seemingly taken from the property.

  With some effort, himself and the suspect’s family member managed to gently guide Mrs Fielding into the interview room. Despite whether she liked it or not; he was still going to question her. Besides, he needed that confession to be recorded to make it count.

  He was interviewing her alone today. He felt a bit sad for DS Phillips. First day, and she wasn’t even doing anything fun like grilling suspects. Though in fairness, she had offered to interview the neighbours and potential witnesses of this gruesome crime. Secretly, Tobias was glad. There was nothing he hated more than going to a complete stranger’s house, making the effort to make small talk, comment on how nice their house was even if it was ugly, sip on a disgusting instant coffee in a chipped mug, to then be told that all the residents of that particular household had actually been out at Nandos during that time and that none of them would possibly know anything about what had happened, but oh, please do tell them more about the grisly murder that had happened next door.

  Tobias wondered what had spurned DS Phillips to eagerly volunteer to do such a ghastly job and with a sinking heart, he realised it might have been something to do with him. She was avoiding him. Not that Tobias was surprised at all. He often had that sort of effect on women. Women, as a general rule, liked to keep well away from Tobias. Well, apart from one woman. But then she had left him too. He observed Mrs Fielding now, across the interview table and wondered how such a typical middle-class, stay-at-home, well groomed woman could have felt the need to commit a murder. Her carefully bleached, honey coloured hair was disheveled and unwashed. She was wearing fancy clothes; a knitted jumper and loose trousers that looked like they came straight out of an M&S catalogue and an expensive woollen coat. Her face was pale, and the remnants of yesterday's lipstick was still smeared across her mouth in patches.

  Tobias switched on the recorder. “For the benefit of the tape, we have Detective Inspector Tobias Mitchell present, with Suspect A; Mrs Mary Fielding. Mrs Fielding, would you like to have a solicitor to be present with you before we start questioning? It is within your rights.”

  Mrs Fielding shook her head feverishly. Interesting. Was that a sign of the truly guilty?

  “Are you sure? We can wait until we can get one in for you. It might be something you might want to think about carefully first...”

  “No,” her voice was hoarse, her eyes distant. “I want to get this over with.”

  “If you’re sure,” Tobias was e
ager to proceed. He would definitely like to have his lunch break soon. His stomach was growling away so much, it would probably be heard on the tape.

  “Mrs Fielding. Where were you between the hours of 1700 and 1900 hours on the night of Sunday 22nd March this year?”

  “I was out… I went out to meet someone… I think.” Her voice shook.

  “You think? What makes you feel so uncertain about it? Surely you would remember if you had gone out to meet somebody?”

  “I get… I get these blackout moments,” Mrs Fielding's cold grey eyes rose to meet Tobias’s. He didn’t know why, but a chill suddenly went down his spine. “There are moments where… I have no memory or recollection; like gaps that I have to piece together. I’ve had them all my life. I don’t remember fully what happened… during that time. Sometimes I get confused… I wonder if I get memories and reality mixed up, that I replace the gaps with other, fabricated memories. I’m terrified. I think.... I think…,” her face crumbled and more tears poured down her face. “I think I might have killed him.” Tobias tried his best to appear understanding. He had absolutely no idea what she was on about. And to think he thought this was going to be straight forward.

  “Please, tell me why you think you killed him. What reason do you have to think that you can’t trust your own memory- that you didn’t actually go out to meet somebody?”

  Mrs Fielding paused for a moment. “I hate him,” she said simply.

  “Why is that? Did he used to hurt you?” prompted Tobias.

  “I don’t… I don’t want to talk about why,” she breathed. “But I will say that… I’ve had this burning hatred for years that I have tried to ignore. But what if I couldn’t take it anymore? What if I flipped? What if I am dangerous? Who knows what I am capable of?”