Mummy's Favourite (28 page)

She had fought his case hard, wanting to believe that the personable man sat in front of her at the police station when she'd first met him, pleading his innocence, could not be guilty of such a crime and although there was a fair amount of circumstantial evidence that pointed to him being involved, it was really this single sample of DNA that had convicted him.

‘I remember your case well!' she volunteered, realizing with a jolt that the previous case was almost a carbon copy of what he was now doing, with the exception that he had committed murder instead of rape, so far. ‘But just remind me of your name? I deal with so many people it's slipped my mind at the moment.'

He obviously wasn't happy and she knew straight away she had said the wrong thing. She tried to recover the conversation. ‘I tried to get an appeal on the basis the police officer had lied, but it was turned down. They said I had no new evidence and the court had already found in the police officer's favour.'

‘You don't remember my name?'

‘I didn't give up straight away but they wouldn't change their minds.'

‘You don't remember my name?'

‘I'm really sorry.'

‘All this time I've been thinking about you, wanting to be with you. I thought you felt the same after how you spoke to me that last time. You seemed so upset that I'd been convicted…'

‘I was upset. I believed you.' She knew she had to persuade him, regardless of whether she had believed him or not. At this point possibly even her life depended on it.

‘But you don't remember my name?' He focussed on her and she was suddenly more frightened than she ever had been in her life. He stared at her long and hard, appearing to be weighing up what to do. She knew she had mere moments to make the right decision or it might be too late. Pulling herself away from her dead husband, she stood up and took a step towards him, her hands outstretched.

‘I still believe you now. I might not remember names very well, but I do know that I believed you then and I still do. I've thought about your case many times over the years and wondered how you were getting on.'

‘Have you? Have you really?' he was suddenly animated. ‘My name is Brad. Bradley Conroy. I'm glad you've thought about me.'

He stopped again just as quickly, staring at her with obvious suspicion. ‘I hope you're telling me the truth. I don't like liars.'

He took hold of her arm and walked her to the hallway, picking up her car key from the table. ‘We can't stay here. The police will come and I don't want to speak to them yet. You can come to my flat and I'll show you how much you mean to me. I have pictures and video clips to show you that I've collected. You'll be pleased. Now come.'

She considered fighting him but knew instantly that he would win. Her brain seemed to be scrambled. Fight or flight kept running through her mind, but neither was a viable option. Her job was discussion, debate, manipulation even, and it was the only way that she could win. She needed to use her skills. They would be the only way to get out of this alive.

He seemed to sense her reluctance and his expression darkened.

‘Tell Brad you're happy to come with him,' he instructed, stepping towards her and taking her by the arm roughly. ‘You're not lying to me are you Annabel? Tell Brad!'

‘I'm happy to come with you, Brad.' She did what she was told, walking with him out to her car and climbing in the passenger seat. She heard the locks go on as he slid into the driver's seat next to her. There was no escape, at least for the time being.

She was fucking dead. Another one! He couldn't believe it. What was it with these women that they just seemed to give up without a fight? Kill their favourite and they don't fight for their other child. Is that how it was?

Helena had given up. There was no reason. She still had water; she hadn't been there long enough really to starve to death; she had just chosen to die. True, she was getting more emaciated and her face was caked in dirt and insect excrement, but that was no excuse to give up. He stamped down on her face in anger. The bitch, the cheating bitch. He hated her.

Mummy, why did you die so easily too. You shouldn't have swallowed those pills I gave you. You didn't have to. You could have refused.

He slammed the boarding down, blocking the vision of Helena and Daisy away. He didn't want to see Helena, especially her, ever again. She was a bitch. She too had denied him his chance to teach her a proper lesson.

Mummy, Mummy. You were a bitch too. You couldn't even write me a letter telling me you loved me. You couldn't even pretend for even a few minutes of my life. You fucking bitch. You fucking, fucking bitch.

He wrenched the padlock off. He didn't need it for this one now. He would use it for the next one. He would need to get digging again soon, maybe even straight away. He could feel the anger rising up from his belly. It was getting uncontrollable. He was energized, animated, invigorated. He liked it, the urge, the desperate need; he loved the planning and he loved the fact that they were no closer to catching him.

He'd watched their pointless appeal on
Crimewatch
. They were grasping at straws, clueless. He was too good; too fucking good. He grinned to himself at the thought of the six he had surrounding him now. The execution of each individual plan had been perfect, the way that everything had fallen into place, but Helena had now dis-respected him, just like Julie had, just like the others. They had died when they, not he, had chosen. Why did women not respect him? The bitches! Not even his own mother had respected him.

Mummy, Mummy. What was wrong with me? I loved you. Why did you love Tommy more? Why? Why? Why was I never good enough? Tell me, you bitch. Tell me, you fucking bitch. I hate you!

He would do it now. He would dig another pit, then another, then another. They would never get him because he was too clever for them. He might not have been the best little boy then but he was the best man now. He ran back to his car and pulled the shovel and fork from the boot, jogging back quickly. He had so much fucking energy; so much anger, rage, fury.

Before he started, he removed the water tank and tubing. He could use this for the next one, so it would be ready straight away. He yanked the bedding out from around Helena, watching as her body spun round and landed face down in the dirt. Then he pulled the boarding away too and shovelled the spare earth over their bodies, finally covering their grave with leaves and foliage; camouflaging it to the naked eye.

Moving a short distance away, he started the next one, working hard and fast, shovelling the earth from the hole into a pile. He stood back when he'd finished admiring his handiwork. It wasn't quite so perfect around the edges as the others had been, but it was good enough. He got down inside it, lying in the dirt and earth, and pulled the boarding over him, allowing the smell of the woodland to seep up his nostrils as he always liked to do. He let his fingers run through the soil, picking some up between his fingers and bringing it to his nose so he could inhale the earthy scent further. It was fucking good, so fucking good. He needed to get his next subjects as soon as he could, to fill the pit with living, breathing people for his experiments. He knew who the next ones would be already. He'd been waiting and watching and listening.

And then he remembered Dana and Gemma, captive just a few metres from where he lay now, waiting for him to visit, waiting for him to decide their destiny. His pulse quickened at the thought. They were still so new and virginal and they were desperate for him to return, to free them; but he wouldn't be doing that. No, he would never let them go. They were his to do with what he wanted until death. And he wanted them badly now. This time she would do what he wanted and die when he wanted. This time it would be right.

He climbed back out and covered over the new pit with the boarding, pushing the leaves with his feet until the woodland carpet was smooth. His pulse was quickening already at the thought of Dana Latchmere,
the
Dana Latchmere, exquisite and demure, an excellent prize, and her spoilt brat of a daughter. It seemed that Justin Latchmere's recent behaviour had made Dana tar her own son, Aiden with the same brush. Like father, like son? She was lavishing all her affections and her money on her daughter, but poor Aiden! What of him? Punished for the sins of the father. It had made him boil with rage to hear the rumours, however true or untrue. Just the fact that the stories were being mooted was enough for him to know there would be some truth behind them. Dana needed to be punished and now he would start the punishment.

Dana would want him, just as his mummy had wanted him, and he would oblige and Gemma would see how happy he made her, again and again.

He was at the side of their pit now. He undid the padlock and pulled open the doors, watching with a smirk as the two females inside screwed up their faces against the light. Dana still looked demure even though her cheeks had smears of dirt across them and her hair lay flat against her forehead. And he wanted her now. He wanted her to love him just as his mummy had wanted him to love her and touch her and make her smile and groan with pleasure.

He climbed down into the pit. Gemma was wide-eyed with fear but he didn't want her, not yet: he just wanted Dana. He peeled back the bedding and undid her jacket. The top that she was wearing was delicate and slightly see-through. He ripped it open, exposing her flesh, burying his head against her stomach, her neck, her breasts. He needed her now and she needed him; he could feel it. But did she love him? He didn't know as yet. He didn't really care though at that moment as he felt the attraction rising in him.

Mummy, mummy, I love you really. You know I love you. But I still don't understand why you didn't love me. Mummy, mummy, love me. Please love me. Love me! Fucking love me.

All the phones were going to answerphone or ringing out and Miss Saunders didn't quite know what to do. Jasmin and Jake Leigh-Matthews were still awaiting collection, playing on gym equipment in the school hall. It was highly unusual. Ms Leigh-Matthews was always prompt to collect them, or if she was unable to, her replacement would be arranged and waiting at the school gates. She had never failed to arrive before. On weekdays, on the very rare occasions that she had been held at court and was running late from her busy schedule, she had always, always phoned to warn them and they had held on to the children for as long as it took. On Saturdays she was never late.

Today, however, over an hour after school had finished there was still no sign of either parent or a stand-in, no phone calls from Ms Leigh-Matthews and, to make matters worse, neither parent was answering their phone. She was the last one there and the caretaker was waiting to lock up and go home. Miss Saunders didn't know quite what to do!

She dialled 999. The kids seemed quite happy still. She made sure their belongings were all ready and sat and watched them for a while. They were totally unaware of the problem and didn't seem in any way upset. Miss Saunders had carefully questioned them earlier about any potential problems but, listening to their answers and watching them playing together now, she was quite satisfied that there weren't any problems at home with their parents that they were aware of.

It wasn't long before the police car arrived and she explained the situation to the female police officer and her male companion who were first on scene. She watched as the children were led away, climbing excitedly into the marked police car and waving happily towards her as they were driven from her sight.

Slowly she gathered her things together and walked from the building. Something was badly wrong.

*

PC Karen Baxter was tired. It was nearing the end of a very long shift and she just wanted to be finished. The day had started at 7 a.m. standing at a crime scene, then progressed through various allegations of criminal damage, a dog bite, a burglary, a minor traffic accident and a complicated landlord/tenant dispute and was now set to end with two forgotten children. She had a nasty feeling that she would be late off, and although she had nothing particularly planned, she just wanted to grab a takeaway and veg in front of the TV. Twelve hours at work was hard enough without having to stay on dealing with this shit just because another set of feckless parents had failed in their duty of childcare.

She checked her rear-view mirror and saw the children's excited faces and felt guilty at the thought.

‘Has this happened before?' She already knew the answer. This was obviously the first time; the teacher had said as much and she could tell by the children's exuberance.

‘No, but this is fun,' Jake said, with no obvious worry. ‘I can't wait to tell my friends I went in a police car.'

She smiled at the words even though she was beginning to feel a sense of dread at the outcome of this situation. She was heading for their home address now. It was not too far away. Maybe the mother had thought she'd got a message through but the message had failed and she was waiting for them to turn up at home. Maybe she had arranged for someone else to come, while she was otherwise engaged at work and that person had let her down. Whatever the case, she was hoping that a visit to the address, and if necessary a chat with neighbours, might throw some light on what had happened.

She pulled up outside, noting the car directly in front of the house. Maybe one of the parents was here all along, too busy with their own affairs to realize what time it was.

She told her colleague to wait with the children and eased herself out of the driver's seat. Her back ached from the weight of the kit-belt around her waist and the stab-proof vest dug into her shoulders. With any luck it could all be resolved quickly, with a lecture to the errant adults and a report to the local social services letting them know how irresponsible the parents were, then home to fish and chips and a dose of
Britain's got Talent
.