Nothing but Meat: A dark, heart-stopping British crime thriller (16 page)

‘Wait, you saw her too?’

He paused and looked
around. ‘Don’t come back here
Bärli
. The
pigs have snuffled at the dirt and who knows what they’ve found.’

‘They won’t find
anything. I was careful.’

‘Good, you should always
be careful. Complacency and bad luck are the most likely causes of one’s
downfall and you can’t control your luck. Remember
Bärli
, you will grow into a Grizzly but you also need to be
invisible. Like a ghost. If they never see you they will never catch you.’ He
turned away. ‘Take care
Little Bear
,’ he
said as he vanished into the foliage. ‘Weidmannsheil. Or should I say, good
hunting!’

The boy
stood alone, facing the direction the man had taken and repeated the words in a
whisper, ‘Good hunting.’

His angel stayed with him in his mind and kept him company
during the sleepless nights spent worrying whether he had been careless and
left part of himself on her flesh and if so, had the police found it and would
they come knocking?

He had always been careful and was sure he had got the better
of them.

‘Complacency and bad luck
are the most likely causes of one’s downfall and you can’t control your luck,’
the man had said and his
words had stayed with him.

The boy had touched and kissed every inch of her body and yet
he was sure he had been clever enough not to leave any traces of himself upon
her. The man had warned him, ‘
The pigs
have snuffled at the dirt and who knows what they’ve found,’
but it seemed
to the boy that the pigs in blue were easily outwitted. Not just by him but
also by the man with the German accent, the man who, the boy was sure was the
one who killed
Angela Baily.

The
man had called him Little Bear and told him he would grow into a Grizzly and
that excited him. But the man had also told him to be invisible like a ghost
and so a ghost he would become.

‘If they never see you they will never catch you,’ he
whispered quietly to himself.

14

Simone pulled up outside West’s father’s
house and climbed out of her car. She heard the music immediately. The fast and
aggressive rock music was thumping into the street and it conjured images of
tattoos and gnashing teeth and long black hair plastered on sweaty foreheads.
She vaguely recognised it as one of the bands she used to listen to in her
youth;
Slayer
she thought, but
couldn’t be sure.

It was a swelteringly hot
mid-afternoon, and the heat combined with the harmonic squeals and double-time
drum beats that viciously reverberated into the street caused Simone to relive
memories of sweating profusely in loud, smoky rock clubs with Nathan.

She saw that people were gathering on
the street in crowds; loads of kids and their parents getting ready for the
eclipse, all clutching pinhole viewers made from cardboard boxes and paper. As
she approached the house Simone was acutely aware that the music was spoiling
the afternoon for the whole neighbourhood and from the corner of her eye she
saw a man in his front garden stop setting up his camera tripod and begin to
walk towards her. The man was in his sixties and was wearing scruffy gardening
clothes; he removed his floppy hat and dabbed his forehead as he approached.

In contrary to Jung’s suggestion, Simone
planned to go to the station after visiting West and it was clear the man had spotted
her uniform when he said, ‘Bloody racket! I was about to ring you lot but it
looks like I’m not the only one that’s had enough of it.’

She wasn’t going to correct his
assumption that she was there in an official capacity.

Face ruddy with the heat and
frustration he continued, ‘It’s not like Mr West to make a racket like that.
You want to make sure it’s not vandals.’

‘I will, thanks for your help.’ She
turned towards the house but the man kept pace with her. She stopped and turned
to him; the sun was in his eyes and it made him squint at her. He meant well,
she was alone and he was being chivalrous; as far as he was concerned she was
stepping into the unknown. ‘I’ll take it from here sir, this is police
business.’ She nodded towards his garden. ‘You go back and get ready for the
eclipse. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to miss it.’

He opened his mouth to protest but
Simone cut him off and distracted him before he had chance to speak. ‘What
exposure rate are you going to use?’

He frowned.

‘For your camera, I noticed you were setting
up a tripod,’ she explained.

‘Um, I’m not sure yet, I was going to
play around with it and see what I get.’

‘Good idea. Three-seconds I reckon. I
hope you get the shots you want.’

‘Are you sure you don’t need help?’

‘I know what I’m doing,’ she said.

He looked unsure but complied. She
waited by the side of the road, watching him until he was close to his garden
and made her way up the path to Jack West’s house.

The volume of the music inside was
making the windows vibrate and knocking on the front door would have been
pointless so she walked around to the rear of the house. The sliding door that
overlooked the patio was open and she stepped through it and into the dining
room. Simone hadn’t been in this house since her early teens, and although it
felt strange, it felt oddly comforting too. It seemed little had changed inside
over the years but she didn’t have the time, nor the ability to reminisce as the
heat inside the house was unbelievably stifling, it had been pushing thirty
degrees outside but even with the windows open, there was something unnatural
about the temperature inside the house.

She followed the intensely thunderous
volume through the house until she reached its source and when she pushed the
door open she was hit not only by the high end clarity of squealing guitars and
the guttural grunting vocals but also by an incredible heat, if she thought the
rest of the house was warm it was positively cool in comparison to the blast
furnace that was once the lounge.

Nathan was sitting forwards staring
intensely at the roaring flames of a raging fire in the hearth. He held a long
brass poker loosely in his hand, he was bare-chested, his skin was glistening
with sweat and he hadn’t noticed her enter the room. The wall of sound
pummelled Simone’s eardrums and the bass drum pounded in her chest like a
living creature struggling to get out. Simone could feel the amplified distortion
against her skin, creeping over her in a prickling evil that deadened her
senses.

She walked further into the room and
carefully into Nathan's peripheral vision. She was aware of the poker in his
hand and was conscious of not walking straight up to him and taking him by
surprise.

He registered her movement and
quickly spun towards her, she saw his bloodshot eyes and the grief clearly
etched into his face. When he saw her he dropped the poker silently onto the
floor and stood. His naked torso bore a lifetime of scars; the permanent
penance for his addiction. Scar tissue covered his chest and forearms and as
the music drowned them her eyes flicked from the damaged skin to his face and
back again. He pulled her towards him and kissed her passionately and she
kissed him back. She wrapped her arms around him and felt the heat that
emanated from his body and a surging desperate sensation to become part of him,
to melt into him oozed into every part of her being.

She found herself on the sofa with
him above her looking down into her face, she was aware of his gaze and became
suddenly conscious of how she looked to him and couldn’t imagine anyone finding
her attractive. Not only was she insecure about the bruises and scabbed cuts
that decorated her face, Martin’s use of violence and mistreatment during their
pathetic excuse for a marriage had eroded her self-esteem and now she self-consciously
covered her face with her arm.

They were together drenched in sweat
and sound, their passion frantically spiralling until the music suddenly stopped
and the room fell into an abrupt silence that was somehow just as deafening,
and then, as if hit by an unexpected realisation of their situation Nathan’s
rhythm ceased. Simone moved her arm away from her face grabbed the back of his
neck and gazed into his eyes, she gasped desperately, ‘Don’t stop.’ He looked
at her with love in his eyes, his pupils deep black pools within which her
reflection swam. The connection between them was beyond physical and as he
moved in to kiss her lips she felt the flowing undulation of muscle coursing
beneath his skin and he resumed their love making at a slower, more languid
rate.

Somehow she became aware that the
natural light in the room had begun to dim and the fire had grown brighter. It
flickered against the mirror of sweat that coated their skin.

Nathan moved to kiss her shoulder and
neck and as the heat built inside her she found herself biting down on the
knuckle of her index finger. She had wanted to be with Nathan for as long as
she could remember but the pleasure she now felt remained bottled inside and
she couldn’t allow herself to release it. It was as if any confirmation of
pleasure would steel this moment from her and send her back to the barren desert
of her life.

She bit down harder on her finger ignoring
the pain as it shot through her arm.

She had become used to the
nothingness of being roughly pawed in the darkness by a man who claimed to love
her but was still prepared to beat her to a pulp at any given moment. The
rarity of pleasure she felt when she was with Martin was tainted with the
shadow of violence that would inevitably follow.

Except for the glowing fire the room
had become dark as the sun and moon aligned perfectly and now shadows danced on
the ceiling. As Nathan kissed her neck she listened to his breathing and the
crackle of the fire in the still of the room and then she heard his voice as he
whispered in her ear. He had seen her biting down on her finger, holding
herself tightly within and when she heard his words, ‘Let go,’ come to her in a
breathless whisper that caressed her ear she cried out from the base of her
throat with a sound completely foreign to her; it came in a loud guttural
release of pleasure so alien she wasn’t sure she had made it herself.

Afterwards they lay together and with
words unspoken they both knew that the inevitable had happened, from the moment
they were reunited in the coffee shop the situation they found themselves in
was an unavoidable one. Simone knew her marriage had been a mistake from the
beginning and now it was officially dead. She had just made love to the only
man she ever really loved and for better or for worse she was not going to go
back to her husband or the sickness that was her marriage. She knew her life
had changed; and she wasn’t fooling herself when she considered that everything
had changed for the better.

In the temporary darkness West
brushed a hair from her eyes and kissed her forehead. He said, ‘Imagine if the
sun never comes back out.’

Simone watched his face, his eyes and
his lips and she kissed him, relishing the contact. ‘It’s already come back
out,’ she replied.

The fire died slowly and nothing beyond
that room existed as they made love again throughout the remainder of the
afternoon. Simone was so comfortable and relaxed in his company the feelings of
peace and satisfaction were so foreign she could have been mistaken for a
different person. The knowledge that she was going to have to tear herself away
and go back to reality was the only nagging sensation she felt. And it was
always going to come too soon.

‘I have to leave in a while,’ she
said reluctantly while sliding a slow hand over West’s glossy back. Their flesh
was liquid, her hair matted and wet. ‘I need a shower too.’

He understood and sat up but she made
no effort to move, she just lay back with her head on the arm of the sofa and
her legs across his lap. They looked at each other, silently enjoying the
feeling of being together post coital and naked. No words were necessary. No
words were suitable. He squeezed her knee and said, ‘Come on Sim.’ He lifted
her legs away and stood up. He took her hand and helped her to her feet. Their
moment together was over and she almost felt like crying.

They went upstairs and resisted the
temptation to migrate into the bedroom. They showered and dressed and then,
with an air of reluctance said goodbye with one simple kiss.

15

Simone went straight home and saw with dismay that Martin’s
car was in the driveway. She had really wanted to get home before him so she
could have another shower and figure out how to act in front of him. She had
always been a bad liar and she needed time to slip into the role of submissive
wife. She couldn’t remember if she was supposed to be angry with him or not,
she was just tired of wasting her emotions on him.

She let herself in and said, ‘Hi,’ as loudly and as casually
as she possibly could. She was convinced he would suspect something if he saw
her with unkempt hair and zero make-up and all she wanted to do was go straight
upstairs and put on her disguise.

He called her through to the kitchen.

‘You’re home early,’ he said brightly when she walked in. He
was leaning against the sink with his hands in his pockets.

She knew she looked a state and thinking of reasons why had
been her main consideration, she hadn’t had the time to elaborate her excuses
and her mind went blank when she tried to concoct reasons as to why she was
back earlier than usual. She didn’t think about what she was going to say, she
just began to speak, desperately wanting to appear natural but feeling that every
movement she made seemed false; even her voice sounded strange to her. ‘They’ve
decided to rotate shifts,’ she lied. ‘It’s the only way to give people time
off.’

He pushed himself away from the sink and walked towards her.
She dreaded him coming too close, her lips felt tender and swollen from an
afternoon kissing and even though she had showered she was convinced Nathan’s
scent was all over her.

Martin closed the space between them and kissed her on the
lips and as she responded weekly his arms snaked around her waist. Their kiss
died and he moved his head beside hers, he rested his chin on her shoulder and
breathed deeply through his nose. She felt a surge of dread rise like bile. Oh
my God, she thought, I smell of sex and he can sense it.

Martin’s lips were right next to her ear, and when he spoke
he spoke ever so quietly.

‘Who’s been here?’ he said with a hissing tone so dark and
ominous it was like being alone in a haunted house when the power goes out.

She tried to move away from him but he continued to hold her
tightly. She looked over his shoulder and at the breakfast bar and at the two
glasses she had neglected to tidy away after sharing a drink with Jung.

He repeated. ‘Who’s been here?’

‘No one,’ she said with phony confidence.

‘No one?’

‘Well, just a work colleague.’ She shimmied free from his
grip and took a step back. His face was flushed with anger and his eyes intense
embers.

‘Was he in my house?’

‘Who?’

‘You fucking know who. Have you had him in my house?’

‘No. Never.’

He stared and stared, barely blinking, computing her reply.
His eyes flicked around her face. ‘Why do you look like shit?’

‘Thanks. I love you too.’

‘Answer me.’

She sighed and before she could reply Martin’s fist slammed
into her nose.

One minute she was upright, hands on hips preparing to relay
the events of the morning that led Jung into their home and the next she woke up
on the floor. The seconds in between were blank.

Her shoulder was numb; she must have hit the wall before the
ground. She could taste blood in her mouth and spat onto the floor. He stood
above her loosening his belt.

Simone began to stand, one arm outstretched towards him,
gesturing for mercy. ‘Let me explain,’ she said. She was shaky and ready for
him to push her back down but he didn’t. ‘Please Martin.’

His leather belt flicked slickly through the hoops as he slid
it slowly from his waist. ‘Go on,’ he said pretending to give her a chance even
though nothing she could say would change what was about to happen.

‘Nathan West has never been in
your
house, not ever, and he sure as Hell wasn’t here today,’ she said
as she managed to stand upright without interference. The feeling of dread she
had felt before he knocked her to the floor had been replaced with one of anger,
and now she had managed to stand up straight, anger was teamed with confidence.
The contrast between the contentment of being in Nathan’s arms and the shooting
pain in her nose from Martins fist had clicked a reactive gear into place and she
wasn’t going to let him hurt her ever again. She may not have been able to win
the physical battle but she had done something that afternoon that would crush
Martin emotionally if he ever found out. Now she could realise his worst fears
with words alone she no longer feared him; not in the long term at least. She
only needed to tell him what she had done and to leave him forever and she
would win the war for good. This realisation of what could be caused her to
suddenly laugh out loud in a mad hysterical burst he neither expected nor
understood.

The unexpected outburst caused shock to register on his face
and he had no time to disguise it. ‘Do you want to know why he wasn’t here
today?’ she continued, mentally gauging the distance from the wall and making
invisible adjustments to her weight. ‘Do you?’

‘Why?’ he said through gritted teeth.

‘I spent the afternoon with him at his father’s house. Do you
want to know what we were doing all afternoon?’

Martin didn’t speak, he just lifted his chin in a failed
attempt to become taller and more masculine and in that tiny moment Simone used
his insecurity about his height to hurt him. She stepped forward, putting her
whole weight behind the blow and punched him in the throat as hard as she
could. She felt the scrape of stubble and the bumps of his Adam’s apple under
her knuckles and he instantly dropped to the floor with both hands around his
throat, his eyes bulged wetly and his mouth became a perfect circle. She
stepped around him and kicked him with a stamping motion directly between the
shoulder blades and watched with relish when he crashed face first into the
wall.

‘Come on Martin surely you want to know what we were up to all
afternoon.’ She put her foot on the back of his head and pressed it hard into
the ground. ‘
All
afternoon!
Think about it Martin, let your mind run riot you
fucking pig. Imagine all the things we were doing to each other and then get it
in your head that I’m never going to tell you!’ she screamed. ‘Never! And if
you ever touch me again I’m going to fucking kill you. Do you understand me?’
She stepped away and he rolled over, still clutching his throat, fury burned in
his eyes. ‘DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?’

The question became rhetorical, because she kicked him
cleanly and precisely in the balls before he had chance to answer. Air escaped
loudly from his shocked mouth and he rolled over again with one hand on his
throat the other between his legs.

‘It’s over!’ she screamed and ran out of the kitchen and up
the stairs. She flew into the bedroom completely unprepared for what had just
happened. She stood in the centre of the room with her mind in whirling turmoil;
she needed a suitcase fast but they were all in the attic. ‘Shit, shit, shit,’
she repeated to herself. She opened her wardrobe and tossed clothes and shoes
aside looking for her sports bag. When she pulled it clear of all the junk that
had accumulated at the bottom of the wardrobe over the years she stuffed it
full of clothes and snatched her make-up. She glanced back at the door
imagining seeing him standing there. ‘Fuck! Fuck! Come on Simone. More speed less
haste.’ She rushed into the en-suite. Toothbrush. Toiletries. ‘Come on! What else?’
How long did she have before he was on his feet again? She feared she was in
genuine danger; she only won the fight because she took him by surprise, one on
one with him and she doubted she would stand any kind of chance regardless of
her police training. If she didn’t leave soon there was a distinct possibility
Martin would hospitalise her or even kill her. Images of Caroline Sheppard
burst into her consciousness; a bloody helpless woman, drained and limp, and
the lonely last gasps before death.

Every part of her being was screaming for her to get out of
the house but she needed one more thing. She dropped the bag and flung open the
drawers on her bedside table. She found what she was looking for, a leather
organiser containing her passport and the passbook to their savings account. She
grabbed it and stuffed it in the sports bag. She was out of time; everything
else would have to stay.

Out of the bedroom and into the corridor. Where was he? Down
the stairs she went, fast as possible, bag slung over her shoulder. Then from
out of nowhere Martin came flying at her screaming and crazed. He slammed into
her and she hit the wall but the bag of clothes cushioned the impact. He
punched her hard in the stomach and then twice in the face. The blows came at
her in quick succession and her legs went from beneath her and she dropped to
the ground.

‘You don’t fucking leave me!’ he shouted insanely. ‘No. NO.
NO! YOU DON’T GET TO LEAVE!’

He drew his leg back to kick her in the face but she launched
herself at him using everything she had to power into his chest. The crown of
her head crunched against his chin and she heard the clipped smacking sound as
his teeth snapped together and they both tumbled to the floor. Simone was first
to her feet; she snatched one handle of the sports bag and pulled it towards
her only to find that he had hold of the other. She tugged it once, twice,
three times but he wouldn’t relent. She took a step back and kicked at his
face. He tried to knock the blows away with his free hand and kept snatching at
her foot but adrenaline, anger and fear drove her on. She shouted, ‘Fuck off forever!’
and kicked at his face again, this time accurately and the bag burst free from
his grip when his nose broke. She dashed to the door and out into the driveway,
clambered into her car and drove away. The tyres screeched as if in pain and
she didn’t look back.

Simone got about a mile from the house before she had to pull
into a supermarket car park because her whole body was shaking violently and
she was rapidly becoming incapable of driving. She found a set of empty spaces
at the back of the car park and slowed to a stop. She switched the engine off
and gripped the wheel tightly to stop her hands from shaking but the tremors
reverberated through her arms and into her back making her whole body tremble
uncontrollably. She stole a glimpse of herself in the rear-view mirror and
looked away. Explain this one she thought. Cuts old and new had opened and
blood caked her face. She considered that, maybe in time, like the veteran
boxer she probably wouldn’t bruise anymore. The nail on the middle finger of
her right hand had been torn off and she yelped with pain when she dropped the
windows by an inch in an attempt to let some cool air into the car.

Her hands fell to her lap and she put her head back into the headrest,
she closed her eyes and breathed evenly to push the hum of pain to one side as
the adrenaline dissipated and her body became still.

She fell asleep.

Simone could hear a voice, it was high pitched and young; it
speared her slumber and woke her up.

‘Mum, look at this lady, is she okay?’

Simone opened her eyes as best she could and a child was staring
at her through the window; a little girl with blonde hair and a floppy hat was
calling out to her mother. ‘She’s got blood on her.’

Simone’s face was tight and sore and her left eye had puffed
up around the cheek bone, she tried to smile at the little girl in an attempt
to reassure her that she was okay and to stop her from calling her mother over
but it was too late.

‘My God, have you been in an accident?’ The woman looked at
Simone and then at the car, scanning it for damage, trying to understand why
the woman inside was in such a state.

Simone was groggy but she was acutely aware of how terrible
she looked, the girl wouldn’t stop staring at her with a child’s fascination
for passive horror.

Simone opened the door and climbed out of the car with rubbery
legs, the child stepped away, suddenly frightened, she hid behind her mother
and peered around her legs.

‘I know I look a state but I’m okay. Honestly.’ Simone’s
voice was dry and croaky and she was covered in sweat. She expected the woman
to accept her reasoning that she was okay but she didn’t, she was young, no
more than twenty-three; she put her hand on the back of her child’s head and
straightened her back defiantly.

‘No you’re not,’ she said. ‘Look at yourself. You need help.
Sit back down and let me help you.’

Simone did as she was told. She was too tired to protest, too
tired to lie.

‘I was going to suggest we call the police but…’ She motioned
to Simone who looked down at her shirt and at the lapels of her uniform. ‘…you
are the police,’ the woman finished.

‘What’s your name?’ said Simone.

‘I’m Kate and this is Melody.’

‘Simone.’

‘Can I call someone for you Simone?’

She considered this and replied, ‘No. Thank you.’

Kate looked stern. She wasn’t taking no for an answer.