Behind A Twisted Smile (Dark Minds Book 2) (9 page)

Later, on reflection, I should probably have called the police first, but I doubted they would have arrived in time to apprehend him.

Reaching the front door, I detected a whiff of something nasty, but I ignored it and grabbed a heavy vase from the hall table, shot back the bolts and opened the door. Everything happened quickly after that.

“Hey!” I yelled, simultaneously drawing back my arm holding the vase and coshing him over the head and shoulder with it. I heard a muffled cry of pain, and the figure dropped what he was holding before darting through the gateway and making for the road.

I cursed. If I had been wearing suitable footwear, instead of being barefoot, I would have given chase. As it was, I felt a sharp stab in my left heel and realised I had trodden on a piece of broken china. Fuming, I watched the intruder disappear down an alley opposite and knew he would soon be in a maze of lanes. Unless he was caught on CCTV, there wasn’t a hope in hell of apprehending him, police or otherwise.

I turned towards the front of my flat, stumbling over something lying on the ground and saw it was an aerosol can. As I looked up and stared in horror, I was confronted by a complete wall of filthy slogans.

I stood there shaking, reading in disbelief what had been sprayed in red paint on my window, bricks and door. Basically, I was labelled as a
useless slutty fuck with a stinking come bucket of a vagina
. Apparently, I didn’t worry whom I slept with, either…among other things. The absolute bastard!

I stumbled towards the door, crept inside and pushed it shut behind me. It was then I recognised the stench I smelt earlier. Tacked on the inside of the door was a small basket covering the letterbox. Only this time, the basket didn’t contain letters. It was filled with an offensive, stinking, dog turd.

I felt sick. My mouth filled with water, and I bent over and vomited again and again, until I was bringing up nothing but hot bitter bile.

Chapter 11

Although the police were sympathetic about my graffitied wall, they weren’t much help. The young constable sent from the station blushed a remarkable shade of red when he read the choice phrases, but apart from taking down the time and a description of the ‘artist’, he couldn’t give me any assurance that anyone would be arrested.

He said all the usual things, agreeing how bad and grossly offensive it looked and how graffiti made the area appear neglected and could well encourage more anti-social behaviour and crime. Had I notified my insurance company, as it might be difficult and expensive to remove myself? He gave me no confidence whatsoever, and feeling thoroughly depressed by then, I couldn’t wait for him to leave.

He finished by mentioning a couple of local acts outlawing graffiti: the Anti-Social Behaviour Act and the Criminal Damage Act. But as the fixed-penalty notice was less than a hundred pounds, I couldn’t see a lot of point in pursuing it.

I explained how the culprit had run off into the labyrinth of alleyways and lanes in the locality.  The officer looked pensive, saying that because he was heavily disguised, it was a waste of time and manpower looking for him.

“At least he didn’t try forcing an entry,” he said brightly. “No damage done.”

I gave him my best withering look, and he bent over his notebook to cover his embarrassing blunder. “Well, Miss Waterford, as you’ve no idea who could have done this, I think I have all I need. I’ve got all your details. I’ll run it through the computer and check out our normal local graffiti artists, but this one’s work doesn’t ring any bells. I’d say it’s a one-off, an amateur. Graffiti artists take pride in their tagging, and this isn’t art in any shape or form.”

“What about the dog’s mess he shoved through the letterbox?”

“Sorry. I know you don’t want to hear this, but unfortunately, it does happen.”

I closed the door on him and let my breath out in a deep sigh. I wasn’t going to talk to the insurance company; it would have taken far too long for someone to come out and assess the damage. I decided to ring Neville, my landlord, and get him to give me the number of his decorator, David. He would do a far better job than I and in less time. I had to get it removed as soon as possible, as it was distressing.

Neville was sympathetic as well as outraged that someone could do such a thing. He sent David round, who agreed to start removing the offensive paint that day.

I wasn’t going to mention it to any of my family or Jon because I felt so humiliated. I cringed when I left the flat for work that day, wondering what my neighbours must have been thinking. I decided to return as late as possible, thankful that dusk fell early in autumn.

The post always arrived late morning at my workplace, and it was usually mostly junk mail. That day, I received a couple of bills from suppliers of my essential oils and a third envelope, unstamped and with my name and address displayed in the little cellophane window. Ms M Waterford…

I assumed it to be a cheque from a client and eased the slit on the back. Inside, I found a single sheet of paper and instead of a cheque a message.

I enjoyed seeing you cry

I gasped and felt my heart hammer against my rib cage. What? Who? I immediately guessed who had sent it. It had to have been Martyn. Surely, he had sent the other message on my mobile...now this.

I didn’t know what to do. If I confronted him, he would deny it and was just as likely to complain to Evie and possibly my mother. If I went to the police, I had no proof. Would they interview him?

I sat down heavily in a chair. What about fingerprints on the paper and envelope? I’d deleted the phone message ages ago.

I dithered as I made up my mind. Mum and Evie were out of the question. I didn’t know Jon well enough, and I didn’t want him thinking I was a fruit cake and frighten him off. That left Faye. We had known and trusted each other since junior school.

It was all so bizarre. I couldn’t believe a person could do such awful things to another. Every fibre of my body shook with anger, but at the same time, at least, I didn’t feel afraid. It was a small mercy, I suppose.

***

“Are you sure?” she asked.

I thought for a few seconds. “It has to be Martyn. First the text message, now this. I told you he was a creep.”

“Yes, but this is horrible if true. The phone call…well, he might just have been trying to get back at you in some weird way, but graffiti and dog mess? Yuk. You’ll have to do something.”

“But what?” I wailed. “I can’t confront him—he’ll deny it.”

“Then your only option is the police.”

“I’ve tried that. It’s ridiculous. I don’t want him, you know. Evie’s welcome to him.”

“I shouldn’t think he wants you if he’s done all this. Anyway, he’s engaged to Evie now, so you’re out of the picture. Are you sure you haven’t upset anyone else?”

“Absolutely. No, I’m telling you, it’s Martyn. There must be something wrong with him. I told you it was me who ended it all, and he went around saying it was the other way round.”

“Yes, yes, so you’ve said. Moya, if you’re really worried, then go to the police. At the very least, they can haul him in for questioning and caution him. Would you like me to come with you?”

Faye had moved back to England now and was taking the rest of her paid leave. It felt good knowing she would be around for good.

I shook my head. “No, it’s okay.”

“Ring me if you change your mind.”

After ringing off, I came to a decision. I would go to the police to see what they could do. I would tell them of my suspicions, including the text message. The renovations were due to commence at work soon, so I would have time to kill. Neville was right. I hadn’t been away on holiday for a couple of years. I would scout the internet for a bargain in the sun and make myself scarce for a week or so. If Martyn were approached by the police, I didn’t want to be around afterwards. I wasn’t a coward, but there was something in the old saying about the shit hitting the fan…

Chapter 12

Two days later, my doorbell rang not long after I arrived home, and when I reluctantly looked out, Evie and Martyn were standing on the doorstep.

Evie looked as happy and pretty as the day she and Martyn became engaged. Martyn held up a bottle of rosé wine, and I wondered briefly if it was a peace offering.

I knew the police had interviewed him, but when I called into the station and spoke to the desk staff, the duty sergeant took me to one side and said Martyn swore he had nothing to do with the graffiti. Apparently, he had an alibi for that night. The sergeant closed the dossier on Martyn in front of me, saying they would keep it on record, but they didn’t plan on taking it further unless anything else happened.

“Make sure you keep your doors and windows locked, especially when you’re not at home, just in case whoever paid you a visit returns. I don’t want to frighten you, but it pays to be vigilant. And if you’re going away at all, let someone know so that they can keep an eye on the place. Are you planning any holidays in the near future?”

I said that it was a possibility and that I would let them know.

Evie took in my trainers and shorts. “Is this a bad time? Are you about to go out, or have you just got back?”

“Yes, I was going for a run,” I said, tugging my shorts down after realising they were a tad skimpy. Perhaps leggings would have been better.

“Don’t let us put you off. You go for your run and we’ll make ourselves at home. There’s a series on telly, Evie and I are following. We’ll be quite happy watching that for half an hour,” said Martyn. “Okay with you, Evie?”

“No, it’s all right. I can go later. Come in.”

They followed me through to the sitting room, and I felt conscious of my brief shorts and Martyn’s eyes on my butt.

While Evie and Martyn settled themselves on my sofa, I said I wouldn’t be a minute and tore upstairs to put on my tracksuit bottoms. I wondered what they wanted. Evie looked happy and cheerful, so I could only assume Martyn hadn’t said anything to her about the police.

Fully dressed and feeling less exposed, I wandered downstairs.

“I’ve taken the liberty of opening this and finding some glasses,” Martyn said, waving the bottle in the air. “It was a present for you, but I knew you’d want to share it with us, you being so generous. Like some?”

I stared. Three of my best glasses were on the coffee table. I usually used my cheap Ikea ones for everyday drinking. How the hell did he know I had these crystal ones? They were a present from my grandmother, and I kept them right at the back of a deep cupboard. I set my face in what I hoped was a smile, while inside I wished I could do him a nasty injury. I wondered if thinking about a crime might actually make you guilty of one.

Instead, I smiled. “Yes please.” He said I was generous. I could do generous. “So what’s brought you here?” I turned to Evie.

“We haven’t seen you since the engagement and thought we’d pop in. See how you are. We enjoyed meeting Jon by the way. He seems really nice.”

“He is.”

“We meant it when we said perhaps we could make up a foursome.”

I swung my head towards Martyn. Nothing would induce me to let Jon anywhere near him. I didn’t trust Martyn at all. “He’s very busy at the moment, but I’ll mention it.”

Martyn handed us a glass of wine, and we sat sipping it in silence for what seemed like ages, until I asked them what they had been up to and whether they had made any further plans.

“Martyn’s encouraging me to take up cycling. Don’t you think that’s cool?” Evie said.

I did a double take. “But you hate exercise, Evie.” I couldn’t help laughing.

She shrugged. “Well, he’s been very patient and talked me into it. I’ve treated us both to a super-lightweight bike each, and do you know, I’m actually rather enjoying it. We’ve decided to go on a cycling holiday once I’ve become much fitter. We thought Italy or France might be nice…all those gorgeous villages and countryside to explore. Martyn said we could take a small tent and camp out. It would be romantic lying under the stars, just the two of us.”

I blinked. “Good for you, but I must say I find the thought of you on a bike extraordinary enough let alone camping.”

Martyn chuckled. “Sausages and bacon frying in a pan. Swimming in rivers and a log fire. As I’ve told you before, Moya, once a boy scout always a boy scout. Evie will come to no harm.”

He draped an arm around her shoulders and drawing her close, gave Evie a deep, lingering kiss. They then looked at each other with self-satisfied smiles, and I guessed they had more news to impart.

“We’ve decided that because we want to start a family as soon as possible, we need somewhere bigger than my small cottage,” Evie said. I was astonished. She had never mentioned having kids since her divorce. Besides, she was forty, and I knew she considered herself too old to start.

“Kids? Really? I never thought you…what I mean is, that’s nice, but won’t it be a wrench selling your cottage? You’ve always loved it.”

Martyn helped himself to a second glass of wine as he butt in. “Yes, but apart from it being too small, we also want to start married life in a place we can call completely our own. By that I mean, a place Evie and I can say we’ve chosen and not one she shared with her former husband.” He took hold of Evie’s hand between his own.