Flowers for the Dead (23 page)

A nod. “Opened the windows, too.”

“We’re going inside first, to check everything is safe. Then the paramedics will come in. But we’d like you to stay outside until we tell you it’s okay. Can you manage that?”

Another nod. As the fireman spoke, Adam noticed his crew had already streamed past them into the house. Time seemed to stretch out painfully as he waited. The beast of uncertainty seemed to uncurl inside him, worrying at all his plans, making them fray at the edges. What if, just like all those stupid criminals his father always talked about, Adam had slipped up? What if he had not thought of everything, after all?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

~ Dogsbane ~

Falsehood

The teenager wrapped his arms around himself to hold the beast in place. Its icy claws made him shiver as they rent him, but he knew he could not fall apart now. He had done all he could, now all he could do was keep on playing the part of grieving son.

A police car pulled up, giving the house its full compliment of emergency services. Two uniformed officers stepped out, and one glanced over at the teenager as she adjusted her hat.

Adam felt feverish as he watched the pair have a hurried, low conversation with the fire brigade and ambulance crew. What were they saying?

Finally they came over.

“Adam Bourne?” asked the woman. “I’m PC Mahon and this is PC Riganelli. Let’s get you inside. It’s freezing out here, and you don’t even have a coat on.”

They took him to the lounge. “What’s ha-happening?” he asked, as soon as he sat down on the sofa. “How are my parents? Can I go with them to hospital?”

“Do you have anyone nearby you could call to be with you? An adult?” asked PC Mahon, ignoring Adam’s own questions.

“No. Just tell me how my parents are,” he begged.

They sat awkwardly for a moment, opposite one another. Adam’s heart was thumping. Here it came, the big moment.

“Adam, there’s no easy way to say this,” said PC Riganelli. “I’m afraid your parents are both dead.”

Adam went through the script he had prepared in his head. “Dead?” he repeated. He knew people often repeated things when confused. “What do you mean? They can’t be, th-they’re my parents…they can’t be.”

He stood up.

“Sit down, son.”

“No, I’m not sitting down.” He let his voice built to a hysterical shriek. “Tell me where my parents are!”

“Adam, it looks as though there was something wrong with the gas fire. It wasn’t burning properly and gave them carbon monoxide poisoning. Your mum and dad are both dead.”

A blood-curdling scream ripped from the bottom of Adam’s belly. A primeval roar of triumph he knew would be confused with grief. Then he sank to his knees – he wasn’t certain this was perhaps a bit too much, but decided he might as well go all out.

Then he stared ahead of him as if broken. He had heard a lot about people feeling emotionally numb when big things happened. Well, he had no problem with numb. That’s how he had spent most of his life.

“I-I need to get to the hospital,” he said finally, for once forcing himself to stutter when in reality it was the last thing he felt like doing. He felt confident, in control.

“There’s no point, Adam. They’ve gone. Your parents have passed away.” The man stood awkwardly while the woman bobbed down beside the teenager and put a reassuring hand on his arm. He liked that. It was kind of her. Perhaps if he got really upset she would hug him?

Instead, she got him to sit back on one of the sofas. Made him a cup of sweet tea and watched him carefully as he sipped. Told him that a social worker would be with him soon to work out what would happen next with him, as he was under eighteen.

But Adam wasn’t really listening. He was soaring above the house, as free as a phoenix. He had been reborn.

***

If patience was a virtue, Adam had to be the most virtuous person in the land. Finally his plans had come together, and he was free.

For the time being, his inheritance was being held in trust by solicitors appointed in his parents’ wills. They had both had new ones drawn after their own change in circumstances and wealth following Ada’s death. When their son turned eighteen in a few months’ time he would be a very well off young man.

In addition to inheriting Ada’s fortune, which had accumulated over generations of Bournes, he had the money from his parents’ death. Graeme had invested money wisely for their retirement, and had taken out a generous life insurance because of his dangerous job. The investments would continue to pay out regularly, Adam owned outright the house he had inherited, had proceeds from the sale of the Colchester property, and had plenty of money in the bank.

Adam could not afford to go crazy, but he could afford to live very comfortably for the rest of his life and never have to work.

For now, Social Services were working with his solicitors to ensure he was safe. As he was so close to becoming a legal adult, they did not take him into care after they assessed him and his situation. It was what he had hoped would happen.

Every now and again he had to congratulate himself on a job well done. He had out-manoeuvred his mother, the ultimate schemer. What an achievement! Adam had thought of everything. The scented candles disguised that smell of gas, the heavy meal and strong wine had covered the symptoms of carbon monoxide poisoning. The room was never used, so his parents had not got round to having the gas appliances checked after moving in, although Ada had had them checked every year. And the piece de resistance?

“We’ve found the cause of the incident,” the gas safety man said sadly. In his hands he held the tragic remains of an empty bird’s nest, which had been reduced to a mess of twigs, feathers and moss as it was removed. “It was in the outlet, blocking it up. Must have been built last spring, and no one noticed. That stopped the air flow…”

He did not need to say more. The birds’ nest had caused the carbon monoxide poisoning by stopping the gas fire from working properly. Just as Adam had known when he had found it the day before his parents’ death, and placed it in the outlet.

The perfect murder, dressed up as a tragic accident.

Unlike many killers, Adam had not only planned as far as the death. He had thought long and hard about the aftermath. He played the part of the tragic orphan to a tee, somehow finding it easier to play a role than to be himself, in fact. In his mind, he acknowledged that he owed a lot of his success to his parents. From his mother he had learned how to lie, how to carry himself convincingly. From his father, he had discovered what gave criminals away. He knew his grief must be visible to others, otherwise he would look cold, but not over-the-top, which might then look staged. The key to success was to get this right, but grief came easily because he simply called up the loss of his gran. He also dyed his hair one shade darker, which made his skin appear paler.

A few months earlier he had spotted an advert for some women’s moisturiser that had a green tint to it to calm down redness. He wore some on the day of the joint funeral at Moseley Crematorium and was pleased with the pallor it created. He looked drawn and wan, not least because he had been deliberately starving himself since the deaths. The handful of people who turned up all felt pity for the young lad who had lost everyone he cared about in less than two years.

Now, Adam was all alone in the world. Without his father to make him feel unmanly, because he would never measure up to him. Without his mother to abuse and torture him. He would discover who he really was, free from interference.

***

PRESENT

Nerves kick in as Laura walks up to her front door wondering what the hell she is going to come across this time.

It has been two days since Laura spoke with Aunt Linda, and the more she thinks about their conversation the less she is convinced by her aunt’s theory. Too many odd things are happening all the time, not just at night.

She believes she may have a stalker. And she thinks she knows exactly who it is.

She realises with relief that there are no flowers waiting for her. That’s strange, because it’s the first Saturday in three months that she has not received any. Perhaps he has finally got bored.

Sliding her key into the lock, Laura takes a deep breath and steps inside.

A shiver runs up her spine and she finds herself reflexively glancing over her shoulder, in case someone is standing behind her, out of view.

Everything seems to be as she left it this morning. She lets her breath out slowly, but feels no relief. Not yet, not until she has checked every room.

She walks into the bedroom last. Backs out again, shaking, unable to take her eyes off what is there.

A pink rose is resting on her pillow. It wasn’t there when she went out.

She snatches up her phone and dials her aunt.

“You didn’t put a flower on my pillow, did you?” she demands.

“No, why? What’s going on?” Laura can hear the confusion in her aunt’s voice.

“Someone is breaking in,” she says. Saying it out loud actually makes her feel better, stronger. Now that she knows for certain that she isn’t losing her mind, she can start tackling the problem.

“What?” her aunt gasps. “What have they taken? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. They haven’t taken anything. That’s the weird part. I think I’ve got a stalker… You know all those things I told you about? My bad memory? Well, it’s not me! Someone is breaking into my house and doing this to me.”

She is absolutely certain now. It is the only explanation, and she cannot believe it has taken her so long to realise. But everything was so subtle.

“Love, you’ve been under a lot of strain lately. Are you sure about this? I mean…why would someone break in and do your shopping, or put toothpaste out for you?”

Aunt Linda is talking to her as if she might break. It’s the special voice, the one people used around her a lot when her family first died. Having spent all these years wallowing in it, it should feel welcome, but Laura has spent weeks now trying to get better and stronger, to move her life on a little. She is not going back to being that girl again, not now she has finally started making progress and had been feeling better for it.

Someone is doing this to her.

She has thought hard about who it can be. If someone is trying to make her doubt her sanity, she can think of only one person who would benefit: Aunt Linda. She would be the beneficiary if something were to happen to her. Laura was not left rich by her parents’ death, but she does have a decent amount of savings for a rainy day. It’s about £70,000. Would her aunt really set her up like this to get her hands on that amount though? She can’t believe it.

But then again, whoever it is has to be someone close to her.

“I know who it is,” Laura announces. “It’s Ryan. He’s been sending me flowers every single week since we broke up, pretty much. I’m going to call him now, tell him it’s got to stop.”

“If you’re really certain, then your Uncle Kieran and I will come round and change the locks, eh? If it will make you feel better.”

‘Thanks, I was about to ask if you could do that for me.”

“Do you want me to be there when you speak to Ryan?”

Laura takes a second to think, but then refuses the offer. “I can handle him myself.”

“Just be careful. If he’s obsessed with you then he might be dangerous.”

In the end they agree on a compromise. Aunt Linda and Uncle Kieran will take her to Ryan’s place and wait outside while the young woman talks to him alone; that way they will be on hand should things get nasty. Afterwards, they will change the locks and make the place more secure.

As soon as Uncle Kieran finishes work they pick up Laura. She is bouncing with adrenaline; not nervous but angry, and keen to tell Ryan exactly what she thinks of him. When they pull up outside his flat, she is out of the car like a rocket, streaking to his front door and hammering on it.

When Ryan opens it, a lazy smile comes across his face. “Hey, Laura, how’s things?” he starts.

She pushes past him impatiently, marches into his living room and stands with her hands on her hips.

“Err, come in…” he says jokingly. He has not changed a bit since she last saw him. Still wearing baggy jeans and a massive t-shirt, a skater-boarding dude in a world of tanned, over-groomed men in tight clothes.

“It’s not very nice when someone forces their way into your personal space is it?” she demands. She steps forward, shoving her face into his until they are nose to nose.

“What’s your problem?” he frowns, stepping back. “You’re acting like a cornered rat.”

“Think that description is more apt for you, isn’t it? Give up, Ryan. We’re over. Stop sending me flowers. Stop breaking into my flat, you freak.”

He blinks rapidly, trying to process her words. Finally he gives up. “Sorry, what?”

“Just. Stop,” she repeats slowly.

“Nope, no idea what you’re on about.”

“So you’re denying sending me flowers every week since we split?” she scoffs.

“Yeah…cos my girlfriend would be pretty pissed off with that.”

“Girlfriend?” Laura falters for the first time since stomping into Ryan’s home.

“Yvonne?” Ryan calls. “Vonny! Can you come in here a sec, please, there’s someone wants to meet you.”

Laura’s eyes are glued to the door, and she is starting to feel a little foolish, but blusters through. “Making up a girlfriend is pretty pathetic, Ryan…”

But then a curvy woman with hair the colour of honey makes an appearance, wearing one of Ryan’s big t-shirts with a CND emblem. Her cat’s eyes are curious when they light on Laura. From the easy way she slides under Ryan’s arm and leans into him it is obvious they are a couple very much in love. She smiles warmly at Laura and says a shy: “Hi.”