For the Sake of the Children: The first Chloe Webster thriller (Chloe Webster Thrillers Book 1) (15 page)

The intense rage inside him festered and gnawed at him like a disease. He’d been betrayed by those he trusted, and trust was the basis on which he operated. Loyalty was everything in this game and if you didn’t have that, you were no one. The anger reared up within him once again, and the only thing that would curtail that feeling was revenge.

By now Drabble would have worked out that he wasn’t coming. He guessed that the plan was to move this child on to somewhere else, or more likely to
someone
else. And presumably in return for a large pay packet. He still found it hard to believe that Drabble had got himself mixed up in this mess; he’d never shown any interest in children before, not in any way. The rewards must have been huge to tempt him into it and if there was one thing that Drabble did care about, it was money.

The Timer reached down and picked up his hunting knife. With a serrated edge and a polished mahogany handle, it was an impressive looking weapon. Measuring around ten inches in length, the mirror-like blade was sharpened to ensure nothing would prevent it from finding its target. He clipped its sheath on his belt and slid the knife into its home. Drabble needed to pay for what he’d done, and Jez too. They had deliberately misled him and that is not something he would forgive easily.

But there was still a nagging doubt that he couldn’t shift. Had there been some kind of misunderstanding? Had the wrong package been sent? Perhaps Drabble and Jez didn’t know anything about the child either. Maybe they were being duped too. He needed to find the truth and the only way to do that was to speak to Drabble, face to face. Talk it out, see what he had to say, and then take whatever revenge was necessary.

At least the child was safe. He thought about those beautiful eyes again and wondered if they were back with the people who were missing them the most.

The distant bang of a door being closed too hard and excited chattering told him that his wife and children had arrived home. He removed the knife and placed it in a drawer, then hurried inside the house.

‘Daddy!’ cried his girls as he swept them both up into his arms. ‘Can we have ice cream for tea? Mummy said we had to ask you.’

‘Of course you can my little angels. You can have anything you like.’

And he held them closer and for longer than he had for a long time.

Chloe stood up as the train trundled into Bradmill station. She waited as it slowed to a stop and then pressed the button to open the doors. They slid apart and she stepped down onto the platform. It was mid-afternoon and there was still a sharp chill in the air. The fields around the village remained lightly covered in snow from the day before, and although the sun was bright, it was already low in the sky and the warmth from its rays was negligible.

The shock from what had happened earlier in the day still accompanied her. The chat with Ben had helped reassure her, and she was glad that she’d shared it with him, but real doubts remained in her mind about not reporting the events to the police.

The familiar surroundings of the village helped to settle her nerves as she walked down the hill towards home. Faces she knew said hello and enquired about her wellbeing and about her father. She smiled back and acknowledged their concern and good wishes. It certainly made her feel better, and she felt herself relax as she approached home.

On passing the village shop, she remembered that they needed milk at home and one or two other bits and pieces. She headed over towards the bright orange sign fixed above the doorway which read
Village Store
. She also needed some cash and stopped to draw some from the machine outside. She fumbled in her purse for her card and inserted it into the slot. The usual messages appeared and then it asked for her number. She keyed it in and waited as the card was processed. A moment later it presented her with a series of options. She pressed the button for cash with a receipt and then keyed in the amount. Fifty pounds should see her through the next few days. Again she waited while the machine churned and rattled and then her cash appeared before her. She wondered if she had been paid by her new firm yet and requested a balance.

What she saw next made her heart race again as it had been earlier in the day. She pressed the cancel button and removed her card. She looked around her to check no one was watching, and then pushed her card back into the machine, keyed her number in and waited.

There it was again. She pressed the button for another service and then tapped on the request for a printout of recent transactions. She looked around anxiously once more. An elderly woman was now standing behind her waiting to draw her pension.

‘Hello Chloe love. How’s your dad?’

‘Oh he’s fine thanks Mrs Hoggard. I won’t be a minute.’ Usually she would stop and chat but that was now the furthest thing from her mind.

‘Take your time love, I’m in no rush.’

The machine stirred again and printed a mini-statement of the last ten transactions through her account. Without looking, she folded it up and stuffed it into her purse. Then she took her card, smiled at Mrs Hoggard and hurried off towards home.

‘Hi dad,’ she shouted as she opened the front door and stepped inside.

‘Hello love. You’re early.’

‘Yeah, I didn’t feel that well to be honest so I came home. I’ll go in early tomorrow to catch up.’

Her father appeared in the frame of the kitchen doorway. He looked concerned.

‘What’s up?’

‘Nothing.’ She could see that he was worried. ‘Honestly dad, I think I’m just over-tired. My head’s banging. I think I’ll go and lay down for an hour or two.’

‘Good idea. I’ll give you a shout later when dinner’s ready. I thought we’d have a curry tonight.’

‘Great, that’ll cheer me up.’

‘And there’re some new painkillers in the bathroom if you need them.’

‘Thanks dad.’

She ran upstairs and closed her bedroom door. She knew her father wouldn’t disturb her now until dinner. She reached into her bag and pulled out her purse. Unclasping it, she took out the cashpoint statement and unfolded it as quickly as her trembling hands would allow her to.

And there it was, staring her in the face. It was just a tiny row of print on a small scrap of paper, but she knew what it was, and she knew what it meant. Mr Peters’ words came flooding back into her head.

You will be well paid for your work.

Someone had paid ten thousand pounds into her account.

Chelsie had always been a light sleeper and the fact that something had woken her in the night didn’t worry her unduly. Only last week she’d been disturbed by a wheelie bin being blown over outside. It wasn’t windy tonight but she knew it could have been anything. She wasn’t even entirely sure it had been a noise that woke her, although she did think she’d heard the culmination of a sound as she woke. A glance at the clock told her it was just after three in the morning. Pitch black outside of course, but for the orange glow from a streetlight which crept in around the edge of her bedroom curtains. She turned over and retreated under the warmth of the covers. Images of George ran through her mind and refused to allow her back to asleep. She smiled to herself as tears welled behind her closed eyelids.

Another noise and this time it sounded like it was coming from
inside
the house. A bang, or a rattle perhaps? A door being forced?

Don’t be silly, you’re safe here.
But the doubts remained. Surely Mark wouldn’t be that stupid?

She instinctively reached for her mobile and then cursed as she realised it was downstairs. She lay still for a few moments. Silence, but she had to investigate, although the thought of stepping out into the cold bedroom and finding her way downstairs did nothing to tempt her into action. Surely he wouldn’t come round here at night? Would he?

She’d read somewhere that noise is usually enough to scare off a night time intruder, so she flicked her bedside radio on, turned up the volume and stomped across her bedroom floor. She took her dressing gown off the hook and wrapped it tightly around herself. Then she opened the door and peered out at the landing.

Everything certainly looked like it had when she’d come to bed. She flicked the light on and, craning her neck over the white painted bannister, she could see that the front door remained closed and there was no sign of a break-in. She started to walk downstairs past family photographs which decorated the wall. George and her mother watched her take each step as she went, and she made sure that her feet made plenty of noise, the sound of the radio following in her wake.

‘Hello? Is there anyone there? I’ve already called the police so you should go now whilst you can.’

She felt self-conscious as she spoke. The voices on the radio behind her and the light from the landing reassured her that she was safe. As she stepped off the bottom of the stairs she switched on the hallway light. The door to the lounge was closed, as was the kitchen door.

She filled the lounge with light and began to feel safer still. Everything looked fine, and it was clear there had been no burglary; surely this is the first place they would have come? She didn’t have much to steal, but what she did have was in this room. But her television was still here, as was her mobile phone, lying on the black leather settee where she’d left it the night before.

Finally, she opened the kitchen door. Its location at the back of the house meant it was dark, and there was no street light filtering in here to help her. She wondered if this was the first time she had ever had every light in the house on at the same time, and pressed the switch next to her.

‘Hello Chelsie,’ slurred a voice.

It was Mark, her ex.

Chelsie didn’t scream. Maybe it was the familiarity of seeing him back in her kitchen, a place he’d been many times before. Perhaps part of her had expected this to happen. She stood by the kitchen door and looked across at him, her face expressionless.

‘George isn’t here.’ It was the first thing that came to mind. His safety had always been her main concern and it was almost as if she was reassuring herself that he was out of harm’s way.

‘It’s not George I want, it’s you. It’s always been you. Why did you have to go and ruin it all? We had a good thing going, didn’t we?’

He sounded drunk, and pathetic, and she wanted to tell him to get out and never come back. She also wanted to scream at him and hurt him for what he’d done to George, but she knew she was in danger. There was only one way she would get out of this alive, and that would be if she could keep him calm and reasonable. He wasn’t a big man, but he was certainly strong enough to hurt her. Unshaven and dishevelled, the darkness under his eyes told her that he hadn’t been sleeping. It also made him look terrifying, and it chilled her to the core.

‘We
did
have a good thing going Mark. Maybe we could again.’ She was lying but desperately wanted him to stay calm. ‘But you need to understand that George is the most important person to me and always will be.’

He pushed his chin up into the air and stretched his neck, causing a bone inside to crack. He was clearly trying to decide what to do; he’d arrived full of anger but her reaction seemed to puzzle him. He started to pace the length of the modest kitchen like a wild animal kept in an undersized compound.

‘That fucking child,’ he muttered, and Chelsie knew he was struggling with his emotions. She started to have doubts that she was playing him the right way, but she knew there was no
right
way to play him, just different ways, and his unpredictability had always scared her.

‘Why don’t I make us a cup of tea and we can talk about this?’ She didn’t know what else to say.

‘I don’t
want
a cup of tea. Why haven’t you been returning my texts? Why didn’t you answer the door when I came round last time? I knew you were in, I could see the curtains moving.’ He wasn’t looking at her as he spoke. His head was down and he looked only at the floor. Still pacing, Chelsie flinched a little every time he came towards her.

‘I was scared. You were shouting and swearing. Even the neighbours were scared. You’re lucky they didn’t call the police Mark.’

He breathed deeply.

‘Those fucking nosey wankers. I’ll kill that bitch next door if I see her again.’

Chelsie tried to stay calm. She reached into her dressing gown pocket but she remembered her phone was on the settee in the next room.

It was then that he started smashing things. He swept a tray onto the floor that she had used last night when she’d had a cup of coffee in the lounge. The tray clattered across the floor and the mug smashed into several large pieces. Next went a line of wine glasses from a shelf on the wall, leaving broken glass scattered across the floor.

‘Stop it, please!’ cried Chelsie. ‘What do you
want
?’

He grabbed a chopping knife from a wooden block on the kitchen worktop and held it out in front of him. Her blood ran cold as she realised her tactic had failed.

‘Mark, please. Think about George!’ As soon as the words were out she knew they were wrong. His eyes narrowed and he started towards her.

Chelsie screamed and ran down the hallway to the front door, fumbling with the lock. Before she could open it he slammed into the back of her, crushing her against the solid structure. Blood spurted from her nose and she cried out in pain, sure that she had felt the bone crack. He pulled her back and threw her to the floor, then sat on top of her. Holding her arms out wide, he leaned over so that his face was uncomfortably close to hers.

‘I loved you,’ he shouted, so ferociously that his spittle showered her face.

She was visibly shaking as she looked into his eyes, regretting that she had ever let him into their lives. She knew this was her last chance to get out of the situation unharmed.

‘I know you did,’ she whispered back. ‘I loved you too. I still do.’

He pulled her wrists together onto her chest and held on to both her hands and the knife. He let out a sob and she felt him relax his grip just a little. Using the additional strength she acquired from the adrenaline pumping round her body, she heaved her arms apart and broke his grip. The knife flicked out of his grasp and landed on the carpet next to her head. Without thinking she took hold of it and thrust it deep into his upper body, just under his left armpit, all her anger and frustration surfacing in an instant. George flashed through her mind and gave her the strength to pull the knife out and ram it in again. He shouted in agony as he wriggled on top of her. Fresh red blood dribbled from the side of his mouth and a look of shock appeared in his eyes. But he was still strong. He gripped her hand and managed to pry the knife from her fingers. She covered her face with her arms and braced herself.

‘I loved you,’ he repeated, choking on blood as he spoke.

Then he sank the knife into her chest before collapsing on top of her.