The Black Widow (16 page)

Lee listened quietly and attentively. “Wow,” he said when Mike finished. “So then 7 years later you end up on her doorstep whilst investigating a murder.”

“Exactly. A murder in which the murderer may have set his sights on another murderer.”

Lee shook his head. “I studied those letters from Laura Melling's flat word for word, trying to find any clue whatsoever to the sender's identity. I can tell you I'm certain that whoever wrote those letters to your femme fatale was not the same person who wrote Laura Melling."

“The time frame is even the same though. Both women started receiving these letters one week ago.”

“True,” Lee agreed, “but we only know this to be true of your femme fatales letter by her word. Our victim's letters had been dated. Plus, the letters to Laura weren't creepy as such, just very intense. But he didn't point out clothes she wore or indicate in any way that he'd been following her. And, you don't have to a trained cop to know that Mrs Underwood wasn't telling us everything.”

Mike nodded and rubbed his face. “I just can't believe I've seen her. This is either connected or it's a massive coincidence.”

“Well, we may not be very close, or have known each other for a long time,” Lee said matter-of-factly, “but I know you well enough as a detective to be sure that if you felt that strongly about her guilt then I'd be willing to bet money that she did it. Your personal situation was heavy back then, sure, but I can't see it obscuring your view of this woman. Not to that extent. Not you.”

Grateful and surprised, Mike turned his head and looked at Lee. Lee nodded back solemnly, before breaking out into a smile, a smile that Mike had seen weaken the knees of some of the toughest female cops. “You aren't gonna kiss me, are ya?”

Mike laughed and Lee nudged his with his elbow. “Come on, loverboy. On a serious note, this puts us back to square one; no new leads on Laura's case.”

Mike nodded. “If we're lucky, the DNA will give us a match that'll lead us to the killer.”

“That's if he's offended before,” Lee replied. “We have no other homicides with the same MO. If he's a first timer, then we're gonna have to do it the hard way : establish a link between victim and suspect, check suspect's alibi, establish motive then gather the evidence to put suspect away for a long time.”

Mike felt weary already.

“Come on,” Lee said, “let's start at the beginning. She was seen leaving work, and then disappeared. We've seen from her phone records that she wasn't active on her phone the night she disappeared, so we can't pinpoint the time she was taken by her killer. We'll check her phone records, see if she kept in touch with someone regularly. Sometimes, they can trip themselves up that way.”

Mike nodded, remembering such a case.

A young abused wife had left her violent husband. Three weeks later, she vanished without a trace.

Her estranged husband had harassed her by phone all day every day since she left him. The moment she disappeared, his phone calls and texts stopped.

He had played innocent when questioned, but when the detective conducting the interview had casually pointed out the amazing coincidence and presented the husband with the phone records; all his calls and texts highlighted for effect, the man had become angry.

As in his marriage, his temper would be his undoing and he confessed to killing his estranged wife in a rage.

“We start at the bottom,” Mike said. “Hopefully we'll find something on the way up. I want to go back to the pub Laura worked at. She the exact time she clocked out. Then we'll walk the streets if we have to, someone must have seen her.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Lee agreed. “Let's do it.”

Chapter Nineteen

Cheryl awoke to the sounds of the radio downstairs. Her stomach plummeted when she realised Harold had not slept in bed with her last night.

She got up and wrapped her dressing gown around her, hoping to catch Harold before he left the house. Hurrying past the spare bedroom that Harold had been sleeping in for the past three weeks, Cheryl rushed downstairs.

Harold, sitting at the kitchen table, reading the morning paper and drinking a mug of coffee, did not even glance at Cheryl as she entered the room.

He continued to ignore her as she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat herself down at the breakfast bar.

They sat in silence.

Cheryl looked at her older, overweight and unattractive husband, and became angry.

This had gone on for far too long. She would not be ignored any longer.

“Harold. Look at me.”

He ignored her and continued to read his paper.

“Harold. You can't treat me like this. I'm your wife.”

Harold sneered, but still wouldn't look at her.

Cheryl opted for a different approach. “I said I'm sorry,” she said quietly. “What more do you want from me?”

“The ability to keep your legs closed to every Tom, Dick and Harry that gives you a second look.”

Harold's answer stunned her.

Colour flooded her face as she stared shocked at the man who, not terribly long ago, had treated her as if she were a sacred and highly prized possession, a possession he was both infatuated and proud of.

She was the hot, young wife who made him the envy of his friends. He'd adored her.

The past two years as his wife had been the best two years of her life. Until meeting Harold, she'd had one man after the other. She may have gotten rid of Dave many years ago, but the lesson he'd taught her had remained.

She couldn't bear the thought of being with an unattractive man, yet every time she got together with an attractive man, the thought of betrayal nearly tore her up.

She was turning into the possessive jealous girlfriend, the woman that most men find distinctly unappealing. Men want a beautiful woman who is confident and knows her worth.

There was a certain truth in the old saying 'treat them mean, keep them keen'.

She had given up chasing the attractive men, quiet frankly because they scared the hell out of her.

Then, she'd met Harold.

Older than her, overweight and balding with black-rimmed glasses, he was, quiet bluntly, ugly. He was not the man Cheryl had ever imagined she would find happiness with.

Harold worked away all week and only came home Saturday mornings before leaving again Sunday evening.

Most Saturday nights, they went to parties and social gatherings, which Cheryl always enjoyed.

The stares of envy Harold received because of her slim tight body and stunning face, and the stares of hatred from their wives to Cheryl, despising her for being young and beautiful.

Cheryl thrived on it.

Harold being away all week was the major perk of the whole marriage. It allowed her to indulge in her many affairs.

Nothing serious as there was no man worth giving her lifestyle up for, just a string of one night stands.

Unfortunately, one of her affairs had come to light at a party a week earlier. Turns out the young handsome man Cheryl had been sleeping with attended the same party with his father.

Cheryl hadn't noticed him, but she had noticed the envious stares Harold usually received seemed instead to be pity, and although she was used to the stares of hate from the women, tonight there seemed to be a smug contempt in their hard stares.

Whilst in a toilet cubicle, Cheryl overheard two women talking about her affair and how they'd always known she was nothing but a trashy slut. When Cheryl left the cubicle, both women had glared at her.

Sick with worry that Harold would hear something before she could explain that the rumour circulating about her was nothing but a vicious lie, Cheryl hurried from the restroom and searched for Harold.

She hadn't known then that the man she'd been sleeping with had been Harold's friend's son, a young man that Harold had known since he was a kid.

Cheryl's face burned in shame and embarrassment at the looks thrown her way. She realised that Harold had left the party without her. She got a taxi home and hadn't heard from Harold until Friday when he'd come home from work early.

He hadn't spoken to her since. Until now.

“How dare you,” Cheryl shouted, infuriated that he dared speak to her like that. “You're away all week and I'm alone. I wasn't seeing him long, I told you it meant nothing.”

“It's not just him though, is it Cheryl.” Harold looked at her over his newspaper. “You've been an easy slut from the start of our marriage.”

Cheryl roared in rage and hurled her coffee mug at his head, feeling a sense of triumph when he gasped and ducked.

“How dare you call me that!”

Harold stared at her, his jaw slack and his eyes wide. The stunned look quickly gave way to one of dismay. “Just what the hell did I marry?” he muttered. He sounded sick, disgusted.

Cheryl burst into tears and rushed upstairs. She threw herself down onto their bed and waited for Harold to follow.

And he would follow.

This tactic had worked before on the very few occasions he'd refused her something that she wanted.

Cheryl strained to hear over her forced tears, then jolted when she heard the front door slam.

Surprised and dismayed, Cheryl stood and watched Harold climb into his car and drive away.

He was only supposed to leave tomorrow evening for the week, but Cheryl doubted he would return home tonight.

He'd said affairs, plural. He'd only found out about his friend's son last Saturday. He knew that she'd had other lovers. How he'd found out, she didn't know. The fact was, he knew.

She had lost him, and the perfect life she'd had with him.

Cheryl flopped onto the bed and cried. This time, her tears were real.

Chapter Twenty

Cheryl pulled up outside the salon where she worked and sighed.

She didn't want to work today. She wanted to go to bed and stay there while she figured out what to do.

Her husband who once adored her now hated her, she had a weirdo harassing her and to top it all off, Jamison had reared his ugly head.

Well, not so ugly, Cheryl thought as she turned off the ignition and gathered her handbag. She'd thought he was fairly attractive the night she'd killed Dave, but he was quite gorgeous.

Cheryl realised what she was thinking and shook her head.
What the hell am I doing. He hates me. He'd love nothing more than to see me in prison for murder.

You could always kill Harold.

The thought came from nowhere and stopped Cheryl in her tracks. She was standing by the salon door, her hand on the door handle, but she wasn't seeing any of this. Instead, she was thrust back to that moment as she stood at the foot of the bed, watching Dave sleep as she held his cigarette lighter in her hand.

She remembered her rage, her feeling of betrayal. She remembered flicking the lighter, then leaving the room. Her vision darkened as she gasped.

Would I do it again? If I could go back in time, would I do it again?

Another image of Dave from her nightmares, the burnt husk of human flesh that he must have become after she set the fire that took his life, slammed into her mind. Then, the image wasn't Dave, it was Harold.

“No,” Cheryl whimpered. “I couldn't go through it again.”

“Are you okay?” The male voice and firm grip on her arm jolted her and she turned to find an attractive man staring at her. His dark eyes seemed troubled and he tightened his grip on her arm. “Do you need an ambulance or something?”

“No. No, I'm sorry. I'm okay.”

Cheryl mentally shook herself, fighting for control. In spite of the darkness that swamped her mind, she still noticed that this man who seemed so concerned for her was very good-looking. “I think I just need to eat something.”

“Are you sure? Is there something I can help you with?” Cheryl looked at him and was about to give him a tale of woe, something along the lines of her husband was having an affair—a line she had used often on men, and one that worked—when it occurred to her that this man looked somewhat familiar. “Do I know you?” Cheryl asked frowning.

“I don't think so,” the man said, frowning back. “You just looked at little upset. I thought you may have needed help, that's all.”

Cheryl pulled her arm out of his grip, suddenly fearful. What if this was
him
.

“I'm okay now, thank you.”

The man frowned again, not out of concern this time, instead he looked rather miffed. “I wasn't going to hurt you or anything.”

“I said I'm okay,” Cheryl snapped, wanting nothing more than to get away from him. “I'll be going to work now.”

“Stuck up bitch,” the man hissed. Cheryl shrank back in shock, then gazed after him as he walked away.

Shaking, she let herself into the salon. Though the place looked closed from the outside, Cheryl could hear excited chatter coming from the staff room. All the girls would be having a coffee and chat before opening time.

She headed to her table at the far right of the room and lowered her nail kit onto it.

My God
, she thought,
I was ready to try and seduce him.

It was a technique that Cheryl had used so many times, she sometimes was unaware that she was doing it. Meet a man and feed him a tale of woe and sadness, a tale of an emotionally detached unfaithful husband who didn't treat her very well. The man would express concern and shock. 'How could any man treat a woman like you that way' they'd say.

By the end of the night Cheryl was in bed with them and they were delighted with themselves. They felt like they'd taken advantage of a neglected sexually-starved young woman. They were too stupid to see that they had been used, manipulated.

In spite of herself, Cheryl smiled. Let Harold leave. She'd soon find someone to replace him.

Or you could just kill him.

Cheryl rushed into the staff room, as if running away from the dark thoughts. Immediately after entering, she wished she hadn't bothered. She groaned inwardly and closed her hands into tight fists when she saw all the girls and their manager Sallie gathered around Sarah.

Cheryl hated Sarah, and the feeling was mutual.