The Girls in the Woods (17 page)

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Annie was so engrossed searching through Tilly’s friends on Facebook that when the hammering on the door started she jumped up, startled. Her heart began to pound. Who would be banging on her door at this time? She walked across to the utility room where the computer monitors linked up to their CCTV cameras, and looked at the one on the front door. Slumped against the door was what looked like a very worse-for-wear Stu. She tutted and went to open it. As she pulled it open he stumbled into the hall; the smell of alcohol hung around him in a thick haze.

‘Sorry to bother you, Annie. Is the boss man here?’

‘No, Stu, he isn’t. Where have you been to get in this state?’

‘That pub in the village. Can I come in and wait for him? I don’t want to go home just yet – well, actually I have no home to go home to and no way of getting to it if I did.’

Annie grimaced but she had no choice. She couldn’t let him go out in that state – anything could happen. He didn’t know the area and he could end up falling in a stream or passing out along one of the narrow lanes where there were no streetlights.

‘Come in. I’ll get you a strong coffee. Have you eaten at all today?’

‘Nope, not a bite. Don’t want coffee. Have you not got anything a bit stronger?’

‘Sorry, we haven’t bought any alcohol since I’ve been pregnant so it’s coffee or water, your choice.’

That technically wasn’t true. They had a fridge full of wine in the utility room but he wouldn’t know that. She walked to the kitchen, leaving him to follow her. She looked on the table for her phone so she could text Will and tell him to come home, but it wasn’t there. It had been there less than five minutes ago, so where the hell had it gone? She cursed under her breath. Now was not the time for any of her ghostly friends to be playing games. She turned to look at Stu who had managed to drape himself onto the kitchen chair that she’d been sitting on. He was staring at her, making her feel uncomfortable, so she turned away from him and began to make him a mug of coffee and popped some bread into the toaster.

‘You’re so lucky, aren’t you?’

She turned to look at him.

‘Yes, I suppose I am, but I know that, Stu, and I thank God every day for everything I have and for just being alive after everything that’s happened.’

‘Bollocks.’

Annie didn’t need her sixth sense to tell her that Stu was looking for an argument. Hadn’t she spent years living with a man who acted exactly the same whenever he got drunk? She looked at the telephone in the hall and wondered if she should use that to phone Will, seeing as how her mobile had disappeared. She put the coffee and toast on the table in front of Stu, who pushed the mug away, splashing coffee all over. She grabbed some kitchen roll and began to mop the spillage up. As she reached across, Stu grabbed hold of her wrist.

‘What is it about you, Annie Graham, that has turned men into killers and my boss – the man who used to be my all-time hero – into a complete fucking wimp?’

She pulled her hand away from him and backed off.

‘Will is on his way home; he’ll be here soon. Why don’t you ask him?’

Her heart was racing; she knew that on a normal day she could handle Stu, but she was pregnant and he was drunk. Men were a lot stronger when they weren’t thinking straight. She began to back away from him, thinking if she left him to it she could go and lock herself in the bathroom and hope she found her phone on the way up.

‘Don’t be shy – you can tell me. Is it all that money he has stashed away in the bank, or is he really that good in bed? Or is it you? It must be. You must be a really good fuck if men go weak at the knees for you and throw their whole lives away wanting to kill you. How about you show me just how good you are? Will won’t mind; he likes the women does our Will – you wouldn’t believe how many he’s had over the years since I’ve been working with him.’

Annie’s heart was hammering in her chest. It was like listening to Mike all over again. She kept on walking backwards towards the stairs, frantically scanning the room for her missing phone. Stu pushed himself up from his chair and stumbled a couple of steps towards her.

‘Come on, what do you say – you and me, we can have a bit of fun before Will gets home. You might like it better with me than you ever did with him, you never know.’

Her skin was crawling and she wanted nothing more than to walk over and boot him in the balls so hard that he’d need plastic surgery to remove them from his backside – but she didn’t want to get violent unless she had to, because it might make him worse.

‘I’ll tell you what, Stu, why don’t you take yourself and your foul mouth out of my house and wait outside on the porch for Will to come home – because you’re not welcome in here. How dare you speak to me like that in my home. What do you think Will’s going to say when I tell him?’

As soon as she said those last words she knew she shouldn’t have, but it was too late. She’d spoken them without thinking about the consequences and the look of anger on his face warned her to move fast. She turned and ran for the stairs, hoping that because he was so drunk he wouldn’t be able to catch up with her. She made it to the top step before she felt his hand lunge for her ankle. Kicking out at him she felt her foot connect with his head, but it didn’t stop him. He roared in anger and grabbed it. Using all his strength he dragged her back down the stairs and she felt herself losing her balance; twisting herself so she didn’t land on her stomach she fell onto her back and bounced all the way down. Before she knew it Stu was on top of her thighs, straddling her. His hot, beer-drenched breath in her face, she tried to twist away from him. If she hadn’t had her bump she would have nailed it in one – and him at the same time – but all she could think about was protecting her baby. The front door slammed against the wall and she felt Stu’s weight being lifted off her as Will threw him against the wall and pinned him there. His elbow was pushing hard under Stu’s neck, choking him so much that his face went beetroot red and he began to splutter.

‘What the fuck are you doing to my wife?’

He looked across at Annie. She shook her head.

‘I’m fine, Will, I am honestly. Just a bit winded.’

He could tell that she wasn’t fine at all and he drew his fist back and punched Stu in the face, making her wince as his nose exploded in a bright red mess. Annie pulled herself off the floor and ran towards Will, dragging him off Stu before he really did some serious damage.

‘Leave it, Will, he’s not worth it. He’s drunk – he doesn’t know what he’s doing.’

Stu, who had fallen to his knees and was whimpering, kept on crying, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’

Annie felt a searing pain in her stomach and bent over, both arms wrapping protectively around her baby. She heard Will on the phone to someone asking for an ambulance and then it all went black as the pain in her head and stomach combined, pushing her into unconsciousness.

1995

Heath was pacing up and down, not sure whether it was his nerves or excitement. More than likely a combination of both. He wanted to have another model to photograph. He’d had to bury the last girl because the freezer didn’t work properly and the electric had gone off in a power cut. The smell had been horrendous that day when he’d lifted the lid – it had made him throw up all over the garage floor and he’d had to bury her that same night. He’d have enough money one day to buy a couple of those fridges they used in morgues and then it would be better. Much easier to pull them out on a tray than to try and heave them up. It was amazing how heavy even the slightest build of girl was when they were dead; he’d never expected it. Today he was going to take photographs of this one alive then do exactly the same after she was dead, sort of a comparison experiment to see whether death made them more beautiful than life. He would put them all into his special book. One day he would be famous for his studies of beauty in death, he had no doubt about it. He began checking his cameras once more, impatient for her to arrive. At least she wasn’t from the village this time. It would be far too risky for that, but Barrow was a good distance away so hopefully the coppers wouldn’t put two and two together – luckily they were so stupid it was unlikely. They weren’t exactly known for being brains of Britain, just drinking cups of tea and watching the football. The doorbell rang and he smiled to himself. At last she was here – now the fun would begin. Checking his reflection – he didn’t look too bad even if he did say so himself – and opening the door, he smiled at the girl standing there. His nerves disappeared as he slipped into his professional mode.

‘You found me then?’

‘I did. It took a bit longer than I imagined. I’m not very good on these twisty roads and my sense of direction is terrible.’

He laughed which made her smile and instantly put her at ease; charm was one thing he’d been blessed with, even if a conscience wasn’t.

‘Come in then. Let’s get started. Are you nervous?’

Wendy Cook nodded.

‘Don’t be. I promise once you get used to it you’ll love it, especially when you see how beautiful you look through the lens of my camera.’

He led her through to his studio which was brightly lit; picking up his camera he put it around his neck. A lot more confident than the last girl, she smiled and stood with her hands on her hips. He nodded, ‘Gorgeous.’

After thirty minutes he told her he needed to nip to the toilet. She’d posed on the chaise lounge, on the back of a chair and on the floor. That was enough for him; he couldn’t wait any longer – he was desperate to see how beautiful she looked when she was dead. He came back in. Walking over and turning the chair to face the wall, he told her to sit on it so he could get some pictures of her from behind. He snapped a few then walked over to her and placed his hand on her shoulder.

‘You know you really are beautiful, such a natural. Just stay that way a couple of minutes more and then I think that’s a wrap.’

She stayed facing the wall. He had to go to the toilet again he was so nervous, and he left her for a couple of minutes. When he came back in he felt the bile rise as he touched her shoulder and she slumped forward. There didn’t seem to be as much blood this time, for which he was thankful. It made him feel faint and it ruined his beautiful photographs; the smell of it was enough to turn the hardest of men’s stomachs.

She was all his now. He put his hands under her arms and lifted her onto the floor. He didn’t want her falling off the chair and scraping her face before he’d taken his photographs – making it worse than it already was. He was going to have to clean the head wound up and use some of the theatrical make-up to try and cover it up as best as he could. At least she had long hair, which would help to cover it. He hated sloppiness and this had been rushed, there was no doubt about it. He should have taken his time to kill her and not made as much of a mess. There was no rush now; she was all his and he could take his time. Making sure she was dead, he pressed two fingers against her neck. She was still but her eyes were wide open and the tiny blood vessels inside them had burst with the pressure of the rope around her neck. He was furious. Now he was going to have to glue her eyelids shut because she didn’t look beautiful with bright red, bloodshot eyes as well as a huge gaping wound in her head. He felt in her pocket for her car keys; he was also going to have to take the car and dump it somewhere away from here. Taking the tube of super glue from his toolbox in the garage he went back in and carefully spread a thin line of glue across each eyelid. Using the blunt end of a screwdriver handle he held them together until they wouldn’t open. Then he threw a sheet over her and locked the studio, turning off the lights.

Her car was outside his house and he just hoped that no one had really taken much notice of it. By the time he got back her eyes would be set and the blood should have dried up. This one was going to be a challenge but it was worth it – or should he say, the finished result would be worth it. No one should be remotely interested in her car because there were often different customers’ cars parked outside his studio. He got in and drove away. Taking it to Newby Bridge he parked it in the big car park of the Swan Hotel and left it there, right at the back in the far corner next to a huge conifer which hid it from view. Going inside he ordered a pint of lager and sat at the bar drinking it slowly. After a while he got up to use the payphone and rang Jo.

‘Hello, would you do me a huge favour?’

‘I’ll try. What is it?’

‘I’ve had a meeting with a client at the Swan. Would you pick me up? I’ve had a drink and don’t fancy walking back.’

‘Course I will. I was going to ask you if you wanted to come for tea?’

He swore under his breath. He wanted to go home to Wendy and have some fun but it was going to look strange if he didn’t go to her house after he’d dragged her to collect him. He would just have to pretend he didn’t feel well and go home after an hour.

‘That sounds perfect. I can’t wait to see you.’

She laughed.

‘I’ll be there in ten minutes and I can’t wait to see you either.’

‘Thank you.’

Before he could say anything else the pips began to beep, signalling he was about to be cut off, so he put the receiver down and finished the last of his pint before moving to a table outside to wait for her to come and collect him and give him his alibi.

Chapter 18

Kav and Cathy arrived before the ambulance. Will had phoned Kav after ringing for an ambulance – he didn’t know what the hell to do with Stu, and Kav told him he’d been on his way to pick Cathy up from work so they weren’t too far away. Will had Stu handcuffed to the front porch and was sitting holding Annie’s hand, who he’d managed to put into the recovery position. Kav ran from the car, took one look at the mess in front of him and ran his hand over his shaved head.

‘I bloody knew this was too good to be true. I was just thinking how wonderful it was – this peace and quiet. What’s his excuse?’

Kav nodded in the direction of the drunken, mumbling Stu who was muttering apologies to the wooden porch he was handcuffed to.