Tales of Retribution Read online

  Tales of Retribution.

  Fiona J Roberts.

  Prologue

  Alison Travers had been shopping again. Beth was at school during the day and she got bored on her own. Her husband Tim kept suggesting that she should go out and get a job, but what could she do? Yes, she had worked in a department store for a couple of years before she got married, but she couldn’t do that now.

  There was no physical reason why she couldn’t work. Alison would describe herself as sensitive, Tim would say she was hysterical. All those members of the public in the shop milling around asking her things? Horrible. What else could she do? Nothing with a lot of people. Nothing with technology. Nothing too far away from home, which meant within a five-mile radius. There wasn’t anything suitable.

  Examining herself in the mirror, Alison ran her hands over her stomach and hips. A quick glance over her shoulder at her rear view and then more peering at her front. Her mother, Heather, had drummed into her that she must keep her figure trim. That meant that her time could not be filled by eating and drinking.

  Shopping was, therefore, her only outlet. Getting dressed up, full make-up, nice dress, then wandering down the high street and around the department store where she used to work. And what was the point of going to all that trouble if she didn’t actually buy anything? Even the fury of her husband couldn’t stop her making a purchase.

  At home, clothes were hidden at the back of the wardrobe, or she would lie about the amount of money she had spent, but it was just deferring the row which would ensue. At some point Tim would examine the bank account statement and all hell would break loose. Maybe a row, maybe something worse.

  Each day a bit of cleaning would be done, and then maybe think about what to cook for dinner. Recipe books were stacked on a shelf and Alison had looked at some of them before deciding that it was all too complicated. Keep it simple. Chops and mash potato or a salad. Whatever she made was never good enough.

  “Alison, what the hell is this meant to be?” Tim was looking at his plate.

  “Oh, please don’t say that. I do the best I can.”

  “No, you don’t. You go shopping, file your nails, sit in the hairdresser and then throw something at the oven at the end of the day. And I, who have been working all day, have to come home and eat this slop. Again, what is it, or what was it before it was incinerated?”

  “Lamb chops.”

  “Yes, yes, now that you say it, I can see the rough shape of a lamb chop. It is, however, inedible. Get me a takeaway menu. I’m not going hungry again.”

  Alison had enraged her husband and he hadn’t even seen her new purchases yet. A takeaway menu was found and then, exasperated by Tim, it was thrown at him. The colour of her husband’s face changed. Pink, to red, to puce, and then he was out of his seat, a stream of abuse spitting from his mouth.

  The first slap across her face sent Alison staggering back. As she regained her balance, the curl of her husband’s lip and the balling of his fists indicated that worse was to come. He didn’t usually strike her on the face. That taboo had been broken. There would be no stopping him now.

  Chapter 1

  Beth sat cross-legged, close to the television screen. Tales of Retribution, her favourite programme, would start soon. Maybe she was too near to the TV. Her mother would tell her to scoot back, if she saw her. Dragging her away while he was shouting would be her father’s response. Maybe move a bit, to avoid any drama.

  Each week the masked detective, Retribution was his name, would solve a crime and then mete out justice to the perpetrator. The punishment was always appropriate in an eye-for-an-eye type of way. The most heinous of the bad guys usually died as he tried to escape. Beth loved the simple premise of good triumphing over evil. If you did something wrong, punishment would follow.

  Her mother, in a rare attempt of communication, had explained the word retribution to her. It meant a punishment for doing something wrong. The masked man caught the criminals. His name was Retribution, but that was also what he served up. It was a clever name for the programme, Beth was told. She liked that the title referred to the man and also his deeds.

  Her parents weren’t interrupting the show, which was good. Her dad might tell her to turn down the volume, or her mum would be vacuuming or cleaning. Beth had, however, become aware of voices coming from another room. A familiar ritual was being played out. A conversation that would turn into an argument, rising volume followed by a slammed door or a smashing plate. What came after that was the only variation. Her father would either storm out or lash out. Holding her breath, Beth waited.

  The row was in the early stages, and Tales of Retribution was starting. Beth increased the volume on the television. That was better, she could pretend that the argument wasn’t happening and focus on the masked detective instead. A few minutes passed before the shouting began in the kitchen. Another adjustment to the sound and intense concentration on the unfolding crime helped her to ignore it.

  The programme this week featured nasty drug dealers who were being hunted. The police were getting nowhere, but the hero would find the clues and deal with them. Beth already knew which one would die. The meanest gangster would be shot and the others would be locked up for life. The process was not important to Beth, but the final reckoning was. Evil people should be judged.

  The shouting turned to crying and then pleading in the other room. Beth couldn’t make out the words, but her mother’s screams and the deep rumble of her father’s voice conveyed trouble. This was one of the fights which would become physical. They were the worst. Beth turned her head towards the door, but she didn’t dare to interfere. Stranded between action and inaction, her only refuge was the programme playing out in front of her.

  The final shrieks from her mother were followed, a couple of minutes later, by the slamming front door. Beth stared at the TV until Tales of Retribution finished, after a satisfactory conclusion to the story, and reality returned. Fidgeting and hesitation gave way to the need to investigate. She got up, left the room, and went in search of her mother.

  Beth peered into the kitchen, so often the scene of domestic strife, and there she saw her mother lying on the floor. Blood pooled around her head. It was just like a scene from her favourite show. This was not a mystery, though. Beth knew that her father was responsible for this crime.

  Watching for a couple of minutes, Beth could see that her mother was not moving. No rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. No flicker of the eyes. No sound coming from her at all. Not ready to accept that her mother might be dead, Beth called to her. Despite receiving no response, she held out hope that everything would be okay.

  Edging back out of the room, Beth stood in the hallway. What should she do now? This was real life, but she thought about the programmes she watched and knew what to do. Lifting the phone, the emergency number was dialled and a voice asked which service was required.

  “I need the police and an ambulance.”

  “Okay, what’s your name?”

  “My name is Beth, well Elizabeth, Travers.”

  “And how old are you Beth?”

  “I’m ten, but that doesn’t matter. My dad has beaten up my mum. She is lying on the floor and there is lots of blood.”

  After a pause, for the operator to gather her thoughts, the conversation continued.

  “Beth, is your mum moving or talking?”

  “No.”

  “Can you see if you can talk to her?”

  “I did try, but she might be dead.”

  “Just try again for me, okay?”

  Beth returned to the kitchen. Taking a step towards her mother, she gripped the phone tighter and then tried another step. In the background, the voice of the operator kep
t asking if she was alright. Finally, close enough to touch her, Beth reached out and tugged at her mother’s arm, saying “Mummy” as she did so. Sighing, she lifted the phone to her ear.

  “She’s still not moving.”

  “Okay Beth, tell me your address and I will send some policemen to your house. Go and look out of the window and when they arrive, let them in. Will you do that for me?”

  “Yes.”

  Standing ramrod straight in front of the window, Beth scanned the street for a police car. Sirens blared and the officers jogged from the car to the house. Opening the door and blinking at the daylight, the little girl looked up at the policeman and policewoman.

  Chapter 2

  “Come in,” Beth said, holding the door open.

  The police officers stepped inside and were directed to the kitchen. Beth waited in the hall. In the next few minutes, she would find out if her mother was really dead. Nibbling on her nails, the small girl said a silent prayer, asking that her mum was okay. The look on the policewoman’s face as she left the kitchen said everything. Reassuring, half-smile, arms reaching out ready to offer comfort, and when she spoke her voice was soft.

  “Hi, I’m Anna. We are sending for an ambulance, but your mum probably won’t make it.”

  Beth sighed. Adults could be so annoying. Why not just say that her mother was already dead? She nodded and went along with the story to save the woman from having to deliver the bad news at this point. She could pretend for a little while longer that all would be well.

  “You said that your dad did this. Do you know where he is now?”

  “No. I heard the door slam as he left.”

  “Has he hurt your mum before?”

  “Yes. She has bruises and things.”

  “Did you see him hurt her?”

  “No. I was in the other room. I was watching Tales of Retribution.”

  The house was soon full of people. More police officers, a social worker, paramedics, a medical examiner, all trampling through the small, two-bedroom house. A large friendly woman had assumed control of Beth. Some of her clothes and a toy rabbit were collected, and the items and the girl would be removed from the scene. First, they had to find somewhere to take her.

  Beth found herself in an information vacuum. The large lady had sat her down and told her that her mother had died, but after that she was out of the loop. Considered too young to understand what was happening, no one told her what decisions were being made. To work out what was happening, Beth had to listen to the conversations the adults were having.

  Her mother was dead, but there was not an opportunity to deal with that horrific reality. So many people talking and making decisions. In the middle of the maelstrom, Beth found more and more things to worry about. Where was her dad? Would he come back for her? Where would she go now? Her mother was dead.

  The large lady had tracked down, her mother, Alison’s, mother and was now talking to her on the phone. After the shock of hearing about the murder, Nana was being asked to take responsibility for Beth.

  “I’m sorry to call you after you have had such bad news, but I need to talk to you about Beth.”

  She could only hear one side of the conversation, but that was enough. It appeared that Nana was not keen to take her granddaughter. Beth waited patiently while the social worker persuaded Nana to do the right thing.

  “She is all alone. Being with someone she knows will be the best thing for her. The alternative is that she will go into foster care. At a time in her life when she has lost both of her parents, being in a strange environment will be incredibly hard for her.”

  The phone call dragged on and Beth wondered what the conclusion would be. Nana was a glamorous woman with a perfect home. She had divorced before Beth was born. Alison had struggled to live up to her mother’s exacting standards and that would, no doubt, be Beth’s fate too. Would it be better to go to a stranger rather than live in such a stifling environment?

  The dogged persistence of the large lady had, finally, broken Nana down.

  “That’s wonderful. I’ll bring her over to you. Yes, I have collected some clothes for her. Yes, she has a coat. I’ve packed both slippers and shoes.”

  The details of the items in the suitcase had been discussed and nit-picked over for a good fifteen minutes. At last, the woman turned to Beth.

  “I’m going to take you to stay with your grandmother, that will be nice won’t it?”

  A nod of the head was all Beth could manage. Shoved into a coat, the girl was taken by the hand and led away from her home. Remaining silent, she heard the grown-ups discussing her. “She’s in shock” had been heard from virtually everyone who had entered the house. It was a shock, but Beth was mostly bewildered.

  Her dad had killed her mum. It was horrible, but not unexpected. Each time that her dad, Tim, had set about her mum, Beth had prepared herself for the worst. The anger that flowed from her father would, one day, be too much. The slaps and punches would not be enough to satisfy his rage. Inflicting pain would fall short of dissipating his fury. Tim would shout the threat, “One day I’ll kill you.” Alison would cower and cry as he vented his anger. “One day he’ll go too far,” she would tell Beth.

  She was sad, of course, but mostly numb. Beth’s mother was gone, she would miss her. Her father would go to prison, when they caught him. Heading for Nana’s house, she was thinking about how she would get to school from there, what she would say to her friends, and whether her uniform had been packed by the large lady.

  Slumped in the back of the car, Beth tried to comprehend how her life would change. Tears ran down her face as she realised that she would not live in her house anymore. All the things in her room, what would happen to them? Nana didn’t know that she hated broccoli. Would they catch her dad? She would never see her mother again.

  Chapter 3

  Timothy George Travers had really done it this time. As he bent over Alison’s body, searching for a pulse he could not find, as blood flowed around her head, he was weighing up his options. Beth was watching her favourite show and that would occupy her for a while. Standing up, he checked himself for blood and then got ready to leave.

  A passport, bank cards, a carrier bag stuffed with a change of clothes, his razor, and he was out of the front door. Around the corner was the high street, and on it was a bank. Two thousand pounds was withdrawn from the joint account, leaving a sum of £4.32. The next thing was to get out of town. They were near to a port, with ferries running to and from France, so the obvious thing would be to head there.

  Tim knew that the police would expect him to go to the port. That meant that he would head anywhere but there. The train station was his destination, and he asked when the next departure was and where it was going, not that it mattered. Paying in cash, he boarded the train and headed north. It was as good a direction as any.

  It was 7 p.m. and the commuter rush was, mainly, over. Finding a seat was no problem and Tim settled in a place away from other people. After the frantic activity of the past half hour he could, finally, run through the ramifications of his actions and try to make a plan for what would come next. That was what he wanted to do, but it was hard to think about anything other than what had just happened.

  Running his hands through his thick, wavy brown hair, Tim thought back over what had brought him to this point. A good-looking man, with piercing blue eyes, he had attracted many women. Alison had been the best looking woman in town, and he had been determined to capture this prize.

  On their first date, people had looked as they walked by. Such a handsome couple. Friends, family and strangers approved of the match, saying how glamorous they looked together. Like film stars, they said. It was all about appearances. Before either of them knew it, they were engaged and planning a wedding. The beautiful ceremony, with the perfect couple, had been the event of the year. It was afterwards that they came to the realisation of how ill-suited they were.

  The honeymoon period was over in a couple of
months, but not before Alison had become pregnant. The nine months leading up to Beth’s birth convinced them both that they never wanted to experience it again. Alison acted like an invalid throughout and complained about everything. Not inclined to do much before the pregnancy, she did virtually nothing for the whole time.

  Before she was born, they had both agreed that the baby would be an only child. Beth was born by Caesarean section, there was no way Alison was going to push. Tim was glad that the pregnancy was over, but now his wife had even more to moan about. She was tired, always washing, fed up of the baby crying. God, that had been an awful time and they had never recovered from it.

  The blame for Alison’s neuroses, Tim decided, could be attributed to her mother, Heather. An uptight woman for whom nothing was ever good enough. The search for perfection had driven her husband away and, in his absence, Alison had become her victim. Every time they saw each other the mother would look the daughter up and down and then purse her lips. Alison would hold her breath waiting for the criticism.

  It was often the subtle, passive-aggressive form of judgement. “Oh, you’ve chosen to wear that colour, interesting.” “That blouse with that skirt, not what I would have worn, but it’s okay.” Sometimes she was just rude. “Your hair looked better before you had it cut. What were you thinking?”

  The tension would mount before they undertook a visit to Heather’s. Alison would change several times and Tim would wait, growing ever more impatient. His advice to stand up to her mother was never taken. Alison would whine, in her affected little girl voice, about how impossible it was to argue with her mother. She had been perfectly capable of arguing with him, though.

  In the end, he refused to accompany his wife and witness the ritual humiliation. Sometimes Beth went with her mother, and at other times she stayed with Tim. He didn’t mind those few hours where he could play with her and there was peace in the house. A lot of the time the kid was left to her own devices as the adults fought and bickered. She seemed alright, though. Hopefully.