Tales of Retribution Read online

  He had never confronted Heather about her nagging at Alison. Would that have helped? He could see the effect she had on her daughter, but Tim hadn’t stood up for Alison. Initially, when they were dating, Heather had been all sweetness and light. By the time her vitriol emerged, after the wedding, it was already too late for him to care.

  Many of the jibes that were directed at Alison concerned her weight. Tim would watch his wife pick at a plate of food and moan for hours if carbs had been consumed. Before visiting Heather, Alison would often eat nothing for a couple of days. A point of contention between them, Tim would shout in frustration, “For God’s sake, eat something woman!”

  Of course, that was only one of a long list of problems. Alison’s inability to make a decision on her own. Her reluctance to go out to work. The inedible food she served up every day. The spending on clothes and shoes. Her attitude towards her own daughter. Unsure of how a normal mother should behave, Alison chose to abdicate all responsibility for Beth beyond feeding and clothing her.

  Tim now had to face his complicated feelings about his daughter. At the baby stage, he had not got that involved. Holding her and occasionally feeding her was his limit. As she grew into a toddler, it was hard to mask his disappointment. The beautiful couple had produced a child who was exceedingly plain.

  Alison and Heather had long been acquainted with the bleach bottle. Their blond hair was not natural. Beth developed mousy brown wisps that thickened as she got older. The texture was from her father, the colour from her mother. The result, an unruly mop of mid-brown hair that defied any attempt to tame it.

  Beth was cute at times, chatting away to her father. When the child frowned, Tim saw a future where that would be her default expression. Just like her mother and grandmother. He could give her positive messages and promote an optimistic outlook, but he didn’t. Returning from work each evening to a needy wife exhausted him. He had no time for Beth.

  As he sat on the train, Tim wondered what would happen to Beth. Shuddering, he faced the prospect that the child would be looked after by Heather. Oh well, nothing he could do now. Going back would not help her. He hoped that his mother-in-law would be her usual hateful self and refuse to take Beth. She would be better off in foster care.

  The actual crime replayed in his head just once on the train journey. His hands around Alison’s throat, her twisting from his grasp and then falling as she tried to get away. Next thing he was leaning over her, banging her head repeatedly on the kitchen floor as his grip on her neck increased.

  Afterwards, Tim had looked at what he had done. Blood ran from Alison’s head. There was no need to check if she was dead, he had choked the life out of her. At that point, he had not regretted killing his wife, but he had known that his world would never be the same again. The unseemly scramble to grab a few things and leave was not how he would have liked to make his exit.

  Chapter 4

  Tim had paid to go to the end of the line, but he got off the train earlier, just in case the police discovered he had been at the station. That would, hopefully, throw them off the scent. Now that he was in the small northern town, he had to make some decisions about what to do next. The thoughts on the journey had been about Alison and Beth. No planning for his future had been done.

  Standing on an empty station platform, Tim knew that he would have to move. A couple of people had got off the train at the same stop and he had watched them walk away. Following their route he saw a sign which read, “To the High Street.”

  It was a warm summer night, so he would find somewhere to doss down and then look at his options in the morning. A small wooded area on the edge of the town provided some cover from the elements and from prying eyes. Looking up through the tree canopy to the stars was beautiful and calming.

  One of the first things to attend to was his appearance. No doubt, photographs of him would appear on the news and in the papers. Do not approach, considered a risk to the public, they would say. Was that true? He had never felt murderous about anyone other than Alison. Once he was settled, he would use the razor he had brought with him to shave his head.

  Tim found a small open area in the midst of a group of trees. It would provide shelter for the night ahead. He would scout for a better place the next day, but for now it was not a bad option. A bed of sorts was made out of the few clothes he had brought with him. Before he settled down to sleep, however, his hair would have to go.

  Blood seeped down his forehead, getting into his eyes. Trying to shave off his hair without a mirror had been difficult and he had nicked himself a few times. At this moment he probably looked like the murderer he was. Bald and scarred, unwashed and grubby. The next day he would likely be smelling too. He would look like a vagrant. Well, he was a vagrant, at the moment at least.

  The reality of his situation was becoming dreadfully clear. There were a number of things that he could not do because they would mean revealing his name or identification. Checking into a hotel was not an option. Working, except in a casual way, would be hard. There would be no benefits that he could claim. How did people survive in these circumstances? He couldn’t imagine sitting on the street and begging, but it might come to that.

  Working as a salesman for a drug company had taken him away from home often. He’d stayed in budget hotels, and that was as near to roughing it as he had got. Setting out to work each day wearing a suit and tie was certainly a thing of the past. Labouring on a building site was probably in his future. Shrugging, he was determined to do whatever was needed to survive and stay away from the police.

  Tomorrow he would investigate his surroundings, find building sites and other places that might take on a casual worker. Staying outside in the warm weather was okay and meant that he was saving money. He would search out a charity shop and supplement his meagre wardrobe on the cheap. The only other thing he would need was food.

  Considering he had murdered his wife, Tim slept well the first night he was out in the open. He had no blankets or shelter. Not even a cardboard box. This spot could be quite nice with the addition of some very basic improvements. A tent or a bit of tarpaulin, a little gas stove, a pan or kettle so that he could make tea. The word winter crept into his mind and he shook his head to banish it. There would be a few months before he had to face that problem.

  Tim had to adopt the right attitude before being around other people. He didn’t want to be hesitant or furtive, that would attract attention. A little bowed by his circumstances but open and friendly was what he was aiming for. He practised a shy smile and a slight stoop. He would meet people’s eyes and offer a greeting where appropriate. Prepared for his foray into civilisation, Tim headed away from his wooded hideaway.

  It was nerve-wracking going into town. Had his crime been featured on the news? Was there a picture of him on the front of every newspaper? His shaved head would help to disguise him, but what if it didn’t work? If someone looked at him oddly was that a signal for him to run?

  His first stop was a cafe. Tim had not eaten since lunchtime the day before. Transforming into the friendly vagrant persona, he approached the counter.

  “Can I help you?” The lady behind the counter barely looked at him.

  “The full English please, love.” If he ate a hearty breakfast, Tim should be able to wait until evening before he ate again.

  He sat down and picked up one of the newspapers provided by the cafe. Taking a deep breath, he unfolded it and looked at the front page. Some political story was featured, and it wasn’t until page four that he found mention of his crime. There it was, the photograph of Timothy Travers and the warning that he was dangerous. The picture was a couple of years old and showed him with thick, wavy brown hair. Now he was bald.

  No one took much notice of him. A glance or a nod from the other clientele, but nothing more. Fortified by the food and the indifference, he set off along the high street in search of a charity shop. Within a few yards he was successful. A quick glance from the shop assistant was the
only reaction as he went inside.

  Piling some clothes on the counter, Tim looked at the elderly lady who was serving him.

  “I’ll give you a bag for those.” She smiled at him as she totted up what he owed. “Here, I’ll put this scarf in as well, no charge, get you ready for the colder weather.”

  “Thanks, love. You’re very kind.” God, he must look bad if he got a free scarf. Tim was rather pleased with that. He had washed himself, as much as he could, in the bathroom at the cafe, but it was a poor job. Already he had the aspect of a homeless man.

  It had been a useful expedition so far. Food, clothes, information about the hunt for him, and not being recognised. There was money in his pocket to keep him going for quite a while, but Tim was anxious to find work as soon as possible. Initially to see if it was possible, but also because he wanted more money. A reserve of cash would be handy for the cold months when he might need a warmer place to stay.

  The desperation of the day before had been replaced by a cautious optimism. The overriding feeling was of freedom. Each day, returning to a wife he didn’t like and a daughter he hardly knew, had been miserable. There were times when he had thought of walking away, but something stopped him. In hindsight that would have been the best thing.

  The murder could not be undone and he would have to live with the consequences to his psyche. Tim was waiting for some sort of mental anguish to assail him. He would rather not be in the position he was in now, but that was as far as his regret went. The image of Alison in a pool of blood flickered into his mind on occasion, though. And he thought of Beth.

  Chapter 5

  A tearful Beth was delivered to her Nana’s house. The large lady thought she was reacting to the death of her mother, but she was wrong. Beth’s tears were brought on by having to move in with her perfect, judgemental grandmother. Both she and the social worker were made to remove their shoes before they were allowed inside.

  A small, tatty suitcase had arrived with the child, and Nana sighed, shuddered and turned away from the offending article. A cup of tea was required, but was that suitable for a young girl? The kettle was put on anyway.

  “Here we are, Beth. At your gran’s house, that’s better isn’t it.” The large lady was doing her best to be enthusiastic.

  Nana looked annoyed, Beth looked catatonic, and the atmosphere was heavy. Once again, the adults discussed Beth as if she wasn’t there.

  “She spoke to the police, but since then she hasn’t said anything. She must be in shock.” Changing to a stage whisper, the social worker carried on, “She found the body, you see.”

  “Poor thing,” said Nana in a flat voice.

  “Oh, it must have been a shock for you too, learning about your daughter. I’m so sorry.”

  Blinking rapidly, Heather’s shaking hands were raised to her face.

  “Terrible, terrible. A mother shouldn’t outlive her child. Killed by her own husband, such a handsome man, but then he does this. My poor Alison. Now there will be a funeral and I’ve got the child. I don’t know what this world is coming to…”

  Showing no sign of ending her “woe is me” speech, the social worker had to butt in.

  “Is there a room where we can get her settled?”

  Nana looked at the woman and frowned. She did not like to be interrupted. Seeing Beth looking up at her, she realised that the girl needed attention. Oh well, get the girl to bed and then she could start making phone calls. There were so many people to contact and share the news with.

  “Oh, yes, I’ll show you.” Nana set off with the other two following.

  “Look at this lovely room, Beth.” The large lady beamed at the girl.

  Beth looked horrified. A pale carpet, and everything else – walls, furniture, curtains and bedding – was white. There was no way she could relax in this room. The risk of making things dirty would constantly play on her mind. Tiptoeing across the floor, Beth sat on the bed and immediately jumped up again, smoothing the quilt afterwards. Spotting a chair, she sat there.

  “I’ll call in tomorrow and see how you are getting on.” The lady nodded at Beth to reassure her. “For now, I think Beth should get some sleep. You have eaten, haven’t you?”

  Beth nodded and whispered, “Yes.” When should she mention that she didn’t like broccoli? Maybe tomorrow.

  There was not much sleep at Nana’s house for either of the occupants. Heather was most put out at having to share her home with a child, and Beth was understandably disturbed by the events of the day. The girl, worried about so many things, tried to distract herself by thoughts of the detective Retribution.

  Having the police turn up at the house had been quite exciting. The show she watched was American, but Beth had picked up a general idea of police procedures. They would visit her the next day and she would give a statement about what she had seen, or, in this case, heard. Beth rehearsed what she would say and eventually drifted off to sleep.

  In the morning, Beth lay in bed wondering what time she should get up. There would be no school for her today, which she was glad about. She sat on the edge of her bed for a while, then went to look out of the window. After putting on some clothes, Beth ventured downstairs. Nana was nowhere to be seen.

  Creeping back upstairs, Beth peeked into Nana’s room and saw that she was still asleep. The clock said 8.15. Obviously not an early riser. Sighing, she went back to the kitchen and searched the fridge for food. Her mother had not been particularly good at feeding her family. She had rummaged for food many times before.

  At home, or her old home, rooting in the fridge and finding things to make a sandwich was often the best thing to do. Her mother would attempt to cook but it was never really any good. If it was a meal that just needed microwaving, she was alright at that. They ate a lot of salads and Beth was always hungry afterwards. Making a snack had become a daily event.

  A lot of salad items, chicken breasts, milk and various condiments were all that occupied the fridge. The cupboards contained cans of tuna, herbs and spices, many things that Beth had never heard of, but no cereal. Locating the bread bin, she would have to settle for toast. She was sat at the small kitchen table munching her toast when Nana appeared in the doorway.

  Wide-eyed, Beth looked at the apparition before her. Nana had no make-up on and her hair was in disarray.

  “Is there a problem, Beth?”

  “No.”

  “Good. I see you have made your own breakfast. I’ll have to go shopping and get more food, I suppose.”

  “I don’t like broccoli.”

  An arched eyebrow before Nana sat down opposite her. Coiffed and in her warpaint she was formidable, but without it she was terrifying. Beth held her breath, waiting for the response.

  “Well, we will have to find some food that you do like. Healthy things, not cakes and biscuits. We don’t want you growing up fat, do we. I’ll avoid broccoli, but I won’t tolerate you being picky about everything. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “How are you today, did you sleep okay?” Not waiting for an answer, she carried on, “I didn’t. My only child murdered by that man. And now I’m responsible for you. I really don’t know how this is going to work out.”

  Beth continued eating her toast. She had witnessed her mother trying to get a word in edgeways and knew it was a hopeless task. As she chewed, she nodded in the gaps necessary for Nana to take a breath.

  “Not an ideal situation for either of us. You are pretty much an orphan now. Your father, wherever he is, is going to be out of the picture for a long time. I ought to see this as a challenge. Yes, the one good thing out of this is that I can take charge of you. Alison, your mum, never bought you pretty things or did your hair. Not that it’s going to be easy dealing with that mop, but we can try. I expect I’ll get money for looking after you. I must ask the social worker about that. Right, time to glam up.”

  Nearly an hour later, Nana reappeared. Beth had sat herself down in front of the television and was wat
ching children’s programmes. A flick through the channels had confirmed that she was able to get Tales of Retribution. She had set the system to record every episode.

  “Now, let me look at you. As soon as they give me some money, we will go shopping and get you new clothes. You’re very pale, no strong colours for you. Definitely not orange or red.”

  Beth zoned out and stared at the screen. A ring on the doorbell interrupted Nana’s flow. The police had arrived. Checking her hair in the mirror first, Nana went to let them in.

  Chapter 6

  The policewoman, Anna, sat at the kitchen table. She had her notebook and a pen. Beth was thrilled.

  “Are you okay to tell me about yesterday, Beth?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Tell me what happened before you found your mum.”

  Nodding sagely, Beth began her description of the events. She was a witness, not a baddy, so there would be no shouting or banging on the table. “I was watching telly and then I heard an argument. Mum and Dad argue all the time. They talk loudly, then shout and then it all blows up.”

  “All blows up?”

  “Well, Dad sometimes hits her or he storms off in a huff.”

  “And what happened this time?”

  “There was shouting and then screaming and then I heard the door slam.”

  “You didn’t go and see what was happening?”

  “No fear. I was keeping out of the way. And Tales of Retribution was on the telly. It’s my favourite programme.”

  “Okay, what happened next?”

  “I went into the kitchen to look for Mum and she was on the floor. Lots of blood was around her head. I thought she might be dead. I didn’t touch anything because you’re not supposed to contaminate the scene.” The police officer smiled at that. “Anyway, then I phoned the police and they told me to touch Mum, to see if she was alive, I suppose. I touched her arm, but she didn’t move.”