Tales of Retribution Page 4

  Tim had to think about every reply to every question. It made him appear a bit slow on occasion, but that was better than raising suspicion. Hopefully, as the lies were told again and again they would become his truth. He would believe that he had been thrown out of his home. That his wife was still alive. That there had never been a daughter.

  Chapter 10

  Alison had always cut Beth’s hair. Why spend money on her daughter when she could spend it on herself? Going to the salon was, therefore, a new experience. The stylist pulled a brush through the mop of hair in front of her and shook her head and sucked her teeth.

  “It’s very thick, isn’t it,” the hairdresser commented.

  “I know, what can you do with it?” Heather asked.

  “Well –” more brushing and sighing, “– layers I think, take the weight out and make it more manageable.”

  Beth was waiting to be consulted, but it was not happening. Barely able to get a word in when Nana was in full flow, she took an opportunity, during a pause, to offer her own opinion.

  “Will it still be long? I like long hair.”

  “Yes, love. It will still be long, but not as thick. I promise I will make it look nice for you.” The hairdresser smiled and Beth felt that she had an ally.

  Heather raised her eyebrows. Obviously, she wasn’t that confident of the outcome.

  “What about the colour? It’s awfully drab,” Heather said

  “I wouldn’t recommend colouring her hair. Wait until she is older.” The hairdresser had seen the terror on Beth’s face and had come to her rescue.

  Half an hour later, Beth’s hair had been cut and did, indeed, look nice. She was delighted, but Nana was not entirely happy. Nothing was good enough for her. After a shaky start, the experience had been pretty good. Happy at this stage, Beth expected to go home. Another ordeal was, however, on its way. They were going clothes shopping.

  If it was frilly, pink and girly, Heather grabbed it off the rail. Beth was encouraged into dresses, skirts and pastel cardigans. The things were nice, she supposed. Certainly different to what she had worn before. Beth’s mum had bought practical things. Maybe it was a rebellion against her mother’s taste. Trousers, jeans, T-shirts and jumpers were all she had known.

  All these pale-coloured clothes. Stains, dirt, spills – that is what Beth worried about. Sitting eating her food she had to be very careful. Nana watched, criticised and corrected as Beth took each mouthful. Consuming food took a long time now. One of the many changes in her life.

  Beth thought about her mum and dad, but she was confused about her feelings. They had both neglected her in their own way. Her mother had been self-centred, and therefore distracted from paying her much attention. Her father was too inconsistent to understand or love. The moments of kindness were not enough to outweigh the terror of his frequent displays of anger.

  Now she was feeling claustrophobic as she was smothered in Nana’s attention and instruction. How to walk and talk. What to wear. Her hair. There had been a rare rebellion when she was told which television programmes to watch. No one could stop her viewing Tales of Retribution.

  Her favourite show had taken on a deeper meaning following the death of her mother and the disappearance of her father. Beth needed to see Retribution track down the murderer and bring him to justice. Maybe she could learn the skills he possessed to do it herself. Watching each episode was vitally important.

  Beth liked the end of the programme. The bit where Retribution would stand, wearing his mac, hat and mask, and give his summation. The crook would flinch as the list of his crimes was related. When Retribution fired the gun, his justification had already been laid out. If she ever got to confront her dad, she would know what to say.

  Nana had been appalled at the kitsch show with its simplistic storylines and superhero character. When she had suggested that Beth should look at something else, the child had screamed, cried and begged for a change of heart. Way too much drama for her to cope with. On this point she had given in.

  A truce of some sort was observed. When Nana took one of her long phone calls from her friends, Beth would dash to the lounge and play one of her recordings. She could watch Tales of Retribution uninterrupted and Nana didn’t have to suffer through it. Beth was obedient the rest of the time as her part of the bargain.

  At school she attracted a lot more attention. Questions from the other pupils, checks on her welfare by the staff. Beth had been quite happy being one of a crowd, neither clever nor pretty, nor naughty enough to stand out. People stared and whispered and it was nothing to do with her new hairstyle or frilly socks. It was all about the murder.

  Her fame was fleeting, thank God, and Beth was soon returned to the ranks of the ordinary. Good, less distractions from her cause. Beth filled notebooks with information gleaned from Tales of Retribution, ready for when she was old enough to help with the search for her father. If he was still at large.

  Although it would be good if he was caught, Beth dreaded hearing the news. She felt that it should be her that brought him to justice. The programme was there to teach her the skills she would need to capture her prize. Timothy George Travers would evade arrest, and it would be her job to track him down.

  Chapter 11

  The nice policewoman, Anna, had kept in contact with Heather and Beth. Her visits were to see Beth and to deliver news on the investigation. The social worker still called to check how Beth was, but Anna’s presence was welcomed more than that officious lady. How many ways could she tell them that the hunt for Timothy Travers had more or less ground to a halt? It was difficult at first, telling them that they had no leads, or that a sighting of him had proved to be another dead end. Now she got that part over quickly.

  “Nothing to report, I’m afraid.” Anna shrugged and carried on. “Where is Beth?”

  “Watching the television.” Heather nodded towards the lounge door.

  “I’ll go and see her, if that is alright?”

  “Go ahead.”

  The first few times Anna had gone to the house, Beth had looked so sad. Saying little and moving slowly. Heather would be cleaning something or talking on the phone, so it gave her a chance to talk to Beth without interference. A lot had been learned about the sad life she had led.

  Further details of the violence her mother had suffered were discussed. Beth heard the arguments and saw the resulting bruises, but she was rarely in the room when they happened. Timothy Travers chose his moments to lash out at his wife. A couple of times, she had witnessed it as she walked into the room where they were. Her presence would see a cease in hostilities.

  What damage did that do to a young child? Beth reported that the arguments had been going on for as long as she could remember. No wonder she escaped into the fictional world of Tales of Retribution. That was a place where justice was done. The baddies were punished. Her father would have been judged by the masked detective and dealt with.

  Worried about living with her Nana at first, Beth had calmed down about it. The older woman and the child had reached a kind of truce. Heather was busy, and Beth was used to fending for herself. It was not an ideal arrangement, but it could be a lot worse. Things had gradually improved and the girl was now animated and chatty. Anna went into the lounge and saw Beth sat on the floor close to the screen. The programme playing was Tales of Retribution. It would not be a good idea to interrupt her.

  The credits rolled and Beth turned to Anna.

  “No news of your dad, I’m afraid.”

  “In this episode, Retribution finds a murderer and shoots him,” Beth said. “You’re not allowed to shoot people, are you?”

  “Only if they have a gun too. We don’t go out carrying guns like they do in America.”

  “So, you wouldn’t shoot my dad then?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “But what if he runs away?”

  “We might use a Taser on him. Do you know what that is?”

  “Yes, electricity that makes you
fall over and twitch.”

  Not a bad answer from a ten-year-old. Beth was dressed in a pale blue dress with a white collar. Anna had never seen her in jeans or casual clothes. Heather always looked immaculate and she was obviously moulding Beth into a mini version of herself. The child wasn’t anxious or upset anymore, so there was less need to worry.

  It would be interesting when Beth got a bit older. A teenager wouldn’t want to wear this type of clothing. Anna wondered if she would still be in contact with the family then. Would there be a day, when she would turn up and announce that Travers had been caught? She hoped so.

  After the murder, the police had rushed to the nearby port. No trace of the perpetrator had been found there. In the following days they had learned that he had drawn cash out of a local bank and CCTV searches had shown him entering the train station. The man in the ticket office thought he had caught a train north, but couldn’t be sure. This was the only clue they had.

  Numerous television and newspaper appeals had produced nothing of use. Many people thought they had seen him. When the sightings were checked out, none of them had. Travers had done a very good job of disappearing off the face of the earth.

  He had done the essential things to avoid detection. No mobile phone, no use of credit cards, staying out of trouble, and, probably, changing his appearance. If he slipped up, they would find him, but so far nothing. It grated on Anna that he may have got away with murder.

  Months had now passed since the incident. Where was Timothy Travers? What was he doing for money? Was he even in the country? Anna and her fellow officers would keep on looking, but it was going to be tough to find him. Perhaps they would get that bit of luck which would lead them to their quarry.

  Beth would nod and smile at the news that her father had not yet been caught. She seemed untroubled by the thought that he was still on the loose. Heather fretted about Travers. Would he turn up at some point to see his daughter? Anna had asked Beth whether she thought her dad would contact her. Laughing, she had said no.

  Conversations with the girl had revealed a less than ideal home life. Stories about incidents at home revealed what it was like. Heather might be a bit fussy and uptight, but at least she paid attention to Beth. There would be clashes in the future, Anna was sure of that. But what family didn’t have the teenage rebellion period.

  Chapter 12

  Tim got his fairly meagre wages from Jimmy King and had basic, but free, accommodation. Things could be a lot worse. As they entered the autumn, he bought some jumpers from the charity shop as the caravan was a bit chilly. What would it be like in the depths of winter?

  Not earning much didn’t matter if one wasn’t spending much. Tim didn’t smoke, or drink a lot, so his only outlay was on food. Even so, he was not going to be able to save any money. He was just about breaking even. What was needed was a way to make some extra cash.

  All sorts of things turned up at the scrapyard. Jimmy and his sons occasionally picked an item out of the pile, but most was destined to be recycled. They made a good living from the business and were too lazy to scour the place for any treasure. They probably wouldn’t recognise something of value anyway.

  Tim knew the value of things. As he worked at the scrapyard, he saw bits and pieces that were too good to scrap. If they were small enough for him to smuggle out, he would pick them up and stash them away. This had been going on for the past few months, and he was now at the point where he would try to sell some of it.

  Tim would not be strolling into the local town and trying to flog the things he had pilfered from his employers. The King family would hear about it for sure. A bus would take him to a nearby city where he could do business. There were risks involved in travelling to a different place, but he would have to give it a go.

  Tim shaved his head carefully. Going somewhere new made him nervous about being recognised. In amongst the rubbish at the scrapyard, he had found a pair of glasses. They were not strong lenses, so he had picked them up and kept them for a situation like this. Once he was away from his place of work, he would put them on to add to his disguise.

  In his carrier bag, when he left the yard, were a pair of candlesticks and the base of an Art Deco lamp, wrapped in a jumper to disguise them. He strolled past Jimmy and his boys. Only Peter managed to raise his arm in acknowledgement. None of them considered leaving their seats.

  Tim, sat on the bus in his second-hand, shabby clothes, was shunned by the other passengers. Good, he didn’t want to interact with anyone if he could help it. When he got to the city, he asked an elderly woman about antique shops and he was directed to one near the shopping centre. A white-haired man with an indefinable accent was the proprietor. They weighed each other up as Tim entered the shop.

  His appearance may have worked to keep people away on the bus, but it wasn’t helping in this situation. The proprietor was keeping an eye on Tim as if he might rob the place. Best to set his mind at rest. Tim went into salesman mode.

  “Hello, sir. I have some items that I was hoping to sell. I wondered if you would be interested.” A broad smile and the offer of his hand accompanied his introduction.

  “I’ll have a look. I’ll also need to know where you got these things.” The proprietor had shaken his hand and then taken a step back.

  “I understand. These items were from my grandmother’s house. I’m in the process of clearing it out. Messy work, which is why I’m dressed like this. I picked these out, but I’m bound to find more stuff. If the price is right, I’ll be back with more.” The lie was easily told. Tim rarely told the truth these days. “I’m Chris, by the way.”

  He couldn’t use the name Tim, of course. The name Gerry could link him to the scrapyard, so he had said the next name that came into his head. This was getting way too complicated. Another lie that he had to remember.

  Getting used to responding to the name George, he hardly thought about his real name anymore. Tim was the man who had murdered his wife, and he was happy to leave that identity behind. George had a different history which didn’t involve crime. He almost convinced himself that they were two separate people. It was the memory of his daughter, Beth, that stopped the illusion being complete.

  Smiling at the shopkeeper, he waited for the transaction to be discussed.

  “I’m Fred. Let’s have a look.”

  As Fred appraised the items, Tim talked.

  “My grandmother, she was one of those strong women, you know. The last twenty years of her life, she lived alone. Did everything around the house, looked after the garden. She was a collector, though. The spare rooms are full of stuff. I’m going through it all before I get someone in to clear the house.”

  “Yes, pick out the good bits. These candlesticks aren’t bad and I like the Deco lamp.”

  Fred started with a low offer and Tim gradually talked him up. The story about grandmother and the haggling seemed to persuade Fred that the seller was genuine. People that had stolen or acquired goods usually stayed quiet and took the first price.

  That had gone well. There would be more trips to Fred’s shop in the future by ‘Chris’. Back in town, Tim visited the café and treated himself to a roast chicken dinner. By the time he got back to the scrapyard, the Kings had gone. They arrived at the yard early, ate lots of food, and then left mid-afternoon.

  Hugh was having a day off work too. After a visit to the supermarket he had started an early drinking session and was snoring in his bed when Tim got back. Turning up the volume on the television, Tim managed to drown out the noise. It was a small inconvenience in the scheme of things.

  The sleeping Hugh was out of the way, and wouldn’t see the place where Tim had stashed his money. The notes from Fred at the antiques shop were added to the roll and stuffed back into one of his shoes. When he finally left the scrapyard he would be able to buy himself some better clothes, at the very least.

  Chapter 13

  Tim had led a charmed life until the murder. He was a handsome man and he had grown
up using his looks and gift of the gab to get what he wanted. He was made for a job in sales and he had done well, earning bonuses every month. The only problem with his life had been his wife and daughter.

  He begrudged the money that he had to spend on his family. He was working, travelling away from home, driving thousands of miles so that he could pay for a house for Alison and Beth. His wages went on food for three, bills, and Alison’s shopping habit. When was the last time he had done something or bought something that he liked?

  Tim hated the way that their presence thwarted him from doing what was best for him. Looking back, it was amazing that he had not got rid of Alison earlier. He had considered divorce, but that would mean paying alimony. There was only one way that it was all going to end.

  Too late, he had realised what a selfish man he was. Tim worked hard and wanted to keep his earnings for himself. He wanted nice clothes, gadgets and good food. Knowing that Alison was spending his money on herself drove him mad. Anger with his wife took over his life. It consumed him to the point where he didn’t even consider Beth’s needs or welfare.

  Hindsight – what a curse. Tim could see that his daughter had got lost in the turmoil of his marriage. There had been moments when they had shared pleasant times together. A chat or a game, with her smiling up at him. Now that he had murdered her mother, he didn’t suppose that there would be much goodwill left. Did she hate him?

  How bizarre that killing someone and then leading such a humble life would let him find his humanity. He had very little, and he found that he was more generous as a result. Maybe he was making up for his poor treatment of Beth. Whatever the reason, he had now become responsible for looking after Hugh.

  His co-worker spent his money as soon as he got it. And for him, alcohol was more important than food. Tim had to step in and make sure he was fed. He bought and cooked his food, woke him up in the morning for work, and kept an eye on him when he was passed out drunk. It was a change for Tim to have to think about someone else. He didn’t resent Hugh the way he had resented Alison, and that was interesting.