No prison, at least for now. Mark’s chest starts to tighten, but for once, it’s with relief.
‘What about my sentence? For Abby Morgan’s murder?’
Jackson draws in a deep breath before slowly exhaling. ‘You’ll be wanting to get it overturned.’
‘I presume that’s possible. From what you’ve just said.’
Tony Jackson’s clearly considering his answer carefully. ‘You can apply for it to be quashed. No guarantees, though. There has to be compelling new evidence.’
‘The audio recording.’
‘I’d say that probably qualifies.’
‘Got to at least try.’
‘If I were a betting man, I’d risk a quid on you getting it overturned. Eventually.’
‘I’ll take my chances.’
‘You’ll need another new identity, though.’
‘Why?’
‘Yours has been breached, and if you end up in court battling your original conviction then more people will get hold of the name of Mark Slater. Even if you win, I can guarantee some vigilante nutter somewhere will reckon there’s no smoke without fire.’
‘I guess.’ Shit, another identity. Perhaps it’s no bad thing. A new name for a fresh start. Might be a good thing to shed the skin of Mark Slater and move on.
‘Like I said, none of this will be easy, Mark. But then you’ll be aware of that.’
‘Knew the risks involved.’ Mark shrugs, wincing as one of his cracked ribs overrides the painkillers. ‘Worth it to me. If it gets Adam Campbell back behind bars.’
‘Can’t disagree with that.’ Jackson stands up. ‘Listen, mate, I need to get going. You should rest. Like I said, no free and easy ride is heading your way.’
Something occurs to Mark. ‘Hang on a minute.’
‘What?’
‘You.’ Mark forces himself to meet Jackson’s eyes. ‘Will you get into trouble? Because I broke my parole on your watch?’
Jackson shrugs. ‘Bound to be an enquiry.’
‘They shouldn’t blame you.’
‘Someone will doubtless point the finger.’
‘You can’t be expected to track me twenty-four hours a day.’
‘No. Thing is, people break parole all the time. You had a steady job, never gave any trouble. Nothing to indicate you screwing up in any way.’
‘If I’m asked, I’ll tell them you did everything by the book.’
‘Which I did. Don’t sweat this, Mark.’ Tony Jackson grabs his jacket. ‘Get some rest. Like I said, someone will be in to talk to you at some point.’
Alone again, Mark settles himself against his pillow. Shit. He’s got one hell of a lot of stuff to process in his head.
He doesn’t waste much time on Adam Campbell. The man’s stolen enough of Mark’s life already. He’ll have to give evidence against him, of course, but he intends to detach himself emotionally from the bastard. Doesn’t matter whether he’s still scared of Adam – he is, and always will be – but fear won’t dictate his actions any longer. He’s bigger than Adam Campbell is mentally, and he’ll remember that, however things pan out. What’s certain is that Adam will go down for the rest of his life. Mark strikes him off his mental worry list.
Life doesn’t present any guarantees, he decides. Perhaps his conviction will get overturned, perhaps it won’t. If his sentence isn’t quashed, he’ll cope. If life provided certainties, people would never test themselves. Grow, adapt and change, and Mark has. He’ll never again be the terrified eleven-year-old who allowed everyone to use him as a doormat. Nothing’s definite in his future, but right now things are looking the best they’ve done for a long time.
Which brings him to Natalie. A saying comes back to him.
The heart wants what the heart wants.
Well, his wants Natalie. She’s flawed, sure, as insecure and imperfect as all humans, but they’re two of a kind when it comes to being damaged goods. What’s more, she possesses a certain something that calls to him.
Don’t go there, Mark warns himself. Hell, he has to let Natalie go. Until his conviction is quashed, by no means a certainty, he’s still a convicted killer who’s broken parole. Besides, getting his sentence overturned won’t happen quickly. Once lawyers get involved and the appeal process is launched, Mark faces months of waiting, possibly longer.
Not to mention the fact that she herself faces jail time.
No, being with Natalie isn’t an option.
Forget her, he tells himself.
Mark sleeps on and off for the rest of the day, his battered body grateful for the chance to recuperate. His jaw’s a lot less painful the next day, thankfully. Still sore, but definitely improving. Eating isn’t too much of a problem. Neither is talking. Mark flicks through the channels on the TV, listens to the radio, chats with the old man in the next bed. He doesn’t take much notice of the time. Two o’clock comes, the start of visiting hours, and a stream of friends and relatives walk through the heavy double doors. Mark watches as they disperse between the beds in the ward, dragging chairs alongside them, delivering gifts, kissing whomever they’ve come to visit. His attention is drawn by a particular family down the far end of the ward, when a voice to his left causes it to jump back to his own bed.
The heart wants what the heart wants.
Mark turns his head as rapidly as he dares.
Natalie is standing beside him.
‘Mark?’ She chews her lower lip. ‘Oh, my God. Your face.’
Mark remembers the splint on his broken nose. The smashed-up visage staring back at him from the hospital bathroom mirror this morning.
Tears are in Natalie’s eyes as she inches closer to the bed. Her face is tired, pale, puffy, as though she’s not slept. ‘Mark…I’m so sorry…I never meant…’ She swallows, takes a deep breath. ‘You tried to tell me. I should have believed you.’
‘Doesn’t matter. No, really,’ as Natalie shakes her head. ‘None of that’s important now. You got bail, obviously.’
She nods. Silence for a while, broken by Mark. ‘Why are you here, Nat?’
She swallows again. Her eyes stray over the bed, the ward, anywhere but him. ‘To tell you I’m sorry. About everything. Not trusting you. Getting Shaun Morgan to do -’ Her hand waves towards Mark. ‘This.’
‘Grab a chair. Sit down.’
‘You’re sure?’ Natalie doesn’t wait for Mark’s answer, but pulls one alongside the bed.
‘Nat. It’s OK, really it is.’
‘I thought -’ Natalie grabs a tissue from the box beside Mark’s bed and blows her nose. ‘Rachel Morgan. You and her.’
‘Never was a me and her.’
‘I got jealous. Didn’t think straight.’
‘You were angry. I understand.’
Natalie pulls her chair closer. ‘I want to tell you something. Mum and I watched a documentary a while back. About murderers in jail.’
Mark’s thrown by the sudden twist in the conversation.
‘Not so much about them,’ Natalie continues. ‘More about women who write to them, visit them, form relationships with them.’
Mark’s still unsure where she’s going with this. ‘What are you on about?’
‘They all say the guys concerned aren’t guilty,’ Natalie says. ‘At the time, Mum and I agreed they were all deluded, or worse. Most of them are, of course. Not all, though. I get it now. Sometimes people really are innocent. Even though everyone reckons they’re not. Like you.’
Mark’s silent, undecided how to respond.
‘Here’s the deal,’ says Natalie. ‘You didn’t kill Abby Morgan. I know that now.’ She glances away, resumes chewing on her lower lip. ‘We can be together. If that’s what you want. You said in your letter -’
Important not to give her any false hope. ‘Natalie, everything’s up in the air right now. I might end up back in prison.’
‘But why? If you’re innocent, and it gets proved, then -’
‘Not guaranteed, Nat.’
‘But you’re going to appeal your conviction, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. In the meantime, though, I’m still a convicted murderer, and one who’s broken parole. If my sentence doesn’t get overturned, then I’ll be back in jail. Long-term.’
Natalie chokes back a sob. ‘Doesn’t seem fair. Not when you got evidence about…’ She breathes out heavily. ‘About
him
.’
‘He’ll never hurt you again, Nat. Or anyone else.’
‘You always knew it was Adam Campbell.’
‘Yes. Your diary.’
‘You came looking for me.’
‘You became one of my obsessions. Probably the first one.’
‘Can we…’ She’s clearly groping for words. He fathoms her meaning anyway.
‘You and me. Can’t happen.’ Mark sighs. How to make her accept this? ‘I’ve no idea what’s heading my way or how long it’ll take. Don’t waste your life waiting for me. I’m not worth it.’
Natalie’s mouth tightens. ‘Listen up, Mark Slater. For years, I’ve been looking over my shoulder, afraid that bastard might find me again. He’s the main reason my eating’s so out of control. He’s fucked me over in more ways than one. Then I got your letter. Thanks to you, he’ll spend the rest of his life behind bars.’ Her fingers jab angrily towards Mark. ‘You’re worth it all right.’
‘Natalie -’
‘Another thing. What I can and can’t do. That’s my decision. Not yours.’
‘I don’t want you to -’
‘Like I say. Not your choice.’
‘Why me?’
Natalie’s mouth relaxes into a smile. ‘Because when I’m in bed with you I’m not size eighteen and covered in stretch marks anymore.’
‘
What?
’
‘Straight answer? I’ve no idea. Who knows what draws one person to another? You said it in your letter. We clicked, that first time we met. You and me, we’re alike in so many ways. Both of us damaged goods.’
Mark sighs. ‘It’s not just me who’s facing jail time, remember.’
Her shoulders slump.
‘Everything’s too uncertain, Nat. For both of us.’
‘Doesn’t stop me wanting you.’
The flicker of hope he’s tried to extinguish where Natalie’s concerned ignites again. ‘You’re serious.’
‘Get used to it.’
One last attempt to convince her. Mark pulls himself up in the bed, as much as his cracked ribs will allow. ‘Nat, remember what I said. If I don’t get my conviction overturned, then I’ll be in jail for God knows how many years.’
‘Mark, listen -’
‘You might be in prison too. If that’s the case, we can’t be together. Simple as that.’
‘If we both end up free, though? Would you -’
The heart wants what the heart wants.
The flicker inside him inches higher. ‘Yes.’
‘Then surely - ’
Mark shakes his head. ‘Don’t get your hopes up, Nat. If – and it’s a big if – I get my sentence quashed, then maybe.’
‘You mean it?’
‘Yes. We’ll also need to sort out whatever happens with you, too.’
‘We. You said we.’
‘In the meantime – no promises.’
‘But -’
‘That’s the deal, Nat.’
Natalie smiles. She reaches over to grasp Mark’s hand. ‘OK.’
Nineteen, twenty
,
my plate’s empty
. Not anymore, he decides.
POSTSCRIPT
I hope that you enjoyed Guilty Innocence! The
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If you liked Guilty Innocence, why not check out my other novels? I’ve included the first chapter of His Kidnapper’s Shoes and also Sister, Psychopath for you.
His Kidnapper’s Shoes can be purchased in both Kindle and paperback formats from
Amazon.
Sister, Psychopath can be purchased in both Kindle and paperback formats from
Amazon.
One, Two, Buckle My Shoe
One, two, buckle my shoe
Three, four, knock at the door
Five, six, pick up sticks
Seven, eight, lay them straight
Nine, ten, a big, fat hen
Eleven, twelve, dig and delve
Thirteen, fourteen, maids a’courting
Fifteen, sixteen, maids in the kitchen
Seventeen, eighteen, maids a’waiting
Nineteen, twenty, my plate's empty.
‘One, Two, Buckle My Shoe’
is a popular English language nursery rhyme, used to help children with counting. While there is no accurate historical evidence for when it originated, it is generally thought to be about lace making and other working class roles in the 16th, 17th or 18th centuries.
One, two, buckle my shoe refers to the lace maker getting ready in the morning for work.
Three, four, knock at the door: the lace maker receives a customer.
Five, six, pick up sticks: the sticks are wooden pins used on a lace making machine.
Seven, eight, lay them straight: the pins are placed on the machine to go straight across the fabric from side to side.
Nine, ten, a big fat hen: a type of pillow that supports and holds the lacework.
Eleven, twelve, dig and delve refers to the gardeners employed at a large house or estate.
Thirteen, fourteen, maids a’courting refers to the maids at the house, probably in connection with the gardeners.
Fifteen, sixteen, maids in the kitchen: a meal is being prepared for the gentry of the house.
Seventeen, eighteen, maids a’waiting: dinner is served with the maids in attendance.
Nineteen, twenty, my plate’s empty: the meal is over.
Read on for sample chapters of His Kidnapper’s Shoes and Sister, Psychopath…
Chapter 1
of His Kidnapper’s Shoes