Authors: C.J. Johnson
How could the woman who lived here possibly have any ties to Laura or Laura's world?
Lee too shared Mike's doubt as they discussed the possible connection as they approached the front door.
It struck Mike that this was something else he hated about his job. There was a woman inside this house who was afraid, afraid enough to call the police. She had probably suffered sleepless nights, been haunted by thoughts of meeting her stalker face to face and likely spent her days looking over her shoulder. As an officer, his concern should be her welfare, yet, the disappointment he felt at the certainty that this situation had nothing to do with Laura Melling's murder made him feel like he was wasting his time.
Mentally shaking off the feeling that he was a total shit, Mike knocked on the door as he and Lee adjusted their clothes, making sure they were presentable.
Mike's head was so full of mental images of Laura, both dead and alive, and thoughts of stalkers and letters that he wouldn't have believed it possible to be taken by surprise by anything at that time.
He was wrong.
The door opened in front of him and their 'victim' looked out at him. The face that had lurked in his memories for the past 7 years stared back as shocked recognition dawned on her face also.
Mike now knew they had indeed found a link here, but it was not the right one.
Time seemed to still as he locked eyes with her, his mind replaying flashbacks of that night and the following weeks as Lee glanced from Mike to her in curiosity.
Cold-bloodied murder was the link here.
Standing before Mike was his first, and thankfully only to date, black widow, Cheryl Turner.
Chapter Seventeen
Don't let him see it, don't let him see it.
Cheryl's legs felt like jelly and she knew she must resemble a deer caught in the headlights of speeding car. She felt like she was falling, no, not so much falling as being pulled further and further down while she struggled to no avail.
Why him? And wasn't he a homicide detective?
Dave.
Cheryl shook her head roughly, unaware of what she was doing when the detective by Jamison's side cleared his throat. “I'm Detective Lee Morris and this is Detective Mike Jamison. We're responding to a call regarding letters from an unknown that you find unsettling?”
She did not want Jamison in the house, but what choice did she have?
Still reeling that he of all detectives had turned up at her door, Cheryl nodded numbly and stepped aside to let the men enter. Guiding them to the living room, she offered them a seat on the large corner sofa as she settled into the single chair.
Avoiding Jamison's gaze, she picked up 5 of the letters; the last two she had hidden upstairs, and offered them to detective Morris. “I've been getting these for the past week,” she told him. She didn't tell him about the mobile phone she had also received, or the pictures she had sent on it.
“And some of these have come to your workplace?” Morris asked.
“Yes. The second one was posted through the letterbox at work.”
“Where do you work?” Morris asked. Glancing quickly at Jamison and seeing his hard gaze as he stared at her, she quickly looked back at Morris. “Sallie's hair and beauty. I work there three days a week as a nail technician.”
Morris leaned towards Jamison and both examined the notes. All were the same, written with cut out letters from magazines and newspapers and stuck together with glue to form sentences.
The first three letters had stated that Cheryl was beautiful and desirable, that she made his heart flutter whilst making him understand the term 'love at first sight'. The fourth said she should wear the red blouse more often as it suited her, and the fifth said that the new hanging basket by her front door was very nice.
Both detectives looked at each other. Though Cheryl new they were probably communicating via the subtle exchange, she read nothing in their expressions.
“This letter,” Morris asked, “and the reference to a red blouse, were you indeed wearing one that day?”
Remembering the thrill she'd felt when she first read the letter, the thrill of knowing a man unknown to her was watching her, wanting her made Cheryl's stomach squirm and a flood of nausea rushed up her throat.
That was before it had got bad.
“Yes, it was. I had just bought it that morning.”
Jamison spoke up for the first time, his tone professional. “Do you have any idea who this person could be, Mrs Turner?”
Cheryl looked at him and they locked eyes again. An involuntary shudder passed through Cheryl. She felt as though Jamison's eyes were penetrating her very soul.
I know what you did, his eyes screamed at her. I still know what you did.
Suddenly, an image of Dave flashed in her mind. It was an image from the nightmares that she had from time to time. Dave on the bed writhing in agony as fire ate his flesh. Dave aware of what was happening but his senses too dulled by alcohol to save himself.
Sometimes in her nightmare, Dave would plead for her to help him, save him from the fire and Cheryl would stand there crying as she watched his skin melt and blister before turning black, his shrieks of agony piercing her ears. Other times, Dave would burn, but not die. Sometimes he accused her of his murder as the fire consumed him. Then he would stand and reach for her. Sometimes he would look like Dave on fire. Other times, he looked like the Dave after the fire had been put out. His eyes would bulge huge and white in his burnt face, his teeth grossly exposed because the fire had burnt his lips away. He would laugh hysterically as Cheryl turned and ran. No matter how fast she ran, Dave gained on her.
She'd always woken before he reached her.
“Are you okay, Mrs Turner?” Morris asked, looking genuinely concerned. Jamison simply stared at her.
Glancing down, she realised her hands were fisted in her lap and she was panting.
“My name is Cheryl Underwood,” she said, avoiding Jamison's eyes. “I remarried.”
Morris nodded, then looked from her to Jamison.
Cheryl, unable to take anymore, stood abruptly and the two men stood too.
“So, what happens now?” she asked.
“We can take these letters and check for fingerprints or any other evidence. He hasn't actually threatened you, so we can't treat this as an immediate threat to your safety. It is clear, however, that this person has been following you, and clearly knows where you live.” Morris sighed deeply and looked at her with regret. “The best we can do is offer you some safety tips : make sure your doors and windows are locked, never leave your purse or keys unattended, don't go anywhere alone if possible. If anything else happens, call us back. Has he made any other contact with you, other than these letters?”
Cheryl thought again of the pictures she had sent with the phone he had provided her, and the text conversations they'd had after.
She blushed.
“Mrs Underwood?” Morris asked, his frown of suspicion boring into her.
“No. No other contact.”
“Okay.” Clearly not satisfied as he gave her a curious look, Morris stepped past her and Jamison followed without looking at her.
“Remember,” Morris said when both men were stood on her doorstep, “take precautions when out and about. It could be someone you know playing some sort of a joke on you, or it could be serious. “
“Do you know a young woman called Laura Melling?” Jamison suddenly asked.
Cheryl shook her head without looking at him.
“Thank you, officers.”
Morris nodded at her and she nodded back.
“Nice to see you again, Mrs T— Underwood,” Jamison said. Unable to avoid looking at him, Cheryl steadied herself before looking at his eyes. “And don't worry, we'll do what we can to find this man if he means any harm. As officers, it's our job to get dangerous people off the streets. Admittedly though, some do escape.”
Cheryl closed the door on him and leaned against it, panting for air. She heard to two men walk away so she pulled the bolt lock across before turning and running upstairs to her bedroom.
Jamison's words echoed in her mind as she rushed into her bedroom and slammed the door shut.
Some do get away, he'd said.
Meaning me.
She'd thought calling the police had been the right thing to do. She'd thought that whoever this man was, this man who'd started off exciting and turned into a nutcase, would realise that she'd called the police and he'd back off.
Now, she'd just opened a new can of worms.
She went to her bedside table and reached in for the last two letters the man had sent her.
The letters where he'd threatened her. Not with violence. But he'd threatened to expose her many affairs if she refused to meet with him in person. Considering how her life had suddenly swan-dived from blissful and happy to embarrassing and turbulent, she suspected that this is the person that caused her all the trouble.
Unsure of how to deal with the situation, she'd called the police.
And Jamison had turned up.
Why had he come when he was a homicide detective? No-one had died here.
Not this time.
Again, an image of Dave, burnt and leering as he reached for her filled her mind and Cheryl gasped as she shook her head.
Dreams can't hurt me, she told herself. They're only dreams.
She'd been having them for years now, so she ought to be used to them. All those years ago she thought she had got away with murder and removed Dave from her life.
But she'd been wrong. Dave had started to haunt her dreams around four months after his death, and he still did so on a regular basis.
What were the chances of Jamison turning up to investigate a crime that wasn't even his area?
Cheryl suddenly jolted upright. What
were
the chances?
It was him.
Jamison was the one harassing her. God, it made sense. He'd known all those years ago that she'd stared the fire that killed Dave, but he'd been unable to prove it.
He'd arranged it somehow that should she call the station, he'd be the officer to respond.
But, if that were true, what exactly did he hope to achieve? These letters and texts wouldn't ever prove her guilty of murder, but they would destroy her marriage, and that was hanging on by a thread anyway.
Cheryl shook her head. No, it just didn't make sense, and it didn't seem Jamison's style. He'd accused her outright back then in front of witness’s of killing Dave, this sneaky approach didn't strike her as coming from the same man.
A sudden chirping sound caused Cheryl's to jerk in surprise, then pant in apprehension.
It was the mobile phone the stalker had given her before he flipped out, the phone she had sent nude pictures of herself then revelled in it as he'd told her via text that she was the most desirable woman he'd ever seen.
She reached into her bedside drawer and carefully pulled the phone out. The text symbol flashed at her.
Dread filled her as she flipped open the cover and read the text.
Well, well, well. You went and called the police. And what exactly do you think they can do? Did you tell them about our hot sexting, lover? I almost hope they do find me, then I can show them all the delicious pictures you sent me. You'd better hope they don't find me, that wouldn't do your reputation any good, would it?
Then again, your reputation is as a slut anyway, so I guess it wouldn't do any harm.
Chat later sexy xxx
Cheryl flung herself sideways and gave in to the helpless sobs she'd felt bubbling when she'd opened her front door to find Jamison staring at her.
Chapter Eighteen
Mike's head spun all the way back to the station. He felt pure astonishment at seeing her again, and nothing would have prepared him for the shock.
She hadn't changed all that much in the past 7 years, but he was stunned to realise that she was far more beautiful than he remembered.
But then, her looks hadn't been of a whole lot of interest back then. The years had been kind to her. Apparently living as a murderess for the better part of a decade hadn't weighed especially heavy on her.
The murky swamp Mike felt submerged in suddenly felt a whole lot thicker.
That woman represented a murder, a murder he knew had been committed, but also the most painful time in Mike's life.
The time had and Mandy had found out they'd never have children and their subsequent separation. It'd been a blessedly short separation with Mandy returning home nearly a week after leaving, but it was the one and only black spot on their marriage.
Mike wondered how much more he was able to take before he had some sort of a breakdown.
Lee had remained quiet the whole way back. “A fine looking woman,” he'd commented as they both strapped themselves into the car outside her home.
Mike said nothing.
Now, as Lee swung into their parking space and turned off the ignition, he turned to Mike. “Okay, what's going on with that woman back there. She your ex, or something?”
“What?” Mike asked, understanding the question and why Lee may have reached that conclusion but the thought of being romantically involved with the woman making him feel like he needed a hot shower.
It was like someone accusing him of being romantically involved with a venomous snake.
“No. Absolutely not. I wouldn't be sat here, alive and well, if I'd ever been involved with her.”
Lee raised his eyebrows. “Look Mike, I know we're not exactly best buds; in fact, it's surprising how little we actually know about one another. But, since we're working this case together, we need to share anything and everything of importance. What is it with you and that woman? You were eyeing each other like a couple of cage fighters right before the whistle signals the start of the fight.”
Mike sighed. “It started with a phone call in the middle of the night, accidental death, they called it.”
Mike told Lee the whole story, leaving out nothing and even telling him about the personal problems he and Mandy were having at the time and how this was used against him and his judgement. He finished with how he got suspended for a month and how he spent the time coming to terms with letting a murderer get away and rebuilding his marriage.