Authors: C.J. Johnson
The light bulb had blown out in here and he smiled, thinking how much that little fact helped his plan considerably.
He got into the drivers seat of Cheryl's vehicle and put the blond wig on. It wasn't an exact match for the style that Cheryl wore, but it would do. He raised the garage door and left.
***
Incredible, he thought as he pulled up back inside the garage. The whole thing had taken just under 40 minutes. His hands shook as he pulled the key out of the ignition and removed the blond wig, shoving it back into his bag with more force than he'd intended.
He hoped the man hadn't died.
He pictured him again as he'd struck the windshield of the car, his body tumbling away immediately and falling into the road. Still, everything had gone to plan.
He got out of the car and raised the hood, pulling a few wires loose. That would do it. Of course, the car could easily be fixed by someone who knew what they were doing. If Cheryl had a man around, he'd have to really dismantle the car. Fortunately, Cheryl knew squat about car engines; her area of expertise didn't go beyond seducing men, so he didn't need to worry.
When the police came to seize the car to search for evidence, they'd wonder why the engine had been dismantled, should he have had to go that far. The wires he'd loosened took a mere few minutes to fix and could happen for no reason. He looked at the front of the car, elated at the evidence that smeared the bonnet, yet dismayed that he'd put it there by harming another person.Then, he went back into the house to check on Cheryl, his bag over his shoulder.
She was still zonked. Smiling, he placed her car keys right where he found them and left her house, careful to leave through the back door and sneak through the neighbours back garden to avoid being seen.
One more task tonight and he was done.
He tingled in excitement, his earlier misgivings gone.
He was this close,
this close.
Thinking of the outcome that would be coming very soon, the moment he had spent waiting years for, he quickened his pace to his car that he'd parked up the next street.
Chapter Twenty Three
Mike sat at his desk, staring blankly ahead at the wall.
The Laura Melling's case had been solved. The timid shy bartender, the same man whom Mike had dismissed almost immediately, was actually positive that he was gay, had turned himself in. The man, Alex, had been escorted to the police station by his cousin, a woman named Molly. Clearly shaken, she'd told Mike that Alex had told her everything.
It was she who had convinced him to hand himself in. "He killed Laura," Molly told Mike, her voice heavy grief and disbelief.
Both he and Lee had interviewed Alex, and he had confessed in chilling detail.
He said he had been in love with Laura and that he'd been so proud of her for turning her life around.
She never realised his feelings for her, but was apparently very fond of him as a friend.
"A week before I killed her," Alex told Mike and Lee, his voice cracked with anger, "she started prostituting again."
He told of his jealousy and devastation, the thought of her being with other men causing a rage to burn from deep within.
His car had been impounded and a quick visual search before the forensic team began their examination had revealed a large amount of blood in the trunk.
Asked why he had carved the cross into her back, Alex claimed that in spite of her shortcomings, he felt she deserved to go to heaven. He was afraid that because her body was so filthy with drugs and sex, she would be denied entry. He felt the mark of the cross would cleanse her and ensure her final destination would be heaven, and not the hell that surely awaited her.
"The bloke's a wako," Lee had said, and Mike agreed.
Alex's flat had been sealed off and a search warrant issued. The bedroom appeared to be the scene of the crime, matching with Alex's confession of being the place where he carved the cross into her back as she lay bound to his bedposts. The bed had been stripped and flipped over, revealing a large bloodstain soaked into the mattress.
Laura's clothes and handbag had been found shoved under Alex's bed.
With the confession and forensic evidence, they had more than enough to charge Alex with murder and hold him until DNA could be extracted from the blood in his flat and car and matched to Laura.
Laura Melling had been a prostitute, a woman who regularly put her life in danger by getting into strangers' cars and selling her body for sex.
That she would then be murdered by someone she knew and liked was mind numbing, especially since there hadn't seemed to be very many people who had cared for the troubled young woman.
But then, what would have been better? Laura being murdered by a friend, or a stranger? She was marked for a rough life, and a rough ending. Her attempt to turn her life around had failed, and it had cost her life.
Mike grimaced slightly as guilt gnawed at him. He was pleased that Laura's murderer was in custody. Given Alex's frame of mind, it seemed certain that it would only be a matter of time before he focused his obsession on another young woman.
They were, right now, digging into his background, searching for any revealing incidents with other young women.
On the whole, Mike was relieved.
But, as he sat in the interrogation room facing Alex, the young man's face pale and his voice quivering as he gave a detailed account of Laura's prolonged and brutal murder, Mike could only think of Cheryl Turner.
As Alex told them how Laura had screamed and begged, cried and pleaded as she writhed on his bed, her arms and legs bound to the metal posts as he mercilessly carved the cross into her back, Mike thought of Dave Turner, writhing in agony as fire slowly consumed his flesh.
He watched and listened as Alex confessed, and in his mind he wished it was Cheryl Turner. What sort of cop did that make him?
"A bad one, that's what," he muttered.
Cheryl had confessed, she was guilty of her first husband's murder. He'd known it back then, but now he
knew
it. Yet, there still wasn't a damn thing he could do.
They had solved a brutal murder this morning and taken a very mentally ill young man off the streets who, very likely, would have killed again.
Yet, for the past 20 minutes as Lee processed the paperwork and organized various warrants associated with the case, Mike had sat at his desk running a background check on Cheryl's current husband.
Dave Turner had been a handsome businessman who earned a very good salary.
Harold Underwood also earned a good salary in addition to having access to a healthy inheritance he'd received from his parents'.
But handsome, he was not.
A large, droopy-faced man with a receding hairline and a double chin, he was no-one's idea of attractive.
Poor bloke probably thought all his birthdays had come all at once when he married Cheryl,
thought Mike.
Cheryl's apparent motive for killing her first husband, in Mike's theory, had been his affairs. Perhaps she had married this man for safety; he couldn't see this man ever cheating on Cheryl with any woman.
Shit
, Mike thought,
she's a murderer; how can I even begin to guess at how she thinks.
As they had been since he entered Dave Turner's house 7 years earlier, his hands remained tied.
All he could do was hope that she didn't kill this husband, or, if she did, that she wasn't as clever this time and made a mistake.
"Done, done, and done," Lee announced as he suddenly appeared by Mike's side. "A search of his flat and car is all go. Forensics are preparing to go through everything with a fine-tooth-comb."
"Good," Mike said, "nail this bastard with as much evidence as we can. Make sure he never gets a chance to do this again."
"You know what's bothering me though?" Lee said with a deep frown, "all this bloke's talk of sending her to heaven, fearing she wouldn't get in coz her body was tainted by the touch of so many men and drugs. So, he carves a cross into her back to get her in, coz he
cares
. Then, he drives her to a secluded area, strangles her and leaves her dumped like a piece of rubbish. What do you think a psychiatrist would make of all that?"
Mike shrugged. "No doubt the defence will try insanity one way or the other."
"Exactly. I'm hoping we find some evidence of premeditation. I wanna prove this bastard planned on killing her because he couldn't have her and that he was well aware of his actions. I wanna slap him with a first degree murder charge, not see him serve half a sentence on some diminished responsibility crap."
Mike nodded and Lee sighed. "So," Lee asked, "what you been doing while I was working?"
Before Mike could reach for the notes he had made, Lee leaned over and began to read.
"Underwood," Lee muttered, glancing at the face on Mike's computer. "He's married to your killer?" Lee pursed his lips. "Makes me think of beauty and the beast. What're you looking him up for?"
Mike glanced at him, then back away, not knowing how much he should say.
"Look Mike, I understand how much this must get to you, and you say you think she did it; I believe you. But, you have as much to go on today as you did back then—a hunch, that's it. No evidence, no conviction."
"She confessed, Lee."
Lee's eyebrows shot up. "Confessed? When?"
Mike told him about his visit with James and Nicole.
"Wow," Lee muttered, "the slimy bitch. That's a damn good angle, threatening them with a story of an affair with this James character. Would've looked pretty bad on this couple. You think they're telling you the truth?"
"Yes," Mike answered. "Without a doubt. That woman got away with murder 7 years ago. And there is still nothing I can do to prove it."
"We get this nutcase Alex put away," Lee said. "We gather enough evidence to put him away for a long time. Then, I'll help you get your nutcase."
Mike looked up at him gratefully. "We'll find a way to take the bitch down, Mike. I promise you, her days are numbered."
Chapter Twenty Four
Cheryl worked her way through two of her three clients, her mind blank and her head aching.
I only had one glass of wine last night. How can I feel so terrible?
She'd woken at 4am, sprawled on the couch, shivering and confused. She usually struggled with her sleeping and most nights it took her a while to relax enough to doze off.
Struggling as she stumbled around her darkened living room, she tried to remember how much she'd drank. From her pounding headache and the almost painful dryness of her throat she'd guess a few bottles.
But she knew she hadn't. She didn't have that much wine in the house and a quick check of the fridge that morning had shown her that she'd only had the one glass wine, the one she remembered.
She wouldn't describe herself as a lush but she certainly drank often enough to handle one glass of red wine.
To top everything off, her car had refused to start that morning. Her head pounding painfully, she'd sat thumping the steering wheel of her stubborn car, swearing as tears streamed down her face.
She'd nearly given up and gone back to bed.
Forget work.
Forget her job.
Forget her family.
Forget her husband.
Just forget everything and sleep the terrible headache away.
The only reason she had forced herself to call a taxi to take her to work was the knowledge that it may be the only thing she had left soon.
She'd arrived to work late and found one of her regular clients waiting for her. She hadn't even time to pour herself a coffee.
Cheryl fought the wave of nausea, the same wave she had been fighting for the past 15 minutes.
I'm gonna be sick I'm gonna be sick I'm gonna be sick.
Cheryl forced the chant to quiet down as she gained control over her queasy stomach. The terrible smells within the salon weren't helping.
On top of the smell of the acrylic and nail polish, one of the girls was administering bleach to a young woman's foils. Cheryl felt like she was going to suffocate.
The only thing going right for her so far today was Sarah's absence from work. The mood that Cheryl felt in , she thought one wrong look from Sarah would have sent her into a rage.
Beneath her pleasure however, jealousy stirred as one after another of Sarah's clients turned up for their scheduled appointments, only to refuse the offer of someone else doing their hair since Sarah had not turned up for work.
Each client had left saying they would call the salon when Sarah was back in to re-book.
None of my clients are that loyal
, Cheryl thought bitterly. She doubted that any would care if she disappeared off the face of the earth tomorrow; they would simply dive onto their computers and check out the next nearest Nail Technician who offered decent prices and discounts.
Cheryl was glad she had forced herself to come into work. If not for the peace of not having Sarah around, but for the guarantee that her job was secure. Sallie had greeted Cheryl just like she usually did.
The two women weren't exactly friends, but they'd never had a harsh word spoken between them, until Sallie had pulled Cheryl into her office and given her a harsh warning over Sarah. Sallie and Sarah, however, were friends, and if it came to a choice between Cheryl or Sarah, Sallie would choose Sarah hands down. Cheryl had been relieved that Sallie seemed to have put the incident between she and Sarah behind them.
Cheryl glanced at the girls all working on their clients. Each had wondered aloud at Sarah's absence. Cheryl knew that not only her clients wouldn't give a damn if she didn't come into work, her colleagues weren't likely to give Cheryl a second thought either.
So, she had called a taxi to bring her into work.
As she'd been in the garage trying to start the car, however, a message had been left on her answer machine.
It was her parent's neighbour, Mrs Collins. In a voice strained with grief and worry, she had told Cheryl's answer machine that her father had an accident the night before around 10.30 PM. He was in the hospital and had been rushed there in an ambulance.