TouchStone for giving (The Story of Us Trilogy) (32 page)

“Right. I’ll see you Saturday then mate,” he says, sniggering all the way to the door and beyond.

“Arty Farty and a fucking waste of space,” he mutters to himself. “Hope you can fucking draw.”

Lulled by the gentle hum of the engine and soft music I’d fallen asleep. I wipe the saliva from the

corner of my mouth and sit up straight, blinking into the lights of the oncoming traffic. It’s really dark

and it’s as if we are insulated from the rest of the world by this aluminium shell. I understand

completely why Ayden likes this car. It’s cosy and very cute.

“Have a good sleep?” Ayden asks, giving my knee an affectionate squeeze.

“Mm. How long was I out?”

“Not sure. You were snoring for thirty minutes though, if that helps.”

I see him smiling in the darkness. “Ha, ha. I don’t snore.”

“No. Not now you’re awake, you don’t.”

I take a look at the Sat Nav. “We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you enjoyed your ‘open book’ day Ayden? Or has it been a little traumatic for you?” Now’s

as good a time as any to broach the subject.

He shrugs his shoulders. “It went better than I anticipated it would, I suppose.”

I find my familiar resting place on the gear stick. “Well, I think you’ve been very brave. I know it’s

not been easy and I do appreciate it. You know that, don’t you?” I feel his hand against my cheek and I

lean into it.

“I do. And you were right, not wanting to marry a stranger. I wouldn’t want to do that either. At

least you don’t come with all this baggage. I’ve got enough to fill lost property at Heathrow, but you

…”

I have to speak up. “I have my share.”

“The difference being, your secrets will fit into a small holdall,” he says, adding some much needed

humour.

I look out of the window and consider that assumption. “Maybe.”

“Look … before we get to your apartment, I might as well tell you I’ve made a couple of changes to

it.” He indicates left and pulls onto a minor road. “And there will be someone there who wants to

speak to you.”

I’m all ears. “Okay. Who?”

“Detective Inspector Bowker. He’s handling your case and my people are working with him.”

“Your people?”

“Yes. Sometimes I use private agencies to do checks on people. Look into things. I like to know

who I’m dealing with.”

Where’s this going, I wonder…?

“And what did they find out about me?” I ask a little too brusquely, turning to face him side-on.

“Nothing.”

I hold my position. “But you did get them to check?”

“Yes, I did get them to check.” He reaches out his hand and finds mine. “Does that bother you?”

“No,” I lie. “I suppose a man in your position has to do checks. After all, I could have been a gold

digger or a spy for one of your competitors or …”

“I don’t have any competitors Beth.”

“Whatever, you know what I mean.”

“I do. The only thing I can accuse you of stealing is my heart missy.” His grip on my hand tightens.

I start to laugh. “That’s a good line. Let me write it down.” I pretend to search for a pen the way

Ayden does at times like this. “What about the changes you’ve had made to my apartment? Can you

tell me what they are?”

“No. You’ll have to wait and see.” He repositions both hands on the steering wheel and yawns

widely, making a long drawn-out sound that echoes around the car. He drums on the wheel to the

music. What a happy soul he is.

He pulls up outside my apartment just behind the silver Rolls. Lester is already inside. I pull my

bag onto my knee to find my keys.

“Don’t bother looking for keys. I’ve had the locks changed.”

Surprise number one
.

I ring the doorbell and wait to be let into my own apartment. Lester opens the door.

“Lester,” Ayden acknowledges. “Something smells good.”

“Yes it’s what you usually order Mr. Stone and the table is set ready for you and Miss Parker.”

I glance over to my kitchen table which is laid out with a table cloth, cutlery and glasses. Who

knew my little table could look so grand? “Thank you Lester.” I smile and pat his arm. “That’s very

nice of you.”

No sooner have my words left my lips than he’s moved away to Ayden. He’s mumbling something.

I leave them to their classified information and enter my bedroom, kicking off my shoes and

stopping at the door. In that split second, I am reminded of the events of less than three days ago: the

splintered door, the shattered window, the glass, the blood … but there’s no trace of anything. In fact,

the bedding and the curtains are new, even the carpet. Everything. “Ayden?”

Quickly he enters the bedroom, witnesses my surprise and wraps his arm around my shoulders. “Is

anything wrong?”

I’m a little stunned. “No, not wrong, just different. The whole room has been refurbished.”

Surprise number two
.

“I thought it might make things a little easier if you could start over, especially in here.” He’s

looking into my eyes, searching for approval.

“Yes. It’s lovely. Thank you.”

He takes my hand. “Come see.”

I open the door into my bathroom and my jaw drops. “I don’t believe it.” My bathroom has become

a wet room with two matching sinks and a double sized shower, minus a door. I can’t help but laugh.

The memory of Ayden flat on his back on my bathroom floor, wearing not much more than an

embarrassed scowl, will stay with me for ever. “What happened to the shower door?” I enquire

playfully.

“Don’t ask,” he answers, tipping his chin and giving me the sexiest of looks that leaves me no other

choice than to wrap my arms around him.

“You spoil me Ayden,” I whisper softly into his chest, feeling the gentle thump of his heart against

my ear.

“It’s no more than you deserve,” he answers, resting his chin on my head. “Let’s go into the lounge.

You have a visitor.”

I slip my shoes back on and return to the lounge. On my sofa sits a smartly dressed gentleman of

around forty, with slicked back hair and an iPad on his lap. He stands when I enter.

“Ah, Miss Parker. I’m. Detective Inspector Bowker. I wonder if you could spare me a few minutes

of your time before you eat dinner?”

“Of course.” I sit down next to him, cross my legs at the ankles and perch on the edge of the

cushion, unsure of what he knows.

“Firstly, let me say that I’m very pleased to see you’ve recovered from your ordeal. It must have

been a terrible shock for you to have been woken in the middle of the night like that, by a burglar who

was so intent on getting into your bedroom?” He fixes me with sharp, inquisitive eyes.

“Yes, it was.”

He doesn’t know about the university attack
.

“Now, am I right in thinking you may have a clue as to the identity of the burglar?”

Before speaking I look over to Ayden who, for some reason, is nodding
no.
“I … I thought I

recognised his voice but I really was way too frightened to be sure.” To occupy my hands, I roll my

engagement ring round and round my finger.

When he consults his notes, I glance over to Ayden who is standing behind him, perched up against

the bedroom door frame. He signs,
say nothing.

“Now I have notes on your injuries from the hospital. You had bruises to your back and cuts to the

soles of your feet, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me how you got those injuries?”

I feel my back straightening with the recollection. “I pushed the drawers against the door to

barricade it and when I stepped back, I think I stood on some broken glass.”

“Broken glass, from the window? I see. It was fortunate you had bars across your window, wasn’t

it? Otherwise we would be looking at a very different kind of incident, I think.”

I nod and stop twisting my ring. The thought of what might have happened hits me hard like a

blinding light. I shake free of it and stare straight ahead. I’ve nothing to hide. Well, not much.

“Can you tell me what made you get the window bars fitted? Apparently they were only erected a

couple of days before your break-in?”

Where’s he going with this?

“I was talking with a colleague at work and they said a friend of theirs had an apartment on the

ground floor, and someone had broken in while she was on holiday. It occurred to me that, as I was

going to Rome, it might be a good idea to have them put up to keep the property secure. And they are

quite decorative …”

“Yes, they are.” His mouth levels off into a half-hearted smile.

I look to Ayden. He signs
quick thinking
and I hold back on a smile.

He’s buying it.

“So as far as you know was anything stolen from your home? Any valuables, documents, anything

at all?”

I look around. “I’m sorry, I don’t know. I’ve been staying with Mr. Stone and we’ve only just come

back. So I’ll have to check.”

“Right. So, there does not appear to be anything missing …?”

“Like I say, I’d need time to look around and check.” I smile sweetly.

“Would it be possible for me to take a look in your bedroom?”

I stand and straighten my skirt. “Yes, of course.” I walk in that direction and he follows closely

behind. Ayden and I stand at the foot of the bed, holding hands.

He closes the door. “You’ve had the bolt repaired?”

“Yes, Mr. Stone had his people sort that out for me.” I rest my free hand on his arm as an

appreciative gesture.

He reads his notes. “And the window? That too?”

I nod and smile.

“And what about the drawers? Has he had those replaced for you too?”

The drawers …

“I’m sorry, the drawers …” I feel Ayden’s hand tightening on mine. “The drawers weren’t broken.”

“Oh, I know they weren’t broken Miss Parker, but there was traces of DNA on them, I just assumed

…” He’s touched a nerve.

“DNA?” What is he talking about? “What do you mean?”

“I mean that the perpetrator had been in your home prior to his secondary visit in the early hours.”

What?

“I’m sorry… Plain English please.”

He spells it out for me. “He had been in here before coming back at night.”

I pull my hand free of Ayden’s and feel the colour draining from my face. “When?”

“Possibly a day or two before. His DNA was found here in your bedroom. It matched that of the

blood left on the broken glass.”

“In here? What do you mean?”

“I’m sure I don’t need to go into the details right now …”

“Oh, I’m sure
you
do
Detective Inspector Bowker. In fact, I insist on it.”

He looks to Ayden and back to me. “Very well. There were traces of DNA on the drawers as I said,

and also on the contents of the drawers; namely undergarments and small items of clothing.”

Feeling a little out of sorts, I sit on my bed and brace myself for the next shocking admission. “Is

that it?”

“No. In the bathroom, there were traces of male saliva and perspiration on the clothes in the wash

basket …”

I’m becoming nauseous with each new piece of information; it’s beyond disturbing. I rub my

forehead with my hand to ease the building tension. “Anything else?”

“Yes …” He hesitates. “DNA was also present in your bed …”

Filled with horror, I gasp and stand, unsteady on my feet. “My bed? There was blood on my bed.”

“It was not blood Miss Parker.” He stops, looks over to Ayden again and faces me with an ominous

look. “It was semen.”

That’s the final straw. I gasp and hold my hands to my mouth to contain foul tasting bile.

Semen?

I don’t want to hear anymore, but I know I have to. What kind of fucking animal comes into my

home and defiles it? I take a couple of deep breaths and regain my composure.

Ayden takes my hand. “Detective, I think Miss Parker’s heard enough, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course Mr. Stone, but I …”

Ayden is leading me out of the bedroom. His arm is around my shoulders. “I think we could both do

with a drink.”

Finding the strength from somewhere, I spin around. “Tell me about the carpet … what about that?”

He is unsure of the meaning in my question. “The carpet?”

“Yes, the carpet, it’s new. What notes do you have on that?” I feel my temper rising, I’m tetchy and

impatient. “Well?”

“Ah yes, the carpet was stained with blood, your blood Miss Parker …”

“And …?”

“And there was also a significant DNA sample by the bed.”

“Of semen, I assume?”

“Yes, that’s right.” He’s sensing my annoyance and putting down his iPad, but nothing he says will

shock me now. I’m too fucking angry to be shocked.

I want to speak to Ayden, to challenge him about what he knew and why he didn’t tell me. All this

time I was thinking it was a crazy guy who’d found me, when in fact it was a fucking psycho who was

wanking off in my bed. My God!

“Right. Here’s my card.” He places it on the coffee table and briskly packs away his things. “Thank

you for you cooperation Miss Parker, Mr. Stone. If anything else should occur to you, please give me a

call.” He heads towards the door and Lester shows him out and stays out. He has good reason to.