Urge to Kill (1) Read online

  He blamed Elizabeth or Lizzie, as she now preferred, for after she arrived, although just a toddler himself, he had no chance of holding Mother’s attention and, instead, was expected to give way to the new screaming bundle of pink. When he had tried to scramble onto Mummy’s lap, she had spoken sharply and pushed him to the floor.

  ‘Go away and play Clive. You are a big boy now, not a baby.’

  He wasn’t allowed to have a cuddle or a song; those things were for the new sister, while he was expected to become like his father, a thought which horrified him, even then, despite inheriting his tall, straight military frame.

  When Clive’s anger had exploded, and he had thrown his ball at the puking thing, enthroned in its lace basket, he had been promptly removed to his father’s unfamiliar, musty study.

  Father’s booming voice, from somewhere high above him, filled the whole room, releasing showers of dust from the books and making him tremble.

  ‘What have you got to say for yourself, Clive?’

  He didn’t have the words to scream that he just wanted some love and a cuddle from Mummy. But Mummy now only sang to and loved the new one.

  Father sat down, bringing his face nearer, but Clive daren’t look at him. He reached out and put his hands on Clive’s shoulders, drawing him closer so that he could smell his tobacco breath on his face.

  ‘This won’t do. You have a new sister now. Time for you to grow up. Become Daddy’s little man.’

  Clive kept looking down at his shoes, not knowing what to say. His favourite word of the moment was ‘No,’ but he didn’t think saying it with a stamp of his foot would gain release.

  ‘Your job now is to help me look after your sisters. You would like that wouldn’t you?’

  ‘No.’ It had stumbled out and Clive waited in dread silence for the reaction. Suddenly, he found himself lifted up. The impulse was to struggle and cry for Mummy but he was too scared.

  ‘Well, Clive, one day you will become a soldier like Daddy and just like these little fellows.’

  He shifted Clive to one side and opened a glass door to take out a small model soldier.

  ‘Here, you can hold him.’

  He forced the brightly coloured little fellow into Clive’s chubby hand. Clive looked down at it in disgust and threw it to the floor. Then he was lowered, crying, even before the sharp blow hit him across the back of the legs.

  That dark, claustrophobic study haunted him, as did the model soldiers, arrayed in their battalions behind the glass-fronted cabinet. Although they were his father’s pride and joy, they did not fascinate Clive. He wanted to jump up and down on them, see their silly uniforms and weapons broken to pieces and trampled into the carpet, but he never dared.

  Instead, he made a pact to do the opposite of what his father wanted, even though he kept trying, in his brusque, inadequate way, to turn Clive into a worthy miniature of himself.

  Abandoned to the strange alien world beyond the nursery, Clive quickly learnt that it was best to hide his real feelings and began to encourage the people around him into believing that he was conforming to their plans.

  By the time he was eight, Clive was an expert at playing the game. On the surface, he gave what was required of him while at the same time gaining satisfaction from the small, malicious tricks he played on his sisters. He had perfected his look of innocence and concern so that nothing could touch him. This stood him in good stead when, later that year, he was sent away to St Stephen’s to learn how to become like his father.

  St Stephen’s was Father’s old school, and many of the alumni had become distinguished military men. It highlighted activities such as self-defence and martial arts. To Clive’s surprise, he excelled in these, mainly, he was sure, because he didn’t like being hurt, and so had to be better than his opponents.

  Father seemed pleased with Clive’s progress and started calling him ‘my good man’ which left him feeling as if he had gained entrance, by default, into some strange male club.

  As he continued to excel in martial arts, father took it as a sign that he would continue the family tradition of military service. However, Clive knew Father was going to be disappointed.

  When the time came, he took great delight in informing Father of his intentions. Although he took the news like the soldier he was, Clive saw the bitter disappointment etched on his face and enjoyed the moment, regarding it as payback for all the hours forced to spend in his study.

  This family of females had never needed him, although, of course, they had made the right noises at the appropriate times such as graduation, birthdays, and Christmas. It wasn’t until two years ago, after his father’s death, that they realised his usefulness. Mother was frail and couldn’t stay on her own.

  Before she had become pregnant, Margaret went abroad to exciting places like China and Peru with her husband and didn’t want to give up that freedom to care for Mother, while Lizzie was doing yet another degree and couldn’t, or wouldn’t, be tied down.

  When the invitation to dinner came, Clive soon realised what they had in mind. He had his own house with plenty of room for dear Mother. At first, he was appalled at the thought of this cold, grey haired, elderly stranger called Mother sharing his smart minimalist house, even if, as was pointed out to him, it was near the surgery and across from the park. To Clive she was his mother in name only, having closed her heart to him all those years ago.

  Slowly, he began to see some of the advantages. Mother couldn’t walk very far and, even with the help of a housekeeper during the day, she would be reliant on him for everything. He could control everything she did, just as she had once controlled him. He began to look forward to her stay.

  Mother had settled in well and seemed to enjoy living with Clive. His sisters congratulated him on how well he cared for her. He was sure they were afraid that he would give up and land them with the opportunity. For once in his life, he had Mother’s exclusive attention, and he made the most of it, sitting her down to dinner opposite him and making her listen to every detail of his day at work. Well, not every detail, as his thoughts and feelings about Ben were as yet undefined and too delicate, only suitable for when he was alone and daydreaming.

  Overall, Clive relished his control, which he mooted as in Mother’s best interests of course. She didn’t go out if he was busy because it was too cold or raining, or that visit to a friend had to be put off because there were a lot of viruses about. Margaret and Lizzie began to praise Clive as some kind of saint, and he accepted this as his payment to keep the status quo.

  Then Emily, Margaret’s daughter, arrived, to take away his power. Clive watched as Mother became obsessed with the creature. Every conversation was about Emily, so the details of Clive’s day became unimportant, easily dismissed by the latest gurgle from dear Emily.

  Now at last, Clive was taking his revenge. Soon the world would understand his pain, his anger. He gave himself up to Lisa’s nimble fingers, knowing he could do nothing until his endeavour surfaced.

  CHAPTER 4

  Matt pushed open the door to CID, a surprised look already etched on his face knowing that the lads would have prepared some sort of welcome back.

  He hadn’t quite expected the efforts the team had made and, as a hail of confetti hit him full in the face, thrown with great vigour by Sam of course, he caught sight of the huge banner spread from one side of the office to the other. “DI Turrell—Booked at Last,” it proclaimed.

  Matt sighed at the pathetic attempt at humour. He was more than happy to be ‘booked’ to the delectable Eppie. In fact, he still couldn’t quite believe his luck in attracting the most wonderful woman in the world, just when he had begun thinking maybe he would end up as one of those sad middle-aged men married to the job.

  Sam stood on a desk shaking the rest of the multi coloured bits of paper purposefully over Matt’s head. The grey serviceable carpet squares were covered, and as he moved forward through the congratulatory pats on the back, Matt wondered what McRay would say.<
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  Detective Chief Inspector McRay had always been a grumpy sort of man, but since his wife had left him, and who could blame her, he had turned into even more of a growling bear who spent most of the day locked in the lair of his office. The door to the lair flew open.

  ‘What bloody tomfoolery is this then? Isn’t it bad enough that another good man has gone and got himself snared by some designing female?’

  The team was suddenly changed back into something resembling a working CID team as each scattered to their appointed place. No one dared risk arguing with McRay.

  ‘You,’ he spat in Matt’s direction. ‘Suspicious death—place where silly women go to waste their husbands’ money. Health spa place out at Heath Stone End. Take Sam and DC Meadows.’ With a last glare around, he stalked back into his office and banged the door shut.

  The team relaxed. Fluff whipped her jacket from the back of her chair and moved towards the door eager to get started on the case and out of McRay’s orbit. Not that Fluff was the sort to cave in over some boorish middle-aged man whose wife finally had the sense to leave him, but she was used to keeping the peace. In less than two minutes, Matt was back in command and the job took over.

  Matt chanced a glance at Fluff as she walked beside him down the corridor. He had often wondered if she had felt hurt or let down when their brief affair hadn’t continued. It had started at the traditional celebration for the end of a particularly long and difficult case. The inevitable over indulgence of spirits had continued into the early morning and into Fluff’s bed. Matt regretted the affair, not only because he received a fierce lecture from McRay about compromising his position as DI, but also Matt realised it wasn’t fair to Fluff.

  That was eighteen months ago and, although Matt had let her down as best as he could and they both laughed over how silly they had been, putting it down to the stress and alcohol, he sensed that she still held a faint hope that one day they might get together.

  Despite the nickname of Fluff, Detective Constable Jane Meadows was one of the brightest officers in the team. It was unfortunate that she had worn one of those fluffy jackets, which were all the fashion, on her first day. The team gave her a thorough roasting before accepting her as one of their own and adorning her with the honour of a nickname.

  Fluff broke the silence first, and he realised she was trying to ease the slight awkwardness between them. ‘So, how was it then? I want to see all the photos.’

  ‘I don’t think we took many.’ He and Eppie had spent most of the time just being with each other, walking, touching, eating, and loving, too engrossed in each other to think of anything else or of recording the setting of their deepening love. He quickly heard how this might sound and tried to back track. ‘Much too lazy.’

  There was silence between them until Fluff laughed as if it didn’t matter. ‘Oh well, that’s what honeymoons, holidays, are all about isn’t it?’

  Matt was glad when they had reached his car and the moment passed. It would be easier now they had a job to concentrate on. They worked well together and Matt had full confidence in his team. Fluff’s intuitive instinct to spot when the smallest thing was out of place, especially when a witness was lying, was a great asset.

  Detective Sergeant Sam Withers performed his usual trick and shot into the back seat of the car at the last moment, closing the door just as Matt backed out of his appointed parking place. Another perk of making DI and one that Matt really appreciated as it cut out all that scrabbling for the left-over places on the forecourt and the danger of becoming one of the unlucky losers forced to park in the rear yard.

  Sam broke into his thoughts. ‘Hawkes were bloody hopeless last Saturday. Glad you are back for next week or Morris’s lot will wipe us out for sure and take the cup.’

  For the first time in his adult life Matt knew he didn’t want to turn out to a wet, muddy pitch on Saturday to get sweaty and bruised. He would rather be with Eppie, but he also knew that he wouldn’t be able to walk away from the team now that the season had started; only an injury or work would allow him to do that. He was spared from thinking about it as the traffic through Leamington became busy, and he had to concentrate to get them safely down the Parade and out towards Warwick.

  The magnificent Warwick Castle dominated the town, and it always reminded Matt of the summers he spent working as a tourist guide as he slogged his way through A-levels.

  That final summer was difficult as he tried to decide between following his love for history or of becoming a policeman like Granddad. Dad was pushing him to go to university, while Granddad quietly trusted him to make his own decisions.

  Dad had tried to use Granddad’s suspension as a lever to get Matt to do as he thought best. Matt still held an unspoken resentment towards him for that. However, in the end, it was as if Matt had made the decision many years before when he had listened, rapt, to Granddad’s tales of his life in the force.

  Matt knew that his Granddad was innocent, and his loyalty paid off a year later when Granddad was cleared. When he returned to work, he seemed to have lost his pride in the force and died just four months later—but not before he knew Matt had decided to follow in his footsteps.

  Sam and Fluff’s voices brought him back to the present as they spoke in unison.

  ‘On the left, overlooking the River Avon, we have the magnificent Warwick Castle. The first fortification here was built by Ethel…?’ They both laughed at the usual sticking point.

  Matt joined them, used to their teasing about what used to be his running commentary when they first got together as a team. ‘Ethelfleda,’ he supplied, not for the first time.

  ‘Sister of Edward the elder.’ Fluff and Sam added in a chorus, making Matt laugh.

  CHAPTER 5

  Although Lisa had only just begun her massage, Clive felt as if they had been enclosed in the room for hours. Every sense was straining, waiting for the discovery of his work. He knew he needed to relax, to occupy his mind. He turned his thoughts to Ben and smiled.

  One evening Clive had arrived home to find his pristine living room had suffered a pink explosion. Baby items, ranging from a carry cot to nappy bags, clothing, bottles, and several other items he couldn’t even recognise filled the room. His space, the very centre of his universe, had been violated so that he hardly recognised it.

  ‘Oh, Clive, please say you don’t mind,’ Mother greeted him. ‘I told Margaret that we would love to have dear little Emily for the evening.’

  Clive stood in the doorway and took a deep breath, aware that he couldn’t show the fury that was boiling up inside him at this invasion. He allowed the breath to escape slowly through his mouth before managing a shaky reply. ‘But I know nothing about taking care of an infant, Mother.’

  Mother had anticipated this.

  ‘You do not need to worry, Clive. Mrs Sinclair is going to stay on for the evening, just until Mummy and Daddy come back from the theatre.’

  He squirmed as Mother placed her forefinger playfully on Emily’s nose. The baby gurgled back and Clive’s fingers itched to place his hands around that tiny neck as they had once itched to encircle Lizzie’s. It would be so easy to squeeze the marauder’s life away.

  Blazing with fury, he searched for a way out. ‘Sorry, but I have to return to the office tonight,’ he said, trying hard to keep his voice calm.

  Mother looked up at him as if she couldn’t believe that he could pass on this opportunity to hold and play with his precious niece. Clive felt the need to elaborate. ‘We have a problem with one of our major clients. Therefore, you can have her all to yourself, Mother.’

  ‘Please, Clive, you do know better. She has a name. Haven’t you, my little darling?’ mother corrected, giving Emily a loving look. In return, Emily waved her little arms with renewed vigour, as if she was thoroughly enjoying his discomfort.

  Clive accepted the rebuke with a quick ‘Sorry,’ before turning to escape from the room. Trying to make sense of the murderous thoughts whirling around his head, he s
tood in the hallway for a moment, before picking up his briefcase from the hall table and stumbling out to take a gulp of the clean air.

  As he left his home to the ravages of Emily that night, he felt bewildered and angry. Why hadn’t he seen this coming? How could she invade and take over the very centre of his space? Having Mother there was different since he had the control. However, it was too much for this thing to demand that all circulate around her like planets around a sun, there in his pale, understated living room with all her filthy baggage.

  With no escape route planned, Clive headed on automatic pilot to the office. As he slid the silver BMW into its appointed place, he was surprised to find the office lights were on. Guessing it must be the cleaning staff, he hoped they had finished in his office.

  Crossing beyond the tasteful reception area with its curved desk and potted plants, Clive took the lift to the office. As the doors opened, he was shocked to find Ben facing him. The last of his anger vanished, replaced with a tingle of excitement, which left him unable to speak.

  With his dark curly hair and ready smile, Ben had an indefinable essence about him, making Clive’s heart thump as if it were trying to burst out and declare itself. He had felt the attraction from the start, even though in many ways they were complete opposites.

  Ben was cheerful, open, outgoing, and American. Always ready to help and inclined to be untidy, immediate. Whereas Clive was compulsively neat, and although he could easily charm when it was necessary, he made sure his inner self was never exposed.

  ‘Hello.’ The voice sounded unlike his own.

  ‘Hi. Just finishing that contract.’ Ben seemed almost as shocked as Clive but he was still able to produce that wide grin.

  As Ben stood aside for him to leave the lift, he fought to say something intelligent. ‘Forgot my mobile,’ he mumbled, feeling like an awkward teen.

  ‘I’ll wait on and go down with you.’

  Clive nodded and made a show of going into his office to open and shut desk drawers. As he made his way back to the lift, he was thinking about how he could prolong this chance meeting. Ben saved him the trouble.