Tony Hill u Carol Jordan 08 - Cross and Burn

her position. It didn’t matter how often she rearranged herself, some part of her body complained. How could anyone do what he’d done to someone they knew? She wasn’t some stranger he’d dragged off the street. She was a person with a name and a place in his world. It made no sense in Marie’s universe, where life was comfortable and people behaved in predictable, conventional ways. She wasn’t stupid. She knew there were lots of people who lived in chaotic, illogical, even violent ways. But until today, she thought people like that were safely contained outside the neat borders of her life.
    After this, nothing would ever be the same for her again. She’d look at the world in a different way once Marco had saved her from this hell. Right now, he’d be talking to the police. They’d be looking for her. They had all sorts of ways of tracking people down these days. There was CCTV everywhere. They’d be talking to people from work, people who got on the same tram as her morning and evening. The newsagent. Someone must have seen something. Or else he’d crack, this madman. He’d give something away without even realising it. And then they’d be on to him.
    She wasn’t going to think about what he’d done to her. The way he’d slapped her and dragged her across the concrete floor, ripping her skin in a painful graze from hip to knee. The kicks and punches he’d aimed at her when she’d tried to explain in as placatory a way as she could that she had no idea how to cook a steak because Marco was the cook in their house. He’d laughed incredulously then he’d gone mad with his fists and his feet.
    But she wasn’t going to dwell on that. She was going to hold fast to her hopes. Marco would save her. He wouldn’t rest till she was home. And there would be no need to tell him about what had happened after the beating. He wouldn’t press her for details. She’d never have to relive that horror. The pain, the humiliation, the things Marco had never dreamed of asking her to do – she would make herself forget them. She would be strong, because that’s who she was. She wasn’t whatever this beast wanted to make of her. She was Marie Mather, wife of Marco. Who would save her.
    A moan escaped from her bruised lips. She had to be strong. She couldn’t give in. She had to be the woman Marco loved. She had to be worthy of him. Because Marco would save her.
    Then the lid was thrown open and her resolve wavered at the sight of him looming over her again. ‘What was it you said earlier? Something about your useless wanker of a husband coming to save you?’
    Although she was so scared she thought she might throw up, Marie managed to choke out, ‘He will.’
    He leaned forward and laughed viciously in her face. He produced a tablet computer and turned it to face her. At first, she couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing. And then it dawned on her that this was Marco. Sprawled over their garage floor. It made no sense. The beast leaned into the freezer and held it closer so Marie could see it more clearly.
    Her mouth dropped open in horror. ‘No,’ she said, disbelief raising the volume.
    He dragged his finger across the screen to bring up the next photo. ‘Oh yes. Like I said, you used to have a different husband. But now he’s dead.’ As he spoke, he eased the taser out of his pocket. If he was going to need it, now was probably the time.
    ‘You killed him? You killed my Marco?’
    ‘I didn’t have to. His cooking killed him. Your demands killed him. I’m not going to let you do that to me.’
    She was oblivious to his words, completely focused on the image on the screen in front of her. ‘No,’ she said, this time more loudly still. ‘No.’ It was a shout now, suddenly deadened as the freezer lid slammed back down and plunged her into darkness.
    Marco wasn’t going to save her after all.

56

    I t was almost like old times, Carol thought. Sitting round a table at midnight with Paula and Stacey, drinking coffee and going over a live case, trying to come up with a line of inquiry that would do the business for them. Except it wasn’t. She was kidding herself. Old times had never included Tony in jail, Chris in various kinds of therapy, a teenage kid upstairs and Elinor Blessing in the kitchen making the coffee. Kevin and Sam, the other members of the MIT, had moved onwards and upwards too; she had no idea where they were or what they were doing. This, she had to accept, was a new