Want You Dead Read online

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you believe that is because he was abused?’

  ‘Well . . . that is what happens, isn’t it? Abused children grow up to become abusers?’

  ‘On occasion, but it’s much more complex than simple cause and effect. I’m interested that you made sense of Bryce’s behaviour that way. Why do you think you did that?’

  ‘He was a total control freak, and had a tidiness obsession – he was always tidying up.’ She gave a wan smile. ‘Bird shit on his car drove him mental – he’d wash and then polish and then re-polish the whole car whenever that happened – and living close to Brighton seafront, with gulls everywhere, that happened a lot.’

  ‘What was that like for you?’

  ‘Awful. I felt like I was walking on eggshells most of the time. Trying not to do anything that would set him off.’

  ‘And you told yourself he was like that because of his past?’

  ‘I’ve just remembered he once said I would understand him better if I knew about what his parents had done to him.’

  ‘Do you want to tell me about that?’

  ‘He kept telling me I was no good. That I couldn’t cook, that I was a useless lover. He told me once that making love to me was like screwing a dead fish. My esteem was on the floor; I guess it still is. He made me feel worthless. But then after abusing me and hitting me, he would start sobbing, begging me for forgiveness, promising to change. It was during one of those outbursts for forgiveness he said I would understand him better if I knew about what his parents had done to him.’

  ‘Did he tell you what he meant?’

  ‘No, he wouldn’t talk about it. I figured it must have been really bad, though.’

  ‘You called the police numerous times during the latter part of your relationship, didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Yes. There was one particular officer, Constable Spofford – Rob Spofford. A young officer on the Response Team who was particularly kind to me. He’s now on the Neighbourhood Policing Team, covering my area. He told me that he’d regularly seen his own father be violent to his mother. He was the one who put me in touch with the Sanctuary Scheme. And who kept trying to convince me to end it with Bryce.’

  ‘Do you have any understanding of what prevented you taking PC Spofford’s advice and leaving Bryce at that point?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Bryce’s constant bullying got to me, and he was always so remorseful afterwards. I guess I really believed I could help him.’

  ‘Ahh. So might it be your belief that Bryce had been abused as a child that kept you in the relationship?’

  ‘Stupid, huh?’

  ‘Why be so harsh with yourself?’

  ‘I didn’t learn, did I? I thought I could help him. I thought if I could just get him to open up about his childhood, he would be nicer to me. But the more I tried to get him to talk, the angrier he got.’

  ‘Just notice how little compassion you have for yourself right now and how at odds that is with your very evident compassion for the hurt you believe Bryce experienced.’

  ‘See, I can’t even get that right.’

  ‘Is that how Bryce made you feel? As if you got things wrong the whole time?’

  ‘Constantly! I thought I was going mad a lot of the time. The more I tried to get things right, the more I messed up. I’d have done almost anything to have him be nice to me.’

  ‘And did you put up with almost anything in the hope that he might eventually be nice to you?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ Red said. ‘The thing is, the making-up part was so incredible. Suddenly, the person who hated me and hurt me so much turned into a gentle, loving creature. He would make me think that the row had all been my fault, because of my inadequacies.’

  ‘Your inadequacies?’

  Red laughed. ‘Yes. I’ve got a whole list. Do you want to hear them?’

  ‘I suspect we can use the last of our time together today much more profitably than reinforcing Bryce’s distorted take on reality. I’ve got a copy of a report PC Spofford sent to the Sanctuary team in your file. Did you see it? It followed a discussion of your case at a MARAC meeting.’

  ‘MARAC?’ Red queried.

  ‘Yes, it’s a fortnightly meeting attended by the Police Anti-Victimization Unit, the Housing Service, the Health Department, the Education Department and various welfare and medical agencies, to look at all those at high risk in domestic abuse situations. It stands for Multi Agency Risk Assessment Conference.’ Judith Biddlestone opened the red plastic folder and pulled out several sheets of printout. ‘You signed an authorization for me to obtain this report. I’ll just read you a little of it. This is what he wrote:

  ‘I’m extremely concerned about Ms Red Westwood. I believe she is in an abusive, violent relationship which is a real threat to her future safety and well-being and that Sussex Police need to take action. I can see the pain inside her eyes, I can see someone inside her crying out. She is terrified.’

  Tears welled in Red’s eyes as she listened. She nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘I was terrified. I couldn’t see any future. I couldn’t see any life beyond Bryce. I guess . . . you know . . . with Karl . . . I was just starting to feel that, maybe, some kind of happiness was possible.’

  The psychologist handed her a tissue and Red wiped her eyes, then sobbed for some moments. ‘Shit. What the hell’s wrong with Bryce? He has all this charm, charisma and real talent, but it’s like he – he’s got – this may sound strange – it’s like he’s got a failure gene, if there’s such a thing. And he’s spent his whole life kicking against it.’

  ‘What do you mean by a failure gene exactly, Red?’

  ‘I guess . . . the thing is, he’s got so much talent. He’s actually a brilliant artist – he can draw really well – and he’s a really talented cartoonist. He’s tried to get work published in newspapers, magazines, but he never has so far. He did nearly get a cartoon published in Private Eye a couple of years ago, but they wanted him to make a minor change and he refused. He told them to go to hell. I tried to convince him to do what they wanted; that . . . you know . . . the change was no big deal, and it would make him a published artist and that more might come of it. He just lost it, raged at me, told me I didn’t understand the integrity of his art and went berserk. He totally lost the plot. He threw wine in my face, then he started hitting me – he just went wild. I really thought he was going to kill me.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘I tried to get out of the flat. I was hysterical. He wouldn’t let me go, he grabbed me – he’s very strong, he works out obsessively. I locked myself in the toilet and dialled the police. Then he started crying, telling me no one had ever loved him before, no one had understood him. Begged me to forgive him.’

  ‘It’s a memory, Red. You are safe now.’

  ‘But it feels so real, like it’s going to happen all over again.’

  ‘I know. But it ended. You do know that, right? Tell me how it ended?’

  ‘The police turned up – it was PC Spofford and a woman officer. I let Bryce do the talking. He told them it was all a misunderstanding; they asked me to confirm this, and whether I wanted Bryce removed. I told them yes, it was a misunderstanding and I wanted him to stay.’

  ‘Of course you did. To disobey Bryce wasn’t smart, right?’

  Red was silent for some moments. ‘Yes,’ she said finally. ‘I felt he was so mixed up.’ She shrugged. ‘I – I thought maybe it was love that he needed. That if I loved him enough, I could change him.’

  ‘You know what they say about when a man and a woman fall in love?’

  ‘No?’

  ‘The woman always hopes she can change him. The man always hopes she will stay the same for ever.’

  Red gave a thin smile. ‘Is that why all marriages end in disappointment?’

  ‘Not all. But many.’ She smiled. ‘So, Bryce’s failure gene – it’s his ego that’s held him back?’

/>   ‘He has a massive ego, that’s for sure. He’s a good magician, too – he specializes in close magic. He used to tell me he was better than anyone else and one day he would be more famous than Siegfried and Roy, and David Copperfield. He really believed that. When I first dated him he had several gigs a week, but they started dropping off – I think because he kept losing his temper with people who weren’t paying attention, or when one of his tricks didn’t quite work. Oh, and he was also obsessed with Houdini. He said he was a better escapologist than Houdini. He used to make me tie him up and handcuff him, and he would escape within minutes.’

  ‘He made you tie him up? You didn’t want to?’

  ‘No, I’m not into bondage.’

  ‘This was more than escapology then? Did the bondage always involve him being tied up, or were you tied up by him also?’

  Red whispered, ‘Mostly he tied me up, and that really scared me. He pushed it constantly to the limit, when I really thought I was going to suffocate.’

  ‘Just notice your breathing, Red. You are safe now.’

  She took a few moments to calm down before she went on. ‘I get so scared when I think of him and the things he used to do to me.’

  ‘I know. Breathe – it helps.’

  Red breathed in and exhaled several times. Then she gave a humorous laugh. ‘It’s silly that just remembering him makes me feel like I am suffocating again. I’m so stupid!’

  ‘It is not silly and you are not stupid.’

  ‘I loved him. I really did. I was intoxicated by him. I thought for a time, in those early days, that we were soulmates, I really did. He used to tell me we had met before in a previous life, and – this may sound stupid or naive – I believed him.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound stupid or naive, Red. Often when people meet and fall in love, that’s what they feel. A connection that is so incredibly powerful. That was you and Bryce?’

  ‘It was. Yes. I thought I had met the man I would have children with, and with whom I would spend the rest of my life. Shit, I was so dumb.’

  ‘You’re being harsh with yourself again, Red. Let’s talk about the fact that you did get out of that relationship. Something even you couldn’t label as silly, stupid or dumb. What was the turning point?’

  ‘My mother. I think I told you she was – is – a prison visitor, and also a life coach?’

  ‘Yes, you did.’

  ‘My mother irritated me so much. She kept saying she didn’t like him, didn’t trust him. You know what I thought?’

  The psychologist shook her head.

  ‘Well, it may sound strange, but I thought she might be jealous.’

  ‘You thought your mother might be jealous of your boyfriend? That’s not uncommon, you know.’

  Red shrugged. ‘My mother confided in me, years ago, that the spark had gone out of her marriage to my father. She and I were always very close – we talked about these things. In the early days, Bryce seemed so perfect, so attentive, and she had told me how attentive my father had been to her when they were courting. I started to feel that maybe it was bringing those memories back for her.’

  ‘So you discounted your mother’s misgivings about Bryce?’

  ‘Possibly . . . I don’t know. I was truly besotted with him. I’d never met anyone like him who was so into me. I worshipped the ground he walked on. He was sometimes so kind, such fun to be with, and – God, this is embarrassing to say – but he was so incredibly sexy in bed. He pushed all my buttons – and found some I never knew I had. It wasn’t until after we had moved in together that I began to realize what a control freak he was. It seemed okay at first; he would take me shopping, and decide on my outfits – and pay for them. I was flattered, for a while. But then he started questioning me about every second of my day. Demanding to know where I had been. If I had been out with friends, he wanted to know what I had drunk, what I had eaten, who had paid.’

  ‘Right now, as you tell me all of that, what are you aware of?’

  ‘How stupid I feel that I lived with him for all that time.’

  ‘Notice, Red, that you simultaneously tell yourself that Bryce was a controlling, violent man because he himself was abused as a child, and also that you are stupid for having stayed with him. Both beliefs exonerate Bryce of responsibility and both place significant responsibility upon you.’

  ‘That’s because it was partly my fault.’

  ‘Do you know, I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman who was abused who didn’t believe, to some extent, that it was her fault. Do you think it could have been all of their faults?’

  ‘Of course not!’

  ‘What makes you different then?’

  ‘I knew things weren’t right even before he became violent. One morning when I got up to go to work, Bryce had taken all my shoes. He wouldn’t let me have any back until I had sworn my undying love for him.’

  ‘How did that make you feel?’

  ‘Well, at the time, although I was furious, I was flattered! I liked the idea someone loved me so much that he would do that. Call me naive. But it went downhill rapidly from there. The real turning point for me was – I didn’t know she had done this – but my mother had secretly hired a private detective to look into Bryce’s past. Bryce told me he was working as an Air Traffic Controller at Gatwick Airport. My mother gave me the detective’s report. Bryce had lied. He’d never worked in Air Traffic Control at all. He’d had a job, a couple of years earlier, on the ground staff at Gatwick, in the fire training area, and had been sacked after apparently endangering the life of another employee – and then punching his manager. He’d been deported from the US after getting in a fight with a previous girlfriend and doing a three-year jail term there for violent assault. He’d also said he used to be a pilot in the US. But he’s never had a pilot’s licence.’

  The psychologist shot a discreet glance at her watch. ‘I’m aware of the time, Red. We have just a few minutes left and certainly not enough time to unpack all that you have just told me. Can we bracket it and put it on the agenda for our next session?’

  ‘ Sure.’

  Dr Biddlestone spent the last couple of minutes of the session making sure Red felt sufficiently well grounded to cycle home, then she said, ‘I’ll see you on Monday, Red.’

  ‘8.30 a.m.?’

  ‘8.30 a.m.’

  Bryce, who had listened to every word, transmitted from her bugged phone, made a note in his electronic diary to be sure to be listening in then.

  25

  Friday, 25 October

  Today was going to be a busy shopping day, and did he have a long list to get through! He needed supplies for all his plans. Quite a bit of the stuff he could buy online, but that could be traced easily. Better, he knew, to buy all the gear from shops, paying cash. He had plenty of that thanks to his dear, sweet mummy obligingly dying much earlier than she, or he, had expected.

  Loads of the stuff! Seven hundred and fifty thousand pounds of it, net, after the thieving estate agents had taken their commission and the thieving solicitor had had his sticky paws in the jar. He had plans for them both, but they could wait.

  His first stop was the hardware store, Dockerills, on Church Street in the centre of Brighton. He had selected it because it was always busy, and no one was likely to remember a man in a baseball cap buying pliers, bolt cutters, a blade cutter, duct tape and a small hammer.

  Next, he drove in his rented van to an electrical supplies warehouse just off Davigdor Road in Hove, where he bought an assortment of timers, mostly ones with a range of one thousand metres and more, four digital relays and one thousand metres of nichrome wire. Next stop was RF Solutions on the Cliffe Industrial Estate, outside Lewes, where he bought a selection of relays and switching units. Then he drove across to Lancing Business Park and bought three car batteries, from which he could obtain sulphuric acid, and some specialist adhesive tapes. And from a newsagent on the way back, he bought an assortment of AA and AAA batteries.

  He also bought
a burger from a mobile roadside stall on the main road back to Brighton, where he was unlikely to be remembered. All this shopping had given him an appetite.

  After lunch he bought, from a garden centre a couple of miles away, several sacks of sodium chlorate weedkiller.

  Then, tugging a baseball cap low over his face, he drove out to Gatwick Airport and entered the long-stay car park, collecting a ticket from the automatic gate. He followed the signs for today’s vehicles, winding around the rows and rows of parked cars. A bus passed him, stopped a short distance way, and several people, lugging suitcases, boarded.

  Happy holiday, he thought, with a twinge of sadness, looking at one couple, who exchanged a kiss before climbing up the steps. That could have been him and Red, jetting off to some sunny paradise. Maybe the Maldives.

  A suited businessman, carrying one of those overnight bags with a built-in suit holder, boarded also.

  Have a good trip! Come back with that deal!

  He reversed into an empty bay, switched off the engine, and waited, looking around for any CCTV cameras. He saw one some distance away, but there were no others. Then he waited as dusk slowly fell. The weather was closing in. Drizzle falling from a darkening, rain-laden sky. Perfect! Someone drove a brand-new Jaguar XF in, which was of no interest to him. Then came a one-year-old Mazda MX-5. Again of no interest. Then a Porsche Cayman. No good. A Ford Focus. Too recent a model. Followed by a small Lexus saloon. Too recent also.

  Then bingo!

  A ten-year-old BMW 5 Series. And, almost unbelievably, it reversed into the bay directly opposite him.

  Meant to be!

  He watched the middle-aged couple get out, dressed in summer clothing in which they looked ridiculous in this weather. The man was wearing a panama hat, and the obese woman was wearing what looked like a floral wigwam. The man removed a briefcase from the rear seat, and his wife a large handbag. Then the man popped the boot lid and removed two enormous wheeled suitcases, locked the car, and they headed off towards the nearest bus pick-up point.

  Maybe they had both been beautiful young things once, he thought. Like him and Red.