Graham was crying… whining… but still trying to get up. Scott grabbed his collar and lifted him ’til their faces were just inches apart.
‘You understand me?’
Graham nodded. Scott spat in his face, then dropped him back down.
Where the fuck was she?
Scott looked around and panicked when he couldn’t see Tammy. He couldn’t see anyone, thankfully. Then he spotted her sitting in the passenger seat of his car and he ran over.
She was sobbing. ‘I’m sorry… I just wanted to talk to Dad…’
Scott wasn’t listening. He turned the car around in the road, bumping up the opposite kerb, missing Graham’s outstretched foot by just a few inches, then accelerated hard.
‘You stupid, selfish little bitch. Your mum’s been going out of her mind. What the fuck did you think you were doing?’
‘I’m sorry…’
‘You need to sort yourself out, you hear me?’ No response. ‘I don’t give a shit who you think you are, I’m in charge here. Got it?’
‘I get it,’ she said, her voice barely audible over the noise of the straining engine.
Once she was sure the car had gone, Mary McLeod unlocked the café door and went outside. She’d seen everything. Graham had had it coming to him, silly bloody idiot, but that had been a hell of a beating he’d just taken. She’d been too scared to get involved. By the time she thought about phoning the police, that horrible, miserable man from Birmingham had gone.
She looked up and down the street. There was no one else around. Just her and Graham.
She tried to pick him up and help him walk, but he was too weak. He was really in a bad way, and the silly sod still had his trousers around his ankles. ‘What are we going to do with yous, Graham? You’re in a real mess, lover. Let’s get yous over the road and get yous sorted.’
She pulled him close and tried to pick him up again, but she couldn’t cope with his weight. He groaned with pain, his mouth next to her ear, his breath tickling the side of her face. She liked that. ‘What would your old mum think? I kept telling her when she got ill that you’d be all right, and you had been ’til now. What d’you have to go and do that to that girl for, love?’
Mary didn’t have the strength to get him into the café, but she couldn’t leave him here. She didn’t want to leave him, didn’t even want to let him go for a second. In a series of hefts and grunts, she managed to shift his bulk up onto the front step of the pharmacy, the sunken doorway giving them a little privacy.
And she sat him there with his back to the door, one side of his face a mass of purple bruising, blood dripping from his nose, trousers still around his ankles, his hard penis still upright and erect. She kissed him and ran her fingers through his mop of hair. ‘You poor love.’
And he looked up at her with wide, staring eyes, and he pulled her even closer.
12
Scott had barely spoken since he’d got back to the house with Tammy. It was late now, almost eleven, and he was still hammering in the kitchen. Michelle had learnt to keep her distance at times like this, and though the circumstances tonight were wholly different, there had been plenty of times like this before now.
Phoebe and George were, thankfully, managing to sleep through. Michelle crept upstairs to check on Tammy. They’d talked – argued – when she and Scott had returned from Thussock. Tammy had accepted she’d been way out of line, but Michelle understood her daughter’s frustrations. She was feeling them herself. She gently knocked on Tammy’s bedroom door, then let herself in. ‘You still awake, love?’
Tammy was lying in bed with her back to the door. The curtains were open, moonlight flooding in. Michelle tiptoed around the room and crouched down. Tammy’s eyes were wide open and she clutched a tissue in her hand. She continued to stare into space before slowly looking over at her mother.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
Michelle shook her head. ‘What’s done is done. That’s not why I came up. I just wanted to see if you were okay.’
A pause. The noise downstairs had stopped. They held their breath and waited until it started again.
‘Of course I’m not okay,’ Tammy answered, sniffing back more tears. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be okay here.’
‘You’ve got to stop talking like that, love. We are—’
‘—where we are. I know. Give it a rest, Mum.’
Michelle sat down on the bed, her legs tired from crouching. She stroked Tammy’s long hair. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘What have you got to be sorry about? You haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘Doesn’t feel that way.’
‘It’s not you… it’s him.’
‘Please don’t…’
‘But you should have seen him. You should have seen the way he attacked that bloke, Mum. He scared me more than anything else.’
‘I know Scott’s got a temper, but—’
‘He just kept punching him and punching him… there was blood everywhere.’
‘No matter what you think about what he did, Tam, it was for the right reasons. He was trying to protect you, trying to keep you safe.’
‘But I don’t feel safe. Not around Scott.’
‘You have to keep things in perspective. Think about how he was feeling, how worried we both were…’
Tammy sat up, held her mother’s gaze. ‘This was different, Mum. It was like he’d gone insane, completely lost it. It makes me wonder…’ She allowed her voice to trail away, not sure if she should continue.
‘What, Tammy?’
‘It makes me wonder about the body he found in that garden, that’s all.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘It just makes me wonder if he’s as innocent as he makes himself out to be.’
‘That’s just rubbish…’
‘Is it? Hell of a coincidence. All this stuff happened since Scott got here.’
‘You can’t talk like this, Tam.’
‘Why not?’
‘Just listen to yourself. You’re saying Scott’s a serial killer? Seriously?’
‘But you know better than anyone what he’s like, what he’s capable of.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘I don’t want him to hurt you more than he already has, Mum. You need to do something because next time might be too late.’
Michelle got up fast, her head full of thoughts she didn’t want to think, certainly didn’t dare vocalise. This was too much. On top of everything that had already happened, this was just too much…
The hammering downstairs had stopped. She rushed back down to Scott.
13
Not even six o’clock yet. It was barely even light. Scott had hardly slept. His arms felt like lead from all the work he’d done yesterday, he had to go to work in a couple of hours, and now some selfish fucker was banging on the front door at this hour. Michelle rolled over onto her back and groaned something he couldn’t make out. ‘I’ll get it, shall I?’ he said. Fucking useless family.
Scott grabbed yesterday’s dust-covered T-shirt and jeans off the floor and put them on again. The noise at the door continued. If they wake George up, he thought, I’ll have this fucker’s balls. He felt in the mood for a fight. Another fight.
He fumbled with the chain and the lock, then yanked the door open. The man on the doorstep surprised him. They’d met before at Kenneth Potter’s house. ‘Scott Griffiths?’ Sergeant Ross asked. Scott didn’t immediately respond with anything other than a bemused mumble and a nod of the head. The officer spoke again. ‘Scott Griffiths, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Graham McBride. You are not obliged to say anything, but anything you do say will be noted down and may be used in evidence. Do you understand?’