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Two
weeks after the murder, Rachael was almost certain she saw her husband,
Mark.
She
was stood on a traffic island in the middle of the main shopping
street when she caught sight of him. He was just coming out of the
local pub and heading, she guessed correctly, into the bookmakers,
two doors further along the street.
Rachael
watched as he jogged up the road, his collar up against the rain
that was now beginning to fall.
She
wondered if her daughter had seen him also; but Chloe was looking
in the opposite direction, so would not have seen anything.
Besides
which, Rachael hardly felt inclined to start questioning a six year
old about what she may, or may not, have seen. Instead she gave
her daughter's hand a squeeze and smiled at her.
"Come
on slow coach, we need to get home," she said. Chloe returned
her mother’s smile. "Will Daddy be there?" she asked.
Trying not to let her anxiety show, Rachael replied, "I don't
think so."
That
night Rachael lay in bed, willing herself to fall asleep. But sleep
had been eluding her for the past two weeks and it was not about
to return now.
She
turned over in an attempt to make herself more comfortable and froze.
Lying beside her, sleeping blissfully was Mark.
Gingerly
she put out her hand but he awoke before she could reach him.
"Is
that you, Mark?" she whispered. Her voice was quavering. Mark
stared at her, a look of panic pinned to his face.
Rachael
again stretched out her hand, but before she could reach him, he
rose from the bed and disappeared out of the door. Left on her own,
Rachael sat up, put her face in her hands and wept.
The
last time Rachael saw Mark was inside the police station several
days later. She had seen Mark many times by now and was almost beginning
to grow used to him.
She
had spotted him when she and Chloe were out shopping; when they
had been playing in the garden; at mealtimes; and while watching
TV. Mostly though she seemed to see him at night as she tried unsuccessfully
to sleep.
As
Rachael, with Mark by her side, walked towards the Duty Sergeant
she felt certain this was when they would part.
"I
want to make a confession, officer, to murder." The words were
said slightly hesitantly.
"Oh yes, sir? And who exactly did you kill?"
"My wife, and my daughter, I killed them last month. I want
to confess .. I need to confess."
"Well sir," said the Sergeant with a slight edge to his
voice, "you had better come with me."
Rachael
looked over at Chloe who had been playing quietly in the corner.
The bruising on her neck where she had been strangled would begin
to fade now, but neither she nor Rachael would ever grow any older.
"Time
for us to go now, love," said Rachael, "It's over."
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