AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She sits in the car park now and wonders why. She’s always had a feeling that Phil doesn’t understand. He has two parents: nice people. His mum is a librarian, his dad a retired engineer. He grew up and went to college in the same town he was born. What does he know about having a serial killer for a dad? For your surname to be associated with evil. To be snatched from your own home, with no belongings or clothes, sent to live with families who look at you every day with fear and caution. Other children ushered away; words whispered behind your back.
Phil sees it in black and white. The man was bad, so she is right to cut him out of her life. But it’s more nuanced than that.
Adam understands the gray. The dichotomy of loving your parents but hating them. How people you trust can betray you in ways you never thought possible. How you can be alone, in a second.
Romilly’s mother died when she was six. After that, it was just her and her father. She had few friends, no other family. He brought her up alone, the sole GP in a busy surgery. She’d go along for house calls, waiting in the car with a book or a coloring pad. She’d sit behind the reception desk, the ladies in the back office her unofficial babysitters. He did the best he could. They’d go to the park, to the swimming pool, to the beach. Normal things. Dinners were sometimes burnt or inedible, but those were the best ones because they’d get fish and chips, greasy and delicious, eating them on their knees while they sat on the low brick wall surrounding the park. She still can’t smell salt and vinegar without thinking about him.
It was hard to detach that man—the father she loved—from the demon that killed all those women. And even when she’d seen the keys to the outbuilding, left mistakenly on the kitchen table, and gone down the garden and opened the door, and smelt the excrement and death and seen the pain and horror, she had paused.
The police hadn’t believed her at first. It seemed like a prank call. The uniforms came to their door, indulgent expressions as they spoke to her dad.
“We’re sorry, Dr. Cole. But do you mind if we search your house? We’re sure it’s nothing. Yes, including your outbuilding.”
They even joked as they walked around the top floor and the kitchen and living room. They saw what everyone saw: the normality, the pleasant facade. Was it any wonder Romilly missed her father? Was it any wonder she’d loved him?
But then their smiles turned to horror as Elijah unlocked the door of the outbuilding and pushed it open. He hadn’t hesitated. He’d looked at Romilly, standing watching from the middle of the garden, and he’d winked as the police officers turned, stuttering and panicked, placing handcuffs on her father and reading him his rights. Ambulances were called, sniffer dogs in the garden.
And the bodies were found.
Romilly pulls the key decisively out of her car’s ignition. She’s here now. She’ll see her father for the first time since he was arrested. For Jamie. For Pippa.
* * *
The visit was approved surprisingly quickly when she’d put in the request.
“He expected you to come,” Adam said, his eyebrows knitted together with concern.
“I’ll be fine, Adam,” she replied. “I promise.”
But now she isn’t so sure.
She makes her way through the visitor’s center, showing identification, leaving her property in a locker, signing her name. Progress is swift, fast-tracked through.
The prison guard smiles. She notices a coffee stain on his uniform, his shirt creased. “You’re here to see the doc,” he says. “He’s been looking forward to it.”
She’s escorted through to a small room, one metal table bolted to the floor. There are creaky plastic chairs, one either side. She sits down facing the door. She picks up the plastic cup of water that’s offered to her and takes a sip, wetting her dry mouth.
She places her palms face down on the table, trying to still their shaking, then crosses her arms and thrusts her hands into her armpits instead. She’s hot, sweaty with nerves, heart hammering.
The door opens with a clang, making her jump. And she looks up into the almost black eyes of her father.
“Romilly! I’m so glad you came!” he says with a warm smile. He has the manner of a man on a walk in the park, strolling without a care in the world. He’s wearing jeans and a navy-green checked shirt. Trainers on his feet. Bright white, no contact with the outside to ever make them dirty. His hands are free, no cuffs.
He takes the seat in front of her, and the guard moves to stand on the other side of the room. He crosses his arms across his broad chest; he looks only at Cole, has no regard for her. Romilly feels more intimidated than reassured by his presence.
She faces her father. The first time in twenty-six years.
“I’m not here for you,” Romilly says. The words come out as a croak. She clears her throat. “Tell me what you know about Pippa Hoxton. About this killer.”
He grins. “I find it interesting you’re involved with this case. And nice you kept your name. Romilly was your mother’s choice.”
“I didn’t keep it for you.”
Romilly has considered changing her name more times than she can count. Each year, on the anniversary of his arrest, when the papers call for a comment. Each time some true crime buff tracks her down, wanting an interview. But she doesn’t want to hide. She’s done nothing wrong, a thought she’s clung to all her life.
She tries again. “What do you know about Pippa Hoxton?”
He tilts his head to one side. “Do you know her? This seems personal.”
