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Yesterday, Dr Chambers asked if I’d given any more thought to counselling for post-traumatic stress disorder. I said no because I feel pretty much in control of my thoughts and my moods, so he threw a trauma denial diagnosis at me. Apparently it’s the brain’s way of putting a distance between yourself and an ‘overwhelming experience’. I guess you don’t get much more overwhelming than being hurled over a bridge in front of a moving train. Perhaps I might have a rethink and take him up on the offer in time. But for now, I’ll pop my pills, deal with things in my own way and remain grateful to be alive. If I can survive what Paul did to me, I can survive anything.
How he thinks he might get away with any of this is still beyond me. Krisha actually left me speechless when she first told me he’d pleaded not guilty to all charges. Perhaps he thinks he has nothing to lose for the murders. But as for trying to kill me in front of six police officers? Come on now. The footage from their bodycams demonstrates his absolute intent.
I check the time again – finally, it has passed 10 a.m. Paul’s day of reckoning has arrived. And so has mine. When she came around last week, Krisha warned I might be called to give evidence against him in about a fortnight. I amdreadingit, because my testimony is going to bring out into the open every aspect of my life, past andpresent. Currently, no one in Avringstone knows about Rachel. They all still believe I’m Gwen’s daughter Connie.
But the truth will come out the moment I stand in that witness box and am cross-examined by Paul’s barrister. I bet his team are champing at the bit as they wait to expose my lies, my background and my criminal record. And I assume they’ll try and shift the blame for some of Paul’s actions towards me, like trying to get the jury to believe I provoked him or that I was in on his scheme to scam Gwen. The jury will neither like nor trust me, and I can’t blame them. I only hope they don’t punish me by disregarding the evidence against Paul.
I hear a clanking of cutlery going into a drawer and glance out of the window. Zainab’s in her kitchen emptying the dishwasher. After the owner of my bungalow evicted me while I was still in hospital, Zainab offered me the annex at the end of her garden to stay in until I’m better. My temporary new home is a brick building with its own wall heaters, television, pull-out bed, kitchenette and shower room. It’s tiny, but I don’t have much in the way of belongings to fill it up with, so that suits me just fine. And I doubt I’ll be here for much longer anyway. Zainab will likely kick me out when my court appearance causes my life to unravel like a ball of wool.
Meredith will discover my truths too. She calls me at least twice a week, and because it was too long a journey for her to attend Gwen’s recent second burial, she sent a beautiful flower arrangement instead. I could always call her and pre-empt what’s to come in Paul’s trial. And soon it will destroy my present and follow me around for the future. It saddens me, it really does, but then I have no one to blame but myself. And Paul, of course.
There is one piece of evidence involving all his victims that will come out and that fascinates and repulses me in equal measure. Krisha told me off the record that when his victims’ bodies were exhumed, each was found to be missing their tongue. But unlikeWalter’s, they’d been removed post-mortem, some time between the coroner releasing the body and their funeral. With the exception of Fran Brown’s, each funeral was paid for by Paul. That meant he had access to a private room at the undertaker’s before they were buried. I remember when I was alone with Caz in one and painted her nails before she was cremated. And in those private rooms is when the prosecution believes Paul removed their tongues. No blood flow meant no mess, so he simply closed their jaws when he was finished, leaving no one any the wiser.
‘The other tongues were found in a plastic tub in Paul’s freezer,’ Krisha explained to me.
I shivered as I recalled finding a solitary box of meat in there the day I broke into his house. If I’d known what it was, I’d have called the police without hesitation. To hell with my plan.
‘Just what kind of man is he?’ I asked.
‘A criminologist we work closely with suggests he is a “process-focused killer”. That’s someone who drags out the suffering of their victim. In Gwen and perhaps the other women’s cases, that could mean weeks of being drugged before he picked his moment to kill them.’
‘He’s evil.’
‘It hasn’t stopped him from getting fan mail.’
Now that took me aback. ‘Fan mail?’
‘From both sexes. A dozen letters a week, according to my friend who works at the prison. Letters, photos, gifts ... even marriage proposals. The world is a funny place, isn’t it?’
I suppose it did him no harm that his police mugshot, released to the media, was exceptionally flattering. They are usually so bad they could make David Beckham look like Shrek, but Paul’s somehow captured the twinkle in his blue eyes and flattering uplighting gave him sharp cheekbones and full lips. He looked like the kindof man you’d want to take home to show off to your mother. You’d just want to keep him away from Nana.
There is a solitary light at the end of my very dark tunnel though. Because if Paul is found guilty of Gwen’s murder, I am once again set to inherit her estate. But until the trial is over, the will is staying with Meredith for safekeeping. I won’t lie, there was a tiny little voice in the back of my mind that has asked what happens if she tries to make a claim on it because I deceived Gwen about who I was. However, the will is in my real name. And according to what I’ve read online, her estate will remain in my possession because there is no proof that I coerced her into signing it.
My heart almost skips a beat at the sudden ringing of my phone. Krisha’s name appears on the screen. I glare at it – why is she calling me now? Surely she should be in court for the opening statements? I pray she’s not about to tell me something awful has happened and all charges against Paul have been dropped. I don’t know what I’d do if that happened. Throw myself off a bridge, maybe. Save him the trouble of doing it again.
Krisha doesn’t give me the opportunity to say hello. ‘Paul has changed his pleas.’
I must have misheard. ‘He did what?’
‘His barrister has altered Paul’s pleas to guilty.’
‘For which charges?’
‘All of them. Including your attempted murder.’
I suck in a rush of air. ‘Why?’
‘He didn’t say.’
I’m dumbstruck. Every worst-case scenario I have spent months imagining, might not actually happen. There is a chance I can bury Rachel forever.
‘So I won’t have to go to court?’
‘No, you won’t. It’s over, Connie, all bar the sentencing. You can go and get on with your life.’
I can barely get the words ‘thank you’ out of my mouth before a rush of emotions hits me all at once. Tears, joy, sadness, confusion ... I want to punch one fist into the sky and another into Paul’s face. I hate him, but I’m grateful he’s ended this now. For whatever reason, he has decided he doesn’t want to play this game anymore.
Krisha is right. It’s over. This is finally over.
