Laura is missing and the Police believe her husband is responsible, every thing he did against Laura has set himself up, and now he is reaping the rewards.
Chris is going out of his mind with grief.
If you like romantic thrillers, read on.
*
The week had been eventful for the investigation, with more and more evidence mounting up against the husband, except they had no body.
Standing in front of the team in the squad room Martin shook his head, slouched with hands in trouser pockets, he looked down at the file in front of him on the desk and said. "The traces of blood the forensics found on the floor in the kitchen, on the counter and in the plug hole of the sink could point to him cutting her up, but would he have had time that night and the next day to do that. It takes time to cut up a body and get rid of it, and more blood than we've got. The most logical place would be the bath."
"The traces of blood found on the kitchen knife makes me think she was stabbed Martin. The blood smear on the steering wheel of the car makes me think he took the body and dumped it somewhere during the night."
"Yes and even though he washed the tea towel, the blood stains on it shows he tried to clean up the mess with it, so I think she was killed in the kitchen."
"He must have leant against the kitchen counter, his bloody finger print and palm print showed up when the counter was tested by forensics. Proving he had access to her body after she was wounded."
"But is this enough to charge him? With no body it's all supposition."
"We need enough strands of circumstantial evidence to be able to charge him. Firstly the hospital has past records of a broken wrist, the kind of break that can only be caused by rough twisting of the arm. Next we have witnesses to other instances of abuse, escalating in violence and time between each one. The neighbour, the boyfriend, his and her work colleagues all witnessed signs of abuse, including bruises and cuts. His story keeps changing, firstly he told her to leave, next he came home and she had gone. And don't forget the threats to kill her repeated in front of the Hospice Manager and heard by the neighbours."
"Also what woman leaves her home without taking her bag, her purse, her keys or any make up or clothes?"
"No sign of movement in her bank account, she hasn't collected her last month's pay, no sign or sighting of her since the 24th. The new girlfriend installed in her house, in her clothes."
"What about the boyfriend, the motive to kill her was she was going to leave the husband for him, the husband's ego couldn't take it. There he was a successful man and she was leaving him for someone he saw as below him in every way. What did he call him in the interviews?"
"Her bit of rough, the Neanderthal, the big ape. All derogatory names, he felt she had slighted him, insulted him, and defied him. He hit out at her as he always had, and in his anger went too far. They were in the kitchen, he picked up the knife and then when he had realised what he had done, covered up. Moved the new girlfriend in and told everyone she had left him."
"But is it enough to charge him?"
"Let's dig a little deeper, see what else we can uncover."
*
Like a wild animal licking it's wounds, Chris had retreated into his flat, unable to work, to eat, to go outside where people went about their daily lives, laughing and doing the day to day things that people do.
He sat there staring ahead through dry heavy eyes, seeing nothing except the pictures his mind conjured up.
Over the past weeks he had hardly eaten or slept and his already lean and wiry face and body had started to show the loss of weight, and the lack of sleep etched deeper lines into the already deep creases that normally framed a smiling mouth, but now framed a mouth that reflected deep pain.
He felt he was going mad, each time he closed his eyes he pictured Laura. He could see her smiling up at him, her beautiful green eyes sparkling with amusement as he told her outrageous stories about himself. Her sweet oval face framed by that long silky hair, her gentle smile, only to be suddenly replaced in his imagination as dead and battered, her eyes closed, her face bruised and still.
Blame and guilt sat with him continually, turning over in his mind what he should have done, what he didn't do, how he should have seen this coming.
The police had interviewed him four times now, and although they seemed to have ruled him out, he still felt responsible, still felt that if he had just carried on loving her from afar instead of knocking on that door and getting to know her, none of this would have happened.
Five weeks had gone by and still the pain was as raw as it had been that first week. Would this pain ever leave him? He didn't really want it to, as he saw it as his punishment, his cross to bear for causing the death of the woman he loved.
*
John sat on the couch opposite Chris shocked at his appearance. The last three weeks he had been off site, sitting here locked within his grief, but now John felt was the time to pull him out into the world, to face up to life, and he was not above a little manipulation to ensure it happened.
"As far as I can see it you have two choices, get back on site and finish your contract or I get the solicitors involved and you end up with high legal costs, your name blacklisted in the industry and possibly losing your home. Choice is yours."
"You could get someone else to finish the job. There's plenty of others out there. Gordon Ross is a good man and would take it over. Give him a call."
"Gordon is good I'll grant you, but not as good as you, besides the contract is with you Chris. I need to get finished on time or I'll go into penalty phase, and that will cost me, and if it costs me, it will cost you."
Chris sat scowling at this man who was threatening him; teeth clenched, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he contemplated hitting him to relieve his anger.
Rising to his feet John grabbed his jacket off the couch and as he walked towards the door he stopped and looked back down at the man sitting tense and angry and issued the warning. "I expect to see you at the site tomorrow morning at eight sharp. There is a couple of sash window frames you were last working on, you'll find them propped up in the third floor bedroom ready for you to start on. The rain is seeping in and I want those windows replaced first."
Walking to the door he turned around one last time. "And Chris leave that pent up anger at home, I don't want it on my site." And then he was gone.
*
"Look Mr Hamilton, it's inevitable we'll uncover everything. It's best you tell me the whole story in your own words. I understand you can love someone and still hurt them, she made you feel a fool, she was seeing someone behind your back, you were angry, your anger got the better of you and you lashed out. It was a crime of passion so to speak, not planned, spur of the moment, admit it and get it off your chest."
"I admit I hit her, she was unconscious when I left her, but she was alive. When I came back she was gone."
"So you admit you hit her?"
"Yes. I hit her."
"You admit you hit her so hard she was unconscious?"
"No, when I hit her she hit her head on the counter. I didn't knock her out, hitting her head knocked her out."
"But you didn't phone for an ambulance? Get help?"
"No, but she was alive. When I went out she was alive."
"So Robert explain to me the traces of your wife's blood on the knife, on the tea towel and in the plug hole?"
"I can't explain it."
*
He pushed himself hard to the point of exhaustion. Sweat dripped down his neck and chest, his tee shirt stuck to the skin of his back, he worked until his muscles bulged and veins stood out, but still he couldn't sleep at night.
Workmates tip-toed around him, keeping their distance, unsure what to say, and how to treat him. John watched him, making sure he took breaks to eat, went home to rest. His work became his salvation, a place to pour his anger and frustration into with each pound of the hammer.
Going home in the dark each night, he pushed the bike too fast, took risks he normally wouldn't have taken. Meals were no longer enjoyable, but necessary to stay alive and to have the strength to work the next day.
He knew his body was alive, but inside he felt dead.
*
Martin Dowler looked up as Mick came in, a big smile on his face, "We've got him. We've got the bastard."
"Now don't tease me Mick, what have we got." the Detective started to get up, people were streaming in through the office doorway, big smiles on their faces.
"They've found what they think are her clothes, dumped in an old rusty skip abandoned on a building site not far from the railway station."
"YESSSSSS!" and with a raised fist in the air the usually reserved Detective gave a big whoop.
"They're sure it's her clothes?"
"Yeah, they fit the description given by the boyfriend last time he saw her after he dropped her back home. And there's more."
"What?"
"The jacket has blood all down one side, they're gonna to do the DNA tests against the hairs gathered from her brushes, but it's hers, I know it. We've got him."
"How far is the dump site from the house or the bar?"
"It's on the way between the house and the bar. Five minutes from the bar I'd say."
"Any sign of a body?"
"Not yet, but it's sure to be only a matter of time."
*
Chris stood in the hall, his heart beating so hard he thought it would explode out from his chest. He could feel the bile rising in his throat as he stood staring at the closed door.
The detective touched his arm and moved forward to open the door inviting him to step through, but he just stood there, rigid with fear, unable to move his feet.
"Mr Rubin, I understand this is difficult for you, but we need confirmation that these are the clothes you last saw Laura Hamilton wearing that night. We need you to do this for Laura. The case against her husband is building, but we need confirmation that these are her clothes. Please step through the door and help us to identify the clothes."
