Chapter 36: Elliot - The Foster Child

It isn’t until this morning that I realise the man who was murdered was Rocky.

He hadn’t been named on the news last night, but I read it online. Apparently he was supposed to be going out with his son but didn’t answer the door when the son knocked. When his son looked through the letter box, he saw Rocky lying on the floor and called the police. They kicked the door down but it was too late, Rocky was dead.

He was alive when I left. A bit battered but definitely alive.

They’ve narrowed the time of his murder to between eleven a.m. and one p.m. Just after I left. Was someone waiting for me to go before they went in?

Shit. Are they going to pin this on me?

I look down at my bruised knuckles, undisputable evidence that I’ve been in a fight, and my DNA would be all over Rocky. But I didn’t kill him.

I pace around the room, my head racing. Did anyone see me there? How can I prove I didn’t kill him? I should have kept away. What was I thinking of hunting him down like that?

But then he would have carried on trying to blackmail me. He would have ruined my life.

My mind shoots back to yesterday, the fierce fight we had. A couple of times I’d really thought that Rocky was going to kill me, and I just about managed to get out of his grasp. Finally I’d pinned him down on the floor, lay on top of him, my hands around his throat, making him swear he’d leave me alone. Had I left some marks on his throat?

My heart is palpitating and sweat is beading on my brow. I wish to God that I could turn the clock back and not gone to see Rocky. I should have confessed to Cora, gone to the police and told them what was going on. Instead I acted like an idiot, took matters into my own hands and now I’ve risked everything.

Should I go to the police now and tell them everything rather than wait for them to come to me? I really don’t know what to do.

I’m glad that Cora has gone to see her parents, then do a bit of shopping. I need to be on my own right now. I’ve got to get myself together before she returns home otherwise she’ll know something is wrong. I pull on my coat and some gloves to cover my hands then go for a walk. I need to clear my head.

I walk through the woods at that back of the house, my hands thrust in my pockets, my mind going over and over the events of yesterday. That fierce fight. The blood.

Rocky had been alive when I left. Up and walking.

‘Hello, Elliot.’

I look up in surprise at the sound of Scott’s voice. I hadn’t expected to see him here, but this is a popular spot for a walk.

‘Hello, Scott. How’s things?’ I ask politely. I don’t really want to stand and chat to him, I’m just being polite.

‘Good, busy. People are skint this time of year, there’s always someone trying to rob something.’ He pauses. ‘I don’t know about the season of goodwill, it’s more the season of shoplifting, robbery… and murder.’ His eyes are fixed on my face.

‘Yes, it brings out the best and the worst of people.’ I nod. ‘Excuse me, I’ve got somewhere to be.’

‘That’s okay. See you soon.’

I wave and continue my path through the wood.

I’ve calmed down a bit by the time I return home. No one knows I went to see Rocky. No one knows of any connection between us both. Why would they connect Elliot Brookes, the successful dentist, with someone like Rocky? I’ve just got to hold my nerve. They’ll find out who killed him soon, it will be someone else he’s blackmailing no doubt. Men like Rocky have a lot of enemies.

I’m back at Virginia Cottage now. I let myself in and put the kettle on, make myself a strong cup of black coffee and sit down to drink it. Then I spot something on the coffee table. A white square envelope.

It can’t be.

I reach out and pick up the envelope with trembling fingers. Then I take out the card. A shiver of ice trickles down my spine as I see the familiar wreath on the cover.

I open it up and a photo falls out. Written across the middle in black letters but different handwriting are the words:

YOUR TURN NEXT.

Hands trembling, I look at the photo. It’s Rocky. He’s lying on the floor of his flat and is obviously dead.

The threat is clear.

I curse myself for going straight in with my fists and not questioning Rocky more, finding out if he was working with someone else, as I’d suspected. Someone who had given him my phone number so he could send that text. Someone who he had probably argued with and had now moved on to me.