Broken Hearts

‘Why would I be?’ he asked, casually.

‘Because…because…well, why would you not see me again? What’s wrong with me? Why wouldn’t you want me? I just don’t understand,’ she whined.

He stopped halfway through fixing his tie and stared at her. ‘No. You probably don’t. But you see, Kelly, you do nothing for me. You look like a hundred other stupid tarts. You have no brain to speak of. You lie there like a dead fish when we’re in bed, only showing some sign of life when you remember that you have to pretend to be enjoying it. You’ve been convenient, I’ll give you that–but what are you exactly, Kelly? What are you?’ Marshall kept his back to her so she would not see his grin as he finished his speech.

‘What do you expect me to say? I don’t know what you want me to tell you,’ she said, pulling at her hair and pacing the room. He half turned and stared into her eyes, enjoying the play of emotions on her face. ‘Okay Let me give you something–your little eyes lit up there, didn’t they? You’re not bad to look at in an overdone, fake sort of way, and you have never asked for much really, but…’ he tapped his forefinger off his temple as he spoke, ‘…you’re stupid, stupid, stupid.’

Kelly’s mouth fell open. She glared at him for a moment before her jaw tightened with anger. ‘You bastard! You think you can use me, and then just decide it’s over?’ she spat, anger flushing her skin again. ‘I’ll tell your wife. I’m going to phone her now. Watch me.’ She reached into her handbag for her mobile. His laughter filled the room as he picked up his briefcase. ‘Why don’t you care? Why don’t you care, Graham? You’re joking…tell me you’re joking!’ Her fury passed swiftly, and there was a pleading note in her voice.

He shook his head. ‘Actually, I never joke.’

The smile slipped from his lips and he looked at her in a way that she’d seen before but always tried to ignore. This time it frightened Kelly and she stepped back and fell into the headboard. Graham Marshall prowled round the divan until he was standing over her. He studied her impassively for a second, in the manner of a lab technician observing an experiment. Suddenly, he grasped her ankle and painfully twisted her leg until she was face down on the wrinkled sheets. He took a moment to admire the length of her neck and the curve of her shoulder as she cried out in agony. He ran his free hand through her long black hair, and then he pulled it so hard that a clump came out in his hand, exposing a small patch of bleeding scalp. Her body trembled as he flipped her over onto her back again, still holding her leg.

‘I will only say this once.’ He spoke to her slowly, as if she was incapable of taking in anything but the most simple of messages. ‘You will never phone my wife.’ He yanked her hair again. ‘What will you never do?’ he asked. The smile had returned to his lips.

‘Phone your wife,’ she said, trying to keep the fear from her voice, hoping that he’d just hear obedience. ‘I will never phone your wife.’

He caressed her cheek with his forefinger. ‘Be a good girl and tell me why you will not contact my wife.’ He spoke slowly and clearly, enunciating every syllable. He twisted her ankle again; she winced in pain as the tears streamed down her face.

‘I won’t phone…I promise I won’t phone.’ It was hard for Kelly to speak as she was sobbing so loudly.

‘You didn’t listen to me,’ he whispered, squeezing the fingers on her left hand now that he had let go of her leg.

‘I won’t phone!’

‘Tell me why.’ His voice was soft and understanding.

‘I’m a good girl and you told me not to.’ Kelly tried to smile as the excruciating pain coming from her fingers threatened to make her lose consciousness. Had he broken them? ‘I always do what you want…please stop hurting me.’

He let go of her and kissed her–gently–on the forehead.

‘Not bad,’ he smiled. ‘But a smarter reply would be that you won’t do anything to piss me off because I can hurt you–really, really hurt you.’ He crouched down beside Kelly and opened his briefcase. He paused for a moment, his back to the shaking woman, before taking out a scalpel. The blade shone so that he could see his own reflection in it. He placed the tip of the blade to his own cheek and closed his eyes at the coldness of it. ‘Really, really hurt you,’ he repeated, never taking his eyes off her as he put the scalpel back in his briefcase and walked away from the bed. Kelly wrapped herself in the duvet, trembling. He watched her reflection in the hotel window as he adjusted his tie. Could he convince her that this had all been a sick joke? Would she open her legs for him again? There was no doubt she would–she was dim to the core and she was crazy about him. These thoughts caused him to grin, and for a moment he played with the image of Kelly grateful to have him back because he was right–she was stupid.

‘You know, the room is paid for…you should rest, stay till the morning if you wish,’ he said.

‘I’m sorry,’ Kelly cried. ‘Please come back after your consultation! Please! I’ll be good, I promise!’ she pleaded, but he was already on his way down the corridor.

The cold air hit him as soon as he left the hotel. The sky looked threatening, dark grey snow clouds rolling in over the Firth of Forth. He turned off the alarm on his black Porsche. Maybe one day he would do something for Kelly. Something delicious, a reminder, a keepsake. He drove off, smirking with expectation.

Maybe she was a good girl after all.

Chapter Three (#u19c0e4c9-52ea-59c2-92b3-14826936fe58)

Dr Graham Marshall drove down Lothian Road where, on his left, Edinburgh Castle, shining black with rain, dominated the landscape. The miserable November weather was keeping the shoppers at home and off Princes Street, but a busload of Japanese tourists was decanting at the Caledonian Hotel. Waiting at the traffic lights, he could smell the sugar from the doughnut kiosk. His lips crumpled in distaste as a fat scaffolder stuffed fried dough into his mouth. Graham hated obesity. It was just one more thing on his list of likes and dislikes; a long list. The lights changed just as the radio reporter began the lead story on the two o’clock news; he turned left and headed towards Haymarket.

‘This is Tony Baxter at Edinburgh High Court speaking with Brodie McLennan, defence agent for Kenny Cameron, who has just been acquitted of murdering his wife…Miss McLennan, why do you think the jury accepted the defence of battered husband syndrome with regard to Kenny Cameron?’

‘The jury returned a not guilty verdict simply because they heard the evidence…’ said a clear, educated Scottish voice. ‘Mr Cameron was hospitalized four times by his wife’s temper. A battered wife rightly gets a great deal of sympathy but there are a significant number of men who are subject to domestic violence.’

‘If that’s the case, why don’t we hear more of it?’ asked the reporter.

‘The “henpecked” husband is as much a joke as the mother-in-law…these men not only suffer at the hands of their spouses but their plight is wrapped up in shame.’

‘Not everyone would agree with you, Miss McLennan. Some women’s groups are angry at this decision, saying that you’ve set back the cause of zero tolerance by twenty years. One group said that this decision is simply a return to the days when it was assumed men had a right to hit their wives–because now, if they do, they can claim it is self-defence.’

‘Violence is violence, Mr Baxter, and, if you don’t mind me saying so, your argument is muddled in the extreme. Mr Cameron’s wife threw a pan of hot chip fat over him in a drunken rage. She had a metal umbrella and the tip of it had been sharpened. Her usual practice was to stab him with it if he didn’t work fast enough. I could list many more instances, but it sounds to me as if your mind has already been made up.’

‘Miss McLennan, Kenny Cameron beat his wife to death with a hammer–and he never denied that. Some people are saying that he walked free today because of a clever lawyer’s tricks.’ Listening to the radio, Marshall could hear the sharp intake of breath from the lawyer. When she spoke again there was no disguising the iciness of her tone.

‘It was a simple decision for the jurors to make once they understood how repeated beatings affect the human mind. This isn’t about gender, this is about violence, and I’m sure every women’s group in the country will be more than happy to educate you about that if you have some spare time, Mr Baxter.’

To his credit, the reporter didn’t miss a beat. ‘You’ve been critical of the Crown Office for taking this prosecution from the start. Do you think they would have prosecuted a woman in these circumstances?’

‘I think they would have accepted a plea of culpable homicide…but today I’m pleased they didn’t offer it.’

‘Miss McLennan, you’ve had a string of high-profile victories in recent years–how do you handle your celebrity?’ The car filled with the deafening silence of dead air before Brodie McLennan replied in a softer voice, ‘Trust me, Tony, I’m run off my feet visiting clients in Saughton Prison and jointly managing a law firm…life’s too hectic to think about anything else. Thank you so much for your time and interest.’

His mobile phone bleeped to indicate an incoming text as he turned the radio off. Christ, he thought, Kelly again with her desperate clinginess–he hated that sort of woman, but they were just so easy to get. What would she be offering now? When would she get it into her thick skull that women like her had absolutely nothing to offer? They thought that sex was such a bargaining tool, but they had never realized that Graham Marshall had sex with himself, not with them–they were just there at the same time, and by far the less interesting partner. As soon as he parked, the message shone: Ur sins will catch up with u. Rag Doll pub in 1hr or i go to papers

This must be her idea of intelligence. Laughable really. Marshall shuddered at the spelling rather than the content of the text, and flipped the phone closed. He sighed wearily before switching the mobile off and putting it in the glove compartment. What was this? Did Kelly think he was going to become the perfect boyfriend because she was pretending she knew things about him? She knew nothing. A scalpel held to her in a hotel room, a bit of rough sex in the afternoon; she probably thought the papers would be lining up to take her picture if she went public.

As he walked towards his office, he reflected on why she was doing this now. He knew that the few words, the few gestures he did make that she could interpret as ‘warm’ were enough–no doubt she had visions of them sharing dinner with his parents, choosing an engagement ring, having babies. It was slightly intriguing to wonder whether she was actually willing to play the game a little–had she involved someone else? Was silly little Kelly trying to get what she wanted? The thought that she might have told someone else about them set Marshall thinking about other possibilities. It could be a blackmailer after easy money. It wouldn’t be the first. He’d had dealings with greedy men before and he wasn’t the one who came off worse. However, this time he suspected it was nothing more than Kelly Adams thinking she could make him do whatever she wanted. Really, the notion that calling his wife would be a disaster was laughable. Still, some credit was due to Kelly–she’d recovered rather quickly from the blubbering mess he’d left in the hotel room not so long ago. He had been working hard, so he called his secretary to postpone his afternoon appointments until later that week. A few easily rescheduled sessions would give him the chance to relax with a drink anyway. He rubbed his temples for a few moments, and collected his thoughts before turning the car round and heading back into town. He had time to play.

Chapter Four (#ulink_8c3d4b89-9df8-5f90-99af-abe561d25b08)

The afternoon trade at the Rag Doll was brisk, but it didn’t hide the fact that it was a down-at-heel drinking den that Dr Marshall wouldn’t normally be seen dead in. The regulars turned to stare at him as he entered the gloomy pub–for a moment he wondered whether it had been a good idea to park the Porsche outside. The owner of the bar was a huge man in a kilt who was hardly making the atmosphere friendlier as far as Marshall was concerned. He heard a customer refer to the man as Glasgow Joe; he was still behind the bar, not serving, just keeping his eye on the place, keeping his eye on Graham. It made Marshall uneasy; what was he looking at? Surely his money was the same as anyone else’s, so why did the huge man keep looking at him–was he a friend of Kelly’s? Is that why she’d asked to meet here? Was he in on all of this with her? Marshall told himself that he was an intelligent man, that there was no point in thinking of things that were probably nowhere near the truth. If Kelly was behind this, it was very straightforward. She just wanted money to make her feel better.

He ordered a sparkling mineral water and took it to the table in the furthest corner from the door where he could see the comings and goings of the pub, switching his mobile back on as he sat down. Despite the stern talking-to he had just given himself in his mind, he couldn’t help but feel a wariness as he realized that the man he had heard called Glasgow Joe continued to look at him. Marshall tried to concentrate on the near-naked pole dancer who shimmied like a bowl of jelly to some vaguely identifiable Seventies disco nonsense. All of the other tables were empty; what customers there were in the place were crowded around the stage, and, unlike him, they didn’t seem to have to feign interest in the stripper. She wasn’t attractive to him and she wasn’t a potential client, so what was the point in looking? Graham wondered.

Marshall’s phone rang and he stood up and made his way to the front door to avoid anyone eavesdropping on the call. Wisely, Kelly had obviously had second thoughts about a face-to-face confrontation and was going to try it all anonymously. The door slammed shut behind him and he pressed the green button to answer.

‘Pull the scarf more tightly round your neck,’ a woman’s voice purred. ‘We don’t want you catching your death, do we?’

He didn’t reply. His eyes scanned the horizon for Kelly. It didn’t sound like her, but she would no doubt try to disguise her voice or get a friend to call for her. If only she had put this much imagination into her performances in the bedroom, he might not have got bored so quickly. She was close by, watching him, he was sure of it. His ears were tuned into her soft, steady breath. He closed his eyes, just for a second, and imagined his hands around her throat, squeezing every last drop of air from her lungs. What would that be like? Would he enjoy watching as her eyes bulged and she gave up trying to scream?

‘Cat got your tongue?’ she said, interrupting his reverie. ‘We can be nasty or nice, it’s up to you.’ She hardened her tone. ‘It’s no skin off my nose. Either way, you’ll pay.’

‘I don’t know what you’re selling,’ Marshall replied, tightening his jaw and listening to the nuances of her breath. This definitely wasn’t Kelly–there was no accent as such, it was unlikely such a caller would have given anything away in such a manner, he supposed, but there was no trace of Kelly at all from what he could tell. So, she’d brought a third player to the table, had she? If they were as stupid as she was, it wouldn’t make any difference.

‘Wipe that innocent look off your face: your playacting doesn’t wash with me,’ the caller said snippily There was a pause before the woman continued, and the words she came out with seemed to have meaning for her, seemed to matter more than they would to a two-bit blackmailer only after enough spare cash to buy a new handbag, if it indeed was Kelly behind all of this nonsense. ‘My mother always said a leopard can’t change its spots.’

Marshall drew breath but said nothing.

‘Do you hear me?’ she asked. ‘Do you hear me? Don’t you think I deserve an answer?’

‘You didn’t ask a question,’ he said, smiling to himself.

‘I thought that maybe you were so smart that you might have guessed it by now,’ she told him. ‘Isn’t there a question that you’ve been avoiding for years, Dr Graham Marshall?’ She emphasized his name as if she was spitting it out of her mouth. He answered with silence. ‘Why don’t you tell me the answer to this, then,’ the woman continued. ‘How would you like people to know? Would you like that, Dr Graham Marshall?’