The First Betrayal by A. M. Clarke

could see a madness in his eyes, that hadn’t been there before, and
    Realising she had nothing to lose, threw back the covers and ran for the door and out on to the landing. A smell hit her, even in her panicked state; her brain asked the question, where the hell is that coming from? Running past her mum’s old room made emotion catch in the back of her throat and squeeze her heart. At the top of the stairs, she turned her head and looked behind, he wasn’t there. Maybe he was letting her go. The scent suddenly became stronger and overpowering.
    ‘Going somewhere Vera? A woman attached to the voice and the cause of the perfume assault, stepped out of the shadows, and with one mighty push, sent Vera tumbling down the stairs. Time seemed to slow, every millisecond lasting forever, until she heard the snap of bone. The sound hit her senses before the pain screamed from her leg. That certainly sped things up, and trying to manoeuvre her body to protect the leg, changed her trajectory. Pitching sideways on the second to last step, her head caught and wedged in the wooden banisters. The momentum carried her body down the last step, while her head remained behind.

Chapter Thirty Eight
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      Ringing the station, Rudder let rip at the desk sergeant, ranted about the getting the wrong information, and how he looked like an incompetent greenhorn. The coroner and van would be over on the morning ferry, and they were sending another sergeant to assist him. Booking into the hotel, he decided on a walk through the town. Charming, he thought, but a bit claustrophobic. Everyone probably knew everybody else’s business. A woman’s loud voice intruded on his thoughts, and following the sound, spotted her banging on a green front door.
    ‘Mrs Woodcock, please answer the door, I’m worried about the girls. Clara, Laurie, can you come to the door, Mrs Woodcock, please.’ Rudder crossed the road, introduced himself as police, and before he could ask what the problem was, the woman grabbed him by the arm and pushed him towards the door, demanding he do something.
    ‘There’s something wrong, I just know it. Mrs Woodcock never takes the girls out of school without notifying us. I’m Clara’s teacher, and her and her little sister, Laurie have been missing for two days. Cant you break in or something?’ Seeing the obvious distress on her face, made his mind up.
    ‘Do you smell gas?’ and rammed his shoulder into the door. It splintered at the jam and exploded inwards. Voices directed them to the sitting room, only to find the television on.’ Maybe you should wait here, while I check the rest of the house,’ and went back out of the room. He tried the kitchen first; dishes had been washed and left to drain, but nothing out of the ordinary. ’Nothing here, just going upstairs.’  The first room was a typical little girls, and that little girl was in her bed. The pink duvet cover neat and tucked under her chin, she was beautiful and peaceful, and very dead. The pillow that he assumed had smothered her was on the floor. The other two bedrooms yielded nothing, even though he had expected to find the other girl dead in her bed, and the mother having committed suicide, dead in hers. Retracing his steps, the only place left to check was the back garden, or yard. The back door led into a utility room, not a garden. Everything looked normal, until the light blinking on the washing machine caught his attention. Who would do a load of washing, before or after murdering their child? Opening the machine door answered his question. A small red sleeve with white stripes fell out, and a little hand was still inside it. He stumbled back and hit the door closed, before sliding to the ground. His eye line now level with the inside of the machine, showed a face looking back at him. Her eyes staring, lifeless, cooked in their sockets, the skin on her face, red and blistered. He had seen many dead bodies over the years, but this was the