The dark side of my soul Read Online Free

whoever did it.” I called to their backs and they stopped and both turned around.
    Hard face spoke quietly but firmly. “Oh we will, you can be sure of that. We invariably do in these cases. The culprit always makes a mistake, drives around with noticeable damage to the car or tries to get it repaired. We’ll be notified of all vehicles that are taken in to repair shops with front end damage. Quite often there are witnesses that the guilty party is not aware of. It is just a matter of time.”
    With that they turned and strode away leaving me standing at my front door watching them. I saw them approach the next house. They were speaking to everyone in the village. I had to hope that Jeff, my next door neighbour, or anyone else for that matter had not noticed Sandra’s earlier speedy arrival.
    “What did you say that for?” Sandra asked as soon as I had closed the door and entered the lounge.
    I sat down with a thump. “Because I didn’t want them asking to see the car, if it’s not here they can’t see it, and to be honest it was the first thing that came into my head.”
    “We could be in trouble now you know; if somebody noticed me come back this afternoon I mean.” Sandra gave me a withering look as though this was my fault.
    “I know, I know. We’ll have to hope no one saw you. If they did we’re sunk.”
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Neither of us slept much that night. We were both restless and worried about what the following day would bring. I knew that I would not be able to concentrate on work the next day so I decided to take some time off. Fortunately working from home meant that I didn’t have to ring anyone and ask permission. It would simply mean that I wouldn’t earn commission that day but that could be made up later when this had blown over and I was in a better mood.
    At four o’clock in the morning I gave up trying to sleep and went downstairs. I made a cup of tea and sat down with it and the phone book at the kitchen table. Terry Bovey was not listed. I crept back upstairs as quietly as possible, in case Sandra had found some respite in sleep. I went into my office and dug out the old file I had for Terry and found a telephone number and then trying to avoid the treads that creaked, I retraced my steps downstairs.
    The hours dragged by. The silent house seemed to be sleeping; the only sound the constant ticking of the clock in the hall. Although the kitchen door was closed I could still hear its steady reverberation like a macabre heartbeat. I tried to ignore it but once in my head it seemed to grow louder with each passing minute and I realised how much I hated that damned clock. As far as I was concerned it was a most unattractive piece, ugly even, but it had been left to my wife on her father’s death and she refused to part with it. The only consolation was that the chimes were now broken and it no longer rang out the passing of each hour.
    Outside an animal, a fox maybe, let out a lonely plaintive cry then all became silent once more and the night fell quiet again, as though it was holding its breath waiting for something to happen, like a knock on the front door or a ring of the bell and I imagined the hard faced police officer standing at the porch glaring at me saying “One of your neighbours saw your wife come home this afternoon, you lied.” So easy would it be for my quickly fabricated story to be torn to shreds but the bell didn’t ring. No one knocked at the door and the inscrutable clock just kept on ticking.
    I tried reading a magazine but could not focus on the words so I made another drink in an attempt to relieve the tension and the boredom. Eventually the first faint light of dawn filtered into the house and I heard Sandra moving about upstairs. We had got through our first night and from now on it would be easier, or at least so I thought. Had I known then how our lives were about to change I would have dragged Sandra, kicking and screaming, to the nearest police