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Worst Case Scenario

Helen FitzGerald
Chapters (39)
  1. Cover
  2. WORST CASE SCENARIO
  3. Dedication
  4. Contents
  5. WORST CASE SCENARIO
  6. THE WIFE KILLER
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. THE NED
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. THE PAEDOPHILE
  30. 22
  31. 23
  32. 24
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. Acknowledgements
  39. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cover

cover

WORST CASE SCENARIO

HELEN FITZGERALD

Dedication

To criminal-justice social workers,
who do the hardest job and have the best chat

Contents

  1. Title Page
  2. Dedication
  3. PART ONE: THE WIFE KILLER
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. PART TWO: THE NED
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. PART THREE: THE PAEDOPHILE
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. Acknowledgements
  36. About the Author
  37. Copyright

WORST CASE SCENARIO

PART ONE

THE WIFE KILLER

1

Every time Mary tried to relax in a bath, a paedophile ruined it. Tonight it was McKinley, who she’d visited on the way home, and who had sat on the sofa for ten minutes with one or more balls hanging out of his shorts. She still wasn’t sure if it was deliberate. Probably not, as Mary was fifty-two, not five. ‘I’m not allowed to think about that,’ Mary said out loud, and McKinley’s ball/s disappeared into the bubbles.

As ever, another case invaded immediately – not a sex offender, but a far more palatable wife killer who she’d be meeting for the first time tomorrow. Ten years ago, Dr Liam Macdowall took his beloved wife to Loch Fyne for oysters and on the way home, drove the car off a bridge. A lot of ‘murder-suicides’ seemed to end this way – with one party still alive, usually the prick whose idea it was. Mary put her head under water and called on her victim-empathy skills, imagining she was Macdowall’s dead wife, Bella:

Liam’s in the car beside me, belted in as I am. The water’s rising and I’m running out of breath. Please do something because I can’t get out. He’s undoing his seatbelt. Why won’t mine budge? I can’t define the look he gives me – is it love? – before he forces his way out of the car.

Mary lifted her head out of the bathwater, took a deep breath, and repeated: ‘I must not think about that.’ This mantra had helped keep her sane enough. Home was precious; work must not invade. I must not think about that: a sacred rule that was impossible to obey, and the only one she wanted to.

The next morning, Mary pressed her ID against the flex machine. She was forty-one hours up. If she didn’t use the hours by the end of the month, which was today, they would be wiped. She wanted to smash the machine with her forehead. Instead she ruminated as she gathered the paperwork for the prison meeting: Fucking management. Fucking job.