Killer Couples. Tammy Cohen

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СКАЧАТЬ recognise love, but not evil.

      Of course, not all killer couples are cut from the same cloth. There’s not one neat template defining them all. Some couples in this book would probably not have killed if they hadn’t met. Something in the way they reacted with each other, in the timing of their coming together, created the soil in which the germ of violence was allowed to grow. Would Ann Hunter and Anton Lee, two well-respected professionals, have solicited for murder if they hadn’t happened to have met each other and had those first drunken conversations, which spiralled out of control? Would the two couples who imprisoned and tortured vulnerable young men have graduated from bullying to murder if fate hadn’t thrown them into each other’s paths?

      In other cases, there’s a high probability that one of the partnership, usually the woman, would probably have gone on to lead a largely uneventful life, if they had not been sucked into the malevolent orbit of a psychopathic partner. Michelle Martin, wife of Marc Dutroux, the Beast of Belgium, was remarkable only for her unremarkableness, for her lack of moral weight, her lack of substance… Would she have gone on to commit the atrocities of which she was found guilty had she never crossed paths with her perverted husband? Rebecca Harris had a mean temper and a sharp tongue, but would she have stabbed anyone, if not for the influence of murderous lover Stephen Marsh? Would Kenneth Kimes now be facing a future behind bars if he’d never come into the clutches of the materialist, domineering Sante?

      Then there are the other couples, the ones whose proclivity towards what is most base and most vile, what degrades and what destroys is the very thing that first brings them together. What most attracts each to the other is the image of their own worst selves reflected back at them. Rose and Fred West each killed individually, but in each other they found a soul mate in savagery, someone whose sexual sadism and lust for power mirrored their own, and, by mirroring it, made it seem normal, acceptable, even desirable.

      Whatever their particular make up, in the end couples that kill affront everything we hold most dear. We want to be able to pigeonhole our psychopaths in order to recognise them when we find them: loners in bed-sits who can’t form normal relationships, misfits and freaks. We don’t want them to be the couple next door, the newlyweds across the street. Most of all, we don’t want them to be truly in love.

      As a society, we pride ourselves on being realistic, cynical even. And yet the need to believe that love conquers all permeates every aspect of our lives. Love is good, we tell our children: love is the answer. The couples in this book have known great love, but in the end, it’s that very love that corrupts and maims, that rapes and slaughters. In that, they become our worst nightmare.

       CHAPTER 1

       THE FIRST CUT IS THE DEEPEST

      STEPHEN MARSH AND REBECCA HARRIS

      Red marks were appearing on her inner wrists where the cord tying her to the bedposts rubbed against her pale, exposed skin, but Rebecca Harris hardly noticed. Besides, with the blindfold obscuring her vision, she couldn’t see anything anyway.

      Lying in the darkness, Rebecca felt her whole body tense. The anticipation was unbearable.

      ‘Here it comes. You know you like it.’ The voice was hoarse, teasing.

      Rebecca took a deep breath, her ribcage rising sharply under the tight, black corset. And then she felt it. Sharp and cold against her goose-pimpled flesh, the blade of the knife was stroking her thigh, gently at first and then with increasing pressure. Her breath escaped in a low moan of excitement mixed with something else: fear.

      ‘You love that, don’t you?’ Now he was running the blade along her arm and she could feel a trickle of blood running down towards her elbow. Then another sensation: soft, moist. His tongue was languorously licking it up.

      ‘We could be together all the time like this, if you’d just do as I ask,’ his voice, with its gentle South Wales accent, was gentle, but insistent.

      ‘I’d do anything for you, you know that,’ her words came out in a high-pitched rush, and she hated the note of desperation in her voice. Of course, he picked up on that right away.

      ‘So why won’t you do this one thing?’ he was wheedling now. ‘We could be together forever. Wouldn’t you like that?’

      Of course she would. Ever since she’d started her affair with Stephen Marsh eight months before, Rebecca Harris had wanted nothing else but to spend every moment with him. She’d done whatever he’d asked her, even going along with the cutting, the bondage, the whips… enjoying it for his sake because this was what he wanted. But this was something else. And yet, if she didn’t do it, he might leave her. He’d had other lovers before her, and she knew he’d have no problem finding someone else to replace her. He was so good-looking, so charismatic… She didn’t know what she’d do without him.

      As if he was reading her thoughts, he stepped up the pressure.

      ‘I love you, you know that. I just want us to be together all the time, the way we’re meant to be.’

      He was saying all the right things, all the things she longed to hear.

      ‘And we could be – if only you’d do this one thing for me. If only you’d kill my wife…’

      Of course he was married. The good-looking ones always were, Rebecca thought, eyeing up Stephen Marsh at the Swansea Directory Enquiries call centre where the pair were working. Youthful-looking for his 36 years, with dark hair and blue eyes that, when he fixed them on you, made you feel as if you were the only person that mattered… All the women had a soft spot for Stephen. Anyway, rumour had it that he took his marriage vows with a large pinch of salt, enjoying a series of girlfriends on the side.

      Well, good on him! That’s what Rebecca thought. Married herself for nearly five years to a man forty years her senior, she had had plenty of time to dwell on the drawbacks of monogamy. Looking back on it, she couldn’t imagine what had possessed her to agree to marry Ronald Harris, who’d been 65 when they walked down the aisle. With the bride just 25, he’d been old enough to be her grandfather.

      Of course, the security had been a big factor, particularly once she’d got pregnant with their 5-year-old son – Ron had been a reasonably successful businessman and the couple led a comfortable life. But the age gap was always going to be a problem, and as the marriage went on, Rebecca found herself more and more resentful of her OAP husband and flying into increasingly violent rages. Their frequent rows were bitter and full of venom and vitriol; she was left shaking with anger. No, marriage was not an institution Rebecca Harris held in high regard.

      ‘You’re gorgeous, do you know that?’ Stephen Marsh’s twinkling blue eyes locked onto hers and, to her annoyance, she could feel herself blushing.

      ‘Fancy coming for a drink with me after work?’

      Rebecca could hardly bring herself to meet his gaze. She’d heard the expression ‘undressing you with his eyes’ before, but she’d never actually known what that meant. At least until now.

      ‘I’m married,’ she muttered, the fingers of her right hand furiously twisting the wedding ring she’d come to despise.

      ‘That’s all right,’ he grinned. ‘So am I!’

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