Hunt Hunted, Murder Murdered

'Oh hello', Ollie was nervous and held her illuminated telephone in her hand having identified the person as Pamela Watters.

'I think we need to have a little talk, don't you?'

12

Ian Ingram stepped out of the courtroom door and the low winter sun shone right across him. A tear appeared in the corner of his eye. He left it there as he breathed in some air. Fresh and free.

A microphone had been set up in the corner of the platform. Photographers called for him to look at them. 'Mr Ingram, how do you feel about your release?' was asked in various guises. 'Can you tell us what you think of Aidrian Burgess and Bob Reilly who helped you out'. He would answer no questions, he was no celebrity and only wanted this stage for his Ollie. His angel.

'Eighteen months ago I was sitting talking to my daughter about her school work. Twelve months ago I found my daughter, and the body of a man who appeared to have killed her, close to our home. Today I am free to re-enter society having spent a year of my life thinking only of the daughter who was so cruelly taken from me, my wife, her friends, our family. My crime is that I allowed myself to trust another and I have more than paid for my crime. My Olivia also paid for the same crime. Today I thank those people who helped me to clear my name. Friends of the innocent man who died the night I found the lifeless body of my wee girl. I thank them and apologise to them for what they also have had to go through.

Finally I want to say sorry.

Sorry, Olivia Jane Ingram,

For allowing the devil to come into our lives,

For letting evil take you away from us,

For letting a dark angel in to take you away.

That's all I have to say.'

13

The doorbell rang. Saturday morning.

Little Ellie bounced to the door.

‘Mum? It’s the Postie’

Monica was showered and sat staring at herself quite motionless in the dressing table mirror.

Today she would become Mrs Burgess.

‘It’s a parcel’, Ellie shouted up again.

‘OK, I’ll be there in a minute’

Aidrian was home again. Not now, he wasn’t at home right now, in fact he was at his mothers, spending his last night as a bachelor in his family home. But Mon and Aid had planned all this. The wedding planning and organization had taken up time and made Aid’s jail term pass quickly. And now the big day was here.

‘Mum? Can I wear my pink high heels?’

‘Ellie. Just wait. I’ll get you sorted in a minute.’ She was just as excited as her mum. Mon puffed out an anxious sigh. Not nervous, just anticipation for the overwhelming day that she faced and would remember for evermore. She stood up and walked out of the room.

CITV played from the TV on the kitchen unit, and Ellie danced on her seat as another boy-band shook their bums and sang an inoffensive tune. She’d be dancing to it later. Kettle on, mug out of the top cupboard. No need to rake for clothes. All new, apart from the borrowed and blue.

Now she spots the parcel. It is brown paper wrapped and unusual. It is intriguing. She is not nervous. Anxious maybe. Excited, certainly. She peels back the top paper layer, and exposes further layers below. She rips at it. Tears the paper until it is exposed.

Monica stares at a white box. It has a gold trim. It is unfamiliar. It is new to her. She opens it. Slowly the box contents emerge, and a small square card sits on top of the item. She opens the envelope. A card. A blank card that sits on top of a light blue band. A band of material, shaped like a hoop. A scarf? A strap? No, a garter.

Mon reads the card.

‘Miss you Mon. Sorry I’ve not been in touch. This is for you. Hope it brings you better times than it brought me. Something old for your big day. Love you guys, Emm. X’

Acknowledgements

With thanks to my family and friends who have always supported me.

Special thanks to my mum, Margaret, for correcting my grammar. Thanks also to my friends Paul and Ros who hosted the murder mystery night where this story was formed.

Last but not least a huge thank you to my wife Hilary. You may have to put up with me talking to you again in the evenings now this story is finished. But as you know, there are many more stories to be told.

Michael McBride can be contacted at

mikeandboys@tiscali.co.uk