Copycat

by Diane Saxon

  No matter how stupid she felt, she still couldn’t shrug off the sensation that crawled over her. When she was running, she’d felt him, the sinister stroke of his gaze. The same feeling she’d had in her own house. Since she’d arrived at her mum’s, she’d felt safe. It wasn’t far from her own house, though, and now she wasn’t sure. Did he know where she stayed with her mother?

  She stared out of the window again at the deepening shadows of people passing in the street.

  He must. He was waiting.

  Carla raised her hands and smudged the dried tears from her cheeks. She needed someone to talk to. Someone who could help.

  She swiped her phone open and barely hesitated before she tapped in a message and hit send.

  Calmer, she skimmed her fingers through Saskia’s fur and smiled as the cat writhed off her lap and onto the bed, pleasure in every move.

  Carla pushed up from the bed and stepped to one side of the window before she drew the curtains, unwilling to be seen by anyone. She snapped on her little bedside lamp, so a golden glow filled her bedroom.

  She checked her phone to see if she’d received a message back. The one she’d sent hadn’t even been read. She blew out a breath and rubbed her hands against her aching thighs. He could be working. She touched the screen as though that alone would tempt him to open the message and read it.

  Lost, she glanced around her bedroom. The sanctity of her old room stemmed her panic. It was okay, everything would be all right. He wasn’t here. She could no longer feel his presence, his gaze resting on her. Not the way she had when she was out running.

  She stared at the phone again as the screen faded to black with still no answer. She’d give him an hour and text again.

  To occupy herself, she’d get changed. Just in case.

  46

  Thursday 13 February, 17:45 hrs

  Ryan’s phone pinged as a second message came through from Carla as he stepped out of the station. He wasn’t really interested, she’d stood him up once before, she’d probably do it again. Too knackered to care, he peered at the screen, his eyes tired from staring at the computer for the past eight hours. He’d have rather gone with Salter and Wainwright on enquiries or with Jenna and Mason to the hospital, but he’d been assigned research, sitting under the close eye of the duty sergeant all day, and he was damned bored.

  He didn’t want to go on a date.

  All he wanted was to go home.

  He slipped into the Suzuki Swift, his knees almost to his chest as he started the car and glanced at the screen again. He couldn’t ignore it, it wasn’t in his nature to be mean. This time he swiped right on the message and it opened up.

  Hey Ryan, I’m back. Do you fancy meeting up for a drink?

  Still peed off with her, he tapped a sharp reply, letting her get the message that he had no time to mess around.

  When?

  He shoved his car in first gear. He could go home via his mum’s and she’d feed him. Probably some lush stew and potatoes. His stomach let out a grumble and he placed his hand on it as bubbles rose to the surface. He was bloody starving.

  Surprised at how quick her reply came back, he took the car out of gear and picked up the phone from the middle console.

  How about now, if you’re free?

  Tempted by her offer, he stared at the backlit screen. Dinner at his mum’s, or drinks with a hot nurse? There really wasn’t a choice, although his stomach made its protest known as he punched in his reply.

  He put the car in gear once more and chased out of the police car park, swinging the little car around the tight curves in the road as he made his way to their agreed meeting place. One drink and then he was out of there. Straight to his mum’s before his dinner had a chance to turn cold.

  47

  Thursday 13 February, 18:30 hours

  He recognised her immediately, the moment he walked into the almost empty cocktail lounge. Vibrant auburn hair bounced in ringlets around her shoulders. Her back turned to the door, she spoke in soft tones to the barman while he constructed a cocktail for her.

  Ryan lost his breath as she turned, her warm golden gaze meeting his. She slipped to her feet from the stool, a broad, genuine smile stretched across her face as she reached out a hand to shake his.

  ‘Ryan?’ Mellow whisky tones ribboned her voice.

  ‘Carla.’ He barely recognised his own voice as it deepened to gravelly huskiness. Struck speechless by her beauty, he could do nothing other than accept her cool fingers in his and stare into her eyes.

  Most people lied on the app, but she’d sold herself short. Far prettier than her photograph, it was more her physical presence that vibrated with attractiveness.

  Her broad smile dimmed as she withdrew her fingers from his and he stumbled to apologise.

  ‘I’m sorry, I hadn’t expected you to be quite so beautiful.’ Heat burnt his cheeks at his stumbling awkwardness.

  She tipped her head back to laugh, her milky white throat exposed in all its silky glory. ‘I’m not beautiful.’

  It wasn’t coquettishness but, it appeared, a genuine sense of unworthiness of his compliment.

  Overwhelmed by her, Ryan stepped towards the bar. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’

  Everything about her felt like she was comfortable with him as she joined him at the bar, slipping back onto the barstool so her olive-green jumpsuit hitched up to expose shapely ankles.

  If he died now, he’d already be in heaven.

  ‘What are you having?’ He nodded at the barman as the man poured a drink from the shaker into a prepared glass.

  ‘A Boulevardier.’ She grinned, an apologetic smile kicking up one side of her mouth. ‘I thought I might get a taxi home.’

  ‘I’m driving.’ He swiped up the mocktail menu, scanned it quickly and made a choice. ‘I’ll have a…’ he grabbed onto the first one on the list. ‘… An Arizona sunset please.’

  She cocked an eyebrow. ‘You know your mocktails?’

  ‘Not at all.’ He shrugged as he pushed the small card menu back onto the bar. ‘I’m normally more of a cider man myself.’

  ‘Yeah, I like white wine, but I’ll give this a go.’

  Her friendly welcome relaxed him, and he slipped onto the barstool beside her.

  ‘How are your family?’

  From the blank look on her face, she’d lied. Disappointed at her response, he gave her a moment while he turned to the barman, handing over two ten pound notes.

  ‘Oh, let me go Dutch.’ She made a grab for her handbag and he reached out, placed his hand over hers. It didn’t feel wrong to touch her and she didn’t recoil, so he couldn’t have made the wrong move, could he?

  ‘It’s okay. You get the next one.’

  She placed her small handbag on the bar in front of her and picked up her drink to salute him with.

  ‘Cheers.’

  He tapped his glass to hers and took a sip, taking in the overpowering sweetness of his drink. He’d have rather had that pint of cider, but he’d never risk his job on a drink driving charge.

  Carla stroked her hair back from her cheek and drew his attention to her flawless, creamy skin. When she took a sip of her own drink, her lips pouted and made his knees weak.

  Her direct gaze met his. ‘I told a lie. It wasn’t a family emergency.’

  He had no idea why she wanted to confess now, but he let her continue. Less than twenty quid of the Sarg’s money it had taken to establish the woman had baggage. He sighed. One drink and he’d be out of there.

  He took another sip and resisted screwing up his nose. There was sweet, and there was unbearably cloying.

  ‘I didn’t lie about leaving, nor that it was an emergency.’

  ‘Okay.’ He could do nothing other than nod.

  Instead of sipping, she took a long swallow of her drink and then pinned him with an expression so intense, he couldn’t look away. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t do this because I really don’t appreciate people asking me to diagnose their kids w
ith chicken pox when I’m not actually working and this is exactly what I’m doing to you, but really I feel so worried, and stupid. Really stupid.’

  He doubted she was that, but he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. Who the hell had chickenpox and why did it involve him? He didn’t really care, but from the passion pulsing from her, she did. ‘It’s okay. Go ahead.’ He might as well let her get it off her chest and then he could go home to his mum for that hot meal. He resisted glancing at his watch as he sent her a reassuring smile.

  She leaned forward and pressed a hand against his thigh, sending him into paroxysms of pleasure, so her next words took several beats to sink in. ‘It’s all this talk of women being killed. One of them a nurse, I heard. And my cat being fed when I wasn’t in the house, and I didn’t think to ask my mum if she’d popped by, but then she hadn’t. She wouldn’t have been there so late. Why would she? But there were empty packets of cat food I hadn’t put in the bin, in there anyway. And my coffee cup was missing…’ she stuttered to a halt, her stare burning into his as though he had the answer, when he hadn’t.

  Confused by her ramblings, Ryan raised a hand to his head. ‘Hold on, Carla. Back up.’

  She froze, drew in three short, sharp breaths through her nose and raised her glass to take another drink. Her fingers trembled as she placed the glass back on the bar. She turned back to him. ‘I’m sorry. Perhaps I should go. This was unfair of me.’

  He took her hand in his, the police officer kicking in, so he looked beyond the beauty at the tortured soul who desperately needed help. ‘Start at the beginning, tell me what happened.’

  She jiggled her shoulders. ‘It’s okay, it doesn’t matter.’ Her fingers twitched in his hand as she tried to disengage them. ‘Forget I mentioned it.’

  ‘No, really. Tell me.’ He gave her fingers a light squeeze before he released them, so she didn’t feel trapped. The woman was obviously disturbed, his gaze locked with hers and he bobbed his head to encourage her. ‘I’d like to know. I may not be able to help, but perhaps talking about it will make you feel better.’

  She pushed her bright ginger hair back from her face. ‘It’s my imagination, I’m sure.’ She laid both her hands palm down on her thighs. ‘Last week when that nurse was murdered…’ She closed her eyes for a brief moment and blew out a breath, rubbing her thighs, distress vibrating from her.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘That’s when it started.’

  ‘What started?’ The fear in her eyes sent a chill over his skin.

  ‘Things. I thought it was my imagination at first, but I’m convinced it wasn’t. Then the second murder happened. I know it’s not connected, and I know the first is probably her boyfriend, but…’ She closed her eyes. ‘I could feel him. Feel someone watching me. In my house.’ Her eyes fluttered open. ‘Strange things happened. Someone fed my cat. I felt him in my house. Touching my things.’ She blew out a breath. ‘You’re going to think I’m mad. But the other day I went for a run up near the base of the Wrekin, past Ercall Wood. I was going to run up The Wrekin. He followed me. Whispered my name.’ Tension radiated from her. ‘It wasn’t my imagination. I heard him. I ran and ran and when I got home, I knew he’d been there, so I grabbed my cat and left. I went to my mum’s.’ She moved her hands from her legs and twisted her fingers around each other.

  Concerned at the frantic worry etched across her features, Ryan placed his glass on the bar and looked directly at her to try and ease her fear, imagined or not. ‘Carla, I know it’s a scary time at the moment, especially if you’re female.’ He didn’t dare mention specifically if she was a nurse, that piece of information wasn’t yet in the public domain, nor being a ginger, and they needed to keep it that way until they’d finished interviewing their suspect.

  He made a quick survey of the quiet room and then leaned forward to speak with her, his voice barely above a whisper.

  ‘Carla, I shouldn’t tell you this, I’d get a right bollocking…’ a quick rush of heat burnt into him as he choked on the inappropriate word to use in front of her. ‘Sorry, I’d be in trouble.’ She gave a weak smile with no hint that she’d taken offence as he continued. ‘Whatever this is, whether real or imagined, you have nothing further to worry about.’ At her sharp intake of breath, he nodded, his own relief at knowing the man he’d identified as Mark Pearson was under lock and key. ‘We have the suspect in custody. You can rest easy now.’

  ‘You’ve caught him?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, we’ve caught him.’

  ‘Thank God.’ Visibly shaken, her fingers trembled as she raised them to her lips. ‘Thank God.’

  An uneasy doubt shimmered through him.

  48

  Thursday 13 February, 20:25 hrs

  Jenna stared at the image on her screen while she tapped her fingers on the open file on her desk. Paperless office was terminology that would never be used on this Force.

  The quiet of the office was all she needed with most of the administration staff already departed for the day. She raised her head to see who else was left, but the main office was empty except for Donna in the far corner, the reflection of her computer screen lighting up her face.

  With a groan, Jenna closed her weary eyes and scrubbed her hands over her face. There was something. Something she just couldn’t put her finger on. And it bugged the hell out of her.

  ‘Boss?’

  She dropped her hands from her face and frowned up at Ryan. He reached out and placed an extra-large disposable coffee cup on her desk and she automatically drew open her top drawer and handed him a tenner. He slipped it into his pocket with no attempt to give her any change. She needed to see about that. She couldn’t keep tipping him so much. She needed to have a word about his entrepreneurial enterprise.

  He delved into his jacket pocket and fished out a paper-wrapped packet, the savoury waft of warm food reached her belly, which let out a cheerful song loud enough to make him smile.

  ‘I thought you might be hungry?’

  ‘Might be.’ There was no doubt about it, she hadn’t eaten since lunchtime and, as far as she was concerned, she completely forgave him for being an entrepreneur. He could continue in that vein as long as he wanted, provided it was her he was entrepreneuring for. ‘Do I owe you more?’

  ‘Nah, not this time. That about covers it.’ He slipped his coat off and draped it over the chair opposite, then melted into the seat next to it, his gangly arms and legs sprawling out as he sipped at his own drink, his keen gaze focused on her. A little too keen.

  She took a bite of the panini and guessed at sundried tomato, mozzarella and pesto. The boy definitely was in touch with his feminine side. ‘What are you doing back again? I thought you’d finished for the day.’

  ‘Yeah, I had a date.’

  Confused, Jenna stared at him over the rim of the cup she raised. He was back for a reason. Ryan did nothing without good reason. He’d get to it. ‘Didn’t it work out?’

  ‘Yeah, it did. It was only a drink date. See if we like each other on first sight. You keep it short and sweet the first time, then you don’t have to have an exit plan.’

  ‘Exit plan?’ There was nothing about this dating business she liked.

  ‘Yeah, you know. If she turns out to be a dog…’ Jenna whipped her eyebrow up at him and he flushed a mottled puce. ‘Sorry, but if you don’t like her, you need to think of an excuse to leave.’ He jiggled his bony shoulders. ‘Girls do it too. This way, you both leave happy, but you have time to decide whether you like each other enough to bother again.’

  ‘Sounds like pretty damned hard work to me.’

  His colour refused to turn back to normal, ratcheting up another shade. ‘I think I’ll ask her out again. She’s nice.’

  ‘Nice?’ Jenna smiled at him, her heart softening. He may not be that much younger than her, but he was a baby. He brought out all of her protective instincts.

  ‘Yeah. She’s really nice.’

  ‘So, you’re still using your dati
ng app?’

  He nodded, took a swig of his latte and placed the cup on the edge of the desk next to the file. He’d come back for something, but until she knew, she’d poke at him for a little while longer.

  ‘And red-haired nurses? Are they still your date of choice after all of this?’ She swept her hand over the desk to include the computer.

  Ryan leaned back in the chair, a vague smile curved his lips. ‘Not necessarily, but the woman I just met for a drink has beautiful auburn hair, and she’s a nurse. We’ve been speaking online for several weeks. We started before the murders happened.’ He nodded at the file. ‘Carla.’

  ‘Carla. Pretty name.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Pleasure sighed from his lips. ‘She let me drop her off home.’

  Jenna let the silence hang between them as he reached for his drink again, but he paused with the cup halfway to his mouth.

  ‘Are you happy with the outcome?’

  Thrown by his change in direction, she leaned her elbows on the desk and linked her fingers together in front of her face. She knew he’d circle around the reason he’d returned. ‘Happy? In terms of what? That we caught the culprit?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He poked his tongue in his cheek. ‘Did we, though?’

  She dropped her hands down to the desk and leaned on them, bowing forward, his idle sense of curiosity prickling at the nerve endings she’d tried to convince herself were just dancing because of her own misgivings.

  ‘Did we catch him? Of course we did. He’s in the holding cells right now. We questioned him for almost seven hours on and off, Ryan. Not that much questioning time, as it happens, because his lawyer kept demanding damned breaks every time we got into the flow of things. He kept pulling the “my client has just come out of hospital” bloody card.’ She squinted at Ryan. That trickle of doubt feathered its way along the length of her spine until she gave a little shudder. ‘We’ll question him again at six in the morning. Chief Superintendent Gregg’s given authorisation to carry on beyond twenty-four hours as Pearson’s solicitor claimed mental and physical exhaustion for his client.’