by S A Tameez
“Well, I’m not just a pretty face!” She grabbed Nick’s hand and placed it on her bump, “Besides, we have to think about how to handle young ones now.” The butterflies returned. He forced a smile.
“But that poor girl,” she continued, “If it is her, that is. I hope it isn’t.”
“Me too.”
Stacey looked up at Nick. “You need to go and deal with this.” Music to his ears. The words he had longed for. So much easier to fight to stay and lose then to fight to go and win.
“No. I… took the day off to come to the scan and… we were supposed to spend the rest of the day together. No, I’m not going anywhere!” he said with such conviction that he almost had himself fooled.
“Thank you for coming. It means a lot to me; it really does, but I know how important your job is. You need to go, and we’ll catch up later.”
He shook his head and made a face he hoped portrayed disappointment.
Deceptive. Like a man having an affair, consumed by guilt but unable to stop himself. Torn between the one he loved and the one he was in love with.
He didn’t deserve her. She was sincere, truthful – even if it landed her in trouble. Brave. But most of all, understanding.
He wondered why he found it so hard to tell her the truth about his past.
Chapter 2
Before
First day back after the holidays was always hard. Not the waking up early or the long trek to UCL as much as getting back into work mode and seeing familiar faces. Sarah was a student at the University College of London who had grown tired of explaining whether it was a University or a College. Her uncle Mickey never understood it.
“So, it’s called a University and a College?” Unsure whether he was teasing her or whether he was genuinely confused.
He never went to University or College – dropped out at 15 and claimed it was the best thing he ever did. Started work in a car wash which led to his fascination with cars. Then moved into car trading and now had two offices and enough yard space to store 150 cars. He earned more than Sarah’s father, who was a doctor. And although her father hated to admit it, Uncle Mickey was right – dropping out was the best thing he ever did.
The majority of students on her course lived on campus. Sarah lived close enough to commute but far enough for it to be an inconvenience. She didn’t mind the underground – it was an opportunity to catch up on notes on her Psychology degree. That’s what she told herself anyway – really, the time was spent reading a Peter James or Clare Mackintosh novel.
“Sarah. Hi.” A voice emerged from behind her.
“Hey,” Sarah said as she turned to face her best friend, Melisa “Nice hair,”
“You like it?” she ran her fingers through it while making a face as if she had just tasted something sour.
“It suits you.”
“You think? Mum hates it. She said she couldn’t believe I spent so much money getting this sizzling look.” She stroked Sarah’s straight blond hair and shook her head. “You’re so lucky you don’t have afro hair. I mean, not wrestling with your hair in the morning sounds heavenly – I wake up looking like I’m wearing a motorbike helmet.” They both chuckled.
“Well, I think it looks lovely – it’s got character, unlike my plain-Jane look. Besides, this is not how it looks in the morning – I wake up looking the living dead!” They both laughed.
“Can I get you something?” Sarah pointed to the vending machine in the empty campus cafeteria.
“No thanks,” Melisa raised the two Costa takeaway cups, “I much prefer real coffee.”
Sarah pushed the cafeteria cup away, screwed up her face and swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth, “Come to think of it, so do I.” She stood up and grabbed her bag.
“White Chocolate Mocha…” Malisa said, “Shaken but not stirred,” she continued in the worst Sean Connery impression Sarah had ever heard.
“Thank you!” Sarah closed her eyes and inhaled through her widening nostrils. “You’re a lifesaver!”
“The Mocha or me?” Malisa asked.
“Both!” Sarah smiled.
The place was quieter than usual. People struggled to get in first day back.
“How did you know I was in the cafeteria?”
“I didn’t actually,” Melisa sipped her coffee, “I was walking, enthusiastically might I add, to the morning seminar with Dr Boring Monotone and I saw the back of your head – I knew it was you.
“Oh, how?”
“I don’t know, perhaps the long silky hair or the way you sit; I’m not sure exactly, but I just knew.”
“Maybe you have superpowers?” Sarah smirked.
“Yeah. I could be like the new Black Panther-ess.” They giggled. She could pull off a superhero character in a movie. She had the height, was a black belt in Taekwondo and went to the gym every day. The closest Sarah ever got to the gym was the induction, and the next 12 months were solid excuses for why she couldn’t go.
“So, how were the holidays?” Melisa asked as they hurried to the morning seminar.
“What holidays?” Sarah rolled her eyes, “Revision! And don’t get me started on the dissertation.”
“Tell me about it. Sucks to be in the final year!”
Sarah’s mind travelled back to the first year. It was a breeze in comparison and a drastic change from sixth-form, where she was treated like a child and didn’t make any ‘good’ friends. She often found herself in trouble. Her mother was adamant; Sarah took drugs and would inevitably end up in jail. But unlike her old friends, and aside from a small amount of cannabis, she never experimented with drugs or drank alcohol.
Things changed when she got accepted for UCL. Though she didn’t like to admit it, her mother was right about her old friends.
Her new friends, Melisa, Jane and Talisha, were sensible and responsible. Both Jane and Talisha worked in a clothing retailer in the city to contribute towards tuition fees and living expenditure. Melisa’s father was a wealthy property developer, so she never worried about money. She insisted on paying for everything – snap out her plastic and swipe before anyone else had the chance.
Technically, they should have hated her for always insisting to pay or for being so damn wealthy, but for broke students, it was a blessing. They went to posh restaurants, got premium seats in the cinema, even spent a few nights in Paris. And Melisa never acted superior – she usually did the opposite. Praised and pointed out things she admired about everyone. How beautiful Sarah was, how Jane and Talisha had great style and fashion sense, and how much she appreciated great friends. Melisa was the dictionary definition of a ‘good’ friend.
The lecture hall was half empty. Sarah and Melisa sat at the back and hoped Dr Murphy wouldn’t turn up. Not that he ever missed a day; even when sick, he would repetitively sneeze and blow his nose but get through the lecture. Sarah admired his tenacity and wondered if she would ever be as dedicated to anything in her life. She regretted picking Psychology and wished she had pursued something more creative. Being a writer would have suited her as she loved reading. Although the appeal truly lay in the thought of working in isolation and living like a recluse.
But you live and learn. Last year of the course – ride it out, get the qualification and then work things out after that. That was the plan. Take a year out – lie to everyone about an exciting backpacking adventure and hide. Create an action plan for how to recover from the train wreck she called life.
“Don’t look now,” Melisa said as she peered towards the door. “It’s the Freak!”
“Don’t call him that!” Sarah said as Norman walked into the lecture hall. He wore his signature faded blue hoody and black skinny jeans.
“He’s so weird,” Melisa remarked.
“He’s not weird.”
“He’s super weird, and he keeps staring at you. I see him all the time.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Sarah pretended she never noticed him staring at her.
“Yeah, he does, but I t
hink you probably like the weirdos, don’t you?”
“Well, I am friends with you.”
“Ouch!” She slapped Sarah playfully on the arm, “No, but seriously, look – he’s doing it again – he’s looking right at you.”
Sarah glanced over; hoody still hung over his head and slumped deep into his chair as if that was still considered ‘cool’. Every few moments, he looked over but immediately looked away when they made eye contact.
Norman sat alone wherever he was; lecture hall, library, SU, wherever. Didn’t make conversation with anyone and always wore the same attire. She imagined him as the kid everyone picked on in school – nicknamed ‘Tramp’ or something horrid. It was the kind of thing that happened in school – she hated it, but if you stood up for kids like Norman, the nasty kids went for you too. It wasn’t right and wasn’t fair, but it was what it was. And in a way, it prepared you for what was about to come. Adults were no different – the bullying didn’t stop – it just changed form. You only had to look around you to see it. Behind the TV smiles and forced pleasantries, were angry, frustrated people who were ready to pounce on one another – it was just a matter of time. And if you were observant you could see the signs – handsome man in the suit on the 9am tube this morning; all smiles, said good morning to everyone and gave his seat up at the drop of a hat. But look closer and you see the cracks in the veneer. The swollen and cut knuckles he tried to hide under his newspaper, the faint scratches peering over the collar of his shirt. And that look of resentment every time he caught sight of his wedding ring. Our masks can only cover so much.
Dr Murphy burst in through the doors at precisely nine. His hair was a mess, and he gasped as he got to the front of the hall. His usually pale face had darkened – must have gone away for the holidays and caught some sunshine.
“Morning everyone,” he said, “Hope you all had a nice break.” He scanned the half-deserted hall, “Seems like some of you are still on a break… but for the rest of you, I have an exciting lesson planned.” A few laughs and anonymous sarcastic comments emerged. “Settle down,” he said, “I’ll need a few minutes to get this stupid projector sorted, so you guys have a few moments to catch up with one another. But no—” Sarah’s phone suddenly sounded with a loud message alert as if on cue. “Phones! You all know the rules – no noisy devices in my class. Silence them or better yet, switch them off.”
Sarah removed her phone and stared at the screen.
“If it’s Jane or Talisha, tell them we’ll sign them in for the lecture but don’t bail on our get-together later!”
It was as if Melisa had intercepted the text.
Me & T not comin 2day. Sign us in. C u later. #get2gether. X
Sarah could feel the gaze from across the room as she typed a response. Though it was dark, the glow from the phone’s screen lit her face. She could see nothing. The screen had temporarily blinded her. By the time she regained her vision, Norman’s seat was empty.
“He’s gone,” Sarah said.
“Who? Melisa replied without looking away from her phone.
Sarah eyes scanned the hall, “Never mind.”
“There’s a new Marvel movie coming out – you wanna go watch it?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Great, I’ve booked our tickets for Friday.”
“Already? How did you know I was going to say yes?”
“I wasn’t going to give you a choice.”
“Thought as much.”
“What about the others?”
“They’re coming.”
“How’d you know?”
She faced Sarah with eyebrows raised, “It’s a Marvel movie – they’re coming!”
The day dragged on. Melisa wanted a Subway six-inch Chicken Tikka, but Sarah passed. She wasn’t hungry nor in the mood to go anywhere – drained. Her legs were murdering her, and her body was abnormally cold – feeling unusually cold meant coming down with something. She couldn’t afford to get ill – too much work to catch up on.
In the library. Meet me here when u r done. X
She texted Melisa then sunk into the large wooden chair in the library’s study area. It was silent. No one in sight except the librarian sat at her desk; eyes glued to her computer screen. On a typical day, there would be footsteps, papers shuffling, keyboards bashing, faint whispers and the odd message tone, but not today. It was as if everyone had vanished and Sarah and the Librarian were the only people who remained on earth.
The radiator near her legs was comforting. Sarah put the MacBook Melisa bought her on the desk. She was paying her back for it in monthly instalments. And although three months arrears, Melisa had not said a word – this made Sarah feel even worse. Perhaps if Melisa had enquired about the arrears, Sarah wouldn’t have bought a pile of novels and the new coat she picked up last week.
She sighed as she searched Google for the notes on her latest assignment. Due in two days, she kicked herself for not starting it earlier. Her eyes stung, and the screen was making it worse. Better to print the assignment she had found on a nerdy forum with the same title as her assignment – the one she intended to copy. Why reinvent the wheel? She said to herself. Plagiarism was a thing of the past – it was the digital age where, if you can get away with it, it’s all good. She found solace in knowing most people would never walk into a shop and steal a DVD, but they would not hesitate in watching a movie on an illegal streaming site. Digital age. The rules were still being written.
Elsa, the Librarian, walked over to her table.
“Did you just try to print something?” She asked. Sarah’s heart sped faster. Why would she ask that? Had she nosily looked at what was in print and figured it was a random person’s work?
“Erm… yes.” Sarah said, reluctantly.
“Sorry, it seems to have jammed. It’s been playing up all day. Do you mind waiting while I go to the I.T. room; they’re not answering the phone. I will get Jerry to have a look at it.”
“Sure.” Sarah smiled. Great, more people involved in her unethical printing.
“Shan’t be long.” She said and walked towards the exit.
Sarah sighed, rested her elbows on the desk and buried her face in her palms. She closed her eyes and hoped the ascending headache was just in her imagination.
After a few moments of nearly drifting off, her eyes snapped open. She could have sworn she heard a noise. That familiar feeling of eyes watching her returned. She tried to reassure herself it was in her head, but then she heard the shuffling sound again. The library was empty; she knew that. She would have heard the loud doors opening and felt the draft had someone come in.
She was alone – or that’s what she had assumed.
She peered back at the desk – Elsa had still not returned. And the feeling of being watched was not fading. The library wasn’t huge but there were plenty of places to hide — rows of tall bookcases, a few rooms, an office. Her mind told her she was paranoid, but her instinct told her something different.
Chapter 3
After
Nick had missed the Golden Hour. Reporters being pushed back by a few uniforms like hooligans at a football match. It might be an idea to give reporters a Police badge as their response time was much better than the emergency services. Like vultures, they crowded the area, cameras flashing and repeating the same questions to get a headline. Like bloodthirsty animals attacking what remained of the poor dead girl in the distance. Now merely a means for the papers to make money — her body, a spectacle — her blood, a currency — her name, a measly formality.
It wasn’t the first time he was going to see a dead body and certainly wasn’t going to be the last. He knew behind the crime scene tape, in the cordoned-off area, lay the lifeless body of someone’s daughter. Maybe someone’s sister, wife, mother. Immediately, he thought of Stacey. Bile travelled up to his throat. As a DS and having witnessed the ugliest things in life, he was suspicious and paranoid about everything and everyone. Stacey was the opposite – she saw the good
in everything and everyone. It often made him wonder why they were even together – opposites attract.
She trusted everyone and believed almost everything she was told. She would walk at night with her headphones plugged in and assume no one would be lurking in the shadows, watching her as she hummed along to the tracks on her playlist – now deaf and blind. To her, someone murdered or raped belonged in movies or novels, not in real life.
He thought of all the times he gave peoples’ loved one’s news that their world was about to fall apart. Telling someone that a person they love was murdered was very different from telling them they died in a car accident. After the shock came grief and after grief came anger and, in most cases, after anger, came revenge. Not justice but cold-blooded revenge. Most of the recent murder cases were related to Postcode Gangs. Senselessly killing over geographical location. Young boys who didn’t understand the value of a person’s life or how it felt to spend 25 long years in prison.
Knife crime was a volcano erupting all over the streets of London. No one knew how it got so out of control or how to diminish its ferocious flames – certainly not some posh, potbellied MP in a thousand-pound suit. The only thing they ever got creative with was explaining their expenses.
A dead girl washed up in the Thames, however, was not the mark of a gang crime – this was usually the signature of a sicko. And the last thing London needed was another sicko.
Forensics, or SOCO’s as they were referred to, had finished taking all they could from the scene – photos, prints, swabs and whatever else they could get before it got destroyed.
A white sheet was placed over the girl’s body. DC Zoe Hall was already at the scene. As Nick knew she would be. She was young and worked more hours than there were in the day. And contrary to the popular opinion of the rest of the department, she was the kind of person you both wanted and needed on your team. She wore blue plastic gloves and was crouched over the body as Nick approached, with his footwear protectors securely on. He knew how delicate evidence was in a crime scene. One wrong foot and you can add days on the investigation, or get it thrown out entirely.
