by S A Tameez
Sarah glanced at Jerry who had already opened the side panel of the printer and had his head almost completely inside. She then looked at the door.
“Did you see…” she paused. She stopped herself from asking about the strange guy wearing a faded blue hooded top and a bag over his mouth. She stopped herself from asking if she knew which direction he went in because she didn’t want to know. Didn’t want the temptation to go after him and pretend she could help him. She couldn’t – she couldn’t help herself. All she would do is make things worse.
“See what?” Elsa asked curiously looking in the direction of the door.
“Nothing,” she said and then began packing her bag. She desperately wanted to get out. Elsa was giving her the look her mother gave her when she wanted answers. Accusing, condescending.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes, I need to go.” She clutched her bag and headed for the exit.
“But what about your prints?” Elsa asked from behind.
Sarah didn’t respond. She could feel Jerry’s gaze as she marched to the exit but didn’t look in his direction. As she stormed out of the doors, she rested her back against the wall and gasped. The wall was cold and shivers rippled through her. Her chest tightened. Her fingers were numb and a surge of pins and needles run through them. She needed a large hole to appear in the ground and suck her in – induce her into a long peaceful sleep from which she would never wake.
She staggered through the deserted corridor, her legs unable to carry her. Her spine barely able to support her weight.
There was no one in sight but she could feel a presence. Someone, something looming over here like an enormous shadow. Fast approaching footsteps behind her.
Not again!
She tried to run but her legs were unresponsive – like being trapped in a dream where you try to run but don’t go anywhere. The footsteps accelerated. They were heavy and echoed. Someone was now right behind her. This wasn’t a dream – she felt body heat emanating from whoever or whatever was behind her.
Instinctively, she turned and swung her bag. Letting out a scream as she struck someone hard on the head.
“Jesus Christ!” A man’s voice yelled out in pain.
Sarah put her hands over her mouth. Her vision cleared and she saw Jerry lying on the ground and sheets of paper scattered next to him.
“I’m so sorry,” She knelt and tried to help him up. She didn’t know how much she would help as the room was spinning around her.
“What’s wrong with you kids these days!” Jerry said holding his head.
“I really am sorry.” And she meant every word. He was trying to be helpful. He clearly got the printer to work and chased after her to give her the printouts and this is how being helpful was repaid. A hard blow to the head.
“Sarah!” Melisa’s voice emerged. “Are you OK? What happened?”
“Your friend just clobbered me over the head with her bag! That’s what happened.”
“Leave her alone, you creep!” Melisa said as she picked up Sarah’s bag and the scattered paper. It was just like Melisa to take her side even when she was wrong. Poor Jerry, probably suffered a possible concussion. The look Melisa gave him was enough for him to silently walk away.
“Are you alright?” Melisa asked as she handed Sarah her bag and then scanned the papers. “Mr Andrew Wingrove?” Her eyebrows raised.
“It’s… it’s not what it looks like.”
Melissa grinned.
“Fine… it’s exactly what it looks like.” Sarah chuckled.
“Hey, I aint judging,” Melisa said, “All is fair in love and war… and bloody assignments!”
Like a loyal bodyguard, Melisa stayed by Sarah’s side for the rest of the day. And although at any other time Sarah would have found this stifling, today she was grateful.
No idea why she was on edge but something shook her insides. She couldn’t explain the feeling. Fear of falling, fear of something falling on her. Loud noises. Crowded places – empty places. Fear around every corner. Fear. Fear. Fear.
At points, she could not hear what Melisa was saying – her voice and the noises from the SU bar became a hum. Strange thoughts and anxieties consumed her to the extent she was unable to process anything. The clunks of metal cutlery clashing with ceramic, glasses crashing on tables and loud chatter and laughter echoed in the distance. The uneasy feeling of being watched.
“So, what do you think?” Melisa asked.
“Erm… sorry, I didn’t catch that.” Sarah was suddenly beamed back to reality.
“The Square? What you think?”
“The Square?”
Melisa rolled her eyes, “The Square, the restaurant, two amazing chefs, Clément Leroy and Aya Tamura?”
“Sounds…” She wanted to say expensive, like an average poor person, like what her mother would say when selecting a place to eat. Like what she was used to before she became friends with Melisa. “Amazing.” She smiled.
“Great! That’s settled then.”
It was no use asking her if they should confer with rest of the gang; if Melisa and Sarah had agreed on something then it was as good as finalised. Jane and Talisha would just accept the place and be grateful they wouldn’t have to fork out the bill.
Melisa put her phone on the table and faced Sarah.
“You know what you need,”
Go home, have a warm bath and get into bed. Exactly what she needed and wanted.
“Some retail therapy.” Her eyes were glowing like headlights of a truck.
“What?” Sarah almost choked on air. The last thing on her mind was to stroll around shops looking for clothes – that was not therapy, that was torture.
“I’m serious. Let’s go shopping and get some new rags. We’ll need something nice to wear for later anyway.”
Sarah looked at Melisa’s to die for Lela Rose seamed midi dress under the Louis Vuitton A-line coat and the star trail ankle boots.
Is there an upgrade to that?
She then thought about the Primark jeans and coat she brought from Next, 2 years ago in the sale and suddenly, the penny dropped.
This wasn’t the first time Melisa took Sarah shopping but this was the first time they went shopping for clothes. Sarah had no idea why people spent so much money on clothes – for her, £60 on a dress was a relatively big spend but in the shops, Melisa was taking her, £60 could just about get you a pair of socks.
“Melisa,” Sarah stopped outside Harrods, “I can’t really afford anything in here and―”
“Say no more, girlfriend, I got your back,” She waved her credit card in the air like a magic wand. As if by waving this thing around, all the problems in the world would be zapped away.
“I can’t have you pay for everything – it’s not fair.”
“I’m offended!” Melisa’s smile dropped.
“Really?”
“No.” Her smile resurfaced. “Besides, you paid for the coffee the other day. You know, when we went to that new Coffee Cup. What was its name again?”
“No, actually you did; like you always do.” Sarah couldn’t believe she was complaining about someone paying for everything. She should just stay quiet and enjoy the ride, it’s not like this could last forever, could it?
“Come on Sarah, it’s just some clothes.”
“Clothes that are equivalent to a month’s rent!”
“You’re right,” Melisa said, her face now serious, “I tell you what we’ll do. After we’ve worn the clothes tonight, we’ll get them dry cleaned and donate them to charity – will that make you feel better?”
Sarah felt her eyes rolling, “I don’t think people in third-world countries will care about Prada.”
Melisa placed her palms on Sarah’s shoulders and stared deep into her eyes, “Honey, everyone cares about Prada!”
They both burst out laughing.
“Now, come on – I heard there is a new Louis Vuitton collection out.”
Melisa marched throu
gh the store as if she were walking into a supermarket to get her groceries. Sarah, on the other hand, felt entirely out of place. She wasn’t used to the glamour or all the extra zeros on the price tags. She didn’t even like the new fashion trends – she liked things basic, minimalistic, simple. Extravagance just drew attention and she did not want to draw attention. She was happy to disappear into the crowd, blend into the background – journey through life unnoticed.
As she observed Melisa glide through the store, an uneasy sensation overwhelmed her. She couldn’t describe it, even to herself. Her eyes shot from side to side. Was someone watching her? She saw no one out of the ordinary. Happy shoppers, window shoppers, shopping assistants and security staff. Exactly who you would expect.
Relax… you're in a safe place… she reminded herself. There was no one watching. She shook her head and laughed at her vanity. The audacity to think she was important enough for someone to follow?
She glanced at Melisa, the beautiful, bright and bubbly billionaire. If anyone were to be stalked, it would be her. Not the little old Primark model from nowhere. What could she have that anyone would possibly want? Nothing. This was her being her. Sarah Fowler – the train wreck.
But regardless of how much she mocked herself, she couldn’t shake off the feeling.
Was someone watching her?
Chapter 5
After
The CID briefing room was packed. Rumours of London’s most notorious serial killer returning lit the place like a forest fire. The area was buzzing with noise.
Nick thought about debunking the prevailing opinion – that the case was likely the work of the Sailor but left it for the moment.
“Right. Let’s get to the chase.” Nick said, getting the attention of everyone in the room. “We’ve got an IC1 female, between the ages of 20 to 25, 5ft 7, blonde hair and green eyes.”
Silence filled the room.
“No positive ID, no exact cause of death. Post-mortem examination this afternoon – and we’ll have to wait for the Coroner’s report to find out more.” He looked at the notes and brainstorming diagram on the board behind him, “What we do know is that the female fits the description of the missing girl, Sarah Fowler.”
There was quiet muttering in the room. By the expressions on faces, Nick realised he wasn’t the only one who had hoped to find her alive.
“Sarah Fowler went missing two miles from where the body was discovered.” He pointlessly shuffled through the paper on the table, buying himself some time, knowing what he was about to say next would cause a stir.
“Also, we can confirm that there was a carving of a sailboat on the victim’s hand.”
The muttering escalated.
“But…” he said over the noise, “we’re not sure exactly what this means yet.”
“The Sailor? DC Marcus Rainer said.
“Well, I…” Nick stopped talking and looked over at Zoe. When their eyes met, she had the look that yelled, don’t do it! “DC Zoe can give us some insight into the observations made at the scene.”
The room turned coldly silent and everyone’s eyes pointed at Zoe like beams from sniper rifles. Zoe’s face screamed a thousand curses. Nick convinced himself that this was for her own good. Some things you go through and some things you grow through. This, he hoped, was one of those she would grow through.
She sat in her new usual place – a few chairs away from everyone else. She coughed lightly to clear her throat and then spoke hesitantly.
“One of the Indexers was kind enough to give us a printed photo of the carved sailboat from the victim early.”
She strode to the front, her body language pretended to be confident but failed in convincing anyone. She slammed the zoomed in photo of the victim’s hand on the board.
“Although, this is a relatively accurate copy of the sailboat, there are two subtle differences – one is that the right sail is the same height as the left.” She removed another 3 photos and pinned them onto the board side by side. “When cross-examined with previous victims, the sailboat carvings all have their right sail just slightly higher. And they are all precisely the same dimensions – as if the killer had used a stencil.”
“Is that enough to say it isn’t The Sailor?” DC Vivian Chey said from across the room.
“Probably not. But, from what we know of The Sailor, he prides himself in precision and perfection. Which brings me to the other subtle difference – his carvings are always done on the left hand; this was on the right hand.” The murmuring in the room resurfaced.
“Although this is all a little circumstantial,” Vivian said, “let’s entertain, for a minute, that you’re right – what are you saying? We have a copycat?”
“If this is a copycat,” Nick intervened, “it’s not a particularly good one. From what we can tell so far, the cause of death, though not verified yet, was blunt force trauma. We all saw the files on The Sailor’s previous victims; he never killed any of them like that – clobbering a woman over the head was not his preferred method for murder. He was artistic in his approach.” He said and then feared he might sound like a fan.
Silence filled the room.
“Something tells me this is going to be a tough one to crack,” Nick broke the brief silence, “and in my experience, the tough ones get tougher when they’re not explored in every angle straight away. Can someone get onto Forensics, make this a priority we need to turn this around pretty fast if we are to make any progress.”
“I’m on it.” DC Marcus Rainer said.
“Great. Now, I want to get some uniforms out to the area where the body was found, appealing for any witnesses who may have seen anything. Also, CCTV that might have picked anything up – Council, business, residential – anything within a five-mile radius – make that 10!”
As everyone got ready to leave, Nick’s eyes scanned the room to find the poor person who would contact Sarah Fowler’s mother and ask her to come in to identify the body.
“Nina,” Nick called out without hesitation. DC Nina Patel had a gentle voice and a look of compassion about her. “Can you please contact Mrs Fowler and get her to come to the mortuary to identify the body.”
“Sir,” she responded and then gave a little nod. The death message was never easy.
“Good. I got a meeting with the Detective Chief Inspector at 5. That gives us less than an hour to find something.”
Nick leaned back in the chair and removed his phone from his pocket.
2 unread messages – both from Stacey.
13.07: Hey, when you getting back?
15.30: Got a real craving for Terry’s Orange Chocolate. Can you please grab some on the way home?
She much preferred Twix and KitKat. Must be the little guy inside craving Terry’s Chocolate Orange. Temporarily transported away from being a detective, he had visions of staring down at the innocent, dependent eyes of his offspring. Eyes that had not witnessed the cruelty of the world.
He wasn’t sure what type of father he would be – protective, patient, a mollycoddler.
Negligent, too busy, never around… if he wanted to be more accurate.
He glanced at the clock and thought of when he would get back. Before he responded to the text, Zoe towered over him.
“Thanks for that!”
“For what?” Nick responded, pretending he didn’t know what she meant.
“For throwing me in with the sharks.”
“What sharks?” He put the phone away, making a mental note to respond to Stacey after he had dealt with the more imminent threat.
“You could have explained that to the team – you didn’t have to call me out.” Nick pinched the bridge of his nose to ease the pain of the escalating migraine.
“Team,” Nick said, knowing he sounded condescending, “I like that word.” He stood and gathered the papers on the desk.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What, team? It means when you are part of—”
“I know what t
eam means!” she huffed.
“Really?! Because from where I’m stood, I’m not sure you do.” Nick paused, realising his voice was raised, “When are you going to learn that to get things done properly, we must all work together, as a team? We don’t live in a Hollywood blockbuster – cases are not solved by one person – they’re solved by a team of people who all work together.”
Zoe silently watched the floor.
“Look, it’s been a rough day,” his tone mellowed, “and it seems like it’s just going to get worse. I think it’s time for a Code 99.”
Zoe stared at him puzzled. He could see her searching her mind for what that meant.
Nick rolled up the paperwork into a baton and gently tapped her on the arm, “Let’s go and get a much-needed tea or coffee and recharge.”
She nodded.
“Great. Let’s go to Lofty’s Café, Nick suggested, “I need a change of scene.”
The small café was half full – or half empty depending on your mood. Nick usually came here when he saw it as half empty. He didn’t like the coffee as much as he liked the rustic feel. The rusted metal chairs with no colour coordination. Wooden tables that looked like they were purchased from a garage sale but should have been transported directly to the dump.
Although intrigued by modern technology – the latest smartphones, Alexa in the kitchen, smart lighting and heating – he loved old things. Old books, old photos, old watches, even old newspapers.
He wasn’t sure whether it was just a bad case of nostalgia that drew him to beaten up old places like this or that he genuinely preferred the vintage look and feel of things. Either way, if he had to choose between a modern Costa or small old café, the outdated café always won.
“I never knew this place existed,” Zoe said as she clasped the steaming metal cup.
“Yup. Not many people do. I like to keep it a secret. For me, it’s like a portal into another dimension.”
“And now I know your little secret.”
Nick smiled, “What’d you think of it?”
“Erm… it’s…” Her eyes scanned the café, “charming.”
