by S A Tameez
She clicked on the notification to see a profile with the name Norman Hyde. Excitement lit a match in her stomach and although temporarily blinded by the phone’s light, she pelted up the stairs and into her room. She sat on her bed and looked at the request again. The grainy profile picture was of him wearing his usual faded blue hooded top. The hood was hung so low that you could only see his lips and chin. No profile information except, male and lives in London.
Everything about the request screamed for her to press ignore and yet she accepted it without hesitation. The temptation for her to reach into the drawer and find the blades subsided as she scrolled through Norman’s timeline. Nothing. No images. No posts. Nothing. It was as if he had made the account just for the sake of making it. A formality every human must now go through – for not existing on social media was like not existing at all. The virtual world felt so much more real than the physical world. People could show their true colours in the safety of their own homes. Be kind and unkind to whoever they wanted to. Say whatever they wanted, share their thoughts and opinions about other people millions of miles away without a worry in the world. And people could lie and let that lie spread like an unstoppable virus – infecting anyone exposed to it.
You could learn everything you needed to know about a person from their Facebook account. This made Sarah very uncomfortable – she didn’t want anyone knowing her, not the Sarah she knew anyway. But she had to do things differently in university. She couldn’t live the way she did anymore and if that meant giving up her right to privacy, then so be it. She had to get creative with what she posted, careful to not expose too much of herself.
Norman was as mysterious on social media as he was in person. In the real world or the virtual world, he never showed too much of himself. He didn’t pretend.
She almost dropped the phone when it started buzzing.
Incoming call… Melisa
She pressed decline, though she knew Melisa would be worried. Deep down, there was something satisfying with knowing she would worry. It didn’t have to be Melisa, of course, it could be anyone – just someone worrying, suffering because of her. She resented herself for feeling it but couldn’t help it. She felt pain – she wanted others to feel pain. She was toxic and would eventually hurt everyone around her. Misery spreads like a contagious disease.
Tears burned down her face, leaving her cheeks tender. She was a mess.
She forced her face into her pillow and screamed. She tried biting her lip, then her tongue, and then her forearm until she could taste blood, but it wasn’t enough. She threw her phone and fell to her knees, frantically rummaging through her drawer hunting for the only thing she knew could help. After everything was out of the drawer and scattered across the floor, she sat gasping for air like an asthmatic.
Gone.
She could have sworn she put it there - a brand-new pack.
“Looking for this?” a voice emerged from behind her. Her heart thumped fast enough to shake her insides.
Chapter 9
After
“Just got off the phone from DC Chey,” Zoe said as she rushed up to Nick’s desk, “The mother has confirmed the girl’s identity. It’s definitely Sarah Fowler.”
“It’s good we know for sure,” Nick said. He stared back at his screen trying to not picture the young girl, not from the picture he had of her of when she was very much alive and not from the image of her lying pale-faced on the floor, very much dead.
Zoe hovered around the desk. She did that when there was something on her mind and she was desperate to let it out but wanted to be prompted – she was like a child on a sugar rush.
“What?” Nick said, not looking away from the screen.
“Nothing,” She responded sharply.
“No, there’s something on your chest,” Nick turned to face her, “Better to get it out than to let it fester in your mind.” What he wanted to say was ‘better to get it out before you do something stupid’ but decided against it. Something was niggling on her mind, eating away at her patience.
“It’s just that… I feel like we’re missing something.”
“We are.” He quickly responded, “The killer!”
“No,” She rolled her eyes, “It doesn’t add up. We know it wasn’t The Sailor and—”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Nick interrupted, needing to slow her down. Needing her to understand that although she had some valid points, everything was still circumstantial. No solid evidence – and no solid evidence, no solid case; something she should have learned by now.
“I am pretty convinced it wasn’t. And I’m not sure about this copycat killer theory either.”
“What do you mean? What else could this be?”
“I’m not sure but let’s think about this…” She sat on the chair opposite him, “When I did Criminology in university, I studied a lot of crimes – there’s always a pattern – especially when it comes to serial killers and copycat killers. I mean, copycats are usually more particular about the murder than the killers they’re copying. Pedantic in following things to the button.”
She paused for a moment.
“Go on…” Nick prompted.
“The Sailor was a—”
“Is a...” Nick interrupted, “We haven’t caught him yet to call him a ‘was’.”
“Is a precision killer,” she continued, “All his victims were killed in the same way, precisely the same way. He thrived on people knowing it was him who did it – he made the killings so elegant, it would be hard to counterfeit. After looking at all the case studies of his murders, we don’t even need him to carve his signature brand on the victim to know it’s him, we know just by his style of killing.”
“Where are you going with this?” Nick said, intrigued with the idea but wanting, needing to cut to the chase.
“If it was a copycat killer, then why were they so far off on how The Sailor did it?”
“You said yourself, it would be hard to replicate The Sailor’s style or ‘signature brand’ as you so accurately put it.”
“I did, but this is different. The killer would have tried to mimic The Sailor in the murder weapon and the way in which it was done, at the very least.”
“The sailboat?” Nick pointed out.
“That was the only thing copied,” she said with a serious tone.
“So, you're saying that you think this wasn’t the job of a copycat killer?”
“I am saying it could be a lousy copycat or…” she paused letting it hang for a moment.
“Or it’s someone who wants us to think it was The Sailor,” Nick said.
Zoe nodded. “Yes. Someone killed this girl aggressively and wanted to point us to a direction they knew we’d jump to.”
“It’s plausible. Also sounds like a perfect crime novel.” Nick faced the computer. “Right now, we need to stick to the facts.”
“I am,” Zoe said.
“I know, but I’m just saying… you know that we need to make sure we don’t… you know.”
He could feel her gaze. He wanted to look at her but already knew the expression she would have on her face. More than that, he wished he had just agreed with her and told her to keep up the good work.
“You mean don’t screw up as I did with Morrison?” She snapped.
“That’s not what I said.” Nick looked at her. That was exactly what he meant.
“I know it’s not what you said. It’s what you inferred.” Her eyes shot to the ground.
“That’s not fair.”
“Don’t’ worry, Sir, I know all about unfair.” She marched to the door. “I am going to find out whether the mother is willing to answer a few questions.”
Nick thought about telling her to sit back down and explaining he was worried about her and just wanted her to be careful, but she was already at the door. Though, he was sure that nothing he said would make the situation better. He was her senior and was supposed to be watching over her, but most times he felt as if he w
as babysitting. She was a damn good detective but a real pain in the arse. Like an incredibly fast racehorse, but so wild that she never stuck to the course – ran in whichever direction she wanted to.
“Shoot!” he said to himself and looked at the clock.
7pm.
He removed his phone from his pocket. Better message the better half, he thought just before the phone on his desk rang. He put his mobile down and grabbed the receiver on his desk.
“Nick Bailey,” he said and then rummaged through the clutter for his pen. “Go on.”
After putting down the receiver, he tore off the page he had scribbled on and walked out of the office.
Finally! Something to go on.
As he strode through the building, Zoe noticed him.
“Sir,” she said following behind him, “I called the mother, and she’s willing to come into the station for an interview.”
“That’s great,” Nick responded but didn’t stop walking.
“What’s the rush?”
“I need to pee.” he said and then peered at his watch, “It’s passed seven. Your shift finished an hour ago. Go home, get some rest. It’s been a long day.”
“I’m fine to stay on. I think we need to speak to the mother as soon as possible.”
“We’ll get Marcus and Vivian to do it. They’re good at interviews. They do the whole ‘good cop – bad cop’ thing.”
“Sir, she’s not a criminal.”
“We don’t know anything for sure.”
“I’d rather stay on if that’s OK.” She annoyingly insisted.
Nick stopped at the men’s toilets and turned back to face her.
“Look,” he pointed at the icon of a man on the door, “Until some nutcase finds it offensive that women aren’t allowed in here, you are not allowed in here! This is a private place for a man to process his thoughts and get to grips with the mess that he calls life. So, please, just give me my rights.”
As Nick marched into the toilets, he heard her from behind him.
“I’ll be waiting here until you get back from your ‘man dimension’.
“Tenacious cow.” He mumbled loud enough for her to hear.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She yelled.
“Take it how you want!”
If people didn’t know any better, they would assume they were a married couple who loved and loathed each other.
Nick couldn’t be married to someone like Zoe. She would drive him up the wall. He imagined dishes in the sink would call for an investigation and a possible disciplinary hearing. Leaving the toothpaste cap open or the toilet seat up would call for the death penalty.
Glad he married Stacey – didn’t think he would ever find love again, but he did. Stacey was laid back; she had only recently started fussing with the baby stuff – baby books, YouTube Vlogs, Yoga – but before that she was a free spirit who didn’t take things too seriously. She didn’t worry about the future, or money or anything in between.
She was smart but in a funny, witty way that Nick loved. She made him laugh and forget about the world around him and the past that haunted him.
Nick grinned as he walked out of the Gents and saw Zoe stood stubbornly exactly where she promised to be.
“You’re not going home, are you?” Nick sighed.
“No chance.” She grinned.
“Fine. But you’re not getting paid overtime.”
“I wouldn’t even ask.”
“Grab your coat. We’re heading out.”
She smiled, “What we got?”
“A possible witness, Mrs Green, first name Taylor. She saw something on the morning the body was discovered.”
“What did she see?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out.” Nick could see the excitement in her eyes as Zoe almost skipped to the car. He thought about her energy and determination when trying to get to the bottom of something. He also thought about her being a 29-year-old single woman who has never had a serious relationship or a real social life except meeting with the team for a drink on the odd occasion.
“Time flies,” Nick said as they drove through the busy streets of London.
“Erm… OK. Random.” She said.
“No, I mean, one minute you’re there graduating from University and the next you’re…” He paused.
“Old!” she responded, “Yeah, that’s kind of how life works, you know.”
“Yes, and there’s no way of stopping the clock once it starts. No pause buttons, nothing.”
“OK, this is way too late in the day to have a deep, philosophical conversation.”
“That’s just the thing; it feels like there’s never a time to have these types of conversations.”
“I don’t think I’m following.”
“I think what I’m trying to say is that life is short. And there is so much to do, to see, to experience. I’d hate to see you look back at your life and regret not doing the things that make you happy.”
“Was that a ‘you’ as in general ‘you’ or like a referring to me ‘you’?”
Nick allowed silence to answer the question.
“Wow.” She huffed, “Please don’t tell me you’ve been talking to my mother.”
“I haven’t.”
“Really? Because you sound just like her.”
“I don’t mean to be condescending. You’re young and have so much ahead of you. This job, if you let it, can consume you. I get you’re passionate, and your determination is more than I have seen in the department. A lot of people just look at as a job – they come to work, do their job, get paid, go home and switch off. And who can blame them. They signed up for a job, they didn’t sign their life away. You can’t let this job be the only thing in your life.”
They drove for the next few minutes in awkward silence – Nick drowning in a river of regret. He had shifted from professionalism to personal criticism – not a good move.
“What makes you think this is all I have in my life?” she finally responded, as if Nick’s comments took some time to sink in, fester and cause offence.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Nick put his guards up. Not ready but expecting the blows.
“Really? What did you mean?” Wait, let me guess, you’re wondering why I am a single woman, living on my own.”
The conversation had swerved into the danger zone – he had overstepped the mark. She was not asking a question. She did not want a response, that much was clear.
Nick stopped the car outside the house of the witness and thought of what to say to diffuse the tension. Turning back time was out of the question.
“Not everyone has to get married, have children and live happily ever after.” She said in a bitter tone as if the very prospect of such a life was absurd. “You said about doing things that make you happy. I’m doing what makes me happy every day – keeping people safe. If that isn’t enough for your primitive, chauvinistic perception of how things should be then you are more than welcome to sit with my mother and nostalgically bitch about how messed up the world is now in comparison to then!”
She opened the door and stood outside, indicating that the conversation was over. He deserved that. Did he expect her to nod and agree with his perception of what “happy” was? Tell him he was right because he was married, and he knows the grass is greener on the other side? She was missing out – all that romantic bullshit that sold novels and movies?
Idiot!
Chapter 10
Before
Sarah brushed aside the scattered things on her bed to sit down. Her mother stepped into her room, clenching the pack of blades in her hand. Her expression was indecipherable. Was she angry, upset, both?
“Sarah, talk to me.” Her mother sat on the bed next to her. “What’s this about?” Her tone suggested she wasn’t angry, which was a shame. Sarah could have done with her being angry. Screaming at her so she could scream back. Tell her how much she hated her, how much she wished she died instead of her f
ather. Hateful things she didn’t mean and would regret later. Things that people said when they were enraged.
Sarah remained silent. What was left to say? She was desperate to cut herself to sleep. She couldn’t, her mother would never understand, she had never been able to. The only person in this world who could was gone – gone forever.
Her mother placed her palms on Sarah’s shoulder. Her hands were like red hot coals burning into Sarah’s skin. She wanted to shrug them off. Shout at her – tell her to go away and leave her alone.
“Please, you need to tell me what’s going on. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong. Let me in, for once.”
You’re better off outside, Sarah thought, you all are.
“Sarah, let me help you. We can’t go through this again. I will do anything. Please.”
“Leave me alone!” Sarah snapped. Help me? The very words made her sick. How could she help me? How could anyone help?
“I can’t leave you alone. I’m afraid to. We can’t go through this again!”
“I just want to be left alone.” Silence filled the room before Sarah looked up at her mother, “You want to help?”
“Of course,” her mother responded eagerly, as if the words had sparked hope inside her.
“Then bring dad back!” she yelled with tears flooding down her face. “Bring him back!” The words were a double-edged sword.
Her mother wrapped her arms tightly around her as they both sobbed for the next five minutes. Tears she had suppressed for so long had finally been released.
They both then lay on the bed facing each other snivelling and fighting the tears.
“I never loved anyone the way I loved your father,” her mother said, “He meant the world to me and when he died, it was as if the entire world around me crumbled.” She wiped her eyes. “I… I’m sorry I never talk about him – it’s just that I found, find it so painful that…” The tears restarted. She wiped them with the back of her hands and then put her palms on Sarah’s cheeks.
