by Carol Wyer
He folds the blankets as he has done every day since he left the army – neat squares with crisp edges – and the remainder of his equipment is left in tightly rolled bundles. The last item, the photograph he’s carried in his pocket since the day he signed up for the army, is placed on top. It is time to finally say goodbye to Felicity.
The sound surprises him. It’s too early for druggies to be inside the warehouse. They usually don’t appear until after ten when Rob is hidden on the top floor. Nobody ever climbs the staircase, afraid of falling through. Shuffling. Coughing. It’s another person from the streets. He can’t allow anyone to stay here in the warehouse this evening. This is to be his final destination and he needs to do this in private.
He pads downstairs, spots the hunched figure pulling at boxes in search of a place to sleep.
‘You can’t stay here.’
The person turns. It’s a young boy, skinny and dirty, red-rimmed eyes full of cold.
Rob’s heart sinks. ‘It can be dangerous here at night.’
‘Where am I going to go?’ The voice is defiant but thick with phlegm.
‘Shelter. You’re ill. You need to be inside in the warm.’
‘I can manage.’
‘Here, take this for your bus fare. The stop is in front of the station. I’ll come with you and make sure you can get on board. Get off at the bus station and go to Deaver Street. They’ll look after you.’ The two pounds in his pocket is half of the fare he needs to get him as close to Juniper Drive as possible by bus, to meet Bev. Now he’ll have to jog the distance between a stop further away and the destination, to still reach her in time. The kid needs the money more than he does. This can be his penultimate act of kindness. He wishes he could do more.
The boy, Kirk, is on the bus, his head lowered, no word of thanks, but at least Rob knows he’ll be warm tonight, if the kid takes his advice. There’s no time to dwell on the matter as he must meet Bev. His own bus shudders to a halt and he climbs aboard, ignoring the icy stares from the other passengers. He’s used to them. As the bus trundles along, rocking gently from side to side, he reflects on what he’ll tell Bev. He’s seen terrible things since living on the streets and it is time people woke up to what happens. He shuts his eyes to evoke the memories of Amelia…
Rob’s wandering down the street opposite the school car park. It’s early and he takes a moment to stare at the old building. Schools like this one remind him of his mother, and although he doesn’t like to be near them when the school day has begun and kids are about, now is a good time to pause and savour the memories of his childhood. He is surprised when a car pulls up and a man gets out to punch in the access code. He jumps back into the driving seat and waits for the gate to grind open sufficiently for the vehicle to pass through. The mechanism is still whirring as the vehicle pulls up outside the building. Rob observes the occupants who climb out unaware of his presence, and he recognises one of them, Amelia, who he’s seen about town a number of times. She’s a hooker, a young girl who paces the pavement in tears and berates herself when she is alone. He can tell she is unhappy but there’s nothing he can do to help her. Amelia says something to the man and woman who have driven her here and makes to walk away, but the woman grabs her by the wrist and pulls her towards the door. They argue and the woman slaps Amelia hard. She starts to cry but is hustled into the school.
Concern for the young woman causes Rob to leap to his feet, cross the road and enter the school yard through the gates, which are beginning to shut. A light comes on in a classroom, making it easier to work out where they are, and he peers through into the room. They’re wasting no time. They order Amelia to strip off and stare openly at her as she removes her clothes. She is then made to stand naked on a chair. The woman chooses a red board marker and writes the word ‘SLUT’ in capital letters across the girl’s chest. What follows is abuse. Amelia is subjected to being spanked on her buttocks and hit on the stomach and thighs with a wooden ruler before the man takes her across his desk. She cries silently as they subject her to further contemptuous, physical abuse. Eventually they release her, march her to the door and tell her to get lost. She asks for her money and is met with nothing but threats. She runs off, ashamed and humiliated, and Rob seethes on her behalf.
Bev is waiting in her Mini, engine running. She’s spied him but not got out of the car. Rob taps on the window and she lowers the glass an inch. ‘Are you—?’
‘Yes. I’m Rob Yeomans.’
Bev gives a small nod. His face rings a bell. ‘I know you. You stopped me on the street, tried to get me to write a piece about homeless people.’
‘And you ignored me.’
‘Is that what this is about – homeless people?’
‘It’s more than just homeless people or street-walkers. It’s about supposedly honest citizens taking advantage of people who fall under the radar.’
‘And how will such a story appeal to my readers?’
‘You know how. Don’t take me for a mug. The people we are talking about are supposedly good Samaritans – privileged, respectable individuals who treat those less fortunate than themselves like dirt… and then there’s the fact I killed them.’ His back is beginning to ache, stooped over as he is, talking through the lowered glass. He doesn’t have much time. He needs to get back to the warehouse before the high-speed express train passes through. He scrabbles in his pocket for the notepad containing what he’s witnessed, including the horrendous account of what Eugene subjected Katie to. ‘I’ve written everything in this. I haven’t got long. I thought we could use this time for you to ask me any questions.’
Bev gives him a steely look. ‘How can I trust you?’
He shrugs. ‘I need you to print this story. It’s as simple as that.’
‘And if I refuse?’
‘You can drive away, tell the police about me and write about something else.’
‘You won’t try and kill me?’
‘I won’t.’
‘What about the “you’re as guilty as the others” shit?’
‘I had to get you to meet me. I figured it would bait you, pique your interest, and I was right. Look, I’m a murderer. Not only did I murder a scumbag pimp but I killed one of the town’s prominent citizens, his daughter and a primary school teacher. How many days of the week do you get to interview a killer, one who will readily confess?’
She appeared to consider the question. ‘Okay, but I get to stay in my car and you keep your distance.’
‘I can’t stay hunched over like this. It’s uncomfortable.’
‘Squat over there by the fence and I’ll lower my passenger window. If you make any sudden movements, I’ll leave.’
‘Okay. Is your phone switched off as I asked?’
She lifts her mobile to show the blank screen. ‘I would like to record the interview though.’
‘No. You’ll have to rely on your memory and my notes. You can have them when we’re finished.’
‘You drive a hard bargain.’
‘My way or no way.’
‘Your way.’
It hasn’t taken long and Bev has her story. She’s found it newsworthy and promised to print it. She’s left and taken with her the ballpoint pen, the one he used to write his story. He wrapped it in a dirty tissue and gave it to her with instructions to hand it over to the police. The ink in it will provide a match to the writing on his victims’ foreheads and prove he was their killer.
He’s buzzing, ready to return to the warehouse and end the sorry saga that is his life. He’s about to jog back when he spots headlights, the vehicle moving slowly, too slowly, towards him. He slips through a gap and onto the wasteland before any beams fall on him. Bev must have rung the police and turned him in. They’re hunting for him. This will ruin his plan to return to the warehouse and end it all – the pain, the unhappiness, the self-loathing. He lurks in the darkness and observes as a woman emerges from the car. He recognises her even in the dim light of the car’s interior. It’
s the DCI who gave him the twenty pounds. If she’s here, others will be on her tail soon and he’ll be taken. There’s no way he’s going to prison. It’ll be like the army. His flesh crawls at the prospect, and as she sweeps her torch towards the outbuildings, he follows her. He must make sure she and her team don’t stop him.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Tuesday, 5 November – Late Evening
Lucy rested her head against her forearms, balanced across the steering wheel. Rob had only told her half the story. He’d confessed to the murders and told her why he’d killed Tommy, but not given her any reasons as to why he’d murdered Eugene, Rachel or Dominic.
She straightened with great effort. She was bone-weary, defeated by the investigation, yet now she had paperwork to face and had to answer to her superiors, who might question why she didn’t arrest Rob and have him confess at the station rather than allow him to stay close to the railway lines. She’d messed up. She dialled Natalie’s number, got the answerphone and left a message, asking her to ring back; then, taking one last look at the warehouse, she started the engine and drove away.
She was faced with having to justify why she’d not ordered her team to surround Rob and bring him in; moreover, she was going to have to explain why he’d murdered four people. Although one reason was that as a victim of abuse himself, he’d recognised fellow victims in Amelia and Katie and avenged them, there were other possible explanations for his behaviour, including the possibility he’d experienced some sort of further breakdown, even resorting to fabricating the whole ‘victim’ scenario to justify the ends. It goaded her she’d never know the full story.
She broke away from her downbeat thoughts to respond to a phone call from one of the technical team.
‘Hi, Lucy. Bev Gardner’s been trying to get hold of Natalie. Says it’s urgent and it’s to do with Rob Yeomans but refuses to speak to anyone other than Natalie. I can’t raise her either. Her mobile is ringing out. Is she with you?’
‘No.’
‘We thought she was. She said she was going to contact you.’
‘She did ring me. She was going to take a quick look to see if Bev’s car was at the wasteland and call for backup if it was required, but I didn’t hear back from her and I assumed she didn’t spot anything. Are you telling me she hasn’t been in touch since she went looking for Bev?’
‘No.’
‘Shit. She rang me about two hours ago. Can you get a trace on her mobile?’
‘No. It’s switched off.’
‘What about her home line?’
‘No response.’
‘Can you track her car?’
‘It’s not fitted with a tracking unit.’
It was unlike Natalie to drop off the radar like this. ‘Give Mike a call and ask if she’s been in touch. I’ll head to the wasteland.’
Lucy rang Murray, who was on his way home. She made out heavy metal music in the background of his car. Murray always played heavy metal and sang along loudly when he was stressed. ‘We can’t raise Natalie. She went to the wasteland to look for Bev a couple of hours ago, her phone is off and nobody knows where she is. I’m on my way to Juniper Drive. Can you meet me there?’
‘Sure. I’ll get hold of Ian too. He won’t be far away.’
She fought back the rising panic in her chest. She’d never forgive herself if something happened to Natalie. It was one thing to screw up an investigation, but to neglect a fellow officer… A terrifying thought crashed into her mind, freezing her blood and almost causing her to drive into the kerb. What if there were two killers and Bev had gone to meet one of them and Natalie had…? She couldn’t let her imagination run away. There was probably a simple explanation. Her phone rang. It was the same officer.
‘Mike hasn’t heard from Natalie.’
‘Shit!’
‘We captured her car turning into Juniper Drive at 7.34 p.m. but we can’t find it again after that time. The same thing happened with Bev’s car earlier, although we later identified it heading along the dual carriageway towards her house. Natalie’s car hasn’t been captured on any cameras. She didn’t use the underpass and she hasn’t gone in the same direction as Bev. She has to still be there somewhere.’
‘Okay. That’s useful. I’ll keep my eyes peeled.’ Lucy ended the call, wondered if she should try ringing Josh, and decided that she couldn’t give him cause to worry. He’d been through enough in recent times without now fretting that something had happened to his mother. She wiped first one hand then the other on her trousers, removing the sweaty sheen from them. She ought to have checked in with Natalie. She’d been so shocked by Rob’s actions, she’d completely forgotten about her.
Juniper Drive was metres away and she turned into the dark road, unlit by streetlights, and kerb-crawled the length of the road, all the while her heart leaping in her chest. There was no sign of Natalie’s car. Rob hadn’t been at the warehouse at 7.40 p.m. when she and her team had arrived, slipped from their vehicles and made their way inside. He’d appeared at the warehouse some fifteen to twenty minutes later. Had there been time for him to harm Natalie? The answer was a simple yes, especially if he’d then used her car to drive close to the warehouse.
She did a three-point turn at the end of the road and returned, head turning left and right, attempting to see into the darkness beyond the dilapidated metal fencing. It had been Lucy’s suggestion Natalie look for Bev’s car when, really, she should have knocked back Natalie’s concerns about the journalist and ensured she’d waited until they’d checked out the warehouse before coming here. Lucy had failed as a team leader. Natalie might be DCI but Lucy was in charge of the investigation and the buck stopped with her.
She halted the car, clambered out and made sure she had a hand on her firearm. ‘Is there anybody there? Natalie?’
There was nothing other than tyres squealing as another vehicle swung onto the road, headlights bouncing as it approached. Murray had arrived. His brakes crunched to a halt and he leapt out to join her. ‘I rang Ian. He’s on his way.’
‘You don’t think I’m overreacting then?’
‘Not at all.’
‘I should have checked on her sooner.’
‘She’s a seasoned detective. She’s not some green-around-the-gills constable.’
‘Doesn’t make me feel better.’
‘It ought to. You didn’t send her here. She came of her own free will. She knows the risks involved in solo outings to places like this.’
‘She was supposed to call for assistance if she needed it.’
‘Stop fretting, will you? She obviously didn’t feel she needed it.’
The road lit up again. Ian was on his way.
Lucy chewed at her bottom lip. If anything had happened to Natalie, she’d never forgive herself no matter what Murray said. She waited, bathed in the glow of the dipped headlights, unsure of where to begin searching for Natalie. The wasteland was a gigantic expanse, all in complete darkness, which made the task of finding Natalie all the more daunting. The thought of her lying somewhere injured or dead was too much to contemplate, and as soon as Ian was beside them, she sprang into action and switched on her Maglite, running it over the flattened chain-link fence. ‘Looks like somebody’s driven right over this.’
Ian commented, ‘They’re always breaking it to fly-tip. No sooner do the council re-erect it than some clever arse cuts a hole in the wire mesh or tears it down so they can drive onto the land.’
‘You start here,’ said Lucy, trailing the beam of her torch along the uneven ground towards a scattered line of outbuildings ahead. ‘Murray and I will head further along the street and cover other entry points – that way, we’ll cover more ground.’
Ian began scrambling over the uneven terrain in the direction of the buildings, stepping over mounds of earth and around piles of rubbish. Lucy and Murray strode out, Lucy peeling off fifty metres on, where the fence had collapsed. Her torch beam landed on busted sofas and abandoned white goods. Large plastic bi
n bags, ripped open by wildlife, lay in black piles, contents spilled out onto the soil. She forced herself to check every spot in case Natalie had been abandoned there and, with heart thumping against her ribcage, proceeded towards the defaced outbuildings. Murray, who’d found another way onto the land, gave a shout: ‘There’s a car!’ Lucy couldn’t make out what he’d seen but she headed after him with renewed urgency, accompanied by puffing and soft thuds as Ian raced behind her. Murray was the first to reach the building and stood despondently in front of the vehicle.
‘It hasn’t moved for a while,’ said Ian, catching his breath and staring at the abandoned vehicle, blackened through fire.
‘Natalie!’ Lucy’s voice was carried away on the wind.
The concrete outbuildings were identical, long with flat roofs. ‘There are quite a few buildings. We’ll try them all,’ said Murray, his eyes now on the empty doorway to the first. ‘What were they? Prisons?’
‘They used to house animals here before they sent them for slaughter,’ Ian replied.
Murray headed inside, Lucy hard on his heels. The Maglite torches flicked over graffitied walls. ‘“Lisa-Anne takes it up the arse.” “GG sucks cocks.” How romantic,’ muttered Murray as he stepped over a collection of syringes and empty glass bottles filled with yellowing liquid that certainly wasn’t gin or vodka as the labels suggested.
Lucy moved through the first room into the second; a concrete trough containing cigarette ends and more empty bottles ran along the wall. ‘Nothing here.’
They exited the building and Lucy shouted, ‘Natalie! Where are you?’ A cloud of warm air blew out with her words, evaporating instantly into the night sky. It was hopeless. If Natalie was here, she couldn’t answer.
