Phobia

by Dean Crawford

  ‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’

  The conversation was stilted, awkward, and she knew why. Jason was working his way up to something, and instead of just being himself, he was struggling. She didn’t know why guys got like that, all tongue–tied and self–conscious. Most times, even if a girl wasn’t interested, being asked out nicely was always a huge boost to morale and confidence, especially these days, when anything more than a twenty–inch waist and an arse the size of two grapes was considered obese. She thought about letting him know in some gentle way that she wasn’t interested, but then the nausea returned from nowhere and she began to sway as she walked.

  ‘Jesus.’

  She almost tripped and toppled sideways. Jason jumped into motion and caught her as she slumped into him.

  ‘Jayden,’ he murmured as they stopped in the rain, Jayden’s umbrella pinned between them at an awkward angle. ‘You can’t be drunk; you haven’t had enough.’

  Jason was propping her upright on legs that felt as though they had turned to mush. ‘I know, I only had one and a half glasses.’

  Jason looked at her for a moment, peering into her eyes. ‘I reckon your drink’s been spiked or something. Come on, you just need to get your head down and sleep it off.’

  Jayden allowed Jason to lead her along, but her mind was racing as fast as its lethargy would allow. Could somebody have spiked her wine? Why? It wasn’t like she was on her own or anything, how could anybody have thought that they would end up alone with her and…

  Jason bought the round.

  The thought hit her hard, and she peered sideways at him. She couldn’t see his face behind the hood. He wasn’t like that, was he? Would he really do something like this? They worked in the same office for God’s sake, it wasn’t like he wouldn’t be under suspicion if he tried anything. He’d be the last person to see her before…

  ‘I think I’m alright from here,’ she said, and gently pushed away from him.

  Jason reluctantly released her, but she could see concern in his eyes. ‘Are you kidding? You can barely stand. If somebody spiked your drink, you’re gonna be a lot worse soon.’

  Jayden sucked in a deep breath of cool, damp air, smelled the scent of unwashed roads as cars splashed past nearby on the Aldgate Road.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she promised, ‘I can see my place from here.’

  Jason glanced at the small block maybe a couple of hundred metres away, and shrugged.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘you sure you don’t want me to get you at least to the block? You look really unsteady.’

  She shook her head, both cautious of the offer and surprised he was folding so easily. ‘I can make it,’ she said with a bright smile, ‘have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Jayden turned and began walking. Within two paces the whole world tilted crazily and she stumbled, staggered to her left and was lucky to reach the grass before she crashed down onto her knees. The umbrella fell from her grasp and she struggled to keep her eyes open.

  Jason leapt to her side.

  ‘Okay, that’s it, I’m getting you home even if you scream the whole bloody way.

  Get up.’

  Jason helped her to her feet, grabbed both of her shoulders and forced her to look at him.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking: you think that I might have spiked your drink, and you’re worried about it, right?’

  Jayden’s mind was fuzzy, as though she’d drunk ten bottles of wine, not two glasses.

  She nodded vacantly.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that,’ Jason said as he reached down with one hand, picked up her umbrella and handed it to her. ‘If I wanted to date you, I’d just bloody ask. As a matter of fact, I was thinking about doing just that, but not now, not while you’re like this.’

  Jason slipped her arm through his and walked with her as he pulled out his mobile phone and dialled a number. Moments later, Jayden heard the noisy pub and Kyle’s voice answer on the other end of the line.

  ‘Kyle, mate, it’s Jason. Jayden’s not in good shape. I’m going to get her home but I want the girls to check in on her when they head back, can you ask them for me?’

  ‘Sure thing mate, they’ll be there.’ ‘Ta.’

  Jason shut the line off and tucked the phone back in his pocket.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jayden mumbled, regretting her suspicions. ‘I just thought that…’ ‘Doesn’t matter,’ Jason replied. ‘Let’s just get you home, you can apologise to me tomorrow night when you buy me a drink for being such a noble hero.’

  Jayden smiled through her crippling fatigue, glad now that she was with somebody who could chaperone her to her door. They walked the last hundred meters in companionable silence until they reached the apartment doors, which were protected with a security lock and a number pad.

  ‘Alright,’ Jason said. ‘Can you make it from here, or do you need a hand inside?’ Jayden steadied herself. Get a grip.

  ‘I’m good,’ she said, ‘I can make it to my bed.’

  ‘Okay,’ Jason replied. ‘Get your head down, and don’t come in tomorrow if you’re not feeling up to it. The girls will swing by in a bit to check on you.’

  ‘Thanks, Jason,’ she said, and gave him a hug. ‘No worries, see you later.’

  Jason turned and walked away with his hands tucked in his pockets and his hood up against the rain. Jayden turned, focused on the security pad, then tapped in her number. The locks clicked as they unlatched, and she walked into the block and heard the doors close and lock again safely behind her.

  Jayden staggered up to the first floor, and eventually made it to her door. She reached into her handbag for her keys, opened the door and almost fell through it into the hall. She hit the light switch, closed the front door behind her and managed to drape the security latch into place with the last of her strength before she staggered into her bedroom and collapsed onto her bed, every limb feeling as heavy as all the earth.

  She closed her eyes, falling asleep, hypnogogic imagery flashing before her eyes as she passed through the murky realm between wakefulness and dreams. It was only then that she felt the hands press on her. Panic lurched through her and she tried to move, but her limbs were unresponsive, her breathing shallow. She felt the weight of a man press down upon her, felt his breath in her ear and smelled a hint of aftershave on his skin, and as the terrible lethargy overpowered her and her consciousness slipped away, she heard his voice whisper in her ear.

  ‘Your time has come.’

  13

  Grey clouds tumbled in disarray across the dawn sky, patches of pale blue visible between them and the scent of rain on the air. From Honor’s vantage point, the city skyline to the west was lit with stark, low sunlight against a backdrop of deeply bruised clouds.

  The apartment that Amber Carson rented in Hackney was tucked alongside a narrow alley opposite waste ground, the entrance deeply sheltered from any security cameras outside the nearby King’s Head pub. Honor surveyed the flat, which was above a small café, from the street outside.

  A constable made way for her through the police cordon when she showed him her warrant card. There had been a media presence ever since the news broadcast which had named the victims in the case so far, but at this early hour none of the journalists were present. Honor had already called in the crime scene examiner and forensic teams, but they were on their way and she needed to see the scene for herself.

  ‘Easy to hide,’ Danny said beside her as he looked at the alley where the apartment entrance was located. ‘Real dark here at night, and no camera coverage.’

  Honor made her way to the open door, which was of the double–security type, metal bars across a standard front door. Her first thought was that the killer, whomever he was, would have been required to make his way past these double doors if he was intending to strike at Amber from within her home. The chances of him being able to do so, to get ahead of her and break in through both doors, seemed highly unlikely.

  The apartment was s
cented with damp at the bottom of the stairs, which led up a staircase so narrow that even Honor’s narrow shoulders almost touched the sides. At the top, a small landing branched off into a kitchen and bathroom to the left, living room and bedroom to the right. Honor walked into the living room, as she always did when first visiting the scene of any domestic incident.

  Say nothing. Do nothing. Just look.

  A small two–seat sofa sat opposite a wall–mounted television, a scattering of magazines on a tiny coffee table between them. Polished wood floors, originals by the look of them, stained mahogany brown in contrast to the pale walls and ceiling. Amber was a woman who knew how to use light to make the tiny apartment feel just that little bit bigger and brighter.

  The walls were adorned with colourful paintings of sailing vessels on blue seas, golden beaches shimmering in abstract brush strokes. Honor spotted photographs in frames on a narrow mantlepiece below the television: Amber’s parents, her brother, what might be cousins too, all taken on various holidays to sun–drenched coasts.

  ‘She travelled,’ Danny noted.

  ‘Always with family. No sign of a boyfriend,’ Samir added as he joined them.

  Good, Honor thought to herself, Samir’s coming along nicely. He too was standing still, just looking, perhaps mimicking her style.

  ‘Homely,’ she replied, ‘looks after the place, no mess. Conscientious, seeing as she doesn’t own it.’

  Danny turned and walked to the bedroom door, performing the same ritual. ‘Look at this.’

  Honor squeezed in alongside him so that she could see the room. The bed was made, but there was a depression upon it, the sheets slightly ruffled. A crime scene photographer was taking shots of the bed.

  ‘She might have sat down,’ Honor said.

  ‘Lain down, the depression’s too long, but that’s not what bothers me the most.’

  Honor then spotted the bag and phone on Amber’s bedside table as Danny gestured to them.

  ‘He was here,’ she said, her voice almost a whisper. ‘Damn me, he was in the flat.’

  ‘Which means that she must have known him, right?’ Samir added. ‘He can’t have got through those double doors.’

  Honor didn’t say anything for a moment. She knew, or rather was certain, that their killer had planned everything that was happening. But to what lengths had he gone to in order to abduct and detain his victims?

  ‘We know that Amber was with her friends in the pub,’ she said, her voice somewhat amplified in the confines of the apartment. ‘There was no sign of a man at their table.’

  ‘None that we’ve seen,’ Danny confirmed.

  ‘Yet she was drugged at some point. Could it have happened here? Could she have been abducted from home, her killer lying in wait?’

  ‘But then how would he have drugged her?’

  Honor could only think of one answer. ‘An accomplice.’

  Danny shook his head, but then she saw him think about it for a moment.

  ‘Both victims were in pubs at the time they were presumably drugged,’ he said, thinking out loud. ‘Both were in large groups.’

  Honor realised that it didn’t make sense.

  ‘The killer couldn’t have ingratiated himself into both groups of friends – Sebastian was on a work do, right? Amber was just out with friends. Neither group shows any sign of a connection, and it doesn’t explain how there is no male on the CCTV of Amber with her friends.’

  ‘So, he had to drug her here,’ Samir pointed out, ‘which means he would have had to have either been in here when she got home, or he met her along the way and was invited in, which again suggests that she knew him.’

  Honor felt as though something was escaping them, some tiny piece of the puzzle. They would be questioning Amber’s family and friends further, and would have to ensure that she was not seeing anybody or had any enemies who might wish her harm, but right now their quarry was a ghost, unseen and unheard.

  Something the pathologist had told Honor popped back into her head.

  ‘GHB takes time to have an effect,’ she murmured. ‘What if our guy spikes people’s drinks in the pubs, then waits?’

  Danny nodded slowly as he rolled the idea around in his head.

  ‘Tough to do without being seen, but if he pulls it off, they start feeling rough after a while,’ he said, ‘decide to head home and bam, he grabs them.’

  Honor visualised Amber making her way home through London, right past Bishopsgate, and on into Hackney. There were numerous narrow side streets there, routes she could have reasonably been abducted from without easily being detected.

  ‘So why wait for her here?’ Honor asked. ‘What’s the point in breaking in?’ Samir shook his head, unable to provide her with an answer.

  Don’t try to think like a sane person, Honor reminded herself. Think like somebody driven by obsession. She stepped back into the living room and looked around again. If their killer had indeed decided to wait for Amber here, then he too would have wanted to look around, even just to pass the time. Yes, he is obsessed, so he would be obsessed with his victims. Being here would be exciting for him, an intrusion into Amber’s personal space. She let her eyes fall on the first thing that she saw in the room.

  The mantelpiece on the left–hand wall, beneath the television, stood out. The row of framed photographs of Amber’s family and friends, neatly arranged. She approached them and crouched down, observing not the images but the surface of the mantelpiece itself.

  ‘Human nature,’ she said as Danny joined her. ‘These pictures have been moved recently. You can see the dust patterns where they were originally standing. The killer comes in here, waits, takes a look around to pass the time.’

  ‘I’ll let Forensics know,’ came the reply. ‘If this guy got in the least bit bored waiting, he might have moved other objects about, maybe left a print or a hair.’

  The City of London Police Forensic Services Department had despatched a Scenes of Crime team to the site upon Honor’s request, and within minutes they would begin to inspect every square inch of the property with a dazzling array of sensors and tools such as DNA17, fluorescent powder suspension, fingerprint detection tools and other in–house techniques that they used. Honor had requested their covert team to attend the scene, largely to minimise the public signature of the investigation.

  ‘He’ll have thought about that,’ she said to Danny. ‘Worn gloves, maybe even a hairnet. He’s been too careful up to now.’

  Honor pictured in her mind’s eye Amber coming back here, perhaps under the influence of GHB already. She would have to unlock both the doors, get inside, lock them behind her and then make her way up the steep and narrow staircase. She might have been hazy, confused, lethargic, her consciousness wavering as she made it to the top of the stairs. She would have turned right, headed for the bedroom, slumped onto her bed, exhausted.

  Honor moved to the bedroom door and imagined her abductor, waiting somewhere else, perhaps in the living room, watching in the darkness as Amber collapsed, before moving in and overpowering her. There would have been little struggle, perhaps none at all if Amber was already unconscious.

  ‘You lay in wait for them, in the places they least expect,’ she murmured to herself as she turned and looked at the rest of the apartment. ‘They’re home, they feel safe but they’re weakened and confused: they’re not prepared for you when you strike.’

  Honor thought about that for a moment. The victim, utterly defenceless; the killer, utterly dominant over their prey, completely in control of the situation.

  ‘Control freak,’ she whispered, almost to herself as she wandered back into the living room, ‘confidence issues, a history of violence perhaps.’ She strolled to the windows of the apartment. ‘Problems at home, parental abuse?’

  Honor did not have a motive for the killings, yet, but she suspected that the desire to witness others endure their greatest fears as their own cause of death had its roots in the killer’s past. Many who had suffere
d unthinkable abuse in their childhood sought their revenge by subjecting other, weaker victims to that same abuse. The cycle was never–ending, for it could never cure the sufferer of their nightmares or their pain, only bring those same afflictions to other, often entirely innocent victims, spreading the abuse like a cancer.

  Honor realised that she was standing right about where Amber’s abductor would have stood, had he wished to look down upon the approaches to the apartment, the window looking out over the waste ground to the south. From here, she could see the Shard behind tower blocks and other buildings amid Hackney’s jumbled streets.

  Danny’s voice reached out from behind her.

  ‘So, he gets her under control, but then he still has to get her out of here without being seen. How’s he doing that?’

  Honor said nothing, merely stared out of the window for a long time, wondering what he would have felt, standing here, waiting. Anticipation? Excitement? Fear? What if Amber came home with a male friend, someone who had noticed her excessive intoxication and offered her a lift home? He couldn’t allow that, it would put him at risk, so he must have seen her leave the pub before committing to his plan. A vehicle then? Something on the CCTV might pick out if the pub was being watched, give them a clue, a lead that they could follow.

  ‘Honor?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she replied to Danny. ‘Something’s missing here, he’s either got help or he’s got another route into and out of the square mile. We need to figure out how he’s doing this, he had to get here somehow.’

  She wanted to feel what he had felt, experience what he had, understand what was driving this killer to conduct his apparently motiveless campaign.

  ‘Scene examiner’s here,’ Samir said from the stairwell. ‘Send them up.’

  She heard Samir call the forensics team into the building, but somehow, she knew that this man was not going to leave behind anything for them to find. Even if they located a hair, or skin, or some other genetic trace of him, she suspected that he had no criminal record, nothing against which they could match any evidence found at the scene. This man that they sought was of the most dangerous kind, unknown to police, with no trace of his crimes on the system, a lone wolf killer.