by Carol Wyer
There’d been little possibility of planning a surprise, and although he wasn’t comfortable with the last-minute decision to meet up, he’d had to play it by ear. Tilly had disrupted everything, rattled him and now, instead of satiating his appetite as he had been doing for years, he’d lost control. It was down to her that a sense of urgency and anger had crept into his carnal acts. The recent decision to use one of his thinnest screwdrivers to cut the word MINE into his victims’ shoulders had come out of the blue, and while it accentuated the thrill of the attack, he was aware that in straying from the chosen plan, he was endangering himself. If only she hadn’t returned, bringing with her such overwhelming feelings of inadequacy and desire. He still wanted her as much as he had when he was seventeen.
The new plan had been to strike after she invited him home. It was clearly what she intended – a drink or two to loosen up, then back to her place. She was still the same old Tilly, a long way from her husband, and clearly in search of male company.
Although the evening had started promisingly, something changed after the first drink and, spying the same look she’d given him that day in the school canteen, an anger brewed and simmered, threatening to destabilise him. There was a brief exchange, during which he called her a prick tease and walked off. Stupid! He should have held his emotions in check, kept up a front and then followed her car home and attacked her there. What the fuck happened to him? Instead, overwhelmed by a fury that clouded all rational thoughts, he waited outside for her to emerge then, instead of attacking her, he lurched for her and grabbed her wrist.
The bitch was prepared, sprayed him in the eyes, temporarily blinding him and then rendered him helpless with an almighty kick to his balls that knocked all sense out of him and left him screaming in pain. He’s screwed up royally and now he can think clearly once more, he will find out where the hell she lives and carve his initials in her fucking heart.
The two unmarked squad cars darted through Uttoxeter, one directly behind the other. Green-Go Energy confirmed Ryan had taken a sick day. His phone was switched off, its last location his house at eleven thirty, the night before.
Kate was in the lead car with Morgan. She was unfamiliar with the road beyond the racecourse that led to Draycott in the Clay. As she’d suspected, Ryan had targeted women on his patch – not close to where he lived, but the area he covered in his job as an engineer for the company, which spanned most of Staffordshire and some of Derbyshire.
Kate fitted her receiver in her ear, and checked her connection to Emma was working. ‘Emma, can you hear me?’
‘Loud and clear.’
The plan was for Kate and Morgan to enter via the front door while Jamie and Emma covered the rear. The housing began to thin out and within seconds, they turned into the crumbling driveway and drew up behind a van, blocking the garage door. Jamie and Emma parked on the roadside and made directly for the back garden, gaining access by climbing over a gate. Kate strode to the arched porch and rang the doorbell. The house remained silent. Morgan peered through the bay window. ‘Empty,’ he said.
‘We’re in position.’ Emma’s voice had dropped. ‘No sign of suspect.’
Kate rang the doorbell again. When nobody appeared she nodded at Morgan, a signal to use the enforcer he was holding, the small battering ram that would gain them entry to the property. The door broke open and she took the lead, stepping over the threshold, into the gloomy hallway.
‘Ryan Holder. It’s the police. Show yourself.’
A musty aroma clung to her nostrils. A pair of work boots stood next to the door. A padded jacket, bearing the Green-Go logo, hung on the banister. Morgan moved to her left into the sitting room, pulling back almost immediately with a shake of his head. By her calculations, the door to the right led into the garage. She tried the handle and came almost nose-to-nose with a mud-splattered Go-Green van. There were only a couple of inches of space between its roof and the ceiling, but edging around it, she discovered a corner dedicated to fitness, with a free-standing punchball, a workout bench and a stack of dumbbells. Other than various DIY tools, there was nothing else in the garage. She sidestepped back past the vehicle into the hallway and almost bumped into Morgan.
‘Sitting room and kitchen are both empty,’ he said.
‘There’s no motorbike in there, and no number plates either. I reckon he could be out on it.’
She spoke to Emma. ‘Place seems to be empty. We’re checking upstairs.’
‘Shit. Shall we stay here?’
‘For the moment.’
Although the stairs creaked noisily under the threadbare carpet, giving away their location, nobody rushed out to challenge them. Morgan threw open the door to a bathroom and peered inside. Kate caught a glimpse of an opaque, plastic shower curtain.
‘Clear.’
Kate took the next room and faced an unmade bed with rumpled sheets and a white duvet sunken in a heap like a melted snowman. Shoes, socks and jeans were heaped in a pile on a rug and a black polo shirt was thrown over the back of a chair, next to a desk. A recent copy of Motor Sport magazine and a hand grip exerciser were on the bedside locker. If he’d packed up and gone, he hadn’t taken the blue sports bag on the wardrobe floor, or the suitcase perched on the top shelf. She opened the desk drawer and rifled through the bills and paperwork there. His passport was among them.
‘Kate.’ Morgan’s voice was wary.
She joined him in the bedroom at the far end of the landing. The fitted wardrobes were the only reminder of its intended use. Morgan stood behind a large wooden table, but the pens, packs of sticky notelets, blobs of Blu-Tack putty, sheets of paper or scissors weren’t why he’d called her into the room. Every wall was covered with photographs of women, grouped pictures of each individual: close-ups of their faces, pictures of them going into their houses, by their windows, jogging, walking, sitting in cafés. Beside each collection were coloured sticky notes, detailing where the women lived, worked and their daily routines, along with printed maps of routes they used regularly. There were at least thirty women, all of slight build, with brown eyes and dark hair. Morgan pointed out one particular collage – Laura Dean outside Abbots Bromley village hall. Others were of her out and about in the village, leaving her house or offloading shopping from her car.
‘Stalker pics,’ said Morgan. ‘Printed out on that, no doubt.’ The printer was in the corner of the room, still connected to the socket.
Kate spoke to Emma. ‘He’s not here. Do a sweep outside then leave Jamie to look out for his return. Come in. You need to see this.’
‘There’s Heather.’ Morgan pointed at the CIO, dressed in horse riding gear. ‘Bastard followed them everywhere. I’m amazed he got away without being spotted.’
‘He might have used a long-lens camera. The pictures are grainy as if they’ve been enlarged.’ She scoured each face, hunting for her stepsister among the many here. She couldn’t spot her.
Morgan opened the wardrobe door and pulled out a box. ‘No camera here. There is this bag though.’ He held up a canvas bag with I heart YOGA written on it.
‘Laura’s?’ said Kate.
‘Could be. No sign of her phone or house keys in it.’ He put it down and turned his attention back to the wardrobe, pulling out a pastel chequered patterned jumper, a mixture of reds, blues and pinks, each section a floral design: roses, daisies or small blue flowers. ‘What’s this?’
An ice-cold hand gripped Kate’s heart and squeezed. Although she hadn’t seen the jumper in years, she instantly recognised it. It had been Tilly’s, bought from Next with her pocket money and cherished. She’d worn it the night she was attacked and had left it in the park. The police had considered both the possibility her attacker had taken it, or a passer-by had stumbled across it and kept it. It hadn’t been recovered. Until today.
‘I don’t think he’s twigged we’re onto him yet. And there’s every chance he’ll return. Make sure the front door is fixed, so as not to immediately alert him to our presence
and leave Jamie here, for the time being, until I can arrange a surveillance operation. I’ll get an alert issued in case he’s actually gone walkabout.’ The alert would inform other regions of the absconding suspect and ensure the network of cameras, known as the automatic number plate recognition system, would track his motorbike and movements.
She had to check on Tilly. Ryan had taken the day off work for some reason and it was no coincidence it was after Tilly had fought him off. Judging by the photo gallery in the bedroom, Ryan was a meticulous planner and even though Tilly was sure he didn’t know where she lived, Kate feared he might. The man was rebuffed, angry and dangerous, and she needed to know Tilly was safely at home.
Emma bounded up the stairs. ‘In there,’ Kate said, as they passed on the landing. She held up the mobile. ‘I have to make a call.’ She’d dialled Tilly’s number before she’d reached the hallway. Tilly didn’t pick up. Panic set in. Why wasn’t she answering the phone? Had Ryan already tracked her down? She raced outside where she gulped in air and attempted to steady her heart rate. Jamie looked over, eyebrows knitted together.
‘Everything okay?’
‘Give me your car keys.’
He dangled the key above her outstretched hand. ‘What’s going on, guv?’
‘Sorry, I haven’t got time to explain now. I have to be somewhere urgently. Morgan will fill you in when he comes out. Keep a lookout for Ryan.’
‘Okay.’ He let the cold metal fall into her palm.
She made the call to William as she drove, her flashing lights clearing traffic in front of her. She gave him a brief rundown of what they’d uncovered and put in her request for an alert to be out on Ryan’s Honda.
‘Have you any ideas as to where he might have gone?’ asked William.
‘We only know he told his employer he was taking a day off due to illness. Even though he’s switched off his mobile, I don’t think he’s done a runner yet. He could be anywhere, simply going about his business. I’d like immediate backup assistance to ensure his house is watched, and we’ll conduct enquiries, talk to his family and acquaintances to see if we can track him down.’
She was ten minutes away from Tilly’s house. She couldn’t allow herself to consider the possibility that Ryan had Tilly in his sights.
‘I’ll sort out your extra officers and when you get back, we’ll need to consider using the press to help us track him,’ said William. ‘Good work.’
‘Praise is a little premature, William. We haven’t caught him yet.’
She ended the conversation and tried Tilly. The phone went to voicemail again. She accelerated around a BMW and powered on. If anything happened to her stepsister, she’d never forgive herself and what about Daniel? Would Ryan harm him too? She rubbed her dry lips together. She couldn’t let that happen. She rang Morgan, instructed him and Emma to contact Ryan’s family and friends to try to locate the man.
She turned on the siren, clearing a path at junctions and roundabouts, and was soon on Tilly’s road. She pulled up outside the house and raced out of the car, hurtling towards the door and banging on it with both fists. ‘Tilly!’ There was no answer. She shouted again. She ran over the patch of grass and peered through the window. A large plastic dinosaur stared back, its teeth on display. There was no sign of her stepsister or nephew. Her car had caught the attention of the next-door neighbour, who came outside.
‘Are you looking for Tilly?’ asked the woman.
‘Yes. I’m her sister. Have you seen her recently?’
The tension left the woman’s face. ‘Her sister! I saw the car with the flashing lights and assumed she was in some sort of trouble.’ She gave a nervous half-laugh. ‘She dropped Daniel off about half an hour ago.’
‘Daniel’s with you?’
‘Yes, playing with Toby.’
‘Did she say how long she’d be?’
‘No. I told her to take as long as she needed. Toby’s been very happy to have a new friend around.’
‘How did she seem, when you spoke to her?’
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Well, maybe a little flat . . . subdued.’
‘Did she mention where she was going?’
‘Something to do with unfinished business before she left the UK.’
‘You don’t happen to know if she left with anyone?’
‘I saw her car drive off, but not who was in it. Is everything all right?’
‘I think so,’ said Kate. ‘If she returns, or rings you, will you get her to call me immediately?’
‘Sure.’
Kate sprinted back to the car wondering what business Tilly might have been referring to. It wouldn’t be Ryan. She’d already dealt with him and wasn’t aware he was the man who’d raped her. Not unless she’d gauged anything from Kate’s urgent demand to stay at home and lock the doors. She surely wouldn’t be stupid enough to hunt him down alone, would she? She wrestled with the idea of Tilly, confident in her newly acquired martial arts skills, challenging Ryan. Then it hit her. Unfinished business. She had a good idea where Tilly had gone.
Kate spied Tilly’s hire car and parked behind it, opposite the gates to the park, with their familiar black railing and gold finials. Tilly had spoken about visiting the spot where the attack had taken place to exorcise the demons. If she wanted to return to Jordan and start afresh, she’d feel compelled to face this challenge. It would be the final step to freedom.
She pushed through the gate to Bramshall Park, which opened with a tired squeak. This was the town’s principal park, retaining much of its 1920s layout. She and Tilly had often wandered around the footpaths together. It was a place to escape the house and chat without being overheard, and they’d spent hours sitting beside Picknall Brook, where once they’d spotted a kingfisher darting across the water. After the attack, Tilly had refused to go near the place and Kate had also boycotted it.
There was no sign of life, apart from a pair of crows, investigating the contents of a bin, that hopped away when she approached. A few metres in and the footpath split into two, one way leading up towards the town, the lower path heading deeper into the park. She took the latter, which bordered a grassy bank to the brook, and marched quickly along it. Not a sound reached her ears: no excited dogs chasing balls, no children’s voices from the playground. She wondered where Tilly might be and considered calling her name out, then a movement caught her eye and a figure shot out from behind a tree and made its way down the bank, oblivious to Kate’s presence.
She sped up and, as she reached the highest point, could make out Tilly, her back to her, sitting by the water’s edge. She hadn’t caught wind of the man snaking down the slope towards her.
‘Tilly! Run!’
Tilly’s head jerked up and, catching sight of the man, bounded to her feet and sprinted away. A fast game of chase ensued with Tilly zigzagging in all directions, the man fast in pursuit. Kate lost ground and began to fear the man would catch her stepsister before she could reach them both. She powered on, spotted Tilly racing up a steep grassy bank, where she suddenly turned to face her assailant and, adopting a martial arts attack position, let out an angry roar. The man came to a shuddering halt. Kate pounded forwards, arms and legs pumping. Tilly seemed to be holding her own and the man backed away, two and then three steps, only to spin around and race away from both Tilly and Kate.
Kate tore after him, down to the brook then back up the grassy slope, towards the trees. She was concentrating all her efforts on decreasing the gap and didn’t notice he had stopped, stooped and picked up something, until the branch swung in her direction. Everything went black as she fell to the ground.
Her vision gradually returned. Tilly was by her side and Ryan was nowhere in sight.
‘Kate, are you okay?’
Her shoulder was on fire. ‘I’m fine. Where is he?’
‘Gone. He came for me again, but I screamed really loudly and then yelled that I’d rip his fucking balls off if he touched me. He headed towards the leisure centre.’
/> ‘Ryan’s the prime suspect. I have to call it in.’ She tried to sit up. The world spun for a moment. ‘Go home. Lock your door. If he appears, put in a call to emergency services.’ She fumbled for her phone. Tilly placed her hand on hers. The look on her face tore at Kate’s heart.
‘Please, Kate, no. You promised to keep me out of it, especially now I’ve finally made peace with myself.’
She forced herself onto her feet and swayed unsteadily before stumbling forwards. Every minute spent talking meant Ryan was getting further away, yet Tilly’s intense gaze held her in its spell and prevented her from ringing for backup. The police officer inside her battled on until she replied, ‘I can’t see how we can keep a lid on it. He’s sure to bring up your name during interview.’ She made for the park entrance. If she hurried she might still spot Ryan. In spite of her strong will, her legs wouldn’t cooperate. Tilly was still pleading.
‘What if I message him and beg him not to. Promise not to press charges against him.’
‘No way.’
All the same, Tilly pulled out her mobile and tried turning it on. ‘Oh, shit. It must have run out of battery. Probably because I spent so long on it, talking to Jordan.’
That would account for why Kate had been unable to contact her and had been forced to come in search. The flat battery had probably saved her life. They were now at the fork in the footpath. ‘No. Don’t message him. Don’t have anything else to do with him. Charge your phone and send me a text to say you’re safely back home. We’ll deal with the fallout if and when we have to. Now, go.’
‘If you’re sure.’ With one last look at her stepsister, Tilly bounded away and slipped through the entrance gates towards her car. Kate’s finger hovered over the button. If they’d lost Ryan because of this, she’d resign. Once it came to light about Tilly, she’d probably resign anyway. She drew a breath in preparation, then paused as a motorbike engine roared into life. She turned towards the sound, in time to see a black motorbike, pulling out of the leisure centre car park. The muzziness evaporated and, fuelled by an adrenaline surge, she sprinted to her car. There might still be a chance to turn this around.
