Hunting Abigail: Fight or Flight? For Abigail, it's both!

by Jeremy Costello

  She found him in the living room. He was sitting in the centre of the sofa and in silence, leaning forwards, a glass of golden fluid nestled between both hands. As she entered he glanced up with his ocean grey eyes and placed the glass on the coffee table. She loved those eyes. They were the first thing she noticed about him when they met in that coffee shop seven years ago.

  ‘Didn’t expect you to be here.’ She edged further into the room.

  ‘I decided to stay home,’ David muttered. There was no welcome in his voice, no spark.

  ‘What’s going on, David?’

  ‘Sit down,’ he said, eyes more piercing than sexy.

  ‘Are you going to tell me –’

  ‘Sit down, Holly,’ he said firmly.

  Doing as asked, she began to grow concerned. She perched herself in the armchair, stared straight ahead.

  ‘You can’t even look at me, can you?’ said David.

  She didn’t know what to say. So she didn’t say anything.

  ‘I knew something was wrong. That trip to Jersey, the entire time, you were never there.’

  ‘What do you mean? Of course I was there.’

  ‘But you weren’t there, Holly! I tried to talk to you, but you were off somewhere else. You had this…blankness in your eyes. At first I just thought it was some case you were wrapped up in, but it didn’t take long to work out you were seeing someone else. Those little telltale signs.’

  ‘David, I –’

  ‘When we got home I hired someone. I had to know.’

  Newport took a deep breath, tried to compose herself. ‘Does this person drive a maroon Vauxhall by any chance?’

  He looked up.

  ‘Jesus, David, I’m in the middle of an investigation to track down a killer and I keep seeing this car everywhere. I thought I had a deranged psychopath following me around, what the fuck were you thinking!’

  ‘What the fuck were you thinking, Holly?’ He hurled the remote controller across the room. ‘Huh? When were you going to tell me you’d gone off cocks? I mean I know we haven’t been having much sex lately but good god, if I’d known you were a rug-muncher I wouldn’t’ve bothered trying!’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so crude, you righteous prick!' She climbed to her feet. 'Do you think it’s been easy for me? I’ve tried to tell you, I just didn’t know how. And now you throw it in my face like I’m the root of all evil. I was lost, David, okay. You were never here and I was lost. I met Kellie and she was a friend when I needed one.’

  ‘Kellie,’ he mouthed. ‘So it has a name.’

  ‘Look, David, I never wanted to hurt you. Bloody hell, I don’t even know what I want anymore. But Kellie was there for me when I was lonely. I’m not making excuses, I still shouldn’t have done what I did. But you don’t know how bad it was. You were so wrapped up in your work I became a piece of furniture to you. I was about as far from happy a person can be.’

  Reaching into his jacket, David withdrew a small envelope and dropped it on the coffee table. ‘Then you should’ve talked to me, Holly. You should have come to me. But not this. I didn’t deserve this.’

  Swigging back the remainder of the whiskey, he climbed to his feet.

  ‘Where’re you going?’ she uttered.

  ‘Staying with my dad for a while until I figure this out.’

  She inched closer. ‘You…you don’t have to go.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  Closer still. ‘Please, David, I want you to stay.’

  ‘Why, Holly? We don’t have anything more to say to each other. You’ve fucked up something good. How do we bounce back from this?’

  She took his hand. ‘I don’t think you want to go.’

  He tried to pull away. She held tight, a sliver of their past pulsing like lightning through the contact. She kissed him hungrily and David responded. She yelped as he grabbed her hair and yanked as he kissed back, his aggression flooding out in waves.

  ‘You want to cheat on me, you bitch!’ he growled into her ear. ‘Huh? You want to fucking cheat on me?’

  ‘Yes, I cheated and I fucking liked it.'

  Grabbing her throat, he mashed his whiskey tasting mouth to hers and slammed her up against the wall, a scattering of picture frames crashing to the floor. She tore breathlessly at his shirt, the buttons popping open to reveal his stubbled chest. She raked her nails across his skin and he grunted, jarred.

  Spinning her to face the wall, he grabbed her hair again, his free hand yanking down her pants, knickers. As he freed himself from his jeans he grunted, ‘This is how I treat dirty little cheats, you fucking whore!’

  She pushed her arse hungrily back against him, desperation gripping her, and he thrust himself roughly into her from behind. He grappled ruthlessly at her breasts through her shirt as he ground in and out, tugged at her hair, gripped her throat tightly. Tighter. Bang, bang, bang, the two of them panting in unison, unceremonious grinding, sweat dripping from their noses. Aching and hurting, she allowed herself to be abused, battered, thrust ruthlessly into, bodies colliding together, backs moist, until in minutes they exploded as one, great gushes erupting from each of them, leaving them quivering, breathless, hearts pounding.

  They remained as they were against the wall, David’s chin resting on her shoulder, sharp gasps exhaling. It took only a moment to free himself; another to pull up his jeans.

  She turned to look at him but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Instead he tucked in his shirt, stood still and eyed the carpet, blinking uncertainly.

  ‘David…’ she murmured. ‘I’m sorry.’

  He glanced at her once, eyes filled with sadness, and walked into the hallway.

  She pulled up her underwear and wiped the moisture from her eyes.

  The front door slammed shut.

  *

  In a screech of tyres York tore into Newport’s street and spun the car into the driveway. His partner’s vehicle lay dormant in front of the dark house. David’s was gone.

  Despite the car the house looked vacant, zero signs of life.

  He climbed from the car and jogged to the front door, hoping to God that she was in bed.

  Others had emerged from their homes, pairs and groups of excitement deprived neighbours.

  Back at the station Braddock was sitting at Mason’s desk, phone glued to his ear hoping Newport would pick up. By the time York left, the psychologist had struck out.

  Tentatively, York gripped the handle and pushed the door inwards.

  The phone in the hall was ringing…

  *

  …ringing, ringing, but the sound was incoherent. Newport had poured herself some of David’s whiskey and taken his place on the sofa. Around her the silence felt comforting, frightening.

  How had she managed to fuck things up so monumentally? David was gone, York was pissed off at her, and Kellie hated her. And what about the sex? How pathetic was she to assume she could get David to stay with the offer of lovemaking.

  Lovemaking?

  Hardcore fucking.

  He’d abused her and she’d deserved it. One thing was for certain too, David hadn’t been the only one who’d enjoyed it. Tacked onto the end of the electrifying conversation with Kellie she’d been horny, and David had been in the right place at the right time.

  Picking up the glass, she swigged back the whiskey in one wince. The phone began to ring again, the only sound for a million miles. This time she acknowledged it. Perhaps it was David to accept her apology, or Kellie to say she was backing down from her assignment.

  Neither was likely.

  She crossed the carpet groggily and wandered into the hallway, eying the place where David’s case had stood. Pushing her hand tentatively through the nostalgia, she reached for the phone, but in a flash was dragged back as the strong hands grappled her from behind, lifting her off her feet. She swung a sharp elbow upwards connecting with bone, hopefully an eye socket. As she fought, only two things tore through her mind, cutting a path inside her own unequivocal terror:

&nb
sp; He was already inside.

  He’d been there all along.

  *

  The cacophony of the shrill ring set York on edge as he entered the shadow laden hallway. The entrance remained vacant and soulless.

  He wanted to call his partner’s name but held back. Instead he bent down and unplugged the phone, the chimes dying away echoingly. His eyes began to adjust and he moved stealthily into the equally dark living room, enough light from the street dappling the space with vision. In the centre of the floor, a sole glass stood empty on the small coffee table.

  Slowly he took off his hat and laid it on the table next to the tumbler. And then he saw her.

  ‘Oh shit, Holly!’ he called. ‘Oh, shit-shit-shit.’

  He found the wall-switch, flooding the room with light. There, on the floor next to the kitchen door in a small pool of red, red fluid was his partner, unmoving, one arm up over her head, legs twisted unnaturally, peppered with photographs of herself and a cute blonde woman.

  He rushed to her, fell to his knees and saw where the damage was focused. In her side, high enough to have punctured one of her lungs was a serrated blade thrust in at an angle.

  ‘Oh, Jesus, Holly,’ he moaned.

  Down in the blood, he drew closer. He brushed her hair aside and pressed his fingers to her throat, his palm to her chest. He felt no pulse, no rhythmic whumping of her heart. His partner was not sleeping. She was dead.

  31

  Since the discovery of Newport’s body the scene had become a circus. Press parasites were lingering around outside, as were do-gooders from the neighbourhood, insistent of knowing every scrap and morsel of gossip. On top of that David was back. Having reached his perfect alibi of a father, he'd decided to come back and talk things out with his wife. Apparently they’d had a bust-up. Instead he walked into a crime scene and spent the next ten minutes clutching his wife’s body against his chest, splatters of blood on his cheek, his forehead. It took two officers to haul him off.

  Despite his father backing the story, David had been taken to the station for questioning. The photographs of his wife with another lover scattered over her body were a little too damning, even for a man with an alibi. But York had known David for a long time. He wasn’t their man. He wasn’t anybody’s man now.

  Slouching in the armchair, York rubbed his tired eyes and watched the officers working. Will Graham was attending to Newport’s corpse, his eyes red and puffy. Yates buzzed around like a worker bee throwing out instructions to his colleagues. He had no real authority, but they were responding regardless. York gave him a nod. The kid was growing on him.

  ‘Hey,’ said Mason quietly. She took a seat on the edge of the table, takeout coffee cup in hand. ‘How you holding up?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘I know this is difficult, Nick, we’re all going to miss her. Holly was a good copper –’

  ‘She was my friend, Judy.’

  Mason nodded slowly and examined her shoelaces. ‘Listen, I just want you to know that I’m here if you want to talk. There’s a psychological evaluation you’ll be required to attend, but if you wanted to talk to someone who isn’t a robot…well, you know where to find me.’

  ‘I tried to talk to you,’ he uttered. ‘I told you this would happen. I wanted her off this case, I wanted her off this assignment altogether.’

  ‘No decision I make is easy, Nick, you know that. You were my best team –’

  ‘Yeah, were!’

  ‘You were my best team,’ Mason said again, ‘but I stand by my decision.’

  ‘You stand by your decision?’ he echoed. A few sets of eyes turned their way. ‘Look around, Judy, what’s left to stand by? Holly was the one good thing I had left in my life. Now what, huh? Where do we go from here? Because from where I’m sitting, we’re dropping like flies.’

  ‘You still have your work, Nick. These guys depend on you, you’ve become a rock to some of them.’

  ‘Let me show you what I’ve become, Judy,’ he snapped, taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeve. ‘You see this? This bandage covers marks in my arm that have been there since my family disappeared. They don’t heal, because I keep opening them up with the needle I use to inject heroin. I’m a junkie, that’s what I’ve become. You want to preach, Judy, do it to someone who gives a shit, because as far as I’m concerned he’s won, he beat us. You think it matters if we catch him now? There’s no way back from this.’

  Mason sat in stunned silence, her icy eyes more penetrating than ever. ‘Nick, I’m so sorry. I had no idea. You think I don’t get it, but I do. I’ve seen other officers turn to one addiction or another after losing someone, but you know we need to talk about this! I can’t have an addict on my team, heads would roll.’

  ‘I’ll make it easy for you, Judy. First thing tomorrow morning you’ll have my resignation on your desk. I’m done with this shit.’

  With nothing more than a subtle shake of the head, Mason rose to her feet. ‘Tomorrow, okay, we’ll talk some more.’ And she walked over to Graham.

  His threat was empty, he knew that. So did Mason probably. Newport was about to become a symbol, by all accounts a legend, and he owed it to her to not rest until somebody’s head was on a stick, even if it meant his own.

  In the last couple of minutes Jonathan Wheeler had arrived and was rolling around the scene, kit box in one hand, half-eaten banana in the other. When he clocked York he made a beeline for him. The audio man didn’t look at Newport’s body. In fact he seemed to downright avoid it.

  ‘Guv,’ Wheeler began, ‘any sign of another voice recorder?’

  York tugged down his sleeve. ‘No. There’s probably not going to be one, son.'

  Wheeler frowned. 'Why not?’

  ‘He came after Holly, where was the consistency in that? We got the riddle right and still we're punished.’

  Wheeler glanced over at Newport’s unmoving corpse and quickly looked away. ‘Why would he do that?’

  York sighed, ignored the question. ‘You know something, Jonathan, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk this much.’

  ‘Silence is golden,’ the big man said.

  ‘Amen! It’s good to know you have a heart in that chest.’

  ‘Speaking of hearts, what happened to Holly’s?’

  ‘Still inside her ribcage. He didn’t take it,' said York.

  ‘That doesn’t strike you as odd?’

  ‘Everything was rushed this time, things didn’t go according to plan. I think Holly fought back.’

  Wheeler finished the banana and pocketed the skin. ‘Wouldn’t expect any other.’

  York shrugged.

  ‘He must’ve made a quick getaway. He wouldn’t leave something like this unfinished unless he was forced to. I mean, would he?’

  York climbed to his feet. Wheeler had a point. Their guy was meticulous, exact, had been from the start. This was not his MO. If he hadn’t finished the job, something must have scared him away. Had York walked in on him while he was centre-stage? Once he’d killed the ringing phone, he recalled no other sounds in the house, only sinister tranquillity.

  Only two possibilities remained. Either their guy had been long gone when he arrived.

  Or he was still there.

  32

  ‘Jonathan, don’t make any sudden movements. I want you to look around and tell me if there’s anybody here you don’t recognise.’

  ‘No,’ he murmured. ‘I know everyone in the room.’

  York plucked his hat from the table and perched it on his head. ‘Here’s what I want you to do. Head upstairs and look around. Take your kit so it looks official. If you spot anybody you don’t recognise, find me.’

  ‘What will you be doing?’

  ‘Same thing. And Jonathan, not a word, okay? Keep this between us. If these people knew there was a cat amongst the pigeons, they’d freak. Not to mention our guy, who knows what he’d do to get out of here.’

  York began moving casually away, but he paused beside
Will Graham. The forensics man was covering Newport with a plastic sheet. The en-route Charles Kilroy would need to clear the body before he could examine it further.

  Pushing through the ensemble of uniforms gathered in the kitchen, he scanned each of their faces. They looked back at him sceptically. He recognised them all. ‘Come on, you fucker,’ he muttered to no one. ‘I know you’re here. You wouldn’t miss this for the world.’

  He left the kitchen through the side door and stepped into a dining room. Devoid of furniture, devoid of anything, it looked like Holly and David had been in the middle of decorating. The walls were bare plaster, the floor carpetless. The room lay bathed in shadow, and only one man resided. Back to York, he was examining something in his hands.

  York stepped further into the room. ‘What’re you doing in here, son?’

  The figure didn’t respond. He remained motionless, focused on whatever was in his hands.

  Another step. ‘I’m talking to you, constable…’

  York inched further forwards. Touching distance.

  ‘I’m going to ask you one more time,’ he warned. ‘Who are you, why are you off-post?’

  Reaching out, he grabbed the figure’s arm and spun him around. The young officer freaked, pager in hand. ‘Oh my god, I’m so sorry, guv. I know I shouldn’t be in here.’

  He took in the kid’s mid-twenty-ish face. ‘Why didn’t you answer me, what’re you playing at?’

  ‘It’s my girlfriend,’ he stammered.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Barlow, sir. Colin Barlow.’

  He reached down and took the device from the officer's hand. ‘Want to tell me what’s going on, Barlow?’

  ‘It’s my girlfriend, sir, she's sick. I know I shouldn’t be in here but I just needed to see if she’d contacted me. I was only gone for a minute.’

  York sighed and handed Barlow the pager back. ‘In future when somebody’s talking to you, Colin, answer them! I had images of me explaining to your parents why I put you in hospital.’

  ‘I will, sir,’ Barlow nodded. ‘Sorry, sir.’