by LJ Ross
“I’m on my way,” he said bleakly.
Ryan turned, silhouetted with the window at his back, to watch Anna’s peaceful breathing. He wished he could leave her to rest and that he could allow her troubled mind the escape it so desperately needed. He wished he could trust the surveillance team parked outside. But he had just been informed that Edwards had managed to slip past another surveillance team in Durham.
He had known Edwards would try to target Anna. The temptation was too great. She matched The Hacker’s preferred physical type and there was the added bonus of her association with him. What better form of revenge? For that reason, the surveillance team in Durham had been appointed with only one task: to pounce on Edwards as soon as he showed up.
Instead, a killer had waltzed into their home, walked among their things, breathed the air they breathed, and then destroyed everything.
He sighed and reached down to wake her up.
* * *
Eddie’s Beach Club opened its doors six nights a week, from seven in the evening till four in the morning. It occupied an enormous warehouse space on the banks of the River Tyne and, in an era of trendy wine bars and swanky, upscale eateries, it provided just the right amount of seedy appeal to students, underage drinkers and middle-aged night owls alike. Dancers dressed in skimpy beachwear occupied small podiums dotted around the nightclub, touting cheap drinks and fruit-flavoured shots of alcohol with a gyration of hips and a thrust of torso. Cheesy holiday music pumped into the club from a state-of-the-art sound system set up in strategic corners around the main hall and every hour a troupe of semi-professionals performed a sequence of dances in time to UB40’s greatest hits.
Monday night was ‘Student Night’ at Eddie’s and both floors of the nightclub heaved with what looked to be the entire student population of the North East. Given the beach club theme, many of them had turned a blind eye to the chilly northern weather and had come dressed in grass skirts, bikinis and board shorts. Nights such as these always presented an opportunistic hunting ground for older men and women hoping to get lucky with someone younger and more energetic than themselves, but tonight an even bigger threat loomed.
Keir Edwards strolled past two burly, meat-headed bouncers at the door of the club. One of them held out a hand for him to shake, possibly mistaking him for the owner. Edwards laughed and wandered into the main hall, pausing to accept a free drink from one of the pretty hostesses. He watched her pupils dilate—a sure sign that she was attracted—and gave her one of his best smiles as he considered her clinically over the rim of the cheap plastic cup. Young, slim, but he suspected her hair was dyed.
No dice. He liked his ladies to be au naturel, if there was such a thing these days.
He replaced the cup and continued towards the main throng of people, the hostess already forgotten. Hundreds of men and women shuffled in time to an old reggae classic and one of them jostled against him, holding out a drunken hand in apology. Something in Edwards’ eyes must have had a sobering effect, because the young man stumbled back through the crowd, falling over himself to get out of the away.
Edwards stood still, letting the bodies move around him like cattle. He breathed deeply, raising his face to the ceiling, holding his arms out as if to invite a higher power to challenge him. But there was no transcendent, guiding hand to stop him and nor was there the strong arm of the law.
He began to weave through the crowd, his eyes scanning the face of every woman he passed. Once or twice he paused to consider one of them more closely, but ultimately he rejected those he saw and headed upstairs to continue his search. There were so many to choose from, he thought, and almost every one of them vied for his attention. It was thirsty work and he headed for the bar. Funds were sufficient to allow himself a small flurry but, as it happened, he didn’t need to wait very long before a woman with brassy blonde hair nudged him with her impressive chest and offered to buy him a drink.
As usual, he felt nothing remotely resembling arousal and it made him angry.
Pushing away from her with a growl, he sliced through the crowd. His head was hurting now, spinning with flashing images from the past, blurring with those from the present. They all merged into one face, the one he would never escape however many times he killed her and suddenly the reek of human odour was overwhelming. He stumbled against the gallery rail overlooking the lower dance floor and tugged at the collar of Ryan’s silk shirt, skin pale against the black material.
A girl noticed he was breathing hard and rested a concerned hand on his shoulder.
He reared back as if she had burned him.
“Sorry, I thought you might be unwell,” she gabbled, taken aback by the chiselled face and expensive clothes.
She glanced down at the bargain dress she wore. It was white and made of cheap polyester lace, but she’d chosen it because it looked like a beach dress. Her black hair fell in an elaborate braid over one shoulder and she had thought it made her look fashionable but now she felt gauche and self-conscious in comparison.
Edwards, on the other hand, couldn’t have been happier. His headache disappeared, as if by magic. This girl was the one he had been looking for, he was sure of it. Maybe her eyes weren’t quite as arresting; maybe her lips were a bit too thin. But she looked to be somewhere in her early twenties and overall it was an excellent match.
“That’s all right, darling, I was just taking a breather. Hot in here, isn’t it?”
He gave her a big, winning smile she couldn’t help but return.
“Yes,” she searched her scrambled brain for something intelligent to say. “Do you…um, are you a student?”
He smiled again, enjoying himself enormously.
“I’m a murder detective.”
Her eyes widened.
“Wow,” she breathed. “I bet you’ve seen all kinds of grisly things.”
“You could certainly say that.”
The girl shifted her feet more comfortably in her high heels and raised her voice above the music.
“Are you helping to track down that serial killer? You know, the one who escaped?”
Edwards gave her a conspiratorial wink.
“I’m not supposed to talk about it, but…” he affected a look over his shoulder and then leaned in closer, watching her baby blue eyes widen even more. “I’m sure you won’t tell anyone.”
She nodded and he rested his cheek against hers, to whisper something in her ear.
“Guess what, gorgeous? I’m the lead detective. You can call me Ryan.”
* * *
Back in Durham, the man himself stood beside Anna and surveyed the hollowed-out carcass of what had once been their home. It had taken a team of firemen an hour to quell the blaze, which had spread across to Anna’s immediate neighbour but, luckily, there had been no fatalities and it had spread no further. Water collected in puddles on the street, leakage from the spray of gallons of water expended in a bid to stop the fire. Now, all that remained was a lingering smell of burnt plastic, smoke and char which carried on the air in a noxious cocktail.
Phillips stood a short distance away chatting to the Fire Investigator and Tom Faulkner, who had thrown on crumpled chinos and a lopsided jumper to haul himself down to the scene. Anna’s neighbours had been re-housed for the night at a budget hotel nearby, to allow them to assess the scene with as little cross-contamination as possible. The road had been closed to ordinary traffic while forensic specialists searched the vicinity for clues, transforming what had once been a quaint riverside area into something resembling a football stadium. Enormous, freestanding film lights had been erected in a perimeter around the row of cottages and the CSIs made painstaking progress across the ground while the weather remained dry.
“I can’t believe it,” Anna murmured.
She looked at the remains of her home and shuffled inside her plastic shoe coverings, thinking of the years she had spent saving for her own little place, then all the time she had spent filling it with memories and mementos. Th
e copper pots she had lugged through customs from Turkey. The Moroccan side table she had bought at a thrift shop in London. Dozens of framed pictures, some of which were one-of-a-kind, not stored on a memory stick anywhere except in the recesses of her mind.
Ryan watched the emotions flit across her face and draped an arm around her shoulder, drawing her into the warmth of his body.
“It’s only bricks and mortar,” he murmured.
Anna’s lip wobbled but she drew in a deep breath and nodded.
“There are more important things,” she agreed. “But, oh, I loved what we had there. It was ours.”
She shrugged and waved away the words.
“It sounds silly.”
Ryan rubbed a gentle hand against her arm.
“Far from it. But it isn’t the walls that make a home, it’s the people inside them and we’re still standing.”
Anna looked across at his hard profile, cast like marble in the artificial light.
“Do you mean that?”
Ryan gave her a sideways glance.
“I was always bumping my head against those old beams,” he quipped. “And there was that leaky tap in the bathroom. Drip, drip, drip, all night long.”
Anna’s lips trembled into a smile.
“Next time, we’ll look for somewhere with high ceilings,” she promised.
“And a hot tub,” he added.
* * *
The girl was beginning to sway, her body succumbing to the high volume of alcohol she had ingested in a short space of time. The bottle of Laurent Perrier represented a major departure from her usual alcopop or tumbler of heavily-diluted vodka and coke, and she wasn’t prepared for the impact.
“Another glass of bubbly, sweetheart?”
He was so handsome.
“You’re so handsome,” she blurted out.
Edwards smiled.
“You’re not bad yourself, darling. I’ll bet all the guys are after you.”
She leaned back against the booth he had found for them. Her head was swimming and the music sounded distant.
“N-nope.” She hiccupped and slapped a hand against her mouth. “Besides, they’re all b-boys.”
She leaned forward unsteadily and gave him what she hoped was a sophisticated smile.
“I m-much prefer older men.”
“Oh?”
She put her elbow on the sticky table between them and tried to rest her chin on her hand, but co-ordination failed her.
“Mm hmm. My last boyfriend was a l-loser,” she confided, taking a generous gulp from the glass he had recently re-filled.
Edwards reached across to play with the end of her braid, stroking the soft hair between his fingertips while he looked deeply into her eyes.
“I don’t like to lose.”
The girl blushed hotly under his scrutiny. On the opposite side of the booth, two students dressed in multi-coloured Hawaiian shirts and flower garlands were in the throes of passion and oblivious to their audience. The girl swallowed and looked back at the man sitting beside her, watching her patiently with big, chocolate-brown eyes.
They were to die for.
“D-do you like me?” she ventured.
In answer, he leaned forward to bestow the barest, gentlest of kisses. When he leaned back, she remained in the same position, eyes closed and mouth pouting for more.
It was like shooting fish in a barrel.
Edwards topped up her glass and clinked it against his own untouched drink.
“Bottoms up,” he drawled.
* * *
A combination of shock and exhaustion made sleep inevitable. MacKenzie stayed awake for as long as she could but sometime during the early hours her body succumbed and she curled up on the uncomfortable narrow bed to rest, just for a minute. Cold night air filled the room, seeping through the cracks in the window and she shivered, arms wrapped around herself to try to preserve body heat as nightmares took over.
In her dreams, she could fit through the tiny bedroom window and her body was quick and able to jump from the roof to the ground beneath, where she sprinted across the open fields like a march hare towards freedom and the people who loved her.
She dreamed of Frank’s face and cried in her sleep, tears drenching the mattress as she thought of him and wondered whether they would see each other again.
From the doorway, Edwards watched her.
He moved silently, his feet criss-crossing the floor in a pattern he had learned many years ago, when he had been a boy in this room. He remembered which floorboards moved and creaked the most, and he avoided them effortlessly until he stood directly above the bed where she lay.
Edwards watched her for a while and wondered, not for the first time, why he felt nothing when he looked at her. She was an attractive woman, he supposed, taking in the mane of red hair and the line of cheek and jaw, but nothing stirred within. The bruises marring her face and neck brought no sense of shame or guilt.
He simply felt nothing.
There was no movement or sound to alert her to his presence, but MacKenzie’s eyes opened suddenly to find him looming over her. A scream welled up in her throat and came out as a strangled gasp.
And she thought: this is it.
Now, he would end it.
Fierce anger followed on swift wings. He would overpower her—she knew that much. But she would not go without a fight. She would inflict as much damage as she could, before the end.
Just then, the clouds shifted outside and the moon’s watery light shone through the tiny window onto the tall, menacing figure standing over her. She could see that he had changed his clothes, and they were covered in blood.
She knew then that the beast had already been sated.
CHAPTER 7
Tuesday 5th April
Overnight, the wind swept away the smoke clouds to reveal sunny blue skies across the city of Durham, though the air still held the chill of a northern spring. Misty morning fog curled over the river while fire investigators worked inside the charred embers of Anna’s cottage, deconstructing layers of collapsed debris to see if the arsonist had left anything of himself behind. They followed smoke trails and the soggy remnants of what had once been furniture to try to determine the fire’s point of origin while Anna and Ryan watched gravely as a piece of their lives was stripped away. After a night spent canvassing for eyewitnesses and camera footage of the surrounding area, the police teams were physically and mentally exhausted but they did not pack up until their task was complete.
Ryan and Phillips exchanged words with local Durham police, who reiterated their promise to contact them again with any further news, before deciding to return to the reassuring haven that was CID Headquarters, back in Northumberland. Despite its dismal architecture and mortuary-inspired interior design, there was no other refuge to be had.
Before they departed, Ryan led Anna to one side and prepared himself for an argument.
“I don’t want you going back to the safe house,” he began, in tones that would brook no opposition. “It’s not…safe,” he finished lamely.
“That’s good, because I have no intention of going back,” she said, calm as you like.
Ryan opened his mouth and then shut it again.
“Well, I’m glad that’s decided.”
“I value my independence, but I value my life a heck of a lot more. If it’s a choice between spending the day with a roomful of trained police versus a day on my own at a supposedly ‘safe’ house with a killer on the loose, then it’s a no-brainer as far as I’m concerned. I’ll take the police guard, thanks.”
His shoulders visibly relaxed.
“It would give me some peace of mind to know that you’re with me,” he said. “Or, at the very least, with people I trust. After what happened last night, we can’t leave anything to chance. I’m going to be looking for alternative accommodation today.”
The thought of moving for the second time in the space of a week held no appeal, but she understood that his reaso
ning was sound.
“I can help with that,” she offered.
“We don’t know who has been helping Edwards, or how far his tentacles reach, so I don’t want to use any of the houses listed on the pre-approved list. It’s supposed to be secure, but…”
“I understand,” she stuffed her hands into the pockets of her windbreaker as a gust of wind whipped her hair around her face. “I’ll find something we can move into straight away. Leave it to me.”
Ryan forgot for a moment that he should be angry because their lives were in upheaval. He found himself captivated by the sight of a woman with dark, intelligent eyes and a mane of shining hair which gleamed in the morning light. Her friend was missing and her home was ruined, but she was already looking to the future and wanting to know how she could help.
“I love you, Doctor Taylor.”
Anna shoved an impatient hand through her hair, wishing she had thought to tie it back, and flashed a smile.
“Same goes, chief inspector.”
From his position a few feet away, Phillips watched them like a child with his nose pressed against the window of a sweet shop. He couldn’t expect them not to love each other, nor to forego the simple pleasure of being together simply because his heart had been ripped from his body. It was not their fault that a madman had taken the woman who represented the other, better half of himself.
But it hurt to watch them, so he turned away to look out across the river. Sunshine bathed the skyline in golden light, trailing across the stonework rising majestically from the banks of the river. Normally, the sight of it would have lifted his spirits, but not today. He felt around his pockets for an emergency cigarette and looked at it for long moments, tempted to lose himself in the old addiction he had fought for nearly two years. Nobody would blame him in the circumstances, and if ever a man deserved a tab, it was now.
Except, Denise wouldn’t like it.
The cigarette fell to the blackened earth and he crushed it methodically with the toe of his boot.
* * *
