by Karina Evans
Isobel was thinking out loud. “Ruby and Violet were both drug users, but Millicent wasn’t. Why did he choose Millicent? And what’s the link between Ruby and Violet?” Isobel walked over to the investigation board and made some notes under the photographs of the girls. “Assuming Ruby is dead, that’s two young female victims, both users, and one young female survivor, not a user.” She drew a line from Millicent to a photograph of Market Street alleyway, and then another from Ruby to the same location. “Perhaps these are the only links, Dominic,” she said to the inspector, who had appeared next to her. “Maybe he is using the alleyway as his location, as he knows that most females using it are drug users. That makes them weak, highlighting his power over them. Millicent had run from one end and was bending over to catch her breath. Perhaps he thought she had just taken a hit? She’s quite gaunt — physically, from afar, she could have been mistaken for a user? We need something to link Violet to the location. He takes credit for leaving Millicent alive, but this guy kills and he made a mistake.”
Isobel logged into her unused Facebook account — she had reached the peak of her tolerance for cats, selfies and photos of people’s dinner many years ago — and trawled for Millicent, Ruby and Violet. She came up trumps with Millicent — a feed dating back two years, full of cheerful smiles, cocktails and shots of her in jeans and cropped tops, pouting at the camera — but fell short with Violet and Ruby. Isobel signed up on every other platform she could think of, still unable to find a digital footprint for either Violet or Ruby, other than a couple of news reports regarding various arrests and court appearances. It appeared the girls had removed themselves from mainstream society; not unusual for heavy drug users.
Isobel needed fresh air and walked down the stairs to have a wander around the car park. She lit a cigarette and stood on the corner of the busy road, staring into space as she pondered the direction in which she needed to take in the investigation.
“Charging for it now, Miss?” a voice carried across the noise of the traffic. Isobel wheeled on her foot, to be faced with a young man who, judging by his plimsolls and navy blue tracksuit, was on his way out of the custody unit that sat underneath the CID offices.
Isobel looked at him, thinking. The young man shuffled from foot to foot. “Sorry, Miss. Didn’t mean to offend; just high on the, you know, euphoria, of being released without charge. Bit cheeky, though, yeah? Sorry again, Miss.” He shuffled away before Isobel could respond.
“They were sex workers!” Isobel exclaimed breathlessly, having run up the stairs back to the office. “Except Millicent; she’s the exception that proves the rule —”
Dominic clicked his fingers. “Yes! Of course! Millicent’s boyfriend said she used to ‘work the alleys’ so maybe her attacker had seen her before, showing he lives around here, probably, or at the very least has visited regularly over the past few years.”
“Right, brilliant. That explains why her social media accounts are relatively new. So, they were drug users, paying for drugs with sex. Bear with me.” she leant on the desk to catch her breath. “Must restart my daily jog. Ok, so he has issues with females — maybe his mum was a sex worker, or absent. Maybe he finds them disgusting, or he is saving them from themselves. Whatever it is, that’s his thing. Sex workers.” Isobel scrawled ‘?sex worker’ underneath Violet and Ruby’s photographs on the board. “We need to go to the alleyway and check for anyone else touting for business down there. We have to warn them.”
“Ok, let’s do this tomorrow.” Dominic glanced at his watch. “There’s not much else we can do today and we knock off in ten minutes; fancy grabbing something to eat?”
Isobel looked at him quizzically. “It’s 2 pm, Dominic. We’ve just had lunch. How on earth are you hungry?”
“Well, I suppose I’m not — I just thought, you know, we could have a chat and get to grips with how each other works?”
“Yes, ok. I’ll book a table at the pizza place. 8 pm.”
“Perfect.”
The pizzeria had undergone a makeover since the 90s, something that seemed unusual for a town like Shorestone, which seemed to prefer stasis over evolution. Isobel took a seat at the high bench table that looked out over the street, ordering a vodka and coke when the server came over. She watched Dominic approach the restaurant, smoothing his hair with his hands as he got closer. He’d clearly made an effort and Isobel hoped this didn’t mean he expected more than a meal with his new colleague; she considered that perhaps she should have been upfront with him, but she was always told she came across as arrogant and so tried to avoid what others might deem as self-importance. She parked the thought at the back of her mind for later consideration. Dominic looked round as he walked through the door, waving as he caught sight of Isobel.
“Can’t stand sitting opposite me and seeing this face then?”
“What?”
“The bench table. It’s for people who can’t stand the sight of each other, you know, married couples and people forced to go out for dinner with their parents.”
“Ah, ok.” Isobel gathered her coat and bag and walked to a booth on the edge of the restaurant.
Dominic laughed. “That’s better. You can even control the jukebox from here if you have some coins?”
“I don’t, but thanks for the info.”
“You know this isn’t a date, right?”
“I would never have had the arrogance to assume it was.”
Dominic and Isobel silently perused their menus, which had also undergone a transformation. “Think I’ll have the vegan pesto and aubergine pizza,” said Isobel, thoughtfully.
“I’ll have the meat fest then; got to balance it out somehow.”
Isobel looked up, crossly. “There’s no need to balance it out, is there? Really? That’s such a Neanderthal way of thinking; I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me. Typical man cop.”
Dominic sat back and allowed Isobel to continue her rant, noting the attention she was getting from the neighbouring tables.
“I was joking — I’m vegetarian. For this, you know —” he patted his stomach. “Doc suggested some lifestyle changes; I’d been getting a little… well, neglectful —”
Isobel looked at the coke that Dominic had ordered. “Is that why you don’t drink?”
“Part of it, yes. I couldn’t really see the point in depriving myself of the only nice things that were left once the good things had gone.”
“Good things?”
Isobel listened as Dominic told her how he had been in work one day — a Tuesday, ten years ago — when a call had come through about a serious crash on the road leading out of town. He was a police constable at the time and, although he was just weeks away from being moved over to CID as a detective constable, his sergeant ordered him to attend the scene and gather details. He’d rolled his eyes at the thought at dealing with such a menial job, reluctantly got into the car with a colleague and, upon arriving at the scene, had discovered his wife’s car had travelled across a lane of oncoming traffic, smashed into a fence and was upside-down in a ditch beside the road. Dominic remembered little from the next hour, but he recalled turning to his colleague and calmly telling him that the car belonged to his wife, and if his wife was in there, so were his kids. He didn’t scream or shout, or demand to be allowed near the car; he simply allowed his colleague to escort him back to the police car they had arrived in, and there he waited for his sergeant to come and pick him up. While he was waiting, he heard the words, ‘All parties deceased,’ and that was the moment his world fell apart.
“What were their names?”
“Melody and Cody. My wife was Melissa.”
“I’m sorry, Dominic. I did not know.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry too.”
Isobel ordered another bottle of wine and they ate, at first in silence, as each processed the impact of Dominic’s loss.
“How did it happen, then? The crash?”
“It seems she had a fit — she wasn’t epileptic, but when th
ey did the post-mortem, they found a benign tumour. She’d had her first fit and lost control of the car. They died when a car hit head-on, so that’s a small mercy. In my nightmares, they’re trapped and screaming, and I can’t get them. I can never get to them.”
“Do you still have nightmares?”
“Yes, occasionally, but nightmares are better than the reality; at least they’re an outlet and I don’t have to feel the guilt of not thinking about them 24/7. The reality is that I walked out of my home that morning with a wife and two kids, then walked back in the door four hours later with no wife and no kids. And, you know the worst part? The worst part is admitting it. It’s in the small things — like, throwing away the cereal they liked and I hated — you know, that sugary shit? I couldn’t do it; I forced myself to eat it, bent over the kitchen table, crying, eating fucking pink sugar-frosted cereal.” Dominic paused, scratching his chin thoughtfully, before continuing, “It’s in sorting out their rooms, you know, giving their belongings to charity. I wanted to keep everything; I wanted their rooms to stay the same, to reflect them and how they lived, but we… I have to move on.” Dominic smiled wryly, “Apparently.”
“Thank you for being so honest.”
“Now tell me about you.”
Between mouthfuls of pizza, Isobel filled Dominic in on her life so far, pausing when she got to the bit where she walked away from Scarlett. “It wasn’t easy,” she justified. “It was the hardest thing I ever did, and I have regretted it every single day. There was so much pressure and I wasn’t well; I couldn’t cope. My parents, they blame me for Archie’s death, and my ex wanted nothing to do with Scarlett. I felt that to have any sort of life, I needed to move away from this stifling town, and I wasn’t strong enough, or responsible enough, to start a new life with a kid in tow.”
“You don’t have to justify your actions to me, Isobel; your loss is as real as mine. Makes me feel glad I didn’t grow up in Shorestone.”
“It’s just, you know, you’ve lost your family, and I gave mine up. I can’t see how you could understand that. Anyway, why did you move to this hellhole?”
“We all have a past. Your past doesn’t affect me, so why should I feel anything other than empathy? I moved here because Melissa liked the sea, and the houses were cheap. She wasn’t aware of any issues with the town — from an outside, from an inner city perspective: these towns all seem so beautiful and calm. It’s only when you walk the alleys between the houses that you feel the desperation and see the truth. Anyway, what do you like doing? Who are you? Why does Heather hate you?”
“Who is Heather?”
“Heather Fraser, a DC on section. We work together when our shifts cross. Year below you at school, apparently. She seemed less than keen when I mentioned your name.”
Memories flooded through Isobel — her teenage years flashing through her mind like a brightly lit, over-exposed movie reel. A group of men, a bottle of wine, a girl in a sequined top.
“Disco.” Isobel replied quietly. “I remember Heather. Vaguely. We spent the afternoon together once, and I used to see her around after that, but she never spoke to me again. I don’t know why she hates me, but I reckon I should find out.”
Isobel stood up, drained her drink, and threw a few notes on the table. “Right, time to go — we’re back on at 7 am. Will this cover it?”
Dominic stood up. “You not going to wait for the bill? Or we could grab a cab together?”
“Weird way to end a non-date. No, I’m good, I’ll walk. See you tomorrow.”
Dominic watched Isobel leave the restaurant, rolling his eyes at this woman he hadn’t known a week ago, but who he was quickly becoming quite fond of.
“Ok, let’s go. It’s still daylight, but it would be good to check out who’s working the alley and have a chat before we knock off for the day — it’s been a long one.”
Isobel and Dominic walked through Market Square, where the shops were just shutting up — awnings folded in, shutters pulled down, staff removing aprons and hats, returning home to families, to pets, to silence. And Isobel and Dominic walked amongst them, hoping to save this little town, with its quirks and oddities, from the horrifying potential of the Shorestone Killer.
There were two young women in the alleyway, who looked as though they were about to run when they saw Isobel and Dominic approach.
“Hey,” Dominic called, “We’re just here for a chat.”
“We don’t talk to the police.”
“We want to give you some advice; there have been a few attacks around the area and we want to keep everyone safe. We advise you not to use this area, but to instead seek help from an outside agency —”
Dominic interrupted, handing each of the girls a leaflet. “She always sounds like a Government advisory. Here are some numbers. Please stay safe. And, if you hear or see anything suspicious, call it in.”
The two girls looked at each other, nodded, and then walked off.
“That went well,” Isobel mused.
Dominic laughed. “You need to work on your people skills, my friend.” He gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze. “You may be a top-notch super star detective, but you’ve got a shit bedside manner.”
Isobel looked over at Dominic, and seeing that he was joking, also laughed. “Ok, ok. You’re right; I’m crap. I’ll work on it.”
Isobel and Dominic walked on in a companionable silence for a while, each looking around at the shops and buildings which made up the town they were both so intrinsically tied to.
“Melissa loved that shop,” Dominic said, pointing to a tiny boutique nestled between a charity shop and a bank. “I worried it wouldn’t survive after she died — I didn’t expect the residents of Shorestone to be quite as enamoured with bath bombs as Melissa was; I always thought it was probably her who kept them in business. So I buy six bath bombs a week from them. They make my bathroom smell good but I never use them.”
“It would be sad if they went out of business,” remarked Isobel. “I expect the shop is a comfort for you.”
“It reminds me of Sunday afternoons — she would run a bath, chuck in a ridiculously glittery bath bomb and leave the remains for me to clean up. The kids would climb in after her —” he trailed off. “Anyway, for as long as there is breath in my body, that shop will stay open. Even if I have to buy six of those overpriced stink bombs a day.”
Isobel looked over at Dominic. “You’re a good man,” she said. “I think I could grow to like you.”
“I would expect nothing less.”
Isobel and Dominic walked into the CID offices to find Heather standing in front of the investigation board. She turned when she heard them approach, and her face dropped.
“Oh, it’s you two. Where have you been?”
“Market Street, scaring sex workers,” replied Dominic, amiably, not noticing Heather’s visible disappointment at seeing them together.
Isobel studied Heather’s face. “You seem a little annoyed.”
Heather shrugged and walked away. “Just don’t know why it took two of you, that’s all,” she mumbled as she exited the office.
Isobel exchanged a look with Dominic and followed Heather out of the office and into the kitchen. Why Heather hated her was still a mystery, but she wondered whether it might be worth trying to get her on side for the purposes of the investigation. Not that Heather had really done much, preferring instead to bark orders at Isobel whenever their paths crossed, despite Isobel’s closer involvement with the case. Isobel called out Heather’s name, watching as she jumped nervously before turning to face her.
“Heather, we need to talk, I think. Meet you at the night cafe over the road after my shift?”
“I’ll be sleeping.”
“Ok, tomorrow then? We’re both on rest days. 7 pm, night cafe.”
Heather, feeling powerless and under Isobel’s command once again, reluctantly agreed.
Isobel nodded, satisfied, and walked back to the office.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Him
Through the fuzz of his mind, he realised that perhaps his love for Isobel had turned a little obsessive. She occupied his every waking thought; everything he did was to impress her, play a game with her, or to bring her closer to him.
A moment of lucidity offered him a distraction — the local college was running evening classes in their art department. He was interested in art, and this would offer him an easy way to refocus and clear his aching mind.
He enrolled straight away, knowing that later, when the fog descended once again, Isobel would be his every thought.
Him
2000
“Officer, can you come to Inspector Field’s office, please?”
His heart had jumped as he walked down the long corridor at the police station, towards what was possibly ‘the chat.’ He knew that although stealing underwear was not the world’s biggest crime, it probably didn’t lend itself to a successful career climbing the ranks of the police world. He had made it to sergeant in two short years, but being caught in the act had most likely prematurely halted his career trajectory.
He reached the door, knocked, and stood back, expecting a voice to call him in. Instead, the door opened slowly to reveal the inspector standing, flanking one side of the chief inspector, sat at the desk, with another inspector standing on the other side. Two probationary police constables stood just behind them, officers that he knew from the neighbourhood policing team on which he had worked for the past five years, and if he wasn’t so anxious, he would probably have laughed at the sight of them all, protecting each other.
