Witness X: ‘Silence of the Lambs meets Blade Runner’ Stephen Baxter

by SE Moorhead

  She is polite but uncertain at first.

  I tell her I was answering a job nearby, but it was a false alarm, we get them a lot.

  She takes one look at what I am wearing and she quite candidly tells me that she is waiting for her aunt who is working late. She’s begun to trust me. They all do.

  She starts to cry. She has long, dark curly hair, a lovely face, made even lovelier somehow by her huge tears. Elise would think she was very pretty.

  I ask her if she wants to talk.

  She says it is a long story. She’ll be fine.

  At what point will she realise that she won’t be fine?

  I tell her it’s too dangerous to be out on her own at night. I offer her a lift home, wondering if she will take it.

  She refuses.

  Instead, I bend down to the pavement, dangle the chain between my fingers and pretend I have found a necklace.

  I ask if it’s hers, but she shakes her head.

  I hold it out to her to take it: whoever lost it isn’t going to find it now, I say.

  She pauses for a moment and I wonder if I’ve misjudged the situation.

  But then she reaches out, with a half-smile, and that’s when I grab her arm.

  Elise will love her.

  An angel with golden eyes.

  She refused my offer of a lift.

  But I take her anyway.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  TUESDAY 6 FEBRUARY

  9.26 p.m.

  Less than an hour later, Kyra was in Alex’s car.

  ‘Did you call ahead?’

  ‘No, I thought a surprise visit might catch her off guard,’ said Alex.

  ‘How did you find her?’

  ‘After your call I was looking at earlier possible attacks that might be linked to our killer. I think you might be on to something. A woman reported that she’d been kidnapped by a man fifteen years ago, early February. She didn’t give a lot of details, but she said she’d been taken to some garages and held there for a few hours. It’s not clear what the location was and she seemed very cagey about the attack.’

  ‘Why has this only come to light now?’ Kyra asked, sitting back in the car seat and holding on to the dashboard. Alex drove like a demon.

  ‘She was vague on the details. Look at the notes.’ She picked up a mini-screen from the side-pocket in the car door and pushed it onto Kyra’s lap. ‘It seems as though the officers who took the report suspected she was on Chinese Lè. They put it down to a trick and a punter turned nasty.’

  Kyra scrolled down the reports. ‘They thought she was a pro or an addict so they didn’t bother to investigate?’

  ‘Looks that way,’ said Alex. They were heading into the suburbs now, the light dimming noticeably as they left the bright city behind.

  ‘Damn it!’ What a wasted opportunity. ‘Maybe if those bloody officers had put aside their prejudices and investigated that report properly, then we mightn’t have a pile of bodies and no one to blame.’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Alex took her hand off the steering wheel momentarily and waved it in the air. ‘We’ve come a long way from then.’

  Kyra was relieved when Alex had both hands back on the wheel again. ‘How did you get her address?’

  ‘She has an unusual name, Rosetta. That helped me to trace her. Rosetta Maguire.’

  ‘This is brilliant.’ Kyra was genuinely impressed. ‘It sounds like she wasn’t treated particularly well by the force back then. We’ll have to go softly, softly.’

  ‘Are you going to tell Tom?’ Alex asked.

  ‘After what happened at the lab? Let’s keep it between us for now, until we can go to him with something …’ She thought back to his words, ‘. . . concrete. Then, if we’re wrong, we won’t have upset him unnecessarily. You can tell him later. What do you think?’

  Kyra held her breath.

  ‘I might tell him afterwards, if we get somewhere,’ Alex smiled. ‘No point in upsetting the boss if we don’t need to.’

  Kyra exhaled.

  9.52 p.m.

  Rosetta was an attractive woman. Even now, in her mid-forties, there was not a sign of grey in her shiny black hair and her beautiful cocoa skin glowed. She wore a pink cashmere jumper and pale grey woollen trousers. Kyra didn’t know how Alex had managed to find her, but she certainly hadn’t expected such a wealthy home, given what had been suggested about her previous lifestyle.

  Kyra saw a wariness in Rosetta’s eyes when they showed their ID cards, but her demeanour was polite and welcoming. She invited them into a lounge with cream carpets and huge gilt-framed mirrors. Wide French windows with golden damask curtains on either side looked out onto a landscaped garden, lit briefly by the security light as a cat crossed the lawn. Kyra imagined the plants would be glorious when they bloomed in the coming months.

  Rosetta indicated for them to sit on the cream and gold striped sofa whilst she perched delicately on the arm of one of the chairs.

  ‘What’s this about?’ Her tone was light, and yet Kyra could sense a heaviness behind the words.

  Alex began. ‘We believe you reported an attack, fifteen years ago.’

  Rosetta’s face tightened. ‘Fifteen years. That seems like an awfully long time ago. Why are you here now?’

  ‘Because we believe that the information you could give us could be of some use to an ongoing investigation,’ said Alex.

  At that moment, a handsome, tanned man in his mid-fifties came into the room, holding two crystal tumblers.

  ‘Sorry, darling, I didn’t know you had company.’ His eyes widened. ‘I’ll leave this until later.’ He left the room to the sound of ice clinking.

  There was a flicker of anxiety on Rosetta’s face. ‘There must be some kind of mistake,’ she said, looking from Alex to Kyra and back again, her lips pursed. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’

  ‘Mrs …?’ Kyra began.

  ‘King.’

  ‘Mrs King, we believe that your complaint wasn’t investigated as thoroughly as it should have been, and we would like to make amends. We’re so sorry it has taken this long.’ She paused. ‘We think you could be key to saving a woman’s life.’

  Rosetta stiffened and crossed her arms over at the wrists, the expensive wool of her jumper riding up her arms. She glanced over to the door that her husband had left slightly ajar.

  ‘I have never reported anything to the police, never mind an attack.’ There was an edge to her voice now, defensiveness and something darker.

  Alex reddened and glanced at Kyra.

  ‘Oh no, I tell a lie,’ Rosetta said, the faintest of smiles showing on her lips.

  Alex perked up.

  ‘My Mercedes was stolen. Two years ago. Do you think you might have gotten me mixed up somehow?’

  Alex went to speak, but Kyra stood up.

  ‘I am so sorry we disturbed you, Mrs King. There’s obviously been some confusion at the station. Sorry for wasting your time. If you would like to make a complaint, please say that it was me, Doctor Kyra Sullivan, who made the mistake, not my colleague. I can’t apologise enough.’

  When they had pulled away from the house, Alex said, ‘Thanks for covering me there. I’m so sorry. I was convinced I had the right woman.’ Her face was a picture of confusion and embarrassment.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m just glad we didn’t tell Tom,’ Kyra smiled, feeling the relief coming from Alex.

  She was secretly pleased. If Alex thought she had the wrong woman then she wouldn’t be willing to offer any information up to Tom, whom she was always keen to impress.

  ‘Really, don’t worry about it. If there’s any hassle, they won’t be too hard on me. I’m not even an officer.’

  ‘Thanks, Kyra. Shall I drop you off?’ she asked gratefully.

  ‘Yes please.’

  All the way home, Kyra couldn’t help thinking about Rosetta’s hand poking out of the soft pink wool. It was very realistic, no doubt the best money could buy, but it had definitely been prostheti
c.

  11.03 p.m.

  Before she went to sleep, Kyra had tried to call Molly, but she wasn’t answering. She dumped her phone on the bed, padded into the kitchen to get a vitamin pod and washed it down with a drink of water straight from the tap. Minutes later, she rushed to the toilet and brought it back up again. Looking in the mirror, she saw her face was drawn and pale. Her skin was papery and her eyes dark underneath. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow, a figure, standing behind her, but she wouldn’t look at it.

  She would have to live with these things now.

  Molly wasn’t picking up. Kyra couldn’t blame her. But she’d come around, wouldn’t she?

  She went back into the bedroom and curled up under the cover, thinking about everything that had happened over the last few days. So much had changed in such a short space of time. Her relationships, like her mind, seemed to be fracturing.

  She reversed the pillow and lay back down on the cool cotton. It was pitch black in her bedroom, the black-out roller-blinds blocking even the streetlights.

  She closed her eyes and eventually drifted off, but it was fitful sleep, interspersed with dreams and images; the bride she had seen in Ray’s memories coming closer and closer, tiny gypsophila flowers interwoven in her beautiful red curly hair; Skylar Lowndry’s body, frozen in the water, her face like a china doll, the Mizpah necklace visible below the ice – untouchable, the photograph of Isabel from the screens at the station, the burn on Riley’s arm. She saw the emergency services, and the drones at the Eco-Centre, the peri-med at the gate, the police cars; the blue snake from Madelyn’s tattoo turning into a real snake and slithering up her own body, from her thigh, across her stomach, up to her throat, where it coiled around her neck, strangling her.

  And then she saw Emma being driven away in a red car, screaming.

  She awoke and sat up, saying, ‘Emma, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry!’ Words that often broke the silence after sleep.

  She lay back down, soaked with regret.

  Nothing could be done now.

  In the darkness she could see her own hand resting on the pillow next to her – the gold gleam of a wedding band. She closed her eyes briefly, hoping it would disappear, and when she re-opened them she saw a worse sight – her own hand severed, the wrist stump pumping blood all over the pillow.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and, when she opened them again, her hand was back to normal, but then her eyes were immediately drawn to the foot of her bed where there was an unfamiliar shape. Her clothes over the bedroom chair? In the darkness, her brain tried to decipher what it was, attempting to match the outline to something benign, ordinary.

  The black shape lurched suddenly and made a snuffling sound.

  Kyra immediately sat up and reached out for the lamp with trembling hands.

  There was a click, but no light.

  The mound began to move towards her. Her heart pounding, Kyra pulled the bedclothes tightly around her.

  She clicked the light switch twice more. She must have switched it off at the wall. She reached down to the socket behind the bedside cabinet, the shape coming closer all the time.

  In the darkness, right next to her ear, sudden screaming, so loud it appeared like lights in her brain.

  Then Molly’s desperate howls, ‘Ky, Ky! Help me! Help me!’

  She managed to push the switch and light flooded the room and blinded her momentarily.

  When she regained her vision, the room was empty.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  WEDNESDAY 7 FEBRUARY

  11.19 a.m.

  ISABEL

  When she awakes, Isabel is lying between crisp white cotton sheets. Her head is on a soft white pillow and she can see the broderie anglaise edges to the bedding. She has no idea where she is, or what day it is. A child’s night light casts a gentle glow on the walls. A synthetic calmness keeps her lying still – she suspects diamorphine. Her mouth is dry, her nose tingles unbearably. She is desperate to scratch, but her arms are so heavy. Her eyes travel down to the cannula in her hand and her heart sinks. Part of her wants to fall into a deep sleep. But then she thinks of her dad, her gran. She forces herself to fight it. She tries to move her arms again. How is she going to survive if she can’t move her body?

  From the corner of her eye she sees him sitting on the white rocking chair, motionless. She wonders if he is asleep. He doesn’t wear his mask now and she knows this is a bad sign.

  He is going to kill her.

  His eyes open slowly, and he turns to her.

  ‘You’re awake.’

  Her vision drifts to the white lace curtains and she wonders what lies beyond. Could she climb out of the window? She doesn’t know how high it is from the ground. She tries to move her legs, but it is as though the messages from her brain aren’t reaching the muscles. What if she shouted to the street below? Unless they are miles from anywhere, in the countryside?

  ‘Are you okay?’ For a moment he sounds like a normal person. ‘Do you want a drink?’ He holds a glass of water with a straw in it near her mouth and she sucks until the slurping noises from the straw tell her the glass is empty.

  She isn’t enclosed up here, not physically, not like in the metal coffin. If she could just move, she might have a chance. But he is in total control. She can see the button on the tube going from her hand into the drip and she knows he intends for her to be continually dosed up. She is trapped in her own body. Unless she can somehow get the drip out? She’s used to this type of kit.

  Isabel thinks of the cancer ward and the deaths of the patients that she has observed. The pain which had distressed them had finally been overcome by the powerful medication and they had drifted off. It had been a relief in the end. She knows about diamorphine, that the balance between pain relief and killing the patient is such a fine line. But she isn’t ready to let go. She will wait until the meds have worn off a little. Pretend it’s affecting her more. Wait until he goes out again …

  He sits back down again and says, ‘Look at me.’

  She looks away from him, towards the window, the only act of defiance she can muster.

  ‘This is my sister Elise’s room. I need you to see who she was. Who she is. You need to know her so that you recognise her when you get there.’ He held out a photograph – but she refused to look at it.

  Get where? What does he mean?

  He comes closer and checks her over with a handheld scanner like the ones they use in the hospital. She wonders briefly where he got this kit. Has she seen him somewhere before?

  She doesn’t want to show him that she is afraid, so she rolls her eyes, pretends she is stoned.

  ‘Do you wonder where people go when they die?’ he asks.

  Her eyes flick to his face. Oh God, is this it? Is he going to kill her now? All the things she has never done … the people she loves … Dad … Gran … Liv.

  ‘Don’t be afraid. I’ve given you something to help you feel calm. I won’t let you suffer, Isabel.’

  She has a memory of her dad telling her to hit back when she was picked on by a bully at school. She is small, but she has fight, doesn’t she?

  ‘Do you believe in Heaven?’ he asks. He kneels down next to her, his face close, his breath smelling of mint. ‘Do you think it’s real? I hope so. I hope there’s a place free from all suffering, all pain. One where we can be with our loved ones again.’ He frowns and sighs heavily. ‘They won’t have me now. I’m not good enough. I did bad things, the worst things, but I only did it to help her. I only did it for my little sister. Do you think God will understand?’ He pauses, as though he expects her to answer. When she doesn’t, he continues, ‘The first women, well, they were bad anyway. But the others, the ones like you, I didn’t want to kill them. But how else could I let Elise know that she wasn’t on her own? I sent her angels because I love her so much. I did it out of love.’

  He is staring intently at her but then he begins to weep.

  ‘Elise was so good. She should h
ave gone straight to Heaven. She never did a thing wrong. But I’m afraid she got lost somewhere along the way …’ He sniffs and wipes his face with his hands. ‘… because of the way she died. I think she wanted our mother’s love so much that she couldn’t let go. She couldn’t find her way … and now she’s lost. She’s in the darkness.’ He makes a soft grunting sound like a sob. ‘I don’t want to think of her alone and afraid. That’s why I do this. I want to make sure that Elise isn’t afraid. That she knows she’s not on her own. Do you understand?’

  ‘If you’re so sure Elise is alone,’ Isabel hisses groggily, ‘then why don’t you kill yourself so you can be with her, you fucking coward?’

  She braces herself, but he smiles at this.

  ‘Only innocents can be with Elise. She was pure, you see. She didn’t deserve any of it. She was pure, innocent.’

  ‘So, you’re going to let another innocent woman die?’ Isabel asks.

  ‘I have to,’ he says, as though it is the most obvious thing in the world. A strange smile appears on his lips. ‘She would look up at me with her big blue eyes and say, “I love you, Stephen. You are the best big brother in the world!”’ he says in a childish, sing-songy voice.

  Isabel cringes. God, if she could only get up enough energy to move. She feels her eyes roll in her head.

  ‘When she was gone, I didn’t have anyone.’ His face falls.

  What the hell is he talking about? The door is shut. Is it locked? Where is her Commset?

  ‘She’s afraid. She’s in the dark,’ he weeps. ‘She’s a good girl. She shouldn’t have died like that. Such a short, brutal life. I would have done anything to save her. But I was only a child myself. I wasn’t strong enough …’ He howls. ‘I couldn’t lift her body, she was wet, slippery. I couldn’t lift her. I couldn’t get her out.’

  He begins to wail loudly, leaning over her body as he sheds his grief and his keening echoes the feeling she has inside.

  She wants to live! She rotates her hand and she is sure she feels her cannula shifting, if she could just …