The Stranger Within

by Tara Lyons

  Mum, are you still here?

  The waves crashing against her face did nothing to wake her senses, but rather the tide tugged at her unconsciousness and dragged her further under the current of the ocean; those unanswered questioned lapping around her helpless brain. All she could do now was pray that the man was in fact here to save her.

  27

  Hamilton walked back to his car parked outside Manor Hall Hospital with an extra weight on his shoulders. Although he was pleased the doctor hadn’t laughed at his theory, and had in fact backed-up his ideas further, a continued itch niggled at the back of all his thoughts. But he couldn’t reach it to relieve it.

  He mulled over Emine’s words; Murphy as a person who chose to commit murder, rather than the disorder forcing her to. He knew this was a train of thought that would work better for him. An abused teenager is protected through life by her loving grandfather; cancer snatches him — her saviour — from her life and the past suffering, pain and fear returns, causing rage and fury to take over, and break her down. Then, just when she thinks she’s free, she’s arrested and potentially subjected to the abuse again once imprisoned. The woman wants revenge on everyone, but part of her still wants help.

  After turning the corner onto Lambeth Palace Road, Hamilton was surprised to see a woman in uniform standing next to his car. As he walked closer, he cursed when the peaked cap and starched navy uniform made him realise the woman was in fact a traffic warden, and she was busy writing him a penalty notice.

  He cleared his throat, attracting her attention and held his warrant card in her face. ‘There’s no need to attach that to my windscreen. I’m DI Hamilton and I’m on police business at the moment.’

  The woman finished jotting down the car number plate and ripped the piece of paper from her pad. The fierce action made Hamilton flinch, but he refused to move his ID before she’d cast an eye on it.

  She shrugged. ‘Sorry, sir, but this is an unmarked vehicle. You can’t park on double yellow lines or outside private property.’

  He followed her index finger, which pointed at the hospital, and he groaned with a half-laugh; he hated that building since he first laid eyes on it. The traffic warden slipped the penalty notice under his wiper blade, took a photo of the car and shrugged before walking off in the direction he’d just come from. He whipped the yellow plastic from the window, intent on not letting it affect him — after all, something like this, something that would usually anger him, was a blip in the ocean considering what Fraser was facing, he thought — jumped in his car and switched on the engine. As he pulled away from his illegal parking space, with the intention of returning to the incident room, his mobile phone buzzed in his pocket. The Corsa’s Bluetooth picked up the call and Rocky’s voice fill the car through the radio speakers.

  ‘Nothing on the father or best friend, guv, but I quickly turned my attentions to Gabe Hardy,’ the constable explained. ‘And you’ll never bloody guess what, but there’s a transaction for a bouquet of flowers the evening before Fraser’s delivery.’

  Hamilton thumped the steering wheel. ‘Damn it. What about Stratford?’

  ‘I can’t confirm anything yet, but I can use the train station’s cameras now to identify if he came and went that day. Now I know who I’m looking for.’

  ‘Do, just to confirm my suspicions,’ Hamilton replied as he came to a stop and parked on another set of double yellow lines — this time turning on his hazard lights. He instructed Rocky to put him on speaker phone so he could relay to the team his theory as well as the conversation he’d just had with Doctor Emine.

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Rocky’s loud but diluted Irish tones echoed in the confined space. ‘If Gabe Hardy did in fact abuse Grace Murphy, why in heaven’s name would she use him to help her get revenge on Fraser?’

  Hamilton opened his mouth to speak, but Dixon’s voice was the next to be heard. ‘Survival.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Rocky replied.

  ‘As a child, Murphy was vulnerable to do what Hardy forced on her. She had no allies, no one she could trust, but perhaps here, she saw a way out. Hardy was her key to escaping the hospital, prison, and seeking revenge of the people who put her there. The fact it also meant she could finally slay the demon of her nightmare must have felt like a reward.’

  Hamilton nodded in silent agreement, forgetting his team couldn’t see him, but before he had the chance to contribute to the conversation, his partner’s voice broke through the speakers.

  ‘Well, here’s what I don’t understand,’ Clarke said. ‘Audrey has sent through more details from Gabe Hardy’s post-mortem and not only did he have a high quantity of cocaine in his system, but he also had sex shortly before he was murdered. So, are you trying to tell me that Murphy would really have had sex with the man who possibly abused her as a child?’

  ‘How can Audrey be so sure intercourse occurred shortly before he died? Does it mention that on the pathology report?’

  Clarke hummed for a few moments before reply, ‘Yes, prostate-specific antigen is a glycoprotein produced in the prostate and secreted into the seminal fluid. There was traces of the fluid found on Mr Hardy’s groin and upper thighs.’

  ‘That proves he ejaculated, not that the pair had sex,’ Dixon argued.

  ‘Murphy could have been promising sex in order to get Hardy to do her biddings,’ Rocky added. ‘He could have given her drugs and money, followed and attacked Fraser in the months leading up to Murphy’s escape … all because she was using him. If he really did abuse her, she would know what a creep he was, what sex meant to him, and she could ultimately use that to seek her vengeance.’

  ‘It’s a working theory,’ Hamilton murmured, but his thoughts had begun to wander again — listening to the volley of ideas from his team, his own mind raced ahead.

  ‘And if this theory is correct, then it’s absolutely devastating, no child should have to endure any form of abuse,’ Rocky’s voice filled the car again. ‘But how does this help us now? How does this help us find Fraser? It just means that Murphy had eyes on her for a while, so this was premeditated. One hundred per cent she knew what she was doing.’

  ‘Well, the alter-personality of Carly knew what she was doing, Grace wouldn’t actually be able to remember—’

  ‘Oh, please, Dixon,’ Rocky interrupted an octave higher than before. ‘Jesus, the woman is a murderer, regardless of what name or personality she uses.’

  ‘Rocky, come on—’ Clarke tried to mediate, but Rocky spoke over him too.

  ‘No, I won’t. Sure, I feel for the woman, I told you this is devastating and disgusting, but if we got emotionally attached to every murderer’s back story, we’d never arrest anyone. I couldn’t find much on the CCTV. Once she left Hyde Park I couldn’t track her. We need to know where she is now so we can rescue Fraser before she turns up dead in another one of Murphy’s special places.’

  Silence followed the constable’s speech, and other than the crackling of the phone connection, no sound came through the radio. But Rocky’s words had struck a chord with Hamilton. ‘What do you mean one of Murphy’s special places?’ he asked.

  Rocky exhaled loudly. ‘Well, I mean she’s bloody messing around with us, isn’t she? Running around central London, hitting all the spots where she had murdered someone previously, then having us descend on her old place of work — she loved the theatre by all accounts of the trial — and finally punching someone to a pulp in Hyde Park, where you found the first dead body after her grandfather died—’

  ‘Hold up, something’s come through,’ Clarke interrupted.

  Hamilton’s frustration mounted as the mumble of voices and snatches of sentences cracked through the speakers and into his car. He tapped the button on the door to lower the window slightly, welcoming the cold breeze on his clammy face. ‘What’s going on?’ he barked.

  ‘Sorry, guv,’ his partner replied. ‘A few things we’re just confirming here with the team, but a call has been taken; a member of th
e public thinks she may have seen Murphy but can’t be one hundred per cent as she said the woman was wearing a baseball cap, and she didn’t get a good look at her face. But it was picked up by the officer because the sighting was on Hyde Park Corner, the caller had just finished her shift at a local casino at about 4am.’

  ‘Did she mention if Murphy was alone?’

  ‘The woman can’t be sure of that, but she said the suspect did jump into a black Ford Focus and managed to remember the last three letters of the registration plate.’

  ‘That won’t help us now. We don’t have the time to—’

  ‘No need, guv,’ Clarke cut in. ‘After Ms Murphy’s revelation about her ex, Rocky’s quick investigation showed that Gabe Hardy is the owner of a Ford Focus, and yes, the letters gave by the caller match those of Hardy’s plate. The caller said the car raced down Park Lane in the direction of Marble Arch.’

  Hamilton turned the ignition on. ‘I’m at Lambeth Bridge. I’m heading over that way now.’

  ‘Rocky’s running an ANPR check now to see where—’

  The car’s sirens sparked to life, drowning out Clarke’s voice, and Hamilton indicated right before slamming into first gear. ‘I can be at Hyde Park Corner in ten minutes. The roads aren’t gridlocked yet,’ he yelled over the noise. ‘Tell me any locations that have spotted that car and I’ll follow the route.’

  The light traffic cleared a path in front of him, yet panic filled his gut as he manoeuvred the car around a double-decker bus and honked the horn at carefree pedestrians about to step out into the road.

  ‘Okay, boss, listen to me.’ Rocky’s voice returned. ‘The database shows the car heading northwest on the Harrow Road.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, that road is miles long, narrow it down further,’ Clarke snapped. ‘Guv, let’s try and avoid the traffic, so follow Hyde Park round to Lancaster Gate station and then turn on to Gloucester Terrace. That’ll bring you onto the Harrow Road.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Dixon piped-up, her voice full of impatience rather than apology, ‘are we seriously leaving the boss out there alone to follow the murderer who seems to have it in for him and Fraser?’

  Hamilton sensed a touch of annoyance in Dixon’s voice, and he knew she’d want nothing more than to be in the car giving chase with him right now — even if he was chasing a tail of smoke hours behind time.

  ‘Well, no … obviously not.’ Clarke replied. ‘But we can’t be sure this will even lead to anything. It’s the second car Murphy’s used and it could be another wild-goose chase.’

  ‘Could be.’ The sarcasm in her tone blared through the speakers. ‘But it’s also the first sighting we’ve had of Murphy — using Hardy’s car, no less — I think it’s the best lead we’ve had since she escaped the hospital. I’m not comfortable leaving the boss out there alone.’

  ‘Okay …’ Clarke hesitated. ‘No, you’re right. Get on top of that now, Dixon, so we’re ready for when we have a final location. Then, the two of us can head off to meet Hamilton and Rocky can deploy the back-up and a firearms team, if needed.’

  ‘There’s nothing further on the Ford after Queen’s Park Library,’ Rocky roared over the other two, his fine Irish brogue now filling the car loud and clear.

  Hamilton zoned out, their voices fading further into the distance, as he pumped into third gear and sped along the busy road, expertly zig-zagging and weaving along the road. He mentally soaked up everything Rocky and Clarke had explained, processing every detail on the back and forth conversation they’d had since he stopped the car, and his heart-rate doubled in speed. ‘I think I know where they could be,’ Hamilton shouted. ‘I need you to contact Valerie Murphy immediately.’

  28

  Fraser felt the freezing wind chill her bones before her unconsciousness finally surrendered and permitted her eyes to flutter open. She gasped when she focused on Murphy crouched in front of her; the woman’s face inches from her own, dark eyes glaring with a smirk dancing on her lips. She hated the way Murphy’s head slowly moved from side to side; appraising her like a lamb being offered to a pride of lions for slaughter.

  Her heart pounded inside her chest as she allowed her eyes to flicker beyond Murphy’s brooding stare; they were outside. She felt the cold stone against her back, which kept her sitting upright, and observed the numerous headstones surrounding them. They may have left the confines of the chapel, but it was clear they hadn’t gone far. Fraser peered as far and wide as her restraints would let her, seeking out the man who had transported her to this grave, but the two women were alone.

  ‘No point looking for help. No one is here,’ Murphy snarled and dragged her nails back and forth over her palm. ‘This cemetery might as well be abandoned for all the use people make of it these days. I mean, how can they not want to visit their loved ones any more? Is it not cool enough to come and pay your respects, perhaps leave a fresh bunch of flowers?’

  Spittle landed on Fraser’s cheek, but despite the venom in Murphy’s voice, the image of flowers sprang to her mind and she remembered the notes of jasmine she’d smelt earlier. It lingered in the air, still, and she realised the familiarity of it had been from Murphy — it was her perfume. The realisation of no strong Irish man having come to her rescue brought tears to her tired eyes.

  ‘Your grandfather was from Ireland, wasn’t he?’ Fraser whispered, her voice conveying the fear torturing her. ‘I remember from … before.’ She stopped speaking, scared to mention the previous investigation and resulting arrest against Murphy.

  The woman frowned, statue still for a few moments, and Fraser blanched in anticipation of another whack to the head. Although risky to try and engage Murphy in conversation, Fraser felt she had been brought to her dying spot and therefore had nothing left to lose. She inhaled deeply, reigning the tears back and refusing to crumble right at the end.

  Surprisingly, Murphy lowered herself to the ground and looked comfortable with legs bent and wide and her arms dangling over her knees. She indicated with her head in the direction behind her, then looked to the grey-black sky and exhaled loudly.

  ‘That’s his grave, my grandad’s, I mean … my saviour.’

  Fraser peeked over the woman’s shoulder at the gleaming black granite headstone. Though blocked, she could easily read the top of the gold lettering.

  Patrick Murphy loving father and grandfather.

  ‘Was he your saviour because he rescued you from the man who hurt you as a child?’ Fraser asked then cleared her throat; she craved a drink of water, but the last time she had accepted a bottle, she’d passed out. The light drizzles of rain spiked her face and she furiously licked her lips to welcome any kind of moisture. Murphy’s glare returned and growled with bare teeth like a dog. ‘You don’t have to be angry because I’m asking questions … I mean, isn’t that why I’m here? To explain everything to me and then … to kill me.’

  Fraser heard the quiver in her last words and hated herself for fuelling Murphy’s menace; the woman reciprocated with a terrifying grin.

  ‘Are you trying to be brave?’ Murphy patronised with a cackling laugh. ‘Grace tried to be brave, but she was fucking useless.’

  Fraser attempted to steady her breathing, not wanting to miss anything that was said. She’d noticed the different personalities rarely mentioned the other — especially by name — but from her research knew that they were more than likely very aware of each other. The angry tone Murphy used now was clearly aimed at the host personality.

  ‘Grace allowed that monster to come into her bedroom week after week while Mum was in the next room. Why didn’t she stop him? Why didn’t she scream out for help?’ Murphy stopped and panted as though she had been running a race with her own memories.

  ‘She said she was scared your mother wouldn’t believe her,’ Fraser spoke softly, remembering the conversation they’d had in the chapel.

  ‘Ha,’ Murphy barked, the words travelling on the wind and echoing around the vast space. ‘Like your own mother wouldn’t bl
oody believe you over some nasty, disgusting, vile creature she’d only been dating for a few fucking weeks. He was a rebound from Dad, someone to give her attention but no one important or special to Mum. Of course she would have believed us. Grace should have been stronger, stood up to him and saved us from … from … from the things he did to us.’

  Murphy was on her feet, pacing around her grandfather’s headstone before stopping abruptly and picking up a bottle of vodka Fraser hadn’t noticed lying on the grass. She didn’t want the woman to fade into a drunken oblivion, worried where that could lead them both, so Fraser attempted to keep Murphy talking.

  ‘But your grandfather, he believed you … he believed Grace?’ she asked.

  ‘That man … my grandfather … he was amazing. He just knew things, without needing to be told, without needing to have things spelt out to him. After I ran away, he found me in his shed and he hugged me — not for too long, of course, old Irish men don’t — but he wrapped me in a protective bubble and I knew he’d make it right. And he did. He took me on holiday and sent that devil packing; when we came home, he had already left. Oh, and don’t be tricked by his name. He was no fucking angel,’ Murphy spat and clawed at her palm once again.

  Fraser thought about the different types of personalities that were common with this disorder, information she’d discovered through her research, and remembered the protector or rescuer alters that could be adopted. Once Murphy had been sentenced, Fraser assumed it had been Carly filling the role of being the tougher and braver personality, but she could see now it was the grandfather who fit the protector alter. It also had to be him who lifted her from the chapel to this grave.

  ‘Did he used to call you flower?’

  Murphy launched towards Fraser, but stopped short and fell to her knees. She held her breath, fearing for certain she’d get at least a slap for speaking so freely of the man Murphy held on a pedestal. But, instead, the woman sobbed loudly, nodding her head in response to Fraser’s question. She noticed a change; there was a softness in Murphy’s tearful eyes, her shoulders slumped forward and she lightly held Fraser’s hands.