6.0 - The Face Behind The Mask

by Helen Phifer

  ‘What are you doing? Get off me. Why am I here? I want a solicitor. I’m a policewoman not a criminal.’

  Her pleas fell on deaf ears as she was dragged into a room directly behind the cell she’d been in. She had no concept of what was about to happen until a bag was placed over her head, obscuring her vision. Thick, coarse rope was thrown around her neck. She began to thrash around, trying to free herself from her captors. There was an enormous boom as the trapdoors directly underneath her feet opened and crashed against the prison walls.

  She woke up just before she dropped into the dark space below her and choked to death on the end of the hangman’s noose. She sat up in bed, unable to breathe. Her throat felt constricted as if she’d actually been strangled. Her sweat-drenched hair was plastered to her head. Lifting one shaking hand she felt her neck to see if it was injured. Will opened his eyes and turned on the bedside lamp. He stared at her.

  ‘Bad dream?’

  She nodded, not trusting her voice to speak. Why was she dreaming about being executed?

  ‘Want to talk about it?’

  He rubbed her back with his warm hand, but she felt ill and pulled away from him. She needed to get her bearings. That wasn’t just a dream; it felt as if she’d been there and was about to die. She stood up and whispered. ‘No thanks, you go back to sleep. I just need a drink.’

  Will lay back down, closing his eyes. Almost instantly a gentle snore came from his direction. Annie envied his ability to drift off so fast no matter what; amazed that her voice still worked and her voice box hadn’t been crushed, like in her dream, she went into the bathroom where she splashed cold water all over her face. Her hands were still trembling as she picked up the towel to pat her face dry.

  Turning on the light she studied her neck. There were no marks or bruises, yet it was hurting her. Maybe she was coming down with a sore throat and her busy mind had turned it into a nightmare. She went downstairs to get an ice-cold glass of water. She couldn’t shake the feeling that some impending doom was coming her way, which was ridiculous. Get a grip, woman. It’s just a bad dream not the end of the world. Besides, we stopped hanging people in England in 1964, so stop it.

  Annie went back upstairs and climbed into bed next to Will. She didn’t snuggle up with him because she doubted she was going to go back to sleep again and didn’t want to disturb him too much. Picking up her phone, she checked to make sure there were no missed calls from Lily. Her screen was blank.

  Closing her eyes she tried to block out the horror of that dream, but it didn’t want to leave. It was there, in vivid Technicolour: the dirty grey walls of the cell, the hard mattress with the scratchy, grey woollen blanket on the low, cramped bed. She could even smell the rope that had been looped around her neck and then tightened. Annie lay on her side watching Will’s chest rise and fall, hoping it would have a hypnotic effect and lull her back to sleep.

  The vibrating of Will’s alarm on his phone woke her with a start; she was surprised she’d dropped off and thankful there had been no more bad dreams. Will groaned and she leant over and kissed him.

  ‘At least you don’t have a hangover today and you can go fight criminals with a clear mind.’

  He turned to look at her. ‘I’d rather stay here with you; it’s much less stressful.’

  She laughed. ‘Is that so? You don’t normally say that – and look at that, are you pleased to see me?’

  She pointed to his tight black boxer shorts.

  ‘I’m always pleased to see you.’

  ‘Rubbish, you need the toilet. You’re not fooling me, Ashworth. Come back after you’ve been and we’ll see how pleased you are.’

  She jumped out of the bed before he could pull her back down. His phone began to vibrate.

  ‘Bloody hell, I wish they’d bother someone else. Why does it always feel as if I’m the one on call?’

  ‘Because you nearly always are, and because you’re the best detective they have in the whole of Cumbria, thanks to my help.’

  He swung his legs out of bed. After answering his phone he mouthed, ‘I’d rather you didn’t give me any more help.’

  She shoved his back and left him to his phone call. She didn’t want to know what it was about. That way she was avoiding any involvement on her part. Her throat was parched and still felt raw. She went into the bathroom to check no bruising had developed overnight. It wasn’t black or blue – much to her relief. She would have no idea how to explain that one to Will and he’d only worry. He much preferred their life without any drama of the psychic kind.

  She went downstairs and opened the fridge, taking out eggs, bacon, mushrooms and tomatoes for Will. Busying herself, she began to scramble the eggs and grill everything else. Her stomach rumbled. Thinking she wouldn’t have much of an appetite after that horrible dream, she surprised herself as she plated up two huge helpings of breakfast.

  Will came down dressed in his charcoal suit with a white shirt and grey spotted tie. He always looked smart for work; she loved that about him. He always took great care over his appearance. She could count the number of times on one hand when he’d been called out and actually gone in wearing casual clothes.

  ‘You look sexy as hell. I love you in a suit; it does all sorts of things to my hormones.’

  He began laughing. ‘You know they all say that.’

  Annie picked up the magazine she’d left on the breakfast bar and threw it in his direction. ‘Still think you’re a ladykiller, eh?’

  ‘I’d like to think I still had it, but I only have eyes for you and I’m not sure ladykiller is the appropriate term. More of a dashing bit of eye candy.’

  Annie choked on the mouthful of coffee she’d just swallowed and he crossed the room to rub her back. He leant close to her ear and whispered, ‘You know those days are long gone, don’t you? I feel old and knackered and I’m sure I have more wrinkles today than I had yesterday. But you won’t have to know about that for some time yet because you’re far too young to have to worry about lines and feeling tired.’ He kissed her cheek.

  ‘You’ll never look old to me and I don’t care if you lose all of your hair and have a thousand wrinkles.’

  He sat down to eat his breakfast and she tried her best not to ask, but she couldn’t stop herself. ‘Should I ask who was on the phone or do I not want to know?’

  ‘There was a serious stabbing last night. Luckily the guy – who deserved it, to be honest, from what I’ve heard about him – is stable this morning, and it looks like he’s going to improve. But it’s just been made a lot easier by his partner, who we arrested after she’d been tasered for brandishing a knife at officers. She has made a full and frank confession an hour ago. So it’s pretty much cut and dried. Hopefully the judge will look at the past history and take it all into account. I was thinking we were going to be tied up all day with that as well as looking for Pauline Cook’s killer.’

  ‘Any leads?’

  ‘Not really. From what we know she wasn’t a very social person. The only thing she did was visit the hospice twice a week to sit with the patients to give their families a break. It seems as if she was one of life’s nice people.’

  ‘That’s a shame. How awful; bless her. Well, I hope you find them soon.’

  Annie wanted to tell him about her dream, how she thought there was some connection between her dreaming about Pauline’s house and her murder, but she didn’t. Instead she kept quiet as he finished his breakfast and put his plate in the sink, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

  ‘I’ll see you both later. I don’t know what time, to be honest. I’ll probably be late because I want everything taking as far as we can today and someone arrested before anything else happens.’

  She smiled at him, waiting until the front door shut before she sighed. What was she going to do with herself all day? Her phone beeped and she looked at it, smiling.

  ‘Alfie’s fine, been a good boy. He’s playing with his granddad so I’ll bring him home around one if that’s
okay? Xx’

  ‘Good and thank you. That’s brilliant xx.’

  Making herself a fresh mug of coffee she walked into the small snug, which was set up as a home office. First of all she began to search the internet for any news about Pauline Cook. She’d wanted to ask Will about what had happened, but had been too scared in case he confirmed what she’d seen. Maybe she would tonight. Did she really see the clown figure or had it all been a bad dream?

  Nothing much came up about Pauline Cook apart from the newspaper reports of her death. She didn’t have a Facebook page or Twitter account. A local newspaper article about her helping out at the hospice and getting the bouquet of the week from the staff there was lovely. Annie felt her eyes begin to swim with hot, salty tears. What had she done to deserve to die like this? What was it all about? What was the connection to the man in the clown suit?

  She pictured him in her mind. It didn’t look like something a modern clown would wear. It almost looked faded and the white stripes had been yellowed as if the material was very old. Where on earth would you find a vintage clown suit? She did an eBay search, but all that came up were the tacky, cheap fancy dress costumes. Pages of them. That material had looked as if it was expensive – maybe silk or heavy-duty satin. Not some cheap, paper-thin, badly made costume.

  Feeling frustrated she went to get some biscuits from the tin. As she sat nibbling on the custard creams she typed vintage clowns into the search engine and watched as a page of images loaded before her. There were lots of black and white photographs of different clowns. As she scrolled down the page, one wearing a very similar costume to the one she’d dreamt about appeared.

  Clicking on the image she felt her fingers grip the mouse while she inhaled at the headlines: ‘Tufty the Killer Clown Sentenced to Death’. She clicked on the next link and a huge black and white news headline filled the screen with a grainy, black and white photo of a scary-looking clown who’d been caught on the run. He was wearing the exact same costume as the killer inside Pauline Cook’s house.

  The hairs on her arms stood on end. He’d killed the mother of a teenager who he’d befriended as well as his own parents. Was he still alive? Surely not. If he was, he’d still be in prison. She looked at the date: 1950. In the picture of the man without his make-up, he looked so young and scared. Annie shuddered at the thought of it all; she typed in ‘Tufty Hanging’ and was horrified when the headlines loaded.

  The jury had found him guilty and within thirty days of his capture he’d been hanged in Strangeways Prison in Manchester. She put her hands together as if she was about to pray and pushed her chair away from the computer. There had to be some connection. That dream last night – she’d been there in a prison cell about to be hanged when she’d woken up. Oh dear God, she didn’t want to be haunted by a creepy killer clown.

  Sending the pages she’d saved to the printer, she waited for them to come out then slipped them inside one of the paper files in the drawer. She should tell Will. This could be really important to his case. The only thing stopping her would be the look on his face when she did. He would be so upset at her for getting involved. It wasn’t her fault, though. What was she supposed to do?

  For the first time in months she thought about Derek Edmondson, the psychic who’d first passed on the warnings from the other side when her life had gone to shit three years ago. She wondered if she should try and speak to him. The pair of them had ended up fighting for their lives against Henry Smith – inside the once-beautiful Victorian mansion that Jake had nicknamed the Ghost House.

  Her phone began to ring in her pocket and she jumped. If it was Derek she would pass out with shock. Jake’s name flashed up on the screen and she smiled for the first time in an hour.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Good morning, my little bundle of fun. How are you?’

  ‘Erm, I’m okay, I guess. Why?’

  ‘No particular reason. I’m on my own in the van and bored out of my tiny mind. Do you know what the new policy is, which, if you ask me, is a load of shite?’

  ‘No, I don’t, but I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me.’

  ‘Single crewed, single bloody crewed at all times. How fucking boring is that? Can’t even grab a PCSO ’cause they’ve all been told the same. No point in you coming back to work ever again is there, really, if we won’t be able to work together?’

  Annie laughed. ‘That’s terrible. You’ll go mad on your own for ten hours. Do you have half an hour spare? I have a bit of a problem that needs a nice friendly policeman to sort it out, if you’re available?’

  ‘Not sure your husband will be so agreeable about me sorting out your little problems, Mrs Ashworth. How many times have I told you I’m spoken for?’

  ‘You have a filthy mind, Jacob; wash your mouth out with soap and water.’

  ‘I’d rather swill it out with one of those coffees out of that fancy coffee machine that’s sitting gathering dust on your kitchen worktop. Have you got any cakes?’

  ‘No, but because I love you so much, I’ll go into the village and get some from the café. Or you could just meet me there instead. I haven’t seen Jo for a while. It will be nice to have a catch-up.’

  ‘Now you’re talking, as long as grumpy guts Cathy doesn’t figure out what I’m up to. She’s in a right foul mood today; either she and Kav have fallen out or she’s hungry.’

  ‘Throw her a Snickers, or even better, if you were to take her a slice of fresh cream cake back she’d cheer up no end.’

  ‘God, I miss working with you. That’s such a brilliant idea. We are such a great team!’

  ‘Yes, we are. What time do you think you’ll be here?’

  ‘Providing no one gets killed – in half an hour.’

  ‘See you soon.’

  She ended the call, glad to have something to take her mind off the predicament she’d managed to get herself into yet again.

  __________________________

  The briefing room was full. Will was glad to see the Chief Super sitting at the back, staring down at his phone and not standing at the front commanding everyone’s attention. Maybe their little spat had knocked him down a peg or two – whatever his reason, it didn’t matter now. What mattered was finding Pauline Cook’s killer. He stood up in front of the rows of detectives and officers who had been assigned to his team.

  ‘Right, let’s get started. We have no close family members or disgruntled ex-boyfriends or even a current boyfriend to be exact. So everything is pointing to a stranger killing, which we all know are the hardest to solve. We need to figure out how she was picked out as his victim.’

  A hand went up. ‘So we know it’s a him?’

  Will shook his head. ‘Not for definite; it’s just a turn of speech, Brad. We’ve seen our fair share of violent females so we know exactly what they’re capable of.’ His mind flashed back to that day at the Lake House last year when Megan had plunged a knife into his kidney and almost killed him. The room was quiet as everyone waited for him to continue. He picked up his mug of coffee and took a sip, which gave him a few seconds to compose himself. All eyes were watching him.

  ‘Brad, you carry on going through the CCTV footage that Adele procured yesterday. Adele, you and I are going to go and speak to the staff at the hospice and the neighbour who seemed to be the closest thing to a friend Pauline had. Paul, you and the rest of the search team can go through the house again now that CSI have finished. According to her neighbour, it doesn’t look as if anything was stolen, but we need to see if there was something in there we’ve missed. Was there a wad of cash hidden under the floorboards in the bathroom?’

  A chorus of ‘Yes, boss’ echoed around the room. Will knew they were clutching at straws because at this very moment in time they had nothing. No clues, no links, no failed romances. He was hoping that Matt’s post-mortem report would come up with something, or that the forensic samples that had been taken would lead to a match.

  What they needed was a bloody miracle beca
use the pressure was on. The longer it took to come up with some sort of evidence or connections, the more difficult it would be to catch her killer. What really bothered Will was the fact that they could potentially have another serial killer on their hands and it filled him with dread. Paul took to the centre of the room to brief his team and Will stepped to one side. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out. He saw Matt’s name and walked to the door, excusing himself.

  ‘Morning, William; how are you?’

  ‘Morning, Matt; I’ll be a whole lot better if you tell me you found some damning evidence yesterday after we left and that you know who did it.’

  ‘Ah, if only I did. I’ve been thinking about the injuries; in fact, I’ve been thinking about nothing but Pauline Cook’s injuries. I think whoever did this was a virgin killer. They haven’t done anything like it before, at least not on another human being anyway.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘A lot of the wounds were… I don’t know how best to explain it. They were messy. They weren’t smooth like someone who was confident in what they were doing would be. I think that whoever did it was very scared and nervous, so much so that their hands could have been shaking with each fresh stab wound.’

  ‘So this was their first killing?’

  ‘Well, I can’t say that officially, can I? Because I can’t say they haven’t killed at the opposite end of the country. This is more of a between you and me case study. I think that they were very scared to begin with and they might still be very scared about what they’ve done. I also think that the more they sit and think about it, the more the disgust and horror will eventually turn into a desire to do it again – and I think that they will do it again. Off the record, of course.’