The Keeper

by Luke Delaney

  Sean suddenly turned on his heels and strode towards Donnelly, speaking as he closed the distance between them. ‘It’s not her,’ he announced.

  Stunned, Donnelly opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak Sean cut in:

  ‘The victim – it’s not Louise Russell.’

  ‘It fucking looks like her to me, guv.’

  ‘It’s not her,’ Sean repeated. ‘Similar in every way, but it’s not her. Louise Russell had her appendix removed when she was a teenager. This woman has no post-op scarring and she has a tattoo on her arm. Louise Russell does not. This is not her.’

  The weight of what Sean was telling him took Donnelly a few seconds to translate. ‘Oh fuck,’ he finally declared.

  ‘Oh fuck indeed,’ Sean agreed.

  ‘So if she’s not Louise Russell, then who the hell is she?’

  ‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Sean answered, an admission that spurred him to action. ‘OK. I want you to get hold of Sally and tell her to check all the recent missing persons reports for south-east London – but only for women of similar description to Louise Russell. She won’t find many, but let’s hope there’s at least one. When the Lab Team get here, have them photograph the tattoo on the underside of her right forearm – there’s something off there, something odd about it. Get a copy of the photo and give it to someone you trust to research it – local tattoo shops, Internet, etc. Someone may remember doing it for her.’

  ‘I’ll give it to Zukov. He likes a little project,’ grinned Donnelly.

  ‘Fine. Meantime, you stay here and liaise with forensics when they arrive. Tell them we need the scene and everything from it processed as a matter of the utmost urgency. They’ll moan like drains that the anti-terrorist boys have got them buried under an avalanche of work, but do it anyway. Make sure they know we still have an outstanding missing person who will be turning up in some other wood making them even more work if they don’t get this rushed through.’

  ‘No problem,’ Donnelly assured him. ‘But there’s one thing you may have overlooked, boss.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘We can’t be sure Louise Russell’s disappearance and this woman’s death are connected.’

  Sean bit back the caustic reply, reminded himself others around him needed more time, more tangible evidence to draw the same conclusions he already had. ‘No make-up, no painted nails or dyed hair. No track-marks in her arms or legs – no body piercings. This was no prostitute dragged off the street and murdered.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Donnelly answered, ‘but that doesn’t mean she was killed by the guy that took Louise Russell.’

  ‘Same age, same physical build, hair, face. There’ll be a MISPER report somewhere that’ll tell us who she is and with it the evidence to all but confirm they were taken by the same man.’

  ‘If you say so,’ Donnelly sighed.

  ‘I’m off back to the office to put Featherstone in the picture. Oh, and one last thing …’

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘For God’s sake cover the poor cow up with something, will you – she’s suffered enough already. It’ll help preserve evidence if it rains too.’

  Donnelly nodded in agreement as he watched Sean picking his way through the fallen branches and tree stumps, heading for the road and his car, just as the killer had the night before.

  Thomas Keller slowly descended the stone stairs to the cellar, the low morning light casting a long shadow that moved across the floor like an evil spirit. He listened for sounds of movement from below without losing concentration on balancing the tray of breakfast items, his mood calm, but somewhat melancholy. As he stepped into the room he placed the tray on the same little makeshift table behind the old screen and pulled the light cord, managing a forced half-smile in Louise Russell’s direction. ‘I have to go to work soon,’ he told her, ‘but I thought you might like to get cleaned up a bit and have some breakfast.’ She didn’t respond. He was pleased to see she was wearing the clothes he had given her, his smile broadening as he admired the well-dressed woman locked in her cage.

  ‘You look lovely,’ he told her. ‘Did you use the moisturizer and perfume I gave you? I can’t smell them.’ Still she didn’t respond. ‘Don’t feel like talking, eh? Never mind. I understand. You’re upset about …’ he managed to stop himself before saying the name. ‘You’re upset about the other woman that used to be here. Well, don’t be. She’s gone now. She can’t make any more trouble for us. We won’t have to listen to her lies.’

  Louise broke her silence. ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘I told you, we don’t have to worry about her any more,’ he answered, agitation creeping into his previously calm persona. ‘So please, let’s not mention her again … OK?’

  ‘What did you do to her?’ Louise persisted, contempt and anger overtaking her fear and caution.

  ‘We don’t talk about her,’ Keller erupted, his face contorted with rage. ‘We don’t fucking talk about her ever again. Never again. Do you understand?’

  Louise rocked back in her cell, her temporary courage deserting her, her hands pushed out in front of her as if to fend him off. ‘OK. Sorry. I won’t mention her. I promise.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, calmer now. He pulled the key and the stun-gun from separate pockets, looking at them guiltily. ‘I’m sorry about this,’ he told her, ‘but I don’t know how much they poisoned you. There may still be some inside of you, making you think things about me that aren’t true. We need to be careful.’ He unlocked the cage door and pulled it gently, allowing it to swing open under its own weight, stepping back to give her space. She began to crawl towards the door, but he stopped her midway: ‘Wait, don’t forget the moisturizer and perfume. I want you to use them today. But make sure you take all your clothes off first. I want you to wash properly before you use them.’

  Louise crawled back and gathered the items, clutching them to her chest as if they were something she treasured, despite her revulsion.

  As she left her cage she registered the daylight from above pouring down the stairs and knew the door was open. There was nothing she could do though, not with him watching her every move, stun-gun at the ready. She walked past him, using her peripheral vision to watch him, waiting for him to lower his guard and give her a chance, but he stayed alert and the opportunity never came.

  She moved behind the screen and began to undress, carefully hanging her clothes over the screen, looking at him sheepishly to show him her embarrassment at being watched. ‘Please, excuse me.’

  Keller took the hint. ‘You want some privacy, of course.’ He moved deeper into the cellar, resigning himself to watching her through the thin material of the screen as she removed the last of her clothes and began to wash, wiping the cloth across her naked body. But he felt no stirring today, no delicious anticipation of when they would be together. The events of the previous night seemed to have dulled his senses and lessened his feelings towards the woman he watched in silhouette through the fabric. Doubts began to seep into his mind as to whether she was the true one after all, but he managed to chase them away, for now.

  She had begun to dry herself, hurriedly rubbing the coarse towel over her skin. ‘Don’t forget the cream and perfume,’ he told her, watching the silhouette freeze for a few seconds before reaching for the moisturizer, her hands almost frantically rubbing it into her shoulders. ‘Slow down,’ he demanded. ‘Take your time. I want you to put it everywhere. It only works if you put it everywhere.’ Again she froze for a few seconds, then carried on massaging the cream into her skin. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips. ‘That’s better,’ he said encouragingly. ‘Do it just like that.’

  He watched for minutes as she performed for him, but still his excitement failed to reach its previous levels, leaving him feeling disappointed and unfulfilled. ‘Now the perfume,’ he insisted, watching as her shadow pointed the small bottle towards the base of her throat and pressed twice, the tiny cloud of man-made scent casting its own silhouette as it floated
through the air behind the screen.

  When she’d finished dressing she walked from behind the screen and headed obediently back towards her cage, the scent of the cream and perfume wafting under his nose as she passed him, its combination intoxicating, but still the excitement he expected to feel was not there. He looked away from her.

  Seeing him turn his head as if ashamed, Louise saw an opportunity to reach out him, to try to form some kind of bond. She’d vowed to learn from Karen Green’s mistakes. Perhaps if Karen had managed to touch him, he wouldn’t have treated her like an anonymous pawn in his game of fantasy. If she’d only tried stepping from the shadows of whoever Sam was to him, it might have made it more difficult for him to force himself on her and finally, when he tired of her, to dispose of her like an unwanted pet.

  By getting closer to him, Louise hoped she could confuse him, make him doubt himself and what he was doing. If she had to, she would take him inside of her, pretend she wanted him, but all the time she would be looking, waiting for the opportunity to hurt him – to hurt him like she’d never hurt anybody in her life.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  The gentle, caring question seemed to catch him off-balance. ‘Sorry,’ he said, before realizing he had heard her question after all. ‘Yes, sorry, yes I’m fine. I’m just a little tired, that’s all. I’ve been working very hard lately … er, things have been a little crazy at work, but I’m fine. Thank you.’

  ‘What do you do?’ she asked, aware of his awkwardness, determined to keep him talking.

  ‘You know what I do,’ he said. ‘You’ve seen me.’

  ‘You mean you’re a real postman? That’s a good job. You must be very responsible to have a job like that.’ She knew her speech was stuttering and unnaturally bright, but she had to search for the chink in his armour of madness.

  ‘It’s OK,’ he answered suspiciously, his eyes back on her now, moving up and down her body as if the way she moved would betray whatever treacherous ideas she might be hatching. ‘People leave me alone,’ he lied, ‘and I can pretty much do as I like, so long as I get the job done.’

  ‘That’s good.’ Without meaning to, she found herself talking to him as she would a child. ‘It must be nice to be left alone.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Nothing. Just it must be nice to be able to do what you want to do, when you want to.’

  ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Do you resent being here? Don’t you want to be here?’

  ‘No, no,’ she hurried to assure him, realizing she was losing whatever ground she’d made. ‘I want to be here with you. I want to understand.’

  ‘Maybe you’ll never understand.’ He was glaring at her, his voice cold. ‘Maybe they poisoned your mind too much for you to ever be able to understand.’

  Louise felt herself being dragged towards the edge of the cliff. ‘No, you can make me understand, you can take the poison away. I know you can. I’m Sam, remember?’

  He remained silent, considering her, waiting for his instincts to tell him how to react. He felt nothing.

  ‘You need to go back inside,’ he told her. ‘It’s not safe for you yet. The lies are still in your head.’

  ‘Why can’t I come with you?’ she almost pleaded, desperate to escape to the daylight above and the unlimited possibilities of salvation she dreamed it held. ‘You don’t need to leave me down here any longer.’

  ‘I told you,’ he insisted, ‘it’s not safe for you yet. You need to go back inside now.’ He raised the stun-gun a few inches to encourage her. Tears began to roll down her cheeks as she stooped back inside the desolate cage, the door closing quickly behind her, the lock snapping shut, condemning her to more hours alone in the gloom without hope.

  He got to the foot of the stairs and then turned back, came right up to the side of her cage. ‘I almost forgot …’ He was smiling again. ‘I have something for you, something that will bring us even closer together.’ He pulled the sleeve of his right arm up over his bare forearm, slowly rolling it back on itself to expose a tattoo on the underside of his arm, its bright colours vivid against his pale, lifeless skin: the reds, blues and greens of a phoenix rising from the gold of the fire. It was clumsy illustration, like something a child would choose at a fairground. ‘This is us,’ he told her, ‘this is our love, rising from the flames. They all tried to stop it from happening, but you can’t stop what is meant to be.’

  He bared his small ugly teeth as he smiled at her, his eyes shining brightly as he nervously waited for her reaction. She forced herself to smile through her fear and disgust.

  ‘Here,’ he said, reaching into the pocket of his tracksuit top, ‘I have something for you, something to show everybody that we were meant to be together.’ Carefully he pulled out a flimsy, shiny-backed piece of paper. He smiled as he looked at the picture she couldn’t yet see, pinched between his thumb and index finger, eventually twisting his wrist to show her the image of the phoenix, exactly the same as his tattoo in every way.

  Suddenly his hand shot out and opened the hatch to the cage. ‘Put your arm through,’ he said, still smiling.

  ‘Why?’ she asked, memories of the torture he’d inflicted on Karen Green too fresh in her mind.

  ‘Don’t be scared,’ he laughed, ‘it’s not a real tattoo like mine. You can get a real one later, when the poison’s gone – this one’s just a transfer. Don’t you remember? It’s the same one we had when we were kids. It was our secret. Only we knew about them. You put mine on my arm and I did yours. It was our secret sign.’

  ‘Yes,’ she lied. ‘It was a long time ago, but I remember.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, his eyes bright with joy. ‘Now put your arm through the hatch.’

  She resisted the temptation to close her eyes as she eased her arm through the cage opening, his hand closing around her wrist, gently pulling her forearm towards him. He licked the underside of the transfer, but his swollen red tongue lacked saliva and he had to run it over the transfer several times before it was moist enough to apply. It took every ounce of strength Louise had not to recoil from his vileness, her nausea reaching new levels as he pressed the wet transfer into her forearm, his hand clamped over the top of it, his saliva glistening on her skin.

  ‘You have to keep still for a while,’ he explained, ‘or it won’t work properly.’ He held her for minutes that felt like hours before peeling away the transfer underside, leaving behind the ugly image of something that should have been beautiful. As he released her arm she couldn’t help but pull it back inside her cage too quickly, turning his smile to a frown of concern. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. ‘Don’t you like it?’

  ‘Of course,’ she lied, ‘it’s beautiful.’ Her blinking eyelashes flicked tears across her face.

  Keller had learned to trust what he saw, not what people said. The smile did not return to his face. He stood to his full height and filled his lungs with air pulled through his nose and began to walk to the staircase, tugging the light cord and returning the gloom. At the foot of the stairs he turned to her once more.

  ‘Everything can be replaced, Sam.’ His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. ‘They taught me that, in the home they took me to, they taught me that. Everything can be replaced. Even you, Sam. Even you.’

  Sean strode across the incident room, speaking to everyone he passed without stopping, asking quick-fire questions, making sure they knew he was aware of the tasks they’d been assigned and that he needed results fast. They weren’t used to trying to save a life yet to be lost and Sean was concerned they would struggle to adapt from the pace of a normal murder investigation, where the victim was beyond saving if not beyond redemption.

  Through the Perspex windows of his office he could see Sally talking to Detective Superintendent Featherstone. He went in and joined them.

  ‘Sally’s been giving me the good news.’ Featherstone’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. ‘Are you one hundred per cent sure about this, Sean?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sean
answered bluntly. ‘The woman I saw this morning is not Louise Russell. Sally, what you got?’

  ‘Karen Green,’ Sally began. ‘Reported missing yesterday by her brother, Terry Green. This is a photograph of her.’ She handed Sean a picture taken with a flash in some bar, Karen’s smile beaming at the unseen lens. ‘She’s twenty-six years old, five foot six approximately, shortish brown hair, slim—’

  Sean cut in before she could finish. ‘That’s her,’ he said. ‘Karen Green’s the woman I saw this morning. OK, what do we know about her?’ He looked to Sally for answers.

  ‘Not much. All we have so far is a basic non-vulnerable MISPER report. It’s not exactly overflowing with information. We know she lived and worked in Bromley, and that she lived alone but had lots of friends, two sisters and three brothers including Terry who reported her missing.’

  ‘Have they been spoken to yet?’ Sean asked.

  ‘No,’ Sally told him. ‘Like I said, she was only reported missing yesterday.’

  ‘But when did she actually go missing? When was she last seen?’

  Sally scanned the report. ‘According to Terry, he hasn’t heard from her since Wednesday.’

  ‘This report’s not going to tell us anything useful. Get this Terry Green to meet us at Karen’s place. I need to speak to him myself and I need to have a look around before forensics pile in.’

  ‘I’ll get it sorted now.’ Sally was already on her way out of the room.

  ‘What about going back to the media?’ Featherstone asked. ‘They’ll make a connection sooner or later.’

  Sean nodded. ‘They may be a lot of things, but they’re not stupid. I suggest we tell them upfront what’s going on, but hold back enough details so we can dismiss any nutters phoning in, claiming to be the killer. Christ,’ he exclaimed, ‘once the media find out we have one dead and another living on borrowed time, they’ll go fucking mental. They’ll be all over this every second of the day.’