The Night Stalker (Detective Jane Bennett and Mike Lockyer series Book 4)

by Clare Donoghue

  ‘Straight on,’ Crossley said. ‘We’ll go up and over . . . it’s quicker.’ Lockyer accelerated over the junction and changed down into third gear as they shot up the hill on the other side. The engine screamed in protest, but he couldn’t slow down. It was his job to save Cassie, but all he could think about was Megan. He lost the back end of the car for a second but managed to hold on as the tyres found purchase again. He took his foot off the accelerator but not by much. It wasn’t the first time Megan had ended up in the middle of one of his cases. It wasn’t the first time she had been in danger. What happened back then had damn near broken him, but at least his daughter had been safe. Would he be that lucky again? ‘Where?’ he said, seeing a junction up ahead.

  ‘It’s straight all the way,’ Crossley and Pimbley said in stereo.

  ‘But it’s give way, so . . .’ Pimbley said.

  Lockyer flew over the intersection. The only way someone was going to stop him now was if they crashed into him, which he realized was a distinct possibility. At the top of the hill he passed over the cattle grid. ‘Is there any way over these godforsaken hills without having to pass that bitch in the ditch?’

  ‘No, sir,’ Crossley said. Lockyer could see she had her arms braced against the dashboard.

  ‘Well, I’m telling you now,’ he said, cutting the corner, peat and snow spewing up behind him. ‘If John Walford or any other fucker jumps out at me now, I’m going to mow him down and ask questions later.’ He skidded, bounced off a snow-laden hedge to his right and glanced a stone wall to his left.

  Aaron passed the row of houses at the end of Hack Lane, his eyes searching the road ahead of him. He couldn’t see Cassie. He couldn’t see anyone. He stopped for a second to catch his breath. He tried to listen, but his pulse was banging in his ear and his breathing was loud and hoarse. He took a deep breath, held it for a moment and tried again. Nothing. He couldn’t hear anything.

  He set off running again. ‘Cassie?’ he yelled at the same time as he heard what sounded like a shout. He set off across a snow-covered field in the direction of the sound. He strained his ears, listening for her. Off to his left, something else. A car – an engine rumbling into life. He was running towards the sound, unwilling to comprehend what it might mean. There was a crunching of gears before it roared away. Without stopping he launched himself up and over the hedge, using the fence buried deep within it to give him purchase. He came crashing down on the other side with a thud. He felt the brambles ripping at his clothes, tearing at his skin. He was wet through. The car was gone. But where was his sister?

  ‘There,’ Crossley said.

  Lockyer jumped out of the car and followed the direction of Crossley’s outstretched finger. He saw someone disappearing over a hedge not fifty yards from where he had stopped the car. He ran up a lane to the left of it, his arms pumping at his sides. The snow was deep under his feet, but he wasn’t in one place long enough for it to be a problem. He could hear either Crossley or Pimbley behind him; he didn’t know which, but whoever it was, they didn’t sound like they had been quite so lucky with their footing. He rounded the hedge and saw the shadow of a man. He realized it was Aaron. He was looking left and right, shouting his sister’s name over and over.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  15th December – Tuesday

  ‘How’s she doing?’ Lockyer asked, though what he wanted to ask was, what the hell was she doing up here in the first place?

  Cassie Jones was sitting in the back of the ambulance, her legs hanging out over the edge, her feet not even touching the snow. Aaron was standing in front of her, holding her hands. Megan was off to one side, an elderly gentleman at her elbow. The Good Samaritan who had driven her up here, no doubt. Her face was ashen.

  ‘She’ll be OK,’ the paramedic said, pulling off her surgical gloves. Lockyer took a second to process she was talking about Cassie, not Megan. ‘We’ve managed to get hold of the aunt. A Claudette . . .’

  ‘Barker,’ he said.

  ‘That’s right. She’s coming to collect them both.’ She gestured back at Aaron and Cassie. That suited Lockyer. He would take Megan back himself. He knew he couldn’t keep her away from Aaron, but he felt the need to create some space, however brief, between his daughter and – whatever had happened here. ‘Other than some cuts and bruises, Cassie’s physically fine. Obviously the shock will come later, but for now, I’m happy to release her into her aunt’s care.’

  ‘Looks like he came off worse, if you ask me,’ Lockyer said, looking at a long rip running down the side of Aaron’s shirt. His skin looked raw, as if it had been raked.

  ‘It’s all superficial,’ the paramedic said, turning to leave. ‘It looks worse than it is.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Lockyer said as she walked back to the ambulance, gesturing to her colleague that it was time to go. They needed to be ready for the next emergency – although he doubted the rest of their shift would turn out to be this tame.

  ‘Cassie’s lucky Aaron was able to get here in time,’ Jane said, appearing beside him, her face obscured behind a fog of condensed breath. The temperature had dropped enough for it to stop snowing. Brief respite, Lockyer thought. ‘From what Cassie’s said, it sounds like Aaron scared our guy off.’

  ‘We don’t know it was our guy, Jane. Aaron didn’t see the vehicle. He didn’t see anyone. Neither did his sister, for that matter.’

  ‘Oh, come off it, Mike. She’s terrified.’ Jane held up two gloved fingers. ‘We’ve got tyre tracks . . . we’ve got footprints back there,’ she said, throwing her arm in the direction of the hedge Cassie had hidden in and Aaron had launched himself over. ‘What more do you want?’

  ‘I’m not saying it wasn’t our guy, Jane, but I don’t think we can say for definite that it was. Can we?’ She didn’t answer. ‘Well, can we?’ She shook her head, her chin tipped downward. He rubbed his hands together, the wool of his gloves crackling beneath his fingers. ‘How come you’re here, anyway? I thought you were off somewhere with Ranger Boy.’

  ‘Oh, grow up, Mike,’ she said, not looking at him. ‘I was meant to be meeting Barney over in Doddington, yes, but he got called out on a job. I couldn’t get hold of Townsend . . . no surprises there, and I didn’t want to attempt the drive out to Holford on my own, so I was about to head back to the station when I heard about what had happened up here.’

  ‘What did happen?’ he asked, running a gloved hand under his nose. ‘Not much, as far as I can tell.’

  Jane threw up her hands. ‘For God’s sake, what more do you want, Mike? Would a body make you feel better? Would that be enough to convince you?’

  Steph opened her eyes. She couldn’t see much, but the swelling must be going down because she could see a sliver of light coming through the gap in the curtains. She could just about see to the end of the bed. There was a cabinet to her left with a water jug and glass on top, and spare pillows tucked underneath. She tried to blink to clear her vision, but it was still blurred, tinged with red. The swollen tissue was pushing her eyelashes into her eyes, making them itch, but she wouldn’t scratch them. She reached up and used her fingertips to touch the mess that was her face. She blew out a breath as she felt tears swell in her eyes and fall, bathing her raw skin. She swallowed hard, closed her eyes and turned her face into the pillow, trying to clear her mind.

  She had to get him out of her head. She couldn’t stand it.

  The snippets of memory were coming back to her in painful flashes. She could see his hands, his skin rough and cracked. She could see his face, his eyes staring down at her, piercing in the darkness. She shook her head. She didn’t want to see him any more.

  The feel of cotton was cool against her cheeks. She moved her head to the side and tried to take a breath, but found she couldn’t. The pillow moulded to her face, touching every part of her. She tensed for a moment, panic coursing through her.

  He was back.

  ‘Forensics are here,’ Crossley said.

  ‘Great, thanks, Emma,
’ Lockyer said. ‘Get them to focus on any and all footprints behind the hedge here . . .’ He pointed to the section where Cassie claimed to have heard her stalker. ‘And we’ll need impressions of the tyre tracks to the side lane there.’ As Crossley turned to walk away he realized she must have been the one slipping in the snow behind him when he had been racing to get to Aaron and his sister. Her ample arse was covered in mud. ‘Emma,’ he called after her. ‘Get the car warmed up and get my daughter,’ he said, pointing Megan out. ‘We may as well get back to the station and leave response to it. Little point in half of CID being out here.’ She nodded, and broke into a trot as she headed off towards Megan, who looked for the first time like a spare part. Claudette was fussing over Cassie, wrapping her in a blanket and clucking like a mother hen as she manhandled her niece into the back of her car.

  ‘Get in the other side, Aaron,’ she was saying. ‘It’s all right, honey. Aaron’ll sit next to you. We’ll be home before you know it. The fire’s lit. It’s all warm and cosy. Your mum and dad are on their way back now. There’s nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.’ Aaron was now in the back seat. Claudette pushed the door closed with so little force, Lockyer was surprised the latch caught. She was still talking in soothing soundbites as she ran around to the driver’s side and climbed in. Aaron turned and looked out the back window, first at Megan, then at Lockyer. He raised his hand. Lockyer did the same.

  ‘You may as well get off, too,’ he said, turning back to Jane as if their previous conversation hadn’t happened. Would a body make you feel better? It was a stupid question. If in doubt, ignore. It was his failsafe. ‘With any luck my sketch artist will have turned up by now.’ He pushed up his sleeve and looked at his watch. ‘If Lacey can give us a useable e-fit, we’ve got somewhere to start.’ His phone buzzed in his coat pocket.

  ‘You’re not taking this thing with Cassie seriously, Mike,’ Jane said. ‘She could have been—’

  ‘Hang on,’ he said, taking his phone out and checking the screen. It was a mobile number he didn’t recognize. ‘One sec.’ He held up a finger to silence her. ‘DI Lockyer.’ He listened, unsure how to process what he was being told. He said yes over and over in a monosyllabic tone. What else could he say? He could see Jane was stewing, just waiting for him to end his call so she could make her point again. ‘And this was when?’ he asked, closing his eyes. ‘I understand, sir. I’m on my way.’

  He hadn’t even taken the phone from his ear when she started up again.

  ‘Cassie could have been killed, Mike.’

  ‘No, she couldn’t, Jane,’ he said, feeling numb, but not from the cold any more. ‘It comes down to physics.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Physics,’ he said again. ‘You can’t be in two places at once.’ He hung his head as the implications hit him like physical blows. ‘While we’ve been out here chasing a figment of Cassie Jones’s imagination, our guy was busy waltzing into Musgrove and putting a pillow over Stephanie Lacey’s face.’

  Even Jane didn’t have a comeback to that.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  15th December – Tuesday

  ‘Where is he?’ Lockyer asked.

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ Atkinson said. ‘I’ve left messages on his mobile . . . with his wife. I’ve tried to keep our presence here low-key, but security have already had to block two camera crews from getting in, so the press know something’s up. One of the staff must have blabbed. When I couldn’t get hold of Townsend or you, I thought it best to come myself. Although I feel like I’ve done little more than stand here with my thumb up my arse, guarding a door after the horse has well and truly bolted.’ The veins in the side of Atkinson’s neck pulsed in his efforts to remain composed.

  ‘Jane called when I was on my way here,’ Lockyer said, his jaw tensing at the mere memory of their conversation. ‘She’s with Barney Gill, the Quantock ranger. He’s driving her over to Holford to check out one of the registered vehicles that came up on the DVLA search.’

  Why was he surprised? Of course the BFG had swept in at the last moment and called Jane to say he could take her over to Holford after all. What a hero. Lockyer had been less than thrilled and more than vocal about his concerns, but as per usual, Jane had ignored him. Yet again, it seemed the guy was gaining unfettered access to another potential crime scene. Lockyer was about to tell the superintendent just that, but managed to hold his tongue. Atkinson looked like he had all he could handle with Townsend going AWOL.

  ‘She had a message from Townsend about –’ Lockyer looked at his watch – ‘ten minutes ago, saying he was on his way to meet her. They’d arranged to meet over there earlier today, so I’m guessing, sir,’ he said, loath to anger the superintendent more, ‘that he isn’t aware of the situation here.’

  ‘The situation here? The situation here,’ Atkinson said, his voice strained, his cheeks flaring red. ‘That is underplaying it somewhat, don’t you think? The situation, as you call it, is in fact attempted murder, DI Lockyer. Attempted murder.’

  ‘Of course, sir,’ Lockyer said. ‘I only meant . . .’ He wasn’t sure what he had meant. He was still trying to process the fact that Stephanie’s attacker had come back to finish the job. He could understand the motivation. Unlike the others, she had survived – she might be able to identify him. But still; to stroll into a hospital teeming with patients, personnel, members of the public, not to mention half of Bridgwater nick?

  He stopped mid-thought. But of course the police presence hadn’t been here then. Nor had Lockyer. Cassie’s imaginary stalker had seen to that. Like he had told Jane, it couldn’t have worked out better if the guy had planned it himself. While Lockyer and half the team were off buggering about in the snow, he was free to stroll into Musgrove unchallenged and put a pillow over the poor girl’s face. The fact that she had survived was beyond astounding. Like a cat, Stephanie Lacey had nine lives – or at least two.

  ‘Christ, if Townsend doesn’t give me a stroke, I don’t know what will.’ Atkinson held his hands together as if hoping for divine intervention. He took a deep breath in through his nose and blew it out again, his lips pursed. ‘What did the consultant say about Lacey?’

  ‘She’s been taken up to intensive care,’ Lockyer said, stepping back as a fingerprint technician ducked under the crime scene tape and into the hospital room beyond. Here, more than anywhere, Stephanie should have been safe. ‘She’s been put into an induced coma to prevent further damage.’

  ‘I don’t suppose—’

  ‘I’m afraid the sketch artist arrived after the attack, sir,’ Lockyer said.

  ‘Anything from the CCTV?’ Atkinson asked. ‘I spoke to security briefly when I arrived, but they didn’t seem to know their arses from their elbows.’

  ‘We’re seizing all the footage for the entire building and surrounding area, sir,’ Lockyer said. ‘The team will be going through it ASAP, but as I’m sure you’ll appreciate, that’s going to take time, given they have no idea who they’re looking for.’

  ‘I suppose someone in a balaclava carrying a pillow would be a bit much to ask,’ Atkinson said in a failed attempt at levity. He looked ready to either cry or kill.

  ‘I’m afraid it gets worse,’ Lockyer said. He would have some choice words for Townsend when he got his hands on him. He should be the one here taking the roasting from Atkinson. He should have stayed at the hospital when Lockyer left to go and deal with Cassie Jones and her shadow – but no, he had swanned off and left Lockyer carrying the can and in the shit. ‘The system has blind spots, sir.’

  ‘Blind spots?’ Atkinson said, as if the words were an infectious disease.

  ‘Yes, sir. It seems some areas are covered, some aren’t. The main door on this floor . . . covered. The lift to this floor . . . covered. The back stairs to the fire exit?’ Lockyer gestured to the hallway behind them. ‘Not covered.’ He pushed his hands up his face and through his hair. ‘From the footage I’ve seen, it’s just hospi
tal and cleaning staff coming in and out of here. They all have name tags and fobs for certain areas, but the fire exit isn’t secured.’

  ‘Jesus, this is supposed to be a sealed unit,’ Atkinson said, his mouth hanging open. ‘What’s the point in securing the house if the back door is left wide fucking open?’ He rolled his eyes, his forehead wrinkling. ‘This is a nightmare. A nightmare.’

  Lockyer wanted to ask if Hamilton had been made aware of what had happened, but knew he couldn’t. And he knew the answer. Of course he had. Half of Avon and Somerset would know what Bridgwater CID had allowed to happen.

  ‘What about security?’ Atkinson asked.

  Lockyer said nothing as a guy he recognized from the CSI team passed them. His expression said what everyone on scene must be thinking. Two attacks on the same girl in as many days: nice going, pal.

  ‘I’d left hospital security on the door,’ he said, ‘but there was some shift-change confusion . . . apparently. She’s got three officers on her room now, sir.’

  ‘Nightmare,’ Atkinson said again, hanging his head.

  Lockyer decided silence was the best course of action, so he stepped off to one side to give the superintendent some space to breathe – or have a nervous breakdown, whichever came first. He looked in at what had been Stephanie Lacey’s hospital room. It looked more like the domain of a chimney sweep than a doctor now. Fingerprint dust was on almost every surface – even the windows. As if her assailant had somehow shimmied up to the outside of the building to the third floor in order to make good his attack.