The Green Room

by Faith Mortimer

  “Frantic, but it’s good to be home. You should have seen some of the casualties. One poor motorbike rider came off worst, I’m afraid. He lost a leg. I’m so glad I’m going to have a break from road accidents and injuries for two whole glorious weeks. It seems ages since I had more than a few days away from it all, and I can’t wait to get started upstairs. You might have to put up with some loud music and singing while I work it out of my system.” I grinned cheekily.

  She paused and looked a little concerned. “That’s what I really wanted to talk to you about. You remember me telling you I had a tenant lined up for the top flat next to yours. Well, instead of him taking it next week, he rang yesterday and asked if it was free now. Naturally, I said yes, and he moved in late yesterday. I didn’t find time to tell you earlier, as I was out most of yesterday, and then you were at your party later on. The only thing is, the tenant is a writer and he wants peace and quiet. I forgot you were about to start work. Actually, that’s not entirely true, but I suddenly thought you might make rather a lot of noise, sanding down and such. I’m sorry, but he’s paid upfront for three months, and I thought it silly to turn down such a marvellous opportunity.”

  My initial feeling was of minor resentment. I had become accustomed to having the whole of the top floor to myself, and having someone else around would have changed all that. Then I immediately felt ashamed. The empty apartment was nearly as gorgeous as mine—the view wasn’t quite so good—and I knew it commanded a tidy sum, as unlike the other flats in the building, my parents let it out as a holiday let. I didn’t know the intimate details concerning my parents’ finances, but the total amount of the rebuilding and refurbishing of the whole house must have set them back a lot of money. A let for three months was worth a small fortune.

  “No, of course you couldn’t. I think it’s brilliant to have someone pay three months’ rent and especially as a holiday let. I promise I’ll try and be as quiet as I can, and I don’t think I’ll need to use the electric sander that much after I’ve finished the top of the table I’ve bought. I’ll even keep the singing and music down.”

  She smiled in relief and patted my arm. “Good girl. I knew you’d understand. Perhaps I ought to introduce you to him. Shall I come up with you?”

  I glanced at my watch. “Er, I have Michael coming round soon. Can it wait until tomorrow? I’m running late, as I couldn’t get away earlier and need to get on with making dinner.”

  Mum looked disappointed and glanced towards the stairs. “That’s fine. You’re right. Perhaps we shouldn’t disturb him at this hour.”

  I was a bit curious and paused with my foot on the first stair. “What’s his name? You mentioned he’s a writer. Would I know his books?”

  “Timothy Coleman. I don’t know. I hadn’t heard of him. He writes travel books, apparently.”

  I shook my head and shrugged. I rarely read travel books, although I did enjoy travelling and hoped to do more in the future. “Never heard of him. Sorry, I must dash, Mum. Say hi to Dad for me and I’ll see you later.” I gave her a peck on the cheek and carried on up the stairs.

  Nearing the top, I glanced at the closed door to the other apartment. I suddenly felt dog-tired after my long day, and already I was regretting asking Michael round. I was glad I put Mum off, too. The last thing I wanted was to meet a new tenant and make small talk that evening. The next day would have to do. I tiptoed along the carpeted corridor to my own door and inserted the key into the lock. As I pushed the door wide open I heard a slight sound. I turned my head and saw that the door to the other flat was ajar: just a couple of inches, the gap a dark void. I stared for a second and then switched my gaze to the stairs when I heard familiar voices below. Michael had arrived and was talking to Mum.

  There was a soft click, and I glanced back to the other door, now closed.

  There was no comprehensible reason, but I felt all the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. It was a weird feeling knowing I had been watched.

  Chapter Five - Ella

  “Mmm. That…was as tasty as ever.”

  I smiled at Michael. “It was just my usual spaghetti bolognaise with a touch of fresh chilli and a glass of red wine. You know I’m not much of a cook.”

  Michael popped open another can of lager and took a swig. “All the same, you know I like plain food, and it’s one of your best dishes. I needed that.” He sighed and placed the can down on the table. “After two weeks on nights with microwaved food, a spot of home cooking is ace.” He leaned back in his chair and stuck his legs out in front of him under the table, catching me smartly on the shin.

  I winced but kept quiet. Michael was long and lean and spent hours exercising in his home gym. I knew he was strong and über-fit, and guessed he didn’t know his own strength, as it didn’t even register that he had kicked me.

  I had cooked the meal in a record twenty-five minutes, including preparing the meat and vegetables. Michael must have been starving, as he wolfed his plateful down in no time, barely saying no more than a word or two while I talked about my day. As I chatted, I wondered if he had anything on his mind, as he was more quiet than usual.

  I stopped, lifted my glass of wine and took a sip. I loved red wine and Italian probably most of all. I always thought it was a fondness I inherited from my father. I savoured the taste on my tongue, the fluid a deep, rich, ruby colour, almost identical to venous blood. I thought of the murdered woman, discovered not more than half a mile away, and suppressed a shudder as I imagined the murderer squeezing into her external jugular vein with his fingers.

  I had talked enough and wanted to take my mind off work and the murder. I wished Michael was more talkative that evening, even if we chatted about something mundane for once. I studied him over the rim of the glass. His was a complex character. We had been together for two years, and yet sometimes, I felt as if I hardly knew him. He was usually a smooth talker, calm, unflappable and sometimes came across as almost cold when talking about his own work, while on other occasions, he was the most caring of boyfriends, covering me with sensuous kisses during our lovemaking. In fact, I would go as far as to say he was the best lover I had ever had, his performance down to an art, almost. But Michael the man, was very private, an enigma, and it was almost as if he could switch his empathy on or off at will. I didn’t even know what his true feelings for me were, as he rarely said anything, and I certainly wasn’t going to ask. Sometimes, just occasionally, I got the feeling I was no more than a part-time necessity to him. I suppose that was okay, as we enjoyed our sex, but sometimes, when I spent time dreaming, I wondered what it would be like to be really in love.

  “So, what about you? We’ve hardly seen each other during the last two weeks,” I asked eventually.

  He raised his head and smiled, his dark-brown eyes alive and caressing. “I guess I’ve missed you, sweet pea, but now I’m back on days, I hope we can spend more time together.” After a moment’s hesitation, he reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze.

  Surprised by his action, I smiled back and then after a minute, gently let go of his hand, picked up my glass and stood up. “We can, but don’t forget I’m planning to decorate this place. Shall we go and sit in the living room where it’s more comfortable? I’ve had a hard day and need to put my feet up. I’ll shove the dishes in the washer later on.” Not waiting for an answer, I grabbed the wine bottle from the table and moved into the next room.

  “Bugger, I’d forgotten. Didn’t you want me to scour the auction rooms or something with you? I think it’s written down in my diary.” He followed me through with a scowl on his face and glanced round his surroundings.

  “No, but there is one coming up I’d like to attend. You don’t have to come. I’m happy going on my own. By the way, I’ve got a new neighbour. He’s just moved in, taken the apartment next door as a holiday let. Apparently, he’s a writer.”

  “Soft job. What’s he like?”

  “No idea. I haven’t met him yet.”

  “What’s
his name? Is he a celebrity? One of those big-buck earners, I suppose.”

  I laughed and shrugged. “You sound almost jealous and yet you’ve never met. I don’t know about being famous, but his name’s Tim Coleman.”

  Michael sat down on one end of the sofa, and I snuggled next to him, resting my chin on his chest, while he absent-mindedly drummed his fingers on the arm of the seat. He definitely had something on his mind, and with his next words, I learnt what it was.

  He sighed. “Yesterday was a long shift. You’ve heard about the woman found in Stoke Park? I was chosen to help out that night. I’ve been seconded onto the team in charge for a day or so, as they’re so short due to the ‘flu outbreak. Pete’s helping out, too. We’ve been teamed up together. ”

  I pulled a face and half sat up to stare at him, supporting my weight on my left elbow at the same time. “Yes, I have. Everyone at work’s talking about it. You should have said something earlier. It must have been ghastly for you and Pete. Poor woman. Do you know any more than what they’ve said in the papers and on TV?”

  “Some things, I know, but I’m not really allowed to say too much in case it prejudices the case. The only thing I will tell you, as it’s bound to come out, is that she was an actress. Because Pete and I are not on the dedicated team, they don’t let all and sundry know the nitty gritty of the case. The culprit’s bound to have some quirky habit. There’s going to be a press conference tonight, and yes, it was pretty gruesome but exciting at the same time. They’re going to be putting out more details, asking for anyone who may have seen something or been in the area at the time to contact Guildford police station.”

  “And? Has anyone anything to add yet?”

  “There have been the usual cranks claiming to have been involved in some way, wanting to make a name for themselves. Also there were one or two people out that evening in the area—you know, dog walkers or runners, despite the rain. We expect more to come forward after the television statement.”

  “It was a filthy night. I left the party sometime after one o’clock, and the rain had eased by then, but it was still squally. Is it…can you say whether it is the same murderer as before?” I knew I shouldn’t have pushed Michael, but after seeing the SOC area I felt an odd connection with the case.

  “It hasn’t been confirmed one hundred per cent, but the general consensus is yes.”

  “Then we really do have a serial killer in the area.”

  Michael pushed me more upright and stared into my eyes, his strong hands gripping my shoulders firmly. “Yes, and you have to be extra vigilant. I know you don’t walk across the park in the dark, but who knows when or where he’ll strike next. This is the first time he’s killed someone here in Guildford, but if he’s arrogant enough, he could use the same place twice.”

  “Next?” I whispered. “You think it’ll happen again?” I couldn’t help giving an involuntary glance over his shoulder at the doorway. The door to the next apartment standing open just a crack flashed through my mind. I couldn’t help shivering.

  “There’s a very good chance. But probably not for a while. Serial killers kill to appease their hunger. In between kills they go about their normal lives. It’s only when they feel the urge, do they kill again. Don’t forget, this killer appears to have chosen his victims over eighteen months or more.”

  I shuddered. “But how long between murders? Do serial killers plan a murder or act on impulse?”

  Michael pushed a hand through his dark hair, smoothing it back into place. “Both. If you study a psychopath like Neil Entwistle, you’ll find he was the classic sociopath. He hid the most manipulative, selfish and ultimately violent nature behind a convincing appearance of loving husband and devoted father. He killed his wife and nine-month-old daughter, and everybody said he was the perfect gentleman at all times. It’s believed he killed them because he no longer saw them as necessary in his life. They had become a liability, and he spent weeks planning their deaths.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “But take the American, Mark Hacking. He seems to have acted on impulse after arguing with his wife. He was supposed to have been in the middle of packing to leave when he came across a revolver and shot his wife while she slept. So you see, no two sociopaths or psychos are the same.”

  “I see. Have the team involved in the case found out anything really relevant? What should women be on the lookout for? Is he white or black, old or young? Does anything link his murdered victims?”

  Michael frowned. “I’ve already told you, there’s to be a statement later tonight.” He pushed his sweater sleeve up his wrist and glanced at his watch. “Actually, put the box on now and we’ll watch the nine o’clock news, it’s just about time.”

  Chapter Six - Ella

  … Finally, everyone should be on the alert, particularly young, dark-haired women. This man is very, very dangerous. Go about your daily life, but pay attention to your personal safety. Think about the route you're taking to go home, and try to stay near other people or where there is street lighting. Finally, if anyone has any further information…anything at all…please telephone the following number …

  We sat in silence for a moment after the police news conference finished, and then I reached forward with the television remote and switched the set off.

  “So you were right. The dead woman was an actress, just like all the others. Janet Lambert. I’ve never heard of her. Poor thing.” I sighed and stared at my feet. She was younger than me, in her early twenties, and not only had she been strangled, but like all the others she had been brutally raped too. I thought of her parents and how devastated they must have been feeling, knowing they would never see their daughter perform on stage again. She would never make them grandparents, and they were denied the simple act of putting their arms around her. Life was so bloody unfair. I swallowed and, blinking back my tears, carried on talking, as I knew that if I didn’t, I was going to bawl my eyes out at the horror and injustice of it all. I guessed I must have been over-tired from work, as I wasn’t normally so weepy and pathetic.

  “The police who held the press conference said they think he’s young because he’s fast on his feet…and tall and almost certainly fit. There’s not a lot more to go on, is there? The only possible clue was someone thought they saw a figure in a hooded top. Who the hell wears a hoodie when it’s pouring with rain? I’d have thought some sort of raincoat or anorak would have been more useful.” I sniffed, sat back and stared at Michael.

  He looked serious. “It’s possibly a disposable top of some kind. Ella, as he strangles his victims, he’s likely to pass his DNA onto them, especially during the rape. He most probably takes the hoodie with him, puts it on before he stalks his victim, does the deed, and then removes and gets rid of it. Some garments are easy to burn or even dissolve in the right chemicals, especially if they’re are made of a plastic material of some sort.”

  I bit my lip. “How chilling. When I think of him waiting, just lurking in the bushes for the right victim to come along. But, as he raped them too, then surely his DNA can be traced through his semen?”

  “Yes, but it has to be matched with a potential killer. Don’t forget, as far as we know, he’s only ever killed outdoors. Clever planning when you think about it. If he took a woman back to his place, then her DNA would be everywhere. Rapists leave an enormous amount of DNA ranging from saliva to semen to pubic hair. Some even shave to avoid leaving their own body PH on a victim. A thorough murdering rapist will wash the body after he’s finished. When the serious-crime-squad team have a suspect, they’ll turn his house upside down looking for evidence. They’ll go through everything, including removing the plumbing right down to the drains outside, searching for forensic proof. Hairs get caught in the pipe joins, under the bath and the shower. Thousands of samples will be taken, but it will only be useful if they already have a suspect under lock and key. This murderer is extremely clever. By killing his victims away from his house, if his own DNA escapes, then
it will be mixed in with every other person who happened to walk that way.” Michael paused and gave a thin smile. “If you recall, every one of his victims has been killed in a place that’s popular with the public. Stoke Park has thousands of visitors every year.”

  Michael sat back as he paused in thought before continuing. “You know, we can almost admire his planning, as he’s got away with it all this time. I should imagine he waits for the right victim every time. As I’ve already said, serial killers can be extremely clever, planning things down to the last detail. No doubt, once he found her, he studied and monitored her moves and daily routine, before deciding where and when to strike. This woman was part of the cast at the theatre, and the play’s been on here for two weeks. It was due to transfer to another town in a few days, according to the theatre box office. He had to make his move before she left.”

  I shuddered. “What a sicko. You know a lot about this. My job’s bad enough at times, but I couldn’t do yours at all. Far too macabre for me.” I recognised that Michael was warming to his theme. He became more animated because the subject matter interested him. He had never fully explained why he wasn’t a detective himself. He was certainly clever enough; maybe he was just unambitious.

  “We have to know something about how a killer’s mind works. It’s expected of us. Besides, you might not like it, but it is interesting, you know…understanding what makes people tick.”

  I felt restless and stood up. I guessed Michael knew more about the murderer and his ways but wasn’t allowed to tell me anything else. Not that I wanted to learn more. “Do you fancy another drink or a coffee?”

  “Neither. I think it’s time for bed.”

  I shot a surprised glance his way as he moved off the settee, slid his hands around my waist and pulled me to him.

  “Doesn’t that sound like a good idea?” he murmured into my ear, one hand circling my neck, his thumb rubbing the soft skin of my throat. “It’s been a while.” I could feel his erection pressing hard against my stomach.