by Ricki Thomas
Krein was unaware they had company, he span around, and faced the elegant, tall, striking woman, aged since he last saw her from worry and stress. The recognition was instant, for both. “Gail Rackham!”
“Inspector Krein!”
The shocked silence boomed, all three parties stunned. Elizabeth Dennison broke first. “You know each other?”
Gail Rackham was shaking Krein’s hand now, her eyes now dulled as she recalled the memories his face produced. “Inspector Krein was the investigating officer when Annabel disappeared.” And now she queried his presence, he belonged in Oxford, and the realisation dawned, her voice became strangled in her throat. “You think the man who killed Annabel is the same man who hurt my …” Her voice tailed off.
Krein was searching inside the deeply green eyes. They were tired, they were old, the wrinkles surrounding them drooped, bags holding years of experiences. But they were secretive, and wicked, and they were hiding a murderer. Krein felt stifled, his breathing was laborious. He’d found the key. Now he just needed to unlock the door. “Where, Elizabeth, where?”
Her gaze never left him, she searched his eyes as deeply as he searched hers. Elizabeth Dennison terrified Krein, her evilness burned through him as her words hammered through, each syllable slow and deliberate. “I thought he just fell.”
Krein turned abruptly and left.
“Mum, I want to come home.” Mary was wracked with sobs, aware how idiotic she’d been, how selfish, how irrational. Now she was trapped in filth, miles from home, and terrified to leave the room after the text her father had sent.
At first Linda had urged her to return, but when Mary explained the warning, Linda changed her mind. “Listen to your Dad, love. He’s pivotal with this killer, he knows what’s going on.”
“Mum, I’m so lonely. Matt hasn’t been back all day, I don’t know where he is or how to contact him.”
“Do you know any of his friends in London?”
Mary thought for a moment, Matt had always visited the Vortex Club in a sizeable crowd. “Yes, a few.”
“Phone them, love. See if anyone can come and keep you company until he gets back.”
Mary nodded, pointlessly. “I love you Mum. I’m sorry.”
The call was ended, and Linda instantly tried her husband’s number. And again. And again. No answer.
Krein breezed into the incident room, the urgency emanating from him. Action was needed, and quickly. Spencer regarded him, he could see that Krein was onto something, he was intrigued.
“Have you got anything on the Dennison couple yet?”
The report on Spencer’s desk was easily found, he was an intensely organized man. “He was an accountant before …”
“No, Elizabeth Dennison. I want to know about her.” Krein was seated now, and Jaswinder had the foresight to hand him a coffee. He handled the hot paper cup without noticing, or thanking, his mind totally absorbed.
“Aged eighty one. Retired forensic scientist. Acclaimed for her work, two books published on her studies. Four children. Coincidentally …”
“One is called Gail, married to Ted Rackham. Yes, and it’s ‘the’ Gail Rackham, our first victim’s mother. That is why I’m so interested, because we were right, Elizabeth’s hiding someone, she knows the killer, and she’s protecting him.”
“Shit!”
“Tell me about the children. Grandchildren. Great grandchildren. And how can we get DNA from the couple so we can link it to the killer’s?”
“You think Annabel was related to her killer.”
“I’m certain she was.”
Paul was hidden from the road, the ornately decorated porch of the mosque on Brick Lane protecting him from unwanted eyes. He could see the regular police patrols from his vantage point, but they no longer worried him. All he wanted was to rip someone apart again, that was all that mattered. He rocked, backwards, forwards, backwards, forwards, hugging his knees to his chest tightly.
The annoying voice wouldn’t leave him alone, it made him angry, in fact it was the reason he wanted to kill, it’s persistence enraged him. He kept his words close, not wanting to be discovered. “Go away, bitch, get out of my head. Get out. Get out. I only want God to talk to me.” It droned, it nagged, it antagonized, it made him clench his fists, rip at his skin, scratching his eyes, digging his nails into his face. The only way to stop it was to find another duty. That way God would be back, congratulating, complimenting, adoring.
Mary had Matt’s mobile, she clicked through the contacts, and eventually, gratefully, spotted a name she recognized inside. Karen Philips was a nice girl, quite a laugh. Mary dialed the number. Three rings. “Hello, is that Karen?”
“Yep. Who are you?” Mary smiled woefully as she remembered the girl’s chirpiness.
“Well, I don’t know if you’ll remember me, I’ve talked with you at the Vortex Club. My name’s Mary Krein.”
Her smile showed in her sunny voice. “Yay, I remember you, dude! I didn’t know you had my number! Not that I mind you calling!”
Mary felt silly. “I don’t, well, I’m at Matt’s place,” Mary heard the gasp but didn’t understand its significance, “and I found your number on his mobile.”
The silence was daunting, Mary waited with trepidation, something was wrong. The words were strained. “You haven’t heard.” Swallowing hard, the imparter of bad news. “Matt’s dead.” The swallowing met the astounded gasp. “His body was found in Code Street this morning, his Mum phoned me, she’s in a right state.”
Mary couldn’t speak, she had no words, her loneliness imploded in her mind, leaving a vacant cavern. Her chest heaved, her breathing was light. His body. Matt’s dead. His body. Found. Matt’s dead. The words slapped her around the face, again, again. Slap. Slap. Dead. Dead.
“Mary, where are you?”
Matt’s dead. “Matt’s place.”
Karen was kind, she was a fantastic mate to have at times of crisis. “Don’t stay there, honey, not on your own. Look, I’m half a mile from you. Head out of Matt’s towards the Vortex, I’m just past, on Brick Lane, flat twelve B, one hundred and two. Come on, babes, I’ll look after you.”
Sitting at his desk, Krein was frantic. He was searching every member of Elizabeth’s family, and all of them appeared to be law-abiding citizens in professional employment. Police were intensively patrolling the streets, and he knew that Kopycat would be too, searching for another victim. His phone beeped, he’d received a text.
‘Mary’s heading towards Brick Street. David, please, find our daughter.’
The chair was gone, his mind was gone, his senses had left, he had some keys, he was down the stairs, he was in the car. Somehow Spencer was with him. Krein had no idea how he got there, Spencer must have chased after him. The area he drove to was familiar, Krein had surveyed it so often. He parked in a lay-by, engine running, the bright lights of Brick Lane illuminating the busy road.
Spencer finally believed he would get a straight answer. “What do you know, Krein?”
Krein’s heart was thudding wildly against his chest, his eyes never leaving the street, searching, scanning, he wanted the man more than ever before. “My daughter’s staying in Brick Lane. Elizabeth Dennison is related to Kopycat somehow. Kopycat is here, now, he’s prowling for his next victim. That’s what I know.”
Not stopping his surveillance for a second, Krein left the driver’s seat, he walked around the car, opening the passenger door. “I want you to drive, Spence, up and down, up and down, I’ll know Kopycat when I see him.”
Seats swapped, Spencer manoeuvred the car into the stream of traffic, his vigilant passenger scanning intensely, and, heart sinking, ahead he could see his disobeying daughter, striding speedily. “There’s my kid.” He screamed, pointing, and Spencer accelerated.
Paul watched the girl pass by the entrance, the mosque porch still housing him, the shadows dark, private. Her head was down, her black hair tumbled down her back, flowing gently in the breeze, she was gorg
eous. Paul wanted her, she was the one, he wanted to feel her inside and drag out her entrails.
He was on her from behind, the hands that crackled with Matt Olsen’s dried blood sealing her mouth, halting her scream. He dragged her into the shadows of the porch, the extravagant stonework witnessing her plight. She bit at his hands, her own nails scratching, her eyes widening as she felt the cold blade pierce her skin, pain radiating from her left kidney. Reaching behind, self-preservation surfacing, she grabbed for his hair, but it was merely baby-soft stubble. Her nails scratched at his eyes, his face, his mouth and he bit, his teeth sinking into her fingers.
Footsteps were nearing, she felt the blade re-enter, her eyes wide with terror, her blood oozing, weakening her adrenaline filled body. A tussle, the grip was loosened, her body slumped forward, she crawled painfully towards the brightness, her mind in slow motion, not glancing behind to watch the fight between hero and killer. She could hear screaming, unaware it was coming from her.
Krein leapt from the moving car, landing badly and rolling across the ground, he struggled into the porch: he’d seen his daughter snatched, he’d seen the policeman follow. Mary was on the floor, she was screaming, the policeman, fatally stabbed, slumped beside her, and Kopycat was over Mary, the knife looming aggressively. Krein’s screams obliterated the world as he launched forward, the knife slicing his forearm as he impacted the attacker, knocking him to the floor, the weapon skidding away.
The enhanced strength borne from his child in danger, Krein flipped the assailant over with ease, and the handcuffs were on. Kopycat bayed, howling, his eyes wide, the noise animal. He struggled, snarling, sneering, the need for blood loss intense, and the wrestling continued until he was led away. Two ambulances appeared in seconds, the heroic policeman who’d given his life to save Mary’s was taken in one, Krein and his daughter, who was bleeding prolifically, in the other.
Krein’s wound was superficial, and he sat, arm bandaged, beside his daughter’s bed in the Royal London Hospital. A ventilator breathed life into her damaged body, the coma making her appear asleep. The hospital had performed emergency surgery on her, and the prognosis was good. She was capable of breathing unaided, but the trauma had weakened her, and the doctors thought it best to reduce any extra strain on her battered body. Krein held vigil, awaiting the police car that would soon be delivering his wife to his side.
He didn’t expect to see Jaswinder, and when she came into the room, joining him beside his adult baby, her presence was no longer important. She still had a way of surprising him, all the same. “We’ve found Annabel.”
Shock flitted across his face, his gaze remaining on the prettiness that lay between the white sheets. “Body?”
“Kopycat.”
Wednesday 18th September
Krein fingered his mobile phone, undecided, as he strolled slowly from the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford. Mary had been transferred there on Friday, her condition having stabilized sufficiently for the journey. He’d just visited her; she was up and about, her wounds healing well. Apart from the desperate worry for his daughter, the past week had been flat.
Spencer had taken over from him after the dreadful night, organizing the reports, making sure Krein could concentrate on those most important to him. Krein had been relieved to return home to Oxford, and although she’d been distant, he’d thought Linda was just distressed about Mary. When he received the divorce petition, he realised he’d lost everything.
Proud, he’d packed a suitcase that day and left the marital home. Linda could keep it all, as far as he was concerned. Material things were irrelevant. He’d seen too much death to ever care about the car he drove, whether his mobile was the latest model, or the store he shopped in was trendy enough.
Krein leant against the low wall; the autumn sun was warm, but chilled by the easterly winds. Jaswinder’s number was displayed on his mobile. He needed to talk to her, he needed closure, he needed to understand Kopycat, Annabel Keeley, what drove her to kill so viciously, but he also knew that asking such questions would be irregular, he should wait for the official reports. He pressed dial. So what if his job was compromised, he just didn’t care any more.
“Jas, it’s me.”
He swore he could hear relief in her voice. “David, thank heavens. How are you?”
“I need to see you.”
The line crackled, a baby whimpering, soothing, cooing. “I’m at home, you’re welcome to come and talk, as long as you don’t mind Sam being here.”
“Thanks. What’s your address?”
The room was efficiently modern, decorated in neutrals, a comfortable quantity of ornaments, none pretentious, dotted around. Sam lay in the filigreed Moses basket; his gurgle had changed to the rhythmic breathing of sleep since his mother had left the room to prepare a drink.
Jaswinder brought the two steaming mugs into the room, Krein smiled, grateful. He’d never seen her so gorgeous, at home she wore her long, glossy black hair down, it tumbled over her dainty shoulders, the ends flicking slightly. Her face was unmade, her beauty natural, chocolate eyes enhanced by swooping black eyelashes. “I need to know what you know, Jas. About Kopycat. About Annabel.”
“Have you read the summary? The reports?”
“Yes. I need to hear you tell it. I need you to help me understand.” Krein took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, her disapproving look halted him: he replaced them.
A deep sigh. “Annabel had been depressed for a while. Her body clock was ticking away, and she was desperate for another child. Before conceiving that baby, she’d suffered three miscarriages, all in the first trimester, and her doctor had become concerned about her mental health. He’d asked her to delay trying to conceive, and take medication to stabilise her condition. She had refused.”
“Your opinion?” He sipped his coffee, it was welcome.
“She should have followed the doctor’s advice. If she was depressed enough for him to make that suggestion, she needed assistance. On the day that Annabel went missing, she’d parked at the Westgate, as always, but as she’d left the car, she’d noticed the blood.” Jaswinder opened her briefcase, she pulled out a hefty folder. “Sorry, I need to consult my notes before I continue.”
Moments passed, Jaswinder flicked through the pages. “Ah yes, she was seen, her skirt soaked with blood, by Mrs Murray. This is where the assumption that she was injured came in.”
“I remember, but Mrs Murray mentioned a man next to her, bearded, if I remember rightly. Where does he come in all of this?”
“An innocent shopper, probably terrified, and that’s why he never came forward.” Jaswinder glanced at her son, checking his temperature unconsciously, Krein smiled at the tender gesture. “Annabel had been complacent, having passed the three month mark without miscarrying, and realising that she was losing the child she desperately wanted, that took her over the edge, if you like. She couldn’t handle it, she wanted to escape from reality, and she drove, drove, drove, away from everything, pretending it wasn’t happening.”
“So the foetus was a miscarriage, not ripped from her body as we thought.”
“Yes. From talking to Annabel, although she’s heavily sedated and has little memory of the past three months, she clearly remembers seeing the headlines suggesting her accident with the motorcyclist in Dorset was a recreation of Lawrence of Arabia’s death, and that’s when, well, she calls him ‘God’, it’s an auditory hallucination, told her to research past killings, and that became her duty.”
They both sighed, it seemed such an odd explanation, but so simple. “If only we’d known.” Krein spoke to himself.
Jaswinder laid a delicate hand on his shoulder. “It wouldn’t have helped us if we’d known, anyway. It wouldn’t have stopped the murdering, we still wouldn’t have known where she was. In all my experience, I would never have expected Kopycat to be female. Some of the crimes were so vicious, but, then again, Annabel’s a big lady, athletic, and when experiencing a psychotic attack, the s
ufferer can display amazing strength. It’s the emotional side that disturbs me the most, I would never have expected a woman, especially a mother, to have been emotionally capable of the more violent crimes.”
“No. Should the doctor have sectioned her when she refused medication?”
“No. No one could have predicted this, Krein. No fingers can be pointed. But lessons can be learned, and I hope they are.” They sat in silence, sipping coffee, no more words left, listening to Sam’s snuffles as he slept, blissfully unaware of the world. Krein stood, his questions had been answered, he peeked at the baby, smiling warmly, and headed for the door.
“Thanks, Jas, you’ve been a great help.” He turned to leave, his mood still low.
Jaswinder tapped his shoulder, a cheeky smirk on her face. “One more question. What happened to the meal you promised me when this was all over?”
The life was back in his eyes, the hollowness filled, the cavern of despair inflated with hope. A smile crinkled his eyes, and he turned to face the woman he’d expected never to see again once the investigation was over. Their sparkling eyes met, and elation filled the room.
Gail Rackham now understood whom her mother had been protecting.
But she also knew that she would never see her daughter again. Annabel might be ill, but her capabilities were frightening: her family destroyed, their reputations devastated.
Gail would never forgive, could never forgive, Annabel.
And for the first time ever she wished that Annabel had been the first victim, as they had previously come to believe. Gail wished that her daughter, once cherished, now vilified, had been murdered: at least then she would have been able to sleep peacefully at night.
