‘Morning,’ she mouthed, but rather than replying he shuffled closer, planting a single kiss on the top of her arm, as his foot continued to play with the side of her leg. Her smile spread wider as she realised what he was suggesting with his intimate touches. And she didn’t care; she wanted him too.
And as he moved closer and pressed his lips against hers, she knew nothing in the world would stop her giving herself to him. He was soon pulling the t-shirt over his head, as his hand squeezed between her legs, and she closed her eyes savouring his touch.
And then he was on top of her, pressing hard into her, and she pulled him closer, slipping her tongue into his mouth.
‘I love you so much, Rob,’ she whispered, and he smothered her neck with gentle kisses, running his tongue along her collarbone, as she loved him to do.
And then he was inside her, and it was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. Their skin pressed together was so warm and sticky as they moved as one, faster and faster, deeper and deeper.
And just as she felt close to climax, she forced her eyelids open, wanting to stare into those deep blue eyes of his at the moment they both peaked. The orgasm was building in the pit of her stomach as he pushed harder and harder, and still she stared into his eyes, knowing how lucky she was to have found true love with her soul mate.
And then he collapsed into her arms, and they lay there together, entwined, both straining to capture breath. It was as good as it had ever been. And she needed to tell him.
She needed to tell him everything.
How much she loved him, how her every spare moment was spent thinking about him, and how she didn’t want to imagine any kind of life without him. And how she longed for him to say the same words to her. To propose and tell her how much he wanted her to bear his children. And how they would grow old together, teaching their children what true love really meant.
And as he pushed him upwards to speak, the strangest expression came over his face. It wasn’t happy, or sad, just frozen. And as she shoed away the possibility of this moment ever fading, his body suddenly felt so much hotter on hers. Too hot.
And as she tried to push him off, she felt the orange flames licking at her hands, as they engulfed his body.
She pushed and fought with all her might. Where had the flames come from? Why was he on fire? And as his skin blackened and blistered before her eyes, she knew all too quickly that something wasn’t right. This couldn’t be real, but now her body was too hot to the touch.
She forced her eyes closed, shaking her head violently.
Not again.
And as she looked back into his eyes, hoping the flames had extinguished, his charred and still body slowly crumbled between her fingers, the blackened ash settling on her sweat-drenched body, and as she opened her mouth to scream, she could taste his ashes filling her mouth.
Megan sat bolt upright in bed, her hands subconsciously brushing the invisible ash from her person, and surprised to find she was wearing a nightshirt, and that there was no black powder in sight. But her heart was racing. Thud-thud-thud. Pressing hard against her ribcage, like it would actually burst through her chest. And as the harsh realisation slowly descended, her eyes filled with tears, and she didn’t fight to contain them.
As her sobs and wails echoed off the close walls of the studio flat, she didn’t care who heard.
How could her mind be so cruel? She had felt Rob there inside her. She had felt every rock and motion as he had pushed against her. She had felt his kisses on her neck, his hands on her breasts. And she had definitely climaxed with him.
It was too cruel that it had all been a dream, something buried deep within her subconscious. It had felt so real; so intense; like all the other dreams. There had to be more to it than just her imagination. Hadn’t there?
Her breaths came in short jagged inhalations, even as her eyes dried. And as she looked around the room, she spotted the yellow exercise book poking out of the top of her handbag on the bedside table. But rather than reaching for it she pushed the bag to the floor so she wouldn’t have to see it. Screw Dr Patel and his Dream Journal! It was only since he’d given it to her that she’d started having these weirder dreams. She almost longed to relive the old nightmare.
And there was no way she was going to share the intimate detail of this particular nightmare with her psychiatrist. She didn’t need a qualified physician to tell her why she’d had a wet dream about her former partner. She was lonely and isolated and craving just one more moment with him by her side.
Using the remote control, she flicked on the television, hoping it would prove a distraction, but as the news started, last night’s incident dominated the headlines. The police had yet to confirm the woman’s identity officially as they were still trying to contact next-of-kin. What they did confirm was that a woman in her fifties entered the building at some point in the late afternoon, and slowly made her way to the rooftop, before falling the fourteen stories to her death. The reporter was wearing a buttoned shirt, without a tie and with his top button unfastened as he explained the events from just outside the cordon Megan had seen erected. It was odd seeing the area she’d spent several hours at last night on her television screen.
But what really disturbed her was when the screen cut to a piece of promotional video captured from within the building, showing several of the floors, and the lifts. Megan’s mouth dropped as the images spurred memories of her afternoon nightmare to the forefront of her mind. As she leaned closer, staring at every detail of the screen, she couldn’t escape how accurate her dream of the layout had been. Like she’d been there before, and somehow misplaced the memory of the experience. What she was viewing was exactly what she had seen prior to entering the lift in the dream. But even the buttons inside the lift were identical to the nightmare.
But how could that be when she was certain she had never been inside the building?
The news cut to the next story, as men and women protested something with placards, but Megan was already switching it off, and reaching for her phone. Unplugging her phone from the charger, she checked to see whether Dr Patel had even bothered to return her call from last night. But finding no missed calls or messages, she hit redial. His recorded voice told her that he didn’t return calls from patients out of office hours, but she left him an urgent message anyway. The nightmare had been like she had witnessed Rita’s final moments through her own eyes, but hours before the incident had happened.
She felt a cold shiver down her spine as she contemplated how it was possible that she could have born witness to something before it had happened. But what terrified her most was the thought that she could have done something to stop it.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Sleep had been sparse. Jake was sure he hadn’t actually dropped off at any point, as he had looked over at the clock on an hourly basis. It wasn’t that he hadn’t felt tried, but every time he had tried to clear his mind and focus on sleep, fresh troubling thoughts would enter and take his imagination in varying directions.
Thankfully Isabella hadn’t been home when he’d returned, so she wouldn’t know he’d abandoned their daughter for the wild goose chase to New Milton. Mrs Scott had been full of questions as he had hung his keys on the hook by the door.
‘Did you catch the killer?’
He’d looked at her to see if she was joking, but there’d been no hint of malice in her face. How she thought he could reach a crime scene, solve a murder and arrest the killer in the space of a couple of hours was beyond him. But rather than criticise his elderly neighbour, who’d done him a good turn, he simply nodded at her reassuringly.
‘Yep, he won’t be free to kill again.’
She’d looked satisfied by the answer, but now that he thought about it, her interest was probably more to do with her own safety than wanting a gruesome fix before bed.
He’d checked on Gabby, before turning in, not bothering to message Isabella and find out if she was planning to return. But sleep hadn�
�t come.
He never should have left the scene without reporting what had happened. He had no doubt that Harry fumbling beneath the water was what had caused the Jaguar to bubble to the surface. It was too much of a coincidence otherwise. And that had to be reported. Harry never should have been in the water, he never should have been allowed past the perimeter given he had no business being there, and he shouldn’t have got his girlfriend to cover for the two of them. The fact that the woman at the perimeter had been expecting him and had been only too willing to allow him through meant Harry’s late night call had been premeditated. The young PC had to have known that he was breaking the rules when he’d gone home to collect his diving gear and now he’d made Jake complicit in the action.
If the case – if there was indeed any kind of case – got to court, the defence solicitor would have a field day with those rule breaches. If anyone learned that Harry had been down near the car, any evidence recovered, such as fingerprints or DNA, would now be tarnished. So, if the joyrider had been stupid enough to steal the car without gloves on, it wouldn’t make a difference.
‘PC Venables could have planted the prints,’ is all the solicitor would need to say and the case would be dismissed, if the CPS even allowed them to get that far.
Jake had finally given up on sleep just before six and had gone for a run, but had strained his calf as he’d pushed himself around the roads harder and harder, punishing himself for not speaking up last night.
What was it with this new crop of hot-headed officers? Did they really think that the detectives portrayed by actors on television were how the real world worked: only one detective to save the day? Harry’s disobedience was as reckless as Annie Lockwood racing after the fleeing McGregor on Tuesday. Where was the caution and restraint? They were paid to uphold the law, not rip up the rule book when it suited.
And so wincing, Jake showered and dressed and was in the car by half past six, hoping he could be the first at the scene, be the first to “discover” the Jaguar and call it in. He didn’t feel good about covering Harry’s activities, but at this moment in time he had little choice.
But he wasn’t the first at the scene.
Three white vans with ‘Crime Scene Investigation’ stencilled in blue were closest to the outer perimeter, which Jake noted had been expanded since last night. There was no sign of Harry or his girlfriend, and the three missed calls on Jake’s mobile filled him with a feeling of dread, as Inspector Carlton came marching towards him, the expression on her face absent of any warmth.
‘DS Knight, I’ve been trying to call you,’ she growled.
Jake’s paranoia went into overload. What if Harry had beaten him to the punch and phoned the inspector and come clean? Had he dropped Jake in it, telling the spikey woman how Jake had told them to cover it up? Or had the so-called reliable girlfriend turned the pair of them in? She’d have done the right thing, and as the Inspector continued to stare Jake down, he wished he’d listened to his conscience.
He was about to speak, when the inspector patted his upper arm twice, with what he could only assume was an attempt at a smile. ‘It isn’t often I’m wrong, but I’m not afraid to admit when I am.’
Jake’s mouth dropped, but he couldn’t process what he wanted to say.
‘You were right about needing divers in the lake,’ she said humbly. ‘I should have paid your theory more heed. So there’s no animosity between us, I wanted to just have a word in your ear and apologise for not giving you the credence you deserve.’
Jake remained speechless.
‘I took you for being one of those high-flying city boys sent in to make a mountain out of a molehill, and that was wrong of me.’ She stuck out her hand. ‘I hope we can draw a line in the sand and move forward together on this?’
Jake shook her hand, and nodded solemnly. ‘What changed your mind?’
She led him towards the new outer perimeter. ‘When the perimeter relief showed up this morning, he completed his inspection of the scene and low and behold spotted a vehicle floating in the water, not far from where the pontoon was damaged. I guess Mother Nature didn’t want to keep hold of it any longer.’
Jake didn’t comment, putting on the same disposable blue suit that at least a dozen others inside the perimeter were wearing. Inspector Carlton donned a fresh suit too, and led him through the woods.
‘How long have this lot been here?’ Jake asked, nodding towards the faceless blue bodies scouring the undergrowth.
‘Best part of an hour. The real focus is up at the lake itself. They’re trying to work out the best way to bring the vehicle back to shore without disturbing any of the scene. As yet they haven’t been able to confirm the vehicle discovered is the same one that damaged the gate and pontoon, but paint samples will be analysed in the lab and I’m relatively confident they’ll be a match.’
‘Why would there be any doubt?’
She stopped and leaned closer so they wouldn’t be overheard. ‘The car in question is old. Early nineties based on the registration plate. Now, given Jaguars are not common on the roads these days, there is a question mark over when the vehicle entered the lake. You’ll see what I mean when you see it. It’s covered in algae and there is a possibility that it’s been beneath the water for several years undetected. That said, it would be a huge coincidence that it has resurfaced within days of the vandalism. But I’m keeping an open mind.’
‘Well it’s good news for your case. Presumably you’ve run the plates on the PNC database to see the registered owner and to check whether it has been reported stolen?’
‘Yes, yes, the vehicle is registered not far from here in Lyndhurst, but hasn’t been reported stolen. Two of my officers are on their way to the property as we speak.’
‘Well, if we’re lucky our joyrider will have left us a fingerprint or DNA sample to work from.’
Deep lines appeared in Carlton’s brow. ‘Joyrider? Oh no, DS Knight, we’re not looking for a joyrider anymore.’
It was Jake’s turn to frown. ‘We’re not?’
‘No, no, we are pretty sure we already know who the driver was.’
‘How? I don’t understand.’
Inspector Carlton attempted to smile again, but didn’t answer, moving forwards once more, and picking up the pace considerably. Jake struggled to keep up as the early morning sun started to heat the air around them. Despite the shelter of the trees, being in the polythene suit was doing nothing to help regulate body temperature.
Jake was sweating by the time they reached the clearing where more blue suits were studying the weathered pontoon, looking for anything to confirm that the Jaguar had caused the damage. The car itself was floating at an odd angle in the water, and although the front tyres remained submerged, there was certainly more of the vehicle’s chassis on display than last night, and Carlton had been right about the algae. It was like a green spider’s web covering every surface.
And then Jake spotted it, off to the right. On a stretcher the black body bag was about to be loaded into the back of the ambulance.
Turning, he stared wide-eyed at Carlton, who simply nodded. ‘Given the condition of the body that was found at the shore’s edge this morning, I think it is very likely that he was the same person to drive the car into the lake. We’re not looking for joyriders anymore, DS Knight.’
TWENTY-EIGHT
The young man behind the desk glanced up again, and smiled empathetically when their eyes made contact. Megan hated when they did that.
Yes, she was in a wheelchair, and had no feeling in her legs, but that didn’t make her any less of a human being. Okay, stairs were a challenge, sure, but otherwise she was more than capable, and didn’t like being viewed as a victim.
Megan looked away, allowing her eyes to wander around the waiting area. They came to rest on a community notice board, covered in glossy pamphlets that did nothing to settle her nerves. One had the words “Don’t Keep Quiet!” plastered in giant letters, and appeared to be aimed at v
ictims of sexual assault. Another was emblazoned with “Know Your Limits” which had to be to do with issues of drink-driving. A third shouted “Don’t be a Victim of Crime!” and showed a still of a woman walking with a phone plastered to her ear while a gloved hand reached into her handbag and pulled out a purse and keys.
The police station waiting area certainly wasn’t a place to come if you were in search of reassurance. If anything she felt more vulnerable.
She dared to check her phone’s display. She had been waiting nearly an hour to speak to PC Durridge, the officer who had taken her statement in the back of the police car yesterday evening. He had said to get in touch if she remembered anything else. But as she sat and continued to wait for him to return to the station, she couldn’t help but feel that this wasn’t the best step forward.
She had wanted to talk to Dr Patel before telling the police about her vision, but he hadn’t answered his phone and she hadn’t wanted to get into an argument with that snooty cow on reception, who would tell her he was fully booked. It didn’t seem to matter that Megan was in a fragile state, or that she was in desperate need of counselling. If the diary was full, it was full! She’d made that quite clear yesterday morning.
The young officer behind the desk was looking over at her again, but Megan refused to meet his stare, instead scrolling through her apps, looking for anything that would help distract her until Durridge arrived.
But just as she was opening a card game, the phone on the desk rang, startling them both. The young man answered, spoke for a few moments and then hung up.
‘PC Durridge will be down in a few minutes,’ he called over.
Megan nodded in acknowledgement.
‘He said I should put you in one of our soft interview suites, and to check whether you’d like a cup of tea or coffee? It’s only the machine variety, but if you’re thirsty...?’
Déjà Vu Page 14
