by Mel Sherratt
Chloe Winters shivered as she stood waiting at the bus stop on the outskirts of Hanley. It was nearing midnight; there was hardly any chance of a bus now but she didn’t have enough money for a taxi, so she’d have to wait and see and then start walking. All her friends had gone ages ago, when they knew she’d hooked up with Daryl. She’d been looking forward to seeing him so much – what better than a night out laughing with the girls and then home with him afterwards to catch some good loving? Or some in the morning, once they were both sober.
Behind her, bushes that marked the boundary of Central Forest Park shivered in the wind, causing her to shiver too. No bus in sight, she reached inside her bag and located her purse, searching through it again in the hope of finding some money that she’d missed from before. But there was nothing. Even though there were a few cars about, it seemed deathly quiet. She hugged herself to keep warm.
She checked her phone. Nothing from Daryl since she’d stormed off fifteen minutes ago. It was all his fault. If she hadn’t argued with him in Chicago Rock, then she wouldn’t be waiting here for a bus that she’d probably missed. What time were the last buses, anyway? She looked down the road again, as if one was magically going to appear.
She combed her hair from her face with her hand, the wind whipping it into her eyes as a taxi raced past, passengers in the back going home to warmth and sleep. She shivered again, stamping her feet to keep her toes from numbing. Only last month they’d had a few days of snow and here she was now in a dress and flimsy jacket and strappy platform shoes. It wasn’t icy – she’d stay on her feet, but . . . She cursed Daryl. She looked at the time again: five past midnight. She’d wait for another ten minutes and then she’d have to walk.
If Daryl hadn’t been all over that girl he used to go out with – Chloe cast her mind back, Becky something-or-other bitch-face – she wouldn’t have felt the need to argue with him. But he thought he was such a stud. She’d been happily snogging the face off him until she’d needed to pee. When she came back, he was so close to snogging Becky that he hadn’t noticed her standing by his side for over a minute. She’d tapped him on the shoulder, tipped the remainder of her drink down Becky’s top and stormed out. She’d hoped that he’d come after her, looked over her shoulder even as she’d left the building, but he hadn’t. Becky had won, despite her having the last laugh. Her eyes filled with tears.
A few minutes later, she began to walk, her feet hurting with every step. When she heard footsteps behind her, she stopped, turned abruptly, but there was no one there. She laughed to herself.
‘Stop scaring yourself, you daft cow.’
She walked another few yards before she heard footsteps again, closer this time, and faster. Someone grabbed her arm and ran with her.
‘Stop pissing about, Daryl.’ Chloe struggled to keep up with him. ‘I don’t want to talk to you. You can’t be trusted on your own for five minutes.’
On they ran, past Walkers Fruit Shop and down the side alley next to it.
‘I saw how you were looking at her! You’re hurting my arm – let go!’
He continued to drag her along the path, then across the grass and into the bushes before she had time to say anything else. She pulled a face – he might think it was romantic to act all spontaneous but she wasn’t going to let him off that easily.
When they were out of sight, he turned her to face him. It was then that she could see it wasn’t Daryl.
‘Who the hell –’
He stopped her with a backhander across her face. She cried out, stumbled in her heels. He pushed her and she fell to the ground. On all fours, she scrambled desperately but he grabbed her ankles and pulled her back. Soil filled her nails as she tried to get a grip, hook into the ground and stay where she was, but he was on her like a flash. He flipped her over onto her back, his hand sliding up her leg. She lost a shoe in her fight to kick him off. Pushing her dress down as he inched it up, she slapped at him as he grabbed her hands.
‘You’re not going to get away from me.’
At last she tried to scream, but it was silenced immediately by a punch to her mouth. He hit her twice more. Dazed, she quietened, feeling her legs go weak as he covered her with his body. He lifted off her slightly as he fumbled with his jeans. She knew she should try to scream again but it was as if she had lost the know-how. All the times she’d read about girls getting attacked and not running away or screaming for help and wondering how they could just lie back and take it. Now, here she was, powerless and frozen with fear. Tears pouring down her face, she tried to close her mind off to what was happening.
Patrick moved through his neighbourhood as quietly as possible. He was taking a risk going through the wooded shortcut and on to Century Street. The alcoholics would be out and in fighting mode if he bumped into any of them. But at this time of night, he could blend in with the darkness, the dreariness of the place.
Coming out into the light of the only lamp in the street that worked, he stepped into the road that would lead him across to Waterloo Road and across to Ranger Street. Ahead, he could hear the sound of a man and woman arguing, their colourful expletives coming through an open window. He pulled down his woollen hat as he ran the last few minutes home, trying to keep the negative thoughts from at bay.
From the onset of the game, Patrick had wondered if he’d be in the right frame of mind to carry everything out. He’d thought that maybe killing Mickey Taylor would be all he was capable of. But one after the other? Would his mind be void of any emotion? Would he be able to kill and kill again? In quick succession, which is what he’d needed to do? And not stop until he had taken down every one of them? He was more than halfway through the game, but would his mind be capable of all of it?
He pushed himself to sprint the last few metres along Ranger Street to his front door. As he put his key in the lock, he glanced around. There was no one to see him, no one looking out of the windows, no one to make up tales about him, not like before. Only five lights on in the whole street, mainly downstairs.
In the shower minutes later, he turned the dial to high and lifted his face up into the spray, the drops stinging his skin in their race to cover him first. If he had been the religious type, he might have thought it was washing away his sins, cleansing him of his evils.
But he wasn’t religious. He must just be mad.
No one in their right mind would do what he had done if they weren’t.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Allie’s mobile woke them at just after five thirty on Tuesday morning. This time it was the theme tune from the film Top Gun. Mark pulled the covers over his head as Allie made a grab for it and switched on a lamp. Seconds later, she was sitting up and wide awake.
‘When did this happen?’ She flicked her feet to the side of the bed. ‘Any sign of a magnetic letter? But you’re saying she asked for me? Okay, I’ll see you there. Yes please, email me. Thanks. Bye.’
‘Shit, has there been another?’ Mark asked as she reached for her dressing gown and pulled it around her shoulders.
‘I’m not sure. Some girl has been raped, badly beaten and left . . . I have to go and see her.’
Mark sat up immediately. ‘Are you sure you have to be the one to talk to her?’
‘She asked for me by name.’
‘Yes, but you have a team of officers. Get one of them to interview her.’
‘No, they might miss vital evidence.’
‘They wouldn’t do that.’
‘They might. Everyone is so busy at the moment, I want to be sure that everything is looked into, and as soon as possible.’
‘That’s ridiculous! Surely it doesn’t take priority over murders?’
Allie ignored his jibe. ‘Of course it doesn’t, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do our best for her. I don’t want anything to be missed, that’s all.’
‘You can’t keep on thinking everything you d
o will bring justice for Karen just because her attacker was never caught.’
Allie recoiled. ‘You make it sound as if this kind of thing is a regular occurrence!’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Luckily for you, I do.’
Mark ran a hand through his hair and then sighed. ‘I hate to see you like this,’ he said. ‘Seeing how all the memories come flooding back to hurt you. And then I’m left to deal with the aftermath. I can’t keep doing it. It tears me apart. I –’
‘For fuck’s sake, this isn’t about us,’ Allie interrupted. ‘This is about some poor girl who has been attacked. Have you any –’
‘Don’t patronise me!’
Allie pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes for a moment before looking back at him. ‘Mark, let’s not do this again now. You know this is my job.’
‘Yes, and always more important than our marriage.’
‘What the hell did you just say?’
Mark went quiet.
Allie didn’t have the time to spare. ‘I need to go,’ she told him.
Mark flopped back onto the bed. ‘Do what you like, Allie. You always will.’
She strode across the bedroom towards the bathroom. ‘Well, thanks for your support,’ she threw over her shoulder. ‘It’s great to know you’re on my side.’
The door slammed behind her. What a prick!
She gasped for air, only now perceiving how erratic her breathing had become. Sensing she was on the brink of a panic attack, she tried to control it. Breathe in slowly, breathe out slowly, stop it boiling over.
She took a shower, hoping the water would wash away her fears. Ten minutes later, she came out of the bathroom a little calmer. All she could see of Mark was the shape he made underneath the duvet and the top of his head.
‘Mark, I don’t want to fight,’ she spoke quietly into the room. ‘But I don’t need you to whine either. This is my job.’
When he didn’t reply, she switched off the light and left.
Forty minutes later, Allie tapped on the door of the rape crisis suite before entering the room. Although the room was clinical, it had been created to look as homely as possible. Two large settees, squishy cushions, rugs and pictures on the wall adding a splash of colour to the cream-coloured paint. A female police constable sat across the room from the victim, Chloe Winters.
Allie smiled her acknowledgement. PC Angela Butler: a woman in her late forties who had a daughter just a little older than the woman who sat across from her. Allie was glad that Angela had been on duty at the time.
Details of the attack had been emailed to her and she’d checked them in the car park downstairs before coming into the building. Deciding not to say who she was for fear of upsetting Chloe, she smiled at her too.
Chloe was twenty years old but with her make-up cried away, knees tucked into her chest, and arms wrapped around them for comfort, she looked barely older than a schoolgirl. She wore a dressing gown and slippers, the kind found in spas to throw away after one use. Already she had some impressive bruising to her face, a swollen eye that seemed to be closing by the second, a thick lip and a cut to the side of her right cheek. Allie’s heart went out to her. Lost, vulnerable and in shock, she looked exhausted too, having had no sleep. And Allie was going to make things worse by asking her once more about the attack.
‘Hi, Chloe,’ she spoke softly. ‘I –’
‘Please don’t make me go through it all again.’ Chloe’s voice could barely be heard. ‘I can’t do it.’
‘I’m so sorry for what happened to you, but we need to get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible and then you can go home.’ She sat down next to her, far enough away not to cause offence.
‘I’ve told the other officers everything.’ A lone tear rolled down the young girl’s bruised cheek.
‘I need to see if you recall any more details about your attacker.’
A sob broke loose. ‘I don’t want to remember.’
Allie paused. She wished she could tell her why she needed the information. The bodies in the city morgue were piling up quicker than her team could gather information about them. Yet, even though they had four victims who hadn’t been so lucky, Chloe wouldn’t see that as anything to be grateful for, that she was fortunate to be alive.
‘Can you tell me why you were on your own?’ she asked gently.
‘I – I had an argument with my boyfriend. I stormed off and then realised I didn’t have enough money for a taxi.’
‘Where had you been?’
‘Around the town, then finished in Chicago Rock.’ Chloe dabbed at the swollen eye with a tissue. ‘I waited for a bus for ages. I thought maybe I’d missed the last one so I had no choice but to walk.’
‘And you can’t recall anyone around nearby?’
Chloe shook her head. ‘That was when he – he ran at me, grabbed my arm and kept on running.’
‘And you thought it was your boyfriend – what did you say his name was?’
‘Daryl – Daryl Harvey.’ Chloe started to cry. ‘I thought he’d come to make up with me, say he was sorry. I thought we’d be able to flag down a taxi and get home. It was freezing.’
‘And the man pulled you into the bushes then?’ Allie saw the balled-up tissue clenched in the girl’s hand and passed her a fresh one.
Chloe nodded. ‘He came out of nowhere. He had a balaclava covering his face and he ran at me.’
Allie gave her a bit of time. Although she knew Chloe was upset, she had to find out more. If this was their killer, why hadn’t he finished the job? Had he been disturbed? She looked at the young girl again.
‘May I ask something that is going to be hard to answer?’
Chloe gnawed on her bottom lip.
‘Did he say anything once he . . . after?’
More tears fell. ‘He said “all men are not idiots.” And then he punched me in the face.’
Allie gasped. But it wasn’t just Chloe she was thinking of now. Images of what must have happened to her sister flashed up clearly in her mind. She tried to keep her thoughts on the job in hand.
‘Can you remember anything about him? Was he tall or short?’
Chloe shook her head.
‘Well, how about was he thin, or fat? He ran a while with you – was he out of breath when you stopped?’
Chloe remained silent.
‘I know it must be hard, but we have to ask lots of questions. We want to find this man and lock him away. Anything at all you can remember might help,’ Allie continued. ‘When he spoke to you, did he have a local accent?’
‘I think so. I just lay there as quiet as I could,’ Chloe began to cry again, ‘so that he’d stop and leave me alone. I’m so ashamed that I didn’t scream.’
‘Don’t be ashamed. Not many women would have in your position,’ Allie soothed. ‘Fear often takes over, sweetheart. Did he walk away then?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you see which way he headed?’
‘No, I kept my eyes closed. I waited until I was sure he was gone and then I walked back into Hanley to the police station. I didn’t know where else to go, what to do. But I couldn’t go home – not like this.’
Allie touched her arm, hoping she wouldn’t flinch. ‘Thank you, Chloe. I know it’s hard to go through these things over and over but they are so important to us.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll leave you with Angela until we can take you home.’
She turned to leave. Angela stood up too.
‘One more thing,’ Allie said. ‘You asked for me by name, is that right?’
‘You’re Detective Sergeant Shenton?’ Chloe cried out.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
Chloe pointed at her. ‘He left a letter there for you.’
Allie drew in her breath, glancing quickly at Angela.
Allie shook her head. ‘I have no idea who this is, Chloe. I’m so sorry. I’ll do everything I can to –’
‘I want to go home.’ Chloe began to cry again.
It took Allie less than ten minutes to get to Central Forest Park. She turned off Chell Street and parked haphazardly in a space by the side of the lake. As she got out of her car she could see, in the distance, yellow crime scene tape flapping in the wind. She counted two officers gathering evidence, marking the spot where Chloe had been attacked.
Running, almost scrambling over the grass in her haste to get to the letter, she headed up towards the bin. It had been raining for a couple of hours; she knew everyone would work quickly but evidence would still be lost.
A sob caught in her throat this time. It was too close; she wouldn’t be able to stop an image forming of the man dragging Chloe Winters out of sight, intent on harming her, violating her.
The path was at the back of the park, far from the main entrance. As she approached the bin nearest to where it had happened, she took sterile gloves from her pocket and snapped them on. At its side, she stooped and ran her hand over the bottom of the metal container. Feeling something, she dropped to her knees on the wet path and pulled at the tape it was secured with.
An envelope. She turned it over. Handwritten in black ink was DS SHENTON.
Before she opened the seal, she beckoned one of the officers at the scene across to her.
‘Over here!’ she shouted. ‘DS Shenton. I need an exhibit bag!’
She carefully ripped along the edge of the envelope. Inside was a single piece of plain white card. Two letters this time, large and handwritten in black ink again.
