Scream, You Die

by Fowler, Michael

  DI Taylor-Butler spoke, “As you’ve pointed out DS Macey, we know all this. And so, your point is?”

  Scarlett could feel her heart starting to race. She drew in a breath and held it briefly. Letting it out slowly and keeping her composure she said, “I think he stalked his victims.” She focussed her gaze on the DI. He gave back an empty stare. “Two victims thought they had seen Green previously before the attacks.” She deliberately paused a few seconds then continued on a stronger note. “I think they had definitely seen him before. Because he chose and targeted them.” She pulled her eyes away from the DI and returned them to her team members. “This is where we need to do some extra work. Speak with those victims again and see if we can narrow it down to when and where they had seen him. It may well have been just a chance meeting – in a pub somewhere, for instance – but after that I’m convinced he targeted them.” She paused again, gathering her thoughts. “We’ve got Green on remand for seven days on a holding charge of attempted rape following his attack on Ella. We all know that’s a flimsy one and the likelihood is it’ll be reduced to sexual assault, but it gives us the opportunity to do a thorough search of Green’s flat. We’ve recovered the clothes he was wearing when he attacked Ella, but the cycling shirt in particular is a different colour according to two of the witnesses, so let’s see if there are anymore. Also, strangely, he didn’t have a mobile phone with him. Let’s see if that’s at his flat, then we can track his movements. Also see if he has a computer and check if he’s on social media. With a bit of luck there’ll be some incriminating evidence. I also want to know if he owns a vehicle. And whether he has a girlfriend.” Scarlett paused, dipping her head, looking at the list she had compiled and mentally going over it. Satisfied that she had ticked each point she looked back up and roamed her eyes around. “I want to find out everything about James Green. I want every detail of his life examined. I’ve just got a hunch these aren’t his only victims.”

  Eight

  Beneath the bedclothes Grazyna hugged herself tighter into a ball. She had given up crying hours ago.

  Now she was alone and her thoughts were roller-coasting. She couldn’t stop thinking what Skender had said about Andrius. He had to be lying. The Andrius she knew was kind, thoughtful and gentle. Andrius would come soon and rescue her. She just knew he would.

  And she could not stop thinking what had happened to her. The images of what Skender had done repeatedly played themselves out inside her head, plaguing her consciousness and making her feel sick. It was as if she was living a nightmare. She tried to tell herself that at least she was alive.

  A sudden creak on the stairs pricked her ears and she could feel her chest beginning to tighten again. She balled her hands into fists.

  The creak became distinguishable footsteps that stopped on the landing outside her door.

  Grazyna caught her breath. Her head screamed, Please, go away.

  She caught the sound of a key turning in the lock – she hadn’t realised she had been locked in.

  I’m being held a prisoner!

  The door opened slowly and Skender stepped into the room.

  For a few seconds he just stared at her, not speaking. Then he said, “Now you make phone call to your mother, yes?” He strode towards her holding out a mobile phone.

  “I put in your mother’s number. You now ring her and tell her you are okay. If you say anything wrong or make trouble I hurt you, you understand?”

  Grazyna remained in a tight ball, though she had lifted her head from her pillow.

  “You understand?” Skender snapped.

  Grazyna jumped. “Yes.”

  “Good.” He passed her the phone.

  She uncurled herself and took it.

  Fixing her eyes he thrust a piece of paper towards her. “You say to your mother that you have job, and everything is good and you tell her this is where you are living.” He shook the piece of paper. “You read out to her the address I have written down there. You tell her you will ring her again in a couple of days. You understand?”

  Skender narrowed his eyes as Grazyna hesitantly took the piece of paper.

  “You do as I say and everything will be okay. If you do not, not only will you get hurt but I will make sure the same thing happens to your sister.”

  Grazyna’s eyes widened. Her stomach emptied again.

  “Your sister is fifteen, yes? And she is also virgin.”

  The inflection never changed in Skender’s voice but Grazyna sensed an underlying threat.

  Skender leaned forward, towering above her. “I am right, yes?”

  “Yes.” Her response quavered.

  “Good. I think we understand one another. Now you call your mother. And you be very careful what you say. I put phone on speaker so I hear. I know Lithuanian.”

  Pushing herself up, yet still cowering to keep some distance from the Albanian, she viewed the number on the phone and then hit the call button. Listening to the dialling tone, a chaotic thought raced into her brain despite Skender’s threats. Something was telling her to fight back. To tell her mother to call the police the moment she answered, but as the dialling tone prolonged she caught herself. If it was true what the Albanian had told her about Andrius, then the same could happen to her sister.

  After a few seconds her mother answered. The sound of her voice caused a surge of emotion to wash over her. She almost let out a cry and at first she couldn’t speak.

  “Hello?” her mother called again.

  She had to hold it together. Not just her own life depended upon it but her sister’s as well. Grazyna swallowed. “Hello Mama, it’s me.”

  “Hello beautiful, I was just thinking of you. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, Mama.”

  “You don’t sound fine. Is everything okay?”

  Grazyna looked up. She caught the threatening look on Skender’s face. His eyes were drilling right through her. She gulped. “I’m fine, Mama. Just tired.” After taking another deep breath she followed Skender’s script, only slightly expanding on what he had told her to say. She mentioned that she had a job, that everything was good, and then she read out the address from the piece of paper he had given her. Then as she told her that she had to go she could feel her voice beginning to break. “Speak to you soon, Mama,” she finished on a brittle note. As she ended the call tears welled in her eyes.

  Skender held out his hand and Grazyna handed him back the phone.

  He reached towards her face and she sharply pulled back her head, catching the headboard. She winced.

  With the back of his hand he stroked her cheek. “That is good. Now we are friends.” He turned away and made for the door.

  Hearing the key turn in the lock, she began to shake uncontrollably. Then she sobbed.

  Nine

  Half asleep, Grazyna heard the sound of screams. At least she thought they were screams, because as she flashed open her eyes and awoke, there was only silence. She strained her ears for the best part of a minute. Nothing. It made her wonder if she had been dreaming.

  For a few seconds she began to study the confines of her room, wishing that all this really was a dream. Without warning, ghost-like images of her ordeal burst into her inner vision again and she snapped shut her eyelids, squeezing them tight, attempting to shut out the horrific mental pictures, but they hung on in there, refusing to budge.

  Will this torture ever end? I don’t deserve this. I’m not a bad person.

  Then another scream forced her eyes open. This time she knew it wasn’t a dream. It had come from somewhere below and it sounded like Kofryna.

  Kofryna! A vision of her own ordeal came to her again.

  Grazyna drew up her knees and covered her ears, but the action didn’t block out all the noise and she picked up the sound of a door slamming followed by heavy footsteps running up the stairs.

  She started to shake. Please God, not again.

  Withdrawing her hands, she heard the key in the lock. The door flew open, crashi
ng against the edge of the wardrobe, making her jump.

  Two men stormed into the room. One of them was big and bulky with a shaven head like Skender. He had so much fat below his chin that it gave him the appearance of having no neck. The other was slim but well toned like an athlete and had an army-style crew cut. They were both dressed in T-shirt and jeans.

  In a state of panic she started to push herself up into a sitting position, but they were on her in seconds, grabbing at her wrists and restraining her.

  A feeling of dread and despair overcame her. She stiffened but didn’t resist, and turned away her head and closed her eyes.

  After a few seconds when the mauling didn’t continue she slowly opened her eyes. Her two attackers weren’t even looking at her. They were focussed on something the overweight one was holding. At first she couldn’t make sense of the object. Until the burning smell, which she associated with that of an iron, assailed her nostrils. Then she realised what the big man was pushing towards her.

  As the soldering iron made contact with her right shoulder she began to scream.

  Ten

  On the way home from work Scarlett got Tarn to drop her off in Richmond town centre; she needed something for her evening meal. At M&S she bought an oven-ready chicken, mushroom and mozzarella pasta bake and a bottle of Soave, then walked the short distance home, occasionally looking back over her shoulder, still unable to shift the thoughts of her mugging, even though it had now been the best part of a week since her encounter with the two thieves.

  Entering her home, she deactivated the alarm, toe-heeled off her shoes in the hallway and made her way into the kitchen, turning on the oven and cracking open the wine. Pouring out a generous measure she took a swig, tilted back her head, swilled it around her mouth to activate her taste buds and then swallowed slowly. Savouring the sharp fruity tang she could already feel herself beginning to unwind as she tore away the outer sleeve of the pasta bake. Then, sliding it into the warming oven, she set the timer and made her way into the lounge, where she snatched up the remote and activated the TV. The opening moments of X-Factor emerged onscreen as she flopped down onto the sofa.

  Mindless viewing – just what she needed after the day she’d had.

  In actual fact, it wasn’t just that day she was unwinding from. For most of that week she had endured a hectic schedule and an intense workload. She had supervised the search of James Green’s council flat, though the evidential pickings and information from that had been minimal. The search team hadn’t found any form of computer or his mobile, though they had found a charger for one, which had led to frustration. And despite emptying every drawer of every sideboard and cupboard and rifling through his wardrobe they hadn’t discovered any other cycling or Lycra-type clothing. Similarly, they had established very little out about him, other than what they already knew. Scarlett not only found this strange but also very disturbing. Door-to-door enquiries had not helped much either. Surprised and shocked by the news, neighbours described him as a very pleasant man who kept himself very much to himself, though one neighbour had informed them that she had seen him on a number of occasions recently burning what she thought to be rubbish in an old metal bin beneath the flats. Following that revelation, she and Tarn had hot-footed it down to the refuse area, where they had found a battered and rusted oil drum, the inside of which was heavily sooted, half full of burnt detritus. Sifting through it they found blackened and shrivelled remnants of Lycra, and although nothing of significance could be gleaned forensically from them, it did confirm Scarlett’s thoughts about the type of villain James Green was. Particularly, how forensically aware he was. And as she bagged the burnt nylon pieces it quantified, in her head, that she and her team had a long way to go before they could put the case before a court. But rather than be down-hearted about the lack of evidence, she had returned to the office in a determined frame of mind and drawn up an action plan. Two days ago, together with Tarn, she had returned to the university with the purpose of determining if there were any more victims who, for whatever reason, had so far not reported their attacks. Inside the beautiful Gothic-style building, the pair had met with the head of the university, and then briefed department heads, teaching staff and student union reps on the current status of their investigation. From there they had sought approval and gained access to lectures, where Scarlett had delivered a heartfelt plea to the female students. During these appeals she had drawn on her eighteen months’ experience of working with Sapphire Command, the Metropolitan Police’s rape and serious sexual assault unit, highlighting some of the cases she had previously worked on, with special emphasis on the care and support she had provided to victims. Scarlett had delivered the requests to packed theatres but no one had come forward. Then, a day ago, they got a breakthrough. Overnight, a girl had left a message anonymously on the incident room helpline asking if she could meet DS Macey and had left her mobile number. Over the phone, Scarlett had spoken briefly with a very nervous-sounding young woman who was willing to give scant details about herself and what happened but did not want to talk about her ordeal at a police station, and so Scarlett arranged to meet her that morning in a coffee shop by Richmond Bridge, overlooking the Thames. It was a place she had been to many times before, its interior warm and welcoming, and although popular she knew there would be enough space between tables for a private conversation.

  Shortly after ten a.m. she and Tarn entered the coffee shop. They saw that a few tables were taken, and briefly scanning the room, they spied the only girl of the age they were looking for tucked away in a corner, hunkered over a large white mug, staring into space. Nineteen-year-old Claudette Jackson had a glowing tawny complexion and glossy black shoulder-length braided hair. Her attractive face bore an anxious look. Making eye contact, Scarlett issued a reassuring smile and approached slowly. Pulling up a chair opposite, Scarlett softly introduced herself and Tarn and sat down. Tarn followed, pulling himself closer to the table and resting his arms. Ordering three fresh coffees, Scarlett opened up by telling Claudette that she was really glad she had been brave enough to contact them, and went on to explain that although James Green had been remanded to prison, it may only be temporary, that they were still some way off getting enough evidence to put him before a court. She added, “That’s why, Claudette, it really is important that you tell us your story. With your help we can put him away for a very long time.” In between sips of coffee, Scarlett drew on her training to put her at ease, spending time asking her about the course she was doing at university, about her family background, and whether she was going home for Christmas. Claudette said she was going home, though she didn’t know what she was going to say to her family. She had not told anyone about what had happened. Scarlett saw this as her opening. “You’ve made a big start contacting us. We can support you through all this. You don’t need to be alone and suffering. Trust me, I’ve spoken to many girls who’ve gone through what you’ve gone through and they’ve come through it and become much stronger as a result.” Keeping eye contact and studying her features she finished the last of her coffee. Then, putting down her cup, she said, “Do you feel able to talk to us about the attack?”

  At first Claudette just stared. For the best part of thirty seconds she was silent. Then she spluttered, “I can’t help think I’m somehow to blame for what happened to me.”

  Scarlett hadn’t expected that response. She probed, “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, he bought me drinks, didn’t he, and was nice and I just fobbed him off and flirted with some other guys I knew.”

  Scarlett straightened, “You knew him then?”

  Claudette’s nut-brown eyes drifted a second and then returned. “Not exactly knew him in the sense of his name and everything. He came into the bar where I worked.”

  “Which bar is that?”

  “The Red Cow.”

  “I know that pub.” Scarlett scrutinised Claudette’s face, trying to recall if she had seen her there. Her mind was blank.
She continued, “The team I belong to regularly go in there, but I can’t remember seeing you there.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I work behind the bar. It’s not regular hours. I fill in when they’re short. Occasionally I do weekends.”

  “And it was there you first met James Green?”

  “I didn’t know his name. I’ve since found out his name from the piece in the papers. He came into the pub a couple of times. One night when it was quiet he just started chatting, asking me what I did. I told him I was a student. He said he’d been a student at the university and that he now worked in the city in banking.”

  Scarlett responded by shaking her head. “He’s unemployed, Claudette.”

  “Well I wasn’t that convinced to be honest. He didn’t dress well enough for someone in banking. But you get all sorts chatting to you when you’re behind the bar, so I just let him rabbit on and he paid on a drink for me, so I was nice to him and listened.”