by Luca Veste
‘Jemma. I’m afraid you’re mistaken. This is your reality now. But don’t worry, it’s coming to an end.’
Jemma looked around, the darkness now all around her. The smells of the Italian food being replaced by sweat and waste.
‘Let me go back.’
‘It’ll all be over soon. Don’t worry.’
Jemma rocked herself, sitting against the wall closest to the door. Her arms tucked around her knees as she brought them up to her chest. She preferred it when the walls didn’t speak to her.
‘Not real. This isn’t real.’
37
Wednesday 13th February
2013 – Day Eighteen
One Week Later
Dark grey clouds hung low in the sky over Anfield Cemetery, seemingly unmoving, waiting until their work was done. Rain fell in short bursts. Mourners entered the small chapel, black umbrellas being held by a few. Others allowed the light drizzle to dampen their heads.
Murphy and Rossi kept a distance from the few family members and friends that were slowly filing past them. Murphy watched as Rob’s father was led to the front by another family member.
‘His dad looks ill,’ Rossi said behind a gloved hand to Murphy.
‘His mum died a few years back. Apparently the father didn’t take it so well. He’s not been well for some time. They weren’t really on speaking terms since his mum died,’ Murphy replied.
‘Are you sure you want to stay?’ Rossi asked, soft eyes tracking his.
‘Yes,’ Murphy said firmly.
Rossi nodded once, then pointed to a couple of chairs on the back row. They sat down, listened to the eulogies, scanning the small gathering for anyone who didn’t fit.
Murphy was doing okay until they played the final song. ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ was piped in through the speakers, a standard at so many funerals in the North West. The famous football anthem bringing tears to the eyes of most of those gathered around him.
Murphy felt a pat on his back, turned to see Rossi motioning her head towards the exit. It was at that point he noticed the dampness under his eyes, the lump at the back of his throat. He nodded at Rossi and followed her out.
The low winter sun had broken through the clouds, the smell of damp grass surrounding them as they moved to the side of the building, still able to see the exit.
‘You okay, sir?’ Rossi said, once they’d moved away.
‘Yeah fine. Just that song.’
‘I know. I’m guessing it was played?’
Murphy sighed, looked around at the gravestones which were close to the crematorium building. ‘At the funeral. Carousel. It was Mum’s favourite musical. It had nothing to do with Liverpool really. Although Dad was a season-ticket holder for a long time. Spent ages trying to get me to go with him, but I was never that interested in football as a kid.’
‘They had a good turn out that day. I remember it was packed in there.’
‘They made a lot of friends. That was the type of people they were,’ Murphy said, leaning against the stone wall for support.
‘Have you been back since?’ Rossi asked, standing next to Murphy against the wall. She adjusted her jacket to try and keep some more of the cold out.
‘No. I get the odd letter from one of the old dears who live on the same road, but I can’t go back there.’
They heard gentle murmurings as people started to file outside. They recognised some faces from the week’s investigation following Rob’s death. Others they could tell were family members.
‘Jemma’s mum,’ Rossi said, indicating with her head to the small figure emerging from the doorway. ‘Wonder how she’s doing?’
‘Can’t be good.’ Murphy watched as she dabbed at her eyes. ‘She blames herself. Doesn’t matter what anyone will say to her, she’ll carry that for a while.’
Murphy pictured her crying across from him. Quietly weeping into an old tissue. Rob had been to see her recently, she’d told them, talking about finding her daughter. Now, it looked like he’d instead been targeted, led to his death.
Rossi went quiet, taking the opportunity to scan the remaining faces. It was something they’d done for all the murder victims in the previous week, attending their memorial sevices to see if anyone turned up who shouldn’t have. At some point, a murderer must have attended the funeral of a victim, but Murphy had never found it useful.
‘The best friend. What was his name?’ Murphy asked.
Rossi took her notebook out, flicking to the page she needed. ‘How do you always know where the right page is?’
Rossi smiled tightly. ‘Just something I’ve learned over time. Here it is, Daniel Jones, goes by Dan. He’s a senior lecturer at the university. He was the victim’s best friend for the last five years.’
‘We saw him didn’t we, at the uni?’
‘Yes, a few days ago. He didn’t have much to say though. Shock I suppose.’
‘I don’t know. He was making eyes at you.’
‘Levati delle palle … sir.’
Murphy smiled. ‘I do love how swear words sound in Italian. We need to get back to it. Follow ups with the uni staff?’
‘Good idea. I doubt we’ll find anything, but at this point it can’t hurt.’
Murphy paused as he scanned the few remaining people. ‘There’s no one here, we may as well get going.’
They started to walk off, towards the main road outside the cemetery where they’d parked up earlier. Murphy heard hurried footsteps behind them, and as he turned, the man rushing over towards them almost bumped into him.
‘Sorry, detective. I just wanted to speak to you before you left.’
‘Hi, Dan,’ Murphy said, ‘Everything okay?’
‘As okay as they can be.’ The clipped tones belied his upbringing. Murphy guessed Dan was a product of somewhere a lot nicer than the area he himself had grown up in. Murphy watched as his eyes caught Rossi’s, who pretended to look away. He gave it a couple of minutes once the case was over before they were jumping on each other.
‘I was just wondering if there’s been any movement on the case?’ Dan continued, finally bringing his attention back to Murphy.
‘We’re doing all we can,’ Murphy replied, placing a comforting hand on Dan’s shoulder. He attempted to soften his accent a little, feeling suddenly embarrassed about his roots on a council estate. Stupid when he thought about it, but he couldn’t help it. ‘How are the family holding up?’
‘His father keeps having to be reminded he’s gone. Dementia I assume. Rob didn’t talk about him much, so I had no idea. Jemma’s mother is taking it hard, as I’m sure you’re aware. She thought so much of him. We all did.’
Murphy listened, trying to portray the right emotion on his face. He always found it difficult with the non-family members of victims, half knowing that their lives would move on far quicker than the actual people closest in blood ties to the victim.
‘How is everyone at the university?’ Rossi asked, joining the conversation.
‘They’ve been coping.’ Dan pointed to a woman walking by herself, studying the gravestones as she passed them. ‘Elizabeth worked with him closely, so she has had some time off. First time I’ve seen her is today. I’ve not had a chance to talk to her as yet.’
‘Well, we best get back,’ Murphy said, half turning.
‘Wait, there’s a reason I wanted to speak to you. I was wondering if you could meet me at the pub, The Oxford, near the psychology building in an hour?’
‘Why not now?’ Murphy replied.
‘Just want to finish up here. Not entirely sure it’s even urgent, but I did want to speak to you to make sure.’
Murphy looked at Rossi, who shrugged in response. ‘Okay, we’ll be there.’
‘Good,’ Dan replied, his eyes moving around the cemetery. ‘It’s sad really. To think this is how it all ends.’ He paused, looking for the words. ‘It’s so inevitable. All of us being drawn to here.’
Murphy followed Dan’s gaze across the headstones in the distanc
e. Hundreds, thousands maybe, all lives now gone. ‘We’ll see you there, Dan,’ Rossi said, snapping Murphy back to attention. ‘You’re best getting back.’
‘Of course. Thank you,’ Dan said, nodding and turning away.
Murphy watched him walk back over to where everyone was standing. Something gnawed at the back of his mind as he looked at the faces in the small group of people. He’d been feeling it all week. ‘What are we missing, Laura? There’s something there, some link we can’t see.’
They turned to walk away. ‘I know. I’ve never experienced anything like this in an investigation,’ Rossi replied, slowing her pace as two women walked by silently carrying a small bunch of tired looking flowers. ‘We have a serial, with four victims. He leaves letters at each victim. All of them dumped. Every victim is linked to the university. We have no DNA, one hackney we can’t find. CCTV has been no help, and the papers, with their “oh so helpful” nickname of the Uni fucking Ripper, think we’re all clueless. All in all, it’s as my dad would say … stronzo.’
They’d reached the car as Rossi finished talking, Murphy waiting for her to end before getting in. ‘But other than that, we’re doing okay yeah?’
‘Oh. We’re doing a great job,’ Rossi replied, getting in the car. ‘What else can we do?’
Murphy had no easy answer.
‘We keep working. That’s all we can do.’
Rossi sighed heavily next to him. ‘Work on what exactly?’
‘Get those notes in order. See if anything has come back on the CCTV from the tunnels, and over the water. That cab has gone somewhere, and I don’t think it’s far. Most importantly, we don’t give up.’
38
He needed to move on. Keep going.
He wasn’t finished yet.
Laid low for a week. Since Experiment Six. He’d been sure the cab had been spotted. Waiting for a knock at the door since he’d placed those parts together on the quiet grassy area off the busy main road, convinced he would have been spotted.
Waiting to be stopped.
Busied himself preparing for number seven. Trying to choose a specific experiment to use. It was becoming more difficult. He thought about creating new experiments, testing his new-found abilities.
That wasn’t what it was about.
So he waited. For inspiration. Or something else.
The first few days, he’d done little but sit there, shaking, nervously living in a bubble, waiting for it to burst. He imagined himself making one last stand, using the shotgun to take out a police officer or two, before turning it on himself.
He thought about that. If he’d be able to do so. Leaving Experiment Two to be found days, maybe months later. Emaciated. Hunger finally killing her.
Maybe that’s how it should be. For her to go quietly, alone, with no one with her.
Three hundred and sixty days. And she seemed better than he had anticipated. Still able to form sentences, talk to him if he chose to speak to her. She knew who she was, and where she was most of the time.
By now he’d imagined her to be completely gone.
He’d pondered on that for a couple of days. Came to the conclusion it was an age thing. She had too much history behind her to lose it completely. Maybe a year wasn’t long enough. Maybe he should go for two.
Next time, he could use a child. See if that made a difference.
He backed the hackney out of his garage, and headed for the university.
There was someone new he had his eye on.
39
Wednesday 13th February
2013 – Day Eighteen
It wasn’t what he was expecting.
Murphy had entered, waited to be assaulted with cocktail offers and a games console on one wall. Maybe a shots menu, advertising slippery wotsits and all that shite. Bass driven music in the background.
Instead he found an old style boozer. Old guys with the racing pages open in front of them, tiny red pens in hand as they marked off their runners. A stout bald guy behind the bar, polishing glasses with a teatowel.
Murphy had almost walked out to check he had the right place. Worried he’d walked off campus and ten miles down the road to Speke.
‘What … I don’t understand.’
Rossi grinned next to him. ‘I knew you’d be shocked. No idea, honest. Only came here a few times when I was studying. It’s like the uni was built around it, and no one told the old fellas.’
‘Right.’
Dan was waiting in a corner table, a pint in front of him. They headed towards him, Murphy looking at the pictures on the wall, the obligatory dogs playing snooker next to old football teams.‘Can I get you anything?’ Dan asked once he’d finished a hefty gulp.
‘No, we’re okay,’ Murphy replied, eager to get back. ‘What did you want to talk to us about?’
‘We used to come here for dinner, Rob and I. Most days. No one believed we got on so well, being so different, but we just did. He laughed at my “posh” ways, and I took the mickey out of him about his council estate background.’ Dan caught Rossi’s facial expression change to one of distaste and threw up his hands. ‘Not out of spite, of course. It was just a bit of banter. You can’t help where you’re raised.’
Murphy shrugged.
Dan looked off into the distance. Murphy leaned on the table with one hand. ‘You said you had something to tell us.’
‘Yes,’ Dan said after a pause. His eyes returned to them. ‘On the Monday we met here, he seemed … different. Agitated. Wanted to know about some strange things.’
‘Like what?’ Rossi said, speaking for the first time.
‘Psychology stuff. Wanted to know about Harry Harlow.’
Murphy sat back. ‘Yes, we found some things in Rob’s flat about him. It’s an area of interest.’
‘I didn’t understand the connection. Until I thought about it more closely this past week. Rob still thought Jemma had been … well, kidnapped, I suppose is the right term. Rob was clinging onto that hope, that she hadn’t just left him.’
‘You weren’t convinced?’
Dan took another swig. ‘No. To be honest, it’s not the first time he’s been left behind. Happened a while ago, an ex upped and left one day. I get the impression he could be a bit stagnant. Too lackadaisical. He didn’t enjoy anything out of his comfort zone.’
Murphy shrugged. ‘Well, we spoke to Jemma’s mother this week, and she confirmed Jemma had run away numerous times in the past. Although she was quite sure it wasn’t the same this time around. There’s nothing concrete to suggest this could be any different though.’
‘I suppose not. I just thought it best to inform you of it.’
‘No, that’s good, thanks.’
Dan lifted his glass, swirled the last quarter of his pint around the glass. ‘It’s too short.’
‘What is?’
‘Life. Just too damn short.’
Rossi cut in. ‘The Harlow aspect is intriguing, however. It would fit in with the pattern. Unfortunately, we haven’t really been able to find any information about his work.’
Dan finished his pint off. ‘I have a few books which may be of use. You’re more than welcome to borrow them.’
Rossi looked towards Murphy. He shrugged, what harm could it do?
‘You could come now for them?’ Dan said.
‘You go, Laura, I’ve got a call to make.’
Rossi and Dan walked towards the psychology building, Dan chatting away as she listened half-heartedly. He was good looking, in a posh boy type of way, she thought. Clean cut and well spoken. Someone to take home and introduce to your parents without worry.
Rossi chanced another look at him as they reached the psych building. Not bad. Not wearing a ring either.
‘Lift or stairs?’
‘Stairs,’ Rossi replied, not wanting to be stuck in a confined space with him. With her recent dry spell, she was liable to jump him there and then. And she was pretty certain that wouldn’t go down well with Murphy.
&nb
sp; ‘Do you think it’s someone here behind this whole thing?’
Rossi thought for a moment, deciding on the best way to answer. ‘It’s certainly all focused at the uni. Students, staff … probably not a coincidence.’
‘I suppose.’ Dan rounded the first floor, moving ahead of Rossi. ‘Hard to imagine anyone here would be involved though.’
Rossi didn’t say anything. She’d heard much the same thing over her years. People never believed anyone they knew could do anything that evil. Most prefer staying blind to what happens right under their noses.
Dan held the door open for her as they entered his office. Small, but practical, she thought. A single bookcase next to a desk which was free from clutter. It was the antithesis of Professor Garner’s office, which still stuck in her mind. The memory of the smell clinging to the back of her throat.
Dan moved over to the bookcase, indicating for her to sit down in the only other chair in the room other than the one at his desk. She continued standing, leaning against the wall near the door.
‘I have a couple of old works somewhere which have more about Harlow’s work in them. Really, it’s all online now I guess, but you don’t really get a feel for his work without reading what was written at the time.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Rossi replied. ‘When I did sociology, there was endless amounts of work on Marx. At first I used all the new textbooks, the Giddens, Keating, that sort of thing. It wasn’t until I actually sat down and read his own words that it started to sink in for me.’
Dan was squatting at the bottom of the bookcase, pulling out each volume in turn and then placing them back. ‘Where did you go to uni?’
‘Here. Graduated about ten years ago now.’
‘And you joined the police?’
‘Yeah. Seemed a natural progression at the time.’
Dan flicked through a book before placing it on the floor next to him. ‘I understand that. I considered going out into the field, but a lecturer position opened up here after I’d finished my PHD, so I just stayed. Took the easy option I suppose.’
A head poked through the door, close enough for Rossi to smell the aftershave of it’s owner. ‘Dan, do you have a second?’
