In the Shadows

by Tara Lyons

  “It’s bloody important to me too. The police hauled me in for questioning yesterday, and I wasn’t released until late last night. I feel wrecked. I hope the makeup crew can help with these.” Eric pointed to the bags under his eyes.

  “Really, they questioned you? Why?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. To eliminate me from their enquiries, apparently.”

  Eric explained the previous night’s events as the pair walked through the busy corridor, where crew members ran frantically from room to room, preparing for the show. They settled in the quieter auditorium.

  “Well, I think that’s a positive thing, Eric. It means you won’t be continually harassed by them. They’ll know you’re not the killer because they have your DNA now.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I gave in to their request. It just reminds me that there is a killer out there. Someone did murder Emily.”

  Tears shimmered in Eric’s eyes, and unable to maintain her professional façade any longer, Grace placed her arm around his shoulder.

  “What happened to Emily is devastating, Eric. I’m truly sorry for your loss,” she said.

  “Emily was a gorgeous young girl, and we had so much fun together. I know we weren’t officially an item, but she meant a lot to me. We were both aware that we flirted with other people…”

  Grace pulled away from Eric and took a few paces backwards. This was not the conversation she had wanted to get into.

  “Oh, crap! Grace, I’m sorry. Look, about that night…”

  “Stop! There’s no need to talk about it. Actually, I’d prefer if we didn’t.”

  “Okay, that’s fine. I just want you to know that I had fun.”

  Her eyes widened. “What? How dare you dust it off so lightly, Eric? Don’t you care about people’s feelings? About my feelings?”

  “Of course I do. That’s why I want you to know I enjoyed myself with you. I mean hey, when I’m out of this grieving period, maybe we could go for a drink again.”

  “Your girlfriend was murdered while you slept in a bed with me, for Christ’s sake. You insensitive moron. I can’t believe I actually had feelings for you.”

  “You had feelings for me? Oh wow, I didn’t realise, Grace. I thought it was just a bit of fun for you too.”

  “Seriously? Out of everything I just said, that’s the one thing you heard?”

  “Don’t get emotional. I heard you. I’m devastated—of course I am. Isn’t that obvious? But there’s not much I can do about what happened that night. I know Emily was with other friends that evening, just like I was. Look, this conversation isn’t going how I had planned it to.”

  “No, it’s bloody not. Actually, I wish you had dropped this subject when I asked you to. I’m disgusted at your cold-heartedness. But angrier at myself for ever fancying you.”

  “Let’s not argue. We can work this out, babe.”

  “Babe!”

  Her heart hardened. The pet name that had once evoked a flutter in the pit of her stomach made her feel cheap and used. She stormed past Eric, desperate to get away from him, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her back to face him.

  “Grace, don’t leave like this. We can still have some good times together.” He winked.

  “I wouldn’t want to spend time with you now if you were the last man on earth.”

  “Ha! You’re the one who has feelings for me, lady.”

  She felt the heat burn her cheeks and immediately regretted declaring her affections for him. “Had feelings, note the past tense. I’m ashamed of myself for being sucked into your performance, it would appear you give them on and off the stage. I was unprofessional, and my job means everything to me. I can’t believe I almost allowed you to jeopardise that. You’re a selfish jerk, Eric Dexter.”

  Grace held her head high as she marched past him, his laughter filling the auditorium.

  ****

  That evening, when Grace had finally made it home after more press releases, photo shoots, and celebrating a successful opening night, she was glad that her mother was already in bed. She felt drained, mainly from her altercation with Eric, and wasn’t in the mood to recap over a midnight cuppa.

  In her bedroom, she changed into her pink flannel pyjamas and climbed straight into bed, eager to relax and let sleep take over her body.

  Tuesday 2 February 2016 – five a.m.!!!

  Well, I didn’t get much sleep before the nightmare returned. It was dark, pitch-black, actually. I was being followed. I didn’t see anyone, but I could sense I wasn’t alone. I wanted to scream when I woke up, but I couldn’t, I was too scared. Scared in my own room! Once I had turned the light on, I peered round the room, scanning everywhere, but of course no one was there. It felt so real, like someone was standing right in this room watching me. I’ve had this feeling before, but quickly dismissed it, thought I was being paranoid. I’m calmer now, but I know there’s no chance of going back to sleep. What if I close my eyes and it happens again? God, no!! Even the thought of it makes me shudder! The last thing I want to do is go into work feeling like this. It was a late night, and now I feel as if I’ve had no rest. No, I have to stop this pity party!! I’m sure the entire team will be knackered. I have to give 100% for them. As the saying goes… the show must go on… Ha ha! Deep down I know it’s because I don’t want to see Eric again. I’ve seen a different side to him!! What an arse-hole!! That’s men for you, I guess – only interested in what they can get. I just wish it hadn’t made me feel so cheap.

  Grace jumped out of bed, deciding the best thing to do was shower, dress, and face the day without feeling sorry for herself. She slipped the diary into its usual place, made her bed, and mentally left her miserable feelings there with it.

  “Good morning, darling. You’re up bright and early,” Valerie greeted her when she entered the kitchen.

  “Morning, Mum. It’s not out of choice, trust me, so don’t be too cheery.” She kissed her on the cheek and smiled.

  “So how was opening night?”

  “Thankfully, it went very smoothly, no hiccups. We received major praise afterwards, and Eric stole the show, despite his recent absence.” Her mouth twisted at the sheer mention of his name.

  “What’s that face for?” Valerie chuckled.

  “Oh, nothing really. Just funny how some people can bounce back so quickly from whatever life throws at them, that’s all.”

  “Life is a rollercoaster. You just gotta ride it.”

  Grace sighed. “Mum, stop! I don’t like it when you answer me in song at the best of times, but it’s way too early for that crap today.”

  Valerie fake-cried before making them both a cup of tea and some toast. They spent the next thirty minutes sharing breakfast and talking about their respective evenings. Leaving the house together, Grace gave her mother a kiss and waved her off as she drove away. She then walked the ten minutes to the underground station. Tiredness set in during her train journey, and she began to wish she hadn’t bolted from the comfort of her bed so quickly. She picked up a discarded Metro newspaper and was shocked to read an article about another young woman, Chloe Ronald, who’d been murdered over the weekend.

  “Oh dear, did you know the girl?”

  Grace looked across the carriage to find a chubby black lady offering her a tissue. She wasn’t even aware of the tears wetting her cheeks and gladly accepted.

  “She was a local girl. Did you know her?” the kind stranger asked again.

  “No, I didn’t. Thankfully.”

  The woman frowned, and Grace realised her answer sounded rude. Before she had a chance to explain herself, the commuter launched into a one-sided conversation.

  “You’re right, we should be thankful it’s not someone we know. But sadly, she is someone’s daughter, sister, friend, or even mother. What are the police doing about this crazed killer on the loose? That’s what I’d like to know. All these women dying at the hands of a madman, and they’ve arrested no one. Makes me livid. How many more have to die?”

 
Grace nodded in agreement, hoping the woman’s question was a rhetorical one. She didn’t know how to respond, but thankfully the woman accepted her silence and returned to reading her own newspaper. Grace stared at the pitch-black window as they raced underground, her glum reflection glaring back at her. She hadn’t read about any arrests, either, but she knew the police had pulled Eric in for questioning. Is he a suspect?

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Hamilton collected the case notes and paced the incident room. He noticed the team kept themselves busy rather than looking him directly in the eye. The call came from DCI Allen’s secretary informing him that the chief was ready for him. He raced from the room, evidence in hand.

  “Go straight in,” Betty instructed when he arrived in the reception area upstairs.

  His confidence faded as he opened the office door and waited for an acknowledgment.

  “Take a seat, Denis.” His boss finally addressed him, leaned back in his leather chair, and twiddled his thumbs.

  Hamilton was overcome with panic. He didn’t appreciate Allen’s serious tone, and he wondered if the meeting was not for an update but rather a dismissal from the investigation.

  “I need to be frank with you, Denis. I explained that I wasn’t going to let you dawdle on this case, that I wanted results. Maybe it should be handed over to another team.”

  “We can handle it, sir.”

  Allen raised his hand to silence him. “Do you have any idea the pressure I’m under to get results? We’re dealing with a serial killer, and we can’t be seen dragging our heels any longer. My superiors are looking to me for answers, the same way I expect them from you. But you’re giving me nothing, Denis! Five women! Five women have been murdered in a very small time frame, and you have no flaming results.”

  Panic turned to fury. Hamilton clenched his fists under the table but remained tight-lipped until he was sure he wouldn’t roar at his superior. He understood the Met’s desire for positive statistics and results, but he would not let his team’s hard work go unnoticed.

  “I’m well aware of the body count, sir,” he finally replied. “And I know you’re tempted to take the case from us. But tell me how it would benefit the force to pass this case on with no leads and no DNA? They’d have to start from scratch. My team know the people involved, they’ve done the digging into the victims’ lives, and they’ve offered overtime.” He beamed with pride for his colleagues.

  “Yes, Sunday’s overtime. What about that then? Didn’t you have a suspect in here for questioning?”

  “Yes, Mr. Dexter.” Hamilton explained the details of the interview and why they had released Eric. He thought it best not to share his uneasy gut feeling toward their only suspect, and was keen to deliver only the facts at this stage.

  “It’s not good enough, Denis. Arrest him.”

  “Sir, I’ve clearly explained we don’t have enough evidence to do that. Yes, he was in a relationship with one of the victims, and that aroused our suspicions, but there’s just not enough for an arrest warrant.”

  “Denis, I want you to use whatever evidence or suspicions you have so far on this Dexter fellow. I’ll sort out the warrant today and get back to you once I’ve got the go-ahead. Then while we have him in custody, we’ll tear his home apart and find some damning proof.”

  Hamilton rolled his eyes at DCI Allen’s use of the word we. How interesting that the boss is part of the team now an arrest is on the cards. However, as much as he would have loved to arrest Eric, he couldn’t ignore the utter lack of evidence. Eric Dexter was not exactly a well-known celebrity, but anyone in the public eye could easily cause trouble for his team if the arrest didn’t stick.

  He attempted to challenge his boss. “Sir—”

  “Don’t you argue with me, Denis Hamilton,” Allen bellowed, slamming the phone back into its dock. “We need to show the press we are making progress with this investigation. Everyone and their bloody dog knows about this investigation! We can’t just sit around looking pretty. Make the arrest, Denis, before the Met has a public outcry on its hands.”

  The chief’s statement was final, and Hamilton knew no good would come of his arguing. He nodded slowly and rose from the chair. Allen was right—they had to show the families of the victims, not just the general public, that the police force was doing everything possible to find the murderer. Besides, if his intuition about Eric was right, perhaps the warrant could help his team find the clues they were missing so far.

  “Denis,” Allen called out as he was just about to leave the office. “My priority today will be to obtain that arrest warrant for Mr. Eric Dexter. I want you to be ready, with reinforcements in place for backup. Brief your colleagues and ensure that everyone’s singing from the same hymn sheet on this one.”

  Hamilton silently shut the door behind him and stomped past Betty. He wanted to rant and tell his boss, who sat comfortably behind his desk, firing orders, that his team was always ready for action.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Grace walked up the path to her psychiatrist’s office, eager for the next session.

  Maria opened the front door, again in an array of colour: pink, lime and lilac. Rather than being shocked by the mixed ensemble, she felt comforted by the constant brightness the woman offered.

  Once upstairs, Maria gestured for Grace to take her place on the reclining chair while she busied herself with making tea in the snug alcove.

  “It’s lovely to see you again. How have you been this past week?” Maria asked.

  “It’s been a bit of a rollercoaster. I feel like I’ve experienced every emotion possible. I argued with my mum, and I hate it. I feel guilty because I’m always lashing out at her recently. I drank too much on the weekend—I know that. Needless to say, my boss was not impressed when I sauntered in to work looking like a tramp.” She tried to laugh off the memory.

  “Do you have a drinking problem?”

  Grace was taken aback by the abrupt question, and she hesitated. “I don’t think so. But, maybe—since my granddad died, I have been drinking more than I used to. I have grown up since my wild party days, but I do still enjoy a glass of wine or beer when I’m out with my girlfriends. Since the funeral… well, honestly, yes, I have been drinking more often, sometimes alone and not in a social environment, either. And the hangovers are the worst I’ve ever had.”

  “Do you want to talk about your grandfather today?”

  “No,” she answered sharply.

  “Okay, that’s fine. I told you, we’ll take this at your pace. So, you said it’s been a rollercoaster of a week. Would you care to explain further?”

  “Okay… well, there’s this guy at work. His name is Eric. I don’t think I told you about him during my last session.”

  Grace spent the next twenty minutes divulging the details about Eric, Emily, and the unfortunate situation she had found herself in. She was exhausted just from reliving the events of the past two weeks, so she lifted her legs and lay back on the chair. She stared at the paintings on the wall in front of her as she drifted into a daydream.

  “Hello? Grace, are you okay?” Maria called out softly.

  She finally returned from her brief trance and scanned the room. Maria rose from her chair, poured a glass of water, and held it out, calling Grace’s name a few more times.

  “I’m so sorry, just overcome with my own thoughts there for a minute.” Grace giggled nervously. “I have so much on my mind at the moment. I think talking about it all, out loud to you, just tired me out a bit. Sorry, is that normal?”

  “I don’t think anyone is in a position to determine what is or isn’t normal. As individuals, we have to decide what we feel comfortable with in life. In my opinion, it would seem you’re under a lot of pressure at the moment, so I’m not surprised your mind needs a respite. Talking things through like this will always bring your emotions to the forefront of your mind, and it can be an exhausting journey for some people. Especially if you’re the type of person who is used to bott
ling things up,” Maria said, offering a warm, reassuring smile. “Do you feel comfortable to move on?”

  Grace nodded. Keen to shake off the fatigue, she sat up and crossed her legs.

  “Okay, so how did you get on with the diary-writing task I set you?”

  “I only wrote in it a few times because I haven’t suffered much from the dreams. Except one night. But I do like the idea. It felt good to capture everything I remembered and how I’ve been feeling in general,” Grace explained, as she fished through her handbag for the notebook.

  “Let’s focus on the one episode you suffered.”

  She flicked through the pages and, using her early-morning scribbles as a prompt, detailed the images to Maria.

  “Can you think of anything that triggered this particular nightmare?”

  “No. Why?”

  “I ask because, as you’ve only had the one nightmare since our last session, I wonder if we can try and determine what, if anything, caused it,” Maria explained.

  “That’s interesting.”

  “So you’re happy to continue with our sessions?”

  Grace contemplated for a moment. Whilst her dreams and the lack of understanding she had of them caused her great fear, a part of her wanted to unlock the meaning behind them.

  “Yes, I do want to carry on, Maria,” she answered confidently.

  “I’m glad. Going forward, I suggest you write in the diary every day, even if it’s just a few sentences. Make a note of what you’ve done that day and how you felt; of course always include any nightmares you have. At our next session, we can identify if there is a correlation between your waking and sleeping state. We may find an indicator to what the visions mean.”

  “Okay, I can do that. Plus, if the dreams don’t return, it’s a good source to release my emotions; otherwise, they’re unleashed on my mother.”

  “That’s brilliant progress, Grace, and a great way to look at this exercise. And you’re right—it may be a good outlet for when you’re ready to talk about your grandfather. You can include your feelings about him too.”