by Tara Lyons
“Thank you, chief.”
“Now get out of here so I can deliver the news to my boss. It’s not going to be a pleasant phone conversation, I can assure you.”
Although the parting words were stern, the twinkle in Allen’s eye forced Hamilton to view the man in a new light. Gratified to know his superior would cover his back, he left the office with a spring in his step.
He bounced through the incident room door with hopes that his newfound determination would prove infectious to his team. He gathered them together and detailed his discussion with Allen, omitting the chief’s shared memory, which would, for now at least, stay between just the two of them.
“This is our last chance to stir up the public and get every single shred of information we can. We need their help—it’s the only way we’re going to get a breakthrough in the case. Thanks to the detailed plan we devised last night, we all know what we should be doing. So let’s get on with it,” Hamilton ordered enthusiastically.
“Sir, a quick word please.” Fraser approached him once their colleagues were occupied with their tasks. “I thought about all the ideas we came up with last night in order to gain the public’s help. If I’m honest, I’m furious with myself for not thinking of this before. With your permission, I would like to create a Facebook page.”
“Tell me more, Kerry.”
“Sorry, sir, I’m not being very clear. What I mean is, if I have a Facebook page in place before our Crimewatch appeal, we can advertise it on the show. That way, the public can interact with us via Facebook. Not only is there a public wall for people who are happy to share their thoughts, but there’s also the option of private messages. Only we could access these, and we can highlight that level of security on the show.”
“Sometimes the beauty of a phone call is its complete anonymity, Kerry, but I do like your thinking, and I’m not going to rule out any form of communication with the public.”
“We can also use it to share the victims’ photographs and our contact details. Once the show has aired, we can have a recording of it playing from the Facebook page for anyone that may have missed it.” Fraser spoke with such passion and excitement about the social media angle of the case, Hamilton couldn’t dampen her spirit.
“Kerry, I love it! Create the page and then liaise with Sharon once she’s got the go-ahead from Crimewatch,” he said, before Morris called him over.
“What is it, Sharon?”
“Brilliant news, boss! I’ve just ended the call to my contact at the BBC Studios, and she’s confident that with a high-profile case like ours, and the fact that we’re looking for a serial killer, the bosses at Crimewatch will give us a special episode. They’ll do short reconstructions for all five women, detailing their last movements.”
“That’s fantastic, Sharon! Really positive leaps we’re taking. Let’s just hope there’s someone out there who has the information we need.” Hamilton watched Fraser busy at the computer while Clarke and Wedlock released an appeal for all the national newspapers.
“Sharon, once you’ve got all the details in place, I want you to work with Kerry. She’s thought of another avenue we can explore to grab the public’s attention.” She nodded in response and returned to the phone.
A tingle of excitement soared through Hamilton’s body. We’re coming for you, you piece of scum.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The television remained silent and blank, acting as just a source of Grace’s reflection as she stared at the unused device. Newspapers were discarded in the bin, and she’d deleted any news-affiliated apps from her phone. She feared she would be forced to hear news about Michael, his arrest, and the deaths of her friends all over again.
Disappointed with herself, Grace thought isolation was best if she wanted to avoid alcohol and lectures. She hadn’t contacted Maria since missing her appointment a week ago, but uncertainty niggled in the back of her mind. She’d been excited about the plans she had made with her psychiatrist. Had things really changed so drastically to make her not want to leave the safety of her bedroom?
The abandoned diary came to mind, and she reached under the pillow for it. She frowned—it wasn’t there. She glanced around her room and realised she couldn’t remember the last time she had used it, let alone seen it. On a whim, she opened the drawer of the bedside table. The diary rested there, calling to her like a beacon. Why would I have put it in there? When did I put it in there? She screwed up her face, confused, and pulled it out of the drawer, eager to read the last entry.
Grace thumbed to a page with scribbled words all over it. She hardly recognised her own handwriting. The barely legible date at the top informed her it had been written the day of Eric’s funeral. That was the last time I had a drink. I have absolutely no memory of writing this. She read over her own words and felt as if she were snooping through a stranger’s diary. Her eyes hung on the word pathetic, and she felt hurt and saddened by the self-image.
Something in her peripheral vision caught her eye, and she looked up from the journal. The white feather she’d found at the cemetery had drifted from her computer table to the floor, although the window was closed and there was no breeze in the room. She stood up and crossed the room. Bending down onto one knee, she picked it up and clutched it in her hand, holding it over her heart. I miss you, granddad.
Her thoughts filled with images of the man she had placed on a pedestal. She saw him clearly in her mind, wearing his favourite sky-blue wooly jumper and a pair of grey suit trousers. Grace had always laughed at her grandfather’s stubborn commitment to wearing only suit trousers. It had taken her years to get him out of his formal patent-black shoes, but when she’d found a pair of plain black Velcro trainers, he’d reluctantly agreed they were a suitable alternative. But he refused point blank to wear anything but his trousers, which he had in every colour, and could never fathom the obsession with jeans.
Although the memory brought with it some sadness, it also infused her with a feeling of strength and an uncontrollable desire to get out of the house. I am not pathetic. Or useless! I will not let myself sink into despair, continually reaching for the bottle. A fire ignited in Grace’s stomach, and she rushed into the shower to wash away the hopeless feeling that had been dragging her down. Once dried and dressed, she left the confines of her bedroom—something she hadn’t done in days.
She was pleased to find the house empty; Valerie had already left for work. Grace left a note to explain she needed some fresh air and wouldn’t be long, so as not to worry her mother. Ignoring the sensible thought of wrapping up warmly, Grace welcomed the crisp breeze on her face once she was outside. As she walked along the streets, with no particular destination in mind, she felt free.
After wandering around in a daze for over an hour, she was surprised to find herself outside Maria’s address. Her finger hesitated over the bell. She thought how rude it was of her to turn up unannounced, particularly after missing their last session. Well, you’re here now—just go for it. She pressed the white button and waited anxiously.
“Grace! Well, now there’s a face I wasn’t expecting.” Maria answered the door in her usual jolly manner, that genuine warmth still present in her voice.
Overwhelmed by the friendly greeting, Grace stunned herself as tears erupted down her cheeks. She attempted an apology, and an explanation of some kind, but her words were jumbled through the unexpected emotional outpour.
“Oh, my dear! What’s all this?” Maria asked as she stepped outside her front door and placed an arm around Grace’s shoulder. “Come inside. You’re freezing. There’s nothing that a decent cup of tea can’t help fix.”
She snorted a half-laugh, half-cry sound at Maria’s typical Irish suggestion that tea was the remedy to everything. There was comfort wrapped in Maria’s embrace.
“We’ll have this drink downstairs. This isn’t a session, so I’ll happily open my home to you.”
Maria led Grace into a cosy sitting room with a roaring log fire on one sid
e. It was filled with bookcases, antiques, and flowery decor. The burgundy three-piece suite was old—frayed material gave away its years of wear—but it was clean and inviting. Grace suddenly realised her legs ached from the long walk, and she gladly sank into the large armchair.
Maria handed her a box of tissues. “Wipe the tears, dear. I’ll give you a minute to yourself while I brew the tea.”
Grace appreciated the kind woman’s gesture and used the time alone to dry her face. Pushing the sadness deep down, she recalled the determination she’d found earlier.
“Looks like the fire has warmed you up nicely. There’s a nice glow in your cheeks now.” Maria settled two mugs of tea on the table between them. “I can’t believe you were out in this weather without a coat on.”
“I didn’t feel how cold it was. I guess I didn’t really feel much of anything,” she confessed, staring into the flames. “It wasn’t my plan to come here. Actually, there was no plan. I just needed to get out of the house.”
She decided it was time to fully open up to Maria, and she spent the next half an hour detailing the harrowing events she had faced since Christmas, including a subject she hadn’t approached with her psychiatrist: her grandfather.
“It’s the first real grief and loss that has affected me. Mostly, I’m okay and can get on with everyday life, feel normal. Then there are other days when I can hardly breathe with the pain. Something as little as a photo or a song can set me off, and that’ll be it. It crushes me that I can’t see him.”
“Grace, you’re not only dealing with the anguish of losing a close relative, but there’s the death of your friends and colleagues also. It gives me a picture as to why you’re suffering such horrifying nightmares.”
Maria paused and sighed heavily.
“What is it?” Grace asked
“Are you still serious about working with me to uncover your dreams? I have to say, I think we’ve made progress here today. You have finally dropped your defensive walls and let me in, about your past and your present emotional pain. I thank you for that, Grace. There are factors in your life that are deeply troubling, and I believe you could benefit from hypnosis therapy.”
“I’ll try anything that can rid me of these bad dreams and hopefully the misery I’m falling into. I want peace. Gosh, I want to sleep! I feel comfortable with you, Maria, and I trust you. So yes, I’m willing to explore it with you.”
Maria beamed. “I’m glad, Grace. I want to help you. I’d like to spend some intense time with you. I can fully explain what the hypnosis state is to you, so you’re fully informed about what we’ll do and how it works. It will give you a chance to ask me any questions and make sure you feel at ease before we start. Let me try and clear my diary for a week’s time so we can spend a few days together. That way, we won’t have to put a restricted time limit on ourselves in one session a week. I think one more cuppa is in order before you leave. Maybe your mum could collect you?”
Maria returned to the kitchen while Grace sent a text message and received a speedy reply. While the pair waited for Valerie to arrive, they talked openly with one another. She enquired about Maria’s family and discovered the woman had one sister and a niece, both of whom lived in Northern Ireland, and rarely spoke to her.
“I’ll let you into a little secret—I’m actually going to take a step back from full-time work shortly. Of course I’ll have a few select clients, like yourself, but I plan to free up at least three days a week to write a book.” She raised her eyebrows and pulled a funny face before launching into a passionate speech about her creative ideas.
By the time Grace left Maria’s home, she was eager to begin her hypnosis therapy, and also felt she had made a dear friend in her psychiatrist.
****
Grace contemplated diverting the call to voicemail again, but she also felt guilty about ignoring Natasha. The silent iPhone buzzed on her computer table, a picture of the two friends clinking champagne glasses filled the screen, and the green and red options demanded she make a choice.
“Hello.”
“Finally! Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been calling you for days, woman,” Natasha cried down the phone in her usual ballsy tone.
“I’ve had a lot to deal with.”
“You’re telling me! That’s what I’ve been trying to contact you about.”
“I guess you’ve seen it all in the papers.” Grace sighed.
“Who needs newspapers when you’re the attending solicitor?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Erm… I’m talking about yours truly being called for by the police station to represent one Mr. Michael Sparks on a murder charge.”
“No way—I don’t believe you! But you know him personally. Is that even allowed?”
“Okay, firstly, I don’t know him, know him. I’m just aware he’s your boss. And secondly, if the money is right, I can represent whoever I want to. Anyway, he isn’t my client. Mr. Forde was on a business trip, and it was an urgent call, so I took it. He’ll represent him during the court case.”
“So there will be a court case?”
“Of course! Grace, the man admitted to murder.”
She was silent. It was one thing to witness his arrest, but it was a complete shock to hear that he had actually confessed.
“The thing is…” Natasha dragged out her sentence. “It’s only Eric he killed.”
“I don’t understand. I thought all the murders were connected.” Grace frowned.
Natasha explained what had been disclosed during Michael’s interview after he was arrested. Shit! So the murderer is still out there. Can that be possible? A swirling sensation erupted in her stomach, along with a feeling of unease. She barely noticed Natasha had continued chattering.
“Honestly, I’m sure Mr. Forde’s son could have handled the interview, but I thought I might spot some talent. Let me tell you, that clearly does not exist in the Metropolitan Police Service. If I want a man in uniform, I think I’ll stick to the fire brigade. Or maybe just keep a dress-up box in my bedroom for visitors.”
“Seriously, Tash, is that all you think about?” Grace’s impatience to end the call grew as her friend’s mind had obviously drifted elsewhere.
“Better believe it, chick. I’m all about getting the man, so stay out of my way when I’m on the prowl.” Natasha mocked an evil laugh.
“Thanks for the chat, and the info, but I really have to go. I’ll call you soon. Bye.”
She hung up the phone before Natasha had the chance to protest. She sank onto the chair and drummed her fingers repeatedly on the computer desk. Her eyes darted from side to side, scanning her mind and devising a plan. Maybe I can still help catch the killer.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Once they were in the office, Maria took a moment to study Grace and was pleased to find she appeared less emotional than she had during their last encounter.
“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll put the kettle on.” She quickly prepared the essential cups of tea and rejoined the young girl. She was eager to begin and move Grace forward with her therapy. “I apologise for the break in our sessions. It took me longer than expected to clear my diary, but you have my undivided attention now. I’m completely free this week, and we can work together as much as you’re happy to. I’m even contemplating a little holiday in the sun for myself the following week.”
“Perks of being self-employed.” Grace relaxed, lying back on the reclining chair, and Maria smiled.
“Have you thought any more about using this therapy technique to uncover your nightmares?”
“I feel more determined than ever. I’ve recently found out that my boss did not murder all those women, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m supposed to help them. My mum thinks it’s all nonsense, and it may well be, but I have to know for sure.”
“Firstly, you need to know that some people are very susceptible to hypnosis. Others, not so much. This is completely down to the individual and has a
lot to do with how much they trust their psychiatrist.”
“I trust you completely, Maria.”
She felt reassured by Grace’s quick reply. “I’m glad to hear that, dear. I have a personal belief that many people don’t understand the hypnotic state or even appreciate it, for that matter. It’s the point right before sleep, where you’re so comfortable you don’t want to move. You can, of course, but you’re just so relaxed, you won’t want to.” She paused to ensure Grace was happy with the information so far before she continued.
“Because we’re using this kind of therapy to uncover your dreams, an area that creates a crisis in your life, we’ll set up a safe harbour for you before I induce this hypnotic state. Have a think about what you want your safe place to be—perhaps somewhere you’ve been before or somewhere you’ve seen in a photograph. But it should be a place that you feel safe, calm, and peaceful, so it needs to be a strong image for you. Use all your senses: the colours you see, the sounds you hear or perhaps the silence, the smells of that place and what your skin can feel. Perhaps you’re walking through damp grass or lying on soft sand.”
“I have somewhere in mind. My granddad’s resting place. I always feel close to him there. But why do I need this safe place? I’m in no danger while I’m in this state, am I?” Grace asked.
“There’s no need to worry. As I’ve said, the visions you suffer are traumatic for you. Therefore, if I think you’re becoming agitated during the hypnosis, I can guide you to your safe place to help you calm down.”
“What happens if I want to come out of it? Can I do that on my own?”
“Of course. There are certain commands we can use. So in the case of waking yourself up, I will say, ‘Anytime you find yourself uncomfortable and want to return to full consciousness, all you need to do is cross your arms, and you’ll be wide awake and back in the present.’ If I feel that you’re slipping too deep into the hypnotic state, and I want to bring you back to a comfortable level, I’ll use your name, ‘Grace, move your left arm slightly,’ or ‘Grace, are you comfortable?’” She paused. “How does that make you feel? Are you still happy to go ahead with the therapy?”
