by Simon Hall
Dan didn’t often feel pressure when he was editing a report, but now the base of his back ached. McCluskey’s teasing, vanity, games and riddles may have been annoying, but he’d been touched by that interview. They weren’t using it in this item, instead saving it for his obituary. This was a story about the unveiling of the last of the Death Pictures, but he still wanted to do his best for the man. So many stories they covered were mundane, fillers, forgotten within minutes, meant nothing. This was one of the rare few that felt different.
To open the report, Jenny, the picture editor, put down the shot of McCluskey standing by the curtained picture, ready to unveil it. Dan added just a few words of commentary, less is more, the golden rule in television; ‘So this is it, the last of the Death Pictures.’
The cord was pulled and the picture revealed. Dan said nothing over the shot, just let it run, the noise of the photographer’s flashes and the viewers fascination with the painting meant no commentary was needed. Then they edited in a close up of the artist’s exultant face and some of his words about the answer being in there.
After that it was shots of the crowd, one with the surf shop in the background. Then came the interviews with the people talking about why they’d come to see the unveiling. The shots in the gallery of all the pictures together were next, using lots of Nigel’s close ups of the detail, the people, the places, the numbers. Dan added a few words about them going on display from tomorrow at the studio, with the riddle still to be solved. And as he sat in the edit suite, he found himself staring into the images, wondering what the message and lesson in there was, and why it was so very important to Joseph McCluskey.
* * *
The report led the lunchtime news, as befitted it, in Dan’s view at least. He did a similar version for Wessex Tonight, just a little longer with some extra shots of The Death Pictures all together.
It was almost six o’clock. Lizzie had seen the report and approved it in her less than wholehearted way and Dan was packing up his satchel, ready to leave. He didn’t take offence. He’d never seen her fulsome in her praise of a story in her life, merely satisfied or, if you were lucky, pleased. He sometimes wondered if exclusive footage of an alien landing would see her very pleased.
Dan sat at his computer and filled in a couple of expenses before he forgot. He was sure the company owed him hundreds of pounds in forgotten claims. Then he debated whether he could be bothered to stop in at the supermarket to get some food. But it would be busy and some beans on toast would hide the staleness of the bread, wouldn’t it? That way he could take Rutherford for a run, then eat and have a quiet and early night.
He felt tired and lethargic, the hangover from last night with Adam. But might there be some time for a look through the Death Pictures, just to see if he could spot anything that could be a clue to the riddle? He hoped not, but suspected he wouldn’t be able to resist.
He was about to log out of the computer and set off home when his mobile rang. Adam.
‘Hi, mate, how you doing?’ Dan asked, the phone balanced between his chin and shoulder.
‘Bad. No, make that bloody terrible. We’ve had another rape, the same bloke as the first and I think there are more to follow.’
Dan fished his notebook out of his satchel and began writing. ‘I’ve got to get a warning out and I’ve got to do it as soon as possible,’ Adam continued. ‘We’ve got to get this guy, or at least stop him striking again. The woman from the first rape will talk to you. She’s still weak and nervous, but we’ve told her what’s happened with the other attack and she wants to do it. Can you get something together now?’
Chapter Four
Dan ran downstairs, taking them two at a time and jumping the final flight. He spun around the corner and into the studio’s bar, a small but comfortable room full of soft, burgundy furniture and bowing plants. Faces turned in familiar anticipation, each expecting to be called away. One by one they relaxed as they followed his look to Nigel. He sat in a corner, chatting with a couple of engineers and sipping happily at a bottle of beer.
‘How many have you had?’ Dan asked.
‘This is the first,’ said the cameraman ruefully, putting it down and getting up from his stool. ‘Unfortunately,’ he added.
Dan took the bottle and finished it. ‘Let’s go then. Urgent one.’
They drove fast to the Tamarside Hospital, on the northern edge of Plymouth. A queue of cars waited on the entrance road, looking for places to park. Dan swore and looked quickly around, but there was no other way in. He swore again, making Nigel shake his head.
The queue edged slowly forwards. Behind them, an emergency siren wailed, flashing blue lights strobing inside the car. Ahead, drivers shifted onto the grass verge to get out of the way. Dan had an idea. He nudged Nigel, and pointed back towards the ambulance. As it manoeuvred clumsily past, they pulled out and followed hard behind it into the car park, ignoring the angry horns blaring out from the other cars.
Adam led them along a sterile, echoing, white tiled corridor. The hospital was vast and it was quite a walk to the ward where Rachel was recovering. He briefed them as they went, posters on walls, nurses, visitors and patients flying by in a blur.
‘The High Honchos are so concerned we’ve scrambled extra patrols around Plymouth tonight. There are going to be more cops on the beat than you’ve seen in years. It’ll be like a modern Dixon of Dock Green.’
Dan shot a sideways glance at Nigel, who nodded. That’s what they’d be filming later, little chance of much rest tonight. Rutherford had been fed and exercised by Dan’s obliging downstairs neighbour – minimal cost, a case of decent red wine a year – Nigel’s sons were with Dot, his mother in law. They both had contingency plans for breaking stories, had to have.
‘Part of this is a big media strategy,’ continued Adam, walking fast and talking intensely. Dan and Nigel struggled to keep pace, laden down with the tripod, camera, lights and microphone they carried.
‘You’re in first because we trust you after the help you gave us on the Bray murder. In fact the Assistant Chief Constable says if you want to join me on some of the investigation again, that’s fine. We need all the publicity we can get. It’ll be the same deal as last time. You wouldn’t be able to broadcast anything without my say so, but you’d get exclusive access.’
Adam gave Dan a look. His eyes were wide and his face was shining with a layer of sweat. He was walking unnaturally, almost mechanically. ‘If you can, I’d like your help mate,’ the detective added. ‘I think we’ll need it.’
‘OK,’ said Dan, who didn’t have much breath for a longer reply. Adam was moving like he was possessed, his polished black shoes flying over the white tiles in a drumbeat of pace. ‘I’ll have to check with Lizzie, but I can’t see her turning the chance down. It worked well last time.’ Dan didn’t add how much he’d enjoyed the excitement of riding with the police on a major inquiry.
They turned a corner and Adam leapt out of the way of an oncoming trolley. A drip was suspended above a prone woman, her breathing quick and shallow, anxious nurses bending alongside. Dan shivered. He thought he could feel the Reaper’s gloating presence.
‘Here’s what you can put in your report,’ went on Adam. ‘Two women have been attacked and raped in their own homes. One was in Mannamead the night before last. The other was in Hartley. They’re just half a mile apart. We’re keeping the exact addresses secret to protect their identities. Both lived with their young children, one a boy, the other a girl. Thankfully neither witnessed the attacks. The girl was out at school, the boy was asleep in his bedroom. There was no man in either house. The attacker broke in through open windows. We don’t have much of a description of him, but I’ll give you the details of it later. We’ve got a press release ready.’
‘OK,’ panted Dan again. ‘We won’t be able to get anything out now until breakfast tomorrow, so we’ve
got a bit of time.’
‘As you’d expect, both women were severely traumatised by the attacks,’ said Adam, spitting out the words. ‘We have some good forensic evidence which has allowed us to put together a DNA profile. But it doesn’t match anyone on the database, so we’re looking for a new offender. We’ve got no meaningful description and no leads. I want to appeal for witnesses, or for anyone who’s noticed a friend or member of their family behaving oddly. And I need to put out a warning to women in Plymouth to make sure their doors and windows are locked and that they take care when going out. The big point is we fear he may strike again.’
‘OK,’ repeated Dan. The tiredness had left him, the adrenaline of a big story always burned it away. He could see it had the same effect on Nigel. ‘So what’s the bit you’re not putting out?’
‘Strictly not for broadcast,’ said Adam, stopping suddenly and turning to look at Dan. ‘And I mean strictly. We need this kept back to filter out the cranks.’ He paused, drummed a finger on the wall. ‘And so as not to panic everyone. He’s a weird one. He’s left a kid’s witch’s hat at each house. And at the first place, he left the wrapping too. I think he did that deliberately. It was from a pack of six. I see it as a challenge, a taunt and a statement of intent. This man hates women and plans to strike again. Four more times, unless we get him first.’
Joseph and Abi McCluskey sat in their living room that evening, rewound the video tape and watched the recording of Wessex Tonight. They hadn’t had time to get home to see it, had too many calls, emails and guesses to deal with. All were wrong, some wonderfully creative and outlandish, but all nowhere close. They hadn’t expected anyone to solve the riddle, were almost sure they wouldn’t. But it was reassuring nonetheless and it meant they could continue as they’d planned.
Abi fast-forwarded through the programme – her husband was hopeless with technology – until they found the report. She cuddled into him on the sofa, the flames popping and flaring in the log fire. It wasn’t cold, they didn’t need it on really, but she was always worried that Joseph could chill easily and it made the room cosy. They shared a bottle of fine red wine. The doctors had advised against it, wouldn’t react well with the painkilling morphine he was on, but what was the point of worrying about that now? They both knew his time was running ever shorter.
‘Mmm… not a bad report,’ he said begrudgingly when the story had finished. Their aged boxer dog Darwin waddled in and settled lengthways along the ember glow of the fire.
‘Lizzie reckons he’s their top reporter,’ said Abi as she got up from the sofa to turn the TV off. ‘And as you said, he’s the one who saw the solution to the Bray case. So it was a good test. If he didn’t spot the answer after the clues you gave him today, it’s a decent chance no one else will.’ She pressed play on the answer phone and a tinny voice crackled out. One message, from Kid, replying to the message she’d left him earlier and confirming he’d be round tomorrow evening.
‘But he didn’t see it, did he?’ said Joseph McCluskey, stretching his legs out on the sofa. ‘And it was there, right in front of him. I got the feeling from talking to him he is going to have a go at the riddle though. I hope he does. And I guess he was the right person to do the obituary with then. I just wish I could be around to see it, how it all goes, and whether he, or anyone else, cracks the code.’ He took a sip of wine and breathed out heavily. ‘God, I’ll miss that, the taste of something so sweet and the feeling of you next to me.’
He stopped himself. They’d said their goodbyes, told each other all they wanted to say. They’d agreed they wouldn’t go over it again. It was too painful. ‘You promise me you’ll do exactly what we agreed when I’m gone?’
She snuggled back into him so he couldn’t see the gathering tears. ‘Yes. I promise,’ she whispered. ‘I know what all this means to you. I’d never betray that. Dead or alive, I’ll always be loyal to you.’
Dan had prepared himself to meet a barely recognisable woman. He expected bruises and dried blood, swollen and closed eyes, scars and stitches. She looked utterly normal and had even put on some make-up, a little blue eye-shadow and a line of lipstick. What was it Adam had said? Most rape cases don’t involve a beating. The man doesn’t like to spoil his prize before the attack and afterwards usually just wants to get away. The damage is done in the mind, not the body.
Dan noticed his hand was trembling and he gripped the notebook tighter. ‘Rachel, I’m Dan Groves, the reporter. This is Nigel, the cameraman.’ He went into the familiar words he’d used many times when talking to distressed or bereaved people. ‘I would say pleased to meet you, but given the circumstances that have brought us together I’ll just say I’m sorry, and we’ll make this as easy as possible for you.’
She nodded, managed a tight smile. ‘Thanks. I wasn’t sure whether to do this, but when Mr Breen told me what had happened to the other woman…’
She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Adam and Suzanne Stewart stood at the back of the room, both with their arms folded, staring at Dan.
‘I don’t want to be identified,’ Rachel said breathlessly, sitting up in bed as Nigel focused the camera.
‘Don’t worry, he’s just checking it’s working,’ replied Dan in his best soothing voice. ‘The law gives you absolute protection from being identified and I promise there won’t be a hint of who you are. We won’t even film a silhouette of you. We’ll use a light to cast a shadow of your head on the wall and film that. I can show you what it looks like afterwards if that’ll make you feel better.’
She slid back down in her bed, pulling the sheets up to her neck as though to defend herself. Nigel began setting up a light. ‘What are you going to ask me?’ she whispered.
Dan sat down on the corner of her bed. ‘Rachel, this won’t be easy for you, but I’m going to have to ask what happened.’ She flinched, closed her eyes, trying to escape the eternal memory. ‘I know it’s difficult, but remember, this is for the TV and radio, so you can spare the dreadful detail. Just give it to me in broad terms that an audience can cope with.’
She drew in a deep breath, nodded again. She was fiddling hard with her engagement ring, its twists flashing darts of diamond light around the room. Dan watched, then said, ‘These questions may sound daft to you, but remember, almost no one out there will have been through what you have. I’ll want to know what effect the attack has had on you, and so how important you think it is this man is caught. Is that ok?’
She nodded, still fiddling with her ring. Nigel clipped a tiny microphone to her pyjama top.
‘For what it’s worth,’ said Dan, ‘I think you’re being extraordinarily brave speaking to us, and certainly doing the right thing. People will empathise strongly with you, and it’ll make anyone who could help catch the man much more likely to come forward.’
‘I understand,’ she said, and her voice was clearer and stronger.
‘Rolling,’ said Nigel from behind the camera.
‘We won’t use any names here,’ began Dan, ‘and I appreciate this is a very difficult question. But in simple terms, can you take me through what happened?’
She gulped, then again, took a deep breath, faltered.
‘I… I...’ she managed, twisting hard at her ring. Dan let her go, didn’t want to interrupt.
She took another breath and rallied. ‘I was sitting in my lounge watching the television. Eastenders, I think it was. I thought I heard a noise behind me, but I ignored it. I thought it was… Well, my little boy coming downstairs, and I try to ignore him.’ She managed a tight smile at the thought. ‘He’s not supposed to you see, and if you take no notice he usually goes back to bed. The next thing I knew, these hands came from behind and grabbed me as I sat on the sofa, then he was on top of me…’ Her voice failed again and her chest heaved. Her hand went to it. ‘He pinned me down and… well… he raped me…’
Rachel’s vo
ice tailed off. Dan let the silence run, a chance for her to compose herself and for him to frame his question as sensitively as he could.
‘Ok, that’s enough of what happened, we don’t want to take you back there any more.’ She’d closed her eyes again and her lower lip trembled. ‘Well, you’re in hospital now, being looked after,’ Dan continued. ‘This may sound like a stupid question, but it’s important for the viewers to understand. What effect has the attack had on you?’
She looked down at the engagement ring, stared into its rainbows. Then the words came in a rush of release.
‘I feel violated. I feel I’ve had my inner self invaded. I feel cheap and sick. I can’t sleep for thinking about it. Even when I’m awake, doing something else, it haunts me. I’m scared for my son. I don’t know how much love I still have left inside me for him now. I can’t go back to that house. I can never go back there. And I’m scared for my fiancé. He’s done nothing, but I don’t feel close to him now. I don’t know if I feel like I trust him. I don’t feel like I’ll trust anyone again.’
Her words came in short, rushing gasps. It would make compelling television, but Dan felt a tightening in his stomach for putting her through it again. He knew he’d be ambushed by the memory of this interview in the months to come. Just one more question then, just one more.
‘Finally, it’s quite likely someone out there knows or suspects who might be responsible for these attacks. What would you say to them?’
‘Turn him in,’ she said instantly, the certainty of what she had to say giving her strength. ‘Tell the police. Turn him in before he wrecks any more lives. I’m determined he won’t have destroyed mine, but in the dark moments when I lie here and think, I’m not so sure about that. No one else should have to suffer like me, and my fiancé, and my son. Please, if you can, please help the police and turn him in. Turn him in.’
