The Colour of the Soul

by Richard T. Burke

  A policewoman had telephoned at a quarter to one. She had promised to send a patrol car past the house every hour. It was clear the gesture was more political than practical, and that she doubted the attacker would make a second attempt so soon after the first. She didn’t seem concerned that sixty minutes provided ample time for a determined assailant to break in, complete his task, and leave.

  Annalise selected a set of fresh underwear and a T-shirt from the drawer, then slipped on the same training pants she had worn the previous afternoon. She padded barefoot across the landing and into the bathroom. Grabbing the hairbrush from the top of the wall-mounted cabinet, she ran it through her long hair then used a bobble to tie it in a hasty ponytail. She splashed cold water on her face and inspected her reflection. A pair of dark grey crescents rimmed her bloodshot eyes.

  She snatched up the hand towel and vigorously dried herself. When she stared back in the mirror, she was reassured to see she had induced a hint of colour in her cheeks. She grimaced at the livid purple bruising around her neck. There was little she could do about that, and in any case, it might help to make the police take their protection more seriously. A quick brush of her teeth and she was ready to meet her interrogator.

  She traipsed down the stairs and pushed open the lounge door.

  Alan Billings rose from his seat on the sofa and placed the cup of tea he was holding on the coffee table. “How are you feeling this morning, Miss Becker?” He directed his attention to her father without waiting for a reply. “Do you mind if I have a few moments alone with your daughter, Mr Becker?”

  Dan nodded. “No problem. Just shout if you need anything.”

  Billings waited until the door closed then turned back to Annalise. The red tie was still askew, and the suit seemed even more crinkled. She wondered if he had slept at all. The bags under his eyes suggested her suspicions were well-founded. “I understand your father called the emergency services last night,” the man said. “He told the operator that your attacker was the same person who killed the girl two weeks ago. How does he know that?”

  Annalise crossed her arms. “He tried to strangle me. That’s a bit of a coincidence isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but I’m assuming something else happened to make you call the police.”

  “I had a conversation with Mark Webber as we were coming out of the hospital. He confessed that he’d been on a date with the murdered girl. He’s not really a suspect, is he?”

  Billings ignored the question and asked one of his own. “So when we spoke yesterday, you weren’t aware of his involvement with the murder victim?”

  “No, it was the first time he mentioned it.”

  “We’re considering all angles at the moment, but it’s probably best if you stay apart until we’ve eliminated him from our enquiries.”

  As Annalise’s eyes flicked away from him, she picked up the same pale green aura of the previous night.

  Billings frowned and turned in the direction of her gaze. He focused his attention back on her face. “Have you remembered anything else that might help us identity this person?”

  “I’m sorry, no. It all happened so quickly, and he was wearing a mask. If I knew anything, I’d tell you.”

  “What about eye colour?”

  Annalise scratched her neck. “I’m not sure. They may have been brown. Yes, I’m fairly certain that’s right.”

  Billings scribbled a few words in his notebook. “See—you do know something.” He flashed a tight smile.

  “Do you think he’ll make another attempt?” she asked. “I mean, if there is a connection to Mark, won’t he try again?”

  “Hm. It’s possible. If your family are worried about it, I’d recommend you go away somewhere for a couple of days while we work on locating this man. Just let me know where, so I can contact you if necessary. We haven’t got the people to assign somebody to watch you twenty-four hours a day, especially when we can’t be sure how long it will be for.”

  “I’ll have to talk to—” Annalise stiffened at the sound of the doorbell chimes. Both listened to the unlatching of the door and the muffled voices that followed. Seconds later the lounge door opened to reveal her father and DCI Davies standing a pace behind.

  “It seems that policemen are like buses,” Dan said. “You don’t see one for ages, then two turn up at the same time.”

  Of the pair, Tony Davies seemed the more surprised. “Hello, Alan. What are you doing here?”

  “So you two know each other?” Dan asked. “Perhaps you could coordinate your visits.”

  “Two departments, two investigations,” Billings offered by way of response. “Somebody tried to strangle this young lady last night,” he said, turning to Davies. “It’s all written down if you’d bothered to look.”

  “Right. I did hear something about an attack, but I didn’t ... I can come back later if you like.”

  Billings buttoned his jacket. “Actually, I’m just leaving.” He withdrew a card from the breast pocket of his suit and placed it carefully on the surface of the coffee table beside the half-full cup of tea. “Call me if you remember anything else. I’ll see myself out. A piece of free advice—you really should consider having your lawyer present for any discussion with the police if you’re the main suspect in a criminal investigation.”

  Davies glowered at his fellow policeman as he stood back to let him leave. When Annalise sneaked a glance at the two men from the corner of her eye, both Billings’ green and Davies’ purple auras seemed a shade darker.

  Davies’ appearance was in complete contrast to that of his colleague. The suit was spotless, the creases were sharp, and not a single hair was out of place. The five o’clock shadow of the previous day had been replaced by a freshly shaven look. He waited for the clunk of the closing front door before speaking. “If I’d known, I would have delayed my visit.”

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Dan asked. “Tea? Coffee?”

  The policeman shook his head. “No thanks. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.” He placed a hand inside his jacket and withdrew a white envelope. He handed it to Annalise. “My colleagues and I have discussed your case with the Crown Prosecution Service, and we’ve come to a decision. You’ll be prosecuted for causing death by dangerous driving. The recommended sentence for this offence is between two and fourteen years. The fact that you were uninsured is considered an aggravating factor. If convicted, there is also an automatic driving disqualification of at least two years. All the details are in this letter. In light of your recent ... ah ... misfortune, we are prepared to delay the police interview. You may have legal representation present at that time.”

  Her father might have said something, but the whooshing in Annalise’s ears drowned out everything that followed.

  Chapter 33

  Annalise glanced at her watch. Five minutes had passed since she last looked. She was finding it impossible to concentrate on her studies. It was no longer the threat of a second attack that dominated her thoughts; the prospect of spending several years in prison excluded everything else. Even if she was released under licence halfway through the sentence, she would be in her mid-twenties by the time she got out. What made it more unbearable was that she was still unable to remember anything at all about the crash.

  As a child, she had suffered a recurring nightmare in which she woke up knowing she had done something terrible. She could never quite recall the nature of the crime, but her younger self knew it was extremely serious and warranted a severe punishment. The sense of dread had persisted long after the dream faded. Now that same feeling pervaded her whole existence. She found herself staring at the words in her revision book, taking nothing in while her mind wandered, prodding and poking at the problem like a tongue probing a sore tooth.

  How could she defend herself without a full knowledge of the facts? Without her memory, all she could go on was what other people had told her. What could possibly have persuaded her it was a good idea to drive Mark’s car? Why
had he allowed her to do so? None of it made any sense. The hypnotherapist was booked for the following morning, but what if that failed to jog loose the hidden memories? It seemed like an impossible length of time to wait until the session.

  She slammed the textbook closed and pushed the chair back. The hotel room was comfortable enough, but the unfamiliar surroundings only added to her restlessness. She grabbed the television remote and prodded the power button. The dark screen burst into colour and displayed three men grouped around a table, deep in discussion. The sound was off, but the caption scrolling across the bottom of the image told her everything she needed to know: football. She swapped to the next channel: an old film. Another click: advertisements. The next two channels were equally uninteresting. In frustration, she turned the television off and tossed the control box on the bed.

  She paced the carpet like a prisoner in solitary confinement. Her parents occupied the adjacent room, and her sister was in the one beyond that. For a moment, she contemplated going next door to discuss her predicament but rejected the idea on the basis that it would probably only make matters worse. If anything, her mother and father were even more anxious than she was. The last thing she needed was for them to project their anxiety back onto her.

  Beatrice was no better; she had complained vociferously about having to leave the house and sulked throughout the short journey. It was highly unlikely she would have anything positive to offer.

  Before leaving, DCI Davies had suggested they schedule the police interview for the following afternoon. As soon as he had departed, her father called the solicitors but only reached an answering machine. The outgoing message listed a mobile number, but despite several attempts, nobody was picking up. Each failure to talk to somebody ratcheted up her father’s tension.

  “What the hell do I pay that lot a retainer for?” he had yelled as he slammed the phone down after yet another unanswered call.

  “It’s Sunday afternoon. I’m sure it can wait until tomorrow morning,” her mother had replied, chewing at the nail of her forefinger.

  In an attempt to keep himself busy, Dan had turned his attention to booking the hotel. It was a forty minute drive from where they lived and boasted extensive facilities including a gymnasium, swimming pool, and mini-golf course, all free for the use of guests. He had booked for two nights with the option to extend their stay if there was no progress in the hunt for the attacker. They would have to find a solution for Bisto if the vet decided he was well enough to go home, but for the time being the recommended action was to maintain the ongoing observation.

  Annalise’s eyes swept the room, searching for inspiration to take her mind off her worries. She picked up the leather-bound welcome booklet and flicked through the pages. Her focus settled on the section describing the pool. Exercise would do her good. The physiotherapists at the hospital had told her she needed to build up her strength and recommended swimming as an excellent way of accomplishing that goal. She grabbed her one-piece swimsuit from the suitcase and headed down the corridor.

  Minutes later she was surging through the blue-tinted water. The burst of activity and the mindless repetition dampened the anxiety that filled her head.

  Twenty-five miles away, a man walked down the side of the house. His gaze darted behind him to confirm nobody was watching.

  Chapter 34

  Steven eased the door closed behind him. He had taken a taxi, wary that the police might be keeping an eye out for a suspiciously parked car matching the same description as the one used in the previous night’s attack. The driver had dropped him off half a mile away. From there, he had made his way to the Becker house on foot.

  He approached the beeping control panel and inserted the crowbar behind it. Two tugs of the handle removed the alarm from the wall together with a shower of plaster. He grabbed the plastic case and strode to the sink. Turning on both taps, he tossed the box of electronics in the washing up bowl. Within seconds, the shrill tones fell silent.

  Why did people economise when protecting their homes? The system was clearly cheap. It had taken moments to cut the outside phone lines, instantly neutralising the unit’s ability to call for help. The water flooding into the electronic circuit boards had swiftly completed the job.

  He surveyed the well-organised kitchen and opened a selection of drawers. His search revealed nothing out of the ordinary. A set of photographs stuck to a cupboard door caught his eye. He peered closely at the family shot on the left.

  The sisters stood between their parents, happy smiles spread over their faces. Annalise looked a year or two younger than she did now. He reached out a hand and ran the tip of his gloved finger down the outline of the girl’s body. For a moment he considered taking the picture with him but resisted the temptation.

  Seeing nothing further of interest, Steven stepped through to the hallway and then into the study. A computer desk dominated the small room. At its centre sat a sleek, black monitor. A mouse and keyboard took up most of the remaining free area. The system box occupied a position on the floor. Behind the desk was a tall bookcase. Stacks of books and magazines filled every available inch of shelf space.

  He lowered himself into the leather-covered office chair and pressed the computer power button. After a few seconds of whirring, the screen displayed a photograph of a beach taken from inside a cave at low tide. He clicked the mouse; a football icon and the name Dan appeared. Beneath that, a white text box requested a PIN. He knew if he typed in the wrong sequence of numbers too many times, it would lock the machine.

  Steven searched the wooden surface for clues. The area was clear without a scrap of paper in sight. He swivelled in the chair to inspect the bookcase. Five lever arch files took up half the middle shelf. The leftmost was red and tagged with the label Phone Bills. He dragged it towards him and opened the cover. All the items within related to the telephone landline for the house. The latest dated from three years previously. He selected the next along, this one black: electricity bills. The following two were equally uninteresting. As he pulled the fifth and last binder out, a tattered blue notebook toppled sideways into the newly created gap.

  “Aha,” he muttered, discarding the file and reaching for the book. Inside were a list of websites, usernames and passwords. The majority were for shopping sites, but as he flipped through the pages, he came to an entry with the heading Windows PIN and a four-digit number. He turned to face the desk again. The monitor was blank. He waggled the mouse and the beach scene reappeared. One click later, the password box occupied the centre of the display. With slow, deliberate movements, his gloved forefinger tapped out the sequence. Nothing happened for a second, but then the background changed. A series of icons overlaid a picture of the night sky.

  Steven clicked the browser icon. After a short delay, a football news site filled the window. He navigated to the history option in the top right corner. The first five entries were all for the Mandrake House Leisure Spa Hotel.

  “So that’s where you are,” he whispered, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. He withdrew the mobile phone from his shirt pocket and photographed the screen. After checking to confirm the image was readable, he placed the tattered notebook on the brown carpet and took several shots of the pages within then returned it to the shelf in the same position he had found it. A quick inspection of the remaining contents of the bookshelf revealed no further useful information. He shut down the computer and moved back into the hall.

  Straight ahead was the lounge. Once again the room had been left in a tidy state. He strode inside and turned a full circle. The television was a large screen model and would be worth a few pounds. That wasn’t the reason he was here, but it gave him an idea for later. He wrinkled his nose at the faint smell of dog. The slight indentation in the sofa and the scattering of black hairs surrounding it explained the lingering odour. Why did people allow such dirty animals on the furniture?

  Something white protruded from underneath the cushion on one armchair. He lifted the cushi
on and discovered the previous day’s newspaper, folded to the Sudoku puzzle page. Some numbers had been filled in, but the solution wasn’t complete. He replaced everything and focused on the coffee table. A pile of papers spread across the bottom shelf. He flicked through the documents: a water bill, a council tax statement, and several promotional leaflets. Steven discarded them and continued his search.

  A power cable trailed from a mains socket to something hidden beneath the sofa. When he moved closer, he discovered an iPad, partially obscured by the blue material. He picked it up and pressed the circular button below the display. The device requested a passcode. The digits for the computer lock screen were still fresh in his mind, and Steven tapped out the same sequence. An array of icons replaced the black numerical keypad. He scanned through the installed applications. His eyes alighted on a yellow icon containing two white stick men accompanied by the words, Find My Friends. His heart beat faster as a gloved forefinger prodded the glass.

  Three names popped up beneath a map: Sophie, Annalise and Beatrice. Perfect—now he could always locate the girl, provided she was carrying her mobile. He unplugged the charger from the socket and wrapped the cable around it.

  Holding the iPad and the power supply, he strolled through the open doorway and entered the dining room. A quick scan revealed nothing of interest. He re-entered the hallway and headed up the stairs. He thought back to when he had been keeping watch from his parked car. Her bedroom faced onto the road, which left only two options. He selected the first door and moved to the window then peered out. This was definitely the one.

  The walls were painted a pale yellow colour and were adorned with a variety of posters ranging from a concert picture of a boy band to a spectacular landscape of a waterfall. The bed was a double and covered in a pink patterned duvet. Steven spotted a small, blue sports bag in the corner of the room. He snatched it up, deposited the iPad and its charger inside then tossed it on the mattress.