The Colour of the Soul

by Richard T. Burke

  The thud of the heavy front door closing penetrated the room, but nobody returned. The sound of low voices carried through from the hallway. She couldn’t make out any of the words. It seemed her father and the hypnotherapist were discussing her case. Two minutes later, they entered the kitchen together.

  “I hear you remembered some things,” Dan said.

  “Yeah, but nothing to help explain what happened.”

  “Mrs Haseldene—I mean Rachel—and I were just talking about another session. She tells me you’re keen to progress as quickly as possible.”

  “Wouldn’t you want to remember, Dad?”

  “Yes, I suppose. We’ve scheduled a visit for Wednesday afternoon if that’s okay.”

  “I guess it will have to be. So what did the solicitors say about the police interview?”

  “Mr Dobson agreed to be there. He said it was all routine and he’d handle it. We’re due to meet him tomorrow morning ten minutes beforehand to go through what you should and shouldn’t tell them.”

  Annalise held her head in her hands. “This is all such a bloody nightmare.”

  Chapter 39

  Steven studied the iPad screen. The blue circle had remained stationary for the past forty minutes. It rested over an urban area on the edge of Steadmore. He zoomed in to obtain more detail. At the moment it seemed to be hovering some distance from the road.

  Turning to the computer, he opened a browser window. He entered the street name in the search box. When the list of results popped up, he selected a Street View link and navigated the viewpoint forwards. The leafy avenue passed between rows of large, semi-detached, Victorian houses. Next, he changed to the satellite map and centred the image on the coordinates from the handheld device. The plots stretched a long way behind the properties. The dot put her in the centre of one of them.

  She was in somebody’s back garden, but what was she doing there? Maybe they had given up on the hotel and were staying with friends instead. It wouldn’t do them any good though. He could locate the girl wherever she took her phone. All he had to do was start the Find My Friends application and it would tell him exactly where she was hiding. They thought they were safe. Little did they know he could track them down with ease.

  He saved a screenshot and stored it in a folder labelled Becker. It was always possible they would discover the loss of the iPad and block the transfer of personal data from their mobiles. If the worst came to the worst, he would still have a record of her past locations. It wouldn’t take much effort to track her down, even without the helpful application.

  Steven leaned back and allowed his mind to wander. He craved the moment when he could stare into her eyes and watch the light fade. His breathing quickened as he recalled the last desperate look of his previous victim, the hope that somebody would rescue her, and the eventual realisation that help wasn’t coming. The public location had forced him to rush. The Becker girl would be different. He would find somewhere private and ensure that he prolonged the enjoyment for the maximum time possible. He wanted her to know what he intended long before the final juncture: a slow build up to the ultimate climax. She also needed to understand why she had been selected. Planning was the key.

  The key: that reminded him of something else he had taken from the house and hadn’t yet examined. He rose to his feet and strode towards the blue sports bag he had stolen. He loosened the top and emptied the contents out on the floor. The black notebook landed on the carpet alongside an energy bar and a half-empty bottle of water. A clasp and a small padlock secured the cover. He hurried to his toolbox and rummaged for the large flat-bladed screwdriver. He quickly spotted the yellow handle, snatched it up, and returned with the book and the tool to the seat beside the computer.

  It turned out the lock was there for effect rather than for any practical purpose. He forced the blade between the cover and the thin metal latch, then levered it upwards. The mechanism gave way almost immediately. He discarded the screwdriver and flipped the notebook open. Curly handwriting looped across the paper. He scanned the first few pages: a diary. It started from a date six months earlier. The latest entry was three days old and filled half a side. His eyes quickly ran over the words. He sneered at the teenage girl’s self-indulgent nonsense.

  “Typical,” he muttered. Her sister comes back from the dead, and all she can think about is herself.

  He leafed backwards through several more entries and concluded it contained nothing of interest. He tossed the journal in the general direction of the plastic wastebasket in the corner of the room. It fell slightly short and hit the rim. As it landed, it opened to a page where red pen had been used to circle a word. His curiosity aroused, Steven stood and bent down to retrieve the book. He settled back in his chair. His eyes raced down the sheet of paper. The entry dated from eight weeks earlier. When he had finished reading, he placed the diary on the desk.

  “Well, well. Who’d have believed it?”

  A short laugh escaped from his lips as he pondered the implications. This would require a change to his plans. A broad grin spread across his face.

  “This is going to be even better than I first thought.”

  Chapter 40

  Annalise sat silently in the passenger seat, preoccupied with her own thoughts. What the hell did Mark mean about being responsible for his parents’ deaths? Shortly after they first started going out together, she had asked him about his upbringing. He told her his mother and father had died in a car crash. At the time, she hadn’t known him that well, and it was clearly a subject he found difficult to talk about.

  Apparently, he was ten years old when it happened. She remembered asking him whether he was in the vehicle when the accident took place. He had replied in the negative; it had just been the two of them. Now she had learned—or perhaps to be more accurate, relearned—that it was all a lie. What could he possibly have done to make him believe he was culpable? None of it made any sense.

  The next hypnotherapy session was scheduled for two days’ time. The woman, Rachel, had recommended that she wait for the memories to return of their own accord. Surely if she called Mark and told him that some fragments had returned, he would tell her the rest. Then again, why had he waited so long to speak about his childhood crime? As she cast her mind back, she recalled the strong suspicion he was about to propose to her. Maybe he felt the need to confess to his criminal past before he popped the question. The more she rolled the idea around in her head, the more convinced she became that she had stumbled upon the answer.

  Her father glanced across. “How are you feeling?”

  His voice dragged Annalise back to the present. “Okay, I suppose. It was weird. I was awake through the whole thing, but it was almost like I was dreaming. Except it was all much clearer than a dream.”

  “So was it worth doing?”

  “Yeah, I think so. Thanks for arranging everything.”

  “No problem. We just want you to get better.”

  The conversation lapsed into silence as Dan navigated through the centre of Steadmore and towards their home. He pulled the car up on the short drive and turned off the engine.

  Instead of getting out, he twisted to face his daughter. “Are you going to be alright talking to the police this afternoon?”

  Annalise shrugged. “I’m not exactly looking forward to it, but I’ll be okay.”

  “We can postpone the interview if you like.”

  “No. I think I’d rather get it done with. Anyway, you’ve booked the solicitors, haven’t you?”

  Dan placed his hand on Annalise’s knee. “The police and the lawyers can all go to hell as far as I’m concerned. You’re the only priority here.”

  “Thanks, Dad. By the way, are we staying here tonight?”

  Dan rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. We’ve got another night booked at the hotel, but I can always cancel. I’ll give DCI Billings a call and see what he thinks. Perhaps we can have a chat with him after the meeting if he’s at the police st
ation. Anyway, let’s find out whether your mother has finished tidying up yet.”

  As they approached the house, the drone of a vacuum cleaner emerged from the interior. Dan slipped the key into the lock and twisted. The sound increased in volume when the heavy door swung open but stopped abruptly as Annalise slammed it shut behind her.

  The power cable ran from a socket in the hallway into the dining room.

  “Is that you?” Sophie called. Moments later, her anxious face appeared in the doorway. “How did it go? Did you remember what happened?” She hurried forwards and hugged her daughter.

  “Some of it,” Annalise replied. “We’ve arranged another consultation in two days’ time. How are you getting on cleaning up the mess?”

  “Oh. Never mind that. It’s almost done. I’ve shoved your stuff back in the drawers, but you’ll probably want to sort it out for yourself. Let’s hear all about your session. Why don’t we go through into the lounge?”

  “I’ll put the kettle on,” Dan said, heading towards the kitchen.

  Annalise followed her mother and settled into the corner of the sofa. Her eyes swept the room. Apart from the conspicuous gap left by the missing television and music system, there were no other obvious signs of the previous night’s devastation. Everything appeared to be back to normal, but something was absent. At first, she couldn’t put her finger on it, but then it came to her. “How’s Bisto?”

  Sophie answered from the armchair. “Oh, the vet said he’s still a bit subdued, but he should be well enough to come home tomorrow.”

  Annalise had only met the boisterous animal a few days ago, but already she missed his presence. The house seemed much quieter without him. She glanced down at her cream-coloured trousers and immediately spotted evidence of his previous whereabouts. She brushed her hands across the material to shift the black hairs.

  Her mother frowned. “Has that damned dog been on the furniture again? He knows he’s not allowed. Let me get you a clothes brush.” She stood up.

  “Don’t worry, Mum. I’ll sort it out later.”

  Sophie returned to her seat. The sounds of clinking crockery came from the kitchen. “I wonder if your father will be able to find everything. I should go and help him.”

  “Look, Mum, just try to relax for a minute.”

  A thud originated from upstairs. Glancing up at the ceiling, Annalise blushed. “I totally forgot to ask about Beatrice. Where is she?”

  “She’s tidying her room. I better see how she’s getting on.”

  Annalise sighed and succumbed to the inevitable. She made no attempt to intervene as Sophie hurried through the doorway. The sound of muffled footsteps on the stairs carried through followed by her mother’s anxious voice. “Is everything alright up there?”

  An indecipherable response echoed from above.

  She debated whether to follow but was spared from deciding as her father shuffled in carrying a tray on which sat a teapot, a pot of milk, and four chipped mugs.

  Dan set the tray down on the coffee table and shook his head. “Have I got a personal hygiene problem or something? Whenever I enter a room, your mother seems to run away.”

  “It’s not just you, Dad. She can’t seem to sit still for more than ten seconds at a time.”

  Dan’s expression turned serious. “This whole thing has hit her very hard. First, there was the life support question. I don’t think she’s forgiven herself for that yet. The attack and the burglary compounded matters, and finally, there’s the worry about the police situation. She hasn’t been sleeping well. I’ve tried to persuade her to visit the doctor’s, but she keeps refusing. I’m thinking we should take a week or two off and get some sun, try to forget about it all for a bit.”

  “That’s a good idea, but that policeman said I had to stick around here,” Annalise replied in a subdued voice. “On top of that, I want to sit my A-levels and Beatrice has got her exams too. Maybe we can go somewhere when this is all over—provided I don’t end up in prison.”

  Dan raised his eyes to the ceiling. “I better see what’s going on upstairs.”

  Annalise shook her head. “It’s like herding cats. I’ll come with you.”

  Her father was reaching down to pick up the tray when a creak from the staircase signalled her mother’s return. Seconds later, she entered the room and slumped into the armchair. She rubbed her face and let out a deep sigh. “Beatrice said she’d be down in a minute. She’s just looking for something. So tell me what happened at the hypnotherapist’s.”

  Dan poured the tea while Annalise described the session and what she had learned. She was relating how Mark had confessed to being involved in the deaths of his parents when the sound of footsteps racing down the stairs brought her to a halt.

  All eyes stared expectantly at the closed door. It burst open to reveal Beatrice’s distraught expression.

  “What is it?” Sophie asked, lifting a hand to her mouth.

  “It’s gone. I’ve checked everywhere, but I can’t find it.”

  Dan frowned in confusion. “What’s gone?”

  “My private diary, the one I kept by my bed.”

  Chapter 41

  Annalise followed her father as he pushed through the swing doors of Steadmore police station. The bright yellow interior seemed more in keeping with a children’s nursery than a place dedicated to the prevention and detection of crime.

  Of the three reception desks, two were occupied, one by a policeman, the other by a policewoman. Each was involved in a whispered conversation with a solitary man. A third man awaited his turn, standing behind the line marked Please Wait Here. The waiting man did his best to appear disinterested in what was happening in front of him, but the way his eyes flicked between the counters gave him away.

  Annalise scanned the room but saw no sign of Derek Dobson. She glanced at her watch; it was five minutes after the agreed meeting time.

  “What do we do now?” she asked her father.

  He shrugged. “Wait for Mr Dobson to arrive, I suppose.”

  As if on cue, the glass door swung open, and the harried-looking solicitor bustled inside. He extracted a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped at his brow before studying the large dial of the clock hanging on the wall straight ahead. “I’m not late, am I? Good, it seems I have a minute or two to spare. Parking’s a bitch here, isn’t it? I’ll let them know we’ve arrived.”

  He strode to the desk on the right and slapped his palm on the surface. “Could you tell DCI Davies that Derek Dobson and his client are here to see him?”

  The policeman gave no acknowledgement other than the faintest rolling of his eyes. The gaze of the man waiting in line followed the solicitor as he made his way back to the father and daughter.

  “Okay, young Annalise, don’t respond to any questions unless I nod to give you the go ahead. The police haven’t got a case against you. They’re just fishing for information. They’re hoping you’ll say something to incriminate yourself. My job is to prevent them from achieving that goal. If you don’t know the answer to a question, it’s perfectly alright to admit you don’t know. Are you happy with all that?”

  Annalise nodded.

  “Good.” Dobson’s gaze rose to the wall clock for the second time. The hands indicated two minutes past the hour. He marched to the desk. The policeman raised his eyes in acknowledgement. “Please inform DCI Davies that I charge by the minute. Unless you want my clients and me to leave immediately, I suggest he shifts his arse out here right now.”

  The officer muttered an apology to the man standing at the counter and pushed through the door into the office behind. Thirty seconds later, he emerged. “The DCI will be out to see you shortly.”

  “Just tell me who to send the bill to,” Dobson said, a thin-lipped smile on his face.

  The policeman ignored the statement and resumed his conversation across the polished wooden surface.

  The solicitor strolled back and addressed Dan. “Don’t worry. It’s all part of the game.
They think they can soften you up by making you wait. If he’s not here in the next minute, we’re leaving.”

  “But ...”

  Dan didn’t finish the sentence. A door to the side of the reception desk opened to reveal the smartly dressed figure of Tony Davies. He held a beige folder in his hand. “Mr Dobson, Mr and Miss Becker, if you’d please come with me.” He stood back to allow them to pass. When the three civilians were inside, he led the way down a featureless corridor into a grey interview room. The only furniture comprised of a metal table bolted to the floor and four matching chairs. He waited until they were all seated. “Would you like anything to drink?”

  Dobson drummed his fingers on the metallic surface. “Can we skip the pleasantries, DCI Davies? As I just told your colleague, I charge by the minute, so let’s get on with this.”

  “Of course.” Davies placed the folder before him, adjusting the position until it aligned with the edge of the table. He reached forward and pressed a button on the black box positioned at the centre of the tabletop. “This is DCI Tony Davies conducting an interview at Steadmore police station with Miss Annalise Becker on Monday, the ninth of April, two thousand and eighteen at three pm. Also present are Mr Becker, the suspect’s father and Mr Dobson, her solicitor. For the purposes of this recording, could you please state your full name and date of birth, Miss Becker?”

  Annalise hesitated and met Dobson’s eyes. He flashed a reassuring smile and nodded. “Annalise Elizabeth Becker, born tenth of February, nineteen ninety-nine.”

  “Okay, Miss Becker. You were involved in a serious road accident on Saturday the twenty-ninth of April last year. Tell me in your own words what you remember about the incident.”

  “Um ... I don’t remember anything. I’ve been in a coma for eleven months. Everything is a blank—or at least it was a blank—from the day before the crash until I woke up a few days ago.”