by Jane Casey
‘I’d be delighted to speak to the gentleman if you don’t mind me doing it.’
‘Be my guest,’ Sam said, and Rob ghosted back down the street, almost invisible in the shadows. This time, he moved to the back of the car and along the passenger side, stopping halfway along. He knocked on the window with the back of his hand, two sharp raps that carried over the sound of the rain clear across the quiet street to where we sat. They must have been shockingly loud inside the car where the journalist had been completely oblivious to Rob’s presence. I saw him jump, his head whipping around so fast it was almost funny. Having given him enough time to panic, Rob bent down and held his warrant card where the man could see it, then pointed down meaningfully. Window down, tosspot.
A muffled voice spoke over the radio and I picked it up, holding it to my ear to try to make it out.
‘Hi,’ Katy said, with a laugh in her voice. She sounded amused. I could only hear her end of the conversation clearly and I held up a finger to shush Sam, who had been embarking on a long commentary on the state of the reporter’s trousers after Rob’s interception.
‘Yeah, it is late. I’m waiting for my boyfriend – he’s supposed to be meeting me, but he’s running late.’ Katy delivered the cover story beautifully, sincerity ringing through every word. ‘He’s just texted me to say he’ll be another twenty minutes.’
More muffled sounds. The rain was pummelling the roof of the car as if it was about to bore through it. Rob had hauled the reporter out to pat him down, which seemed a bit keen.
‘I know. Freezing.’
Mumble mumble mumble.
‘I do like pizza.’ She laughed. ‘I’m not hungry, actually. But thanks.’
Mumble.
‘Really, I’m OK. But thanks for asking.’
There was a pause. Rob was shining his Maglite into the back of the silver car while the man stood beside him, gesticulating angrily.
The moped engine revved a couple of times, then trailed away into the distance. Katy laughed into her microphone. ‘Did you hear that? The delivery guy wanted to give me a free pizza. Said it had been ordered but there was no one in when he went to deliver it. It was his last run of the night and he was feeling generous.’
There was something about what she’d said that made me feel uneasy. Distracted, I followed the thread of thought back to my conversation with Rob earlier – what had he been saying about me to the other detectives? I keyed the radio. ‘Shame. We could have done with a snack.’
‘If he comes back, I’ll nab it.’
‘How are you doing?’
‘OK. I’m a bit cold and wet, not surprisingly.’ Her voice sharpened. ‘What happened with the guy in the silver car? I saw it driving by.’
‘Reporter. One of the other DCs is having a word.’ Katy made a sound that might have been a word, something I couldn’t quite catch, anyway. ‘Say again?’
The radio hissed quietly, one step above white noise as I waited for her to respond.
‘Katy, can you repeat your last?’
Dead air.
‘Katy, can you hear me?’
There was a rustling sound, and then a dreadful choking noise filled the car. I was reaching for the door handle before it died away, and without consciously deciding to move I had sprung out of the car and was racing through the rain without waiting for Sam to follow. It was a couple of hundred metres along the side of the recreation ground to the place where I’d last seen Katy and I covered the distance in seconds that felt like hours, without noticing anything except that my radio had fallen silent again, apart from the faintest clank of metal on metal. All of my attention was focused on where I expected to see her, and as I swung around the corner, I saw three things that shocked me to a standstill for an instant.
An umbrella, still open, wheeling in lazy circles on the wet pavement at the whim of the wind.
A small moped with L-plates, a red container mounted on the back and a notch missing from the top left corner of the number plate, parked at the end of the street.
The gate to the recreation ground standing open.
I stood for a second, taking it in, as realisation after realisation slotted into place in my mind.
First of all, the umbrella was Katy’s, and there was no reason on earth why she should have dropped it when the rain was still pattering on the bare branches above me, still ringing music from the metal lamp standards.
Secondly, I had seen the moped countless times on the CCTV I’d watched from the area, and thought nothing of it; if I’d noticed it at all, I must have discounted it immediately. What could be more commonplace than a delivery bike? They were part of the backdrop, all but invisible, out at all hours in all weathers. I had seen it, though, that particular bike with the distinctively damaged plate, and too many times. And what could be better for gaining a potential victim’s trust than the offer of a free pizza? It was all starting to make a horrible sort of sense.
The last thing I noticed, the most important, was the gate to the recreation ground – the gate that was now standing wide open – had been securely chained when I’d last seen it, and even if I didn’t want to do it, even if I was afraid, I had to go through it. At the thought, I gathered myself together and moved again; I had probably only stopped for a couple of seconds, but it was long enough. With one hand I took the CS canister out of my coat pocket, with the other I hit the emergency button on my radio. Pressing it overrode all other communications on that channel with a call for immediate assistance; it was the policeman’s 999 and I didn’t like to think why Katy hadn’t been able to get to hers, unless she hadn’t needed it, unless she was OK, unless I had completely overreacted.
But if I wasn’t overreacting, I couldn’t hang around waiting for backup. I looked through the gate, stretching my eyes wide to peer through the darkness, but all I could see was the cracked concrete path, slick with water, disappearing as it passed out of the streetlight’s reach. Laurel bushes with biliously speckled leaves clustered around the entrance, cutting off my view of the rest of the park. I checked that the nozzle for the gas was pointing away from me and stepped through the gate, wishing I hadn’t left my extendable baton in the car, along with my handcuffs. I was stuck with the sodding CS. Even if I managed to spray it in the right direction, I’d learned during training that not everyone is affected by it, and knowing my luck, the Burning Man would be immune. It was about as much use as – I shook myself. Concentrate. My mind was racing, filling the darkness with inconsequential images, throwing off thoughts like sparks. The bright light in the briefing room shining pinkly through the jug ears of the detective who’d sat in front of me. A trace of Dr Chen’s lipstick, sticky on her teeth. Sitting in the car, eating one of Sam’s vile cheese and onion crisps against my better judgement. I could still taste it. I bit down on my lower lip, hard, and kept moving, seconds passing, searching, searching.
One foot after the other. Fast as you can. Careful, though. Don’t slip. Don’t make too much noise. Left or right, pick a path. Which way? Stop. Listen …
Somewhere in the distance, I could hear heavy breathing as someone pounded along a path, making no effort to be silent.
‘Maeve! Maeve!’ It was a hoarse whisper, incredibly loud in the silent park, and immediately identifiable as Sam’s voice. I rolled my eyes to heaven and willed him to shut up. If I could only hear Katy … if I could only see her … if I could only be sure I was looking in the right place …
I had reached the middle of the park, where a small, bleak brick building housed public toilets. If I had thought about it, I might have realised that the building offered a bit of protection from the weather, and that if you were intent on battering someone to death and burning their body on a wet night, shelter might be one of your priorities. As I scurried past it I heard a sketch of a sound that might have been a whimper, shockingly close, and from quite a long way behind me, a shout. I whipped around, pivoting on one foot, and as I moved I sensed rather than saw something cutting t
hrough the air, aiming for my head. I wasn’t conscious of feeling any pain when the blow landed, just a dizzying sensation of utter weakness. I knew that I had to keep moving, I had to get away, but my legs wouldn’t carry me and someone was still shouting, shouting at me, shouting my name. I fumbled for the CS spray and felt it slide out of my hand, clattering to the path and now the pain was coming, as if from a long way off, and I was aware of more blows landing, and pain bloomed along the side of my head, and I fell to my knees, thinking that I should do something, thinking that my parents would be so disappointed in me, thinking that Ian had been right, thinking that Rob would be furious. I’d wanted to do better. I’d hoped to do better. The world was receding but my thoughts kept spinning irrationally as the ground came up to meet me and my cheek hit it and I opened my eyes to see a boot swinging towards my face and that was the thing, in the end, that just
made everything
stop.
LOUISE
Gil was attentive after Maeve left – almost too attentive. He followed me around from room to room, watching what I did. I felt claustrophobic, crowded in my own home where I was used to being on my own. It was a relief the following afternoon when he left. He had to sort out a few things, he said. I hadn’t asked what. I was too glad to have some time to myself to think, to breathe.
I had needed to be alone, but as I moved around the house I felt happiness bubbling up inside me. There was evidence of Gil everywhere, and I sang to myself as I tidied up. I ran a bath scented with roses and lay in it for a long, languorous soak, a glass of ruby-red Australian Shiraz at my elbow. It was quiet without him and I felt myself start to relax. Almost dozing, I floated in the warm water and allowed my thoughts to roam where they would, dwelling on Gil, and the things he’d said to me, and the things he’d done … Inevitably, I found myself thinking about Rebecca. She had brought Gil and me together, but he was right – alive, she would have kept us apart. Her death had freed us. And I had changed too, since her death. I had come into my own. I was more at ease with myself than I had ever been.
I lifted the glass of wine off the edge of the bath and held it up. ‘Here’s to you, darling Rebecca. Thank you for everything.’
It smelled like blackberries and tasted like heaven, and I sipped it slowly until the glass was empty and the bathwater tepid.
By the time Gil let himself into the house using the key I had given him, I had got dressed again and started to make dinner.
‘Something smells good.’ He came into the kitchen looking arrogant and as pleased with himself as if he’d won a prize. He walked straight over to where I was standing, chopping broccoli. I dropped the knife to twist my hands in his hair as he spun me around and kissed me greedily, as if we had been apart for months, not hours.
‘You’ve been drinking.’
‘I opened a bottle of wine.’ There was a glass waiting for him on the table.
‘How decadent.’ He slipped his knee between my legs, easing them apart, sliding my short denim skirt up my thighs. ‘What’s for dinner?’
‘Shepherd’s pie.’ He was kissing my shoulder, pulling my top down to touch my bare skin and I leaned back against the counter, feeling myself start to melt.
‘Turn the oven off.’ He pulled away abruptly. ‘I’ve been thinking for hours about the things I want to do to you and I don’t want to have to rush.’
‘Nobody wants that,’ I assured him, abandoning dinner for the time being. It could wait.
As I followed him out of the kitchen, I noticed a small black bag on the table, square and shiny with black silk braided handles.
‘What’s that?’
He frowned, not pleased at the diversion, then changed his mind and laughed. ‘That wasn’t fair of me. I shouldn’t have expected you to walk past a bag from a jeweller’s.’
‘A jeweller’s?’ I picked it up. ‘What is it?’
‘Have a look.’
‘Is it for me?’ I was holding the bag warily.
‘You and only you.’ He leaned against the doorframe and watched me shake a little leather box into my palm. I flipped up the lid carefully.
‘Oh, Gil. They’re beautiful.’ Two diamonds sparkled against the black satin, fat and round as peas, with a tear-shaped pearl dropping below each of them. ‘Can I try them on?’
‘Be my guest.’ He watched indulgently as I scampered into the hall to the nearest mirror. I pulled my hair back, turning my head from side to side to get the full effect. The pearls were a particularly warm shade, almost pink, and the diamonds glittered like fireworks as they picked up the light.
‘I can’t believe it. Why, though?’
‘I wanted you to have something for yourself.’ He moved so that I could see him reflected in the mirror behind me. ‘Not a hand-me-down. Do you like them?’
‘I love them.’
‘Well, then, they’re yours. On one condition.’
I felt my smile stiffen on my face. ‘What is it?’
‘Give me back Rebecca’s earrings. I don’t like to see you wearing them.’
I turned around so I could look at him more closely. ‘Why not?’
He looked irritated. ‘Does it matter?’
‘Yes, actually.’ I put my hands on my hips. ‘Come on, Gil. They’re just a nice way for me to remember Rebecca. Why can’t I keep them?’
‘Because Rebecca’s dead.’ He stared down at me, his face unreadable. ‘And you aren’t her.’
I started to walk away and he grabbed my arm, pulling me back to him.
‘You aren’t her, Lou, and I don’t want you to be. I want you to be you. I know you want to remember Rebecca – she was your friend. But please, let her go. She’s dead.’ He shook me a little, not hard. ‘She’s gone. Let her be.’
‘I know she’s gone. I don’t keep talking about her. If it comes to that, you’re the one who just brought her up,’ I pointed out, not unreasonably.
He exploded, shouting, ‘For fuck’s sake, just do as I ask for once. It’s not difficult.’
‘Gil!’ I stared at him, shocked, and it seemed to annoy him more. He was still holding my arm and now he yanked me off balance, dragged me along the hall and threw me at the stairs where I sprawled inelegantly.
‘Go on. Go and get them.’
I lay there for a second without moving, tasting blood on my lip and feeling the heat of a carpet burn above my right eye. Then I rolled on to one elbow and looked at him.
‘No.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I said no. No, I won’t go and get them.’ It wasn’t about the earrings – I knew that. It was about control. And I couldn’t or wouldn’t give in.
He stood at the bottom of the stairs, breathing hard, his hands clenching and unclenching slowly at his sides, though I doubted he was aware he was doing it. His hair was dishevelled, his eyes glazed, and I felt he wasn’t really seeing me. When he moved I was expecting him to hit me, but he slipped his hands up under my skirt instead, holding my hips and pulling me down towards him. I started to twist away but he was too strong. He had worked my underwear down and now he used one hand to hold on to my wrists so I couldn’t push him away or claw at his eyes. I couldn’t break free, no matter how I struggled. Under his breath he was saying, ‘Why do you have to fight all the time? Just stop fighting me.’
I did stop fighting. I had to. He would have hurt me, I thought, feeling sick as he pushed himself on top of me. And this was Gil. Gil who had shared my bed. I had willingly screwed him in a variety of places and ways. This was no different.
But it was different. It was a demonstration of force, a show of strength. I stared up at the hall light, trying not to think about what he was doing as he drove into me, panting in my ear, his sweat cold against the side of my face as he finished with a grunt and collapsed on top of me. He had hurt me, forced himself into me, and now it stung as he slipped out again, leaving a wet smear on my thigh. The stairs dug into my back, my hip, and my arm was trapped underneath him; I was glad
when he moved. He rolled off and sat beside me, his breathing still ragged.
‘God, Lou. That was incredible.’
I could tell he was looking at me, trying to gauge my reaction, trying to see if he’d upset me.
I didn’t make a scene. I didn’t say anything at all. I smiled instead, feeling my lip twinge as the cut pulled apart. Because the only way to win – the only way to defeat him – was to show him that I didn’t care.
Rob
In theory, it was all very exciting to be involved in an undercover operation aimed at trapping a highly dangerous, prolific serial killer. In reality, I could think of a few things I’d have preferred to be doing than standing in the rain in the middle of the night, catching pneumonia. Things like cleaning out a blocked drain bare-handed. Watching snooker on a black-and-white TV. Being doorstepped by a Jehovah’s Witness early on a Saturday morning while suffering from the mother and father of all hangovers. The surveillance op was a pain in the arse to begin with; having the Sunday Courier turn up didn’t help. And the weather was the last straw. I was soaking wet already from wandering around South London in the dark, which didn’t improve my mood as I came up behind the silver Ford. The only thing to be said for the rain was that it made me almost invisible – and the reporter was looking in the wrong direction anyway. I knocked on the passenger window twice, hard, and had the pleasure of watching him jump out of his skin. I held up my warrant card where he could see it and pointed to the ground until he got the message and the window slid down.
‘Good evening, sir. Can I help you with anything?’
My tone must have confused him. I could see the wheels turning inside his skull as he tried to think of a reason for being there. ‘No – er – I was just looking for an address. Trying to get my sat nav to work, you know. It keeps sending me back here.’
‘Where are you trying to get to?’
