The Creeper

by Tania Carver

  ‘Had a whisky. Went to bed. What I normally do.’

  ‘And that was it for the night?’

  He nodded. Anni didn’t reply.

  ‘Am I supposed to have done something? Does this involve Suzanne?’

  The dark fire returned to his eyes when he mentioned her name. Dark. Nasty, Anni would have said.

  ‘It does,’ she said. ‘Suzanne Perry was attacked last night.’

  He recoiled, as if the news had hit him in a physical way.

  ‘Attacked… where?’

  ‘In her flat.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Someone came in while she was sleeping, into her bedroom. ’

  ‘My God…’ He looked again at the pen, thought of picking it up once more, then decided against it. ‘Did he… what happened?’ And then, before she could answer, almost as if he didn’t want to hear the answer to his question, he said, ‘Was she hurt?’

  ‘We don’t think so.’

  Anthony Howe shook his head. ‘Oh dear…’ Then a realisation seemed to dawn on his face. He looked directly at Anni. ‘You think I did it?’

  She said nothing.

  His anger rose. ‘You think I did it? I… somehow… made my way into her flat and, and… you think that was me, that I could do that?’

  Anni kept her voice professionally calm and even. ‘We don’t know, Mr Howe. There was no sign of forced entry. Whoever it was must have been known to Suzanne. Probably had a key.’

  Howe sat there, staring at the wall, saying nothing.

  ‘And since you and Suzanne have, shall we say, a history, I thought I should pay you a visit.’

  Still nothing.

  ‘What did happen between you and Suzanne, Mr Howe?’

  ‘Professor.’

  ‘Professor.’ So much for informality, she thought. ‘What happened?’

  He sighed. ‘She destroyed my marriage.’ His voice was small, fragile. ‘I… We had an affair. That was that.’ He looked at Anni. No trace of any anger in his eyes now. No trace of anything but sadness. ‘That was that.’

  ‘And the stalking? The phone calls?’

  ‘It ended badly. Animosity. Accusations.’

  ‘But was there any-’

  ‘It ended badly. That’s all I’m saying.’

  Anni didn’t press him. ‘So,’ she said instead, ‘last night-’

  ‘I was at home. All night.’

  ‘No one to vouch for that?’

  Bitterness entered his voice. ‘I didn’t know I would need anyone to.’

  ‘Do you still have a key to Suzanne’s flat?’

  ‘I never had one in the first place.’

  ‘But you’re still in touch with her.’

  ‘No.’ Said very quickly.

  ‘But you’re-’

  ‘I said no. She destroyed my marriage. Offered me her body if I gave her a first. Then, when it all went wrong, went to the police, to you lot, told them lie after lie about me. I’m lucky to still have a job here.’ He leaned towards her once more, anger informing his features. ‘So after all that, would I really stay in touch with her? Really?’

  The mobile on his desk rang, stopping Anni from giving an answer.

  ‘Excuse me.’ He leaned forward, picked it up ready to answer. Checked the read-out. Stopped.

  It kept ringing.

  Anni put her pen down. ‘Don’t mind me.’

  He kept staring at it, his eyes widening. His fingers began to shake.

  Anni looked at the phone, back to Howe. ‘I said, don’t mind me.’

  He kept staring, then, as if breaking from a trance, glanced at Anni, back to his phone. He hit the red button, silencing it.

  ‘They can leave a message if it’s important.’ He pocketed the phone, turned back to her. ‘And that’s all I have to say. So if you’ll excuse me, Detective, I have work to do.’ He picked up a sheet of paper from his desk, pretended to look at it. His hands were still shaking.

  Anni stood up, saw herself out.

  She passed the student, waiting patiently outside the door, made her way down the corridor.

  She had seen the read-out on the screen. The name.

  Suzanne.

  The blood was pounding in her ears, her wrists.

  Anni left the building.

  21

  ‘Don’t you ever do that again.’

  Phil had parked the car at the station with the two reporters still in the back, gestured for Rose to join him at the other side of the car park.

  She looked up at him, eyes still dancing with a defiant adrenalin rush. ‘Why? They were out of order. It’s a damned good job I stepped in.’

  ‘Is it? Really?’

  ‘I was within my rights on everything. You’ll back me on it.’

  ‘You were angry. At me, at the case, at not finding Julie Miller. You allowed that anger to cloud your professional judgement.’

  ‘You backed me up.’ Her voice was petulant but still defiant.

  Phil leaned into her, face to face. ‘I had no choice, did I? But don’t you ever do that again. No mavericking, I told you. You pull something like that again and you’re off this case.’

  ‘You need me. I was in charge of the original investigation.’

  ‘I don’t need an officer who behaves like that.’

  ‘Make a complaint against me, then.’ There was an ugly smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.

  Phil knew what that smile meant. Fenwick, his boss, was her protector. Let’s see who he believes, she was thinking.

  Phil stepped back. ‘You can take them in, you can get them processed, you can handle the paperwork. Good luck.’ He turned to walk away, stopped, turned back to her. ‘This is your last chance with me. I mean it. And I don’t care who you think’s protecting your back.’

  He watched the shock register on her face as she realised who he was talking about.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘I know.’

  And this time walked away.

  Suzanne heard his phone switch to voicemail. She started speaking but stopped herself. She didn’t know what to say. How to say it. Instead she ended the call.

  She put the phone down on the table, sighed.

  She would try again later.

  The building was low-level with a brown sloping roof and nicotine-yellow brick walls. An anonymous piece of eighties architecture, this beige palace could have been anything from a prison to a hospital to a provincial budget motel. But it was none of those things. It was the main police station for the town.

  Phil stood back and let Rose march their charges through the main door and up to the desk. She could deal with the Duty Sergeant and the processing. Good luck to her.

  Phil crossed to the door at the side of the reception desk, punched in the code on the keypad. The lock clicked.

  ‘Excuse me…’

  Phil opened the door, didn’t realise the voice was addressing him.

  ‘Excuse me…’

  Phil turned. A woman had stood up from the sofa, was standing directly in front of him. She looked tired, her eyes red-rimmed, her face creased into worry-heavy frown lines. No make-up and her clothes weren’t good quality and they hadn’t been selected with care. She looked like she had slept in them. Her hair was uncombed and he couldn’t place her age. Possibly mid-forties but it could have been ten years either side of that.

  Rose took the two journalists through the door without looking back. The pneumatic hinges pulled the door shut, leaving him behind. He had to talk to the woman now.

  ‘Yes?’

  She looked him up and down. ‘You’re a police detective, aren’t you?’

  The uniform on the desk had seen what was happening. ‘Just a minute, please,’ he said.

  Phil held up a hand. ‘It’s OK, Darren.’ He turned back to the woman. ‘Detective Inspector Brennan. Major Incident Squad. What can I do for you?’

  Her eyes held his, unblinking. Like sci-fi tractor beams. ‘There’s been a body found, hasn’t there?’
<
br />   Phil said nothing.

  Her hand gripped his sleeve like a vulture on carrion. ‘Hasn’t there? A young woman. In her twenties. Hasn’t there?’

  ‘There…’ No point in lying, he thought. ‘Yes. We’ve found a body answering that description, yes.’

  The woman’s hand slipped from his arm. She gave a rough gasp, like she’d taken in more than she could swallow. She recovered quickly, her eyes locking on his once more. ‘Is it… is it my daughter?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said and she gasped again. ‘Have you informed us that your daughter is missing?’

  She gave a bitter laugh. ‘Over a week ago.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Adele. Adele Harrison. I’m her mother, Paula.’

  ‘Paula Harrison.’

  ‘OK. What does she look like?’

  ‘’Bout my height, bit big, dark hair-’

  ‘Dark?’

  She nodded once more, eyes still on his, waiting for the next words out of his mouth.

  ‘We think we have an identification for the body we’ve found, Ms Hamilton. I can’t say too much about an ongoing investigation, I’m afraid. But if there are any changes we’ll be in touch.’

  The air seemed to sag out of her, her legs buckled. Phil knew the signs. Not dead but not safe. The tyranny of hope, Marina had called it.

  Marina. He hadn’t thought about her or the baby for hours. But he couldn’t feel guilty now, while he was working. He would leave that luxury for later.

  ‘So where’s my Adele, then?’

  ‘I… don’t know. It’s not my case, I’m afraid.’

  ‘That other girl, the one who’s on the news all the time, I bet you’re working on her case, aren’t you?’

  Phil couldn’t answer.

  ‘I bet she’s gettin’ all the attention. An’ my Adele gets nothin’. No one’ll take any responsibility. My daughter just disappears, vanishes, and there’s nothin’ any of you can do-’

  Her voice was tightroping on hysteria. When she spoke Phil saw the bite marks on her lips, anxiety kisses. She was attracting an audience in the reception area. Phil put his hands on her shoulders, looked into her eyes. ‘Please don’t shout. I don’t know anything about your daughter’s case. But if you give me the details I’ll get someone to look into it.’

  ‘Get someone. Yeah, right.’

  Phil sighed. ‘Who’s your FLO?”

  ‘What?’

  ‘Family Liaison Officer. You must have been assigned one.’

  ‘Some kid. Cheryl Bland. Some kid.’

  Busy woman, thought Phil. ‘Couldn’t you speak to her?’

  ‘Worse than useless. Looks about twelve.’

  ‘Right. Who’s the CIO, the Chief Investigating Officer?’

  ‘Farrell. Detective Sergeant. But I never get to talk to him. They fob me off with this Cheryl Bland.’

  ‘OK. I’ll see what I can do. Have a word with DS Farrell, if he’s here. See if there’s any news.’

  She gave a bitter laugh. Twisted the corners of her mouth into a cruel parody of a smile. ‘No you won’t. You’ll get behind that door and you’ll forget all about me. About Adele. You might speak to him and say I’m here. Then you’ll laugh about the stupid woman sittin’ there. And walk away and forget me.’

  ‘No I won’t.’

  ‘Yes you will. You’ll just forget. But I’ll still be here. I’ll still be waitin’.’

  ‘Look, Paula.’ He held her gaze again, returning her stare. ‘I appreciate you must be going through a considerable amount of pain. But I’m sure DS Farrell will be doing everything he can. And I will talk to him.’

  Her gaze wavered slightly, his words connecting with her.

  ‘If he’s in the building I’ll talk to him and ask him to come down to talk to you. Give you an update.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘OK?’

  She nodded. Bowed her head quickly as her eyes became glassy and moist. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No problem.’

  Phil looked at the woman standing before him. Her anger now dissipated by his words, she seemed to have shrunk. He put his hands on her forearms, gave her a reassuring squeeze.

  ‘I’ll go find him now.’

  She nodded, not raising her head.

  Phil punched the numbers in, let the hydraulic door swallow him up.

  22

  The Creeper was irritated. And when he got irritated he became unhappy. And when he became unhappy he became angry.

  And that wasn’t good. For any one.

  Rani was back home. Which was good. He was looking forward to spending some quality time with her. Just the pair of them. The way it should be. But that wouldn’t be happening. Because she’d brought her friend with her. Without asking.

  This was their place. Didn’t she understand that? If she wanted to bring people back she should ask him first.

  Or accept the consequences.

  But no, there she sat, in the living room, the blonde one who thought she was really pretty, drinking, not going anywhere in a hurry. In fact, she had brought a bag with her. Looked like she was going to stay.

  The Creeper’s irritation tripped over into anger. That wasn’t right. Not right at all.

  He had only just found her again. After all this time. There was so much they had to say to each other, so much catching up to do. So much time to spend together, just the pair of them.

  That coiled snake began to writhe and twist inside him once more. Zoe shouldn’t be there. It should be Rani and him. Only him. They didn’t need her. They didn’t need anyone.

  He watched, shaking, as Zoe went into the kitchen, began to prepare food for her and Rani.

  The snake slithered, spat. That’s where he had left his present. And now this whore was going to find it. Not Rani.

  Poison spread through him. His hands flexed and unflexed. Saliva foamed and frothed round his mouth, as he breathed through clenched teeth.

  Not for her… not for her…

  But there was nothing he could do, just watch.

  Zoe went into Suzanne’s kitchen, filled the kettle. Tea. That was what was needed now. Not coffee, tea. It was warming, soothing. It destressed you, brought back happy associations from when you were younger, made you feel like you were curled in a chair, safe and warm. And if you had chocolate HobNobs to go with it, so much the better.

  Zoe took the biscuits from the canvas carrier she had brought with her. When she had gone home to grab some clothes, she had popped into Sainsbury’s on the way, put a few essentials together, the makings of a meal for the pair of them, something for them to share in the hope it would take Suzanne’s mind off what had happened.

  She arrayed the food on the counter. Looked at the biscuits and felt immediately hungry. She wanted to open the packet, start in on them right now. But she wouldn’t. She would take them in to Suzanne, open them in front of her and allow herself only one. Or perhaps even a half. And make sure Suzanne took them and put them away. Somewhere Zoe couldn’t find them.

  Her stomach felt like a ravenous, cavernous space. But then it always did.

  She loved food. Loved the sheer sensuality of eating, the feel of it in her mouth, the smells, the tastes, the textures. The way it slipped down her throat and into her stomach. The act of putting something inside her body, satisfying herself, her hungers and cravings, feeling it gradually fill her out. Wonderful. Nothing to touch it in the world. For Zoe, food was her sex.

  But like so many of Zoe’s early sexual encounters, she ended up feeling bad about it afterwards. Guilt-ridden, hating herself and what her hungers had led her to do.

  And that’s when her problems had started.

  She’d never been anorexic, never been one to starve herself. That was something, she supposed. But sticking her fingers down her throat to bring it all back up again… to let her body feel cleansed, guilt-free and empty… that made perfect sense to her.

  University for her had been about secrets and l
ies and double lives. The happy, extrovert – even exhibitionist at times – Zoe who was never short on friends or boyfriends. And the self-loathing, toilet bowl-hugging wreck that she really saw herself as.

  Thank God she wasn’t like that any more. Thank God for her friends – or rather Suzanne. She had been there for her, helped her out, shown strength when Zoe didn’t have any of her own. She had picked her up, made her feel worthwhile, turned her life around. Been there for her when she needed her.

  And thank God for therapy. It had been Suzanne’s idea and she couldn’t thank her enough for it. She hadn’t wanted to go at first but had to admit it was the best thing she had ever done. It gave her a new life, new confidence.

  And a new boyfriend. Not as good-looking as the others but he loved her. She had felt he was different and she was right. She thought she could trust him with the truth so she told him all about her trouble. It was the best thing she had ever done. He said he didn’t care, would love her whatever size she was. And that filled her with something else, so rich and full and nourishing that her hungry heart no longer needed to binge any more.

  But those HobNobs still looked good, though.

  The kettle boiled and Zoe went about making tea in two of Suzanne’s fanciest mugs. A little thing, but hopefully it might help to cheer her up.

  She opened the fridge door, looking for milk.

  And stopped dead, her heart skipping a beat.

  ‘Suzanne…’ Her voice was small, wavering. Her heart skipped, a shiver of real dread passed through her. ‘I think… can you come here…’

  Bitch.

  Fucking Bitch. Why did she have to find it first? It wasn’t for her. It was for Rani. It was all for Rani. The blonde bitch was unworthy of it. Like she was unworthy of everything to do with Rani.

  The snake was writhing and hissing inside him, coiling and uncoiling, baring its fangs, spitting poison. The voice had returned. Whores… the whole fucking lot of them… whores… that’s all they’re good for… don’t trust them… any of them…

  He hated the blonde bitch. Wanted her gone. She’d come between them, she had no future.

  Rani entered the kitchen. The snake calmed itself.