Deadly Obsession

by Michael Kerr

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  THEY wanted her to stop working, but she wouldn’t. Couldn’t. After years of doing walk-ons, and then being given a couple of lines here and there in TV sitcoms and dramas, she had been spotted by a producer and given a strong supporting role in the hit play, Terminal Affair. She was getting good reviews, and there was a chance of a part in a movie. You had to strike while the iron was hot. Most actors and actresses spent their lives waiting for the phone to ring. They suffered for their art, relied on benefits, and were plagued with frustration and low self esteem. Many of them even went through periods of feeling slightly or very suicidal. She had no intention of throwing away her possibility of achieving stardom. She could act, had the looks, and was not going to lose everything because of some pervert who had fixated on her. The police were protecting her, and she believed that she would be safe.

  Dawn was made of stern stuff. Fuelled by ambition she had made the transition from soft-core porn to legitimate acting. Sleeping with the right people had helped. Her agent, Francis Barlow, had recognised her talent, in and out of bed, and kept her sweet with commercials and bit parts. To a great extent it was true that it was who and not what you knew that counted in life. At sixteen she had been plain Josephine Daniels, living in a council house on a rundown estate in Bristol, with a cow of a mother and a stepfather whose mission in life seemed to be to get inside her knickers. The night he’d come into her bedroom bollock-naked, pissed, and with a large, stiff problem that he solved by raping her, was in a way her salvation. She had packed and left the next morning, never to return. Becoming Dawn Turner was her way of erasing a past that she despised and wanted to forget. She wondered if her mother had ever seen her on the box. If she had, then she would probably not have even recognised her. Within a year of arriving in London, her mousy hair was a luxurious dark mahogany, and she’d had a nose job. With a new name and face, she had reinvented herself.

  Back at the apartment, her minders from Witness Protection ‒ who’d chaperoned her to the theatre ‒ handed her over to the two regular officers, who now felt like flat mates. Nick and Jay told her of the break-in, and said that she would be required to take a look at the supposed burglar the next day, on the off chance that she might know him.

  She liked Nick a lot, and was sure that if he had been guarding her alone, then they would have been sharing her bed by now. He was good company, easy to be around, and made her laugh. Jay was the opposite; a little taciturn, happy to drink coffee and do crosswords to pass the time. The other officers that took up the baton during the day were okay, but generally acted as though she was a potted plant. Just talked to each other and watched sport on SKY.

  What a way to spend Christmas Eve. Almost midnight. Jay was reading a Baldacci paperback, and Nick was watching some noisy Bond movie.

  Dawn went into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of cabernet and looked up to see Nick enter.

  “Want one?” she said, raising her glass.

  Nick looked from the wine to the coffeemaker, and then at Dawn. “Better not,” he said. “I’m not a one drink kind of guy. If I had one, I’d want another.”

  “It’s Christmas, Nick. Why not lighten up and live dangerously?”

  He grinned. “I think that I do live dangerously.”

  She watched as he poured himself a mug of coffee. There was only eighteen inches of space between them. She took a sip of the rich, red wine and studied him. He was about her age, had short, thick black hair and even features. His eyes were smoke-grey, and he was slim but muscular under his T-shirt and blue jeans. She wondered if he had a girlfriend. It had not come up in conversation. In fact nothing personal had. Most of the men guarding her life could have been machines, programmed in a factory and sent out as robots to do a job. Nick was the only one who had asked her about acting, and appeared to take an interest in her as a person.

  “Shouldn’t you be with your wife or girlfriend on Christmas Eve, Nick?” she said as he picked up the mug of black coffee.

  “I’m footloose and fancy free,” he said. “The job and long hours don’t promote long-term relationships. Most women want more than a partner who might go off to work and sometimes not arrive home again for a day or two.”

  Dawn reached out, ran her fingers down his cheek. Let her index finger brush his bottom lip, and then gave him a meaningful look.

  Nick felt weak inside. His stomach flipped. He’d been fantasising about Dawn for days. Being in her home and babysitting her had set all his hormones dancing. She had been cordial but cool towards him at first, and had then loosened up to show him a warmer side of her personality. He’d imagined her undressing in her bedroom, taking a shower, sleeping alone. He wanted her, but reminded himself constantly that she was just a potential target whom he was charged with protecting. But she was coming onto him, for Christ’s sake. She was wearing a clingy blouse, and her nipples pushed against the sheer material. Shit! He was getting hard for her. Had Jay been asleep, or better still not in the apartment, then he knew that they would be all over each other like a heat rash.

  Dawn put her hand around his back, to run her fingers lightly up and down his spine as she tilted her face up and kissed him lightly on the lips. He gasped, his muscles stiffened ‒ all of them ‒ and he kissed her back.

  It was like a powerful undertow, impossible to fight against. She felt his hardness on her stomach. He was fully aroused, and yet a barrier of material was between them, denying the contact she now craved. Dawn’s skirt rustled against her thighs as she pressed herself forward, gyrating her pelvis, leaving him in no doubt as to what she was offering.

  Nick pulled away, went to the door and looked over to where Jay was sitting in an oversize easy chair. The book he’d been reading lay open between his slack hands, and his head was to the side, resting against the soft, padded fabric. He was asleep.

  Pushing the door to, but not closing it, Nick returned to where Dawn was standing. She had put the glass of wine down on the counter, and was just waiting. He went to her. This was one of those moments when he decided to go with his instinct. If he passed the chance up, then he knew that he would be forever plagued by the memory of a missed conquest.

  She saw the lust and intention in his eyes as she unbuttoned the cream-coloured blouse and held it open for him to see her firm breasts.

  He cupped the pert, warm mounds in his hands, then lowered his face and took a swollen nipple between his lips, to feather with his tongue.

  Dawn unfastened his belt, undid the metal button at the waistband of his jeans and slowly unzipped them. Pulled them and his briefs down to his thighs, and felt his throbbing column bob out and up. She took a step back, disengaging his lips from their ministrations, and removed her panties and raised her skirt to let him see the damp fountainhead of his desire.

  Her heart was pounding so fiercely that she gasped like a fish out of water. His fingers found her wetness and entered her. She bit down, so as not to moan aloud and risk waking Jay. They couldn’t wait. She put one foot up on the seat of a chair and guided him into her. Their bodies found a natural rhythm and moved smoothly against each other.

  Nick somehow held back, listening to the tiny grunting sounds that Dawn made with each thrust. Only when her internal muscles seemed to spasm around him, and her whole body tensed, did he let go, to groan as they held on to each other for support.

  They embraced for a long time; could each feel the other’s legs shaking. Dawn kissed him, probed his mouth with her tongue, and then drew slowly back and felt him slip from her. She smiled, reached for the roll of kitchen towel, tore off a couple of sheets and mopped the inside of her thighs. God almighty, she had never been so wet.

  Nick pulled his pants and jeans up and watched Dawn dry herself and toss the damp, crumpled paper into the waste bin. As she buttoned her blouse, he took his coffee and went through to the lounge. Jay was awake. Had he heard anything?

  The lopsided grin said yes.

  Nick said nothing. K
new that to broach it would only make matters worse.

  Jay’s phone trilled.

  “Yeah...When?...Okay.”

  He pocketed the mobile and stood up.

  “Who was it?” Nick said.

  “One of Jack Ryder’s mob. He’s just parking up outside. Says he has a couple of Polaroids of Ricky Lane that he wants Dawn to take a look at.”

  As if on cue, the buzzer went. Jay verified who it was over the intercom and thumbed the button that unlocked the main door to the building.

  Thirty seconds later there was a light tap at the apartment door. Jay looked through the peephole and, recognising the detective, unlatched the security chain and took off the dead bolt.

  “Got nothing better to do on Christmas Eve?” Jay said.

  The detective looked at his wristwatch. “It’s Christmas Day now.”

  Dawn came out of the kitchen looking flushed and bright-eyed. She was holding a glass of wine.

  “Hello, Ms,” he said. “DI Ryder asked me to drop by and see if you would look at these photographs. You might just know this bloke.”

  He placed the Polaroids on the top of a dining table in the corner of the room and stepped back as Dawn, Jay and Nick gathered in a huddle to look at them.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  THE semiautomatic he drew was fitted with a silencer. He’d already used it once, in the rear car park, to take out the copper in the Transit van.

  The noise could have been a champagne cork leaving a bottle under pressure: just a loud pop.

  Jay flew forward across the table with a look of total surprise on his face as his nose connected with the polished wood and broke. There was no pain. Just a numbness spreading throughout his body. He was vaguely aware of the blood pooling in front of his eyes, but only for a second.

  Nick and Dawn watched in frozen disbelief as Jay went limp and slipped back off the table like an octopus’s boneless body slithering into the sea from the deck of a fishing boat.

  They turned to face the grinning detective. Could smell cordite. Both were in shock, trying to figure it out.

  Nick wanted to reach for his holstered gun, but knew it would only result in him being shot before his hand reached the butt.

  “Don’t look so surprised, Nick. You fucked-up, simple as that. But don’t blame yourself. Who would have thought it might be a copper, and one of good old Jack Ryder’s squad at that?”

  Nick needed to stall him. “But―”

  The bullet hit him in the Adam’s apple, cutting off all further ability to try and communicate. Nick felt a hot sensation as he was driven backwards. He clutched his throat and suddenly realised that he was now on his back and looking up at the ceiling. Everything closed in. It was as if he was peering down a long, black tunnel. In the distance was a small circle of light. He was unable to breathe, and knew that he was dying. It was strange. There was little time for reflection or even fear. The overwhelming emotion he felt was of sadness. Death was inevitable but seemed so fucking pointless. It made everything he’d ever done a complete waste of time. He didn’t understand what his life had been all about. But now it was over with. He felt himself falling, rushing down at breakneck speed into a whirling vortex.

  Dawn could not move. She watched Nick’s heels drumming on the carpet, and the blood squirting out from between his fingers. For a second or two he sounded as if he was gargling, before the bloody mouthwash rose up and overflowed lips that became still.

  “I think Christmas presents should be a surprise, don’t you, Dawn?” the killer said.

  Dawn looked at the man. His muddy eyes were wide, staring and maniacal. And the fixed smile on his face terrified her. It held the promise of unimaginable agony and suffering. He seemed hardly human; a devil in disguise. It was him, the stalker. She knew it.

  “Now take your clothes off, sweetheart. And remember, if you scream it will be the last thing that you ever do.”

  Dawn was convinced that he was going to kill her after first...don’t think about it. Just think about survival. Remember, you’re an actress, and a good one. Come up with the performance of a lifetime.

  “I thought you loved me, Jerry?” she said.

  He lowered the gun, held it down against his leg, but kept his finger on the trigger.

  “I do love you, Dawn. But you fucked with my head, rejected me for two years, and then broke the rules and contacted the police.”

  “You were...were killing women, Jerry. And you threatened me. I was frightened and didn’t know what to do. If you really love me, then don’t hurt me.”

  “I said get undressed. DO IT!”

  She unbuttoned her blouse for the second time in less than half an hour. Slipped it off, and then unfastened her skirt and let it fall to her feet. She hadn’t put her panties back on.

  He frowned. She had tricked him. The triangle of curly pubic hair was a very light brown, not the rich, dark hue of her shoulder-length tresses.

  “Why no bra or panties, you bitch? Were you screwing these two nonentities?”

  “No, Jerry. I just don’t wear undies when I’m at home.”

  “You’re like all women; a Delilah. A betrayer who uses your seductive charms to conspire against men. I don’t know what I saw in you, Dawn. You’re a fake, with dyed hair and a...a...”

  She had to somehow take the initiative away from him. She walked slowly to within inches of him, and gave him her most sincere look.

  “Is the colour of my hair all you saw in me, Jerry? I’m much more than what you see. How could you expect me to respond to letters and phone calls from a total stranger? You menaced me. You didn’t try to court me.”

  She had been his obsession for a long time. He didn’t understand it, but he still loved her. She was a beautiful, sensuous woman. How could he kill her and not be tortured by the loss of the only thing that gave his life meaning? And yet she now knew what he looked like; knew that he was a cop. She would be his downfall if he didn’t end it here and now. He was covered in sweat, and could hear his own laboured breathing. He reached out his left hand and began to fondle her breasts in turn.

  Dawn wanted to scream, to rip at his face with her fingernails, but instead she parted her lips and closed her eyes, feigning pleasure from his touch.

  “Do you want me?” he said, his voice thick with passion.

  She nodded, opened her eyes and faced him. Pressed herself up against him and let her cheek rest on his shoulder. She felt besmirched.

  He believed her, because he knew he was irresistible. How could any woman not be besotted by him? Now that she had come face-to-face with him, she was naturally overwhelmed by his charismatic personality. They all loved him, wanted him, craved his attention and needed to be with him body and soul. There was some magnetic force that he could feel within. Same way that a bitch in heat drew every dog in the neighbourhood. Or in the manner of the Bisto Kids being led along a vapour gravy trail to its source. He just had that effect on women.

  Gently gripping her by the chin, he raised her face to study the adoration in Dawn’s umber eyes. Yes, she was no exception. To see him was to love him. She was not immune. Maybe he could work it out so that they could be together. He allowed himself to glimpse one possible future of many that he imagined might come to pass. In it, they were living in a chocolate-box-lid cottage with a white picket fence and a crazy paving path leading up to a rose-framed front door. Dawn might even be cradling their baby son. Anything was possible. Dreams could come true if you didn’t let practicalities and obstacles cripple the will to turn them into reality. And yet another future might be with Dawn dead. He would then be free to concentrate on Ryder and his shrink whore. The only real problem was Ricky Lane. But even if he could be regressed and give a description of the face behind the disguise, was that significant? Any likeness to him would be at best vague and purely coincidental. It was no big deal. He was beyond suspicion: was an extremely efficient detective, whom Ryder viewed as a valuable member of the team. That was a side of his c
omplex personality that he was proud of. It had no bearing on the fact that on his own time he had a hobby that would seem totally incongruous to his colleagues.

  He pushed the gun into a deep pocket of the parka he was wearing. Dawn was on trust. If she tried anything, he would kill her.

  “Let’s go to bed,” he said, knowing that she was aching for him. He couldn’t afford to stay long, but liked living on the edge.

  Dawn walked through to the bedroom. She felt like a prisoner on death row in an American penitentiary, making that final faltering journey to the room where they would strap her to a table and administer a lethal cocktail of drugs. She could not allow herself to believe for a single instant that this monster would let her live. She had seen him now, knew that he was a police officer, and had watched him shoot dead two of his own in cold blood. He would make love...no, not love, he would use her, then, when sated, mutilate and murder her. At some point she would have to make a bid for freedom: know the moment when it came and act without any hesitation.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, she reached behind him and massaged his buttocks with her hands. He groaned, and she somehow found the will to undo his trousers and take him into her mouth. Still kneading, stroking, pulling his firm bottom towards her, she almost gagged, but managed to find a place in her mind where she could retreat to and think of her actions as a script. She was just acting a part.

  He stepped away, undressed, and handed her a foil packet.

  Why would he want to use a condom? Because he had no intention of filling her with DNA-rich semen. She saw a vivid picture of him carrying her limp, dead body into the bathroom, dumping it in the tub, and using the shower attachment to hose it down with piping hot water to remove any trace of his sweat, hair and fingerprints.