The Strangler's Daughter

by Amy Cross

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Today

  “There's something about pizza,” Dad says, as he lifts another slice from the box, “that just works for me every damn time. I could eat this all day, every day, and never get sick of it.”

  “I'm the same,” I reply, before taking a bite from my slice. “It's really good,” I add, with my mouth full. “Sorry.”

  “Maybe I need to remind you about table manners,” he says with a smile, “and -”

  And then, in an instant, he freezes as he looks past me.

  I turn, just as blue flashing lights start to fill the window. There's a police car out there, and then I hear another car pulling to a stop.

  Dad gets to his feet, and I turn to see him backing away from the table.

  “What?” I ask, as I feel my heart start pounding ten times harder than normal. “Dad, what's wrong?”

  A moment later, there's a loud knock at the front door.

  “Dad?” I continue, trying not to panic. “What's happening?”

  “The drawer upstairs,” he replies, turning to me. He looks so pale. “Lisa, I need you to get the medication from the drawer and leave it at the bus stop near the pub. Do you understand?”

  “But -”

  “There's no time!” he yells, turning and running through to the kitchen, just as I hear someone knocking on the door again.

  I sit completely still, not really understanding what's happening, but then I'm disturbed by a knock at the window. I turn and see a figure gesturing at me, and then the letterbox creaks open.

  “David Ashford,” a voice calls out, “this is the police. I need you to open the door immediately.”

  ***

  “Hello, Lisa,” Detective Chief Inspector Bamford says as he steps into the hallway, with three police officers right behind him, “we're here to talk to your father. Where is he?”

  “I...”

  I'm not sure how to answer.

  “Your father, Lisa,” he says firmly. “It's important. Is he home?”

  I swallow hard.

  “Check everywhere,” he tells the officers, and they start going through to the other room as he turns back to me. “Lisa, you can make this a lot easier on yourself if you tell me what you know. This is a very serious situation and it's an offense to lie to the police. Do you understand that?”

  “Why do you want to talk to Dad?” I ask.

  “We'll get to that in due course,” he replies, “but right now I need you to be completely honest with me. Is your father here tonight?”

  I hesitate, before nodding.

  “Where?”

  “The back,” I stammer, turning and looking toward the kitchen just as an officer comes back through. “He -”

  “Looks like someone went out the back door,” the officer says, interrupting me. “Hopped the wall at the rear of the garden, too.”

  “I thought Derry went round there to cut off any escape routes,” Bamford replies.

  “He must have slipped through.”

  “Where would your father have gone?” Bamford asks me.

  “I don't know.”

  “Where's his car parked?”

  “Outside the house.”

  “And he doesn't have another?”

  I shake my head.

  “Then he's on foot,” Bamford replies, turning to the other officers. “Get back-up in, I want this guy found immediately. Remember, he's desperate but he knows the area well.” He turns to me again. “If you know anything about where your father might be going right now, you need to tell us right now. You're not helping him by hiding anything, Lisa. We need to talk to your father about some very serious incidents.”

  “I don't know where he is,” I stammer, “I swear.”

  As he answers a message on his radio, I take a step back. My head is spinning, but then I remember what Dad told me about the medication. I look around and realize that nobody's watching me, so I turn and hurry upstairs. When I get to his room, I find that there's still no-one around, so I hurry through and drop to my knees at his bedside cabinet. Opening the drawer, I start grabbing all the bottles and packets I can find, and then I carry them back to the door.

  Suddenly Bamford steps in the way.

  “What have you got there, Lisa?” he asks. “And more importantly, where exactly do you think you're taking them?”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Ten years ago

  “Why don't you watch a film?” Dad says as he gets up from the sofa. “I need to look through some notes ahead of that conference next week.”

  “Are you going to a conference?” I ask.

  He stops in the doorway and turns to me.

  “It's an actual conference this time,” he says, as if he's trying to reassure me. “Don't worry, it's just one night. I can show you all the bumf, if you like. It's going to be the most boring trip ever but, hey, sometimes a guy's just got to do what a guy's got to do. Enjoy your film.”

  Once he's left the room, I start looking through the TV channels, hoping to find something I can watch. At the same time, however, I can't help thinking back to what he said earlier about Sean Alton. Considering what he told me last night, I'm starting to wonder whether Dad's going to hurt Sean, and that's definitely not something I want to happen. Then again, I'm terrified of running into Sean again. If he simply disappeared and I never had to worry about him ever again, maybe that wouldn't be so bad.

  A normal person would be horrified by what Dad said when he woke me up, but I'm starting to feel reassured that Dad's around to protect me. Without him, I'd have no-one, and I'm not sure I could survive like that.

  Finally I find a film, and I start watching. I try to concentrate on the plot, but my mind is racing as I try to work out exactly how I should feel.

  I should be horrified.

  Dad has killed people.

  He might kill people again.

  He might kill Sean.

  I feel a shudder pass through my chest, and then I turn and look toward the door that leads into Dad's office. I can hear him flicking through some papers, and I can't help but wonder whether he's really planning to go to a conference. Is it possible that he's lying again? Is it possible that he's planning to get rid of Sean?

  I take a deep breath, and then I turn and focus on the film. I'm still worried about Dad, of course, but I'll think about that some more tomorrow. Right now, I just want to lose myself.

  “We've got to get that creature before it breaks out of the lab,” a character says on the screen. “If it escapes and its D.N.A. leaks into the world, we could be facing a galactic pandemic that'll kill trillions of people.”

  “I'll get the warp engines online,” another character replies. “We need to develop something that'll kill the creature without disturbing its nest. It's those eggs we have to worry about. If you ask me, the fate of the entire universe is at stake!”

  Grabbing the remote control, I turn the volume up high.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Today

  “I want you to know that I understand why you did what you did, Lisa,” Bamford says as we sit in the interview room at the police station. “You were scared, you were panicking, and your father asked for your help. Naturally you went and fetched his medication. Now, you could be in a lot of trouble for that, but I think we can overlook it for now if you choose to cooperate. Are you sure that your father wanted you to leave the medication at the bus stop near the pub?”

  I pause, before nodding.

  “He hasn't shown up there,” he continues. “We're going to keep an eye on the location for the next day or two, though. Lisa, do you know how we connected these murder cases to your father?”

  I shake my head.

  He stares at me, before taking a large padded envelope and reaching inside. As soon as he pulls the contents outside, I recognize the DNA kit that I mailed a short while ago. It's funny, I almost did that on auto-pilot.

  “We already had a good profile of the killer,” he ex
plains, “but it didn't match anyone in our system. Your father had never been in trouble with us before, so we didn't have a record of his DNA. And then you, Lisa, sent in a sample of your own to one of those family history companies. The similarity was enough to lead us here, but I have to ask... Why did you do that?”

  “I don't know,” I reply, with tears in my eyes.

  “Are you interested in family history, Lisa?”

  I think about the question, and then I shake my head.

  “These kits aren't cheap,” he adds. “Where did you buy it from?”

  “The village shop.”

  “This doesn't seem like the sort of thing you'd get in a village shop.”

  “It was there,” I tell him. “You can ask them if you don't believe me.”

  “I believe you, Lisa,” he replies. “So you sent the sample in. Were you aware that we have access to the samples that some of these companies collect? Not all of the companies, but some of them. And by chance, you happened to use one that cooperates with us quite fully. You seem like a smart girl, Lisa. You knew all of that, didn't you?”

  I stare at him, and I really don't want to answer that question.

  “So you sent in a sample,” he continues, “despite not really being interested. You said earlier, Lisa, that you didn't know what your father had been doing, but I'm starting to wonder whether that's entirely true. There's knowing, and there's not knowing, and then there's space between where you might suspect without being certain. Is that how it was for you, Lisa? Were you starting to suspect that something was up?”

  I look at the empty chair next to me. When Bamford suggested that I didn't need a solicitor present for the interview, I thought he was being nice, but now I'm starting to think that I made a mistake by agreeing. Then again, I'm sure it's too late to change my mind now.

  “Look at me, Lisa.”

  I look at him.

  “Were you aware that your father had killed all those women?” he asks.

  I shake my head.

  “Did you suspect that he might be doing something like that?”

  I pause, and then I shake my head again.

  “In your father's bedroom,” he continues, “we found a little cabinet. Once we'd got it unlocked, do you know what we found? Souvenirs. Mementos. Lisa, did you know that serial killers often keep trinkets to remind themselves of their victims? Have you seen that on TV?”

  I nod.

  “We found sixteen distinct items,” he explains, “including a necklace that we believe belonged to Caitlin Rush. We need to check the rest of the items, but we're quite sure that they'll be connected to other cases.” He pauses. “We also found a set of beads, Lisa, that we believe might have belonged to your grandmother.”

  I feel a shiver pass through my chest.

  “Your grandmother -”

  “Grandma doesn't talk to us,” I tell him, as I grip the side of the chair. “After Mum died, Grandma left us alone.”

  “Your grandmother died ten years ago, Lisa,” he replies.

  “No,” I say firmly.

  “I'm afraid she did.” He sighs. “Did your father not tell you? She was found dead just a short while after your mother's death. Your grandmother was murdered, and although we didn't link her death to your father at the time, I'm willing to bet that we'll be making that connection very soon.”

  “He wouldn't do that,” I stammer.

  “I have to tell you,” he adds, “that I'm also going to reopen the investigation into what happened to your mother. I know the original report stated that she died of an aneurysm, and that's not something that's easy to fake, but... Well, it's better to be safe than sorry, isn't it?”

  “Dad didn't hurt Grandma,” I reply, struggling to stay calm. “He wouldn't!”

  “I think you've had suspicions about your father for a while,” he replies, “but I think they were weak enough to let you overlook them. Unfortunately, a lot of things are going to come out now, and you have to be prepared for the worst. I'm on your side, Lisa. I want to help you. But in order for that to happen, I need you to help me in return. Do you think you can do that?”

  As I stare at him, I realize I can feel tears starting to run down my cheeks. I know Dad would never have hurt Grandma, but at the same time I've always wondered why she cut off contact. Dad claimed that she didn't care about us after Mum died, and that it'd be best to just forget about the whole thing and not get too upset.

  But now...

  Did Dad really kill her?

  “You're not in trouble, Lisa,” Bamford says, “but you are involved in a very serious situation. I'm going to make sure that you get the help you need, and in return I need you to think really hard about anything that might help us find your father. That's not just for our sake, it's also so that we can help him. Do you think you can do that?”

  He pauses, before reaching toward me across the table.

  “Do we have a deal, Lisa?”

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  One week later

  “And what did you think of the second short film we showed you, Lisa?” Doctor Armstrong asks. “The one where the man was about to crush the mouse. Who did you feel sorry for? The man, or the mouse?”

  “Why are you asking me that?” I reply.

  “It's part of the test. Take your time and think about it. Who did you feel sorry for in that film?”

  I sit in silence. I already know the answer, but I suppose I'm pretending that I don't so that Doctor Armstrong will think that I'm cooperating properly.

  “The mouse,” I say.

  “And why is that?”

  “Because the mouse was going to die.”

  “And you can empathize with that?”

  “Of course,” I reply. “How could I not? I don't want a defenseless little mouse to get killed.”

  “Interesting.” He makes a note on his clipboard. “You're showing signs of great empathy for other people, and for animals too. That's a very encouraging sign.”

  “Does it mean that I'm normal?” I ask.

  “It means that you're making good progress, and that I don't think it's going to take too much longer to come up with an opinion about your state of mind. You remember what I told you earlier, don't you? Lisa, do you still understand why we're doing this?”

  “To check whether I'm normal.”

  “To assess your reasoning skills.”

  “To see how badly my brain was damaged when I was born.”

  “That's not how I describe the tests,” he says. “I'm starting from a neutral viewpoint.”

  “But I was damaged,” I tell him. “Dad described it to me lots of times. The cord was around my neck and I almost died.”

  “That doesn't necessarily mean that you suffered any long-term damage,” he explains, “but that's why we're here. To find out. Next I'm going to show you a series of still images, and I want you to put them into the correct order. By 'correct', I mean the order that most makes sense as a story with a happy ending. Do you understand?”

  I hesitate, before nodding.

  He starts setting up the pictures, and I suppose I'm going to have to go through all of this. There's no point, though, because I already know the truth. My brain was damaged at birth, just like Dad always told me, and that's why I'm different.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  One year later

  “And how are you doing these days?” Mrs. Allsop asks in the shop, as she scans my items. “Are you managing to live on your own okay, Lisa?”

  “I am,” I reply, even though I hate the question.

  “You know, if you want to get out a little, there's a job opening up at the library. It's only part-time and it doesn't pay that well, but it'd be a way to meet people.”

  “I inherited some money from my mother,” I tell her, “but... Thank you.”

  “It's not just about the money.” She finishes scanning my things. “It's also about socializing. It can't be good for you, sitting around in that house all day withou
t any company.” She pauses. “Why don't you come down next Monday, and just see if you like it? There's no pressure. It's a friendly afternoon with tea and coffee and cake and... Well, it might not be so exciting for a young woman such as yourself, but you could get a taste for how things run. Who knows? You might like it enough to apply for the job?”

  I want to tell her that I won't be there, but I don't want to be rude.

  “I'll try,” I tell her, as I get my purse out so that I can pay. “I can't promise anything, but I'll be there if I can.”

  ***

  As I get back to the house, I can't help glancing around and looking for any sign that I'm being watched. For the first six months after Dad ran away, the police were keeping an eye on me, but gradually they began to appear less and less. I think that at first they thought Dad was going to try to sneak back, and when that didn't happen they lost interest. Sometimes I still see an unfamiliar car on the street and I wonder whether they're here for another try, but I'm starting to think that they've moved on to other approaches.

  There's no sign of anyone today.

  I unlock the front door and step inside, and then I gather up the mail before carrying my shopping back through to the kitchen. Tabby hurries through the flap in the door and comes over for a fuss, and I stroke her gently before putting all the shopping away. I'm already planning what to do this evening, what to eat and what to watch, and I'm starting to feel as if I've got everything under control. I can understand why people might think that I'm lonely, but then they've never met Tabby. They should know that she's such good company.

  I turn to go over to the kettle, but at the last moment I spot the handwritten address on one of the letters that came, and I freeze.

  That's Dad's handwriting.

  I try to tell myself that I'm wrong, but I know I'm not. I'd recognize Dad's writing anywhere, and – as I reach out and take the envelope – I realize that after a whole year he's finally getting in touch.

  There were times when I thought he was probably dead, but now it's clear that he's alive.