His phone rings. Dom recognises the number on the screen. Presses answer. ‘Abbott?’
‘Guv, there’s something you need to see.’
‘What is it?’
The signal is cutting in and out, and his sergeant’s voice sounds metallic, like a Dalek.
Dom looks at the London clock; it’s 10.48. The bastard’s kept him waiting twenty minutes already. He’s in the middle of a murder inquiry, there’s no time for this shit. ‘Where are you?’
‘Back … base … got a new … interesting, could be …’
Sod this.
Dom stands. ‘I’ll be there soon as I can.’
He’s almost at the exit when the reception guy calls, ‘DI Bell?’
Dom glances over his shoulder. ‘Tell Holsworth I couldn’t hang around any longer.’
He steps into the revolving door and escapes the building. Operation Atlantis is over; picking through the carcass of that cock-up won’t change things. Right now, there’s a killer out there and three dead women waiting for justice; the best way to atone for the past is to find the truth for them. Sod the procedural bullshit. Whatever questions Holsworth has, they’ll have to bloody wait.
10
CLEMENTINE
Twenty minutes’ walk and four flights of stairs later, I’m home. Inside, I fasten the deadlock and slide each of the four bolts into place. I close my eyes a moment, then open them and look again at the bolts to confirm they’re closed.
Next, I press my finger against the shaft of each bolt, tracing along the barrel to where it passes over the edge of the door between the two brackets. Locked. Rationally, I know they’re all locked.
I want to turn away, to go and get dry, but I can’t. Again, I press my finger against the top bolt, checking that it’s pushed completely home. I count out loud as I double-check each one in turn. ‘One … two … three … four.’
Exhale.
I repeat the process in reverse, bottom to top. ‘Four … three … two … one.’
Checked. Double-checked. Triple-checked. Done.
Forcing myself to turn away, I yank off my boots and the mismatched green and orange socks beneath, and dump them beside the door. Unzipping my jacket, I let it fall onto the sodden heap, and pad barefoot across the wooden floor of the living space. I look back at the bolts only once. I count that as a small triumph.
The flat is warm, the old radiators competent enough at spewing out heat, but still I start to shiver. I rid myself of the damp jumper and keep going, stripping off everything until I’m naked. The floorboards feel cold against my feet. There’s a draft from the sash window in the corner. The cold air tickles across my patchwork skin, the grafted places on my arms and legs feeling the temperature change less acutely.
I step past the sofa, between the piles of books surrounding my desk, and pick up the thick fleece blanket folded over the back of my chair. Wrapping it round me, I sit down. My laptop is on but hibernating. I tap the space bar to wake it and open the CrimeStop website.
Crime Queen and Robert ‘chainsaw’ Jameson posted in Case Files: The Lover
I click to view their posts. First up is Bob’s. It’s long, with waffle dirtying up the facts, but he’s managed to get some information from his journalist friend. As well as the time of tonight’s press conference, he’s gathered details on the victim similar to those I got from the neighbours. Unconfirmed as yet by the police, the journalist says the dead woman is Kate Adams, twenty-six. She lived in the flat with her boyfriend, Mart Stax. Bob says the police questioned Stax while we were outside the building.
I wonder what secrets Kate Adams’s boyfriend had to tell, and if he told them, or if he kept quiet like I did when the police questioned me twelve years ago.
Murderer.
I push the word away and refocus on the screen. Bob doesn’t know if Mart Stax has been arrested. He’s having a beer with the journalist tonight to find out more, but that’s not why I curse. Attached to the post is a new photo album with eighty-two crime scene photos.
I decide to upload my photos anyway.
The Watcher Here’s my first upload from the crime scene. I also spoke to a neighbour. They confirmed victim as Kate Adams and that she’d lived with her boyfriend Mart Stax, a DJ, for about one and a half years. They implied the relationship had problems but wouldn’t elaborate. Attached: New photo album – crime scene task [forty-three photos]
‘Fuck you, Bob,’ I say as I press return. It might not be enough to keep me in the team, but it’ll do until I find something better.
I scroll to the next post. It’s from Crime Queen and links to a website – www.darkstreetsdarkcrimes.com. I click it and a new window opens. It’s a true-crime blog, Crime Queen’s I assume, dedicated to the celebrity of serial killers. This surprises me. We’re trying to catch the Lover, but from the fangirl-style posts on her blog, it looks like Crime Queen is considering him as a future husband. The title of today’s blog post is ‘Who’s Hunting the Lover?’ I scan the text. The piece is more puff than content, like some trashy gossip magazine.
Amid the fluff are three photographs. The first picture is of Emily Renton, Pathologist. She’s a mousy-haired, chubby-looking middle-aged woman. Plain, but with sharp eyes that look straight at the camera.
I scroll to the second picture. It’s the lanky black detective I saw chatting with DI Bell earlier – Detective Sergeant Abbott. The third photo is the lead detective himself.
Leading the search for the Lover is Detective Inspector Dominic Bell – a bit of a hottie by anyone’s standards. He’s DS Abbott’s boss and has been in charge of the case since the first murder victim was found four weeks ago but it remains to be seen if he’s a match for the Lover. Spotted earlier at the crime scene, Bell (pictured) refused to comment for the media.
I double-click on his image to enlarge it. He’s glaring at the camera. I scan the background, see the tape that marked the outer cordon of the crime scene and the corner of the police van. Bob and me weren’t the only True Crime Londoners at the scene; Crime Queen must have been there, too.
Goosebumps rise along my arms and I shiver. Did she not introduce herself because she didn’t recognise me, or because she wanted to operate below the radar? What is she hiding?
I’m assuming she’s a woman, not because of the name – that could be male or female – but because of her online interaction pattern, responses and blogging style. Her comments feature in my thesis; she’s one of the key group members pushing the others towards solving live cases, and she’s got increasingly more dominant in the group over the nineteen months I’ve been watching. Now I want to know who she is.
I move the mouse to my research database, but before I click it, a red number one appears beside the CrimeStop icon. As I watch, the number rises: two, three, five. I click on the icon.
Ghost Avenger added six photos to the album The Lover: Victims
Robert ‘chainsaw’ Jameson and five others commented on a post in Case Files: The Lover
Clicking the first alert, I go to Ghost Avenger’s post. Ghost Avenger, usually the joker of True Crime London with his daily postings of puns and gifs, has uploaded some pictures with maximum shock value.
I scroll through them. First there’s a hand, with pastel pink-painted nails that look at odds with the grey tinge of the skin. Next is a close-up of an ear, framed by mid-brown curls. There are two piercings in the lobe, but no rings or studs. Then, a closed eye, lined by thick lashes, wearing no make-up; the skin of the eyelid looks almost translucent.
As I keep scrolling the images repeat – a hand, an ear, an eyelid. That’s when I realise. The pictures aren’t the same. The set-up is, but the subject is different – there are two women, not one. I study the second set more closely. The skin of the hand is pale, but more olive-toned than the first. The piercings in the second ear are closer to the bottom of the earlobe than the first, and one looks newer, raw. The lashes of the eye in the final picture are a shade darker.
These photos look like trophy shots, the kind of mementos a killer would keep. I shiver again, wonder what the hell I’ve got myself into; who is Ghost Avenger? Frowning, I scroll back, looking for an explanation, but there is none.
Another notification appears:
Ghost Avenger added two photos to the album The Lover: Victims
I follow the link to the new images. As they appear side by side I see Ghost Avenger has captioned these pictures. On the left is Jenna Malik – the Lover’s first victim. To the right is Zara Bretton, his second. The photos are full body shots. Both women lie on a metal surface, a pale green sheet covering their nakedness from knees to collarbone. These photos were taken in a clinical setting; my guess is a mortuary. Ghost Avenger isn’t joking now.
I lean forward, peering closer. Even if they hadn’t been taken in a mortuary I’d have known these women were dead. There’s an absolute stillness about them, a different quality to when someone’s unconscious or sleeping, a slackness to their features as if they’ve been de-animated. It’s mesmerising.
Dead. Fascinating. Dead fascinating. There are no boundaries now, no taboos; the web is a portal to every kind of horror. Whether dead bodies are your thing, or you enjoy watching torture, or get off on snuff videos – whatever you want is available at a click. I’m not interested out of morbid curiosity, though; for me it’s more personal.
I zoom in on Jenna Malik’s face. Trace my finger over her cheekbone to her lips. She looks so peaceful. I wonder if I looked that way in the minutes I was dead. I wonder if I felt peace. I haven’t since.
Sometimes I wish the paramedics hadn’t arrived in time.
Jealousy needles at me like a thousand tiny pinpricks. Peaceful has to be better than empty, doesn’t it? Empty just feels like vast, endless nothingness. Often I’ve thought perhaps the reason I feel nothing is because I shouldn’t be alive; that I cheated death, but I’m not meant to exist, that the numbness is a punishment for me to atone for what I did, for the fact that I’m still here, breathing.
It’s not enough, though, just existing. Not any more.
I want to feel like something.
I pull back from the close-up and study the two pictures side by side. Both mortuary-cold women look peaceful. But it’s not just the peacefulness that’s similar; it’s their whole appearance. I frown. Jenna Malik and Zara Bretton shouldn’t look this similar. Opening another window, I type their names into the search engine, hunting for news reports on the Lover’s previous kills.
Thousands of mentions are listed, the media feeding frenzy on their cases has spawned articles galore – broadsheets, tabloids, online magazines, blogs – everyone wants to get in on the action. From the read-counters that tally into the millions it seems the public’s appetite is barely sated.
I open a tabloid article. I see Jenna Malik beaming from the photo; it’s a graduation picture – her in a cap and gown, fresh-faced with minimal make-up, French-manicured fingernails clenched around a plastic scroll. Her hair is light brown.
I search for Zara Bretton. Her picture looks like it was taken at a birthday party. She’s holding a cupcake decorated with a silver number 21 and a sparkler, grinning at the camera. Her hair is blonde.
I toggle back to True Crime London. Both women in the mortuary pictures have hair the same shade of mid-brown. I zoom in on Zara Bretton’s image, magnifying the area around her hairline. There’s no root growth visible. I do the same with Jenna’s photo. Again, no growth, meaning both women had freshly dyed hair when they were killed.
Flicking to the comments section, I see the messages beneath Ghost Avenger’s post are stacking up. The pictures are proving controversial.
Crime Queen WTF?? Details …
Ghost Avenger I’m just delivering my contribution to the group. Please treat these pictures as strictly confidential and do not share them wider, I would hate for the victims’ families to see them.
Robert ‘chainsaw’ Jameson These are real? How so?
Justice League Just referring to my notes, these are the first two ‘Lover’ victims, yes?
Ghost Avenger @JusticeLeague Correct
Ghost Avenger @Robert ‘chainsaw’ Jameson I have access through my job
Bloodhound YOU SHOULD HAVE PUT A WARNING ON THESE! I don’t want to look at pictures of dead people! It’s perverse. I can’t believe you’ve forced me to see these images.
Ghost Avenger @Bloodhound This was my assigned task. Apologies if you’re upset but it’s data for our investigation. These are similar to the pictures taken by the police. It brings our level of awareness of the victims closer to theirs. You’re not supposed to get off on it and that was never my intention!
Bloodhound @GhostAvenger ‘Get off on it’? Jesus! That’s vile.
Ghost Avenger @Bloodhound Exactly my point. These women have been murdered. If we’re serious about investigating this case, and finding their killer, we need to be prepared to tolerate looking at fucking horrible things.
Rationally, I know that murder is wrong. Taking a life, that’s as forbidden as it gets. But I don’t experience outrage at the wrongness like Bloodhound. Theoretically, I understand why he is revolted by these images. I cannot feel it, though, and that means I need to be careful – I can’t have the group realising I’m different – so I wait a little longer to ask my question.
Crime Queen @GhostAvenger What’s your job?
Robert ‘chainsaw’ Jameson What is your job?
Ghost Avenger I’m a mortuary technician. That’s how I got close enough to take these pictures. Obviously I’m not supposed to, so please keep photos confidential
Robert ‘chainsaw’ Jameson Useful for our investigation. Thanks for sharing
Death Stalker @GhostAvenger Good work
I assume that Death Stalker knew about Ghost Avenger’s job. It makes sense to give him the task of getting images of the victims; a role in the mortuary gives him unique access to their bodies. But it’s four weeks since the Lover’s first victim was found, so when did he take these photos? Does he photograph all the dead in the mortuary? I wonder about these questions, but I ask something different.
The Watcher @GhostAvenger Has Kate Adams been brought to your mortuary? If so, what colour is her hair?
Ghost Avenger I’m not on shift right now. When I get in later I’ll check for you and report back.
Bloodhound All this gawping over dead bodies is ghoulish.
Crime Queen It’s necessity not fun.
Bloodhound Keep telling yourself that!!
Robert ‘chainsaw’ Jameson There’s no need to get offensive. Some of us consider this a public duty.
Bloodhound Bollocks. You enjoy it.
Death Stalker This discussion has taken an unhelpful deviation. As moderator of this group I’m imposing sanctions. This place is for serious investigators only please desist from this line of conversation @Bloodhound or I will remove you from the group.
Bloodhound doesn’t respond. I can see why Death Stalker intervened. I guess some addicts prefer their true crime pre-sanitised and sanctioned as entertainment by Netflix rather than raw and unfiltered. Maybe it’s easier to pretend they’re not feasting on the remains of someone’s life that way.
I’m still thinking about it when the number one appears beside the messenger icon. It’s Death Stalker. He wants to speak privately.
Death Stalker to @TheWatcher Hair colour?
The Watcher to @DeathStalker Jenna Malik’s hair was naturally light brown. Zara Bretton was blonde. In these pictures they have the same mid-brown shade, freshly dyed. I’m assuming this is the Lover’s work? The news reports say the victims’ appearance had been changed. I think he’s making them look like someone else.
Death Stalker to @TheWatcher Nice observation.
It feels like I’m being patronised. From Death Stalker’s reaction I’m thinking he knew about the hair colour already. I’m pretty sure he’s holding information back from the group. I wonder if he’s trying to make me complicit by
messaging me privately rather than replying on the forum.
The Watcher to @DeathStalker You knew already?
Death Stalker to @TheWatcher Patience
Condescending bastard. I stare at his avatar, the outline of a face in shadow, and want to punch it. Slowly, I breathe into the anger. Why is he holding back information? Doesn’t he want the investigation to succeed? The thought I’ve been deliberately ignoring since this all began surfaces insistently: is Death Stalker involved in the killings somehow?
The Watcher to @DeathStalker I’m not good at being patient.
Death Stalker to @TheWatcher Find some good crime scene intelligence and submit it by 06:23. Once you’re confirmed in the group I’ll share everything I know. We need everyone on the team 100% committed. This is an important investigation, we have the chance to shake up the status quo and make the government and the police see just how far they’ve strayed from their responsibilities to the people of this country. I need to know I can rely on you. Complete your task, then we’ll talk again.
I’m right, he knows more. Maybe, as he says, he’s leading the investigation to increase debate on social justice, or maybe he’s involved somehow. The only way of finding out is to make the cut for the team and learn all he knows. I need more information.
A fresh barrage of rain pelts the window beside me, and I shiver. The fleece blanket isn’t enough to keep the cold at bay. It’s as if the damp has chilled through to the marrow. I’m too cold to think, and I need to plan my next move; get some information of value before first thing tomorrow.
Hugging the blanket tighter, I get up and walk to the bathroom. The aged taps squeak as I turn them on full. I squeeze a dollop of lemon-scented bath foam into the tub and, as the steam swirls into the room like mist, I step into the water. A quick bath to get warm, then I’ll be able to focus, to think.
My Little Eye Page 6
