The Dying Streets

by Amy Cross

  "I can't wait that long," I reply.

  "And I can't hurry things," she says firmly. "I'm sorry, but it's not like I can cut her open and shake her until the truth falls out. These things have to be teased out slowly, with the subject's cooperation. I'm absolutely certain we'll be able to see some real progress within a few weeks, but the procedure can't be rushed. We'd end up causing more damage than we healed." She tears a page from her clipboard and passes it to me. "I've already filled out the paperwork with my recommendation. All you need to do is countersign it and submit it to the hospital, preferably by fax this evening. They'll send someone to pick her up either tonight or tomorrow, and then we can begin the process."

  "Two weeks?" I ask, staring at the piece of paper. "It's too long."

  "It's the best I can do," she says, checking her phone. "I'm afraid I can't magically rustle up a change of heart in that girl in a few hours. Whatever's wrong with her, it's very deeply engrained and it'll take a lot of therapy to even begin to understand her. I'm afraid you're going to have to proceed with other aspects of your investigation in the meantime. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some more clients to see, but if you can fax that authorization form, we'll be able to get started on Ophelia's problems. I'll ensure that you get regular updates, of course."

  I pause for a moment as she turns to walk away.

  "Could she be a serial killer?" I ask.

  She stops and looks back at me.

  "In your opinion," I continue, "is it possible that she could be responsible for a number of deaths, at least two, and that she might have been using that hook to gut her victims? I'm not talking about an isolated, anger-fueled attack; I'm talking about a sustained, long-term and very carefully planned campaign of murder over several weeks, maybe even months."

  She pauses, and it's clear that she's shocked by the question.

  I wait.

  "No," she says eventually. "Of course not. If she was responsible for such crimes, she'd be trying to hide herself away, to deflect our attention. As it is, she's almost enjoying all of this. I've worked with a lot of troubled young people, and while Ophelia's an extreme case, she's really not so unusual. Serial killers and psychopaths internalize their damage. Ophelia thinks that's what she's doing, but it's not. You only have to look into her eyes for a moment to see the cracks. She might be a lot of things, but I can very confidently assure you that she's not a murderer. She's just a very troubled girl who needs a great deal of help."

  "So she's not dangerous?"

  "I doubt it. Not unless she's really backed into a corner. If that were to happen, though, I couldn't predict what might happen."

  "Thanks," I say quietly, as she walks away. "That's really all I needed to know."

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ophelia

  Someone's coming.

  If they were done with me for the day, or even for a half hour or so, I'd have been taken back to my cell. The fact that I'm still here in the interview room means that someone's coming to talk to me. It'll probably be that dumb female cop, the one who tried to get me to open up earlier. I'm pretty sure she'll be conferring with the psychiatrist right now, and they'll be trying to decide the best way to deal with me. I'd laugh, if it wasn't so tragic.

  The truth is, no-one can understand me. Who I am, where I've been, what I've been through... Without experiencing it all first-hand, no-one could ever even come close to realizing the truth. It's a good thing, in a way, because it means these idiots just keep nibbling away at the edges without even threatening to get any closer to my core. At the same time, I feel isolated, as if no-one will ever be able to work out what I'm really thinking. It's always been like that, though. For as long as I can remember, I've been completely impervious to anyone's attempts to get close to me.

  It's something that won't ever change.

  Still, this is who I am, and I just have to accept it. No-one can ever surprise me. I'm so far beyond their comprehension, all they can do is scrabble about in the dirt and hope that I'll open up to them. Which, of course, is never going to happen. Not in a million, billion, trillion years.

  "Hey," says the female cop, Laura, as she opens the door and comes back into the room right on cue. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

  I stare at her. I guess she's going to try another approach on me, to see if I open up. To be honest, this is getting kind of tiring and I wish they would take me back to the cell. At least that way, I'd be able to go to sleep. Sometimes I like sleeping more than anything else in the world.

  "I've got some good news," she says with a smile. "You're free to go. All the charges are being dropped, and you can walk straight out the door. It wasn't easy, but I managed to call in some favors. There's just one condition, but basically, you can be out of here in just a few minutes."

  I pause for a moment.

  Maybe I was wrong before. Maybe they can surprise me after all.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Laura

  "I hope I'm not going to regret this," I say as I lead Ophelia along the corridor. "Believe me, there's no shortage of people lining up to tell me I'm crazy, and Dr. Richards is going to lay an egg when she finds out."

  I wait for her to reply, but of course she doesn't say anything. Still, I guess it's only polite to at least allow short spaces in the conversation so that she can speak if the mood strikes her. One thing's for damn certain: at some point over the next twenty-four hours, I'm going to find a way to get her to speak to me.

  "That was a metaphor," I add with a smile, hoping to maybe catch her off-guard. "At least, I think it was. You never know with some people, though, do you? She sure seems as little uptight."

  No reply.

  "I hope you realize this is very much against protocol," I say as we reach the door to the yard and I use my swipe-card to let us out of the building. "It's not breaking any specific rules, but it's certainly going against the spirit of the way things are supposed to happen. Still - " I hold the door open and, to my surprise, she takes the cue and steps outside. "It must feel good to be outside again," I tell her, trying to hide the fact that I'm nervous. "Those cells are pretty cramped, aren't they?"

  She pauses for a moment, before turning to me with a look of suspicion in her eyes. For a moment, it's almost as if she might actually be able to say something, but finally I realize that she seems to be studying me. In fact, from the look in her eyes, I can't shake the feeling that she's trying to read my mind, and I feel a little uncomfortable.

  "I'll level with you," I continue, trying to nudge her into some kind of response. "Dr. Richards wanted to ship you off to a psychiatric facility for a few weeks and put you through various types of therapy. Group discussion, one-on-one, maybe even electro-shock. My initial plan was to see if I could refer you to a hostel and maybe get you some help that way." I pause. "Eventually I came up with a kind of halfway point, although I haven't exactly informed Dr. Richards of my decision yet."

  I leave another gap, just in case she feels like thanking me.

  "As I explained a moment ago," I continue, "you're being released on the condition that you spend the first twenty-four hours with me. That means showing me around, it means answering my questions, and I'm afraid it also means spending one night at my house. I'll feed you, obviously, and I'll provide at least my half of an absolutely scintillating conversation." I wait for her to crack a smile, but of course there's nothing. "Like I said, it's a slightly strange approach, but I figure this is a slightly strange situation so..."

  She stares at me.

  "So that's the deal," I add finally. "I won't lie to you. I'm doing this because I think I can get something out of it. At the same time, I think it'll help you as well. In a way, we both get what we want."

  The truth is, I'm taking a massive risk here, but I have no choice. The only way I was able to do this was by making sure the charges against her were dropped and then sticking close to her during the release process. I was able to swing a couple of favors from people, but t
here's still a chance that the whole thing could backfire. Then again, if I let her go off to the psychiatric hospital, I'll basically lose her for two weeks, so this is the only way I even have a hope of hanging onto her. Besides, it's painfully obvious that she's not a danger to anyone.

  "Twenty-four hours," I say after a moment. "It's not a long time, and once it's over, we'll take that thing off your leg and you can shuffle off into the sunset if that's what you want. You'll never have to see me again, although I can certainly help to put you in touch with some people who might be able to help you."

  I look down at the ankle monitor I had fitted to Ophelia's right leg. There's no way I could have just let her out without the means of finding her again if she runs away, so this way I get to keep her on some kind of leash. Fair? No. Effective? Hopefully. Besides, there was no other way I could persuade Greenwell to let me do this. He damn near threw me out of his office when I even raised the possibility, although eventually I was able to persuade him to hear me out.

  "I'm not trying to be your friend," I explain as I lead her toward my car. "Believe me, I'm not going to patronize you by acting as if I can even understand your life. I'm just trying to do my job, and believe it or not, you're my best shot right now. I know, it's tragic, right? I hope you don't think I'm bad at my job. It's just that some cases pose certain unique difficulties, and this is a good example."

  When I get to the car, I reach into my pocket for the key before looking over my shoulder. To my surprise, I find that Ophelia has followed me, and now she's standing by the passenger door. It's not much, but I guess it's some kind of progress. She could have tried to bolt as soon as we got outside, although the ankle monitor means she wouldn't have got very far. It's clear that she's a smart girl.

  "Someone's killing homeless people," I tell her. "I don't know quite how much you know about what's been happening, but there are two bodies in the morgue and there are probably more on the way. In both cases, they were killed with the hook you had in your possession the other day, and it was used not only on their necks but also on their bellies. Call me old-fashioned, but I'd quite like to catch that person before too many more people die."

  She stares at me, but for a moment I think I maybe see a faint twitch in her left eye. I guess Dr. Richards was right.

  "Come on," I say with a forced smile, "how bad can this be? I should warn you, though. I'm no soft touch, and at the first sign of trouble I'll have you sectioned and sent to the hospital. I'm pretty sure that's definitely not something you want, so all you have to do is cooperate with me for one day and then we're done, okay?" I wait for something - a smile, a nod, anything - that lets me know she at least understands. "If it's any consolation," I add, "I don't believe for a second that you're violent, or that you're a danger to anyone."

  Unlocking the car door, I get inside and wait as Ophelia climbs into the passenger seat. So far, she's actually being more cooperative than I expected. After a moment, I realize that there's definitely a stale smell coming from her, but I figure I shouldn't draw attention to something like that.

  "We're going to the South Bank," I tell her, trying to sound optimistic. "I figure that's kind of your usual stamping ground, isn't it? Both times you've been arrested, that's roughly where you were picked up. We can stop off for some food on the way, though, and then I want you to show me around and tell me everything you know that might be related to that hook. Don't leave anything out. I'd rather have too many details than too few. Hell, right now, any details would be welcome. You're going to have to speak, though, unless you want to communicate through sign language or semaphore. Can you at least do that?"

  She stares at me.

  "Please?" I add. "If I give you some flags? I'm putting my neck on the line for you here. I'm taking a risk and I need you to give me something in return. It doesn't have to be much, but I can't be left empty-handed when I cut you loose tomorrow."

  She shifts a little in her seat, as if she's uncomfortable.

  Reaching into my pocket, I pull out her notebook and hold it out toward her. I should probably keep it, but I figure I need to do something that makes her realize I can be trusted, and this is all I've got right now. At some point, she has to respond. After all, no-one can maintain a wall of silence for an entire day. It might take a few hours, but I can guarantee that she'll say something eventually.

  "I believe that's yours," I continue as she takes it. "The arresting officer wanted to hang onto it as evidence, but I managed to liberate it with a few subtle moves. I got the impression it might be important to you."

  She stuffs the notebook into her pocket. I might be imagining it, but I can't help thinking that she looks just slightly grateful. Then again, I probably am imagining it. Her face seems so blank and inexpressive, but there has to be a way to make her talk to me eventually.

  "I'm going to take your continued silence as a sign that you're up for the plan," I tell her as I pull the door shut and prepare to start the engine. "Believe me, it's going to be a very long twenty-four hours if you don't say a word. Right now, even one word would be enough, you know? Just as a sign that you're even vaguely capable of -"

  "Worms," she says suddenly.

  I pause for a moment, trying to work out what she means.

  "I've got worms," she continues, shifting in her seat again. "It itches. I just thought I should mention it if I'm going to be with you for twenty-four hours."

  "Huh," I reply, figuring that this is at least some kind of progress. "Are you... sure?"

  She nods.

  "How do you know?" I ask.

  "How do you think?"

  "Right." I pause again. "Well, I guess we'll have to stop off at a pharmacy on the way, won't we?"

  With that, I start the engine and pull out of my parking spot. I have no idea if this is a brilliant idea or a huge mistake, but it's my best shot right now and I need to make some progress on this case. I'm convinced there's going to be another death soon, and while relying on Ophelia is a long shot, she's the only lead I've got right now.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Laura

  "Sandwich?" I ask, staring at the pitiful offerings in the convenience store. "They have wraps and salads, things like that. I know it's nothing amazing, but at least it's food."

  "I thought you were gonna take me to a proper restaurant," Ophelia replies as she wanders over to join me.

  "A restaurant?" I pause. "Well -"

  "Joking," she adds without a smile, before reaching out and picking up a sandwich seemingly at random. "This looks okay. So why don't you have a boyfriend?"

  I turn to her.

  "You clearly don't," she continues. "Why not?"

  "Do you want anything else?" I ask, preferring to ignore the question. "Crisps? A drink?"

  She shakes her head.

  "Are you sure? It's all on me, so you might as well go crazy."

  She hands me the sandwich before wandering off alone the next aisle. I'd assumed that when we stopped for something to eat on our way to the river, she'd really want to stock up on food, but so far she doesn't even seem very interested. I turn and watch as she strolls away, and I have to admit that I don't really understand her at all. She's started speaking to me, which is a definite improvement, but her answers are still very short and clipped, usually just a couple of words at a time, although she seems to open up a little more when she has a chance to make me uncomfortable. There's a part of me that wants to get under her skin and find out what makes her tick, but I guess I should just stick to baby steps for now.

  "I'll go and pay!" I call out to her.

  She glances at me, but she doesn't really acknowledge what I said.

  Turning and heading along the next aisle, I pause for a moment as I pass the rack of chocolate bars. I reach out for a couple, before checking over my shoulder that no-one can see me and then, finally, slipping them into my pocket. My heart is beating just that little bit faster as I make my way toward the queue at the checkout. I know damn well
that there's no way anyone could be onto me, but it still makes me feel good to have this little secret. One day I'm going to have to stop doing this, in case I get caught, but I figure that in the worst case scenario I can always claim I forgot about the chocolate and that I intended to pay all along.

  The queue takes ages to move, and every minute or so I glance over to see what Ophelia's doing. Eventually she wanders toward me, but she doesn't seem very interested in the queue so she simply pushes past and heads out the store. The cashier is noticeably interested in her, watching her go as if she expects the sensors by the door to beep, but nothing happens as Ophelia steps out into the early evening street. Somehow, I doubt she stole anything. There's just something about her that seems very honest, as if she has her own moral code. In fact, I'm starting to feel a little embarrassed, and as I get to the front of the queue I finally have a change of heart and slip the two chocolate bars out of my pocket, placing them on the counter so I can pay for them.

  "Thanks," I mutter once I've paid and bagged the purchases. Heading to the door, I can't help thinking that -

  Before I can get outside, the sensor goes off, flashing a red light while its loud electronic beep immediately draws the attention of everyone in the shop. I stop dead in my tracks, completely stunned, as one of the cashiers comes over to me.

  "It must be something in here," I say, passing the bag to him.

  "Can I check your pockets?" he replies.

  "My pockets?" Figuring there must be some kind of mistakes, I hold my hands up and let him see for himself. First, he checks the pocket where I almost had the chocolate, and then he checks the other pocket. After a moment, he pulls out a pack of razor blades.