by Franklin, JJ
Matt could see that the team were finding it hard to concentrate, and stepped in to wrap it up for the day, reminding them all that it was going to be an early start tomorrow.
He was surprised and worried when McRay held up his hand to stop the exodus. Matt hoped that he wasn’t going to cause upset at this time of night. He could almost feel the joint holding of breath in the room and was sure everyone was expecting the worst.
‘You’ve all worked really hard today. Keep it up and we’ll catch this bastard before he does it again.’
The relief was apparent as the team quickened their stride in an effort to get away before McRay could change his mind. Matt waited, knowing that he would have to give a first hand report to the man.
McRay spoke first. ‘They respect you Matt.’
Matt was uncertain how to reply so hedged his bets. ‘It’s a good team, Sir.’
McRay nodded and went on to outline the support that had been granted on the case. Matt was grateful, until McRay said that he had made an appointment for Professor Meredith to come in to see Matt early tomorrow. Still, it felt good to have an echo of the old McRay back. It was just a shame that it took a murder to shake him out of his orgy of self-pity.
McRay was standing looking at the Incident Board shaking his head. ‘Odd. Can’t remember anything quite like this. We’ll have to stop him before he gets the bit between his teeth, Matt.’
Matt realised that McRay was trying to make his way back, from the snarling bear he had become, to a functioning Chief Inspector, and sighing inwardly, he gave up the idea of heading home and prepared to talk through the case, as he used to do. He moved beside McRay to look at the photos of Amy.
‘It gives me the shivers. He’s trying to tell us something, Sir.’
‘Why dress her up in such a way?’ mused McRay. ‘Any lead on the actual clothing?’
Matt shook his head. ‘No. It looks like a pantomime costume—Alice in Wonderland or such. There shouldn’t be too many places you can buy things like that.’
‘Wendy is the best. If there is anything to be found, she is the one to do it,’ McRay confirmed. ‘But I can’t see why the bugger would make it so hard for himself.’
‘Showing us how clever he is?’
‘Could be. He’ll trip up somewhere. Meredith will have some ideas.’
Matt thought this was certain but kept his opinions to himself.
McRay moved towards the door then turned back to Matt. ‘Get on home, Matt. It is going to be a tough one.’
Driving home around one in the morning, Matt found himself wondering how he should be with Eppie after their brief row. He needed her to understand that his work brought him into touch with the evil, dysfunctional, and dangerous people of this world. He had to know she was safe—kept separate from it all.
Aside from playing rugby, which was his safety valve, he had never before had to balance the job he loved with anything or anyone else. Now, Eppie was in his life, he was scared, deep down; in his gut he was scared. Having to worry about his wife could interfere with his ability to be single minded. This was how he worked best. But how did he fit Eppie into the equation? If he failed, it could mean the death of an innocent girl, and Matt didn’t want another one like Gracie on his conscience.
He had been a detective inspector for just nine months, had solved his first murder case, and was no doubt feeling a little cocky, thinking he could carry on his life as normal. The first girl was nineteen, savagely raped and murdered. He had arrested her boyfriend and closed the case, eager to make the final game of the rugby season and the partying afterwards.
Gracie was found the next morning, just sixteen. And there was no doubt it was the same MO. Matt was still haunted by her. Could still hear her mother’s screams as he broke the news. At Gracie’s funeral, he made a pledge to her that he would do better in the future.
His interview with Gracie’s killer was burned on his brain.
‘So you followed Gracie Hawkes from school, intercepting her as she crossed the Alcester Road?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why did you choose to kidnap Gracie?’
‘She looked as if she had a bit more go in her. Not like the other silly cow. Hardly touched her and she fainted—didn’t last two minutes. No fun in that is there? You need ‘em to put up a fight. It’s hours of fun that way, especially if you let ‘em think you just might let them go if they let you do the things you want. You can spin it out then, give yourself a full evening of fun.’
There was silence in the interview room as Matt fought both his need to batter the smug, self-satisfied face before him or be sick. McRay coughed and Matt pulled himself together.
‘So, this is all about you having fun, Mr Fraser?’
‘Of course. Although, believe me, they enjoy my Charlie boy despite all that moaning and begging.’ Fraser rubbed his crotch suggestively.
‘And Gracie?’
‘One of me best was Gracie. I can tell you her young—’
‘Have you done this before, Mr Fraser?’
Fraser grinned. ‘Can’t stop. Far too much fun.’
‘So there have been other women, Mr Fraser?’
Fraser paused and was suddenly wary. ‘A few.’
Sickening though it was to hear, Matt knew they needed to get as much information from Fraser in this interview as possible. The psychiatrist was on the way, and it was almost certain that he would find Fraser mad. This might be their only chance to find out the fate of the other women he had murdered.
‘But not in this area?’
Fraser seemed relieved. ‘Down home till a few years ago. It wasn’t as much fun then as I didn’t do them.’
‘You didn’t kill them?’
‘Nope. Just let Charlie boy lose. They loved it.’
‘So when did you first kill a woman, Mr Fraser?’
‘Dunno. No, no, wait. I do remember. About eight years ago. Lovely bit of stuff, dark hair. She served me at the pub, gave me that look. So I waited for her, said I’d walk her home, but she wasn’t having any of it. Got all snooty, so I made her take a detour onto the cricket pitch. What she wanted all along. Soon had her knickers off and all ready for me boy but the bitch goes and kicks out at him. Decided to make her pay for that, I did. I was sad when it was all over, wanted to do it again.’
McRay, aware that Matt was working on controlling his anger, spoke for the first time.
‘You have an excellent memory, Mr Fraser. I bet you can even remember the name of the pub and where it is?’
‘Golden Horseshoe. Bristol.’
‘That’s very good. I wonder if you can remember any of your other triumphs.’
Soon the list had reached possibly eighteen women murdered and at least six rapes. If Fraser hadn’t moved about the country, he might have been caught earlier. Fraser had shown no remorse, just a flat expectation that his needs were the only ones ever to be considered.
It was a relief in a way when he was declared mentally unfit to plead, as it meant he would not be released until he was considered safe to be let into the community. Matt hoped that would be never and that some well meaning, but deluded, psychiatrist would not let him loose to kill again.
McRay, aware that Matt was blaming himself for Gracie’s death, had called him into the office soon after Fraser had been taken away.
‘Sit down, Matt.’
Matt was certain this was the end of his police career. ‘I will be resigning, Sir.’
‘Like hell you will. That would be a luxury this station can’t afford. No. We go through this case, learn what we could have done differently.’
‘What I should have done you mean.’
‘Yes. OK. What you, as the officer in charge, could have done.’
‘Not been so bloody eager to lock up the wrong man for one.’
‘Did he seem like the right man at the time?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Then there are no buts, Matt. You did what you thought was right at th
e time. That’s all you can do.’
‘I needed it to be him. Needed the case closed.’
McRay waited while Matt tried to put his anguish into words. It felt almost like a confessional, but in the end, it was cathartic. Matt had to accept that he wasn’t infallible, that he wouldn’t always get it right, although he made a promise to Gracie that he would always try.
And this time, Matt didn’t need Professor Meredith to tell him that, now that this killer had tasted blood, he would kill again and fast.
He was physically and mentally tired, desperate for some quiet time so his brain could assimilate all the information from the day. He found himself hoping Eppie was asleep, but then he felt an immediate rush of guilt. It was rotten luck that he had a murder case so soon into the marriage. Matt wondered if the pressure of the job had caused McRay’s wife to leave and if his own marriage was doomed before it had started. Then, realising that it was the tiredness talking, he shut the thought out of his mind.
As he entered the flat, Matt was relieved to find everything in darkness except for a low light in the kitchen. Near the light was a note from Eppie saying a meal was in the fridge if he was hungry. Hunger was not something he thought about much when he was on a case; the team lived on pizzas and sandwiches eaten on the go and barely tasted.
As he removed the cling film and saw the care that Eppie had given to prepare his favourites, he was transported back to school days and lunch boxes, always with a treat lovingly prepared by his mother. Maybe there was something to this marriage lark after all.
Matt split the rolls and filled them with the Parma ham, adding just a little of the salad and, grabbing a beer, went into the lounge. Sprawled in his favourite chair and devouring the meal, he felt the tension drain away.
It was just as he was drifting into a relaxed, almost meditative state, when the facts of the case could begin to organise themselves, that he became aware that something was different.
Instantly alert and standing, he looked about him. The first thing he saw was his favourite rugby trophy sitting on the bookcase, and he grasped it as if it were a lost child before letting his eyes wander to the mantelpiece. It just sat there, the silver frame glittering in the low light, the tanned, unkempt man grinning out at him.
Still clutching his precious trophy, Matt sank back down in his chair, realising that not everything in marriage was going to be easy. His flat, his space, was not just his now; it had to be shared with someone else. Although he loved Eppie, she was almost a stranger.
A soft kiss woke him, and he sleepily reached out to encircle his arms around Eppie, pulling her down onto his lap. It was only when she yelped slightly that he realised he was still holding the trophy. It didn’t seem important now next to his need for her love and warmth, and he dropped it beside the chair to indulge himself in the softness of her body, all too aware that the day would stampede in soon enough.
CHAPTER 15
As the shrill demand of the alarm clock woke him at seven, Clive could feel the tiredness behind his eyes and the tension in his muscles. Finalizing his plans and the sense of power they infused had kept him up late.
His dreams had been of Ben. Not the soft, longing dreams he used to have, but one that shot brittle shafts of danger between them as Clive fought through an unfamiliar landscape of foggy, cobbled streets trying to reach him.
As he showered, he reasoned with himself that all he had of Ben were dreams. Did he want to give up the intense excitement and feeling of importance for this slight friendship, which might come to nothing?
However, being with Ben brought its own excitement in a softer, gentler way, awaking alien thoughts of loving and of being loved. No one had loved him since Lizzie gurgled her way into his life. Could Ben love him? All his old feelings of being unlovable surfaced.
Whereas, committing murder gave Clive an intense sense of power; he alone could choose who should live or die, like a Roman Emperor deciding someone’s fate with a flick of his thumb. Surely, for such a powerful man there would be a million Bens. Maybe Clive didn’t need him after all.
He pulled himself back to the present, reminded that he must keep up a very normal routine; nothing should stand out as different. Clive took up Mother’s breakfast tray and then went to watch the news in the kitchen. Too excited to eat, he chewed on a cereal bar.
The murder was still headline news on the local channel, but on the national news, some new international atrocity had pushed it to the place before the weather report, in the spot usually reserved for children needing a bone-marrow transplant and the like. The added interest was a grey haired professor, lapping up the limelight like a budding rock star. He had nothing of great importance to say but still managed to make it sound as weighty as one of the Shakespearean tragedies.
Mother seemed more tired than usual, and Clive wondered if having Emily once a week could be wearing her out. He made a mental note to use this to curtail the visits by expressing his concern to Margaret over the state of Mother’s health. That way he could regain some control and banish the infiltrator for good from his immaculate home.
Before leaving for work, he removed Mother’s breakfast tray and helped her move with difficulty from the bed into the chair. Sensing the perfect opportunity, he sat on the edge of the bed and in his most concerned voice, leant towards her.
‘I’d like you to think about having a few massages, Mother. I’m sure it would help with this stiffness.’
She was too distracted trying to get her sparse grey hair into some sort of respectable order before Mrs Sinclair arrived, to take in what he was saying and merely nodded. He had learnt that she was at her most vulnerable first thing in the morning, before those skinny limbs had eased off the night cramps and became used to moving again.
He pressed on. ‘I thought we might have dinner at the spa one night soon. Their new French chef is getting rave reviews. Then I could arrange for you to chat to someone—ask if a massage would help?’
‘Yes, yes,’ she replied wanting to be rid of him.
Clive smiled with satisfaction and rose. ‘I’ll arrange it Mother,’ he said, bending to plant the required kiss on her forehead.
Thoroughly pleased with himself, he manoeuvred the car into the midst of the morning rush hour traffic inching its way to work. His plans were laid and, as he went over them, he couldn’t see anything he had missed. He was determined not to make the slightest mistake this time. With each outing, he would get better and better until nothing could stop him.
While waiting for yet another traffic light, he compared his precarious feelings for Ben to this wonderful new feeling of power coursing through his body, making him feel like a god. By the time he reached work, he was convinced he did not need Ben and had resolved to avoid him as much as possible.
It was only at the end of a long and boring meeting that he allowed himself to do more than glance at Ben. Ben was in profile, talking to Mr Phelps, the accountant, and the light from the window highlighted his curly hair, reminding Clive of a statue of a Greek god he had seen on a trip to Rome. He had an impulse to go over and join in the conversation but stopped himself and made his way to the door instead. Ben wasn’t for him.
As he reached the door he sensed, rather than saw, that Ben was following him out.
Ben spoke before he could think of what to say. ‘Could hardly keep from nodding off. How about you?’
‘It was pretty dense wasn’t it?’ He tried to keep his voice light, although his heart was starting to thud so loudly he couldn’t hear his own words.
Ben stopped by the secretary’s desk and turned to face him. ‘Well, I’m sure going to need a drink after that. Meet up later?’
Despite everything inside trembling, Clive managed a quick ‘Yes,’ together with a brief smile. This seemed to satisfy Ben as he nodded and turned away after favouring Clive with that warm, vivid grin. Was it his imagination or did it seem different? The smile had reached Ben’s brown eyes, causing them to crinkle in the c
orners. That wasn’t a mere courtesy smile carelessly bestowed on a colleague.
For Clive, time seemed to stop, and he wasn’t aware that he had come to a halt until Phelps’s accounts ledger file dug him sharply in the back.
‘Come on, out of the way. Work to do, work to do,’ grumbled Phelps.
He tried hard to keep calm but the good intentions in his head seemed to be at war with his body. It was only a couple of mates having a drink after work, nothing heavy, nothing out of the ordinary. But he wanted more than that, longed for a physical closeness with Ben that he had never desired with anyone. Questions raced around his head. Should he forget about his plans and put all his energy into developing a relationship with Ben?
Suddenly, Clive was angry. Why had this come now when he had decided—was set on a course of action? Why was this traitorous heart sending out lies to confound and confuse him? He had managed twenty-nine years without the useless organ and had been happy. Hadn’t he?
He felt the need to strike out at someone, something. The nearest object was the waste bin beside the coffee machine, so he kicked out hard. His reward was the attention of every pair of eyes in the office. Clive tried to smile and pretend that he had knocked it over by accident, while acutely aware that hot, unfamiliar tears were welling up.
He crouched down to pick up the debris and to hide his display of emotion. Someone knelt besides him and he realised with horror that it was Anne.
‘Oh, Clive, you are a silly one. Here let me help.’
As she bent beside him, he wanted to scream at her to leave him alone. The urge to push her head into the waste bin was so strong, he knew he had to get away before the desire overcame his normal caution.
Using the excuse of coffee dregs on his hands, Clive stumbled, rather than walked, from the room to find solace in the washroom.
As he washed his hands and face, he became calmer. Leaving all thoughts of Ben aside, he realised that it was time to face the fact that Anne was becoming more than a nuisance.
Ever since the conference in Harrogate, she had simply assumed they were a pair and had begun leading the whole office into believing her. He wished he could shout at her, loudly and brutally, in front of them all that she repelled him so much that he would rather go out with a dead cod. However, for the moment, Anne had the upper hand due to accidently seeing the costumes in the boot of his car.