‘James?’
I turn and he is right in front of me, gaunt and hollow-eyed. He is not well. And he scares me.
‘James, what’s going on? I thought you were travelling . . .’
He laughs, a harsh, almost hysterical sound.
‘So you’ve been checking on me?’
‘No . . . yes . . .’ I don’t know what he wants to hear.
‘I should be travelling – seeing places, enjoying life – but you’ve destroyed everything for me!’
‘James, I—’
‘Shhh!’ He raises his finger at me. ‘Don’t say a word. Just listen.’
I try to move away from him, but he pushes me violently against the cold, slimy wall.
‘James, you’re hurting me!’
He laughs again, the horrible cackle I’ve never heard from him before. The sound reverberates and distorts in the closed space.
‘I am hurting you? But I haven’t even started, my dear Anna.’
The way he says my name makes my skin crawl. I can hear Wispa’s sharp bark somewhere outside, but I know she’s not going to come to the rescue.
‘That fucking dog of yours.’ He’s heard her, too. ‘Stronger than I thought, fat bitch. It was a hefty dose of rat poison I gave her . . .’
‘James, why are you doing this?’
‘Why?’ He lets out another deranged cackle. ‘You don’t know why? Let me tell you then. And you listen carefully, because it’s your last chance to understand.’
He unbuckles his belt, slides it out of his trousers and wraps its ends around his knuckles.
‘You know, when you dumped me I wanted to die. I thought of killing myself.’ He pulls on the belt, as if testing its strength. ‘You meant so much to me. My lovely, beautiful Anna. You made me happy, and then you took it all away. It was as if the whole world just froze, everything lost its colour, its sense of purpose . . .’
It looks as if he’s about to cry, then he wipes his nose with the back of his hand and goes on.
‘I drove to Cornwall, all the way to Land’s End, to kill myself. And when I stood on the cliffs, looking at the ocean, I suddenly made a decision. I wouldn’t let you go, I’d fight to get you back. I don’t even remember driving back, I was so excited.’
I can hear scratching on the door and Wispa’s quiet whine. She’s found me. I try to shuffle slowly towards the door, but James blocks my way.
‘You’re not going anywhere. I want your undivided attention now!’
‘I am listening, James, but I’m in pain – look.’ I show him my hands, bloody from the fall. ‘Let’s go home, get it patched up—’
‘Pain?’ He pushes me and I stumble back, until I feel a recess in the wall and back off into it. ‘You have no idea what pain is! Pain is sending you roses and then watching you go for a run with that guy. You knew they were from me, exactly the same as the ones I gave you on our first date!’
Shit, I remember now – James turning up with a bunch of red roses in his Audi, to take me out for a dinner at Hakkasan.
‘I was waiting for you to give me a sign, to let me know you were thinking of me, that you knew it was me . . .’ He starts laughing again, then punches the wall overgrown with green algae with his free bare hand and keeps punching until his knuckles are covered in blood. I instinctively move back deeper into the recess, which is like a small niche, with a statue missing. I am the statue now, and I’m trapped. Eventually he stops and looks at me, breathing heavily.
‘And then I see you fuck that guy, suck him off . . . on your knees, like a cheap whore . . .’ He suddenly retches, bends over the marble bath chamber below and throws up, then wipes his mouth with his bloody hand. ‘And then you fuck him – and I know you’re not my Anna any more, you don’t deserve to be my Anna, you’re a hideous, disgusting, selfish bitch and you need to be stopped.’
He approaches me, grabbing his belt with both hands again. He pushes me against the wall of the niche and raises his arms, the belt tight against my throat, his face, smeared with blood, by my face.
‘So I kill you.’ I smell vomit on his breath as he whispers, ‘Except it’s not you, it’s that fucking dyke dressed as you . . . You make me kill her instead of you.’
The belt presses against my throat, crushing my windpipe, choking me.
‘But next time I get it right . . . Do you want to know how he wheezed and snorted, thrashing about like a dying pig, when I tightened the belt round his neck . . . not too fast . . .’ His eyes glaze over and I know he’s back there, with the Dior Man. ‘He was strong – but I was stronger.’ He is back, looking at me. ‘It’s the same belt.’ He presses the belt harder and I fight for air, try to push him away. But he is stronger. I can feel his hot, stinking breath on my face. Dark spots dance in front of my eyes. Through the roar of blood in my ears I hear distant barking. Wispa, good girl, help me. The belt cuts into my skin, I can’t breathe any more. I feel my legs give way, but he is holding me up with the belt on my throat. I’m going to die.
Sudden brightness hits me. So this is what death feels like. But then the pressure on my throat eases and I sink to my knees, fighting for my breath. I wheeze and cough, gulping the air in. Everything hurts. There is a commotion around me, I can hear Wispa barking madly. James is gone, but there is a man, kneeling in front of me.
‘Anna! Look at me.’
I try to focus on his face.
‘Anna, it’s me, Navin. You’re safe now.’
Other people gather round me, I’m being lifted off the ground, carried outside. As the fresh air hits me I’m beginning to recognize familiar faces. DS Kapoor, DCI Jones, some uniform guys, a couple of paramedics. I can see James being led away in handcuffs.
DCI Jones appears by my side, in a reflective waterproof jacket, combat trousers and heavy boots. When she reaches out to put her arm on my shoulder I can see she’s wearing a black stab vest underneath her jacket.
‘It’s over, Anna.’
One of the paramedics, a rosy-cheeked big woman with a Yorkshire accent, helps me up and leads me to an ambulance parked nearby. She puts a plastic gadget on my finger, checks my eyes, my mouth, then slides an oxygen mask over my face.
‘Take some deep breaths for me, love.’
She cleans the scratches on my hands and knees, puts something on my throat. As my breathing stabilizes and my heart regains its normal rhythm, I feel life coming back to me.
I’m in DCI Jones’s office at the Kentish Town police station, sipping sweet, milky tea out of a Styrofoam cup. I feel exhausted and dirty, longing for a hot shower and my own bed. I’ve been thoroughly checked by the nice paramedic, who’s given me the all-clear and warned I’ll have a few nasty bruises. They’ll take me home soon, DC Montgomery assured me, who’s shown a much nicer, almost maternal side to herself today. But first I need to talk to DCI Jones, to make some sense of what has happened. She enters the room, her outdoor gear off, buoyant and buzzing with energy.
‘As we have Tom Collins and James Morgan in custody, I can safely say that it’s all over now. Mr Morgan has just confessed to killing Belinda Young and DCS Mark Thomas. We can put the Heath nightmare firmly behind us.’
I nod, looking at her.
‘It’ll take time to unravel all the details, but it seems James had developed quite an obsession with you.’ She’s telling me what I already know. ‘He took leave from work, let out his apartment and rented a room in Highgate, so he could follow you. He was actually sharing a flat with Alden Jacobson.’
This I didn’t know.
‘He was Alden’s lodger? Did Alden know who he was?’
‘We’re still in the process of building the whole picture, but it looks like James was determined to infiltrate your life, to come as close to you as possible, without you realizing it. He was keeping a very close eye on you, Anna.’
I feel sick and take a sip of the cold, sweet tea that actually makes my nausea worse.
‘He watches you, he sees things he doesn’t want to see
, a switch gets flipped somewhere inside his psyche, a trigger that leads to the killing of Ms Young. We believe you were his intended target and Belinda an accidental victim. Wearing your raincoat, with the hood up, she looked remarkably similar to you. The murder of DCS Thomas was no mistake, though.’
‘I know.’ I put my face in my hands.
‘Anna, you are not responsible for what has happened. You can’t blame yourself for James’s actions, whatever his initial motive may have been.’
‘They died because of me . . .’
‘No, they died because he killed them. And he would’ve gone and succeeded in killing you as well, if not for DS Kapoor’s brilliant police work. Finding that GPS tracker in Wispa’s collar was an incredible stroke of luck . . .’
‘GPS tracker?’
‘While he was looking after Wispa, when you were in hospital, Nav found a small personal GPS tracker in her collar. It’s tiny, one of those prototype things that have a built-in sensor measuring speed and direction and provide the position even when the GPS signal is lost. So wherever Wispa went, she could always be located through a smartphone app. And wherever Wispa went, you went too.’
‘So James followed Wispa through some application on his smartphone?’
‘Not exactly.’ DCI Jones leans back in her chair.
‘But he followed me through Wispa, is that it?’
She looks away, as if making her mind up about what to say.
‘What I’m going to tell you is confidential, Anna. It has to stay between us.’
‘What is it?’ I’m annoyed by her sudden reticence.
‘It wasn’t James who put the tracker on your dog. It was Mark . . . DCS Thomas . . .’
‘The Dior Man?’ It slips out before I can stop myself.
There is a flash of surprise or amusement in DCI Jones’s eyes, then she goes on.
‘DCS Thomas was tracking Wispa’s movements.’
It all suddenly falls into place: the seemingly random meetings on the Heath, the precision with which I always bumped into him whenever I was out running with Wispa. I stare at the cup in my hand, dumbfounded. DCI Jones clears her throat.
‘Nav matched the tracker to DCS Thomas’s phone and was able to follow your movements when you were with Wispa on the Heath. That’s how he knew where you were today.’
‘And saved my life . . .’ I whisper.
‘I must say, I’m very proud of this young man. He insisted we didn’t switch off the tracker, even though we had Tom Collins in custody. He took monitoring of your movements upon himself and, yes, he saved your life today.’
There is a knock at the door. It’s DC Montgomery, who looks at DCI Jones expectantly.
‘Are they ready?’ DCI Jones gets up. ‘I have to go, Anna. But I’ll leave you in DC Montgomery’s capable hands.’
‘Let’s get you home, love,’ says DC Montgomery and leads me gently out of DCI Jones’s office.
Twenty-four Days Later
They say you have to get up after a fall and keep walking, get behind the wheel of a car after a crash and keep driving. Otherwise you’ll never be able to walk or drive again. That’s why I’m up and about this morning. It’s 7.30 a.m. and the sun is rising over the Heath. It’s a glorious day, cold and crisp, and the clear blue sky is tinged orange in the east. There is a thin layer of fog hovering just above the ground that catches the first rays of the sun, suspending the light in the air. My rhythm is steady, my breathing regular as I run up the hill, Wispa trotting silently beside me. I took her old collar off last night and ordered a new one on Amazon, black faux leather diamante, in which she’ll look fabulous and which she’ll probably hate. I spent most of the evening yesterday thinking about my life. Assessing the damage. Dealing with the feelings of guilt. And eventually, reluctantly, giving myself permission to go on. Being on the Heath this morning is a test of my resolution. So far it’s holding fast. I decide I’ll order a bench in Bell’s memory to go on the Heath. I’ll get in touch with Candice. I’ll go for my HIV test. I’ll cut down on drinking wine. I’ll swap my 4x4 for a hybrid. I’ll spend more time with my friends. I’ll stay single for a while.
On the way back I surprise myself by stopping at a coffee shop in Highgate village, getting a latte and going through the morning paper, Wispa at my feet. I haven’t done this for years and it feels good. To my relief I find nothing about yesterday’s attack or James’s arrest in the paper. I put the paper down and look out of the window. It’ll take time for me to recover from all this. But I’ll never be able to understand hatred so strong that it makes one want to kill another human being. I’ll never see James again. I’ll never know for sure who spiked my drink with Valium and why. But it doesn’t matter now. It’s over.
By the time I get home and have a shower it’s already 9.15 a.m. There are five new messages on my phone, which I’d left on the kitchen table. Good sign, I think, the world hasn’t forgotten about me yet, even though I’m out of the game. The first one is from Gillian, short and to the point.
‘Anna, I’ve received a new redundancy offer from your employer. I think you’ll be pleased, very pleased.’
The second message takes me by surprise.
‘Anna darling, it’s Tamara, Tamara Ashley-Sharpe. I think it would be rather beneficial for both of us if you cared to join me for lunch. I have some interesting offers I’d like to discuss with you.’
The Big T is inviting me for lunch. It’s an invitation no one in the industry would turn down and I must say its prospect quickens my pulse.
The third message is from Michael, who tells me Tom and Samantha’s lawyers have dropped all the charges against Giorgio. Good. He seems like a fine man and I hope Michael will find long-term happiness with him. Tom and Samantha. I wonder if she’ll stand by him, regardless of what the outcome of his court case might be. Having seen the vehemence with which she attacked me while defending him, she probably will. Oh well, all monsters deserve someone who sees something good in their ugliness. Actually no, not all of them . . .
The fourth message I delete instantly, without listening to all of it. It’s from Ray. But the last one makes me smile.
‘Anna, it’s Nav . . . Navin Kapoor. I’m calling to check how you are . . . and . . . I was wondering if – if you fancied going out for a drink or something at some point. It’s absolutely fine if you don’t feel like it, but it would be . . . really great if you did. Oh, by the way, I left something for you by your front door this morning . . . it’s hidden behind the rubbish bin. It’s just a little something . . . Hope you’ll like it. Bye . . .’
Sweet man, I think as I go to the front door and open it. There is a gift bag wedged behind the rubbish bin. I untie a red ribbon and look inside. A small, stuffed toy dog with white snout and big brown eyes is looking at me from the nest of soft wrapping paper.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank my agent, Jane Gregory, and editor, Stephanie Glencross, for picking my manuscript out of the slush pile; Trisha Jackson, Editorial Director at Pan Macmillan, for believing in me and my book; my fellow writer Caroline Gilfillan for her invaluable advice over the years; Anna and Alex for being my consultants on many subjects; and Jola for pushing me in the right direction.
AGA LESIEWICZ is a former TV producer and director. She came to England to study English Literature but, having received her degree, abandoned the academic world and spent years working in radio and television. Rebound is her first novel and she is currently working on her second, Exposure.
First published 2016 by Macmillan
This electronic edition published 2016 by Macmillan
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ISBN 978-1-4472-8309-6
Copyright © Aga Lesiewicz 2016
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