by Neil White
‘Did he say where he was?’ Joe said.
‘No, but he was outside. And I could hear her. She was crying. Oh God, I could hear how frightened she is.’
‘Pass me the phone.’
She handed it to him. The line was still open, the answer machine telling him to press 2 to hear the message again. He pressed it.
After a few seconds, Proctor’s voice came on: ‘Hi, Melissa. It’s me, Mark, the brother you turned your back on. Well, times have got tough for me. I need help. I need you to come in for me, to remember that you’re my sister. I need money. A lot. A hundred thousand. I know your husband can get his hands on it. You think I haven’t kept an eye on you? I know about your family, and I know he can release the funds. I’ve seen the cars he drives, the places he goes to. Get me a hundred thousand and I’ll disappear, you’ll never see me again.’ A few deep breaths, as if he was exerting himself. ‘A little incentive. Say hi, Carrie.’ High-pitched sobs, muffled and indistinct. ‘There you are, Melissa. Do it for me. Or for her. Either way, I don’t care. Just do it. Transfer it into my account.’ He reeled off a sort code and account number. ‘I’ll know when it’s gone in. Goodbye, Melissa. Stay safe.’
The call ended.
Joe rushed past the officer and back into the living room. ‘Helena, where does Mark go?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Helena said, startled.
‘You know him best. He must have somewhere quiet he goes to when he wants to be alone, somewhere different to his workshop.’
Helena shook her head. ‘I wish I could tell you, I really do,’ she said, tears in her eyes. ‘We have our own secrets, let each other live our lives. I don’t know as much about Mark as I thought I did.’
‘Nowhere comes to mind if he was hiding out somewhere?’
‘No, sorry.’
Joe turned round, despairing. Melissa was standing there, ashen, her hand over her mouth, tears running down her face.
The officer who’d gone to the kitchen stepped forward and put his hand on Joe’s arm. ‘Go home, Mr Parker. Both of you. Someone will be there soon to stay with you, but you can’t do anything here.’
Joe knew he was right. He went past him and took Melissa’s hand. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, and led her out of the house. There were hard times ahead.
Seventy-one
Sam ran from his car and towards Gina’s house, the small cul-de-sac now filled with police cars and white vans. There was movement all around him: the crime scene investigators arriving, setting up perimeters; uniformed officers knocking on doors to reassure people.
He’d been there earlier, giving Gina a lift home, and it had seemed so safe, just a suburban block on a family estate. When he returned, the lights on inside seemed so much more menacing.
There was an ambulance outside the house, the back doors open. As he got to it, he looked inside. Gina was lying down.
‘Gina?’
She lifted her head. ‘I’m all right, Sam.’
He stepped into the ambulance. Her cheek was swollen. ‘What happened?’
‘Mark Proctor tried to kill me.’ Her voice was hoarse. She closed her eyes as tears welled up. She swallowed and grimaced.
Sam went to her as if to hold her hand, to be some comfort, but she shook her head. ‘No, Sam. Thank you, but I’m not going to let him beat me. I’m strong enough to get over this.’
‘Did he…?’
‘No, he didn’t rape me, if that’s what you’re thinking. He wanted to kill me, that’s all. At least you’ve got an excuse to arrest him now.’
‘We should’ve realised you were in danger. I let you go in there alone.’
‘I go in there alone every day. You’re not at fault.’
Sam looked out of the rear door of the ambulance. Neighbours were watching from nearby windows, some gathering on doorsteps further along. Brabham appeared.
‘Gina?’ Brabham said.
‘In here,’ she shouted.
Brabham scowled as he leaned against the ambulance. ‘Who’s behind it?’
‘Mark Proctor,’ she said.
Brabham glanced at Sam, expecting some kind of told you so, but there was no room for that.
‘You should have told me,’ Brabham said to Gina.
‘I was going to,’ she said. ‘We just wanted to get things straight first.’
‘We’ve been looking for him all day.’
‘And my brother,’ Sam said.
‘Where is he?’
‘It wasn’t Joe last night,’ Gina said. ‘I know who did that. There was a girl killed on the same spot seven years ago – Katie King. Her father killed the man last night. Gerald King. He’s your killer.’
Brabham’s mouth fell open.
‘So you can forget about arresting Joe and help him instead,’ Sam said. ‘He’s with Proctor’s sister, Melissa. Proctor has taken his niece, Melissa’s daughter.’
‘I was just getting up to speed on that. There’s someone on their way, but we’ve got more people looking for him.’
Gina sat up when she heard that. ‘What do you mean, he’s got his niece?’
‘Just that. He snatched her outside a youth club.’
‘Do you know what car he’s driving?’
Brabham shook his head. ‘He burnt his own out and left the hire car at the scene of the murder last night, so my guess is another hire car. We’ll got someone speaking to the airport places, because they’ll be open and be able to access the databases.’
Sam put his head back and let out a long breath. ‘What now?’
It was Gina who spoke. ‘We’ll find him.’
‘You’re not fit,’ Brabham said.
Gina ripped off the device attached to her finger that measured her pulse and clambered off the stretcher. She pushed past Sam and shouted for Brabham, grimacing at the pain in her throat. ‘You’re not my boss,’ Gina said, and then to Sam, ‘Give me your car keys or drive me to Joe.’
‘You can’t, after what you’ve been through.’
‘Try and stop me,’ she said. ‘Where’s your car?’
‘Round the corner.’ Sam pointed.
Gina set off running. ‘Come on!’
‘You can’t go,’ Brabham said, grabbing Sam’s arm.
Sam looked after Gina, who was hobbling round the corner. ‘I’ve waited seventeen years for this,’ Sam said. ‘I don’t care what it costs, I’m going.’ He pulled his arm away.
Sam ran around the corner, where Gina was waiting.
‘Are you sure you’re up to this?’ he said.
‘You’re not the only one who’s waited a long time for this. Now drive.’
Sam unlocked his car and jumped in, Gina alongside.
‘Mark Proctor,’ he said, his tone determined, his eyes fixed in concentration. ‘We’re coming for you.’
As Melissa opened the door to her apartment, silence greeted them. Joe hadn’t met Carrie yet, she’d always been out or in bed when he’d been round, but the atmosphere seemed much more hollow. There were echoes as they walked.
Melissa was walking quickly, frantically, and she went straight into Carrie’s bedroom. She collapsed onto her bed and pulled the pillow around her face.
Joe watched from the doorway as she sobbed. He felt impotent, helpless, and swathed in guilt; Melissa’s brother might be behind it all, but Joe had helped bring it back to Melissa. Everyone since Ellie somehow came back to him. He’d had the chance to do something about Mark Proctor and hadn’t.
He turned away and went to the window in the living room. It was a view he was unaccustomed to, different to the comfort of his own apartment. Here, the water seemed so much more threatening. It ran brown and murky under low bridges, the towpath lined by piss-soaked narrow passages as it cut through a dark and open wasteland. The lights of Ancoats were like a perimeter, everyone locked away, the undeveloped centre always threatening. Was Carrie out there among the lights, or was she trapped somewhere in the darkness, scared at the noises of those who ve
ntured out at night? Was Proctor with her, or was he somewhere else so that he could keep one last secret, one final bargaining chip?
It seemed so bleak and desolate out there, despite the lights from the apartment blocks. It was brighter on Melissa’s side of the canal, with restaurants and a pub close by, but still it was more shadow than light.
He checked his watch. Still no sign of the police.
Joe went back into the bedroom. He didn’t know what he was going to say. He felt as though he should apologise for the chain of events he’d started, but as he watched Melissa hug the pillow, tears making the cloth wet, he realised that it wasn’t about him or his guilt. Right then, it was about Carrie and Melissa.
He climbed onto the bed. He put his arm over Melissa’s body and pulled her into him. Her hand gripped his and placed it against her cheek.
He had to get her through this somehow. He owed her that much at least.
Seventy-two
Proctor walked back to where he’d left Carrie.
He’d been sitting on the canal bank, watching the reflections of the streetlights. He didn’t know what lay ahead and he needed some time to reflect. He wanted Melissa to know that she could have found Carrie if she’d looked harder. It was no longer about escape, he knew that wasn’t going to happen. It was about what he left behind.
It was quiet by the canal. The largest mills were closest to the water, so that it made the streets dark and somewhere to avoid at night. As he walked past the pub nearby, the Thursday night crowd was getting rowdy. There was a band playing Irish music. He thrust his hands in the pockets of his leather coat and dipped his head. Not far now.
He looked up at the building where he’d left Carrie. It stood as a shadow, two four-storey blocks of brick and blacked-out windows, connected by high steel walkways. He checked whether anyone was there – no one was watching – and pushed at the security fence. As he stepped through he was enveloped by darkness. His favourite place, where no one could see him. No one could hurt him.
He moved slowly through the yard, to keep his footsteps quiet, and then into the building itself. However hard he tried, he couldn’t stop the echoes. There was a flutter of wings somewhere, disturbed by the crunch of his shoes, and above all of it, soft whimpers coming from the small space under the stairwell. Carrie was still there.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and shone the screen towards her. Carrie’s pale skin reflected back like a ghost. Oh, how he loved her complexion, the family trait. Strawberry hair and skin like glass.
He knelt down in front of her. Carrie shrank back, her hair sticking to the cobwebs on the wall. He reached out for her hair and let out an involuntary sigh. As he ran it through his fingers, he imagined how Melissa would react. Her grief, her agony. The excitement surged through him.
He closed his eyes. It was too easy to mistake it for passion. It was something very different. He had to think of something else and control it. That wasn’t why he’d taken her. He took deep breaths through his nose. He pressed his knuckles into the grit on the floor, needing the pain to distract him.
By the time he looked at Carrie again, he’d calmed himself. He knelt down and untied the rope from the metal pillar so that just her wrists were bound. Carrie’s chest was rising and falling quickly, her eyes wet and scared. He slipped his arms under her body and lifted her. She was tall but still skinny, light enough to lift.
He grunted as he straightened. Her body felt damp, her T-shirt moist through perspiration. She couldn’t wrap her arm around him to help him take the strain, so he had to do it all himself. Her ribcage dug ridges into his arms.
His first footfall was loud on the stairs as he took her to the floor above. Each step echoed and threw up dust. More cobwebs trailed across his face as he got higher. He was heading for the top floor; he wanted a good view for his farewell.
He had to put her down for a rest after two flights of stairs. He was gentle with her, though, laying her on the ground so that she didn’t hurt herself. As he fought to get his breath back, he went over to the window, wiping some of the dirt away so that he could see through. All he could see was the orange glow behind the dark shadow of the building opposite. That was where he needed to be.
The remaining flight of stairs was easier. He stood in a large doorway, the double doors that once protected it long gone. He was looking across the walkway that connected to the next building. The steel was worn in places, cracks showing, the lattice of the bridge revealing the drop below. There would be no surviving if he fell, just a long drop onto broken-up concrete and then eternal darkness.
He threw Carrie over his shoulder, fireman’s-lift style, and began his walk across.
The bridge clanged as he went and it moved in the brickwork, so that it bounced as he walked. He had a brief look down, into the darkness, but it made his vision swirl. Instead, he focused straight ahead, to the approaching doorway, lit deep blue by the light that filtered in through the opposite windows.
Carrie grunted as he put her down, dropping her more roughly than he’d intended. He grabbed the rope around her wrists and pulled her across the floor. She bumped over small stones that were dotted around until he threw her against the wall. He stood over her and saw that her T-shirt was ripped. Her bra was showing. Small, clean, her skin unblemished.
He turned away. Not that.
There was a mattress in the corner, with a sleeping bag inside a rolled-up plastic sheet. He shuffled Carrie onto it. Damp and mildewed, he couldn’t keep out the rain and the cold, but it had been new when he’d brought it in a few years earlier. It was where he spent long evenings watching; he could see people but they couldn’t see him.
He went to the window and moved the piece of slate that covered one of the small panes, the nail that held it in place scraping on the tile as he moved it. Moonlight came in, making Carrie’s skin glow. He had a better view now, across to Melissa’s apartment building, with her window on the corner.
He clenched his jaw. He’d miss this. He’d thought of this moment for so long, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was where he spent so much time, watching her. He’d seen everything from his position. Melissa and Carrie enjoying each other’s company, both of them wandering the apartment as they relaxed. He’d watched Carrie grow, from the little girl running around to the young woman she was now. Just like he’d watched her mother. He’d even seen Joe Parker the night before. That hurt.
And he could see Melissa again. On Carrie’s bed, Joe with her, distress obvious from every contortion of her body.
Ripples.
Now it was time to bring more pain.
He went to the hole he’d knocked in the roof some months before. A pile of bricks in one corner served as a step. He pulled out the tarpaulin and climbed up, grabbing the edge of an oak beam, his head emerging through the gap, his face illuminated by moonlight. The rest was effort, pulling himself upwards, his face red, until he could lie flat on the tiles, panting from the exertion.
The roof had three peaks, so that he could lie between two and let his body be submerged by the shadow. It gave him the sounds of Ancoats and the cool of the night. And an uninterrupted view of Melissa’s apartment. It was different to being inside. Being on the roof felt like they shared the same space, the same piece of air.
He watched Melissa for a few minutes. She wasn’t doing much, just lying on the bed, Joe Parker’s arms around her. That wouldn’t find her daughter.
It was time to say hello again.
He pulled out Carrie’s phone and dialled.
Melissa’s phone rang, making them both jump.
She pushed away from Joe and grabbed it from the bedside table. She held it up. It was showing Carrie’s name.
‘Hello?’ she said, her voice frantic.
When Melissa’s eyes closed, Joe knew who was on the other end. He whispered for her to put it on speaker.
‘Where are you?’ Melissa spat out the words.
‘Don’t rush me,’ Pro
ctor said. He was speaking quietly, his voice almost drowned out by wind in the microphone. He was outside.
‘Bring her back,’ Melissa wailed. ‘I don’t care about the others. I don’t care where you go. Just let Carrie go and run. That’s all you have to do.’
‘So get the money. I can’t go anywhere without money.’
‘I don’t have that sort of money. No one does.’