by Michael Kerr
There was a name hand-written in black marker and in caps at the bottom of the photo: ALISTAIR GRIFFIN.
“I want this machine taken to Computer Crime Section,” Ryan said. “They’ll be able to retrieve everything from the hard drive. And if and when Emily is able to talk, she can tell us who this guy is, if we don’t find him first.”
“You think this is him, boss?” Eddie said.
“I don’t know, Eddie. She might have been into adult chat rooms and/or be a member of an on-line dating agency. He might be someone who hunts over the Internet.”
“And you think he would be stupid enough to let her have his mug shot?”
“This could be anyone’s face, Eddie. And the name might be bogus. I think it was Tyler that attacked her.”
“The Internet has a lot to answer for, Boss,” Eddie observed. “It’s given every type of criminal access to a super highway that he can use to find his victims without leaving the comfort of his home.”
“Maybe progress sucks, Eddie. We live in a world that I choose to believe is on the slide. But you can only work with what you’ve got. I’d like to roll back time to before computers, mobile phones and all the current technology was invented. But it isn’t going to happen, so we have to use it. Another few years and Britain will be as bad as the States. We have a growing gun culture, and drugs are a scourge that we can’t control.”
“What do you reckon the answer is, boss?”
“I don’t even really know what the fucking question is, Eddie. Shit happens. There’s just more of it about these days. Politicians have lost the battle. Governments pretend that everything is basically under control, but it has never been more dangerous to even walk your dog at night. We’re one step away from social disintegration. And that’s not a personal view. Any poll that’s carried out, shows an overwhelming demand for a crackdown on lawlessness. People want more police on the streets. They need to feel safer.”
“You think there’s a cure?”
“No. The majority of people have developed a siege mentality. You batten down the hatches and hope it’s someone else that gets vandalised, terrorised, mugged, robbed, raped or murdered. I suppose mob rule could surface to make a stand. Vigilantism might be unlawful, but it’s only one step up from neighbourhood watch. If we can’t make citizens feel safe, then they might have a right to start getting proactive. Doing nothing doesn’t stop you from becoming a victim. There has to be an alternative to living in constant fear of scumbags.”
“Doesn’t that worry you?”
“Hell, no, Eddie. Take this animal we’re looking for now. I would be more than happy to hand him over to the relatives of his victims. I’ve got an eye-for-an-eye philosophy. Turning the other cheek is asking for it to be hit with a baseball bat in this day and age. And more prisons and longer sentences isn’t the answer. Any criminalist – who isn’t lying through his or her teeth – will tell you that prison doesn’t work.”
“So you’d bring back the death penalty?”
“And back date it, Eddie. It’s a hell of a deterrent. No hanged man ever offended again.”
“But―”
“Leave it, Eddie. I need coffee. And then we’ll call in at the hospital and see how Emily Simmons is doing.”
Chapter TWELVE
She thought she saw her neighbour, Weird Harold, standing over her. He looked concerned, and she heard him telling her to hold on. The room was spinning, expanding out away from her, and Harold appeared to recede with it. Her sight was dimming. Everything appeared to be separated from her by fogged glass. And then a roaring, black wave folded over her.
She opened her eyes and immediately scrunched them shut against the bright light. She had no idea of where she was. Only knew that she was very frightened, but did not know why.
“Emily, can you hear me?”
It was a stranger’s voice. She decided to ignore it.
“Emily. You are in hospital. I am Doctor Lucas Tanner. How do you feel?”
She kept her eyes closed. Thought about how she felt. Her neck was throbbing, her stomach hurt, and there was a deep ache and soreness between her legs. But the pain was secondary to an overwhelming sense of panic. She was scared, but couldn’t recall what had happened.
“Why am I here?” she said. Her throat hurt, and her voice was a croak. But still she did not open her eyes: vividly remembered being eight or nine, and knowing that a beast lived in her wardrobe at night. She had no idea where it went to during the day. It was when she was in bed alone that it returned. Without ever having seen it, she knew that it looked very much like a demonic Winnie-the-Pooh. Instead of button eyes and a stitched on smile, it had slitty, glowing green eyes, and an overlarge mouth packed full of needle-sharp teeth. It did not lap at honey, it was on a strict diet of little girls’ blood. The only defence against the Wardrobe Monster was to stay tucked up in bed and keep your eyes tightly closed.
“You were assaulted, Emily,” Dr Tanner said. “Don’t you remember?”
“Harold?” she said.
“I believe that the man who intervened and saved your life is called Harold…Harold Palmer.”
This didn’t make sense. What was the doctor talking about? Why was her mind almost blank? It was hard to hold her scrambled thoughts together, they lacked any cohesion. She risked opening her eyes a fraction. The man looked as if he was a doctor. White coat, and de rigueur stethoscope around his neck. Her throat felt parched.
“I need a drink,” she said, finally opening her eyes fully and looking about her.
A young nurse held a plastic cup to her lips. It had a lid with a spout to drink from. She was only allowed a couple of sips.
“What happened to me?” she said.
“As I said, you were assaulted,” Lucas replied.
“Could you humour me and be a little more specific, Doctor? I’m not in the habit of waking up in a hospital room, feeling like I’ve been hit by a bus.”
Lucas hesitated, then nodded. “You were sexually assaulted, to be precise. There is substantial bruising. Your wrists had been tied to restrain you, and they are quite badly lacerated. You obviously struggled violently. The most serious trauma is to your neck. You were stabbed. The good news is, that no major blood vessels were compromised. The blade passed within a hairsbreadth of your left carotid artery.”
Emily struggled up into a sitting position. The doctor and nurse helped her. A pounding in her neck, and a sharp pain deep in her vagina caused her to groan aloud.
“You need to take it easy for a couple of days,” Lucas said.
“I need to know what the hell happened,” she said. “You’re telling me that I’ve been tied up, raped and stabbed, and I don’t remember any of it. Why not?”
“Shock,” Lucas said. “You lost consciousness, and a considerable amount of blood. Your brain is blocking out the incident.”
“You mean I’ve got amnesia?”
“No. A repression of memory. Do you know who you are?”
“Of course, I’m Emily Simmons.”
Lucas shone a penlight into one of her eyes, then the other. Asked her to follow the beam. Wanted her to tell him her date of birth and telephone number. Then asked her to name the current Prime Minister. Emily answered the questions correctly without hesitation.
“No problem there. I’m confidant that you will fully remember what happened,” Lucas said. “The events might unravel slowly, or could kick in all at once in the next five minutes or five days. It won’t be pleasant. I’m going to give you a mild sedative. Try to keep hold of the fact that the incident is behind you. You are safe now.”
Emily tried to force herself to remember. It was like searching for a forgotten name, it wouldn’t come. Her last memory was of...putting a casserole in the oven. No. She was getting dressed. Brand new underwear. A black top and beige skirt. Why? Who had she been expecting?
“The police are outside, Emily,” Lucas said. “Do you want me to put them off for the time being, until you feel str
onger?”
“No. I’d rather get it over with, Doctor. It shouldn’t take long, considering that I don’t know what happened.”
Julie drove out to Watford. Met Ryan and Eddie in the small day room off ward nine on the third floor. With the vic being a woman who had been subjected to a serious sexual assault, the presence of a female officer was in order. Julie could have sent DC Angie Duke, but decided to attend herself. That Ryan was at the hospital might have tipped the scales with her decision.
“Get us some more of that crap coffee, would you, Eddie,” Ryan said when Julie walked in.
“Not for me,” Julie said. “I’m trying to cut back on the caffeine.”
Eddie made his way down the corridor, past the nurses’ station. He didn’t rush. There was a cute little black nurse who’d given him the ‘look’. Her body language was also a come on. He approached the desk.
“Excuse me, nurse,” he said to her. “I wonder if you could help me out?”
“Certainly, Officer,” Denise Cameron said. “You just take the stairs or lift to the ground floor, turn left, and follow the exit signs.”
Eddie frowned, then gave her a practised smile; reserved for women he was trying to pull. “That’s funny,” he said. “I didn’t mean out in that sense.”
“So what exactly do you need help with?” Denise said.
“Change for the vending machine.”
“Sorry. This is a hospital, not a bank.”
Eddie had hit a brick wall, and knew it. “Okay, love, forget I asked.”
“You might want to try some of the good stuff I’ve just brewed,” Denise said. “The crap from that machine is caustic. It’ll give you an ulcer.”
She was pulling his strings. He liked that.
Back in the day room, Ryan and Julie were standing at a window, looking out at the roofs of houses, letting their eyes be drawn higher to watch a big jet slide down through a low cloud base on its approach to Heathrow.
“How badly injured is she?” Julie said.
“The doc said she was one lucky lady. The knife missed everything that would have caused her to bleed out in minutes. She’s all stitched-up and could be out of here in forty-eight hours.”
“When do we get to talk to her?”
“Soon, if she feels up to it. You should have sent Angie.”
“No. This woman can serve him up to us. She was expecting him. Might even have a history with him. I want to hear what she has to say firsthand.”
“That’s optimism with a capital O,” Ryan said. “I think he contacted her online, groomed her and found out that she lived alone. We should be looking at unsolved cases of single women being raped and murdered in their homes. This won’t have been a one-off.”
Two coffees later, the doctor that Ryan and Eddie had talked to on their arrival entered the room.
“The patient will see you now,” Lucas said to them, after Ryan had introduced Julie. “I want you to be brief, and try not to upset her. She’s in a lot of discomfort. And don’t expect a lot, she has no recollection of the incident.”
“You’re joking,” Ryan said.
“I don’t do stand-up,” Lucas said. “I had to break it to her that she had been raped and stabbed.”
“Are you saying that she’s lost her memory?”
“Not as such. Shock and confusion can blank out a short period of time. She did not suffer any impact to the skull, so I have every reason to think that she will regain those lost hours. But the mind works in mysterious ways, Inspector. Some victims of accidents or serious trauma can lose hours or days, and never remember the event. Think of it as a neurological safety measure. Same as putting your fingers in your ears to prevent you from hearing bad news.”
“Sit this one out,” Ryan said to Eddie. “We don’t want to go in mob-handed and cause more stress than necessary.”
Eddie was happy to chitchat to Denise, and pick his moment to ask her for a date. As for Geena, he had phoned her on her mobile. She hadn’t answered, but sent him a text stating: U WERE RIGHT, EDDIE. I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF ALL THE COPS
& ROBBERS STUFF. HAVE A GOOD LIFE. G.
Lucas led Ryan and Julie into one of the side rooms across the corridor from a ward.
Emily was sitting up against pillows. Her hands were on top of the thin, pale-green coverlet, clenched together and white-knuckled.
Ryan met her eyes with his. Could see the pain and chagrin.
“Just a few minutes, remember,” Lucas said, leaving the room as his beeper went off.
Julie started. “I’m Detective Chief Inspector Julie Brannigan,” she said. “And this is Detective Inspector Ryan. We need your help, Emily.”
“I...I don’t know what happened,” Emily said, feeling foolish. “But I think I know who might have attacked me.”
Julie and Ryan pulled up plastic chairs and sat next to the bed.
“Go on, please,” Ryan prompted.
“I’ve remembered that I was expecting company. I had a date with a man I’d got to know online. I’d invited him to my house for a meal.”
“Alistair Griffin?” Ryan said.
Emily stopped herself from nodding. Her neck hurt, and the thick bandaging was as restrictive as a brace. “Yes,” she said.
“Did he show up?” Julie said.
“I don’t know. You really think it was Alistair that attacked me?”
“We believe that the man you were deceived into accepting to be who he told you he was online, is responsible for several murders.”
“I find that so hard to believe,” Emily said. “He seemed so nice, and over time we found that we had a lot in common.”
“I’m sorry, Emily, but he was just trying to inveigle his way into your life,” Ryan said. “The name he gave you will be as false as everything else he told you. There are freaks out there who don’t roam the streets looking for potential victims. They use Internet chat rooms and bogus web sites to find their prey.”
“So I was a gullible fool?”
Ryan hiked his shoulders. “No, Emily, just far too trusting.”
“Same difference, Inspector. Does this happen a lot?”
“Yes. All types of criminals use the ‘net. It has opened up a new dimension for them to enter and abuse.”
“I should have known better. I’ve seen programmes about how men...paedophiles, pretend to be children or teenagers to trick youngsters.”
“He came to your house, Emily,” Ryan said. “He knocked at the door, and you answered it. There was no sign of forced entry. You opened the door and he was right there, standing in front of you. What did he look like.”
Emily felt suddenly light-headed. The direct prompting worked. A misty gloom lifted, and revealed to her the terror she had experienced in a rush of images. She put her hands up to her face and pulled at tape that was not there; gagged on the memory of the panties that had been rammed into her mouth. For a few horrific seconds, she was back on her bed, trying to rip her hands free as the masked stranger raped her.
“Jesus! Jesus! No,” she gasped, as every sordid detail returned to haunt her.
Julie leaned forward and grasped one of Emily’s hands. Squeezed it hard. “Take deep breaths,” she said. “Don’t let him hurt you anymore, Emily. You will get past this in time. You need to concentrate on the here and now. Help us to find him and put him away for the rest of his life.”
Emily relived every second. It was a rollercoaster ride of fear and pain. She let it play out. The terror receded under the crushing weight of growing anger against the outrage. “Life is too good for the bastard,” she hissed. “I want to see him suffer much more than that for what he did.”
Ryan admired the woman’s spirit. Knew that she was not the type to let the incident ruin the rest of her life. Some victims never recovered. They almost wallowed in self-pity, to become shadows of their former selves. Emily Simmons was made of sterner stuff than that.
“I didn’t see his face,” Emily said. “He was wearing a stocking o
r tights over his head. There were holes for his eyes and mouth. His eyes were like yellow glass.”
Tyler, Ryan thought, visualising the eyes in the photo of Ruby Tyler’s son.
“Let’s start at the beginning, Emily,” Julie said. “How did he contact you?”
“He didn’t. I was surfing dating agencies and chat rooms. Sad, eh? Anyway, I came across Alistair and started up a friendship with him. He seemed so genuine. He was lonely, like me, and found it difficult to make friends. One thing led to another, and after a few weeks, I invited him round for a meal. Gave him my address and phone number.”
“Do you believe that this Alistair and the assailant were one and the same man?” Ryan said.
“Yes. He phoned me just before he arrived. Told me he would be at my house in five minutes. When I opened the door, he, the masked man, said, ‘Hi there, Emily. Alistair couldn’t make it, so you’ll have to entertain me instead’. And then he hit me in the stomach. The voice was the same.”
Julie and Ryan let Emily tell her story. Halfway through, Dr. Tanner came back in.
“It’s all right, Doctor,” Emily said. “I need to tell them everything.”
“You remember?” Lucas said.
“Yes. I wish I didn’t.”
When Emily finished talking, Ryan started in with questions. “Did he have a distinctive voice; a strong accent?”
“He spoke slowly. His voice was pleasant and rich. I didn’t notice an accent, so I suppose he was from this neck of the woods.”
“You said he took his clothes off. Try to visualise him, Emily. Did you see any jewellery, scars, or other distinguishing marks?”
“He kept the mask on, and wore white rubber gloves. He was very muscular. I guessed that he worked-out a lot. He was over six feet tall. His...his groin was shaven, and his penis was circumcised. He had a tattoo on his right...no, left shoulder. It was a Celtic cross. And he had a knife.”
“Did he talk to you?” Julie said.
“Yes. He said that he was Death. Warned me that if I didn’t do everything he told me to, then he would cut my eyes out. Said that total submission was my only chance of being spared. But when he eventually stopped raping me, he told me that he was going to ram the knife in my ear and stir my brains around. It’s hazy after that. There was a banging. A voice, and then a pain in my neck. When I came round, I was told that my next door neighbour had scared him off and called for an ambulance.”