by Sant, Sharon
I sit on the wall of a car park hugging myself as the cold seeps beneath my too thin jacket; it’s not right in the centre of town, but close enough for there to be people passing. Behind it lies a huge swathe of derelict land. The factory that once stood on it is now rubble, buried beneath tangled claws of weeds and shrubs. Karl didn’t tell me where the girls were found, and the memories I have of Rachel’s death are still incomplete, but if I wanted to drag someone away to kill them, this is just the sort of place I’d be waiting.
I pull my phone out and see a text from Dante, still unopened. My finger hovers over the icon for a moment.
R u ok?
I lock the screen again and suddenly I have that instinctive, primal awareness that I’m being watched. I look up to see that there’s a man walking towards me. I stiffen and pull my rucksack off my shoulder, my hand creeping inside for the handle of the blade. He draws closer.
‘Got the time, love?’ he asks.
I can smell the alcohol on him from here. Not the cleaning sort, but the pissed-as-a-fart sort.
‘Half twelve,’ I say, looking at the clock on my phone.
He stares at me for a moment, swaying on the spot. ‘You shouldn’t be out here all on your own,’ he slurs. ‘You should come home with me.’
‘I’m not on my own.’
‘I can’t see anyone. You going out with the invisible man?’ he laughs.
‘My boyfriend has gone to get me some chips.’
‘And he’s left you sitting ’ere? I’d knock his block off. Serve him right if he comes back and you’ve gone off with someone else.’ He grins and can barely control the lust in his eyes. ‘Come back with me, darlin’; teach him a lesson.’
I can’t help but grimace as I take in his thinning hair and pot belly. The sallowness of his skin is visible, even in the half-light of the streetlamps.
‘You’re alright, thanks. I’ll wait for him.’
He moves closer, frowning for a moment as he stares at me, trying to focus. Then his features brighten.
‘You’re that girl,’ he says.
‘What girl?’ I reply automatically, even as the dread of knowing exactly what he means creeps into my heart.
‘The dead girl in the paper,’ he says.
‘I don’t think so,’ I try to laugh, my pulse now roaring in my ears. ‘If I was dead, how could I be sitting here?’
‘You are,’ he insists. ‘You’re that girl who came back to life, I read about you.’
He starts to edge closer, his drunken, stupid curiosity abhorrent. He reaches for me and I whip out the knife.
He leaps back as the streetlight glints off the blade.
‘What the…’
‘Just back off,’ I growl.
He stares at me, his mouth hanging open. He looks as though he will speak again, but then staggers off without another word.
I watch him turn the corner and disappear from sight. Once I’m certain he won’t come back, I slip the knife back in the bag. My hands are shaking. I want to go home now but I don’t think my legs will support the walk. So I sit, head in hands, waiting for the tremors and cold sweats to subside.
I’ve no idea what I’m doing here. One thing I do know, there are plenty of creeps around this town. Do I really want to be sitting here waiting for one of them to get me?
When I finally get home I’m freezing like I’ll never be warm again. I long to curl up in bed and wrap the duvet tight around me, like I did as a kid, thinking that nothing could penetrate my feathery safe place. Even on the hottest summer nights I couldn’t sleep uncovered. It used to drive Mum mental but Dad would just shrug and tell her to leave me be.
At my front door, something doesn’t look right. I take a quick look around the little tiled forecourt of our terraced house. The flowerpots, still containing the shrivelled leftovers of last year’s plants, have been moved from their usual positions. I go to move them back and in my shock, almost drop one on my foot.
On my front step, carefully placed, is a dead robin. My first instinct is that Marmalade has left it, but something about the way it has been arranged and the fact that there isn’t a mark on it stirs an irrational fear in me that the real source is someone with far more sinister intent.
For a moment I stare at it, the urge to touch it, just to see, almost too great to deny. Its slick feathers gleam in the streetlights. My hand inches forwards, my breathing shallow. But then I shudder, yanking myself back to the cold night and the real world. Too freaked out and emotionally spent to pick it up, I open the front door and step over it before I slam the bolts on and hurry upstairs to shut the world away.
I climb into bed with my jacket on and pull the covers right over my head. What sick bastard plays a trick like that? It had to be deliberate: birds don’t die in perfectly symmetrical positions in the middle of people’s doorsteps. I conclude it must be one of the local kids. I shouldn’t let it get to me. I close my eyes and try to sleep.
Just as I’m starting to relax, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out; the bright screen hurts my eyes. Another text from Dante:
Can I c u tomoz?
I tap out a reply: why are you still up?
Nightmare. U didn’t answer.
I gaze at the message. The memory of his lips at my throat is all jumbled up with other memories that I can’t shake; of hands around my neck and the stench of sanitiser, of a drunk trying to take me home and a lechy git fondling my hair, of a bird with a bright red breast on my doorstep. I need to get my head straight. I can’t decide whether seeing Dante will make things better or worse.
Ask me in the morning.
I wait for a reply. When nothing comes through, I drop the phone onto the floor and curl up into a ball to try and stop the shivering.
My arms are wrapped around the cornflake box as I stare out of the window. The day is bright and fresh, the sort of day that banishes night so that you can never imagine having been scared in the dark. I wish I could feel that brightness. When I went outside to clear away the dead bird from the step, it had gone. I can’t decide whether this fact makes me relieved or even more concerned. I suppose it could have been picked up by a cat, or a fox or something. I have to be content with that theory although I still feel uneasy. After another scout around the house, in cupboards and wardrobes, and then out in the back garden again, I have to surmise that Marmalade has left me too. Feeling utterly alone, I scoop the remains of her cat food into the bin and leave the dish to soak.
My phone bleeps to remind me that I have an appointment with Helen today. I dip into the box for another handful of cornflakes and cram them into my mouth. I don’t know what I’m going to tell her. I haven’t done any of the things she suggested. I went out with the intention of murdering someone. But they deserved it, right? I slept with one of her other patients. I cleared away Gran’s life and discovered that she had the power to move me in a way I never thought possible. I’d call that an eventful week, but is it progress? The thought creeps in alongside this, that I have a funeral to arrange and a will to hear. Gran had the foresight to leave the name of the solicitors with Gail. I know what’s in it: there’s only me left to inherit. I’m not sure she had much anyway; the government took her house to pay for her time at Meadowview. They’ll phone me if they want to tell me about it, I suppose. When I see Helen today I could tell her that I’m still lonely, that I pushed away Dante and Karl, just about the only two people in this world who gave a shit about me. Perhaps that’s for the best though. People who give a shit about me end up dead.
The phone skitters along the kitchen table, buzzing a call. Despite what I have just decided, my heart leaps at the thought that it may be Dante. But when I look, the number is from a landline, and not one I recognise.
‘Cassie? It’s Karl.’
I feel the blood drain from the roots of my hair, like the seconds before the anaesthetic freezes your veins. I drop into the chair and cornflakes spill over the floor.
‘Cassie, are you ther
e?’
‘Yes.’
‘I wanted to see if you were ok.’
I feel sick, numb. ‘I thought….’
‘Nothing has happened,’ he explains quickly. ‘Sorry, I should have realised you might think the worst. I was worried. You haven’t returned any of my calls and I wanted to make sure you weren’t out doing anything stupid…’
My breathing is shallow and rapid. I fight to level it but my head is spinning and I can’t focus.’
‘Cassie?’
I try to speak but nothing will come.
‘Cassie, I’m coming over.’
I drop the phone and just make it to the sink in time to throw up.
‘You didn’t need to come over,’ I say as Karl fills a kitchen chair, his colleague, Mark, hovering near the window and scrolling down his phone as if deliberately demonstrating to me that he isn’t listening, even though he obviously is. ‘You can see I’m fine.’
He throws me a disbelieving glance from beneath his unruly eyebrows. ‘It didn’t sound like it.’
‘You just scared me, that’s all. I thought…’
‘I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to worry you.’
I can’t help a short laugh. ‘Worry me? I’m worried about the gas bill or the rate of global warming. This is definitely beyond worry.’
‘To be honest,’ Karl begins slowly, as though what he’s about to say is against his better judgement, ‘I was hoping you’d have something else for me today, some more information.’
Mark’s head snaps up from his phone, and although he shoots a loaded glance in Karl’s direction, he says nothing.
‘There’s something… I’m not sure how important it is.’
The sun from the window catches threads of silver-grey in his hair. ‘Anything,’ he says. ‘Everything is important in this case, so don’t worry about wasting my time.’
I’m guessing, even though he doesn’t say it, that he’s pretty desperate now to end this investigation. He’s probably working on it or thinking about it every hour of the day; after all, how could you not? He looks so tired I almost wish it for him. It must be hard, knowing that every day this man is at large there’s the danger of another life being snuffed out. I know it better than Karl could ever imagine. ‘Hand sanitiser,’ I say. ‘It’s a bit crap but it’s all I have.’
‘Hand sanitiser?’
‘Yeah. I don’t know how useful it is. Why would I smell that?’
‘I can pass it on to the psyche profilers; see if they can make sense of it. Is there anything else?’
‘I don’t think so,’ I reply. I pull at a loose thread on my sleeve. ‘I’ll keep working on it.’
‘Don’t wear yourself out, Cassie.’
‘I’m fine; you don’t need to worry about me.’
His expression is pensive for a moment as he weighs me up. ‘When is your Gran’s funeral?’
I shrug.
‘Have you been to the home?’
I nod in direction of the black bags. ‘That’s all from Meadowview.’
‘Right. That’s all her stuff?’
‘Yep.’
‘There’s no estate?’
‘I think there was a will – at least, she left details for a solicitor, so I think that’s why.’
‘So you’re sorting it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t lie to me, Cassie. Remember who you’re talking to.’
‘Can I bury her first?’
‘But you’re not doing that, are you.’
‘Gail at Meadowview said she’d sort it.’
‘You should have some input –’
‘I can’t talk about this now.’
‘I think you should. In the immediate future, how will people know about the funeral? Are you putting something in the newspaper? Long term, how are you going to cope entirely on your own?’
I look out of the window. The sun pours in around streaks of dirt on the glass.
‘Cassie, ignoring it won’t make it go away.’
‘Why do you care? This isn’t part of your case.’
‘I’m a human being before I’m a policeman.’
I turn my attention to him. ‘Cleaning alcohol, like hand sanitiser. Go and catch him.’
He sighs.
‘Gail – she works at Meadowview – will help me sort out the funeral. I’ll go to the solicitors when they call me. Other than that, I have everything under control.’
‘So, apart from that, you’re alright?’
I hesitate. Should I tell him about the weird happenings at my house? Should I tell him that I feel like I’m being watched all the time and it’s scaring me half to death? It’s probably all in my imagination, of course, and liable to land me with some kind of round the clock surveillance on my house, or whatever it is that policemen do when they want to keep an eye on someone. Under the circumstances, that’s the last thing I need.
‘I’m alright,’ I say.
‘And you’ve decided against that… plan you suggested to me the other day?’ he says, his gaze flitting briefly to Mark who is staring intently at his phone again.
‘Yes,’ I reply, the lie rolling too easily from my tongue. ‘You don’t need to worry about that. You’re right, I should let the trained people deal with it.’
He’s about to speak again when there is a knock at the front door.
‘Expecting someone?’ he asks.
I shake my head but don’t make a move.
‘Perhaps you’d like to see who it is?’ he asks.
‘I don’t get unexpected visitors,’ I say, ‘it’s probably a salesman or something.’
‘So you’re not going to answer?’
I sigh and push myself up from the chair.
Dante is outside on the step. The sun bounces from the bonnets of newly waxed cars. I squint up at him.
‘What are you doing here?’
He pushes a hand through his hair. ‘I couldn’t stop thinking about you,’ he says in a low voice. ‘Can I come in?’
‘It’s awkward right now.’ I glance back down the hall. I don’t know why Karl’s presence makes things awkward; it just feels weird to have them all here at the same time, like my house is too full. But his eyes are all dark and mournful again and I find myself opening the door to him. ‘I have someone here already, though,’ I warn.
He follows me down the hallway. As we near the kitchen, Mark is coming out towards the door, eyeballing Dante with what I guess is his best scary cop face. He squeezes past and out into the open air without a word.
Dante raises a questioning eyebrow and opens his mouth to ask who that was as he follows me into the kitchen. Karl twists around on his chair and runs his appraising gaze over the new arrival, immediately clamping Dante’s mouth shut again.
‘Dante, this is DI Massey,’ I say as I gesture for Dante to take a seat. Karl’s in plain clothes so I guess the least I can offer Dante is some explanation to smooth the puzzled frown creasing his brow.
Karl’s look of faint menace turns into something that betrays a quiet sort of relief. Dante just looks at Karl with an expression bordering on alarm.
‘It’s ok,’ I say to him, ‘I haven’t robbed a bank or anything.’
He tries to smile but I can tell he’s still freaked.
‘I’m a friend,’ Karl says soothingly.
‘Me too,’ Dante says.
Karl nods and gets up. ‘I think that’s all I had to say to you, Cassie. I’ll leave you two alone.’
‘Don’t go on my account,’ Dante says, ‘I can go if you need me to…’
‘I have a pile of work the height of Nelson’s Column on my desk,’ Karl smiles. ‘I should get back to it. It was nice to meet you, Dante.’ He offers his hand and Dante takes it in a slack grip.
I follow Karl down the hallway to the front door.
‘He your boyfriend? Family?’ he asks in a low voice, inclining his head back towards the kitchen.
I half-smile. ‘He’s quite safe, if that’s wha
t you mean.’
‘It’s just good to see that you have someone.’
‘I hardly know him,’ I admit, more truthfully than I mean to.
He studies me carefully for a moment. ‘Thanks for your help today.’
I open the door for him without reply. I’m not sure he should be thanking me at all. He steps out into the sunlight, shading his eyes, and nods to Mark, who is on his phone across the road, before he turns to me again.
‘You know where to find me if you need to.’
‘Thanks for scaring me half to death and then coming to scrape me off the ceiling,’ I reply.
I see genuine humour in his smile for the first time as he pulls out his car keys. ‘I’ll try not to do it again. But I need you to tell me the minute you have any more information. And I still don’t believe that you’ve quite grasped the seriousness of getting involved in any way that is more direct than what you’re doing already with us. Everything must come through me and my team… understood?’
I give a mute nod, hoping that his suspect radar can’t pick up the fact that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. Maybe he’s right, maybe I ought to be leaving it to them. But I know that the itch won’t leave me now.
Karl drives off with Mark and I close the door. I turn to see Dante leaning on the doorway of the kitchen.
‘You want to tell me what’s going on?’ he says.
‘You heard him, he’s a friend.’
‘So you call all your friends by their official title when you introduce them? And they usually have to visit in pairs?’
I push past him and stand at the sink, gazing out of the window. He pulls me around to face him, resting his hands on my shoulders. I don’t want to look into his eyes but I’m forced to and I tumble into their darkness.