by Shaun Hutson
Walker, too, was anxious to get away from this oppressive atmosphere. He looked briefly at Hailey, who forced a smile.
‘I’ll see you out,’ she said.
As Walker stepped out into the hall, Hailey glared over at Rob, then she followed the other man to the front door, opening it for him.
‘I’m sorry if I caused any trouble,’ Walker said quietly. ‘I should have realized this was too late for social calls.’
‘You didn’t cause any trouble, Adam,’ she answered softly. ‘How was your father?
He shrugged.
‘The same as ever,’ he told her. ‘Like I said, you get used to it after a while.’
She nodded.
‘You get used to anything after long enough, Hailey,’ he said cryptically. ‘Don’t you?’
He turned and headed down the path.
‘I’ll see you,’ he added gently. ‘Take care.’
‘Adam?’ she said, taking a step out into the porch.
He turned.
‘Call me again,’ she asked, touching his hand lightly before she backed away.
He nodded.
Hailey stepped back into the house.
30
BY THE TIME Hailey wandered into the living room again, Rob had changed into a pair of jeans and a denim shirt.
She carefully carried two mugs of tea, and set his down on the table beside him.
There was already a glass there, and she could smell the whiskey it contained.
‘I needed it – before you ask,’ he said.
She sat down at the opposite end of the sofa from him, legs tucked up beneath her.
Rob took a sip of the spirit, wincing slightly as it burned its way to his stomach.
‘Adam,’ he said, without inflection.
She looked at him.
‘Adam Walker.’ His eyes were still fixed on the TV screen.
‘I said I wanted him to meet you,’ Hailey told him. ‘I said you’d like to thank him.’
‘Oh, I did want to thank him. He seems like a nice enough bloke. Is he? You probably know more about him than I do.’
‘He rang me later to see how Becky was.’
No need to mention their lunch.
Rob nodded. ‘You invited a complete stranger to our house,’ he muttered, still without looking at her.
‘I invited the man who saved our daughter to meet you.’ Her voice was heavy with scorn. ‘After all, it was me who fucked up, wasn’t it? I let her get lost, didn’t I, Rob? I mean, you’re never going to let me forget that, are you?’
He sipped at his drink.
‘He’s a good-looking bloke, isn’t he?’
‘Are you asking me or telling me?’ Hailey wanted to know.
‘A nice bloke.’
‘What are you going on about, Rob?’
‘I’m just saying he’s a nice bloke. What’s so wrong with that?’
‘Yes, he’s a nice bloke. Yes, he’s good-looking. What do you want to hear? How about, “Yes, I’d suck his cock if he asked me”?’
‘There’s no need to get stupid about it, Hailey.’
‘Don’t patronize me, you bastard. I know you.’
They locked stares.
‘I’m going to bed,’ said Rob. ‘Perhaps you should, too. You’ll need to feel fresh for the morning, won’t you? I’m sure Jim Marsh wouldn’t want you fucking up on your first day back.’
Rob got to his feet.
He drained what was left in his glass and left it empty on the coffee table.
‘It’s great to be home,’ he said, with a humourless grin.
‘You’re pathetic at times, Rob.’
He closed the sitting-room door behind him. Hailey heard his footsteps on the stairs.
She felt the first tears welling up in her eyes.
Tears of anger? Of pain? Of loss?
It felt as if there was a huge empty hole inside her.
In her very soul.
She continued to stare blankly at the television.
When she first heard the phone, Hailey had no idea how long it had been ringing.
She forced open her eyes, emerging from a troubled sleep to register its electronic shrillness.
Rob flapped out a hand and grabbed the receiver, pulling it to his ear, his eyes still closed.
‘Hello,’ he croaked.
Hailey saw that the glowing red digits on the radio alarm showed 12.49 a.m.
‘Hello?’ Rob said again, clearing his throat.
She rolled over and looked at him – at the phone.
‘Either say something, or get off the fucking line,’ he snapped into the mouthpiece.
After a moment or two he slammed the receiver down.
‘Who was it?’ she wanted to know.
‘Some dickhead with the wrong number,’ he told her.
‘Are you sure?’
He exhaled deeply. ‘Go to sleep, Hailey,’ Rob murmured.
‘Didn’t she speak? Perhaps she was frightened I’d overhear. Never mind, you’ll see her again tomorrow, won’t you?’
‘There was no one there,’ he said angrily. ‘If it happens again, you pick it up. It might be your friend Adam.’
They lay with their backs to each other.
It was a long time before either slept.
OAK LANE, MANNINGHAM PARK, BRADFORD
She stood banging on the roof of the car and shouting.
He spotted her as he drove closer, and it took him a moment or two to realize that the car was empty.
What was the stupid bitch playing at?
She was screaming obscenities at the empty vehicle, reeling from it every now and then, and he could see that she was obviously drunk.
Probably done the rounds tonight. The Perseverance, the Carlisle, and now, he guessed, she was heading towards the International.
Drunk, pathetic, plying her filthy trade for anyone desperate enough to pay her.
He slowed down as he drew closer, and she noticed his car.
In fact she started to walk across towards it.
She was dressed in jeans, a short leather jacket and a blue shirt. Most of the buttons were undone.
He shook his head. They were all the same.
She bent down and smiled drunkenly at him through the passenger side-window, then reached for the door handle.
He made no attempt to stop her. In fact he smiled as she slipped into the seat beside him.
He looked at her for a moment, listening to her drunken babble. To the same sort of thing that they all said: to him and to every other man who paid them for the use of their bodies.
This one was different, somehow.
She was in her mid-twenties but the ravages of working the streets didn’t seem to have affected her the same way it did so many of the others.
This one was even quite pretty – in a cheap kind of way. Her skin was still fresh and taut, her long dark hair lustrous.
He could smell the booze on her breath as she directed him to her flat.
He parked the car and allowed her to climb out, watching as she headed towards the ground-floor bedsit.
As she pushed the key into the lock, still with her back to him, he slid his hand beneath the driver’s seat and pulled out the clawhammer.
He hid it inside his coat, and then followed her inside the flat.
She was prattling on about a drink, but he paid little attention. He hung up his coat, ensuring that the hammer was still concealed inside. Within easy reach.
Arms folded before him, he looked around the tiny bedsit.
The walls were a little discoloured by cigarette smoke and by the central heating. The bedspread could have done with a good wash, but apart from that it was a passable dwelling.
For someone like her.
She sat on the edge of the bed with her back to him and began pulling off her shoes.
He pulled the hammer from his coat and struck.
The shuddering impact seemed to shock her into silence.
S
ometimes they screamed, but not this one. She merely tried to rise – even when he struck her again.
The third blow sent her sprawling back across the bed.
The fourth caused her to roll off onto the floor.
He bent down and slid his hands beneath her armpits, lifting her back onto the bed.
Moving quickly, he pulled open her shirt, exposing her breasts. He tugged her jeans down past her hips too, and stood for precious seconds gazing at her.
He shook his head slightly, thinking how cheap she looked.
How many other men had seen her like this?
Blood was already pouring form her head wounds, soaking into the bedspread underneath.
He then hit her again. And again. Occasionally he would flip the hammer, using the claw to gouge into her flesh, watching the welts rise where he raked her body with its twin prongs.
He wasn’t sure if she was dead when he finally stuck the knife into her stomach. He was more transfixed by the fact that her blood looked so red. So vivid. With the others, before her, it had appeared black in the darkness. But now he almost marvelled at its brightness.
He pulled the bedsheets over her, watching the blood soak through the cotton. He could hear gurgling sounds coming from underneath them as she gargled with her own blood.
She was obviously still alive but would be in no state to tell anyone what had happened.
Death would follow fairly quickly. It was what she deserved.
Filthy whore.
He walked out, closing the door carefully behind him.
He would throw the hammer from his car on the way home, having cleaned it carefully of fingerprints.
You could never be too careful.
23 April 1977
The women I killed were filth-bastard prostitutes who were littering the streets. I was just cleaning up the place a bit.
Peter Sutcliffe, ‘The Yorkshire Ripper’
OK, now you’re on your own.
Your self-righteousness has grown . . .
The Ruts
31
HAILEY COULDN’T DECIDE exactly how she felt as she parked the Astra.
Was the fluttering in her stomach caused by exhilaration or nerves?
She sat for long moments looking up at the main entrance of SuperSounds, wondering how much the place had changed since she had last entered those carefully polished doors. The two brass handles were each cast in the shape of a letter S. Beyond them she could see the reception area.
The factory itself wasn’t that large, considering the amount of merchandise it produced, but its site still covered over half an acre.
The offices immediately before her were where the clerical work was done. Ordering, despatching, designing – that kind of thing. The manufacturing warehouses extended to her left. Large grey brick and glass edifices that housed over eighty workers.
She could see one of the delivery lorries pulling out onto the main road as she glanced in her rear-view mirror. It carried the same distinctive black livery and gold S’s that appeared everywhere in and around the building itself. Or, in fact, on anything to do with James Marsh’s business. Even the guitars made here at the factory bore that same symbol, etched in gold on each machine head.
It was a huge operation – worldwide – and it had all begun from this same site. Once only a warehouse, and with three other men apart from Marsh himself. He would design the guitars, even help in their manufacture. But, as time went on, the business expanded, growing larger and more successful until it became the global concern it was now.
As she stepped out of the Astra, Hailey could see Marsh’s black Jag parked in its usual spot.
She headed for the main doors, the wind ruffling her hair.
As she passed through into the reception area, her heels rattled noisily on the marbled floor.
The young receptionist looked up and smiled welcomingly.
‘My name’s Hailey Gibson,’ she said. ‘I’m here to see James Marsh.’
As the receptionist checked her appointment book, Hailey ran a hand through her hair again, glancing around.
Behind the reception desk there were a number of gold and platinum discs. All were dedicated to James Marsh, from a list of bands that read like a Who’s Who of the rock-and-pop world.
AC/DC.
Ozzy Osbourne.
Eric Clapton.
Iron Maiden.
Queensrÿche.
The Rolling Stones.
U2.
And many more.
There were more discs on the left-hand wall. Above them were a number of guitars: from the earliest designs produced here by the Marsh factory, right up to the most advanced and up-to-date models.
To her right were two lifts.
She heard a whirring noise, and a bell sounded as the lift descended to a halt.
‘Mr Marsh said you could go straight up,’ the receptionist said. ‘You’ll find him on the fifth floor.’
‘She knows where I am.’
The voice had come from out of the lift, and Hailey recognized it immediately.
James Marsh stepped from the lift and strode across the reception area to embrace Hailey. The receptionist looked on in silent bemusement.
‘I saw you pull up,’ Marsh told Hailey.
‘Checking to see that I wasn’t late?’ She smiled.
‘As if,’ he said, holding up his hands. ‘Come on, I’ll show you your office.’ He beckoned her towards the lift.
The receptionist still looked on, smiling.
‘It’s OK, Julie,’ Marsh said. ‘She’ll be safe with me.’
All three of them laughed.
32
‘THEY’RE BEAUTIFUL, JIM. Thank you.’
Hailey gestured towards the huge bouquet of red carnations that lay on her desk. She smiled broadly.
‘Just a little welcome-back present,’ Marsh told her.
He was in his fiftieth year but looked much younger, the only clue to his advancing years being the profusion of crow’s feet at his eye corners. His hair was flecked with grey but still lustrous, swept back from his forehead.
The office they now stood in was huge. It contained an enormous desk, a leather sofa, a glass coffee table and two other high-backed leather chairs. There were even more flowers in vases set on either side of the large picture window that overlooked the car park fronting the building.
Hailey walked back and forth, gazing out of the window, while Marsh took a seat behind her desk.
‘It’s good to have you back, Hailey,’ he said finally. ‘I know it won’t be just like it used to be, with you being part-time now, but I hope it’ll do for you.’
‘It’s good to be back, Jim. Thanks for keeping my old office for me.’
‘I knew you’d be back eventually. You were made for this job.’
She smiled and leant on the window sill, pulling down her skirt slightly.
‘Things haven’t changed much around here,’ he told her. ‘A lick of paint, a few new faces. That’s about it.’
‘You never did like change, did you, Jim?’
‘Mr Predictable, that’s me. Anyway, I’m not the one who’s changed – it’s you. What’s it like being a mum?’
‘Tiring.’ She smiled.
‘How are your family?’
‘Fine.’ She kept the fixed smile in place.
‘Rob didn’t mind you coming back to work for me?’
‘Not at all,’ she lied.
Very convincing.
‘I’m delighted you agreed to come back,’ he told her. ‘I’ve tried other girls here, but they just haven’t got it.’
‘Got what?’
‘What you’ve got?’
‘And what’s that?’
‘It’s indefinable,’ he chuckled, getting to his feet. ‘I had one girl here a while ago. Lovely girl, long blonde hair, good-looking, legs up to her armpits. You get the picture?’
‘Decorative.’ Hailey smiled.
‘I even paid for a boob job
for her. Five bloody grand.’
‘Jim, for God’s sake,’ she laughed.
‘She looked great, but she didn’t have it up here.’ He tapped his temple.
‘You sexist pig,’ chuckled Hailey.
‘No, don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean she was thick. Like I say, she looked great. Wherever we went together, she turned heads. I took her to Rome, New York, you name it. But she couldn’t do the job. Not like you used to do it.’
‘Did she become another notch on the Marsh bedpost?’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’ he wanted to know.
‘Oh, come on, Jim. You don’t usually employ your PAs for their typing skills.’
‘You’re still the only one who’s had it all, Hailey. Looks, brains, and the same sort of work ethic as me. You get the job done.’
‘Jim, you can stop the bullshit now. I’m back, OK?’ She sat down behind her desk after he stood up and moved to the other side of the room. ‘Just don’t forget: it’s only part-time. No more trips away. No more working until midnight.’
He held up his hands. ‘I hear you.’
‘So, what’s first on the agenda?’
‘Well, I thought I’d give you a few hours to settle in, get the feel of the place again. You might have become a bit rusty.’
She raised an eyebrow.
Marsh smiled. ‘All right,’ he said, ‘here’s the deal. Have you heard of a band called Waterhole? They’ve just released an album called Playing with Andy Warhol, whatever the hell that means. Advance sales are huge.’
‘I’d have to have been living in a cave on the moon not to have heard of them.’
‘Right. Well, as you know, in less than a month it’s the twenty-fifth anniversary of the founding of SuperSounds, and I’ve managed to negotiate a deal with Waterhole to play a gig locally in celebration. They use only our gear.’ He sat down in one of the high-backed chairs, after pulling it closer to her desk. ‘That’s high-profile. The advance ticket sales are over ten thousand already, and they’ll be double that by the time the gig takes place. All the proceeds go to charity.’
‘So where do I come into all this?’ Hailey wanted to know.
‘They’re a big band, Hailey. About the biggest there is at the moment. The only problem is they’re arseholes. I know they haven’t exactly got the monopoly on that in the music business, but these guys have raised being pricks into an art form.’