by Amy Cross
“We're having some difficulty accessing surveillance footage,” the detective replies.
“On Twitter people are saying all the cameras in the area were broken,” another woman pipes up.
“I can't comment on that,” the detective says.
“But Twitter says it!”
“I really can't comment.”
“They're saying something went wrong with every camera for a mile around,” she continues, tapping at her phone. “Not just in this case, either, but in all the murders so far. How can something like that happen? It doesn't make any sense. You should at least be able to see everyone who was in the area at the time. Can't you use facial recognition or something to figure out who they all were?”
“Or phones,” a man adds. “Just track their phones.”
“We're working on that,” the detective says, clearly a little flustered. “For the time being, I'm here to ask whether any of you noticed anything out of the ordinary with regard to Miss Lewes' behavior recently.”
“Is it true she was killed by the Jack the Ripper copycat?” another woman asks.
“I can't -”
“It's all over the news,” she adds, to general murmurs of agreement from other people in the room. “People on Twitter are starting to ask questions. Everyone's asking what's going on in London and why this madness isn't being stopped! Is this the same Jack the Ripper copycat who killed people five years ago and then got away without being caught?”
“I hope you'll appreciate,” the detective says with a sigh, “that I can't divulge certain details of an ongoing investigation.”
“If you'd caught the bastard back then,” Tom says dourly, “then maybe more people wouldn't have had to die. I'm sorry, but that's just a fact.”
Another murmur of approval ripples across the room, but all I can do is stand in stunned silence. I was talking to Abbie yesterday evening, less than twenty-four hours ago, and now she's dead. It's horrible to think that someone killed her last night, that while I was at home reading and getting on with some work, Abbie was being murdered in some grotty alley. I can't even imagine what she could have been doing out in such a dodgy part of town, or why she'd have taken the risk of walking all alone along a dark alley.
Come to think of it, I think that particular alley is close to the hospital where Mum's being treated.
Didn't I go to see Mum last night?
For a moment I feel a little dizzy as I try to remember precisely what I did after leaving work yesterday. Did I meet someone out on the street? I feel as if I talked to someone, but the conversation is a total blur. I guess I must be imagining things again, and I feel a flicker of pain in the back of my head until I manage to convince myself that I just went straight home.
Of course I did.
I was home last night.
Reaching out, I steady myself against a table, waiting for the dizziness to pass.
“We'll be around for a few minutes,” the detective says, “so if anyone has anything that might be relevant, anything at all, please don't hesitate to come and speak to us. You never know what could turn out to be useful, and anything you tell us will be dealt with in the strictest confidence.”
As the meeting breaks up, I join the others in wandering in stunned silence toward the door. It's still impossible to believe that Abbie is actually dead, that she isn't about to suddenly rush through one of the doors and start babbling about last night's X-Factor or the new Taylor Swift album or some Formula One thing that's gotten her all wound up. She was one of those people who can make a room buzz, and I genuinely can't imagine what it's going to be like around here now that she's gone. I think I'm really going to miss her.
“Hey,” a voice says suddenly, as someone nudges my arm, “aren't you going to talk to them?”
Turning, I see that Tom has caught up to me.
“What about?” I ask.
“You were there last night, weren't you?” he replies. “In Richmond, I mean.”
Still feeling a little dazed, I shake my head.
“Are you sure?” He furrows his brow. “I was driving past a bus stop and I swear I saw you. It was raining really hard, I honked my horn and gave you a wave. You looked at me.”
“That wasn't me,” I reply. “I went straight home.”
“Really?”
I nod.
“Then you've got a doppelganger out there, Maddie,” he continues. “She looked absolutely like you. Her expression, her clothes, everything. I felt bad for not stopping to offer you a lift, but I was in a hurry. Good job I didn't stop then, isn't it? I might have ended up with some complete stranger in my car.”
“I wasn't in Richmond last night,” I tell him, although it's odd that he'd say that. After all, Mum's in a hospital in Richmond and I have been planning to go and see her again very soon. I easily could have been there right around the time that Abbie was being murdered.
“I don't know about you,” he says with a sigh, “but I need a drink. Abbie always seemed like one of those people nothing bad could ever happen to, you know? Like she was moving through the world with all her armor on. I can't believe she's just been taken away like this.” He stops next to the door that leads into reception. “Do you want to pop out with me for a quick whiskey?” he asks. “Just one, to calm us down a little. We can sit in the pub and figure out what we're gonna do about the client's project. You'll have noticed, by the way, that Richard didn't say anything about deadlines being extended in light of what's happened. Work must go on, right?”
“I think I just want to go to my desk,” I reply, feeling a flutter of anxiety in my belly. I don't know what's wrong, but I really want to get away from people for a while. “Sorry.”
“Fair enough,” he mutters. “I definitely need a splash, though. I'll come and find you when I get back and we'll get to work. Although I might have an early lunch, just to really settle my nerves. I'll get on with things after that, though, I promise. I'll be back in time for that meeting with Richard.”
Once he's gone, I stop in the corridor for a moment. I keep telling myself that the last time I saw Abbie was here at the office, but at the same time I've got a weird, nagging sensation that maybe I saw her later. I know that's not possible, of course. I know I went straight home last night. I just wish I could figure out why I feel so weird.
Feeling a flicker of pain, I look down at my right hand and see that the knuckles are scratched. There are marks on my fingertips, too. When did I do that? It looks like I fell. I try to remember, before heading through to my office.
I can't afford to let myself get distracted. I've got work to do. I need to lose myself in my work and try to forget everything else.
Chapter Eight
Maddie
“Okay,” I continue, turning to the next page in the folder, “so we're going to ramp up the new ads over the weekend and by Monday we should have some good metrics about where to go from there. I'm going to suggest that we review internals on Monday evening and decide whether or not we need more tweaks. Most likely we will, but -”
“Maddie, are you okay?”
Looking up from the folder, I see that Richard is staring at me with a concerned expression. I turn to Tom and see the same from him, and then I turn to Richard again.
“I'm fine,” I say cautiously. “Why wouldn't I be?”
Richard pauses for a moment. “Well,” he continues finally, “it's just -”
“Abbie would have wanted us to get on with this,” I tell him. “She didn't like people sitting around and feeling sad. She'd want us to hit the ground running and make sure this campaign flies.” I wipe the back of my hand against my nose, and at the same time I take a large sniff. “Abbie was lead on this project, but I know she'd be backing these ideas.”
I wait for a reply, but Richard is simply staring at me some more. Finally I look down at the folder, but then – before I can say anything – a spot of blood drips down onto the page, followed a moment later by another.
Reaching up, I fe
el a trickle of blood running from my right nostril.
“Here,” Tom whispers, and I turn to see that he's passing me a handkerchief. He looks very slightly embarrassed.
“Thanks,” I mumble, taking the handkerchief and quickly wiping my nose. “I'm really sorry, I don't know why this is happening.”
“Maybe it's shock,” Richard suggests. “I think we're all still coming to terms with what happened. I want you guys to know that if you were working on any other account right now, I'd have taken you off and let you have some downtime. Once this program is over, I'm going to insist that you both take a week off with full pay. I'm also going to arrange for you to see a counselor.”
“That's not necessary!” I blurt out, still checking my nose in case there's more blood.
“The fact that you think it's not necessary,” he replies, “only underlines the fact that it's vital. One of your closest colleagues died last night, Maddie, and you should be in shock. You should be grieving.” He pauses, and it's clear that he's worried. “I want you to get this campaign finished today, and then you're going to take a week off.”
I shake my head.
“Maddie -”
“No!” I blurt out, feeling a rush of panic. “I can't take time off! Please, don't make me!”
“Your job will be right here waiting for you when you get back.”
“No, it won't,” I stammer, trying not to freak out. “I worked so hard for this and I can't screw up now. What happened to Abbie is awful, but I can't just sit around thinking about it. I need to throw myself into my work so I can get past all the thoughts about -”
Stopping suddenly, I see Abbie's dead face staring at me. For a moment I'm on the ground in a dark alley, shivering and weeping as I watch a dark figure leaning down toward Abbie's belly. I can hear a sickening squelching sound, as if the figure's hands are rooting about in Abbie's guts, and sure enough a moment later I see a pair of hands rise up with torrents of blood gushing from either side. I try to pull away, then I try to scream, but all I can manage is a faint, pitiful whimper and -
“Maddie?”
Startled, I turn just as Tom touches my arm.
“Are you okay there?” he asks. “You looked like you were zoning out for a moment.”
“I'm fine,” I tell him, although I'm sure I look completely flustered. That image of Abbie was so vivid, I could even feel the cold and I think I could smell...
What was that smell?
Blood?
“I think it's clear that everyone needs to take a step back,” Richard announces calmly. “Maddie, you haven't been with us for very long, but you're a valued member of the team. I know certain aspects of your life history might make you particularly worried about job security, but you're not getting fired. Far from it. I want you to take a week off precisely because I think it'll protect you and make it easier for you to get over this horror. Now, I don't know what you'll do during that week, but I'd strongly advise you to relax. Do you have any hobbies, Maddie?”
“Hobbies?” I ask emptily.
“See about getting some,” he replies. “And I'll arrange for both of you to see a counselor. I know most bosses are jerks, but I promise I want what's best for you. And Maddie...” He pauses, staring at me for a moment, and then he sighs. “You're going to be just fine,” he adds eventually. “Trust me. I've got a sixth sense about these things.”
***
“It was you, wasn't it?”
Stopping at the end of the corridor, I turn to Tom.
“Last night,” he continues, “at that bus stop. I've been thinking about it, and I know sometimes people have doppelgangers, but... I swear to God, Maddie, I saw you in Richmond. I even recognized the coat you were wearing.”
“I was at home,” I reply, but I'm fully aware that I sound unconvincing.
“You don't have to get paranoid, you know,” he continues. “No-one's going to be suspicious, just 'cause you happened to be in the same part of town as Abbie. I mean, trust me, you're not exactly the serial killer type. You should just be honest with the cops, in case they find out later.”
“I wasn't in Richmond!” I say firmly.
“Yeah, well I saw you,” he replies, taking a step closer, “and the more you deny it, the more I start wondering what's going on here.”
He stares at me for a moment, as if he's trying to see into my head and read my thoughts.
“You didn't see Abbie last night, did you?” he asks. “Honestly, I'm still not suggesting anything bad, but if you happened to bump into her and you're worried about that getting out...”
“I didn't see Abbie,” I tell him.
“But you were in Richmond?”
I shake my head.
“Are you sure about that?”
“I don't have time for this,” I reply. “I have to get on to one of the advertisers.”
I turn to walk away, but he grabs my arm.
“She told me about your scars,” he says, lowering his voice.
I turn back to him.
“Car crash, right? Funny, you've never mentioned that.” He looks down to the front of my shirt. “Do you know Jenny in the HR department?” he adds after a moment. “Nice girl. A little plump, but nice. In fact, she's at that perfect intersection between being attractive and being frumpy. She hasn't got much hope of landing a decent guy, but she hasn't thrown in the towel either. Hope's a great thing in a woman like that, Maddie. It makes them eager to please.”
“I want to go now.”
“And she can be very helpful sometimes,” he continues. “As a matter of fact, I like to get a little early intel on all the new hires here. Just so I can avoid triggering any sore spots, so to speak. The last thing I'd want is to accidentally say something that upsets someone, especially in this PC world. So I like to cast a glance over the information about new hires, and let's just say Jenny can be very accommodating. And you, Maddie, seem to have had a very troubled past. Why didn't you tell any of us that you used to be homeless?”
“That's none of your business,” I tell him.
“Of course it's my business,” he replies. “We're colleagues. What if I were to make some cheap crack about homeless people, and I triggered you? That'd be just awful. Now I know not to say anything like that, but I can't help wondering why you didn't open up to us about your experiences. Don't you think we'd be sympathetic?”
“I want to go now,” I say again, but he doesn't loosen his grip on my arm.
“Did anything bad happen to you on the streets?” he asks. “Drugs? Violence? Criminal activity? Did you, I don't know... Did you get involved in the sex industry? I know a lot of girls do when they're desperate, and I'm not looking down on you at all. I see homeless people in the streets all the time, and I'm sure they have tough lives. Some of the girls are very young. You can't have been that old at the time. You must have been very vulnerable.”
“I got by just fine, thank you,” I reply through gritted teeth. “And now I really have some work to do.”
“You can talk to me any time,” he says, before letting go of my arm. “Honestly, I'm a good listener. We should go out and get a drink some time, to honor Abbie's memory, and while we're there we can talk about anything else that's troubling you. You're a nice girl, Maddie, and I think it must be very hard for you to struggle along on your own. Especially since your HR form says you've got no next of kin, no family or -”
Suddenly the door behind me opens, and Diane comes through. That's enough to shut Tom up, and I take the opportunity to slip away and head through to the reception area.
“Think about it!” Tom calls after me. “The offer's always open.”
By the time I reach my desk, I feel increasingly flustered. I'm worried that Tom might follow me through and keep bugging me, although fortunately he seems to have given up by now. Still, I'm having trouble staying focused, and as I sit down I check my phone to make sure that I don't have any messages from the advertisers. I feel a shudder of irritation when I see t
hat I have one message, but when I swipe to take a look I find that it's not from anyone working on our campaigns.
My blood immediately runs cold as I see that the message is from the hospital.
Chapter Nine
Maddie
“Where is she?” I shout, slamming through the double doors and racing onto the ward. “Where's my mother?”
“She's in her room,” one of the nurses says, rushing to greet me, “but -”
“I want to see her!”
“I'm sorry, you'll have to wait.” She grabs my arm, holding me back. “The doctors are in with her now and -”
Before she can finish, a scream rings out at the far end of the corridor. Somehow I know instantly that Mum's in trouble, and pure fear gives me enough strength to pull away from the nurse. Hurrying along the corridor, I hear another cry, accompanied by what sounds like several doctors yelling at each other. Just as I reach the door at the far end, however, two nurses come out and I immediately see the shocked expressions on their faces.
“Let me in!” I shout.
One of the nurses closes the door to block my way.
“Now's not a good time,” the other nurse says. “Please, your mother -”
“They said she woke up!” I stammer, trying but failing to force my way into the room. I'm getting desperate and I can't hold back. “What did she say? Has she said anything? Did she ask about me?”
“She's being examined right now,” the first nurse says, “but -”
Suddenly Mum screams again, followed by the sound of several doctors shouting at one another.
“Please,” the first nurse says, “I -”
“That's my mother in there!” I yell, pushing her aside and forcing the door open. For a moment I'm filled with anger as the nurses try to pull me back, and I refuse to let any of them stop me. “I have to see her!”
“And I'm telling you that you'll have to be just a little patient!”
Another nurse tries to step in my way, but I slam her against the side of the door. I didn't mean to hurt her, but I quickly force my way past.