Fallen Heroes

by Amy Cross

  “I wondered that, but she said he'd gotten hold of her old address somehow and he kept forgetting to switch to the new one. I always thought it was a bit funny.”

  “Do you have any of the postcards now?” Nick asked.

  She shook her head. “Sarah took them all.”

  “He was older, too,” Mr. Jenkins added with a frown. “She acted like it was a good thing, like he was this mature guy, but he was something like ten years older than her. I mean, that's not right, is it? What's an older guy doing messing around with a student? He said he was just trying to help her with her modeling career, but it doesn't take a genius to see through that kinda thing, does it? We all know what he really wanted. I never liked those postcards, either.” He turned to his wife. “I told you, we should've torn them up.”

  “She'd've been so mad when she found out.”

  “But she'd be alive,” he added. “I'd take that.”

  “What else do you remember about these postcards?” Nick asked. “This name, Crutchlaw... That was his surname, right?”

  “I think it was his internet name,” the woman replied. “Like, the one he used on the screen. You know, when people are hiding who they really are.”

  “But Sarah knew who he really was, didn't she?”

  “I guess so. She said he was definitely working for a paper somewhere. She was going to meet him some time.”

  “And he signed his postcards with the name Crutchlaw?”

  She nodded.

  “You said he traveled,” Nick continued. “That was part of his job, was it?”

  She nodded again.

  “And what exactly was that job? I mean, there are a lot of things someone could do when they're working for a newspaper. Was it a national, or something more local?”

  “I don't know. She told me but...” Pausing for a moment, Sarah's mother seemed on the verge of sobbing again. “My little girl. That's what she was. She was our only child and now she's gone and we just... She was an angel.”

  “We'll find her,” Laura said, “I swear. We'll get her back for you and -”

  Before she could finish, Nick nudged her arm again.

  “What?” she asked, before turning to Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins and seeing the look of shock on their faces. “Oh.”

  ***

  “Wait up!” Nick shouted, running to catch up as Laura made her way along the street. “What the hell was that?”

  “You should go back to them,” she replied, not even slowing. “Don't worry, I can take a bus.”

  “No, hang on.” Stepping past her, he blocked her way. “What's going on? Half the time you were zoning out in there, and the other half you were telling the parents of a murdered woman that you were going to get their daughter back alive and well!”

  “My mind was on something else.”

  “No shit. Thinking about Ophelia, were you?”

  “I just...” Pausing, she realized that even now, her mind kept drifting back to the video of Becky Bridger's parents, and to the fact that after all this time, Becky had shown up alive. “I shouldn't have come today,” she added finally. “I'm sorry, that was a mistake.”

  “Again,” he replied, “no shit.”

  “They can't tell us anything anyway,” she continued. “Don't you get it? The whole thing has been set up to waste our time. Daniel Gregory knows the formalities, he knows how we go about things, so he set this up so that we'd be too busy going through the motions to actually do anything useful.”

  “You think Sarah Jenkins was murdered to waste our time?”

  “Not that, exactly, but the postcards...” She paused. “It's like something from a bad thriller. A guy meets a girl online, he starts sending her strange postcards from different parts of the country, signed using his screen-name, and he makes sure to send them to her parents' house so everyone knows about them.”

  “I admit it's a bit odd, but -”

  “This is what he did during the Simonsen case,” she continued. “Most killers try to avoid leaving clues, but Daniel Gregory went the opposite way. He tried to overload us with possible leads, with strange little pointers that were supposed to send us off in various directions, and he ended up twisting everything together. He's doing it again. While you're busy trying to find these postcards and tracking down this Crutchlaw person on the internet, you're just falling into his trap and he'll be sailing off to the next murder, and then the next.”

  “So we should abandon the rulebook and just go on gut instincts, should we?” He waited for an answer. “That's not how things work in the real world, Laura.”

  “It's how I used to work.”

  “And how did that work out for you, eh?”

  She paused again. “You should go back to Sarah's parents,” she said finally. “Talk to them. Make them believe that you're going to catch the killer.”

  “I am.”

  “Of course you are.”

  “You don't believe me, do you?”

  “Say all the things you're supposed to say. All the things that anyone could say.”

  “Do you think you're better than me?” he asked.

  She paused.

  “Right,” he said with a faint, flustered smile, “well... Everyone said you had a bit of an ego back in the day, but I didn't believe it, not seeing as how these days you're so...”

  She waited for him to answer. “So?”

  “Forget it.”

  “So crumpled?” she suggested. “Broken?”

  “I didn't mean it like that. It's just... It's obvious Daniel Gregory did a number on you back in the day. When he got off, I mean.”

  “You should go back to Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins,” she told him. “Do your thing.”

  “You coming?”

  “I'm not part of the case, remember?” she continued. “Halveston would only get angry at you if he found out that you were indulging me, and the more I screw up, the more likely he is to get wind of it all.”

  “You were pretty spectacularly bad just now,” he replied, with a faint smile. “The look on their faces...”

  “Daniel Gregory wants to tie the investigation up in knots and send it down dead-ends,” she replied. “Fine. Let him. But I'm not part of the investigation, so I don't have to go through all those motions. I was wrong to want to stay involved in the case.” Stepping past him, she turned to see the confusion on his face. “Get on with your job, Nick. You're a good detective and I'm sure you'll do everything right. I have total faith in you.”

  “Cheers, but -”

  “And now if you'll excuse me,” she added, “I have a lot of paperwork to get done.” With that, she turned and walked away, forcing herself not to look back. By the time she reached the corner, she was already thinking about Ophelia again.

  Chapter Eleven

  “You alright, love?”

  Suddenly realizing that someone was speaking to her, Ophelia looked up and found that a security guard had approached. The first thing she noticed was that he was young, barely any older than her and with noticeable pimples all over his chin. The second thing she noticed was that he seemed completely uncomfortable, not only in his over-sized uniform but in his entire role, as if maybe it was his first day in his job and his first attempt to assert any kind of authority over another living being.

  “You can't sit here,” he continued. “Sorry, but it's a fire hazard.”

  Looking both ways along the bare corridor, she heard more train departures being announced in the distance. She barely even remembered arriving at the station, let alone why she'd ended up sitting on the floor. The past few hours were a complete haze, as if her mind was getting cloudy.

  “Did you hear what I said?” he asked. “You're a fire hazard.”

  “Sure,” she muttered, getting to her feet, although she immediately felt nauseous. “I was just resting for a moment.”

  “You okay?”

  She turned to him. She was used to people asking that question, but this guy seemed genuine, as if he really meant
it. After a moment, she began to wipe her eyes, even though the tears had stopped flowing a few hours earlier.

  “Have you got a place to go?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Sure about that?”

  “I'm sure.”

  “Okay, just...” He paused, as if he wasn't quite sure what to say next. “Watch yourself, yeah? Don't let -”

  “Totally,” she replied, turning and hurrying away. Stuffing her hands into her pockets, she reached the end of the corridor and glanced back. The guard was still watching her, so she made her way around the corner and across the train station's main waiting area, pushing her way through the bustling crowd of people waiting to take trains down to the south-west. When she reached the door to the ticket hall, she stopped and pulled a wad of cash from her pocket. Quickly counting the notes, she realized that she needed to empty her stashes before she left town.

  ***

  Pulling the last of the bricks away from the hole, she reached in for the tin.

  Nothing.

  Leaning down, she peered into the gap and realized that her tin of money was gone.

  “Fuck,” she whispered. “Damn you, Josephine...”

  ***

  “Come on,” she muttered, climbing onto the toilet seat and then reaching up, pushing the ceiling panel aside and reaching through to find the back-up emergency stash she'd been storing in the fast-food restaurant's bathroom.

  Her hand felt around in the dust, but here, too, she found nothing.

  Climbing back down from the toilet seat, she pulled out her remaining money and counted it again, and slowly she realized that she was close to being broke. During all the years she'd been living on the streets, she'd carefully worked to build up stashes of money and other items, things she could use if the situation ever became too bad. She'd also saved some of the cash she'd taken from the farmhouse all those years ago.

  And now, somehow, everything was gone.

  ***

  “Spare some change?” she asked, with her hand held out as commuters pushed past. “Spare some change?”

  She waited, not making eye contact with anyone but, instead, focusing on her hand. As people hurried through the station, however, no-one seemed to have noticed her at all. She'd never been particularly good at begging, although she'd managed to get a system going for a while, but now the whole thing felt hopeless. In the back of her mind, she was starting to panic, wondering how she could survive again. She'd become so accustomed to living with Laura, she'd let her senses get dimmed.

  There was another thought, too.

  She had a little less than £80 left. She knew that if she was careful, the money could last a few months, but she also knew that the idea of scraping a life together on the streets was no longer viable. Been there, done that. Deep down, she was starting to think that while she had a little money, she should use it to do the one thing that she'd always known she'd have to do eventually.

  “Spare some change?” she asked.

  She waited.

  “Spare some change?”

  The plan wasn't working. She'd run and run and run, and now she had to turn around and go back. In some sick, perverted way, it suddenly felt like the right thing to do.

  ***

  “That'll be £74.50,” the woman behind the counter said. “The bus leaves in half an hour from gate sixteen.”

  Sorting through the last of her money, Ophelia set some notes on the counter. As she waited for the ticket to be printed out, she ran a few mental calculations and realized that she now had exactly £4.05 left in the entire world. For a moment, she considered canceling the ticket and taking the £74.50 back, and trying to start again, but somehow the urge to keep fighting had left her. The Ophelia mask was slipping away, and whatever was left beneath felt different now.

  “Here's your change,” the woman said, dropping some coins onto the counter, followed by a print-out. “And that's your ticket. Just show it to the driver when you board the bus and he'll scan it.”

  “Thanks,” she muttered, grabbing the coins and ticket and hurrying away. She hadn't dared to look at a mirror all morning, but as she passed one at the door to the ticket hall she finally looked at herself. Shocked by the darkness in her eyes, she quickly made her way out to the waiting area and found gate sixteen, where a few other people were already gathered, ready for the bus that would take them out of London and up to the north.

  Finding a free chair, she sat down and tried to stay calm.

  “This was always going to happen,” she whispered to herself, saying the words out loud in an attempt to keep herself strong. “You knew it. You thought you were smart enough to run forever, but -”

  Sensing movement to her left side, she turned and saw that a middle-aged woman was shifting seats, evidently preferring not to sit too close. They briefly made eye-contact, before the woman looked back down at her book.

  “You're not as smart as you thought you were,” Ophelia continued, looking down at her tattered shoes. “You -” Stopping suddenly, she looked across the waiting area and saw a payphone on the wall at the far end. Feeling a shiver pass through her chest, she got to her feet and hurried over, before picking up the receiver and slotting one of her few remaining coins into the slot. Her hands were trembling and she was getting clumsy, and she felt as if she was starting to fall apart.

  With a heavy heart, she dialed a number she'd memorized long ago.

  “Please pick up,” she whispered, “please -”

  “Laura Foster,” said a voice on the other end of the line.

  Ophelia immediately froze.

  “Hello?” Laura continued. “Is someone there?”

  “It's me,” Ophelia replied.

  For a moment, there was no answer. “Where are you?” Laura asked finally. “You sound different.”

  “I'm going away.”

  “Listen -”

  “I have to do this.”

  “I think we should talk.”

  “No. No talking. I'm done talking.” Taking a deep breath, Ophelia saw that the money she'd put into the phone was already running down. “Talking is just a way of lying to yourself,” she continued. “I'm going away and I won't be coming back.”

  “Rebecca, you're scaring me.”

  “Don't call me that.”

  “Why not? It's your name.”

  “It's not my name,” she replied, close to tears again. “It hasn't been my name for a long time.”

  “Okay. Ophelia -”

  “Don't call me that either.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment. “Then what should I call you?”

  “I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry for getting angry,” she continued, with tears in her eyes. “I wanted to thank you for everything you did, and for everything you tried to do. I'm sorry it didn't work out, but I really appreciate it.”

  “It can still work out,” Laura told her. “If you'll just come home -”

  “I'm going home,” she replied.

  “You are?” At this, Laura paused. “Back to your parents? I think that's a -”

  “Not there,” she continued, taking a deep breath as she tried to force the tears back. Glancing across the waiting area, she saw her bus pulling in at gate sixteen. “I don't have long. I'm going back to ...” She paused for a moment. “I'm just sorry. I'm going back.”

  “Back where?”

  “Just back.”

  Suddenly hearing the beeps that warned her money was running out, Ophelia wiped her eyes.

  “Got to go,” she said finally, putting the phone down and then pausing for a moment. She'd hoped to find something big or important or kind to say, maybe something profound, or something to make give Laura some more confidence, but everything had just fallen away and now the call was over. “I'll miss you,” she whispered, staring at the phone.

  “Spare some change?” asked a guy nearby, with his hand out as people walked past.

  Reaching into her pocket, Laura
took out the last of her coins and then headed over, dropping them into the guy's hand.

  “Cheers,” he replied.

  “It's cool,” she told him. “I'm not going to need them.” With her bus ticket in her hand, she turned and headed to the gate.

  Chapter Twelve

  “No!” Laura shouted. “Don't hang up!”

  Realizing that it was too late, she quickly tried calling the number back, but the phone simply rang for a moment before it was picked up and a woman's voice answered.

  “Where are you?” Laura asked.

  “I'm sorry?”

  “This phone. Where is it?”

  “It's a payphone at Victoria bus station,” the woman replied, sounding a little confused. “I was just walking past and it started ringing.”

  “Did you see who was on it a moment ago?”

  “Sorry, no.”

  Pausing, Laura felt as if she had to do something, but after a moment she realized that she was powerless. Even if she raced over to the station, there was no way she'd find Ophelia sitting there, waiting patiently. The seconds were ticking past, and in the back of her mind she knew that if Ophelia didn't want to be found, then she didn't have a hope in hell.

  “Okay,” she muttered, cutting the call. “Thanks.”

  “Who was that?” Maureen asked, stopping in the doorway as she shuffled back from the bathroom.

  Still holding her phone for a moment, Laura realized she was close to tears. All she could see in her mind's eye was Ophelia walking away, disappearing into a crowd, vanishing forever.

  “No-one,” she whispered, before setting the phone down. “I'll start making dinner soon.”

  As soon as her mother had headed back to watch TV, Laura returned to the mass of papers she'd laid out on the kitchen table. She'd pulled all the old files relating to the Becky Bridger case, determined to work out how the little girl in the posters all those years ago had ended up as the person who'd just called her.

  Pulling a photo of Becky Bridger from the pile, she set it next to the booking photo of Ophelia from the time they'd first met, when she'd been found in the middle of London waving a big hook around. A faint smile crossed her lips at the memory of the ragged girl she'd met that day, but the smile faded when she looked back down at the photo of Becky.