by P. R. Black
‘You’ve sorted out your highlights, I see,’ the girl said, not in any aggressive way. ‘The brighter colour really suits you. And your face. Although, you know what they say about people who change their hairstyle all the time, don’t you?’
This nettled Freya, and she let it show. ‘Oh look, save it. I came to speak to Glenn. I’m not interested in your domestic dramas. If you’ve got something you want to say to me, say it now. I don’t have the time or the patience.’
‘There’s no need to be unpleasant,’ the girl said, in the same tone. ‘No dramas, like you said. And you’re not interrupting anything. You’re kind of a full stop, in fact. Glenn was here on his own. I came to hand back his keys. That’s done now.’
‘Look… I just want to say, I didn’t even know you existed until I saw you at that restaurant. I wouldn’t dream…’
Now the other grew dismissive, even haughty. ‘You’re all decency. I can see why he likes you. Anyway – I’ll just say this. Glenn isn’t into relationships, or into people, particularly. It took me two and a half years to realise that. Maybe you’ll realise sooner? Any road up – good luck. Oh, just one thing.’
Freya stood her ground. A nerve jumped somewhere between her ear and her throat; she fully expected the attack to come on the instant. Briefly, her eyes flickered to nearby tables. There was an empty glass. Even better, at her elbow, a bottle which one customer had just put on the table. ‘Spit it out, love.’
‘If you’re a serial killer’s daughter, do you think the same things as him?’
Freya blinked. ‘I’m not a serial killer’s daughter.’
‘By that I mean, do you get any mad urges? Any dark thoughts? Think you could kill someone? Good chance it’s in the wiring.’
‘To tell you the truth, it’s crossed my mind once or twice. In the past minute or two.’
‘Yeah. Listen.’ And then she leaned in – too close.
‘You be careful,’ Freya said, quietly, expecting the blow from any angle. ‘Extremely careful.’
But the stress leached out of the other girl’s face, and tears formed in the corners of her eyes, as she said: ‘Don’t be hurting him. All right? I don’t love him any more, but I don’t want to see him hurt, either.’
Freya let her pass. Nothing further was ventured. Her back and shoulders still pulled taut with tension, Freya pulled out the chair where the girl had sat moments before. Her hands quivered uncontrollably. She made no effort to cover it, nor the tears that escaped down her cheek. ‘So, Glenn,’ she said, brightly. ‘Busy few days?’
He said, at last: ‘Lively.’
‘We didn’t get arrested. I suppose that’s something.’
‘Ace.’
‘Look. Maybe we should go. This is awkward. Mainly because I don’t like sitting here with my back to the door. I’m not sure whether that girl’s going to run back in here with a machine gun any second.’
‘Wouldn’t put it past her,’ he said.
She touched his arm. ‘I’m not sure if I’ve said it before… I’m sorry. I feel like I’ve caused this. If I’d known about her, I would never have…’
But is that true?
‘No,’ Glenn said. ‘I didn’t tell you about her. So it’s not your fault. I could have stopped it any time. I suppose I… I didn’t want to.’
‘Oh.’
‘Anyway. There it is. She’s gone. She’s given back the keys. She’s taken away all the shit CDs.’
‘People still listen to CDs?’
‘Some people even listen to vinyl discs on their gramophones.’ For a second, he looked as if he might cry; as if he might crumple against her. Freya braced herself for it, the same way she’d braced for Glenn’s ex to take a swing at her.
Then he buttoned it up, and sat up straight. ‘So. Drinks! You and me. Success. You should see the hit-count on the blog. A couple of the true crime podcasts were in touch.’
‘Were the police in touch?’
‘Only all day.’
‘Me too.’ She sighed.
‘Get anything out of you?’ He grinned. ‘That was a joke.’
‘I don’t think so. Main thing I got out of it… I think they were embarrassed.’
Glenn smirked. ‘Because we used a bit of brain power, and found out something at the drop of a hat, and they didn’t?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Makes you wonder whether or not it’s deliberate.’
‘What – that they’re deliberately shit at their jobs?’
‘Suspiciously shit at their jobs, might be a better way of putting it.’
Freya lowered her voice. ‘Do you reckon the Woodcutter’s in the police?’
‘When murderers vanish into thin air, and particularly when someone is put away for it in dodgy circumstances, that’s when I start to wonder. Hey, I’m thirsty – drink?’
Freya shrugged. ‘Why not? I’ll take whatever fizzy pop they have on tap. By that I mean, standard-issue lager.’
When he came back, he said: ‘They do a quiz on in here later.’
‘Yeah, I know. Cheers.’ She took a sip. ‘You look thin. When was the last time you ate?’
‘I dunno. Porridge this morning? Fills me up.’
‘Maybe we could grab some nachos or something. Or we could go for a curry?’
‘Yeah… I’ve got some things to work out first, you know?’
‘Oh, got you. Legal stuff with your flat, maybe? You having to buy her out?’
Glenn frowned. ‘What? No, we were renting. Christ. How much money do you think I have? Nah, I meant, on the case. I’ve been busy in the background… You look surprised.’
‘Yeah, it’s just… I thought you might have had some more on your mind, that’s all.’
‘In what way?’ Glenn seemed genuinely puzzled. ‘I’ve got reams of good stuff, you know. I was digging out a few things about the two bodies they found. Some of my people on the ground with the forensics department, they’re really good off-the-record. They’ve maybe seen a bit too much Silent Witness, you know?’
‘Glenn, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but… I was thinking you were onto some kind of nervous breakdown because you were breaking up with your girlfriend. Not because you were working overtime on the Woodcutter.’
‘We’re on the scent, though,’ he said, and a strange look took over his face, then – blank, but intense at the same time. He focused on something over Freya’s shoulder, something that probably wasn’t there, although she did check, just in case his ex was poised to crash a fire axe into her head. ‘It’s close, isn’t it?’ he whispered. ‘I think there’s some sort of breakthrough to come. I’m sure of it.’
‘Whatever you say. I’m not sure what’s next, though. And I’m not sure I can stomach any more bodies. All four of the missing from the first case have been found. Plus two more that happened recently. Is there an endgame to this? What’s his plan? And what’s ours?’
‘I think he’s going to let events churn on,’ Glenn said. ‘Things are ramping up, now. Especially when it comes to what’s going to happen tomorrow.’
‘And what’s that then?’
‘You serious?’
Freya gulped down the pint. ‘What have you heard now?’
‘She didn’t contact you?’
‘Who?’
Glenn raised his phone and fiddled with it for a moment or two. ‘Here. Look.’
There was a single text message on the screen, from Cheryl Levison. It said: ‘Tomorrow. Supreme Court. Judges making their ruling. Get ready.’
Freya said nothing, for a moment. ‘No. She didn’t contact me.’
Glenn lifted his empty pint glass. ‘Another?’
47
Freya watched him sleeping for a good while. She thought he’d been talking in his sleep – something had woken her up, at any rate. But Glenn only sniffled and whimpered a little, his lips moving sometimes, but making no sound. Freya lay on her side in the gloom, focused only on breathing.
She’d decided to stay over; he’d even helped her bring her bike into the hallway, though he had sounded angry when she left a scuffed tread-mark on his wall with her back tyre. All around the flat there were clear spots and blank spaces where a relationship had been erased; even down to squares on the wall where picture frames had recently hung. CD towers were depleted, but not by much. Perhaps the most telling sign was the single dish laid in the drainer in the kitchen, with a knife and fork poking out of a cutlery rack.
They had a nightcap. They’d talked about how weird it would be to do anything daft, and she’d agreed, though she had also suggested bunking up beside him in the bed rather than being huddled on his couch with towels and empty covers. Then of course they’d done it.
Freya smiled in the dark, remembering how he’d gone under the covers in order to take off his underpants – a totally tropical shade of aquamarine, which had almost caused a fatal case of the giggles that could have changed the course of the evening had she allowed them to escape. He’d allowed them to drop onto the floor, agonisingly, from his big toe. That’s when she’d gripped the quilt cover and tore it off him.
When she emerged from the reverie, she realised his eyes had opened and he was staring back at her.
‘What?’ she said, at last. ‘Come on, speak. Have you died or something?’
‘Just thinking,’ he said. He lifted his watch from the bedside table, and grimaced. ‘Hours to go.’
‘Until what?’
‘Court proceedings.’
‘Guess we better kill some time, then.’
She reached for him, and his eyes sparkled above his true, unguarded, sly smile.
*
Porridge for breakfast, sweetened with blueberries and a swirl of honey. They sat in his front room watching a rolling news channel.
‘Stay tuned,’ Cheryl Levison had told Glenn, at about 9am.
Freya licked her spoon, as she considered Glenn’s phone screen. ‘Going to confess to some jealousy here. Just a little bit.’
‘Because Cheryl Levison texted me, and not you?’
‘Yeah. Exactly. I saw her first. And he’s my dad. What’s she doing texting you, anyway?’
‘I’ve been in contact with her for the past ten days or more,’ Glenn said, after a pause.
‘Even before she stalked us? When we went to see Carol Ramirez?’
‘Well… Yeah.’
She gazed at him. ‘Want to talk me through your reasoning, there?’
‘I was curious. I wanted to see if I could get anything from her. I also think your dad should be free. Cheryl Levison is the one to do it. The link was clear.’
‘Did she say anything about me?’
‘She said, “I can’t figure Freya out. Sometimes she seems to be a smart kid, sometimes dense. The first time I met her she looked like she’d have run a mile if I’d clapped my hands suddenly.”’
Freya was actually rattled by this. ‘Did she say that?’
‘’Fraid so.’
‘Anyway. I guess we’re going to be talking to her quite soon. Something’s happening.’ Freya indicated the screen, where black and yellow tickertape flashed up, and a superannuated though undoubtedly handsome newscaster frowned as he read it.
‘News just coming in from the PA news agency from the Supreme Court, where it’s been revealed that Gareth Solomon, the man dubbed the Woodcutter, has been freed on appeal. Three supreme court judges delivered a unanimous ruling that his conviction for the murder of June Caton-Bell was unsafe. Of course, the case was expedited thanks to the discovery of several bodies in the past few weeks, which investigators believe may have been the missing victims of the serial killer known as the Woodcutter. And of course, other bodies have been discovered, subsequent to Gareth Solomon’s imprisonment.’
‘He’s out.’ Glenn slammed a fist into his palm. ‘He’s out! You did it. He’s free.’
‘That’s… That’s something,’ Freya said.
‘At least look happy about it! Hey…’ Glenn motioned to hug her; halfway through it, he chickened out, and offered a high five, which she reluctantly accepted. ‘Is everything all right?’
Freya nodded. ‘Just thought about someone.’
‘Who?’
‘My mum. She was forgotten, my mum. Maybe even by me. Been gone… a matter of weeks. I’ve still to have my first Christmas without her. No one will think about her. They’ll only ever think of me in terms of him.’
‘Hey…’ Glenn got up, taking care to put down his porridge bowl, and sat beside her. He laid an arm across her back, and hugged her. They sat, awkwardly, perched on his sofa, while a whooshing sound signalled a change of shot as live pictures came in from the steps of the court.
‘We go now live to the scene outside court, where Gareth Solomon has appeared with his barrister, Cheryl Levison…’
The image wavered as the cameraman was jostled. His colleagues flashed into view – an unsettling battery of video equipment and camera lenses – before several figures emerged from the court.
One was Cheryl Levison. Freya had to admit she looked amazing, lithe and blonde, chiselled but not hard-looking, like a fitness instructor whose classes you looked forward to. It was only when the man who stood beside her emerged and came down the steps to join her that the strobe light barrage began.
Gareth Solomon wore a metallic blue suit that looked good on him. He looked thinner in normal clothes than he had in bulky prison clobber, and his beard had been removed, leaving a broad, but pleasant face. He no longer had that satyr-like appearance, shorn of his beard, and his dark eyes seemed almost benevolent as he stood on the steps beside Levison. Two minders stood on either side of the pair, both in their late forties or fifties, both wearing outlandishly large coats that made them look as if their hands and faces had been added as afterthought. ‘Hard-looking’ was a complete understatement.
Levison spoke first, without notes, exultant and confident. ‘On behalf of my client I’d like to thank the Supreme Court justices for fast-tracking this appeal, and for reaching the only sensible conclusion: that Gareth Solomon is not the serial killer known as the Woodcutter. He was not responsible for the death of June Caton-Bell, and he was not responsible for the deaths of the other four people whose bodies have been recovered in recent weeks. In our view, the discovery of two more bodies, bearing all the hallmarks of the previous Woodcutter case, rendered the jury’s original decision in my client’s trial a quarter of a century ago, utterly redundant.
‘This has been a grave miscarriage of justice, and once my client has become acclimatised to the freedom so cruelly denied to him all these years, we intend to pursue the matter further. A public inquiry should be established to look at what went wrong.’
‘She’s good,’ Glenn said, absently. ‘Can see her in parliament. Or doing karaoke. One of these really boring bastards who’s excellent at it.’
‘Furthermore,’ Levison said, ‘we want to pay tribute to the people who have never given up – who have fought for my client even after he was accused of the most despicable crimes. This country has a tradition of fairness that transcends the ideals of one or two individuals who would seek to subvert it. Our gratitude goes to you.
‘And of course, I could not talk about this case without mentioning the five – possibly seven, possibly even more – victims of a sadistic, vicious killer, who is still to be caught. My client is fully aware that even though this is a positive day for him, it means that the suffering, the hurt, the fear and the uncertainty continues in tandem with the grief. Our fight for justice is a fight for justice for the victims, too. Perhaps now, the police can concentrate on lines of inquiry that will lead them to the Woodcutter – the real killer we believe is still active today. That is all. Thank you.’
She stepped back, and there was a cacophonous volley of questions. Solomon looked diffident for a moment, then he gazed coolly at the cameras, squaring his shoulders. He nodded, and appealed for quiet, raising his hand. At this gesture, there was
an even greater frequency of clicks and flashes.
‘Proper press pack, this,’ Glenn said. ‘Your dad’s big news.’
‘All the better,’ Freya muttered.
‘We should have been there, really.’
‘To do what? Get shoved by horrible old men? No, I think we’re better off out of it.’
‘Might be nice to meet him.’
‘You’ll get your chance.’
‘Seriously?’ The hope in his voice irritated her. She did not answer.
In a deeper voice than Freya remembered, her father said: ‘I would like to echo what my fantastic lawyer, Cheryl Levison, said earlier. The past twenty-five years have been one long nightmare, and I would say that it isn’t over yet by a long way. I have to come to terms with the fact that a significant portion of my life has been destroyed by the actions of corrupt police officers who simply wanted to fit someone up for a series of crimes they could not solve.
‘I am not the Woodcutter. I did not kill any of those people, and I certainly was not responsible for June Caton-Bell’s death. My thoughts are with the families. I’ve tried to correspond with all of them. None of them wanted to speak to me, and that is understandable. But I want to say to them – I want the Woodcutter caught. I will launch a campaign, I will do whatever I can, to put this evil man behind bars. And I would say to him now—’ here, Solomon gazed right into the camera ‘—your time is coming. Justice will prevail.
‘There are many unsung heroes. One of them is my daughter, Freya, whose work behind the scenes will go down in legend. I don’t know Freya as well as I’d like to, but I am looking forward to having a normal relationship with her when the time is right. She has been a tower of strength, and she’s only one of many people who believed me, who saw through the lies, who helped me get to this point today. Thank you.’
The anchor spoke over the retreating figures, as the minders closed in, allowing them passage through the cameramen and photographers.
‘When you meeting him?’ Glenn asked.
‘I don’t know. I’ll get in touch with Levison – assuming she doesn’t prefer talking to you. Then we’ll meet up. Don’t worry,’ she added, tetchily, ‘we’ll find a spot for you.’