Jennifer’s downfall had been her beautiful green eyes and curly dark hair. Her skin was as white as a lily; making her red lips and emerald green eyes stand out. She was striking and that was what had attracted Tim to her. Every victim was picked carefully but usually because they had aesthetically struck a chord inside him. A bit like two people meeting each other for the first time and falling madly in love. But not the warped, twisted, sinister way that Tim loved his victims.
Feeling warmly satisfied, Tim took some time to watch Jennifer laying in the little copse surrounded by trees, his choice of a bed for her. It was well hidden down a more or less unused back road and along a track that not many people knew about. He rolled a cigarette from his tobacco tin as he observed her like a work of art.
She looked even more beautiful now than she had when she’d been alive. Her green eyes were still sparkling, but now glazed; they held a snap shot of the fear she had endured only moments previously.
Death fascinated him. The way a person’s eyes altered, showing no emotion, becoming empty, coloured oval shaped glass. Tim loved that part, when he could reflect on the stillness of his victim like a photo in an album. All his snapshots were logged safely in the dark cellar of his mind. The added bonus was that he got to keep a memory scent as well as a picture.
Jennifer lay in her cold, damp grave, her body mostly naked apart from her school cardigan that Tim had decided to put back on her after he’d taken her shirt. Mud caked her nails where she had grabbed at the ground in an attempt to get away from him. Those fingers that had been so frenetic moments earlier now lay motionless like statue’s, as if they would crack and break under the slightest movement. Her distorted tiny body, paler than when she’d been alive, now lay broken like an old doll. A grey blue shade was beginning to colour her white skin. Her tiny neck was in an unnatural position where Tim had broken it from strangling her so hard.
*
A few weeks later Tim knocked hard on Jennifer’s mother’s door, as he and his colleague removed their police hats as a mark of respect.
“I hate doing this.” His workmate said, gripping his hat as if it might transport him to another time and place.
“So do I, mate.” Tim could see Marion, Jennifer’s mother coming towards them through the frosted glass door. He discreetly glanced at his watch. All Tim could think about was getting this over and done with and going on his lunch break.
A tearful Marion opened the door, a tissue already gripped to her mouth.
“You’ve found her haven’t you…Oh god no…not my Jennifer!”
Marion’s legs buckled from underneath her and she fell against the porch door frame, as she took in the two police officers faces, knowing it wasn’t good news. Tim grabbed her before she completely collapsed and managed to get her into her living room.
His colleague, Paul busied himself in her kitchen, glad to have been allocated the job of making her a strong cup of tea.
Tim made her comfortable on the sofa and explained how a gamekeeper had stumbled across a body on his estate. The police believed it to be that of Jennifer. Tim told her how she or another member of her family would have to formally identify Jennifer’s body and that it would probably be best if it was someone other than her because Jennifer had been put in a shallow grave but more or less left out in the extremities for several weeks.
Tim then let Paul take over for a bit, while he busied himself calling members of her family and her local doctor so that he could prescribe her something to calm her down.
Marion wept and wept like she’d never stop; her heart was slowly and painfully breaking. She’d become a widow two years previously and now she’d lost her only child. She’d known something had happened to Jennifer when she hadn’t come home from school that day. She knew she wouldn’t have missed her birthday party for the world.
Marion had watched the clock in the kitchen as she’d flitted around the dining table laying out plates of homemade sausage rolls, pretty coloured biscuits, and cheese on sticks.
She’d wanted it to be so special for her. Jennifer’s last birthday had been filled with sadness because it was her first birthday after her father had died of cancer. His diagnosis had left him with a death sentence of six weeks, and he had deteriorated rapidly. Before Marion and Jennifer knew it they were standing by his grave saying their goodbyes to him.
Jennifer had just begun to enjoy life again; accepting that her father wasn’t coming back, but that he would always be watching over her. So Marion had wanted her to have a birthday party that she would never forget. Not just marking her birthday but also a fresh start. But now it would be a birthday that Marion would never forget, for all the wrong reasons.
While Marion had been busy preparing the table she had assumed that Jennifer was held up by excited friends and maybe stopped off at one of their houses on the way home. Something she forbade her to do without informing her where she would be and what time she would be home. But because Marion was distracted with the party and it being Jennifer’s birthday she’d let it pass, just this once, assuming she’d got caught up receiving more birthday gifts. She was such a popular girl.
When the party guests arrived with no Jennifer in tow and no news of her since they’d all left school, she knew that something was wrong. She also knew after the first night that Jennifer was missing that she was never coming back. Jennifer would never leave her like that and not tell her where she was going. She wouldn’t leave her mother’s side since her father had died. She was such a caring and protective little girl, sometimes Marion had felt, in her deepest moments of grief that they had swapped roles and Jennifer had mothered her instead of the other way around.
It still didn’t make the news relayed to her by the police officers any easier. Even though she knew Jennifer’s fate already, there was still that glimmer of hope she had clung onto every day. And now it was all over.
CHAPTER SIX
Norfolk 1998
Chrissie sat at her writing desk mulling over the information that Grace had told her about the murders of all the children. She needed to concentrate on her writing but it kept going round and round in her head. It wasn’t only the horror of the story that she couldn’t let go of but there was also something nagging her about it all. She was sure it was in some way connected to the strange episodes she was having in her house. Grace hadn’t offered much information about who had lived in the house over the years, just that she remembered it being a holiday home for a time. What Chrissie was really shocked at was that no one had been caught for the crimes. Apparently the police hadn’t even come close to it. Whoever it was had been extremely clever and left no evidence. The only consistent piece of information the police had was that the murderer took a souvenir from the body, usually an item of clothing, and that all the victims were children and they had all been sexually assaulted before being murdered. The police thought it was a local man because whoever it was knew the area very well, always choosing secluded places normally down the country roads that formed a bridge between villages. It made Chrissie shudder to think there was some creep on the loose who hadn’t been made to pay for his crimes. Not that Chrissie could think of any type of punishment that would make up for what had happened to those poor little souls and their families. Grace had told her how it had affected the area dreadfully and even though it had all happened a long time ago it was still a very sore subject. Especially in the villages that each child came from; it was still so fresh in their minds.
What Chrissie couldn’t understand was why she wasn’t able to recall anything about the murders. Even though she was a child when they’d happened, and she’d only visited the area on holiday, she surely would have remembered them being talked about, or it being on the news? Another strange thing Grace had told her was that the murders suddenly just stopped. There was talk in some of the villages that whoever committed the crimes had either died or moved away. But then if they’d moved away, they surely would have continued murdering in anoth
er area. Maybe the murderer was dead. Not a bad thing, thought Chrissie to herself, although, if it had been a member of her family she would have wanted the bastard publicly tortured and hanged.
The phone rang, startling her and interrupting her thoughts.
“Hello, Mum. How are you?”
”I’m fine thank you, darling and how are you? I was just ringing to see how you were settling in to darkest Norfolk.”
Chrissie took a deep breath and mentally counted to ten. She wasn’t going to tell her mother what had been going on in the house, which would only serve to give her the pleasure of saying “I told you so”.
“Very well, thank you, Mother. I’ve got some bits and pieces to do here but the previous people did the main work which has made it all a lot easier. The area is really nice and I’ve made a couple of friends already.”
“Oh how lovely for you darling. Your Father and I are hoping to come and visit you before Christmas. Is the house habitable?”
“Yes, it’s fine Mother,” Chrissie rolled her eyes to the heavens, “and it’ll probably be completely sorted by the time you and Dad get here. While you’re on the line Mum, do you remember anything about a series of child murders that happened in this area? It was quite a few years ago but some of them would have been about the time we came down here on holiday.”
The line went quiet and Chrissie wondered if they’d been cut off.
“Mum, are you still there?”
“Yes, darling…I’m just trying to remember…I can vaguely recall something about it. Why?”
“Oh nothing really, it’s just something that was being discussed in the pub the other night and I wondered why I couldn’t recall anything about it. It was obviously a major enquiry.”
“Yes, yes it must have been…oh sorry darling I must go there’s someone at the door. Daddy sends his love, speak soon…”
“Oh, ok, by Mum. Love to you all too…” she found herself saying to a dead line.
Sylvia didn’t have anyone at her door at all, and she’d remembered, as if it were yesterday, what Chrissie was asking her about. How could she forget that her precious daughter could have so easily been one of the victims?
That was one of the reasons why she and Peter, Chrissie’s father, hadn’t wanted her to move there. But Chrissie had seen it as another one of their over protective episodes. They had often wondered if they should have told her when she got older, because for some strange reason Chrissie quickly forgot about the whole incident, which had been a blessing in disguise. They had watched her like a hawk and taken her to the doctors for regular checkups after the attack. The doctor had told them it was quite common for a child to temporarily erase a frightening memory from their brain due to shock. And that was exactly what Chrissie had done. So, throughout her life she had been unaware of why her parents and her sisters were so protective of her. She had often complained that they suffocated her, when actually it was because they were all still living through the terrible awareness that things could have been so awfully different and that they felt incredibly blessed to have her with them.
They had all been heart broken when she announced she was moving away and even more distressed when she told them where she was going. But they couldn’t protect her forever and while they were suffocating her with their love, they all knew that they were slowly losing her.
Sylvia had thought it was best she didn’t know the truth because she was frightened of how it would affect her daughter’s life. Chrissie was such a free spirited child; a trait that Sylvia was glad hadn’t been shocked out of her by that horrible incident. She just hoped and prayed that after the telephone conversation they’d just had, her memory didn’t come flooding back.
*
Dear Alice,
I dreamt about you again last night, but it felt different to what I normally dream.
You were in your favourite night dress. You know the white one with the embroidered panel down the front? You’d worn it the night before you went away.
Anyway, you were standing in a clearing, surrounded by trees with a field behind you. You were beckoning me to come towards you.
We hugged and hugged for what seemed like an age. It was so real Alice! The feeling has stayed with me all day like a scent that clings to your skin. I could even smell your beautiful blonde hair. We didn’t speak, just held each other. The relief I felt in my sleep was incredible and I was quite upset when I awoke. I felt free for the first time in so many years. Like this massive weight had lifted from me. Of course, when I first awoke I didn’t know where I was because the dream was so vivid. I ran into your bedroom knowing I was going to see you laying there asleep. But then reality hit me like an iron wall. I sat on your bed for a long time wishing I could swap it all for my dreams.
Daddy told me to go back to bed and get some more sleep, which was what I did in the hope that I would see you again. But there was nothing.
The sleep did me good though, because when I awoke again I realised how lucky I was to have that dream. I feel that it is another sign. I think it was you letting me know that we will see you again very soon, a bit like a premonition.
Daddy is still trying to talk me into going on holiday with him, but when I suggested to him about taking one of his fishing friends with him I think he realised that I’m not going to budge on my decision, especially not after this. It isn’t that Daddy doesn’t love you darling. It’s just his way of dealing with it all.
Anyway, he seems to be resigned to the fact that I won’t go on holiday with him and he’s thinking about taking your Uncle Tim with him instead.
Loving you always,
Mummy xxx
*
NORFOLK 1998
Tim sat in his draughty old shed and, pulling his coat tighter around him he took a large slurp of his hot toddy, the ratio of which was more rum than coffee. The weather had suddenly turned cold because of the bad winds whipping across from the sea. It felt like winter already and it was only September. The wind whisked around the shed making a noise that could be mistaken for people whispering outside. But Tim was familiar with these old noises caused by the wind tunnel that was their garden. When Grace and he had first lived there and he was just beginning to collect his memory scents and store them in his new shed, he’d thought it was a ghost haunting him. He chuckled at this thought, remembering how naïve and impatient he’d been in his younger days in comparison to the confident and relaxed person he was now.
He needed time to sit and think about his options because he was becoming very bored. Retirement had done Tim no favours whatsoever, and more to the point it wouldn’t help the local community if he decided to continue with his old games. Not that this little fact bothered his conscience.
Tim needed to think carefully about the whole thing even though his urges had been getting unbearable. He had managed to take the edge off that though, by stealing a few items of clothing here and there. His best ones had been from Chrissie’s place. Her smells held a special mixture of memories for him. She was connected to the past, from a time that had been filled with excitement and danger for him. Sniffing her clothes was a bit like smelling all his victims at once from a fresh scent altogether. Although he was still sore about the fact she hadn’t become another of his conquests. But he had to be grateful for what he could get at the moment and she was a link to tide him over for the time being.
He loved the power he had of frightening her and the fact that he could so easily get into her house without her knowing and rifle through her linen basket; stealing various items of clothing. He had so far taken a couple of vest tops and an old cardigan because it was small and reminded him of a child’s pullover. Tim never took underwear. He’d never been a knickers man unless they were on little girls. The smell of a woman had never turned him on and actually only served to repulse him. So Chrissie’s dirty underwear had been removed from her linen basket with a look of disgust on his face, like he was removing a dead mouse from a trap. He’d never been
able to understand those types of men who took so much pleasure from smelling women’s knickers. Even going as far as buying them from people who advertised in magazines. They were dirty perverts as far as he was concerned.
The problem Tim had was that he realised there had been an element of luck involved when he had played his games and got away with it. He knew that he was incredibly clever; bordering on genius he liked to think. But if he hadn’t been in the police force he knew he would have been looked at closely like every other man in the area and remembering lies as you wove them would have made the whole process much harder. As he often reflected on it, it had all been fairly straightforward and easy; he’d felt like a child in a sweet shop. There was one little problem he had with it being so many years on, and that was the discovery of DNA. He was always very careful not to leave anything behind anywhere but he knew now that with technology becoming so advanced, low copy DNA evidence would soon be utilised within the forensic world, he’d read about it. It wasn’t too much of a problem for him because he wasn’t registered on the national database anyway, not having a criminal record. But even so, he had to be careful.
The other factor that he was worried about was the CID department and all the new police officers that he didn’t know. He’d started in the police force extremely young and had served his thirty years. Most of the officers he’d worked with were also retired or had left on ill health. The new crowd was much more on the ball than when he’d been a serving police officer. In the days when he served the community it was much more laid back, especially in the villages. If you misbehaved you got a clip round the ear or a warning. Whereas now, it wasn’t just the community that was watched but you and your colleagues too; everyone was under suspicion. The fresh blood wouldn’t take any notice of anyone telling them that he was a respectable, retired policeman who had served his community well.
Memory Scents: A Psychological Thriller Page 6