Tom

by Tim O'Rourke

  ‘Bollocks,’ Harker said, sitting back behind his desk. ‘We would know about them if there had been others.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t,’ I said, looking straight at him. ‘Because there are too many officers out there like Jackson who are all too eager to put the deaths down as suicide or accidents for an easy clear up. Go and check out the case of a girl named Natalie Dean.’

  Harker sat back in his seat, his face hard and tired. ‘Have you finished?’ he asked me.

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Then piss off. I’m sick of looking at you.’ Harker picked up some of the paperwork that littered his desk and started to thumb through it.

  CHAPTER 23

  Charley – Wednesday: 07:13 Hrs.

  I hadn’t really slept, so when the first rays of light crept around the edges of my curtains I had to force myself out of bed. My iPhone was in the dresser drawer, where I had hidden it the night before after receiving that text from Kerry.

  It was that one single text that had kept me drifting restlessly in and out of sleep all night. Had that text really come from her? But she was dead; I had seen it happen and Tom had seen her body.

  Perhaps she hadn’t sent it? Maybe whoever had found her phone sent it as some sick joke? But I doubted that. Why pick my number? And how would that person know about the missed call I’d had from Natalie at the funeral? Had Natalie been trying to call me? She was dead, right? I’d seen the gravediggers shovelling earth into her grave. The text message I’d received last night hinted I had now lost the connection with Natalie.

  But the thought that kept me awake the most was my fear it had been the killer who had sent me the text.

  Everythingseemed different in the pale winter sunlight bathing my room. How could the killer have sent that message? He didn’t know anything about me. How would he have known I’d seen what he’d done to Kerry in my flashes? God, I couldn’t get my own father to believe me, let alone a complete stranger.

  But where does that leave me? I wondered, putting down the hairbrush and staring at myself in the mirror. I eased open the dresser drawer. My iPhone lay amongst my underwear. I picked it up, fearing there might be another text from Kerry. I turned it over and looked at the screen. No new messages, not even from Tom. I thought of him and guessed he would be heading home to his flat, tired after his nightshift.

  I opened the message and read it again.

  Don’t cut me off

  Not like Natalie

  Don’t lose the connection

  Those words had burnt themselves into my mind throughout the night. Should I tell Tom about it?

  No.

  He was already stressing himself out about the phone. If he thought I was receiving texts from someone it would only cause him more anxiety and he had his position in the police to think about. Should I tell my dad? Ask for his opinion? No, I thought again. Like Tom, he was pretty wound up by the whole thing and would blame Tom even more for getting me involved. I decided for the time being at least to keep the message to myself.

  My thumb hovered over the ‘Reply’ button. Then before I could change my mind, I quickly texted, Who are you?

  I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and hit ‘Send’.

  Almost at once, I regretted sending it. What had I done? But, in my heart I knew why I had sent that message. I wanted to know if it had really been Kerry. Was there another dimension to the flashes? After all, I had seen those lights up at the shack; they had led me to it. Something inside me said it had been Kerry who had left that trail of lights. So, perhaps the text was the same kind of thing? Was Kerry trying to make contact with me? Maybe she was going to lead me to that man? If she did, no one would ever be able to doubt me again.

  I sat in my room, and listened to Bruno Mars sing Grenade on my iPod, my phone in my hand, feeling half scared, yet half hopeful that Kerry would make contact again. Shadows stretched across my bedroom walls, as the day passed like a haze around me, as I listened to songs play on my iPhone, my eyes fixed on it.

  I don’t know how long I sat there for, and I would have probably remained like that for the rest of the day had it not been for my father shouting up the stairs at me.

  ‘Hey, are you going to put in an appearance today, or what?’

  I looked down at the phone one last time, and then put it in my pocket. I turned off my iPhone and went to the top of the stairs.

  ‘At last, the creature from the black lagoon has risen,’ my father said, staring up the stairs at me. He seemed to be in a much better mood than the night before. Perhaps he had done some thinking and calmed down a little.

  ‘I was planning on having a lazy day,’ I told him.

  ‘Every day is a lazy day for you,’ he said. ‘Are you going to come down or what?’

  ‘Nah, I was going to—’

  ‘I went out and got a Christmas tree first thing this morning,’ he smiled. It seemed like ages since I’d seen him do that. ‘Want to help me decorate it?’

  Of course I would want to decorate it! He knew how much I enjoyed putting up the Christmas decorations. Some of my happiest memories were of me and my father sitting by the tree and covering it with tinsel, bows and lights. He would drink a can of beer or two and I would sip pink lemonade from a tall glass that was only got out at Christmas. I’d always felt very grown-up drinking from that glass, because usually I drank from my plastic cup, the one with the picture of Miss Piggy on.

  ‘So what do you reckon?’ he asked.

  ‘Got any pink lemonade?’ I smiled.

  ‘Bottles of the stuff,’ he winked.

  ‘How can I refuse?’ I said, heading down the stairs. Then, halfway down, my phone vibrated. With a trembling hand I pulled out the phone. One new message. With my eyes halfshut, I opened the message and breathed out. It was from Tom.

  Hey Charley, only just got ur txt. Think my phone is on the blink. Last night didn’t go well. Have been kicked off CID. Will call you later. Tom X

  Why has Tom been kicked off CID? I wondered, putting my phone away.

  ‘Everything okay?’ my father asked.

  ‘Sure,’ I said thoughtfully. I feared Tom was in trouble at work because of me – because I had called Kerry’s phone. More than ever now I wished I hadn’t responded to that text I’d received last night. I hoped that whoever had Kerry’s phone didn’t answer it.

  I reached the bottom stair and, trying to kid to my dad that everything was okay, I said, ‘So where’s the lemonade?’

  He laughed and went to the kitchen. We spent the rest of the morning and afternoon decorating the Christmas tree. To be with my dad like that was wonderful, just like it used to be – before the flashes had taken over.

  CHAPTER 24

  Tom – Wednesday: 16:42 Hrs.

  Sleep hadn’t come easy, so I had spent most of the night playing The Last of Us on the PS3 until I finally crashed out at around seven a.m. Childish I know, but a good way to unleash my frustrations and anger. Each zombie I shot, I pretended was Jackson.

  Did I regret telling Harker what I had? No, not really. I had to say something. That idiot Jackson was going to terrorise Lane into confessing to something he hadn’t done. Someone like my father would have a great time tearing the confession to pieces – Lane had been stoned at the very least. I doubted very much he had been fit for interview, voluntary or otherwise.

  Charley said whoever had taken Kerry against her will to the railway lines had committed similar acts before or was going to do so again in the future. I couldn’t live with that on my conscience, even if it did mean I wasn’t part of CID any more. They could shove it. I had told Harker the truth, and he could either act on that information, despite how he had come by it, or he could sit back while more young girls lost their lives. I believed Charley, even if he didn’t.

  As I sat in the dark and my thumbs worked themselves into a frenzy over the PS3 controller, I knew that even though I wasn’t returning to CID, what I had told Harker about Charley would be all around the s
tation. Coppers loved to gossip and what they didn’t know, they made up. Maybe now was a good time to put in for that transfer to a busier station.

  At about seven in the morning, I couldn’t fight the tiredness any more. I switched off the PS3, curled up into a ball and I fell asleep on my tiny couch. I dreamt I was being chased along a set of railway tracks leading into the mouth of a giant tunnel. I kept looking over my shoulder, but couldn’t see who it was running after me. The sound of my heart beat in my ears, and I was breathless and drenched in sweat. I reached the mouth of the tunnel. The darkness inside was impenetrable, blocking my passage like a black wall. There was a sound coming from the other side – a girl calling my name. I knew it was Charley.

  ‘Charley!’ I called out to her.

  ‘Please, Tom,’ she screamed. ‘Help me!’

  I pounded against the unbreakable darkness with my fists. There was a sound behind me. I spun around, half expecting to see whoever had been following me. But the noise was the sound of a train speeding over the joints in the tracks.

  Clackerty-clack! Clackerty-clack! Clackerty-clack!

  The train raced towards me, its headlights seeming to smile at me from the darkness.

  Clackerty-clack! Clackerty-clack!

  My nose filled with the smell of diesel fumes and my ears filled with the sound of it rushing towards me.

  Clackerty-clack!

  The shrill horn split my ears. I covered my face as the train struck me …

  … I woke, sweat dripping from my hair, my throat raw and my heart pounding. I was in my flat. There was no train, no tunnel, no Charley. But I could still hear the sound of the horn. I shook my head and the sound changed, becoming a series of beeps. I looked down and saw my mobile winking on and off at me from the floor. Empty Coke cans rolled away as I fumbled for it. I switched off the beeping and sighed with relief.

  One new message. It was from Charley. Thanx 4 believing in me x.

  I looked at my watch. It was just before five p.m. Charley had sent the message just before midnight last night, and it had only just come through. The phone was a piece of junk, and I’d known for some time I needed a new one. Something that wasn’t the size of a brick.

  I sent a text back to Charley and told her I’d been busted out of CID. I’d call her later. After the text had disappeared from my phone, I tossed it across the room and went for a pee. My bladder felt the size of a barrage balloon. I stared in the mirror; I looked rough. No, rough wasn’t the word. I looked as if I’d spent a night in that broken down house with Lane and his friends getting wired.

  I stuck my tongue out and grimaced. It was grey. I took hold of my toothbrush, deciding I needed to freshen up. With it hanging from the corner of my mouth like some weird looking pipe, I went to the kitchen and made myself a strong black coffee. As I sloshed boiling water into the mug, the buzzer on my front door sounded.

  Charley? I wondered. Part of me hoped so.

  I hit the intercom button and stifled a yawn. ‘Yeah, who’s there?’

  ‘It’s Harker.’

  I flinched away from the intercom. What did he want? Had he come round to tell me that not only was I off CID but had been booted out of the job altogether?

  ‘Henson, are you there?’

  ‘I’m here,’ I said. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I need to speak to you.’

  ‘What about?’ I said, my stomach starting to churn over again.

  ‘Are you going to let me in or not?’ he snapped. ‘It’s freezing cold out here.’

  I took a deep breath and hit the door release button. ‘Come up,’ I said. ‘The door’s open.’

  He must have run up the two flights of stairs to my flat, because he was already at my door by the time I’d opened it. He stood in the hallway, his hands thrust into his overcoat pockets. I couldn’t help but notice he looked as beat as I did; I guessed he hadn’t slept well either.

  Perhaps he was so consumed with guilt for kicking me off the team that it had kept him awake. Somehow I doubted it.

  ‘Can I come in?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure,’ I said, stepping aside.

  Harker walked into the lounge that doubled as a dining room. He looked with distaste at the discarded Coke cans and McDonald’s wrappers lying strewn across the carpet and kitchen table.

  ‘Excuse the mess. I must remember to sack my housekeeper.’ Harker didn’t look amused. ‘So, have you come to give me another kicking? Like the one you gave me last night wasn’t bad enough?’

  ‘I’ll have a black coffee. No sugar.’ He shoved the cheeseburger wrappers out of his way and sat down at the table.

  ‘I’m not here to apologise for what I said to you last night,’ he said, rubbing his hands together as if trying to warm them. ‘What you did was bloody foolish and could’ve not only got you in the shit, but all of us.’

  ‘So why are you here?’ I asked, placing a steaming mug of coffee in front of him.

  He took a sip, then said, ‘After you left, I thought about what you said. I’ve spent most of the night pondering over everything you told me.’

  ‘And?’ I asked, sitting down opposite him.

  ‘You said Kerry would have white paint under her fingernails.’ He stared hard at me.

  ‘Did she?’

  ‘Yes,’ he nodded. A length of hair flopped over his brow. ‘Only I knew about that. I received the PM report from the pathologist after you left. So the question is, how did your girlfriend know about it?’

  ‘Charley,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Her name is Charley.’

  ‘So how did Charley know about that?’ he asked, his right eyebrow cocked. ‘She was either there and witnessed it happen, or however improbable, she saw it in those flashes, as you like to call them.’

  ‘It’s Charley who calls them that,’ I told him. ‘And no, she wasn’t there.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ he asked me.

  ‘Because she was at home throwing a fit in her bathroom.’

  ‘A fit?’

  ‘It happens sometimes if the flashes are particularly intense,’ I explained. ‘She has these terrible headaches too. I’m guessing her father will be able to vouch that she was at home.’

  ‘Okay, so Charley wasn’t there – up at the scene,’ Harker said, and took another sip of his coffee. ‘However much it pains me to say this, I don’t know how Charley would have known about the paint beneath the victim’s fingers.’

  ‘So you think that Kerry is a victim now?’

  ‘Look Tom, I haven’t come round here to fight with you or go over old ground,’ he said.

  ‘So what have you come round here for?’

  ‘I want to know more about Charley and what she told you.’

  ‘Why?’ I shot back.

  Sliding his hand inside his coat, he pulled out a beige coloured folder and laid it on the table.

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked.

  ‘You told me Charley said there had been others.’ He opened the file. ‘So I went back through the files and looked into the deaths of young women, which had occurred near to or on that same stretch of railway.’

  ‘And what did you find?’ I asked him, now finally coming awake.

  ‘Possibly seven others spanning the last ten years or so,’ he said.

  ‘Possibly?’

  ‘Three of them were definitely suicides,’ he explained. ‘They had known mental health issues and all left suicide notes, so they can be ruled out.’

  ‘And the other four?’

  ‘All died in very similar circumstance to young Kerry,’ he said, pawing over the sheets of paper in the file. ‘All of the girls were young women, with no recorded tendencies to commit suicide. There were no previous issues of depression, self-harming, the usual stuff that you would expect to see. I have copies of their medical records. There were no family issues, and all prior to being found dead on the railway tracks seemed happy with their lives. One of them had only recently got enga
ged. Another had just won a place at a prestigious university. And just like you said, one of the girls was named Natalie Dean.’

  ‘So let me guess,’ I remarked, ‘all of them were recorded by the coroner as death by misadventure. Young girls who had all taken shortcuts across the railway tracks late at night?’

  ‘Yes,’ Harker said bluntly. ‘But you’ve got to understand, none of these deaths would have raised any suspicion.’

  ‘Really?’ I said, trying not to sound too cocky.

  ‘Really,’ he grunted. ‘These deaths were spread over more than ten years. They were dealt with by different officers. CID was only notified about two of the deaths. The drivers all said that the young girls were just lying across the tracks like they had collapsed. All of them were overflowing with alcohol. It just kind of made sense to think they had fallen down drunk and got killed.’

  ‘Or perhaps they were carried unconscious onto the tracks?’ I said.

  ‘None of the drivers reported seeing anyone else near to the scene,’ Harker barked.

  ‘Just out of interest,’ I said, leaning across the table and thumbing through the paperwork, ‘who was the investigating officer on the two cases that were brought to CID’s attention.’

  ‘Jackson,’ Harker said.

  ‘I might have known,’ I half smiled.

  ‘Jackson is a good officer,’ Harker snapped.

  ‘He’s a joker,’ I said back. ‘Why do you protect him?’

  ‘Be careful of what you are suggesting, Henson,’ Harker said, fixing me with his cool stare.

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything,’ I said. ‘But the guy is incompetent.’

  ‘He’s not the one that let his girlfriend prance about all over a potential crime scene,’ he reminded me.

  ‘So if you’re still pissed off at me for taking Charley up there, what are you doing here now?’ I asked him.

  ‘I’d like her help,’ he said without any shame at all.

  ‘Help with what exactly?’ I asked, not believing what I was hearing.