Sincerely, Yours

by Charlotte Barnes

  Guard all you like, I thought, flicking on the television, he didn’t need a door last time.

  ‘Early reports are suggesting that this may be the work of one attacker…’

  ‘The police are yet to confirm…’

  ‘Neighbours of the deceased have spoken to news outlets already on how…’

  Madison turned the television off at the socket. ‘We’re waiting for Laing.’

  ‘She isn’t coming.’

  ‘No, Sarah, because she’s across town dealing with–’

  ‘Another dead woman.’

  She pushed her hair away from her face and let her fingers settle against the back of her neck. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t…’ I watched her knead at the skin under her hairline, and slowly work down to the points of her shoulders that she could reach. ‘I can’t imagine how hard this is.’

  I didn’t say anything. It was hard. But since Mum most things were.

  Madison stayed fixed in the centre of the room but stretched her arms out to me, inviting me in. When I didn’t move she gestured again, a quiet beckon for me to go over. Maybe she needs this, I thought as I pushed myself away from the sofa and clung to her. She squeezed gently, as though too much pressure might crack me open; but the gentle touch had been enough. I held on to my breath like the air in me was gold dust but eventually I exhaled hard, in a rapid shudder that loosened tears I’d been carrying without knowing it. And I wondered whether Madison had somehow known before me; that there were feelings just waiting to pour out. She set a hand on the back of my head, lightly, and shushed. It felt like being nursed – like being mothered.

  ‘I know, darling girl, I know.’

  In the background a phone squealed but neither of us moved. It wasn’t my ringtone, or Madison’s, which only left one other option.

  ‘Excuse me?’ the other officer said. It was the first time we’d heard her voice. Madison and I broke away from each other to answer her with a look. ‘DS Laing has requested that we take you down to the station.’

  ‘It’s the middle of the night,’ Madison answered. She sounded curt and I wondered whether the motherly instincts in the hug had bled through. ‘Why isn’t she coming here?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t answer that for you. We’ve just been asked to take you in.’

  ‘Like we’re the fucking criminals.’ Madison snatched at a hoodie hung over the arm of the sofa and handed it to me. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  It hurt me to see how much Esther Thompson looked like Mum. They both had the same hair colour – a chestnut brown – and I wondered whether Esther had the same natural highlights in the summer months that Mum had always had. There were deep lines around her mouth in some pictures; in others, there was a wide smile. There were times when she looked animated – when she was pictured with others – and then one or two examples where she looked rigid, as though the photograph were being taken under duress. It looked as though she was wearing a suit in each of those images, though, or a suit jacket at least. They must have been for work, I thought, using my fingertips to push them away. It made me uncomfortable, how inorganic they were; they reminded me too much of the pictures someone was about to take of her, on a slab somewhere – ready for the formal identification.

  I shook my head to shoo the thought away.

  ‘Are you okay, darling?’ Madison set a hand on my shoulder. I’d almost forgotten she was there. She’d dismissed the woman quickly, though, knowing at a glance that Esther wasn’t someone she’d recognised. It took me longer, not because I recognised her, just because I recognised something in her–

  ‘She looks like her, doesn’t she?’

  My head snapped up to Laing sitting across the table. ‘You see it?’

  She nodded. ‘I think there’s a clear similarity between them both.’

  ‘Jada Burns, she looked similar too,’ I said and Laing gave a slight nod. ‘He has a type.’

  ‘It’s too early in the investigation to assume–’

  ‘DS Laing,’ Madison cautioned, ‘I think Sarah is a little too old to have her intelligence insulted with that line.’ She cocked an eyebrow, as though daring the detective to challenge her. But Laing seemed to agree. ‘Sarah, darling, do you recognise this woman?’ She tapped the corner of a photograph, guiding my attention back.

  There were seven pictures altogether, including the work photographs. But apart from the shocking similarity between this stranger and Mum, there was nothing. I shook my head. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met her, no.’

  ‘And you don’t recognise the name at all?’

  ‘I can’t remember her mentioning an Esther. Her phone,’ I looked up, ‘did you check Mum’s phone, for the name?’

  ‘We’ll be looking through any connected cases in the coming days,’ she answered, and it felt like a stock response. If I caught a news report on a re-run, I could probably find her saying it again to someone else asking a difficult question. ‘Given these obvious similarities, it would be remiss of us if we didn’t start to look for connections as early as possible. And given that you’re the only witness still…’

  ‘No one saw her?’ I latched on.

  Laing looked down at the pictures. ‘No, it seems she was alone when it happened.’

  I’d started to think witnessing a murder was its own death sentence. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said under my breath. I’d lost count of the amount of times I’d apologised though: for not seeing him; hearing him; saving her.

  Madison squeezed my hand under the table. ‘What happens now?’

  ‘We’ll arrange for the two of you to be taken home. If there’s anything else we need, or any questions that arise, then we’ll be in touch. I wish there was more we could tell you at this stage.’

  ‘Okay,’ Madison shifted in her seat, ‘and what happens with Sarah?’

  Laing shot a confused look between us. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t–’

  ‘We may as well call a spade a spade here. There’s a guy out there killing women. He’s three down now, goody for him, and the one witness to one of the crimes is being left unattended. Does that seem – I don’t know, sensible?’

  Laing looked like she might smile. ‘I understand. Sarah, are you back in college?’

  It seemed a random starting point. ‘Four days a week.’

  ‘Could we have a rough copy of your weekly timetable, do you think? Times when you’re leaving, arriving, when you’re usually at home and not. That sort of thing? You’re welcome to provide something similar for yourself too,’ she said, directing the last offer at Madison. ‘The officers won’t be intrusive unless necessary, but I’ll arrange for a car to drive by at regular intervals throughout the day and night. We’ve done a good enough job of keeping your name out of the media for the minute, and we’ll look to continue that.’ She paused and ferreted around the inside pocket of her jacket. She pulled out her business card and snatched a pen from the table. ‘You’re welcome to call any time, day or night.’ She slid the card across to me.

  ‘I’ve got your business card,’ I said, but I took it anyway.

  ‘That’s my personal number.’ She smiled at me, and then looked back at Madison. The two swapped a knowing glance, as though something inherent, maternal passed between them. ‘We’re doing everything we can.’

  ‘And we appreciate that,’ Madison answered for us.

  ‘But it’s still not enough,’ I said, as I pushed my chair away from the table. No one corrected me, though, and I thought that must mean I was right.

  11

  Jessie started collecting me from the bottom of Madison’s front garden. She was the only one out of us all who could drive, and despite Landon’s attempts at calling shotgun – ‘Fuck you, I belong in that passenger seat.’ – Jessie had been insistent that I was the one riding to college with her. Each morning she collected me and each morning Madison waved us off, as though they shared a fear of me being snatched away by the bogeyman in the thirty yards from door to gate. Madison blew two kis
ses – one for each of us – and then closed the door like clockwork. We were ten days into this when I said, ‘Aren’t we all a bit bored of this now?’

  ‘I’m going to need more.’

  ‘Come on, he isn’t coming to get me.’

  Jessie looked left, right, left again. She was new enough to driving to still obey all the rules. ‘No?’ She indicated and pulled out of the sideroad, her car clucking from a lack of acceleration as she moved. ‘Tits.’

  ‘You’re okay,’ I reassured her.

  ‘No, I know.’ She smoothed out the drive and switched into third gear. ‘So, we know he isn’t coming to get you?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘It was a question. Not a statement. How do we know?’

  I looked out of the window. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d walked down the street without a chaperone. ‘Wouldn’t he have done something by now? It’s been weeks since…’ I petered out. It was a hard thing to find the right phrasing for. ‘Esther.’

  Madison had a calendar on the fridge in her kitchen. The month was laid out all open-plan and easy-to-access, with a box to denote every day. I’d taken to putting crosses through them. She asked one morning whether I did that to keep track of the week. I lied and said yes; said I’d lose track of my college schedule if I didn’t have somewhere to look for it every day. But it wasn’t a day-by-day tally. It was more like a ‘number of days since…’ At any given moment I could tell anyone, to the nearest hour, when I’d last seen Mum.

  ‘Hey, you with me?’ Jessie clicked her fingers next to my face.

  I nudged her. ‘Keep your hands on the wheel.’

  ‘We’re at a light. Did you hear me?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I said, just because he hasn’t done anything yet, doesn’t mean he won’t. He hadn’t done anything, ever, until he did something to that first woman.’

  ‘Jada,’ I filled in her blank. ‘The first victim was called Jada.’ I’d taken to using their names; to making sure other people did too. It seemed important, somehow.

  ‘I’m just saying,’ she rounded the corner into the college car park, ‘there’s no such thing as too careful, and it isn’t like the police are in any rush to catch the bloke.’

  ‘I don’t think they’re deliberately dragging their feet, Jess.’

  She snorted. ‘Well they’re not winning any sprints either.’

  Landon and Tyler were loitering at the edge of the car park, near to the college gates, and I’d never been so grateful to see them. I thanked Jessie for the ride and got out before she had the chance to share anything more. It wasn’t that I disagreed with her; I was only tired of talking. Madison had banned television during dinnertime and she’d also taken to talking more and more; although it felt like being spoken at, rather than to. She was encouraging me to see a counsellor, so I could talk, talk, talk until my heart was content. That was another problem, though, how everyone was working so hard to convince me I should have something to say.

  Jessie followed quietly and looped an arm through mine when we came to a stop in front of the boys. ‘How was the walk in today, chaps?’ Jessie asked, smiling.

  ‘Fuck off.’ Landon grabbed my arm the other side. ‘Comfy seat, was it?’

  I laughed. ‘The comfiest I’ve ever sat on.’

  Jessie couldn’t give me a ride home that afternoon. But I’d deliberately avoided telling Madison that. It wasn’t a lie so much as it was an omission; I thought I could get away with it on a technicality, if anything got mentioned. There wasn’t anything exciting or dramatic involved in wanting time alone. It really was just that: time alone. I walked the long way home from college and listened to the knock of my footfalls against the concrete, comforted by broad daylight – a time of day when fewer crimes were committed, allegedly – and the sound of no one at all walking behind or next to me. It was such a blissful seventeen minutes that I nearly walked straight past Madison’s house.

  I couldn’t stop thinking of it that way; as hers. It didn’t matter how many sleepless nights I had there, or how many meals we cooked together. Although I hadn’t been to my actual home since the night Mum died, I knew it was something I’d have to tackle at some point. Madison kept making tactical visits there, though, grabbing things as I needed them, collecting the post and paying the bills.

  ‘We’ll tackle it all when you feel ready to,’ she’d said.

  We hadn’t even been able to have Mum’s funeral yet; thanks to forensics and body release forms and everything that gets tangled inside the mess of a murder. Cleaning out the house before we’d buried her felt too much like filling over her grave before she was in it.

  When I came to a stop at the end of the front garden I realised Madison’s car wasn’t there. She hadn’t said she was working a late shift; or if she had then I’d lost the memory of it. Either way, it seemed wasteful to have a quiet house and not make the most of it, so I decided against walking further. Daylight was dimming out and while I thought everyone was being overdramatic about me being left alone, I couldn’t altogether rule out the Average Joe dangers of the world – never mind the witness-to-a-violent-crime dangers.

  There was a pile of post to push past when I opened the front door. I hadn’t officially moved address, though, so it was unlikely there’d be anything for me. Living at Madison’s sometimes felt like living off the grid, which was one of the few positives to it all. I set the letters on the sideboard, dumped my bag by the door and made a beeline for the kitchen. ‘Work changed my shifts,’ the note on the fridge said, ‘have Jessie for dinner.’ I laughed at the poor phrasing, pulled the note away from its piercing magnet and dropped it into the bin.

  While the kettle boiled I stood with my back to the kitchen wall and watched the doorway. It was easier to listen out once it had whistled to a stop. Between every action I took a deliberate pause: opening the fridge; pause; closing it; pause; walking back to the kettle. It was the only way to keep track of the noises in the house. I paused again after closing the fridge and heard a clunk – something like metal on metal – from somewhere outside the room. I felt for my mobile in my front pocket before I ventured out, looking left and right and left again before treading into the hall. I wondered whether Jessie was this nervous whenever she checked both sides and signalled out of a junction.

  I took slow and measured steps back towards the front door. He hadn’t exactly used conventional means the last time he’d broken into a house I lived in, so I wasn’t sure why the door felt like a safe bet. But when I got there – and I saw the paper lying on the doormat – my breath rushed out and I laughed a little. It’s a flyer. I leaned down to the pick it up. It’s just a flyer. It was just the letterbox. And it had just been the metal on metal of the lips closing together, that much was true.

  But it wasn’t a flyer at all.

  12

  Sarah,

  What a strange note to be writing. I’ve restarted it ten times over to try to find a good way of beginning but I don’t think I’d find one so I may as well be direct and get it all over with. I’m the person who killed your mother. There are some people sick enough to make hoaxes out of these things.

  So, so you can be certain, I came in through a window at the back of the house and your mother was in the bedroom. I thought I could hear her sorting through clothes. Then I saw her appear in the crack of the doorway. Only for a second. It wasn’t until the police let slip there’d been a witness that I thought it must have been you sorting through clothes that night. It must have been you she whispered to. I’d thought it was panic. That she was talking to herself. Not that that makes much difference I don’t suppose.

  But look, Sarah, I wanted to write to you to apologise. You haven’t told the police what I look like which I suppose means you mustn’t know. That’s good for us both. It means we can hopefully move on from this. But what happened that night, what I did. I never would have done that if I’d known you were there – if I’d known you were watching. It’s a terrible thing t
o have seen and I’m sorry you had to see it at all. I don’t know whether the apology means much.

  It won’t serve anyone well if you tell the police about the letter, Sarah. They can’t find me in a room full of evidence so they won’t find me from a slip of paper. But take the apology, would you, and know that I really do mean it.

  Look after yourself, Sarah, and let this go.

  Sincerely, yours –

  Part II

  13

  2014

  Madison made a fuss over things in the same way a mother might.

  When she walked into the restaurant it crossed my mind that she might have a date lined up for after our dinner. She was wearing a dress I hadn’t seen her in before: floor-length, and sparkly in the right lighting.

  Overhead, and trailing slightly behind her, there was a cluster of balloons with ‘Congratulations’ written across them in different fonts and colours. If it weren’t for the beaming smile on her face, I would have dropped my head in embarrassment. But I couldn’t recall the last time I’d seen a smile reach her eyes so I thought I’d let her have the moment, even though it was meant to be mine.

  The waiter – a young man who looked as startled by Madison’s efforts as I felt – took her coat and draped it over the seat opposite me, and then he offered to take the balloons as well.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, the smile widening even further, which I wouldn’t have thought possible if I hadn’t seen it myself, ‘they’re actually for her. Could you do the honours?’ The waiter awkwardly shuffled the balloon ribbons from one hand to the other and back again, as though he either hadn’t fully registered or understood the instruction. Madison pulled her chair towards the table and made a wiggling motion with her fingers. ‘Tie them to her seat, would you? Then everyone can see.’