by Mel Sherratt
Y. N.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Rhian had just got out of the shower when she received a call from Joe to say that he wasn’t returning home as planned.
‘But you said you’d probably be back by today,’ she whined.
‘The job’s going on a bit longer than intended.’
‘So, tomorrow then?’
‘No, we won’t be finished by then.’
Rhian sighed.
‘I’ll definitely be back on Thursday.’
‘Okay, fine. I suppose I’ll see you whenever.’ She disconnected the phone with a stab of her finger and threw it down on the bed beside her. Bloody men, she fumed. What the hell was she going to do with herself until he got back?
‘Hello?’ Joe waited but there was no reply. ‘Rhian?’
Cursing, he disconnected his phone with a shake of his head. Damn that bloody woman – she was so childish at times. Why the hell would she hang up on him just because she couldn’t get her own way?
‘Trouble at t’mill?’ Chris asked, eyeing his face. Chris was one of the young mechanics that he’d got to know well over the past few days.
‘Let’s put it this way,’ Joe replied. ‘I’m quite glad I’m not going back to Stoke as early as planned now for another reason.’
‘Moaning at you for staying away, is she?’
‘She’s always fucking moaning about something.’
‘You don’t have much luck with women, do you?’
Joe shook his head. Chris was referring to Suzi too. He’d told him what had happened to his ex-wife last night.
When Ryan had suggested staying until the job was finished, until the original plan to seek seven cars rather than five finally came to fruition, he hadn’t anticipated how much he’d want to stay on. Working with a good team of blokes rather than the boys who washed the cars at Car Wash City had been a good experience. He’d felt part of a team here, even though the work they were doing offered its fair share of risk. He’d enjoyed getting his hands dirty again as well but, more so, he’d had a laugh working with Chris. They’d been out for a beer a couple of times too. For the first time in ages, Joe had felt free, able to do what he wanted without having to answer to anyone.
In turn, it made him realise that he wasn’t that excited about getting home to see Rhian. Especially with her obsession of watching or reading anything she could about Suzi. Over the past week, the woman had turned into a walking encyclopaedia of knowledge about his ex. She seemed to have a morbid satisfaction over her death – or was it just satisfaction?
He’d been keeping an eye on the news since he’d been away too – couldn’t believe there had been another murder. Surely the police could link them all together now? To him, it seemed to be the work of one person.
‘If you’re not married, I can’t see your problem,’ Chris continued. ‘Dump her if she makes you miserable.’
Joe smirked. ‘I wish it was that easy at times.’
‘What’s so hard about it?’ Chris shrugged. ‘Life’s too short to be miserable. And I, for one, know that I’d rather keep the wad of cash we’re going to get for this job for myself if I wasn’t happy with my woman. You worked hard for it, man. What does she do for a living?’
‘She works for herself as a nail technician – which would be good if she actually showed me some of the money once in a while.’
Chris frowned. ‘Seriously? Why do you put up with it?’
Joe paused. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’
Chris raised his hands in surrender as he walked off. ‘I rest my case. Not worth the hassle. Get rid.’
‘When will you be done with these?’ Ryan came over minutes later, pointing to two cars waiting to be spray-painted.
‘They’ll be finished later tomorrow,’ Joe told him. ‘And great that we managed to get all seven too,’ he added. Ryan paused as he looked at the row of cars that had already been finished. ‘You’ve done a good job there, mate. You’re good at your trade.’
‘Cheers.’ Joe grinned.
‘You in the line to do any more?’
‘Yeah, I might be. As long as I don’t get any heat from Ryder.’
‘Why would you?’
‘You’re right.’ Joe shrugged. ‘The compound’s hard to see from the road.’
‘What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I don’t give a shit if –’
Chris came back with three mugs of coffee. ‘You two fancy coming out for a curry tonight?’
Joe nodded as he took a mug from him. ‘Sounds like a plan to me.’
‘Yeah, count me in,’ added Ryan, taking one too.
‘Sound.’ Chris grinned. ‘Be good to drink the old fellas under the table afterwards too.’
‘Cheeky bastard.’ Joe pretended to swipe for his head, but already he was looking forward to the evening. At least he would have some fun before heading home to Rhian’s nagging.
Downstairs, Rhian flicked through channels on the TV, unable to watch the midday news. Despite the other murders, Suzi Porter’s name was still all over the first story. Although Rhian had to scoff – this killer on the loose was making a mockery of the police. There had been four in the city now and they still hadn’t caught anyone. Not that the police were giving away that they were connected, but Rhian knew. Everyone was talking about it. Four in eight days – that had never been known before.
With more time to stew, she thought again about what Laila had said. It had hurt when she had suggested that Joe only wanted to be with her because she was a younger model of his ex. But now he was staying away longer than originally planned, she couldn’t stop the jealous thoughts tumbling around her mind. Was he having too much fun without her? Most likely, he was visiting some seedy laptop club with his so-called ‘business associates.’ She frowned. What if he was seeing someone else but it wasn’t Suzi?
She stared at the television, not actually taking on board what was on the screen. Then she jumped up quickly. This might be her only opportunity to be sneaky, have a search around. If she didn’t find anything, there would be nothing to worry about. At the very least, she tried to convince herself, it might put her mind at rest.
Rhian looked in the obvious places first: in coat pockets, through Joe’s clothes drawers, inside a suitcase on top of the bedroom wardrobe, in the drawers underneath the bed. She checked downstairs, in every cupboard in the kitchen, on top of the cupboards, in the sideboard, amongst the junk and magazines piled underneath the coffee table.
She moved back through to the kitchen, noticing his laptop on the table. Rhian didn’t know Joe’s password, but she switched it on anyway. After trying several words that she thought might be associated with him, she gave up. As she stood at the breakfast bar, drumming her fingers on its top, her eyes fell on the door to the integral garage. She went across and opened it, stepped down inside and switched on the overhead strip of lighting.
Christ, it was a mess. Metal shelving along each wall was filled with what seemed to her like junk, but she bet Joe would say that about her boxes of make-up stashed upstairs. Tins of white paint, brushes in old turpentine, paint stripper, floor varnish. Screws, nails, a drill set. Old blankets and towels, a rolled-up remnant of the bedroom carpet. Bathroom tiles, an old tyre and a box of light bulbs with one missing.
Disheartened by the number of things she’d need to trawl through, she turned to leave. Her leg caught on the side of a pile of 4x4 magazines, and she watched as the glossy covers slipped from the shelving, flopping to the floor. Bending to pick them up, she caught sight of an old biscuit tin behind them. She reached it out and forced open the lid.
Then she wished that she hadn’t.
The selfish, conniving bastard. Tears of rage welled up in her eyes. Despite all of her suspicions and her relentless hounding, never in her wildest moments of jealousy had she really believed that Joe would
still be in love with his ex-wife.
‘Chloe Winters, twenty years of age.’ DCI Barrow pointed to a photo on the whiteboard as he joined them again for the evening’s briefing. ‘Just after midnight last night, she was dragged from Town Road and into bushes at the top of Central Forest Park, where she was beaten and raped. When interviewed, she then informed DS Shenton that her attacker had left a letter for her. It turns out it was a written letter in an envelope rather than a magnetic one this time.’ He held up two fingers. ‘Two letters, Y and N. If we’re looking at this as a word and not an anagram, add that to E.V.E.N. and it doesn’t spell anything. Any thoughts? Random attack or linked to our killer?’
‘It doesn’t fit.’ Allie shook her head fervently.
‘The letters would suggest it does.’
‘Not consistent. Two of them, and handwritten on paper.’
‘But the fact that our suspect left the note for you to find makes me assume that it has to be something to do with this case.’ Trevor glanced surreptitiously at Allie.
Or something to do with me.
Allie knew that must be what they were all thinking. After all, she hadn’t stopped thinking that since she’d found the note. She hadn’t stopped thinking about the bollocking she’d received after opening the note, too. Although she’d worn gloves, she knew she should have brought the envelope back to the office first. Both Nick and Trevor had gone berserk at her actions. But she’d been so wrapped up in emotion that she hadn’t been able to stop herself.
‘Allie?’
She looked up to see everyone staring at her.
‘Sorry?’
‘I was just saying that our man would have had less time to do what he did to Chloe,’ Trevor continued, thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘They were outside; even in the bushes they were more open. He would have been running on adrenaline, knowing that someone might have come past and caught him at any time.’
‘At midnight?’
‘Monday night is student night,’ said Nick. ‘Lots of young ones around who wouldn’t be afraid to walk through the park.’
‘Or maybe some a little worse for wear who wouldn’t see the danger,’ said Perry.
‘I reckon all the more reason to separate Chloe from this investigation,’ Allie piped up again. ‘It could be a random attack.’
‘So what would Y.N. mean, then?’ asked Sam.
A murmur went round the room.
‘Maybe the fact that he didn’t rape Suzi Porter before he killed her got to him,’ said Perry. ‘So he attacked Chloe Winters to do the deed and was going to kill her afterwards. But maybe because he raped her, he was unable to kill her? Long shot, I don’t know – but do you see where I’m coming from? Maybe by raping Chloe, he couldn’t kill her afterwards.’
Allie wasn’t convinced. She stood up and walked to the front of the room, grabbed a marker pen and wrote down the capital letters they had received so far.
E. V. E. N. Y. N.
Treating it like a game of hangman, Allie then struck through the letter Y and the letter N.
‘Chloe Winters isn’t part of his game,’ she said, turning to the room. ‘She’s too young.’
‘We need to keep an open mind.’ Nick moved to her side.
‘He’s playing with us.’ Allie blew out the breath she had been holding and glanced at Trevor. ‘And he’s going to kill again unless we can work out the next victim.’
‘But can we rule out Y and N straightaway?’ someone asked.
‘It’s a handwritten note. It’s two letters, not one,’ Allie repeated. ‘You wouldn’t link them to this case, surely? If so, why not plastic letters in a bag stuck underneath the bin?’
‘Let’s keep that in mind but stick with the job in hand for now.’
‘But, sir, I think we –’
Trevor held up a hand. ‘Sit down, Allie.’
‘But –’
‘I said sit down!’
Allie shuffled back to join the rest of the team again, a blush spreading across her cheeks.
The briefing went on for another few minutes before everyone broke off. Sam and Perry went to get something to eat in the canteen before it closed. Allie wasn’t hungry so was back at her desk. She fiddled with the pen in her hand, flicking it open and closed, eventually irritating herself. Her original thoughts around a word being spelt out were worrying in themselves: the series of letters could mean there were going to be more killings unless they could work out who the murderer was, or they could point to who he was going to go after next. Yet, why were both Sam and Perry thinking that Chloe Winters’ case wasn’t related to their alphabet-letter man too? And if they were right, was Chloe even relevant in this case, or had she just been in the wrong place at the wrong time?
She decided to go and speak to Nick.
‘Could I have a quiet word, please,’ Allie said as she approached his desk.
Nick nodded and stood up. ‘Let’s see if the meeting room is free.’
A few minutes later, they were seated at the table in the room.
‘Look, I hear where you’re coming from regarding Chloe Winters,’ Nick began, ‘and for what it’s worth I agree. But the last thing we need is for everyone to think there is some sort of vendetta being carried out until we’re more certain.’
‘It’s not that, sir.’ Allie paused for the briefest of moments. ‘I think it could be something to do with the attack on my sister.’
Nick frowned. ‘Surely not.’
‘My name was on the letter.’
‘Your name was mentioned at the press conferences and in newspaper reports.’
Allie shook her head. ‘Someone wanted to give me that message personally. What if he’s still out there and he’s – he’s starting up again? You know how brutal the attack was on Karen. What if . . .’
‘Allie, stop.’ Nick held a hand up. ‘I know it’s brought back painful memories but it was a long time ago that Karen was attacked.’
‘Maybe so.’ Allie took a deep breath before spitting out the thought that had been bothering her. ‘I think . . . I think he’s setting up all these killings to put us off the scent and then he’s going to go after Karen again. It makes sense to try and kill her and –’
‘To you, maybe,’ interrupted Nick, ‘but it doesn’t make any sense to me whatsoever. It was years ago.’
‘She went to Reginald High School and she was in Mickey and Suzi’s year.’
‘There’ve been two murders since then. And Frank Dwyer and Malcolm Foster have been linked via emails to images of young boys.’
‘There’s a photograph on Karen’s wall in her room. It’s a group of teenagers and I recognise some of them. Mickey and his wife and Sandy – Suzi Porter – are three of the names in a list written on the back of it. The photograph clearly shows my sister knew them all well.’
‘They hung around together – so what?’ Nick shrugged. ‘I might be in a few photos like that but I haven’t seen the majority of people I went to school with for years, if at all.’
‘She knows our killer, I’m certain!’
‘You don’t know that for definite!’
Allie gasped. ‘Only because she can’t tell me.’
‘Let’s think about it logically. Why come back now? After all these years?’
‘To show that he can.’
Nick shook his head. ‘I don’t buy that. And this investigation is too intense to concentrate on anything else at the same time. We have people pulled in from everywhere possible before this bastard strikes again. I can’t have you thinking of other things.’
‘But –’
‘Look, if he is after revenge, or some sort of vengeance, we need to continue trying to work out why.’
‘Revenge – exactly!’ Allie lowered her voice a little before she spoke again. ‘We have four of those le
tters in the word EVEN.’
‘Do you have some reasoning around your theory?’
Allie frowned. ‘I don’t follow you.’
‘Why our killer would be after revenge on your sister?’
‘I’m not sure, but I think –’
Nick shook his head again. ‘I know you want closure on what happened to Karen but this isn’t the way. You’re not thinking straight, Allie. I need your mind to be focused on this case entirely.’
‘So we’re just going to ignore the fact that Chloe was raped and left for dead?’
‘Of course not.’
‘It’s part of this case!’ Allie slapped her hand down on the table. ‘He’s going to come after Karen.’
Nick raised his eyebrows and stared at her. Allie knew she was close to the mark.
‘We’ll wait for forensics to come back from the letter,’ Nick continued, ‘and . . .’
‘Match the DNA against our killer’s!’
‘If we have his DNA. You know it’s all down to funding – and time. Things are piling up as it is.’ He stood up. ‘Chloe Winters’ case is with PC Butler and she is looking into everything and keeping us in the loop as first to know. It’s crucial that we gather information as quickly as possible but I need you to concentrate on the murders first and foremost.’
‘I know, sir.’ Allie nodded. ‘But she’s my sister. And her attacker is still out there.’
This old man, he played five,
He played knick-knack on his hive.
With a knick-knack, paddy-whack,
Give the dog a bone.
This old man came rolling home.
1989
Dressing for the school-leaving disco, Patrick was certain he’d never make a good impression in his old jeans and school-blue shirt, but at least they were clean. And, even straight after his shower, he already felt sweat patches forming underneath his arms. He opened his bedroom door and crept into Ray’s room, where he liberally sprayed some of his aftershave over his neck. Ray wouldn’t know: he hadn’t seen him since this morning. He must still be out at the pub.