Be My Girl

by Tony Hutchinson

  Ed smiled.

  ‘Okay,’ Sam said. ‘Did you win anything as a player?’

  ‘A few cups.’

  ‘Did you get individual trophies or medals?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Where are they now?’

  ‘Blimey,’ Ed rubbed his chin, trying to remember. ‘Long gone. Maybe in the loft.’

  ‘They’re trophies. They came from a victory. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Ed.

  ‘Did you take any photographs of Ellen when she was a child?’

  ‘Of course. Who doesn’t photograph their kids? There’s loads of them.’

  ‘Are any still on display at home?’

  ‘All over the place…walls, shelves, fireplace...everywhere.’

  ‘They’re souvenirs,’ Sam told him. ‘They remind you of past times. You look at them and they trigger a memory, take you back in time to a place where you once were. You’ll probably remember the photographs being taken. They’re your souvenirs, Ed. The driving licences are his. Some categories of rapist take trophies. They’ll keep them for a short while and then throw them away. You don’t know where your trophies are. But the rapist who takes souvenirs, he’s different. He keeps them in a safe place. Find him and we’ll find his souvenirs.’

  Chapter Ten

  Jason walked into the office. ‘Have you got a minute?’

  ‘Carry on,’ Sam said, indicating a chair next to Ed.

  ‘Lauren’s not been able to give any information. Lives alone; 24 years old. Not seen anyone acting suspiciously near her house. She’s not been followed at any time, not that she knows anyway. No issues with former boyfriends. She’s not received any nuisance telephone calls. Basically, she can’t give us anything.’

  Sam nodded. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Danielle’s description of her attack was strikingly similar to Kelly’s, though,’ Jason said. ‘A masked intruder woke her up. He made her undress, told her she was beautiful, after showing her he had a knife. He told her she was his babe. He wore gloves but she thinks he put on a condom. He raped her after telling her to get on her hands and knees. Afterwards, he lay beside her and asked if he’d been ‘gentle’ and had she enjoyed it.’

  ‘Same bastard,’ Ed said.

  Jason told them Danielle had never spoken to the attacker from the moment she woke until the moment he was leaving. She had been too terrified.

  ‘She thought she was going to die,’ Jason said. ‘She thought he was going to rape her and then kill her. But she did ask ‘why me?’ as he was leaving. He told her ‘because there’s no way somebody like you would go out with somebody like me’.’

  ‘Jesus, we need to catch this bastard,’ said Ed.

  ‘What else?’ Sam asked.

  ‘He took her driving licence. That was in her handbag. She only realised that when we asked her to check. He got her phone and then gave her it back. Two differences, though. He didn’t tie her up and after the attack, he asked her if she had any drink in the house. She shook her head to signal she didn’t.’

  ‘Bastard,’ said Ed.

  ‘He’s all of that,’ said Sam.

  ‘She’s really traumatised,’ Jason told them. ‘I obviously haven’t seen her, but I feel really sorry for her. She’s just a nice young woman by all accounts.’

  Shaking her head, Sam said quietly: ‘Aren’t they all?’

  ‘Not tied up, though’ Ed observed.

  They fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts.

  ‘Okay,’ Sam said. ‘If he felt there was no likelihood of her escaping, he might have decided not to bother. We know she was so heavily traumatised afterwards, she had to be sedated. She thought she was going to die. She’s frozen with terror. She’ll have been totally compliant and remember, him not tying Danielle up will fuel his fantasy of her being a partner not a victim.’

  Jason took the ringing mobile from his pocket and answered it. Sam and Ed looked at him in silence, waiting for him to end the call.

  ‘Update regarding the interview with Natalie,’ he said. ‘Like Lauren, Natalie can’t give us any leads, but she fits the victim profile…23 and single.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks Jason,’ Sam said. ‘Get yourself away. Thanks for coming out at such short notice.’

  Rising from his seat, Jason added: ‘I’ve arranged panic alarms for both Lauren and Natalie.’

  ‘One last thing, Jason,’ Sam said. ‘See if Danielle will let us have her phone for a while. He’s called Kelly. He might do the same with her.’

  He locked the front door behind him, dashed into the kitchen and grabbed the square-shaped blue teapot from the high, light oak shelf alongside the cooker. Pulling it into his chest, the rattle confirmed something was inside before he had yanked off the lid. His puffed cheeks slowly blew out air as his eyes focussed on the mobile and he conceded that his memory was playing tricks on him.

  He took the phone and rotated it in his hands, resisting the temptation to turn it on. He felt a sudden need to scroll through the contacts, to see their names and numbers, but discipline was key. Turning it on in the house could come back to haunt him. As it turned through his fingers, he marvelled at its simplicity. While it was a basic, no-frills mobile, it was one of his most prized possessions. He had considered buying one with a camera so he could photograph himself with the girls, but it would have been something else to think about when he was visiting them… something else that could lead to his downfall. It had been so exhilarating speaking with Kelly; the increase in his heart rate, his blood pressure rising quicker than a helium-filled balloon. She made him feel like a small child. Beautiful and exciting, she would have made a perfect girlfriend.

  Maybe he would call Danielle on Tuesday. It would be nice to hear her voice.

  He returned the teapot and smirked. His mother had collected dozens of them over the years, in all shapes and sizes, and insisted on displaying them all. ‘The Rovers Return’, ‘The Woolpack’, and ‘The Aidensfield Arms’ had been her particular favourites. He had intended throwing them all out when she died, but allowing them to gather dust, uncared for, seemed a more fitting two-fingered salute to his mother.

  Upstairs, he took the pen out of the bedside table drawer and spent a few minutes examining it. Twiddling it between his right thumb and index finger, he admired its sleek silver-coloured lines. It was probably not very expensive, but cost was irrelevant. Provenance was everything. He raised it to his nose, closed his eyes, and sniffed hard. Her scent still lingering in his mind, he collected what was required, walked into the kitchen, and carefully laid everything out on the table.

  The doner kebab with extra chilli and garlic sauce was still wrapped in the white paper, a can of Coke next to it, condensation running down its sides. He would eat first and enjoy the kebab while it was hot and the Coke was cold. His fingers scooped doner and salad from the pitta bread with mechanical regularity and in seconds they were a combination of red-and-white stains. His mouth was salivating as he devoured everything and he could feel juices running down his chin. His eyes never wavered from the collection in the middle of the table.

  He squirted washing-up liquid on to his hands and cleaned his fingers and chin, his head bent over the kitchen sink as the cold tap jettisoned water. Not wanting to leave stains on anything he was about to touch, watermarks included, he vigorously dried himself with a soiled, musty-smelling tea towel.

  Flicking through the cream-coloured pages reminded him of opening the grubby pages of his school exercise books at the start of another lesson. School had been something to be endured, but the imposed discipline of the classroom had at least provided an escape from the taunts. He was such a loner, all of the staff must have known he was ripe for bullying but nobody had cared. Not even Miss Joy. Still, be thankful for small mercies, he told himself; without school he wouldn’t be able to write, and his notebook would be as unfulfilled as he was.

  He had never opened a school book with excitement and anticipation like this. He rolled Kelly�
��s pen between his finger and thumb, concentrating on his thoughts. The top of the page bore Danielle’s name, address, and the make and registration number of her car.

  In his spidery script appeared the date he became sure that she lived alone. Subsequent entries showed the dates and times when he had passed the house, and whether any other vehicles were parked outside.

  He started to write.

  My heart was racing when I went round the back to smash the window. I didn’t think anyone saw me. I hid for about five minutes, just in case someone came round. Nobody did. I waited and when I heard a car go past, I smashed the window with a brick. I just tapped the window, but it made a massive noise. It was getting dark. I waited another couple of minutes and then walked down the path. I was shitting myself, but I had done it again. Another window. I walked away and hoped she wouldn’t fix it before I came back. I got hard thinking about her. I hoped she would be as good as she looked.

  Now came the important part, the narrative of their time together. He needed to recall every detail so his memories would remain as vivid as they were now.

  Reaching across to pick up Danielle’s driving licence, he smiled at her photograph. Until the girls, he had never put his feelings into words, yet he was at ease with the concept and now the words seemed to flow effortlessly from the pen. Perhaps it was because it was Kelly’s?

  Words appeared at a blistering rate.

  I remember the light on in the house across the road. That put me off at first but I couldn’t see anyone. It was cold but I was sweating and my heart was racing. I was so excited when I saw the newspaper over the broken window. I cut through it and climbed inside. I remember the quiet inside the house. I crept into her bedroom. She was laid there. Beautiful. God, I was so hard.

  He described waking her, seeing the unblemished skin of her firm body, the long legs, and the softness of her hair. He knew she had enjoyed him. He could feel it. He had been a good lover.

  The pen was moving furiously across the paper and the indentations were now visible on the pages beneath.

  I wanted to kiss her neck but couldn’t because of the mask. I wanted it to last forever but I just knew looking at her I couldn’t.

  Describing the warm sensation as he came inside her, his pen slowed and the pressure on the notebook eased.

  Leaning back in the chair, he stared at the dirty white ceiling and ran his hands across his groin. He would catch his breath before recalling the one-sided conversation.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sam suggested they call it a day. Tomorrow was going to be busy. The Assistant Chief Constable and Chris Shaw, the Head of Crime, would need a briefing and a media strategy would be required. Sam would think about those on the way home.

  She had to consider her lines of inquiry and how many staff she would need.

  After a final, fruitless check for more reports of broken windows in the last six months, Ed and Sam left the office together.

  ‘Fancy a quick drink?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Why not. I didn’t get one at dinnertime.’

  ‘Tell you what,’ Sam smiled. ‘I’ll make it up to you. Leave your beloved bus here. I’ll drive and drop you off.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan.’

  A quick drink had turned into four pints. Time always flew when he was in Sam’s company. He lived in a comfortable four-bedroom house in a small village and after 10 years knew many of the residents. The village was a lively place, with a primary school, two pubs, and plenty of community-based activities. He felt at home there.

  In the kitchen, he made small talk with his wife and daughter about their trip to Newcastle.

  Hugging his daughter, Ellen, he remembered how precious she was to him. It was such a vile world out there, he just wanted to put his arms around her and protect her forever.

  He told Sue he had been working on a rape investigation but didn’t elaborate. He rarely did. He mentioned his visit to see Jess.

  Sue always had food ready for him, even if he came home in the early hours, but he had called her from the office and said he just fancied a couple of chilled beers and a catch-up with the Premier League football on Sky Sports News. He just wanted to switch off, grab some time when his thoughts weren’t consumed by the rapist and how they’d find him.

  He changed into a tracksuit and stretched himself out on the settee. Sue followed him into the living room and gave him a bottle of ice cold Bierre Moretti.

  ‘Cheers,’ Ed thanked her.

  ‘Sam out with you today?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Ed said, wiping his mouth and not looking up from the TV. ‘She dropped me off.’

  ‘Been out for a drink with her?’

  ‘Yeah. Just a couple.’

  ‘Just the two of you? Very cosy. Didn’t think they’d need a DCI for a rape.’ Sue was now blocking his view of the TV.

  ‘What?’ Ed raised himself on his elbow and tried to peer around her legs. ‘I can’t see… we’re doing a review. I don’t choose who’s in charge. I went for a pint with her… look, can I just watch the sports? I’ve had enough of work today. I don’t know what your problem is with Sam.’

  ‘My problem is you spend enough time with her at work without going for a drink with her.’

  ‘She’s my boss.’

  ‘Not in the pub she isn’t.’

  ‘Don’t be so ridiculous.’ Ed said. ‘She’s too young to be interested in me, and even if she was, I’m not interested in her.’

  Sue’s expression had darkened, anger lines creasing her brow.

  ‘She’s lonely, attractive, intelligent, and likes you.’

  ‘She’s my boss,’ Ed said coldly. ‘I get on well with her. End of. Now can I watch the sports?’

  Ellen, listening from the hallway, ran upstairs to her room and heard the living room door slam.

  Returning to his notebook, he saw the page for Lauren Storey. She had repaired the window when he got there. It hadn’t just got a board over it. The glass had been replaced. Pity. She looked a real stunner. Still, Kelly was exciting. He had enjoyed her. A smile broke out across his face. How had he hit on the idea of targeting two women at once? It meant extra planning, of course. Twice as much work to build up the picture of each one but it doubled his chances of getting into a house… doubled his chances of enjoying a woman on any given night.

  In fairness, it was Kirsty he had to thank. He had gone to her house and found the window repaired, just like Lauren’s, the difference being he had nowhere else to go that night. That was four months ago. The feeling of despair as he left her house was gutting. All that planning and all for nothing.

  Running home that night, he vowed through gritted teeth it would never happen again. He decided to refine his preparations, have a choice of two women for any one attack.

  He still had his notes on Kirsty and, of course, on Natalie, Lauren, and Emily. In a few months, when the police activity died down, he might find himself in a position to look at them again. He would have to think of a different way in. If the Press ran stories on Danielle, no woman was going to leave broken windows unreported, and certainly not those four.

  Even if he waited for summer, single women wouldn’t leave ground-floor windows open; not now, not while he was ‘on the loose’, as the Press would say. In any case, his planning was too meticulous to count on a British heatwave. He would need to apply himself, come up with a new method. The alternative was approaching them from behind in the open air, but he wouldn’t be in control of that environment. He didn’t want a confrontation with a hero ‘do-gooder’ and he certainly didn’t want to be disturbed when he was making love.

  He closed the notebook. It wouldn’t win any literary prizes, but it wasn’t for publication. It was strictly for his eyes only. He would begin his search soon. He wouldn’t rush, he never did. Opportunists in crime were always caught, sooner or later. Luck never lasted forever. His success was measured by having sex with his chosen partner, escaping the scene, and not getting caught. Planning was
fundamental. Finding the right women was all part of the process and gathering intelligence just another part of the hunt. He loved every moment.

  Reading the entries about Amber, he became lost in his thoughts again as he remembered her stunning beauty. She had obviously enjoyed herself; she hadn’t gone to the police. He should call her again. He had called her since their meeting but she hadn’t answered. Perhaps she was busy or her phone was on silent. Maybe she was one of those who won’t pick up if they don’t recognise the number. The positive was that he’d heard her sweet, sexy voice on her voicemail. He should text her. She might respond to a text.

  He carefully replaced everything in the drawer. He might contact Danielle and Amber this week.

  He started to whistle that Louis Armstrong song.

  The temperature in the car had dropped rapidly even though Sam had only been sat on her driveway for a few minutes. She longed for March and the thought of the clocks going forward lightened her mood slightly. She hated going to and from work in the dark. It was almost as depressing as coming home to an empty house. Almost.

  She had bought the house three years ago, six months after Tristram was killed. She tried to live in their marital home, the house they had bought together, but it was just too full of memories. She needed a fresh start. Married for two years, she knew Tristram was the one, her soul mate. Life would never be the same without him. She missed the walks by the sea, curling up on the sofa laughing at old Ealing comedy films, a meal in a restaurant, the lazy Sundays with the newspapers and a roast, and the wines of Burgundy. Everything wiped out in an instant. They had talked happily and for hours planning their future… holidays, houses, children, retirement, old age. Their bucket list was continually growing and being refined, their lives together stretching out before them.

  Had she known the darkness that lay ahead, that his life clock was counting down at a supersonic speed compared to hers, she would have done more living, less planning. John Lennon said: ‘Life’s what happens while you are busy making other plans.’ How tragically true that was.