Be My Girl

by Tony Hutchinson

  Was he with the woman? How clever would that be? Was he hiding behind the newspaper? Would he be this early? Why not? She was. He had such an advantage. He knew who she was. She had no idea what he looked like. Any man. It could be any man.

  Her shoulders lost their stiffness when she saw a vacant table near the window. She ordered a regular cappuccino and a glass of tap water and sat down. She chose the chair to the side of the table, which gave her a view of the door.

  Folding the milky froth into her coffee, her gaze wandered around the café. Small, square wooden tables, adorned with white paper table cloths, and rickety wooden chairs filled the room, while on the metal counter there were cakes, biscuits, and slices as well as a commercial coffee machine.

  A typical scene, in a typical coffee shop, in ‘Anytown UK’; only today, this one was anything but typical. It wasn’t like any other coffee shop. He might come in and buy a coffee.

  Gulping down the water, she leaned forward and felt inside her right boot.

  Would she be able to do it? Not once in her life had she ever committed a violent act – not even at school, where the girls seemed to fight more than the boys.

  At that moment, sitting alone, she knew she couldn’t do it, but she hoped that would change once the adrenalin kicked in, when he was next to her, calling her name again. This time she would be ready for him. It would be his turn to experience the explosion of sheer terror.

  In the CCTV control room, DC Jimmy Noble watched Amber walk into the coffee shop. He knew two members of the surveillance team were already inside. It was now just a case of making sure the cameras caught as many digital images as possible of people in the vicinity. The attacker might not go into the coffee shop, but he may well be somewhere nearby.

  As he sat there, watching the screens, Jimmy remembered some of the lectures he had sat through and the questions that had been posed… how many killers over the years had returned to the crime scene when there was lots of activity to look at? How many killers had spoken to reporters or the TV cameras, saying how terrible it was this type of crime could happen in their community? How many killers had returned to the graves of their victims on the anniversary of their deaths?

  Would a rapist turn up for a meet with a victim? He had never been part of any class discussions around the issue, but he felt it was feasible.

  If there was the slightest chance the rapist would turn up, he would make damn sure he was caught on camera.

  Outside, it had barely risen above zero all day. Stamping his feet, scratching the arms of his reefer coat, he felt like a child waiting for the arrival of a new puppy. Again he glanced at his watch. A combination of the cold, and the hard plastic green seat, had numbed his buttocks in a way that brought back unpleasant memories of sitting on the floor in assembly at primary school.

  Five minutes.

  The CCTV cameras were pointing down on to the shops, but he didn’t think they would deliver an identifiable image of him as he sat in a bus stop on the opposite side of the road.

  He rubbed his hands together. Where was she? Was she coming? Had she arrived early? Was she in there?

  He could make out the figure of a woman sitting alone near the window, but the condensation on the glass made it impossible to see if it was her. Pulling up the collar of his coat, sinking his neck deep into the rough material, he walked head down, hands in pockets, towards what he hoped was a new relationship. Normally the sex comes after the first date, but this could be the start. Their start. Their first date.

  Amber walked to the counter, her legs feeling that they belonged to a Friday night drunk, and ordered another coffee, her eyes fixed on the door. She had lost count of how many times the bicycle-type bell had sounded as the door opened, how often she had jumped, how many times she had tried, but failed, to resist looking at whoever walked in.

  The man and woman had left now. At the table they vacated sat a man wearing the type of clothing favoured by builders; dirty jeans, a fleece, and big brown rigger boots. His arms looked too big to belong to her attacker. Was the fleece making them look bigger? The ‘builder’ had close-cropped stubble across the lower part of his face but she didn’t know whether the rapist was clean-shaven or had a full beard.

  Maybe the ‘builder’ was a police officer? Yes, he must be, because if he wasn’t, that meant that the lady in the corner, the only other customer, a woman who looked more like a middle-aged school teacher was a police officer, and she didn’t look capable of running to anyone’s aid.

  The doorbell sounded again.

  Watching the CCTV, Jimmy Noble slid his chair nearer to the screen, and using the time-honoured expression police reserve for something totally unexpected, muttered, ‘What the fuck?’

  He punched one number on the speed dial of his phone and called Sam Parker’s mobile.

  ‘Sam Parker.’

  ‘Boss. It’s Jimmy Noble. I am in the CCTV control room. Does any of your team know about the surveillance?’

  ‘Just myself, Ed and Dave Johnson. Why?’

  ‘Jason Stroud’s just walked into the coffee shop.’

  Sam’s first thought was ‘fuck!’.

  ‘Okay. Don’t worry, Jimmy, it changes nothing. Just keep monitoring, but thanks for the update. Keep me posted.’

  ‘Okay, Boss. Cheers.’

  Sam sank back into her chair, running her hands through her hair. What the bloody hell’s going on? Surely it can’t be him? Jason Stroud? Coming after her?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  He ordered a hot chocolate and sat down, staring over the rim of the glass cup as he blew on to its steaming contents. He had glanced at the seated middle-aged woman, and the man at the table, but his eyes kept darting back to Amber. She had turned up. Even if she wore no make-up, she looked beautiful, sitting there waiting for him.

  Was it a trap? There didn’t appear to be any cops outside. Perhaps they were hiding? Were any of the customers cops?

  He was desperate to speak to her, but what if she only agreed to the meeting to get a look at him, to describe him to the police and identify him? What if she screamed and the bloke who looked like a builder, who looked like he could handle himself, came to help her?

  He blew at the cream again and this time watched it drift from one side of the cup to another.

  But then again, what if she wanted him, like he wanted her? She might be sitting waiting for him to make the first move, to introduce himself. She couldn’t make the first move. She didn’t know what he looked like. But she was here.

  His eyes returned to the builder. Was he a builder? He looked familiar? A builder? Think. Think. Don’t make a move yet.

  Sam’s mobile rang again.

  ‘Boss. It’s Jimmy Noble again. Jason either didn’t buy a coffee, or he’s got an asbestos mouth, because he wasn’t in there very long.’

  ‘Thanks Jimmy. Anyone else been in who might be interesting?’

  ‘A couple of people coming and going. It’s not particularly busy, so we should get good quality stills from the cameras.’

  ‘What about outside?’

  ‘Again, not packed, shouldn’t be too difficult to identify people, especially as a lot of them got into vehicles, and we’ll have the registration plates on one camera or another.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Ed, answering Sam’s call, was with her in her office within two minutes.

  ‘Okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Jason Stroud turned up at the coffee shop.’

  ‘What! Fuckin’ hell. Sorry. Jesus,’ he said, shaking his head as he took a seat.

  ‘He wasn’t in long.’

  ‘Maybe he spotted the surveillance team.’

  ‘Possibly. They certainly spotted him. Where’s he now?’

  ‘Not sure, but I can find him. What do you think?’ Ed asked.

  ‘It might be nothing. Could just be coincidence, albeit a very weird one. He might have just called in for a coffee but we’re going to have to talk to him about it. I don’t w
ant to knee jerk, but I need an explanation as to why he was there.’

  ‘He might have gone to meet Amber.’

  ‘That’s what worries me.’

  ‘Are you going to mention what Celine told us?’ Ed asked.

  ‘No. I want to keep that back. We can legitimately ask him what he was doing in the coffee shop but for now let’s keep the conversation with Celine between us. I want him to know that we know he was in there. If he’s our man, I want him to start feeling a bit of pressure.’

  ‘I’ll have him here in 30 minutes. Jesus. Anyway, changing the subject, Duncan Todd doesn’t want to make a complaint, but he’s adamant that his attack was down to Danielle’s dad.’

  ‘Okay. Let’s just leave that for now,’ Sam said, fiddling with some pieces of paper on her desk, looking at them, but not registering any of the typed words.

  ‘People are also working on the arrest plan for Crowther in readiness for tonight,’ Ed told her.

  ‘Good. What about a cuppa? One way or another the surveillance team will be back soon, as will Jason.’

  ‘Good idea. I’ll sort one,’ Ed said.

  Walking out of the office, his thoughts were very much on Jason Stroud.

  Amber’s left hand was trembling as she finished her second coffee, stood stiffly, and walked out of the shop, disappointed and deflated that he hadn’t shown up.

  When would she be able to have a normal life again without looking at every man, wondering whether he was the one? Would she ever be able to put him behind her?

  The dark grey carpet of cloud was so low she felt if she jumped, she could reach out and touch it. She stopped and stood still. She surveyed the normality around her. What was she doing? What was she thinking? She had just contemplated stabbing someone; killing another human being.

  Maybe Sam’s suggestion was the way forward. Perhaps she should go and get counselling. Maybe it would help to talk about it. She might even be able to talk to another victim, a woman who understood what she was going through.

  She would speak to Sam. She smiled to herself. For the first time since the attack she felt she was taking control in a positive way instead of vigilante-style retribution.

  Her stride quickened and her spine straightened. She noticed the gardens with flowers in tubs, radiating colour against the grey backcloth, their hues and tints at the forefront of an otherwise black-and-white photograph.

  As the first spots of rain fell, she clenched her fists, declaring to herself her desire to take charge of her own destiny again.

  Whether the police caught him or not, she would regain her confidence and her independence. She would no longer let him put her life on hold.

  She laughed as the rain increased in intensity, and as she pushed open her garden gate, she realised that she had forgotten about the police officers.

  He was so preoccupied as he parked the car, he couldn’t recollect the drive to the retail park. She did look beautiful, and he had so wanted to talk to her. Had he missed the opportunity of his life? What if she had wanted to go out with him? He would never know now. What a great girlfriend she would have made.

  Slamming the driver’s door, he consoled himself knowing that there would be others. Forget her; she’s history, a memory of a past relationship. Couples split up every day and ultimately find new lovers. If she had the condom wrapper, it hadn’t led the police to him. And of course, he had a door key now.

  Buying the tracksuit had been easy. Buying the condoms wasn’t. Once more it was a female who served him. He again reasoned that he should buy in bulk and cut down on the visits to the shops, but somehow he felt that would make him look even more ridiculous. What was he, some sort of sex god? If they inwardly laughed at him for buying a packet of three, they would be rolling in the aisles if he bought three or four packs.

  Handing her the £10 note, he watched her sway towards the till, all blonde hair, legs, and a pout, her heavily made up eyes never wavering from her older male colleague. Brushing past the man, her big tits straining against her tight, white cotton dress uniform, she seemed magnetically attracted to his hideous multi-coloured tie. Speaking into his ear, just a little too loudly, she said she preferred her condoms flavoured. Fuckin’ slut.

  His cheeks were on fire when she placed his change into his outstretched hand. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He knew that she was laughing at him.

  He’d give her flavoured ones, given the chance.

  At some time in the future he would have to consider travelling further from home to visit the girls. There was a world of women out there.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Ed returned with the mugs of tea. ‘Amber’s home safe. Jason can’t get back here yet. He’s doing some enquiries, but he’ll be here as soon as he can.’

  He placed a plain black mug on the desk within reach of Sam.

  ‘Thanks. What are you thinking?’

  ‘What am I thinking? I suppose I’m starting to think that maybe Jason is our man. He lives in the area; he could easily identify the whereabouts of single women; he went in the coffee shop at the time the rapist is told to be there; and we know he fantasises about rape. No hard evidence, okay, but plenty of circumstantial. If he wasn’t a cop, he’d be right up there.’

  Sam said: ‘Let’s deal with Crowther tonight, and tomorrow we’ll see where we are. Cop or no cop, we need to sort him. What’re your thoughts on him finding out where single women live?’

  Sam raised the mug to her lips, as Ed sat down.

  ‘Not too difficult, is it? All he needs to do is to check the voters lists. Check crime reports, messages, anything. He’d easily establish a list of lone females.’

  ‘Not too difficult, I agree,’ Sam said. ‘Let’s not rush anything, though. See how we get on with Crowther. It could be Jason, but let’s deal with one thing at a time. If he hadn’t gone into the coffee shop, we would still be where we were earlier.’

  Ed nodded slowly. ‘I know, but he did go in.’

  ‘Nothing’s ever simple,’ Sam said. ‘Listen, I need to call Amber now.’

  ‘You do that, and I’ll get the surveillance commander to come and see us.’

  Staring at the telephone, Sam had the receiver in her right hand, the fingers of her left hovering above the buttons. She knew she had to make the call, but she wasn’t relishing it. She had asked too much of Amber and for what? Had he given himself away, it might have been different; the end might have justified the means, but all she had succeeded in doing was expose Amber to more anguish, pile more pressure on her.

  She was expecting an emotional outburst, and who could blame Amber if she lost it? Banging the palm of her left hand hard on to the desk, she cursed her decision to go with the surveillance. Too busy trying to nail the rapist, she had taken her eye off the welfare of the victim.

  She took a deep breath, and tapped in the numbers on the telephone. Waiting to hear the voice on the other end of the line, her mouth felt like a rag had been stuffed into it. There was never a cold drink on your desk when you needed one, and the tea would still be too hot.

  What she didn’t expect to hear was Amber talking non-stop, in an excited voice.

  No longer was she going to be a victim, she told Sam, leading a life dictated by this a catastrophic experience. She was considering counselling and even talking about helping others who’d gone through a similar nightmare. She wanted to discuss giving up her right to anonymity so she could go public with her own ordeal.

  Sam reasoned that it was all, in reality, a long way off, but she was delighted Amber appeared to have had such an epiphany. The resilience of victims never ceased to amaze her, how after such horror they could consider helping others.

  As she put the handset back on to its cradle she silently vowed to bring to justice the man who had affected the lives of so many young women. If she needed any further motivation to work tirelessly to catch him, Amber had just been the provider. It had been a long few days, but that conversation had spurred
her on to work even longer and harder. Picking up her pen, she started doodling on the desktop blotter while her memory replayed Amber’s words.

  When her door opened, she jerked her head up. Her jottings featured the word ‘puppeteer’ countless times. But she promised that she would now be pulling the strings. He would be the puppet.

  Dave Johnson and Ed sat down.

  ‘Amber’s fine. Really fine,’ Sam told them. ‘She’s talking about being a counsellor herself. She was really upbeat. Not what I expected at all.’

  ‘That’s great,’ Ed said. ‘Just a pity the bastard didn’t turn up.’

  ‘We move on,’ said Sam, before continuing. ‘Dave, I want two detectives outside Romeo’s pizza from 4pm. I don’t want Crowther getting to work early, and be out on deliveries before we get there. As soon as we have him, I want a search team at his house. You know what we’re looking for… tracksuits, trainers, unusual knives, but most importantly, a mobile phone, a SIM card, and the driving licences. Also any female clothing, especially knickers. He might still have those from the swimming baths, or Danielle’s.’

  Dave was writing furiously as he recorded Sam’s instructions.

  ‘I want all diaries, notebooks etcetera recovering. It’s not unheard of for a ‘Power Reassurance’ rapist to write down what he’s done, and to keep any press cuttings relating to the attacks. So search for newspaper clippings as well. He may have kept them.’

  Dave nodded. Ed admired Sam’s decisiveness.

  ‘I want him arrested for the theft of two pairs of knickers, and the rapes of Danielle and Amber. He delivers a pizza to Danielle the night she is raped; he’s stop-checked in the area of Amber’s house the night she’s raped; he’s at the swimming baths when a pair of knickers are stolen, and Danielle thinks her knickers were stolen the night he delivered a pizza. There’s enough reasonable suspicion there on all counts.’