by Luca Veste
Murphy grunted. ‘Parasites.’
‘The Phillips girl was mentioned I heard.’
‘Yeah. I should probably get used to that.’
Jess pulled out her phone, checked it, then placed it on the arm of her chair. ‘What happened there?’
‘I already told you.’
‘Not properly.’ Jess had followed him into the kitchen, sauce from the pizza smudging her chin. ‘She was killed by her stalker wasn’t she? What could you have done?’
Murphy drank half the water in one go. ‘I screwed up. I should have taken it all more seriously when she came down to the station.’
‘You saw her?’
‘Yeah. She turned up one day in bits. Crying like you wouldn’t believe. I just happened to be there in reception. Told her I’d help. I didn’t.’
Jess tapped a finger against her bottom lip. ‘This was when, like, a few weeks after the funeral?’
‘About that?’
‘And she had a case ongoing anyway?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then I don’t understand how you can blame yourself for that. How did that paper get your name involved anyway?’
Murphy shrugged. ‘How they get anything these days. They ask the families, look for juicy angles to sell their papers. I just happened to have been in the news only a few weeks before, so that was their connection.’
‘You ever speak to anyone about things other than me?’
‘Don’t need to,’ Murphy said, sliding past her to go back in the living room.
‘Yes you do. Bear, you don’t just get over something like what happened to you. You need help.’
‘I’m fine.’ Murphy picked up his half-eaten slice of pizza, taking a bite.
‘Have you spoken to Sarah at all?’ Jess said, moving back to the couch.
Murphy looked up at the only picture in the living room. The four of them, together. Smiling.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘No plan to either.’
Jess shook her head. ‘You’re going to have to at some point. She deserves better than this.’
‘Does she? You think?’
‘It wasn’t her fault,’ Jess replied, swinging her legs out from underneath her. ‘She didn’t know.’
‘Are you kidding me? You know her past. Tell me, is she using again?’
Jess stood up. ‘You think I’d be pushing you into talking to her if she was?’
Murphy turned away from her stare. ‘I don’t know what to think. Why are you so close to her all of sudden?’
‘Because she lost as well. And there’s no one else helping her.’
Murphy sighed. ‘I’ll talk to her. I just need time, okay.’
Jess nodded. ‘Good. Now about this case …’
‘I’m fine,’ Murphy interrupted.
‘No, you’re fucking not,’ Jess said, her voice bouncing back off the walls. ‘You’re working a murder case, and your head’s not right. It hasn’t been right for over a year, which is understandable, considering.’ Jess was still standing, her right hand on her hip, giving him the cold stare he’d become familiar with over the years.
Murphy swallowed the food, reached for the glass of water. ‘I don’t want to talk to some stranger about what happened.’
‘You didn’t talk to me about it.’
‘What am I supposed to say, Jess?’ Murphy said, his voice raising. ‘My parents died, they were … they died, okay.’
‘That’s just it, Bear. They didn’t just die in their sleep. They were killed, murdered. And you found …’
Murphy stood up. ‘Don’t, I don’t want to fucking talk about it. Understand?’
‘You’re going to have to, otherwise it’ll eat you alive. I know you. You can’t just shove this down inside yourself. It has to come out.’
‘Not now.’
‘Fine,’ Jess replied, her hands slapping against her sides in frustration. ‘If you don’t want any help, I won’t waste my time. Just remember, I was here after it happened, I’ve always been here. You shutting me out won’t change that.’ She left the room, appearing a minute later with her coat on.
‘You don’t have to go, Jess,’ Murphy said, moving towards her.
She shrank back, turning her back to him. ‘Yeah, yeah I do. Before I have to smack some sense into you. You know where I am.’
She left Murphy standing alone in his living room.
In the house paid for with his parents’ blood. Lost in his own thoughts as he dropped onto the couch and stared at the wall, past the television.
Gone.
20
Sunday 29th May 2012
Eight Months Earlier
His hand pushed open the living room door, as if unconnected to his body. Everything about the situation called for him to stop. He knew what would lie behind it, yet he couldn’t help himself.
All was red.
He took one step into the room. Across the wall were words but he didn’t read them at that moment. Instead, his vision focused on the main area of living room floor, where the coffee table was supposed to be.
His mum had prided herself on her home, spending hours making sure it looked just right, just so. Now it was disorder, chaos; the TV in the corner upended, the sofa cushions thrown to the side. The coffee table had one leg broken off, tipped over and in the opposite corner, Mum’s ornaments from the mantelpiece lying smashed and broken on the fireplace.
He saw his dad first, his face a mask of blood, lying on his back, one arm to the side, the other across his chest. His dad’s white shirt was saturated, turning an odd muddy red colour. He could see holes where something had gone through the shirt, ripping into his stomach and chest.
He became aware of himself, of what he was seeing. His dad, who had made him sit and listen to old songs on an ancient record player, who would call him every few days to see how he was. Who would sit and watch old Marx Brothers movies with him for hours when he was younger. That man was gone and all he could do was stand there, frozen in shock, staring at the lifeless form of his father.
His mum was further into the room, near the French windows they’d installed to cut off the dining room. She was in a sitting position, her arms hanging to the sides, her head lolling forward. One shoe had fallen off her foot and was lying in a pool of blood near her legs. Strands of greying hair had fallen across her face, obscuring it from view. For a fleeting second he thought maybe it wasn’t her, wasn’t his mother. Yet he knew the truth.
He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He became aware of his hands shaking uncontrollably. The sound of sirens approaching came through the windows. He turned his gaze to the wall opposite the fireplace above the sofa. Three words had been daubed onto the wall in his parents’ blood. He could trace the trail from the bodies of his parents to the wall, across the carpet and the sofa, onto the wall itself. Three words.
She was mine.
Experiment Two
The soundtrack to her living nightmare had changed. In between her fitful attempts at sleep, the overbearing silences had been replaced.
All she could hear was screaming.
Ear splitting, bloodcurdling screams.
At first she thought it was her. Took a few seconds to realise her mouth was closed.
She could make out the words being shouted, but only just. It reinforced how thick the door was that separated her from the outside.
He’d brought someone else down there. She was sure of it. Maybe a replacement for her? She wasn’t giving him what he wanted, perhaps?
She didn’t know how long it had been now. Lost count of the times she had fallen asleep. Not that she wanted to sleep all that much any more. If they weren’t dreams of the outside, normal life stuff, they were filled with darkness. It was a toss-up for which was worse.
She’d tried to talk to whoever was down there with her, but hadn’t got a response. She’d given up quickly, not wanting to waste her energy.
Let someone else rot down here, she thought. She weighed it
up, checked herself for any feelings of guilt. Not even close. She just wanted out. And if it meant someone taking her place, then so be it.
It didn’t matter anyhow. It was almost time. She’d run through things in her mind over and over, until she had her whole plan in focus. She closed her eyes, picturing every instant of what she planned. Slowed it down in her head, so each moment played out in its own singular frame. No room for error.
She became conscious of her hands rubbing together, her pulse beating in her fingers. Her heart banging against her chest. All nervous energy, coursing through her as she realised what she was about to attempt. If she made a mistake, she was dead. There was no doubt in her mind. Until then, she’d been the pliant captive. Locked away in her hole, eating and drinking like a good little prisoner. Now, she was going to change all that. She couldn’t stand it any longer. Now was the time.
Footsteps. The clicking of a heel coming down into the basement. Each footfall punctuated by the screaming somehow increasing in volume. She moved towards the door, placed her ear against it.
The footsteps stopped just outside, a noise she couldn’t place just away from her.
The screaming stopped. Cut off mid squeal. Silence returned, and she enjoyed the bliss for a few seconds.
She forced herself away from the door. Breathing in deeply, holding it for a few seconds, before releasing.
She turned to face the door. Clenched her fists to stop them shaking. Then waited.
He approached the door, the room behind it holding his experiment. Allowed himself a smile. His experiment. He still felt a frisson of excitement at what he’d created. The key was patience. He was here for the long haul. He could never allow himself to forget that. He was still learning; always learning. Take the food to her, hope she eats it. Make sure everything was still in place so she couldn’t escape. Lower the hatch, allowing only a sliver of light to enter. Never engage her in conversation, or he’d have to start all over again.
From watching the monitor the effects of being isolated in the room had already begun to tell on her. She talked to herself. Quite often. She slept more, fitful, disturbed and broken, but sleeping nonetheless.
Five days she’d been down there. A working week. No time at all.
He’d watched her as often as he could, waiting for a twinge of guilt to kick in, for what he was putting her through.
It still hadn’t.
The experience would live with her forever, of that he had no doubt. It was the effect of that experience he was most interested in.
Would she always be afraid of the dark?
Would he ever let her go to find out?
He didn’t know the entirety of the plan.
The importance of what he was doing. He had to concentrate on that.
He stopped as he reached the door. Took the key out of his pocket, and turned the lock on the hatch. The hatch would lower from the outside, big enough for him to observe her if needed; wide and tall enough for his head and shoulders to be in profile. He’d made the door himself, fashioning it from an old, heavy piece into something much different. He’d spent hours down in the basement before her arrival, making sure it was fit for purpose.
He removed the key from the lock, pocketed it and lowered the hatch. The atmosphere changed as the darkness seeped out, bringing with it the smell of desperation and fear. He shuddered a little in spite of himself, imagining being inside there, alone, with nothing but his own mind to keep him sane.
He picked up the food parcel and bottle of water he’d left at his feet, breathed in and put his hand into the opening, preparing to drop the food.
Out of the darkness, a hand shot out and gripped his wrist. He squealed as fingernails dug into his flesh, his thumb pushed back as he tried to shake it free.
Pain shot through his arm as the sharp needles of long, uncut nails drew blood.
Within seconds, it had come from the darkness. Refusing to let go of him.
He knew the hatch had been too big.
The footsteps stopped outside the door. She tried to focus her eyes, but she was working on instinct alone, her sense of sight gone. She was just waiting for the sound.
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.
Five and a half seconds.
She watched as the hatch opened. She waited for the right moment, and then something she hadn’t anticipated happened. Up close, there was more light. She could see a little. An arm holding something came into view.
She didn’t think twice. She grabbed on and forced her way through.
‘No. No.’
This wasn’t supposed to happen. She’d slithered out of the hole like a snake, holding onto his arm as he jumped backwards.
She sprang up, arms outstretched, attempting to claw at him. He stepped back, driving a hand into her face.
‘Stop,’ he said as she fell backwards. ‘This isn’t going to help.’
‘Fuck you,’ she screamed, wiping a hand across her face. She went for him again.
He grabbed her arms as she reached him, pulling them back as he twisted her around. Shoved her down, her knees hitting the floor hard, taking the wind out of her. She gasped, trying to get her breath back, but he didn’t let up, twisting her around again and forcing her down.
‘Stop,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Stop this. You’re going to come with me now, you’re not supposed to do this. You’re mine.’
She spat in his face, laughing as he recoiled in disgust. He could feel her saliva dripping down his face.
He snarled at her, wiping her excretion from his face with the back of his sleeve. ‘You bitch. I’m going to kill you, you hear me? I’m going to kill you.’
He went for her again, but she was ready. As he came forward, about to land on her again, she breathed deeply then drove a knee into his midsection, catching him squarely in his most delicate of areas. Her scream of effort echoed around the basement.
He cried out, falling backwards, his head hitting the wall next to the open doorway. The room she’d been kept in.
His eyes began to droop, his vision darkening.
The last thing he saw before unconsciousness took him, was experiment two heading for the steps away from him.
‘Help …’
She didn’t pause. She got to her feet without pausing for breath, knees almost buckling, and bounded towards the steps, not caring where they led. She reached the top, not looking back to see if he was following.
Not thinking about the fact that although she hadn’t seen his face, something about the man down there had been familiar.
She reached the door, turning the handle, suddenly sure it wouldn’t be locked. It opened and she fell over the threshold, the sudden change in light burning into her eyes.
She stood, slowly. She had to find her way out, escape.
She heard it coming from down below. What had been invading her room for the previous few hours.
Crying, pleas for help. They’d become louder. She was stuck on the threshold of the doorway. The basement behind her, the house she’d been dragged through days earlier. Or was it weeks? She didn’t know.
She couldn’t move. She was frozen on the spot. Her breathing becoming shallow and quick, as the adrenaline began to fade.
She couldn’t just leave her down there. By the time she got help, he could be long gone with her, or worse …
She had to go back.
21
Wednesday 30th January
2013 – Day Four
Stuck in traffic at the tunnel entrance, Murphy listened as the early morning headlines on Radio City talked of nothing else but the two students found dead in the past few days. It was becoming big news, helped in no small way by the front page of the Liverpool News which was sitting on the passenger seat.
The stupid little shit Graves had run a story about him. About his outburst at the press conference the previous day. It might have been kept off the TV coverage, but Stephens hadn’t been able to keep it from the
front page of the rag.
Murphy didn’t know who he was angrier with. The scumbag who was concentrating on his ability to head up a murder investigation, or himself for losing it so quickly.
That was a lie. He knew who he hated more.
He knew the Liverpool Echo wouldn’t be running the same story. Bit more dignity over there. Same with the Post. He just hoped the rumours were true, that the Liverpool News had only months left in existence. Good riddance to shitty crap.
The cars ahead moved a few inches forward. He followed suit automatically, his hands and feet working on impulse. His mind working, independently.
Going through a mental checklist. Of what they’d done so far, trying to spot a mistake, something missed. Events were moving quickly, and they had little help. With Rossi and himself driving the investigation, the pressure was on.
A front page of the local rag, proclaiming him to be ‘unstable’, probably wasn’t going to go down well with DCI Stephens in that case. Murphy felt guilty, as he knew she’d be backing him up to the Super.
Thirty minutes later, he finally made it to the station and was met at the door by Rossi.
‘I went to see Rebecca last night,’ she said. ‘The girlfriend of Will Ryder. Admitted to the alibi being a lie.’
‘Seriously? You didn’t think that was a major development? You should have let me know instantly.’
‘You still think he had something to do with this?’
Murphy thought on it for a few seconds. Weighed up the possibilities and made a decision. ‘I think it deserves looking into more. I’ll have a word with Brannon.’
Rossi rolled her eyes at him. ‘What are we doing today then?’
Murphy went with point one on the to-do list. ‘DC Harris has put together the names of all the employees at the university. We’re working on students next. Everyone with a record of violence gets spoken to first. Then, anyone with just a record. Then, anyone who has had any contact with police, any complaints made against them, that sort of thing.’
‘How many have we got helping?’
Murphy drained the last of his coffee. An internal shudder as the last caffeine hit his system. ‘Just about to find out now. Meeting the boss in five minutes.’