by Luca Veste
‘I believe there is an experiment he has been carrying out from the beginning. It’ll have more in common with his original aims. Yet, it will be much bigger, much more hard hitting. What it is in particular, I couldn’t say. Everything I’ve read here though suggests he won’t stop until he’s ready to unveil what it is. So I wish you luck, detectives.’ Garner held Murphy’s stare. ‘And you, Detective Murphy. Take care of yourself. I have a feeling you’re a part of this now. I hope you don’t also become a target.’
‘He has a point, Bear. You’re involved in this now, you have to face up to that.’
Murphy was sitting on his sofa at home, the remnants of a Chinese takeaway congealing on the coffee table in front of him. Jess was standing at the back door, shouting through to him from the kitchen as she smoked. Murphy began picking up the cartons, placing them back in the carrier bag they’d been delivered in. ‘I don’t have to face anything, Jess. Of course I’m involved in it – I’m the one trying to catch the bastard.’
‘Yeah, but he’s made this much more personal than you’re used to. You have to think about what that means,’ Jess continued, turning as Murphy entered the kitchen.
Murphy’s face darkened as he remembered what the letter said. Being reminded about his parents’ murder wasn’t something he relished, especially from someone who was currently the city’s most wanted. ‘I’m okay about it. Really. I’m enjoying being back in the driving seat, honest. And Laura is coming on leaps and bounds,’ Murphy replied, trying on a smile, before deciding it didn’t lighten the situation.
‘That’s good and all, but it doesn’t change the fact this nutter has zeroed in on you.’
‘I know that, Jess,’ Murphy said, jamming the bag of rubbish in the bin. ‘But I’m not going to let him get to me.’
‘You mean he hasn’t already?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Murphy replied, his voice rising slightly. ‘I’m not doing anything differently than I have before.’
‘I know you, Bear,’ Jess said, squatting down to stub her cigarette out on the back step, before turning around and closing the back door behind her. ‘You’re not the same. Which, as I’ve said continually, is not exactly fucking surprising.’
‘I need this, Jess. I need to be sitting across from this bastard in an interview room, explaining how he’ll be spending the rest of his pitiful little life in a cell.’
‘I get that. I do. But what if that’s not how it plays out? What if he tops himself first, or you don’t find him. What then?’
‘That’s not going to happen,’ Murphy said, turning away from her and walking into the living room. He heard Jess running the tap in the sink, filling a glass.
‘What does Laura think?’ Jess said, entering the room holding the glass of water. Murphy sat on the sofa, waiting for her to return to the chair closest to the radiator – her favoured position when she visited. She was always cold, he thought. He’d never seen her wear anything with sleeves outside of work however. He’d bought her a jumper for Christmas a couple of years back, and she’d asked if he kept the receipt. False economy he thought.
‘She thinks our best bet is to release more details to the press. I’m not in agreement on that though. The last thing we need to do is have them more on our backs than they already are.’
‘You’re not exactly getting anywhere fast at the moment though are you?’
‘No,’ Murphy said with a sigh. ‘But we’re not exactly overcome with options here. This guy is so careful, he keeps these people for days, so we have no idea how the circumstances of them being taken happens. We have nothing to go on evidence wise, forensics have turned up nothing. We’re up shit creek without a fucking boat, never mind a paddle. So we do leg work. We interview more people, we do more media asking for people to come forward. And end up with nothing in return, most probably.’
Murphy sat back, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, his headache starting to get worse. ‘Worst of all, I’ve got to deal with Sarah suddenly calling me at work, calling my friends.’ Murphy said, gesturing towards Jess. ‘It’s the last thing I need.’
Jess stood, joining Murphy on the sofa. He turned to look at her.
‘She has things to say. Yeah, it might not be the best time, but maybe you should listen to her.’
‘Why should I, Jess?’
‘Because it wasn’t her fault,’ Jess replied, her hand draped on one of his shoulders.
‘If we hadn’t …’
‘Like that mattered,’ Jess interrupted. ‘You did, that’s all there is to it. Yes it turned into a fucked-up situation, but that wasn’t her fault. More importantly, it wasn’t your fault.’
‘I know.’
‘You don’t, not yet. But you will. I just worry that’s all.’ Jess sighed, ‘How long have we known each other?’
‘Whenever I ask you that, all you say is too fucking long,’ Murphy said, finding it easier to smile at that. ‘Almost twenty years, that’s how long.’
Jess smiled back at him. ‘Jesus, we’re getting old. Well, you are anyway.’
‘Piss off.’
‘Love you too.’ Jess said, standing up. ‘I best be getting off. Peter will be wondering where I am.’
‘Of course.’ Murphy replied, standing up to show her out.
As Jess got to the door, she turned and hugged Murphy, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders. ‘Take care of yourself, Bear. Don’t do anything stupid. I don’t like many people, but you’re all right,’ she said.
‘I will and I won’t,’ Murphy said, patting her on the back. He watched her drive off, shutting the door behind him after she’d pulled out of the cul de sac. Cold air had entered the house, causing him to shiver as he walked back in. He locked the front door, the outside world now shut firmly behind him. He went back into the living room, pulling out the photo album he kept at the side of the couch, out of sight.
Leafed through the pages. The happiest day of his life.
The day he married Sarah. He picked up his phone, scrolled through to her number, then hesitated.
His finger hovered over the call button for a few seconds, before he threw the phone to one side.
Not tonight.
30
Monday 4th February 2013 – Day Nine
Rob
They’d left the pub in silence. Rob’s mind elsewhere, his heart racing, as the appearance of the detectives who’d questioned him that weekend, just walking past the pub, causing instant panic. Dark clouds formed slowly overhead, the sky blackening around him. He entered the psychology building, Dan giving him a pat on the shoulder as he walked away in the opposite direction.
He cried off work early, but with no intentions of actually going home. He pulled his coat a little tighter, putting his head down against the driving rain as he walked the ten minutes towards town and Liverpool Central train station. It was downhill all the way, the pavements busy with students of various fashion tastes. Skinny jeans and tight, revealing shirts … and that was just the lads. He waited only a few minutes for a train, a cold breeze blowing through the underground platform. It was becoming busier, the shift workers filling the space.
An hour later, with the rain pelting down, he stood outside a terraced house in a quiet street. A hanging basket of dead flowers hung outside. He rang the doorbell and stepped back, waiting for the door to open.
‘Hello, Rob,’ Jemma’s mum said as she stepped into the doorway, arms folded. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I just wanted to talk, Helen,’ Rob replied, wiping rain off his forehead. ‘Nothing else.’
Helen stared at him for a few seconds before shaking her head slightly and stepping to one side, letting him into the house.
‘Wait there, I’ll get you a towel,’ she said, closing the door behind her and stepping past him. Rob stood in the hallway, watching as she walked up the stairs. He looked around for anything that may have changed. The same photos adorned the walls, Jemma as a baby, her broth
er coming later when she was a few years older. Same wallpaper on the walls, same everything. He didn’t know what he was expecting, it being only six months since he’d last been there. Rob just expected there to have been changes here, as there had been in his own life.
‘Here you are, dry yourself off a bit.’ Helen handed him the towel as she came back down. ‘Take your shoes off as well. Remember the rules.’
Rob nodded, rain outside – shoes off inside. He slipped his shoes off and removed his coat, placing it on the banister as Helen walked through to the kitchen. He followed, sneaking a peek into the darkened living room. No change there either, from what he could see.
‘I’ve put the kettle on,’ Helen said, sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar. The kitchen was larger than most in the area, Helen’s ex-husband having built an extension a few years before. Every appliance was stainless steel, and expensive. Helen had remortgaged a year or so before, when the ex-husband left. Rob had suggested Jemma talk her mum out of it, but Jemma wouldn’t hear of it. She was happy to see her mum doing something for herself for once.
‘Thanks,’ Rob said, sitting down opposite her. ‘I won’t keep you long.’
‘That’s okay. You seem calm for now. You start shouting and you’re out though. Okay?’ Helen locked eyes with Rob, daring him to disagree. He turned away in embarrassment, nodding his head. ‘Good,’ Helen continued. ‘I’m not having that in this house again.’
An uneasy silence fell, broken only by the water in the kettle bubbling up to a boil. Helen stood up and made tea, placing the cup down in front of Rob.
‘Why are you here, Rob?’ Helen asked, sitting back down.
‘It’s been a while. I thought I’d check in.’
‘Well, it’s all the same here,’ Helen said, her fingers lightly tapping the breakfast bar surface. ‘I’ve not heard from her. If that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘I know. You would have told me if she had done.’ Rob looked up at her, hoping to see agreement on that point. Helen averted her eyes. The ticking clock reminding him of the last time they’d spoken in a kitchen. A very different time.
It had been a few months or so after Jemma had disappeared. He’d been a frequent visitor to Helen’s house, growing more and more annoyed about her lack of concern.
Then she did become worried.
Rob knew things had changed. Helen looked at him with different eyes. They screamed suspicion at him.
One day she had flat out asked him if he had anything to do with Jemma going missing. Turns out Helen had heard about the ex. The one who had accused Rob of hitting her and then moving from the area when her lies had become known.
He still got the odd letter from her. Evil rants about him. Drunken ramblings from a bar in a Spanish resort she’d always talked about wanting to move to, he guessed.
When Jemma disappeared, he assumed the same thing had happened. That he’d driven another one away.
At first.
Helen hadn’t listened to him when he explained about the ex. It ended with them screaming at each other in the kitchen and Rob storming out.
‘Yes, I imagine so,’ Helen said, checking the time.
‘Good. So you’ve heard nothing?’ Rob asked.
‘No,’ Helen replied, sighing. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘Have the police been in touch?’
Helen stopped tapping her fingers, bunching her hands together. ‘She’s over eighteen so they’ve just stuck her on some list. They don’t care really. Her history …’ She waved her hands instead of finishing the sentence.
Rob shifted on his seat. ‘I’m sure they’ve looked as best as they can.’
Helen nodded, took a hankie out of her sleeve and dried her eyes. ‘I want my baby girl back. She wouldn’t just go like this. Not for this long. I need to say something to you. I’ve been wanting to get this off my chest for a long time.’
Rob braced himself, bit on his bottom lip and didn’t say anything.
‘I never really thought you did anything, Rob. People were saying things, how it’s always the partner, that sort of thing. I should have thought more about it. You would never have harmed her.’
Rob felt a knot form at the back of his throat. ‘Thank you.’ He was aching to tell Helen of what little he knew. He didn’t want to be there, he realised at that point. He couldn’t work out what he’d expected to find. He wanted to say something, but was afraid. He couldn’t jeopardise what little hope he had.
‘I think I may have a lead,’ Rob said, treading carefully. ‘Dan, my friend from work, he’s helped me out a bit. We may be onto something.’ He found the lies coming easily. Half truths, better than nothing. ‘I just thought I’d let you know.’ He picked up the cup, drinking a little.
‘What is this new lead?’ Helen asked, leaning forward eagerly.
‘I’m not totally sure yet.’ Rob replied. ‘It may be dangerous though.’ He realised why he’d gone there now. He was scared of what was happening to Jemma, scared of what might happen to him. He wanted to say much more, but didn’t want to burden Helen. He wanted someone to know what he was about to do, but without putting them in any kind of danger. ‘I just wanted to let you know, in case you had changed your mind. About me, I mean.’
Helen looked at him questioningly. ‘What’s this about, Rob?’ she asked.
‘I can’t really say. But I’ll let you know the second I hear anything.’
Helen kept staring at him, making him shift uneasily as he tried to keep the guilt off his face. After a moment or three, she appeared to have made a decision. ‘Okay, I’m not totally sure of what you’re doing, Rob, but I won’t ask any more. I just have one thing to say.’
‘Okay,’ Rob replied. ‘What is it?’
‘If she’s not in any danger, I want you to leave her alone. I don’t care if you can’t accept that you two were over to her, I want you to promise me that. If she’s making a new life for herself, then let her be. I can accept that, as long as I know she’s safe. I want you to do the same.’
Rob digested what she’d said, knowing almost certainly it wasn’t a promise he would have to keep. ‘Okay, I promise,’ he said without hesitation.
‘And if she’s in trouble,’ Helen continued. ‘You bring her back to me. To us all.’
Rob didn’t have to worry about that one. ‘I promise.’
He left shortly after, nothing further to say. The rain had eased off as he shoved his hands in his pockets and trudged towards the station once more. As he got closer, his phone began ringing in his inside pocket. He opened his coat slightly to retrieve it, his heart beginning to quicken as he noticed the Unknown Caller sign on the screen.
‘Hello.’
‘Robert. How are we, this fine night?’
The voice was distorted again, the tone changing every other word. Rob felt his other hand forming into a fist. ‘What do you want? Where are you?’
‘Not important,’ the voice answered. ‘I just wanted to make sure you were keeping to your side of the bargain. You haven’t told anyone of our little chats have you?’
Rob bit down on his lip. ‘Of course not.’
‘I’m glad to hear that. Now, I’d like you to keep tomorrow free, if you would. I think you’ll need to be totally alert for the day.’
‘What do you mean?’
A low chuckle came through the phone, the voice changing from a low-pitched guttural sound to a high-pitched laugh, sending shivers down Rob’s spine. ‘Let’s just say, it’s finally coming to an end for you, Rob. It’ll all be over soon. I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear that.’
‘Let’s do this now then. Why wait? Tell me where you are.’ The phone was already dead; Rob stood talking to himself. He looked around, hoping to see the car he’d seen near the Albert Dock again, but the street was quiet.
‘Fuck!’ Rob shouted out, feeling desolate. He wasn’t the one in control, he never had been. He was following orders, and that meant waiting. If he wanted to see Jemma again, he�
��d have to do as he was told.
No matter what.
31
Tuesday 5th February 2013 – Day Ten
He’s dreaming, he knows that. He can understand the unreality of it all, the broken images, the distorted scenery, the blurriness of his surroundings.
It feels real. The anxious, nausea inducing feeling in the pit of his stomach is real. Even in its dream state.
He’s entering his parents’ house again, the silence overpowering him once more. There’s something else though, a different quality to it. He moves towards the kitchen, finding it empty, before turning back to the living room. He can’t open the door. It’s jammed shut. He uses his bulk, throwing his shoulder at the door. His movements are in slow motion as he feels no give to the door. He steps back, examining the door again.
It opened outwards independently as he stands there. He can see his parents, the same as always. The words on the wall aren’t there yet.
Now he knows what that difference is. The silence, not as silent as usual.
It’s because he’s not alone.
The man is still there. Standing in the centre of the room. The man is breathing heavily, tired from the exertion.
He stands in the doorway, looking directly at the man. He can’t move, yet he wants to. He can feel the anger coursing through him, wanting so much to cross that room in two long strides and pick the man up by his puny little tattooed neck. Watch the last flicker of life leave his eyes. Yet, he can’t move. His legs stuck in the same position. He looks down at them, willing them to move, but they won’t comply. He bunches his fists, banging them against his thighs.
Then, he’s not himself any longer. He’s someone else. He’s three and half feet shorter, no longer towering over the man as before. He turns his hands over, staring at the hairless small stubby appendages. And he’s scared. He’s shaking, and can’t move his legs. He can’t run away, he can’t hide.
He raises his head, slowly, afraid of what he’ll see.
The man is using his fingers to write on the wall, stopping every few seconds to procure more blood from the open neck wound on Murphy’s father. He’s whistling as he goes about his work. Happy, smiling.