by Lee Weeks
Jeanie held two adult puppets near one another and placed them in front of Jackson on the table. He picked up the Mummy puppet and held it tightly in his left hand. With his right hand he pushed away roughly the male puppet onto which Jeanie had pinned Daddy Pig’s face.
‘No,’ he repeated.
‘What is Mummy puppet saying, Jackson?’
‘Mummy said, “No no no. Get out. Get out.”’
‘Did Mummy say this man’s name?’ She picked up the Daddy Pig puppet and held it at arm’s length for him to look at it. Jackson nodded. ‘What did she call him, Jackson? What’s this man’s name?’
He pointed to the puppet. ‘Daddy Pig.’
Tracy came out of the shower. Jeanie stood outside the bedroom door as Tracy got dressed.
‘I want to try another session with Jackson when you’re ready?’
‘Coming.’
‘We are definitely getting somewhere with him now, Tracy. I added another puppet; from the Peppa Pig cartoon. The puppet has Daddy Pig’s face pinned on.’
‘He loves Peppa Pig. He had a Peppa Pig toy when I first met them at the Christmas Fayre,’ said Tracy from behind the closed door.
‘Not any more. He just got very distressed when it came on the telly. He started shouting when the character Daddy Pig came on the screen. I think something about Daddy Pig reminds him of this man.’
‘I’m ready.’ Tracy came into the lounge and called to Jackson as she pulled out the chair at the table ready for him to climb into. Jeanie waited for Jackson to get settled. One by one she took three puppets: Scruffy, Jackson and Danielle. She asked the same question each time:
‘Who’s this, Jackson?’
‘Scruffy.’
‘Yes, it’s Scruffy, isn’t it?’ Jackson nodded. ‘Jackson, what colour is your front door?’
‘Pink.’
‘Did you see Mummy when you were standing at the front door?’ Jackson didn’t understand. ‘Jackson, who’s this?’ Jeanie showed him the Mummy puppet and the Daddy Pig puppet.
‘Where did you see Mummy talking to this man, Jackson?’ Jackson shook his head.
‘Where is Mummy now, Jackson? Do you know?’
Jackson looked around him, his eyes drifted skyward as he thought. A sad expression crept over his face. He shook his head again.
‘Mummy’s gone.’
‘Where was Mummy standing when you saw her last time, Jackson?’
‘Mummy’s in Jackson’s house.’ He frowned. He was thinking hard.
‘And what was Mummy doing?’
‘Mummy shouting. Mummy was very very cross.’ Jackson’s movements became agitated as he wriggled on the chair and flapped his arms in the air.
‘What was she shouting, Jackson?’
Jackson sat up straight in the chair and his face flushed crimson. ‘Get out. Leave me alone.’
‘Where were you, Jackson? Where were you when Mummy said that?’ Jackson looked out into space as he thought. Tracy watched in silence. Hardly daring to make a sound as she breathed in case it stopped Jackson.
‘Mummy said: “Go back to bed, Jackson. Stay in bed with Scruffy.”’ His eyes flashed to Tracy. ‘“Nanny coming.”’
‘Is that what Mummy said, Jackson? She said, “Nanny’s coming?”’ Jackson nodded. ‘What happened to Mummy then, Jackson?’ He tilted his head one way and the other but didn’t answer. He picked up the Scruffy puppet and kissed it. ‘Was Mummy on her own then, Jackson?’ Jeanie asked. He shook his head. His eyes went to the puppets. He reached out deliberately and picked up the one with the Daddy Pig face. He held it near his own face.
‘Leave Mummy alone. Leave her alone.’
Tracy screamed as her phone rang on the shelf. She wasn’t expecting a call. She sensed who it was and looked at Jeanie.
‘Quickly, Tracy. Remember, if it’s him – keep him talking. Ask to speak to her.’ Jeanie got up from the table. ‘Come on, Jackson, let’s see what Nanny’s got in her bedroom.’ Jeanie led Jackson quickly away.
Tracy stood up and walked over to the phone. She dreaded every step.
‘Hello, Tracy.’
‘Hello.’ The sound of his voice made her want to drop the phone. The closeness to him was unbearable.
‘Are you scared, Tracy?’
‘Yes.’
Tracy could hear classical music playing in the background.
‘I want to speak to Danielle.’
There was another noise in the background that she couldn’t make out. It was like someone had the phone in their pocket or their bag and had rung her number by mistake. Tracy walked silently through the lounge with the phone in her hand.
She heard a shuffling. The music grew faint as she heard feet walking; then there was the sound of a door opening and the click of a switch. Somewhere at the edge of the room a woman was crying. The sounds of her cries echoed, grew louder. She heard his feet walk across a hard floor and the sound of his breathing as it rasped down the phone. Then she heard the woman crying again. Her crying was mixed with shallow breaths.
‘Please please . . . I’m begging you . . . I’ll do anything . . . please . . . don’t hurt me again.’
Hands muffling the sound around the phone.
‘Did you hear that, Tracy?’
She could hardly breathe.
He laughed. His voice was distorted like last time; it was liquid and deep and one sound rolled into another.
‘Danielle? Danielle?’ Tracy screeched down the phone.
He laughed again. Tracy heard muffled squeals of pain.
‘You think this is your daughter, Tracy? You gave your daughter away. You went off and left her. You didn’t really love her, did you?’
‘No. No. It wasn’t like that. Please. I don’t understand what you want from me. Tell me what I can do. Where is my daughter? Danielle? Danielle?’
‘Shusssssh,’ he said, his voice vibrating in Tracy’s ears. Then Tracy heard someone try to speak, but the words came out as spluttering sounds. ‘She doesn’t want to speak to you, Tracy.’ Tracy heard the sound of squealing as if someone couldn’t breathe. She could hear him working hard at something; his breath rasping down the phone line. ‘I’ll ring you again tomorrow – maybe she’ll feel like talking then. You make sure you’re by the phone, Tracy. Don’t you go anywhere. Your time is coming, Tracy. Look after the boy. I saved his life. I am his saviour. Make sure he doesn’t betray me.’ A piercing wail drilled through Tracy’s ear. ‘Shhhh . . . Bye, Baby Bunting. Daddy’s gone a-hunting. Remember that rhyme, Tracy?’ She didn’t answer. Her hand was clasped across her mouth to stop herself from screaming. ‘Of course you do. You know it well. Now I found a rabbit that needs skinning. Have you ever skinned an animal, Tracy? The first cut is important to get right, then you slide the knife between the skin and the muscle and, hey presto, rip it back . . .’ He laughed and the phone went dead.
Tracy was shaking so much that she dropped the phone as she sank to her knees, clutching her hands together and rocking. She crawled to her bedroom and sat outside, leaning with her back against the wall.
Jeanie came out and knelt beside her.
‘You’re okay, Tracy.’
‘I can’t do it. I can’t do it.’
‘Yes you can, Tracy. Look at me.’ She looked into Tracy’s eyes – her mascara was running. ‘If it means going through this to get Danielle back – then I know because I’ve seen your strength that you can do this, Tracy.’
Chapter 23
The snow fell all night. It stopped just before dawn. Hampstead Heath was covered in a clean pure white icing of it. It looked like a country Christmas scene in the middle of London. Gerald Foster was just thinking that as he drove past it on his way back from having his van repaired – just a quick paint job. He had taken it to the Albanian garage behind Caledonian Road – they were cheap and they didn’t ask questions. They didn’t want to make chitchat. He didn’t feel like driving straight home so he took a detour around the Heath. He watched a woman as
she came alongside the passenger window. She was jogging. Her ponytail swished from side to side; her tight Lycra trousers showed every curve. Foster tutted disapprovingly – what did women expect when they wore outfits like that? He kept his eyes on her until she dodged the snow piled at the edge of the pavement and she turned into the road that led to the Heath. Foster turned into the Lido car park and watched her run past.
The jogger passed the Lido, carried on up the path and then headed right along the perimeter of the Heath. She smiled and nodded at another jogger running the opposite way. It was funny how she saw the same people every day. The joggers were friendly to one another, just the way the dog owners were keen on anyone else with a dog but didn’t like the joggers. Or rather, their dogs didn’t like joggers.
Janet had had problems with dogs and their owners in the past. In the ten months she had been running on Hampstead Heath she’d been attacked three times by dogs. Now she tried not to feel anxious, tried not to give off the smell of fear.
Ahead of her a group of women was approaching, walking their dogs. The dog in front had broken away from the others and now looked like it was heading straight for her. She felt a surge of panic. She looked at the owner’s face. The woman was in conversation with her friend but she was staring straight at Janet. The dog had begun a low growl and was coming across Janet’s path. Janet’s heart was racing. The dog owner kept eye contact and gave a half smile that said: don’t worry, he won’t bite you – I think. Janet didn’t smile back. She was thinking: she must take responsibility for her dog now . . . now is a good time. Janet turned away, defeated. She didn’t want to take any risks. She stepped off the path and onto the verge. Her feet cut through the hard snow covering the ground. The cold was biting.
The dog lunged and snapped at her as she passed. The owner muttered she was sorry. Janet cursed loudly, put a spurt of speed on and powered up the hill and away from the path. Virgin snow crunched beneath her feet. She pushed hard with her thighs until she reached the copse at the summit and the trees closed around her. She had stitch now; clasping her side she slowed to a walk to catch her breath as she dragged the cold air into her burning lungs.
She moved slowly forward, stepping over the fallen branches and stopped by one of the trees to listen to the faint knocking sound of a woodpecker drilling for food or maybe it was a squirrel cracking a nut – she didn’t know which. It was a knocking sound. Her breath snorted into the air, her body was steaming. She felt the chill begin as the sweat cooled her body but she stood in the perfect still beneath the pines and listened to the knocking. Her eyes searched the copse and found the slight movement responsible, the bobbing head of a crow. She walked quietly towards it, her eyes fixed on the black shiny wings of the bird. It looked up as she approached – it was feeding, working hard at something on the ground, knocking it with its beak. As she approached it stopped and stared defiantly at her but then flapped noisily off into the nearest tree and watched her approach. As Janet stepped over the fallen branch her feet moved in slow motion as her eyes made sense of what she saw. A woman’s naked body surrounded by a shroud of the freshly fallen white snow. The woman’s face was a scarecrow mask of make-up and the skin had been peeled up from her breasts like a crimson bra. Her black empty eye sockets stared up at the crows in the trees.
Chapter 24
Carter pulled up the hood of his forensic suit as he and Willis waited to be allowed to cross over into the crime scene. They saw the tall frame of Sandford walk across to them from where he’d been searching the far side of the trees. He climbed over the fallen tree debris; moving cautiously, picking his way amongst the branches.
‘I’ve finished here, for now.’ he said to Carter. He nodded to Ebony. ‘We’ll keep it taped off for a few more days yet. We’ll have to wait till the snow melts to look for tracks.’
‘How long’s she been here, do you think?’ Carter asked Sandford. Ebony was looking down over the white expanse of the Heath. In the distance, people were walking their dogs or jogging along the paths around its edge. Carter followed her gaze and then swung back to Sandford. ‘She can’t have been here any longer than a couple of days. This is a busy place.’
‘Twenty-four hours, Doc estimates,’ replied Sandford. ‘Left here before last night’s snowfall. She’s frozen solid.’ Sandford turned and led the way woods.
‘Who found her?’
‘A jogger named Janet Leonard. She’s waiting in the squad car.’
‘Does it look like it’s the same man? Is it Hawk?’
Sandford stopped walking and turned to fix Carter with a gaze that told Carter that, even for a seasoned professional, it was a sight not soon forgotten. He nodded. ‘Her body’s a real mess.’
They came to the area beyond the fallen tree trunk and the woman’s body began to come into view. Harding had brushed away the snow from around her.
Carter stopped in his tracks. ‘Christ.’
Ebony took a step to his side and crouched beside her.
‘It’s the same as last time.’
‘Yes,’ said Harding.
‘What happened to the bag?’ Ebony was looking at the plastic shards scattered in the snow.
‘A badger, fox or even someone’s pet dog has been at it,’ answered Harding. ‘Maybe they were disturbed.’
Carter drew level. ‘What about her eyes?’ he asked.
Harding looked up at the pine trees around them. The crows watched them. The air hung dank and dark, trapped in the shadows of the trees. The crows shifted in the upper branches of the pines as they waited, ever hopeful of finishing their meal.
‘Crows have large beaks for tearing flesh. The birds have had a go at her face. Soft entry points like the eyes were the best option; the rest of her is frozen.
Ebony watched Harding brush the last of the snow away from the body and onto a plastic sheet she had tucked in around it. She looked down at the ulcerated sites across the body. ‘She is just like Emily Styles but a lot thinner, a lot more emaciated.’
Harding paused in her work and sighed; her white breath stayed as a shroud in the air. She shook her head. ‘It’s hard to know how she made it to even this point. She has been like this for a long time.’
‘She looks like a sick joke,’ said Ebony. She looked at the remnants of blue eye-shadow and the few spikes of painted-on lashes visible above the empty eye sockets, the clownish circles of red stain on her cheeks.
‘He must really hate women, all women – vanity, masks of make-up.’
‘Absolutely,’ said Carter. ‘He’s saying – do you still find her pretty? Folded the skin from her breasts like a bra top, exposed the flesh beneath to say: look at the woman beneath. We can rule out this being Danielle Foster,’ said Carter. ‘This woman’s skeletal, she must have been kept somewhere a long time to get like this.’ There was silence except for the slip and splash of snow from the branches. ‘How did she die, Doctor?’
Harding moved the woman’s head to one side as she examined her neck.
‘There are signs of damage here. I can’t rule out strangulation or asphyxiation. But with her being in such a poor state, any massive trauma could have been her last. I think she would have died quite fast after he began skinning her.’
‘She was alive when he did that?’
Harding nodded. ‘She wouldn’t have bled like that otherwise . . . she must have been.’ The remnants of trails of blackened blood were streaked down the woman’s body.
Carter looked around him, fighting back the nausea. He needed to breathe in the scent of the pines, the cold from the damp air.
‘Did she die here?’
‘No,’ said Harding. ‘She was definitely moved and placed here. Suspended from the wrists while he mutilated her. The blood has flowed in even paths down over her torso.’
‘Where’s the nearest car park?’ Carter asked, swallowing the taste of bile that filled his mouth.
‘About five hundred metres away,’ answered Sandford. ‘Down by the Lido.’
‘I suppose someone could carry her this far but would have to be fairly fit to get her up this hill.’ Carter looked at Sandford. ‘How else would you get her up here – by car?’
‘You can’t drive a vehicle up here unless you are one of the maintenance gardeners,’ replied Sandford.
‘I’ll see if there’s anyone on their staff list who has history, any padlocks broken or interfered with,’ said Ebony, taking out her radio. ‘And I’ll ask if there’s any CCTV footage we can find in any of the car parks around this side of the park.’
Carter looked around him.
‘He must have gone to a lot of trouble to put her on the Heath. He chose to place her here. He didn’t even try and cover her up.’
‘The snow did it for him,’ said Sandford.
‘But she was always going to be found. It’s too public. Just to stall us then maybe?’
They were interrupted by the approach of a familiar figure climbing the steep bank up towards the copse. Robbo was sweating despite the cold.
‘Any idea who she is?’ asked Carter.
Robbo was taking his time to study the victim. He needed time to see beyond the horror.
‘I have several people on my list I think it could be,’ answered Robbo. ‘I need some DNA confirmation first. Any operation scars?’
Harding ran her gloved hands down the woman’s limbs. ‘I’d say she’d had a few broken bones in her time.’
‘He’s left us a lot more clues this time,’ said Carter.
‘Is there evidence of sexual assault?’ asked Robbo.
‘Yes,’ answered Harding.
‘We might have a chance of getting a specimen of DNA from her then. When can you start the post mortem, Doctor?’
‘We need to wait till she thaws.’
‘How long will that be?’ asked Robbo. He had a million things now that were zapping across his database of a brain. All the photos of all the names on his list.
‘Twenty-four hours at room temperature.’
Sandford unpacked a new body bag and helped Harding wrap the body in its plastic sheet. As they lifted up her left arm a silver charm bracelet slipped to the ground, a silver heart uppermost.