Never Look Back

by Clare Donoghue

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she said, without enthusiasm. She was as disappointed as he was.

  ‘I’ll be in the office in thirty minutes,’ he said, feeling his composure returning. ‘I want the team in the briefing room. We need the list of who had access to the girls’ hospital records. Call Phil, I want him there. If someone watched, then they know who our killer is, or at least can describe him.’ He hung up the phone without waiting for a response.

  As he gathered all the photographs together his mind shifted back to the fingerprint, to the person who had touched Debbie’s thigh. What kind of person would have the stomach to witness a murder and not act? Whatever their character or motivation, that person was potentially as dangerous as the killer himself.

  21

  1 February – Saturday

  ‘Come on, get your coat on and let’s go,’ Toni said, her words clipped.

  Sarah raised her half-empty glass and peered at the contents. The interior of the gastropub was gloomy, nightlights providing the only low-level lighting. Her ice had melted, diluting her Jack Daniel’s. She wanted another one. ‘I’m . . . we’re having a good time, aren’t we? One more drink?’ She clasped her hands together in mock prayer. ‘Antonia . . . let me enjoy a night of freedom and . . .’ Sarah turned and gestured to three shadowed men who were leaning casually on the granite bar. ‘If we’re lucky we might not even have to pay for our beverages.’ She pretended not to notice Toni’s disapproving look as she downed the watery contents of her glass.

  According to Toni’s earlier lecture, when they had arrived at the pub three hours ago, getting drunk wasn’t constructive ‘under the circumstances’. But it wasn’t as if things could get any worse. For the past month she had felt like a prisoner in her own home. She deserved some respite from the stress and if Jack Daniel’s was able to assist, why shouldn’t she indulge? She looked over at the men again, straining her eyes to make out their faces under the dim lighting. ‘Come on, let’s go and talk to them,’ she said, trying to stand.

  Toni pulled her back down. ‘Sarah, just sit down. I will get us a drink . . . one drink, then home.’ Sarah opened her mouth to argue but couldn’t speak. She didn’t have the energy. ‘You need to rest,’ Toni said as she bent forward and kissed Sarah on the forehead. She watched Toni walk to the bar, ignore the blatant stares of the three men and get the barman’s attention in one smooth motion.

  As she looked again at the three gawking men they seemed to jump into focus. They didn’t look old enough to be here. If she squinted she could just see the fluff on the tall one’s pubescent chin. He winked at her.

  ‘No,’ she whispered to herself, distressed to hear the slur in her voice.

  A group of young girls walked past her, shimmering in their sparkly dresses with matching handbags and accessories. The three men, no, boys, didn’t waste a second. They looked at the group of girls, nodded to each other and followed.

  ‘Here you go,’ Toni said, pulling her chair closer to Sarah as she sat down.

  She reached for the glass with a shaking hand and took a long drink, grateful for the sweetness of the Coke. ‘I’m just so tired,’ she said, aware of the flood of emotions crashing inside her, breaking her apart.

  Toni took her hand and squeezed it. ‘I know you are, sweetheart. This is my fault . . . I shouldn’t have let you drink so much.’

  ‘I wanted to,’ Sarah said, taking a defiant gulp of her drink.

  ‘I know, but has it helped?’ Toni asked, raising her hands.

  Sarah swallowed hard, her throat aching. ‘No, it hasn’t,’ she said, pushing her glass away. ‘Let’s go.’

  As they struggled into their coats, hats and gloves, the boy and his friends reappeared. They must have failed with the group of sparkly girls so now it was her and Toni’s turn to suffer their advances.

  ‘You’re not going, are you?’ the tall spokesman said.

  She looked at his lanky frame, jeans barely covering his arse, the obligatory three inches of designer boxer shorts on show, and shivered.

  ‘Yes, we’re going. Have a nice evening, gentlemen,’ Toni said, using her arms to encircle and guide Sarah away from the group.

  ‘Awww, come on, one drink . . . we’re paying?’ He held his hands up to his heart, as if the pain of them leaving would shatter the poor boy.

  Sarah could feel her stomach starting to twist back and forth. Her skin felt hot and her hands were shaking again. ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ she said, taking a step towards the group. ‘Does it look like we want to drink with you?’ The vehemence in her tone startled her.

  ‘Chill out, grandma, we ain’t that bothered, trust me,’ the spokesman said, turning to leave, his silent friends following.

  Words bubbled up in her throat. She couldn’t stop. ‘You think, just because we’re in a bar, drinking, that we deserve this? Have you ever stopped and asked yourself how it makes us feel, to be slobbered over?’ She could feel Toni trying to pull her away. The three boys were staring back at her, their mouths open like goldfish. It was then that Sarah started to panic. She gulped for breath, stars dancing in front of her eyes, her legs unable to hold her as she swayed back and forth. She could feel everyone in the bar staring at her.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ she said, hot tears blurring her vision, her legs giving way. As she slumped, Toni caught her and put a supportive arm around her waist.

  ‘Let’s go home. Come on . . . it’s OK.’ Toni’s soothing voice floated around her mind as she allowed herself to be led out of the bar, snow crunching under her feet as she was bundled into a taxi and strapped in like a child. She closed her eyes, relishing the confinement. She wanted to be home. The trouble was it didn’t feel like her home any more. It was just another thing he had taken from her.

  As the car pulled away she remembered the day she had picked up the keys from the estate agent. She had been so excited. Those first few months, getting to know her neighbours, making the guy in the corner shop smile, everything had been perfect. She had spent hours in B&Q selecting just the right paint and fabric for every room in the house. Atlantic cream and Arabic Stone for the kitchen, New England white for her bedroom, Country Garden green for her lounge and a striking stripe of Bubblegum pink down the stairs in the hallway. It was hers.

  ‘We’re here, honey.’

  Sarah forced herself to open her eyes and look at her street. There was nothing left of the happiness she had felt. All she saw were dark trees, shadowed cars covered in snow and eye-like windows staring out at her from all the houses.

  As she climbed out of the taxi, listening to Toni make small talk with the driver, she noticed a car on the opposite side of the street, parked next to the corner shop. Two people sat motionless inside. She leaned against her gate post for support as her legs threatened to give way again. She jumped as Toni took her hand and pulled her into the flat.

  ‘Come on. Let’s get you into bed,’ Toni said, turning to shut the door.

  As the front door was closing, Sarah’s eyes settled on another car, six or seven cars in front of the other one. She could see a single shadowed figure, just visible through the darkness.

  22

  2 February – Sunday

  He sat alone in the darkness and waited. It was the first time he had pulled an all-nighter but he had no choice. She hardly ever went out and when she did she was rarely alone, but he couldn’t wait a moment longer. Today had to be the day.

  She had been increasingly withdrawn in the last few weeks, spending hours sitting on her lounge windowsill, staring out into space. It felt, at times, as if she was looking directly at him. Perhaps she knew and desired to be taught the lesson as much as he longed to teach it. But it wouldn’t be enough. He knew that now. It wouldn’t be enough to sustain him. He knew she wanted him to do more, to widen their cause. Every good teacher had men to follow him.

  He turned in time to see her walking towards him. Had she seen him? She was concentrating on walking in the deep snow and it was sti
ll dark. Dawn wasn’t far away, though. He would need to hurry. He climbed out of the car, closing the door silently and brushing the snow off his jacket. The road was slippery. He steadied himself and followed, a safe distance behind. The road was quiet; only a few cars and buses struggled up the hill in the snow. As he passed one of the university buildings he shrank into the shadows. The windows, square and black, looked down at him.

  She, on the other hand seemed oblivious. He was sure he could walk right behind her and she wouldn’t notice. In a way he hated this lack of awareness. However, if they expected it, he would lose the joy of seeing the fear in their eyes. They would look genuinely shocked, at a loss to understand why he would do this to them, of all people. They had done nothing wrong; they would plead again and again. Watching that innocence turn to understanding was a vital part of the lesson. She had taught him that.

  He increased his pace. The girl was finally alone.

  23

  2 February – Sunday

  Hayley pulled on her boots and tucked her jeans in with a neat fold. It had snowed most of yesterday and, looking out of her bedroom window, it looked as if it had continued long into the night. The snow had covered the litter, the crappy cars and dirty concrete that normally decorated Aubyn Square. This morning it was an untouched winter wonderland.

  She tiptoed past Louisa’s bedroom door and down the stairs, into the hallway. As she pulled on her coat, it dragged the sleeves of her jumper up her arms: the waxy material of the jacket was cold against her skin. She wrapped her pale green scarf around her neck and pushed the ends inside her zipper. She felt a bubble of excitement in her stomach. Richmond Park was going to look amazing. She took her keys from the hook by the front door and let herself out as quietly as she could. Waking Louisa at 7.15 on a Sunday morning would not be a good idea.

  The walkway at the back of the flat was slippery. She lifted her feet and planted them square to the ground. If she hurried and didn’t fall too many times on the way, hers might be the first footprints to break the blanket of snow in the park. The thought spurred her on as she negotiated the concrete steps leading down into the estate.

  The snow was so deep that she was having trouble figuring out where the pavement ended and where the road began. She tripped and stumbled her way past The Maltese Cat pub and out onto Roehampton Lane. As she watched the early morning traffic struggle up the hill, turning the snow into slush, she thought about how out of place she felt in London. How many students got up when it was still dark, because they couldn’t wait to go for a walk in the snow? Certainly none that Hayley had met in her six months at Roehampton Institute. She crossed and stopped at the bollards in the centre of the road. The number 72 bus seemed to be having trouble stopping. The driver looked like he was using the kerb for traction. As the bus finally came to a sliding halt, the woman standing in the shelter seemed to reconsider her travel plans and walked away. Hayley could hear the bus driver shouting his vehement disapproval.

  At home in Devon she had thought of herself as a confident and self-assured nineteen-year-old. There she had been safe, protected. Everyone here was so different. She crossed over to the pavement on the other side. There were four people walking up the hill in her direction but none had come out of the park. She sped up, thinking that if she did fall, what did it really matter? No one she knew was here to see.

  When she reached the gates she walked in, as though entering the vaulted splendour of a cathedral. She didn’t know where to look first. The park lay out in front of her like an enormous cloud. To her right the avenue of oak trees provided the only colour. Their canopy was so thick that the woodchip path beneath had been left untouched by the snow. It looked like the entrance to another world. The undulating parkland stretched out into nothing. The air was still so dark and thick with snow that it was impossible to decipher where the ground ended and the sky began. It would take four hours to walk around the entire park. Not that she wanted to do that today, but even if she did, it would be impossible. She would be lost within minutes. Movement to her left made her turn. A man with three terriers walked towards her.

  ‘Morning,’ he said.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said, not feeling any of the cheer that she had managed to put into her voice.

  ‘Beautiful morning, isn’t it?’ With a sweeping arm gesture he indicated the scene before them.

  ‘Yes, it is.’ That was all she could say. She turned away from him, without smiling, and walked towards the trees. He had clearly walked the left-hand route, ruining it with his clumsy feet and pesky dogs, so she was going to opt for the fairyland entrance. Once she was further in she could go off the path and find snow that no one, not even dog walkers, would have spoiled.

  As she looked down and watched the snow disappear beneath her feet she let the muffled sounds of the morning wash over her. Everything looked clean as she entered the cover of the trees. She thought about home, about her mother, and then she thought about him and that night. She had been partying in the Wandsworth Palais, a total dive of a club. She’d never been back. In her quest to discover the perfect drink she had mixed wine, spirits and cocktails, all night. He had looked at her from the other end of the bar and smiled. She hadn’t known what to do. She had felt sick, so a half smile, half sneer was all she could manage. But, as if by magic, he had picked up his drink and begun making his way through the crowd towards her.

  Hayley kicked the woodchip at her feet. Small brown flecks clung to her boots. The sky through the trees was getting lighter. She wouldn’t be alone for long. She veered off to the left and clambered over a fallen tree, sending icy flakes down the top of her boots. She found an almost level route and with her head down, she kept on walking.

  The remainder of that evening had been a total blur. When she had finally made it back to halls in the early hours of the morning she had been ambushed by Louisa for the ‘goss’ but could only dredge up small flashes; him walking over, him talking, a cab, a house,more drinking, loud music, a bedroom, an incense candle and finally a lot of pushing and shoving. She hadn’t even known his name. She wished that was the worst part. Tears filled her eyes. She swallowed hard. What was the point in crying? It was done. She could never take it back.

  She dug her headphones out of her coat pocket, pulled off one glove and scrolled through her iPod to Chicane’s new album. With her already freezing finger, she set the volume as loud as it would go and shoved the earphones as far into her ears as she could. Music was her version of white noise. She replaced her glove, tucking it into her sleeve.

  As she entered a small alcove of trees she saw movement out of the corner of her eye and turned. A heavy clump of snow fell from a branch; a shower of fine powder hung in the air. Sometimes there were deer in this part of the park but she couldn’t see any this morning. They were probably all huddled together somewhere, keeping warm. The snow was deep here, up to her ankles. She lifted her feet higher. Her muscles ached with the effort of each step but she smiled. This was exactly what she had needed; fresh air, the cocoon of her music and the clean white landscape all around her. She might even go the whole hog and lie down and make a snow angel. Another movement to her right made her turn. All she could see was white and the bark of the tree trunks.

  She reached into her pocket for her fags as the next song came on. The pulsing beat was so loud it made her wince. She held a cigarette with her teeth, digging around in her pocket for her lighter. As her fingers closed around it she felt something heavy hit the back of her head. She fell to her knees and turned in time to see a man towering over her.

  He pushed her face down and was on top of her before she could react; her right hand was stuck in her pocket, pinned underneath her. Her left arm was stretched out in front of her. He was heavy. She tried to move but he was astride her, holding her legs down with his own. His powerful hands pushed down on her shoulders, so all she could do was lift her head away from the snow, freezing against her face. She could see his mouth moving but couldn’t h
ear what he was saying. Her music blared in her ears, now accompanied by the pounding of the blood that was rushing to her head. When she tried to speak, she choked on the snow. She looked up at the side of his face. He was smiling.

  She let out a strangled sob as she watched his lips move, transfixed. It was like watching someone talk under water. She could feel the vibrations of his speech: a low hum against her spine. His hand reached around to her face. Oh God, she thought, please don’t touch me. He pulled at her scarf, yanking her earphones out. He exposed her neck to the cold, to his hands. Hayley closed her eyes. He’s going to strangle me in the park, in broad daylight on a Sunday morning, she thought. And there’s nothing I can do about it. She tried to scream but he bent forward at the same time and pushed the air out of her lungs with his body.

  ‘Shhhh . . . Hayley.’ He stroked her lips with the tip of his gloved index finger. Her whole body shivered with revulsion.

  A scratch, followed by a burning pressure against her neck made every muscle in her body tense. She then felt her whole body relax and her eyelids became heavy. She could see her earphones lying in the snow next to her face.

  ‘Shhhh,’ he said again.

  She didn’t want to hear any more.

  24

  2 February – Sunday

  Lockyer paced back and forth in front of the corner shop, his boots turning the snow into slush. They were here to arrest Malvern Turner.

  Russ, the head of surveillance, had phoned Lockyer late Wednesday night to say they had identified a potential suspect in the Grainger case. DVLA records on the vehicle being used confirmed the registered owner as Rosemary Turner. However, as she lived in a residential home in Wandsworth and the car hadn’t been reported stolen, it was a safe bet that it was her son, thirty-seven-year-old Malvern Turner, who had been seen on numerous occasions at Grainger’s address.