Never Look Back

by Clare Donoghue

  The black-and-white screen sprang to life. It was footage from the camera in the back garden of Bobby’s home. The scope caught everything from the top of the French doors to the end of the garden, the view that Bobby loved so much. He had called Alice to check in on his brother. All was well, as Alice would say. What wasn’t quite so good was Alice’s mysterious boyfriend. Still no contact. Lockyer had made the decision not to tell her why he wanted her to come into the station on her way home from work. He wanted to show her the e-fit.

  He stopped the tape, pressed rewind, screwed up his eyes, blinked a few more times until he was sure his vision was working properly and then pressed ‘play’. He watched for a couple of seconds, stopped the tape, rewound it and watched it again. On the sixth playback he realized he wasn’t breathing. He enlarged the image, taking out as much of the background as he could until he was left with the right-hand side of a man’s face. He tipped his head on one side and then the other, leaning into the picture.

  He cursed when his phone started to ring again, snatching at it, still staring at the grainy image on the computer screen. ‘Lockyer.’

  ‘Sir, there’s a call for you . . . a Catherine John,’ the receptionist said.

  ‘Put her through,’ he said, without thinking. He looked out into the office to see who he could pass the call to but Penny and Chris had vanished and Jane wasn’t at her desk.

  Before he could hang up the line crackled and a very quiet voice said, ‘Hello, is that Detective Inspector Michael Lockyer?’

  ‘It is,’ he said.

  ‘My name is Catherine John. I work at the LYWC, the Lewisham Young Women’s Centre . . . I don’t know if you’re the right person to speak to, but . . .’ The woman trailed off. He wondered for a second if they had been cut off. That would be a blessing, he thought, still staring at the man’s face. ‘I didn’t know whether I should call . . . my husband said I would only be causing trouble but I couldn’t sleep last night . . . worrying about it, you know. . . so . . . I don’t know if it’ll be important but . . .’ Lockyer was half listening. He was preoccupied with the eye and jawline on the screen in front of him. There was something familiar, he could feel it. He realized the woman was still speaking. ‘. . . I’ve only been back in the office a few days, you see . . . I’ve been signed off for . . . medical reasons,’ she said. Lockyer pinched the bridge of his nose. He would guess she had been under the doctor for her nerves. She sounded about ready to break down. ‘I clean for Mr Walsh, at the clinic and at his house. I heard on the news last night that they released the name of the fourth girl, the girl killed over in Richmond.’

  He sat up in his seat, suddenly alert. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘My husband said I shouldn’t bother anyone unless I was one hundred and fifty per cent . . . but I’m as sure as I can be . . .’

  ‘Please, go on,’ he said, holding his breath.

  ‘Well . . . a couple of weeks ago, just before I went off sick, I was cleaning at Mr Walsh’s over in Dulwich Village, sorting through the recycling and I noticed . . . I noticed some shredded papers in with the normal rubbish.’ He heard her take a deep breath. ‘They were clinic records, patient records.’ He waited, watching the image flicker on the screen as the woman sniffed on the other end of the line. ‘I knew that’s what they were because they use carbonated paper for those . . . oh dear,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think anything of it at the time, I just thought Mr Walsh had been working from home or something, so I . . . I took them out and put them in with the paper and cardboard for recycling.’

  ‘Did you see any names on the records?’ he asked, still not taking a breath, leaning forward as if to catch her words better.

  ‘Well, as I say, they’d been pretty much shredded, Detective but . . . one of the names was H . . . Hayley Sawyer, I’m sure of it . . . I think one of the others was Pearson but I can’t be sure. When I heard the girl’s name on the news last night I almost died.’ He heard her take a ragged breath. ‘My husband says I’m not remembering right, that I’m being dramatic, making it up, but I’m not, I swear to you, I’m not.’

  He thought about his next question carefully as he tried to remember the woman’s name. ‘Miss John . . . Catherine . . . have you told anyone other than your husband about this?’

  ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘You didn’t tell Mr Walsh?’

  ‘Goodness, no . . . I haven’t . . . I didn’t know what to do.’

  The tingle had spread throughout Lockyer’s body; he was practically humming. ‘Miss John, I’m going to put you on with a colleague of mine to arrange an interview, as we’ll need to formalize this conversation.’ He craned his neck, relieved to see Penny walking back into the office.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’m just so glad I called, I’ve been worried sick.’

  ‘Good, that’s good. Please bear in mind that this is an active investigation and until we have formalized your statement you shouldn’t talk to anyone about this call. Do you understand?’ he said, standing and signalling to Penny by waving his arm in the air frantically. His expression must have been clear because she was next to him in a second, her hand held out for the phone.

  ‘Yes, I understand, Inspector. I shan’t tell a soul.’

  He thanked her for her time and handed his mobile over to Penny before darting back to his desk.

  Lockyer’s mind was running so fast, he felt dizzy. He couldn’t believe it. Walsh had been all but eliminated from the inquiry.

  The past hour had been a blur, Jane dashing in and out of his office, the phone ringing constantly. It was crazy. They had both stood in front of his computer staring at the image from the CCTV and comparing it with the e-fit. Was it Walsh? It was impossible to tell from the CCTV footage. There simply wasn’t enough of the man’s face in shot. As for the e-fit, both he and Jane felt a stir of recollection, a sort of déjà vu, but neither of them thought it looked like Walsh. They had both met him, talked to the guy at length. Turner’s recollections and description had been worse than useless, but surely, if it was Walsh something in the e-fit would have jumped out at them?

  ‘Sir,’ Jane said from his doorway. ‘Alice is here.’

  He looked into the office beyond and saw Alice standing by Jane’s desk. She looked so out of place. ‘Send her in, Jane.’ Jane turned and waved Alice over. As he watched the poor girl walking towards them he felt his gut tighten. She might look frightened, but, if he was right, she was going to feel a lot worse.

  ‘Come in, Alice,’ he said, half rising out of his chair. She didn’t speak. She just sat down in the chair opposite him and stared at her hands. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  It was like listening to a different person. ‘I need you to look at something for me, Alice,’ he said, keeping his voice as gentle as possible.

  ‘I know,’ she said, wiping a tear off her cheek. ‘It’s about him, isn’t it?’

  He shouldn’t tell her anything, but after all she had done for Bobby he couldn’t lie to her. ‘Yes, Alice . . . I assume you haven’t heard from your boyfriend?’

  ‘Don’t call him that,’ she said, shaking her head, more tears running down her face. ‘No, I haven’t. Of course I haven’t. He used me . . . he used me to hurt Bobby, to hurt you . . .’ Her shoulders were hitching as her sobs took over her small frame. He pushed away from his desk, walked over to her and put his hand on her shoulder.

  ‘We don’t know that, Alice . . .’

  ‘Show me,’ Alice whispered. Without speaking Lockyer turned his screen to face her and handed her the e-fit off his desk.

  ‘Just take your time,’ he said, his eyes fixed on Alice’s face.

  She didn’t react at first, almost as if she was frozen. He watched her eyes move from the e-fit to the CCTV image and back again. She leaned towards his computer, her nose inches from the screen, her fingers poised over the man’s face. ‘I think it’s him,’ she said, closing her eyes. ‘I know it’s him.’
<
br />   ‘I’m sorry, Alice,’ was all he could think to say.

  An hour later Lockyer was sitting at his desk with his head in his hands. He felt crushed. Crushed for Alice. She couldn’t confirm it was Walsh, obviously, and Lockyer didn’t have a picture to show her, but she seemed certain that the face on the screen and the e-fit were the same man, and that he was the man she had dated, however briefly.

  ‘Sir,’ Jane said from the doorway of his office. She was clutching her laptop to her chest, her face flushed.

  ‘What have you got?’ he asked, adrenalin rushing into his bloodstream, making his whole body hum.

  ‘Two things,’ she said, walking in and sitting down. He could see that she was just as jacked up as he was.

  ‘Go on,’ he said, using all his restraint not to scream the words at her.

  ‘I sent two squad cars to the clinic and four to his home address. No sign of Walsh,’ she said.

  ‘He’s got to have a car. Find it, get an all-points out and get traffic to assist. The ASU can scramble one of their helicopters to chase him down, but only once we know where he bloody is,’ he said, pushing back his chair and pacing back and forth in front of his window.

  ‘Done, sir. Two vehicles are registered in his name. I’ve already contacted traffic. They’ll call as soon as they have something,’ she said.

  ‘Is there anything else in the info you’ve pulled that could lead us to him? Family, friends, anything?’ he said, letting out a frustrated breath when Jane shook her head. He was about to protest when she held up her hand.

  ‘Second. The team reviewing cold cases, cross-referencing murder, abortion and mutilation or blood-letting, have found something. A case in Manchester came up.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, with a warning tone in his voice. He wasn’t interested in cold cases right now. They knew it was Walsh. They just needed to find him.

  ‘I’ve just got off the phone with Manchester MPS. I spoke to a DS Saunders. He was part of the original investigation. It happened five years ago,’ she said, flipping open her laptop. ‘A woman called Joanne Taylor, twenty-five, was found with her wrists slashed. She’d had an abortion a week earlier.’

  ‘Four years ago. Is there a link to Walsh?’ he asked, mentally preparing himself for more bodies, more grieving families.

  ‘Not yet. The death was listed as a suicide, sir.’

  ‘OK,’ he said, taking a deep breath to calm his jumping muscles. ‘What else? Because so far we don’t have enough for a warrant on Walsh’s home address. Without the actual papers the cleaner’s statement is just circumstantial . . . hearsay.’

  Jane looked down at her laptop again and said, ‘Taylor had a boyfriend, Adrian Chambers. He found the body and suicide note. In his statement he said Joanne was depressed. She’d had the abortion in secret. When she told him, he was gutted. They were meant to be trying for a baby and he couldn’t understand why she’d get rid of it.’

  ‘Go on,’ he said. He wanted to move.

  ‘Well,’ Jane said. ‘After the inquest ruled suicide, Chambers vanished. From what Saunders could tell me, he worked at the local hospital as a receptionist and admin assistant. After the girlfriend’s death he became depressed, aggressive and was eventually fired because of it.’

  ‘Working in a hospital . . . that’s good, that helps us . . . was Chambers ever under suspicion? Was the suicide note verified as the girl’s handwriting?’ he asked.

  ‘Saunders wasn’t sure, but because the death was never deemed suspicious the verification could have been missed,’ Jane said.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘If he was never under suspicion and the death was ruled a suicide, why’s the case on the system at all?’ He could feel doubt creeping over him, settling on his skin like snow outside his window.

  ‘That’s where it gets interesting,’ Jane said, giving him a small smile when he raised his eyebrows. ‘Totally separate incident, sir. The hospital where Chambers worked called the police. Chambers kicked off when they fired him for his aggression. He punched the senior administrator; Chambers was arrested and printed but never charged. The hospital knew how much the suicide had screwed the guy up so didn’t want to press charges.’

  ‘Walsh had a prior for ABH, didn’t he?’ Lockyer asked, his pulse pounding in his head.

  ‘That’s right. And after Chambers left Manchester, there’s nothing. He literally vanished, a regular Houdini,’ Jane said, smiling again.

  He managed a forced chuckle. It broke the spell of the tension that was threatening to cripple his brain. ‘Do we have a description?’ he asked.

  ‘Better than that, sir. Saunders is going to send over Chambers’ hospital records, photo ID, the lot.’

  Lockyer ran his fingers through his hair, deciding how best to move forward. ‘OK, get the warrant ready. If we get a match I want sign-off and access to Walsh’s property ASAP,’ he said, remembering Walsh’s face in the interview, crumpled with distress that one of his patients had been murdered. And he had bought it, hook, line and sinker, Lockyer thought, slamming his fist on the desk.

  44

  12 February – Wednesday

  He paced back and forth, the excitement building to a level he could barely control. He watched her through the window, her face flushed behind the glass. This would be the last time she would breathe without fear. As if on cue, he watched her putting on her coat.

  His mouth was full, saliva wetting his tongue as the anticipation grew. He swallowed as the front door opened, closed and then there she was, alone at last. The ‘protection’ the detective had put on was a joke. A squad car rolling past on the hour, every hour. He had fifty minutes before the next drive-by. Enough time for his purposes.

  She walked down the street towards him, flinching when he stepped out of the shadows. But instead of the fear he had hoped for, she simply sidestepped him and walked on. ‘Excuse me,’ she said as she passed. He stood fixed to the spot. He didn’t feel angry as much as deflated. With a deep breath he unclenched his fists and forced himself to follow. She was some distance away already, so he broke into asemi-jog until he was alongside her.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, falling in step beside her. ‘This might sound odd but I noticed you walking alone and wondered if you would mind if I walked with you?’ She looked at him, seemingly trying to judge if he was a Lewisham nutter or not. Before she could make up her mind he said, ‘I don’t like to see a young woman walking alone in the dark.’ He plastered on a winning smile. The urge to drop the facade and do it right here almost overwhelmed him.

  ‘Thanks, but I’m fine,’ she said, already stretching out her strides. Traces of the fear he was waiting for were beginning to show. Her cheek was twitching and he was sure, even in the darkness, that her face had paled.

  ‘I don’t mind walking behind or on the other side of the street, even,’ he said with a shrug of his shoulders, ‘but my mother would never forgive me if I left you to walk alone.’ This line had worked before and he could see from the softening of her features that it was working its magic again. He could see a hint of unease in her eyes, a minuscule taste of her doubt, but not enough.

  ‘I know a mother a bit like that, but don’t walk behind me. That definitely would freak me out,’ she said, managing a strained smile. Her veneer of calm was cracking. Once realization dawned it would be too late. She would panic, realizing that he wasn’t killing her, her own carelessness was. He couldn’t help taking small sideways glances at her. ‘So,’ he said, ‘have you lived around here long?’

  ‘I don’t live around here,’ she said, her pace increasing. He hoped her mind was beginning to conjure the horror stories of women at night, alone, being taken, being killed.

  ‘You?’ she asked, but she wasn’t looking at him and her pace was definitely speeding up. They would be jogging soon.

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m local. I know the area very well,’ he said, removing all the warmth from his voice. Her shoulders rose as her muscles tensed in her
back. He knew the signs of fear. She knew.

  He looked ahead at the alleyway between the terraced flats, leading to the garages and bins beyond. It was only twenty feet away. A few more seconds. He carefully reached into his coat pocket and uncapped the needle.

  45

  12 February – Wednesday

  At 10.15 Lockyer was still pacing around the briefing room. He had been trying to call Megan to say he wouldn’t be home until later, if at all, but she wasn’t answering. As he picked up his mobile to call Russ, Jane walked into his office.

  ‘We’re still waiting on the photo ID, I’ve chased my guy in Manchester but . . .’ she said, shaking her head.

  He could see that she was feeling the strain. Adrenalin only kept the body going for so long. Lockyer knew how she felt. He was exhausted, as if the past hour’s intense activity had drained his energy tanks and his reserves were at critical. He thought again about Megan. He would get Russ to do another drive-by, check everything was OK. Her not answering her mobile was bothering him. Teenagers had their phones physically attached to them, his daughter included.

  ‘Anything on Turner?’ he asked, knowing he shouldn’t be thinking about Sarah, knowing his mind should be solely on Walsh and finding the bastard before he hurt anyone else.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Jane said, a quizzical look on her face. She was obviously surprised he was asking about Turner too. ‘His car was spotted over in Honor Oak. I’ve sent the squad car over to check it out.’ She seemed about to say more but stopped, shaking her head. ‘Have we got sign-off on the warrant for Walsh’s home address, yet?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ he said, hearing his own frustration. ‘The judge said we don’t have enough evidence.’ He threw his hands up in the air and raised his eyebrows. The gesture reminded him of Megan.

  ‘Christ,’ Jane said, pushing one of the briefing room chairs across the room. ‘What do they want?’ He had never seen Jane this antsy. It was unsettling.