Deep Fear

by Deep Fear (retail) (epub)

  ‘You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? We’re so similar, you and I, Kelly. You can’t stand freeloaders either can you? People who don’t deserve to waste our time? Have I given you an entertaining couple of weeks? The Teacher! How unimaginative.’

  Kelly couldn’t believe what she was hearing, and her anger erupted again.

  ‘I have nothing in common with you. You’re a fucking murderer! A monster. You tortured those women, how could you?’

  Amy laughed. ‘Oh don’t deny it, you’ve loved every minute of piecing together my puzzle. I watched you get more and more excited. I really like your mother, she’s a good person, and you should spend more time with her.’ Nurse Amy was back and Kelly felt vomit rise from her stomach.

  She had to keep her emotions under control. She had to stay ahead of this lunatic, who was talking like they were old friends.

  Kelly thought again of the board in the gym, when Rob had gone to check out Paul Bamber. Next to his name, he’d told her that the female champion was also named. Kelly had barely listened at the time, she’d been busy taking notes from a file. Rob had told her as an aside, because they had to face it: it was an incredible achievement: Amy Richmond could do fifteen pull ups, and blasted anyone else’s efforts out of the park. Kelly had thought her cumbersome and overweight, under her ample uniform, but now she realised that the bulk was solid muscle. She remembered bumping in to her in the corridor and rubbing her arm afterwards; Amy hadn’t moved an inch.

  She remembered the sweet tea, made so lovingly, and marvelled at how those same hands could have tortured, mutilated and murdered four women; more.

  ‘Why?’ Kelly asked again, stalling. Someone was bound to come in soon, and Kelly might be able to either raise the alarm or apprehend the suspect herself. Kelly couldn’t do fifteen pull-ups but she had a captive sister and a dying mother, and that would move mountains.

  ‘Why not?’ replied Amy.

  ‘Because of the suffering! The harm, you’re a woman!’ Kelly’s words were coming too fast for her mouth, and she hurtled them out like machine gun fire. She wished she had a gun right now; Amy Richmond would be dead.

  ‘A woman? So what?’

  Kelly looked at the nurse. For the first time since they’d met, face to face, something struck her that she hadn’t thought of before. Amy Richmond, in her grey clothes, short hair, regular round face and chubby cheeks, was androgynous. It hadn’t mattered what gender their killer was: and it didn’t matter now. The same things that led men to maim and kill had strangled and kidnapped this child too, a long time ago. The hate. The miswired brain. She wasn’t a man or a woman, she was a psychopath.

  ‘There are police all over the hotel. You don’t stand a chance.’

  ‘I do if you help me. And don’t flatter me, you’re on your own.’

  Kelly’s heart sank, but she’d expected it.

  ‘Did you kill your mother?’ Kelly asked.

  ‘Yes. Why? I did the neighbourhood a favour.’

  Kelly’s guts turned over.

  ‘Albert Ferguson?’

  Amy knew that Kelly couldn’t be recording their conversation because her phone was on the floor, and she’d been caught by surprise after a long, satisfying urination.

  ‘He was a paedophile.’ She could have been discussing road sweeping.

  ‘Did he abuse you, Amy?’

  The cackle surprised Kelly, and she couldn’t figure out what was so funny.

  ‘You’ve been profiling me, haven’t you? Have you been watching CSI, Kelly? Albert Ferguson was a pervert. But he was rich. He kept eighty grand stuffed under his filthy mattress. What would you have done?’

  Kelly didn’t know what to say. She had interviewed few true psychos. Plenty of thugs – in fact lacking a brain to fuck up – who could kill her with a punch, but few authentic, undisputed maniacs.

  She was way out of her depth.

  ‘Why the poetry?’

  ‘I’m bored now, it’s time to leave, come on.’

  Kelly looked down, and ran her hands through her hair. She bent down to get her phone, but Amy stepped forward and kicked it with such ferocity that it flew against the wall and broke into two pieces. Kelly held her breath. She had to keep telling herself that Nurse Amy, who’d nursed her mother, made sweet tea, and qualified as a nurse, was, in fact, a brutal serial killer.

  Kelly nodded quickly. She had no choice.

  ‘Good, now you’ve made the right choice, let’s go. My car is in a car park below this window,’ Amy said.

  Kelly stood rooted to the spot. She hadn’t thought of how they would leave the building, she’d just assumed that they’d leave out of the toilet entrance and straight into the waiting custody of her uniforms.

  Amy put her hands in a cup for Kelly, offering her a bunk up, as if they were playing together in a park. Kelly stared at her, repulsed by the thought of touching her, even through the bottom of her shoe.

  ‘No thanks,’ she said, and pushed a fancy upholstered stool underneath the window. It wasn’t difficult to reach the window and open it. Kelly got through easily and jumped down to the path below, but Amy took a while to manoeuvre her broad shoulders through the gap. Only now was Kelly a witness to the woman’s incredible strength. Kelly thought about running to raise the alarm but then she thought of Nikki. She had no choice, and she had no phone.

  ‘We’re partners now,’ Amy said, as she jumped down from the window. The woman’s frame and unlikely athleticism was reminiscent of a silverback gorilla horsing around with its young. Amy smiled and Kelly, once again, felt utter abhorrence.

  They were round the back of the hotel complex and there was just enough light to make out a blue Touran, which was parked next to what looked like an estate car. They were the only two cars in the small car park. But Amy didn’t get into the blue Touran. Instead she got into the other car, and Kelly’s heart sunk again.

  Amy wasn’t stupid.

  Kelly felt as though she were stuck in treacle, with options running out fast. She was about to go rogue with a brutal sadist – who was also highly likely to be psychotic – and she had no way of telling anyone.

  She hoped she’d made the right decision.

  Chapter 58

  Cane was irritated, and he pondered what they could’ve missed. DS Umshaw watched him and wished that DI Porter would get back; Cane made her jumpy. She also felt protective towards her boss and she sensed that Cane blamed her for the nurse not being here. No-one could believe the theory at first – or had it been that they daren’t believe? The repulsion of contemplating that it could be a woman was too much. But, more than any other suspect, DI Porter had connected the ifs, wheres, whys and leads like none of the others. Even the signature on her employment contract bore resemblance to the inscribed lines of poetry left with the victims.

  DI Porter had ascertained that the description of the woman who’d picked up the nurse’s ID was a close match to their suspect, and so they had to remain hopeful that the suspect was here; or had been here and left. Umshaw refused to believe that Porter had made a mistake. She looked at her watch: it was gone ten o’clock.

  The manager approached them and passed on a message that the Touran they’d been looking for had been located. Cane and Umshaw exchanged looks and they looked up and down the corridors again.

  ‘Where did she say she was going?’

  ‘To the lav, Guv.’

  ‘Go and get her, will you? We need to get this car compounded.’

  Kate went in the direction that Kelly had gone and entered the ladies’ toilet.

  ‘Boss?’ she called. None of the cubicles were in use, but she did notice that it was chilly, then she saw the open window. Instinct told her to peek out of the window and outside, she saw several uniforms standing around the blue Touran. It was the only vehicle outside the window. As she went to leave the room, she spotted something under one of the sinks and bent down to look: it was a mobile phone without its back. She recognised it as police issue and her
gut turned over. She looked around for the missing back and saw it under beside the waste bin. It fitted. She turned on the phone and knew straight away who it belonged to. Her boss used the same screensaver that she’d used for over six months now: it was a winter shot of Wastwater. One might think it was taken in Switzerland or Norway, so striking was the image. Kelly Porter had shown everyone in the office.

  Umshaw went to find Cane.

  ‘Sir,’ she said. Cane nodded. She handed him the phone.

  ‘It’s DI Porter’s. It was in the restroom. She’s gone.’

  He looked nonplussed.

  ‘Follow me,’ instructed Umshaw. He did so. She took him into the restroom and showed him the view outside the window.

  He turned back to the DS, who spoke. ‘I’d bet my life, sir, she’s gone with her because of her sister, and in a different car.’

  Cane didn’t know the procedure for the abduction of a police officer, because he’d never witnessed it. The rule book was about to be re-written.

  ‘Get the manager back: we need to see the CCTV of the driveway. If you’re right, they won’t still be here.’

  Umshaw ran back to reception and tasked the manager. It didn’t take long for them to find the image of the Mazda Estate leaving the hotel complex with two women in the front: one thick set and short haired (driving), and one dark haired and sat unusually forward.

  ‘Clever girl,’ said Umshaw under her breath.

  Cane covered his eyes with his fingers and rubbed them. This was a disaster. He bit his knuckle. Kelly Porter was in the most dangerous situation of her life, and he was the one who was ultimately responsible. The plate number was run through the ANPR, and the vehicle had been rented from a firm in Ambleside three days ago. All units were put on standby. It wouldn’t take long to find them: Amy Richmond’s time was running out.

  Chapter 59

  ‘Find some step ladders,’ Phillips said.

  ‘They’ll be in the garage, surely,’ replied the forensic officer. Rob put his head on the heavy tapestry. It smelled damp and musty, and it made Rob recoil.

  ‘Let’s go in from the outside,’ said Emma. They let the tapestry fall. They’d tried the door but it was, unsurprisingly, locked. The squad cars were still in attendance. They never left a scene until it was fully processed, especially when the owner could turn up at any minute. And particularly when the owner was a fucking nutcase.

  Outside, the cool air enabled them to catch their breath from the stale air of the interior. They dripped in sweat under their forensic overalls and they chugged water from bottles they’d brought along. They checked their options: they had cutting equipment, and three strapping police officers with a combined force of probably, a third of a ton. They’d get into the garage one way or another. The garage was padlocked several times. Phillips checked the area and he noticed a single tyre print on a small patch of grass, perhaps four metres away from the front of the garage. He ordered a cast to be made.

  The uniformed officers heaved, pushed, and swore frequently. They were frequently sent on courses about how to respect someone’s property on entering, and they all thought it was bullshit. If a crim refused them entry, or they were responsible for crimes to make a fully-grown adult heave, then they deserved to get their doors smashed in. The lawyers disagreed, and criminals sued the police from the comfort of their cells. This was different. It would come out of Penrith Serious Crime Unit’s budget, and Phillips gave them the go ahead. They needed to see inside the garage. Three padlocks had already been smashed, and crow bars were being used to apply incredible force to the sides of the metal door.

  Finally, it cracked open and hung lopsided, waiting for their next move. The three uniformed officers stepped aside. One held out his hand. They hadn’t come this far for the detectives to go charging into danger. The same rules applied. They would secure the garage first. An officer urged them to step back, and he did so, though, they were desperate to see what was inside.

  ‘Police. Is anyone in there?’ An officer flicked on a powerful torch and the three of them wriggled under the damaged door. Inside the garage, the men looked quickly in all directions and the torch illuminated every corner. They weren’t interested in detail, their minds were solely focused on if there was a human present, or not.

  There wasn’t.

  The officers forced the door from the inside, and the detectives could then come forward. They walked quickly to the garage and took in the scene. At first glance, it looked like any other garage. There were racks and cabinets along one wall, the floor was stained with oil, cobwebs clogged dark corners, and rags were tossed here and there.

  Then they saw the chains.

  They were bolted to a wall and on the end of each of them were bundles of cable ties. A loud cracking shocked them and they spun round to witness the inner door being trashed. Amy Richmond’s tapestry was about to be ruined whether it was an original or not; Emma couldn’t care less. It was dragged from its mount and fell into a heap. A ripping sound could be heard, as the strain of being moved caused a huge tear to open up down the middle of the art work. No-one remarked.

  ‘We need swabs here.’

  A light switch was located, and the garage was illuminated. Near the shackles, a dirty blanket was crumpled on the floor. As they looked closer, what appeared to be left over biscuit pieces were stuck to it. A dark stain tinged one of the corners, and the whole thing was bagged. A newspaper laid discarded next to the blanket. Rob looked at it; it was an article about the first three victims.

  On a shelf, a tray was laid out messily, as if it had been rifled through in haste. Various cutting tools were noted: a Stanley knife, a few kitchen knives, scissors, bits of glass, and what looked like a scalpel. Next to the tray was a box. With a gloved hand, Rob opened it.

  Inside was an array of syringes and bottles of clear liquid marked ‘Largactil’. Elsewhere, rolls of plastic sheeting were found, as well as plastic cable ties. Several plastic boxes, like the ones used for children’s toys, were stacked neatly in a corner. When they were opened, they contained mainly books, and some magazines. Phillips suggested they look through the titles there, in the garage, rather than taking the whole lot. It would take time, but he wanted to be thorough for DI Porter.

  They took a box each.

  Rob’s contained a whole load of envelopes, and when he looked inside, most of the envelopes contained photographs. There were thousands of them. Some were discoloured and clearly old, but others were more recent. All of them were of landscapes, and, from what Rob could see, they were scenes in the Lake District. Occasionally, he came across one with shapes scribbled on it. He held one up to the light and squinted. Behind the scribble, barely recognisable, was a human form. Every time he came across one with a scribble, he held it up and found the same. The owner of the collection didn’t like people much. Rob wondered who had first hired Nurse Richmond, and why no-one spotted that she was off-the-charts weird. He’d never met her, but Kelly had. But, then, she hadn’t spotted it either. Rob was convinced that his psycho-radar was excellent, but it had never been put to the test. He wondered what Amy was like in person. Perhaps they’d caught her already. He hadn’t heard from Kelly for hours, so that meant she was busy. Emma called him.

  In her box, referenced, filed, titled and annotated, were hundreds, if not thousands, of poems. They glanced over them and looked at the handwriting.

  That’s when they knew for sure.

  Chapter 60

  ‘How long do you reckon she’s got, Kelly?’ Amy asked.

  They were driving towards Penrith, and Kelly’s eyes darted about, trying to get eye contact with a fellow motorist who might recognise the panicked face of a hostage. Fat chance. No-one looked at her. Everybody was engrossed in their own worlds, checking phones, reading maps or sleeping. No-one stared idly out of the window, waiting for the opportunity to report a woman in distress. No-one would care anyway. These days, someone frantically begging for help – even with just their ey
es – would be taken as perhaps a trap. Everybody was full of distrust. And so well they might be, thought Kelly.

  ‘What?’ Kelly asked.

  The question took her by surprise. All the way from Lancaster, Amy had wanted to chat like old friends. Her level of delusion was terrifying.

  ‘Your mum. I reckon four weeks. I’m good at this. I just know. Come on, what do you think?’ Amy pushed on.

  ‘Are you out of your mind?’ asked Kelly.

  Amy looked surprised. ‘No. Are you?’ she asked.

  It was a serious question, and Kelly couldn’t think of anything to say. She was angry. Angry because her mother was dying, angry that monsters like this were free on the streets, but mostly angry that she hadn’t seen it coming. She noticed that her nails were biting into the palms of her hands and she relaxed them a little. Once she did so, she was able to think more clearly, and she realised that she had to put her personal feelings aside and use this as her opportunity to get inside the head of her killer. Everything could be used at trial and, even though she wasn’t recording, the witness statement of an officer of the law who’d been kidnapped would be almost as good a testimony. If she made it that far.

  If she survived.

  For the first time, Kelly imagined herself tied up and butchered by this piece of shit wanting to be her friend. She’d seen, first-hand, what Nurse Richmond was capable of. She asked herself if she was scared and she couldn’t answer.

  ‘Why the sex thing?’ Kelly asked.

  Amy’s hands tightened on the wheel.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ Amy said.

  ‘What? I’m simply asking you a very straightforward question. I want to know. It’s the reason we all thought you a man,’ said Kelly. ‘If you’re allowed to ask me personal questions, then I can too.’