Shaping the Ripples

by Paul Wallington

  “What do you mean, disappeared?” I asked in alarm.

  “The last time he checked in with his probation officer was the day before his wife and child were murdered,” he said flatly. “There hasn’t been any sign of him since. He appears to have moved out of the bed and breakfast place where he was staying. We’ve also compared his probation report with the date of the other two murders, and it’s possible that he could have travelled to York on the relevant days.”

  “So you think that he’s Guignol.”

  “It’s certainly a good possibility. If it is him, it’s likely that he will try and get to you soon.”

  “What do you suggest I do?” I asked.

  “Just try not to panic,” he said calmly. “We’re going to step up our surveillance on you, and we’ll keep a guard on Miss Dixon just in case he decides to try and finish the job. As soon as he tries to get to either of you, we’ll have him. Anyway, that’s all for the moment. I should think that you’d like to get back to your girlfriend.”

  As we both got up to our feet, he stretched out his right hand. I hesitated for a moment, and then shook his hand. There didn’t seem to be any point in bearing grudges.

  Back at Katie’s side, there didn’t seem to have been any change. Rebecca had managed to pinch a couple of chairs so that we could both sit down while holding on to Katie’s hands, and that’s how we stayed for the next couple of hours. From time to time, one of us would try talking to her in case that helped, but it was a struggle knowing what to say.

  It was nearly lunchtime when the miracle happened. The readings on the machine began to jump around, and her eyes were visibly flickering around under the closed eyelids. Then Katie’s bright green eyes opened and focussed, first on Rebecca and then on me. Her mouth formed into a beautiful, if tired, smile. Before anyone could speak, her eyes closed and she was asleep again.

  Rebecca ran to get the doctor, and returned with him a few minutes. He spent some time checking and noting down the various readings before he spoke.

  “She’s clearly gone off again now. In cases like this, the person often flickers between a conscious and unconscious state for several days. It is a good sign that she’s woken up so soon, though. And you’re both sure that she seemed to recognise you?”

  Rebecca and I exchanged a glance for confirmation, and then nodded in unison.

  “Well, that’s a very good sign as well. It will probably be several hours know before her next spell of being awake. Why don’t the two of you go and get something to eat, and take a break for a little while?”

  To my surprise, once he’d said the words I realised that I felt starving. We went down to the canteen together. They were serving a very tempting smelling roast meal, but neither of us felt happy leaving Katie for long, so we just got a sandwich and a drink to take back with us.

  Early in the afternoon, Katie’s parents arrived. They were clearly very fond of her, and very frightened. The news of her improvement lightened their spirits a lot, and they visibly relaxed. They weren’t exactly the circumstances that I’d have chosen to meet my prospective in-laws, but we seemed to get along OK.

  We’d all been talking for some time, when a nurse came up to insist that only two visitors were allowed to be by the bed at any time. Since Rebecca and I had been there all the way through, we offered to leave. Katie’s mum and dad were planning to go home at about seven o’clock that evening, so we agreed that we’d come back then. We said our goodbyes to them, and both Rebecca and I got an emotional hug from Katie’s mum.

  Back at my flat, I realised what a state I looked, still in the clothes I had worn since Saturday morning. I had a shower and a shave, and changed into some fresh clothes. I tried to distract myself with the afternoon football, but my mind was filled with the sense that Guignol’s game was drawing to a close. Michael Palmer’s confidence had given me some reassurance, but deep down I doubted that he would be trapped so easily.

  Katie’s parents had taken my phone number and promised to call if there was any change in her condition, but the phone remained stubbornly silent all afternoon.

  By a quarter to seven, I had eaten and was getting ready to go back to the hospital when the silence was broken. I was a little surprised that they were ringing me on my mobile phone, rather than the flat number. Possibly they thought I might already be in the car, heading for the hospital. Hopeful of hearing the news that Katie was now properly awake, I snatched up the phone, and pressed to answer.

  The voice that greeted me wasn’t the expected one. It was a hoarse, rasping voice, the words even more shocking.

  “Jack, it’s Guignol here. I think it’s time we met.”

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  The shock kept me silent for a moment, hearing only his shallow breathing. “Adam, is that you?” I demanded as my composure returned. This clearly reduced him to surprised silence as well, but then the voice spoke again.

  “I take it that I have your full attention now?”

  The anger inside me was threatening to overwhelm. “I’m going to kill you for what you’ve done to Katie and the others,” I hissed.

  He laughed, a mocking insincere sound. “So the worm has finally found a bit of backbone has he? You’re welcome to try. That’s why it’s time for us to meet face to face.”

  “When and where?”

  Again the laugh. “Don’t be so eager to die. There are a few things that we need to get straight. This is between you and me. You don’t contact the police, and you make sure that you’re not followed. I’m going to be watching you, and if I have any suspicion that the police are with you, I’ll just disappear. The next time you’ll hear from me is when I send you your girlfriend’s heart in the post.”

  “Leave Katie out of this!”

  “That’s up to you. If you do exactly what I tell you, there’s no reason for me to hurt her again. But if you don’t ….” He left the threat dangling in the air.

  “Alright, I’ll play along. What do you want me to do?”

  “We’re going to meet eventually where you work. But first we’re going to play a little game. You’re going to have a last tour around York. And I’ll be watching you the whole time, just to make sure that you’re on your own.”

  I waited for his next instruction. “In twenty minutes time, I want you to be sitting on a bench in St. George’s field looking out across the river. Bring your phone with you, but don’t even think about using it to call for help. It’s raining, so you might want to wear a coat, but no hat or umbrella. I want a clear view of your face at all times.”

  The line went dead. I stood for a minute in indecision, wondering whether to alert Michael Palmer so they could be ready at the Crisis Centre. But I was sure Guignol would have already anticipated this. I couldn’t do anything that would risk putting Katie in danger again.

  I rang Rebecca and told her that something urgent had come up at work, and that I wouldn’t be able to make it to the hospital. She was understandably puzzled and disappointed, especially at my refusal to explain.

  The only weapon I had to take was the carving knife, but I could hardly wander around York with that in my hand. On a sudden mad inspiration. I tied two socks around the blade, and pushed it down the side of my trousers, along the line of the hip. My jumper hid the sticking out handle.

  My next problem was how to get out of the building, without being seen by the police that had been put there for my protection. I knew from when I had returned that there was a car parked outside, watching the front door and the entrance and exit of the car park. There was also an officer sat in the lobby.

  Going out of the building at the front seemed impossible. There is a fire escape which runs out to the back, but I had a feeling that they would be watching that as well. Trying to come up with a way to break out of my own apartment block would have seemed quite comical, if what hung upon my success or failure wasn’t so serious.

  Then I remembered being shown around the place when I’d first moved in.
The janitor had pointed out a small service door at the back of the car park, which could serve as an emergency exit if a fire or something was blocking the normal way out. It seemed like my best shot.

  I went up the stairs a couple of floors to call the car park lift, so that the attention of the officer in the lobby wouldn’t be caught by the lift stopping on my floor. Then I rode the lift down into the car park. My only worry now was whether the service door was alarmed. If alarm bells went off, the flurry of police activity it would provoke might be enough to convince Guignol that I had disobeyed his instructions.

  In the event, my luck was in, and I was able to push the door open, and slip out into the damp night air. I had to walk slowly away from the building and towards the bridge, so as not to attract attention, which meant that by the time I’d got to the bridge almost all of my twenty minutes had elapsed.

  From there I ran across the bridge and down the stone stairs, slipping slightly on the wet stone. My phone rang the instant I sat down on one of the park benches.

  “Twenty two minutes,” the rasping voice complained. “I’d almost decided to call off our little game. I hope you weren’t using up the time by speaking to the police.”

  “No!” I shouted quickly. “The police are watching my apartment, so it took me a while to get out without them spotting me.”

  “I hope that’s true for your girlfriend’s sake. Just sit and enjoy the view and I’ll be in touch soon.”

  With the rain lashing down, there wasn’t much of a view to enjoy. I glanced around trying to catch some sign of where Guignol was watching me from. There was a man in a pale coat walking through the park, his head bowed – to shelter from the rain, or to hide from me. Sensing my scrutiny, he lifted his head and a stranger’s face stared at me briefly before he hurried away. For all I knew, Guignol could be standing across the river, watching me through binoculars.

  The phone rang again. “Time to move again. Since you like church so much, go and have a last prayer in the Minster. You’ve got ten minutes.”

  The Minster is completely at the other end of the city, so again I had to hurry. Fortunately this didn’t attract too much attention as the very few people around were also rushing to get shelter from the rain. The thought occurred to me that these dark narrow streets were an ideal place for a surprise attack, and I began to scan the doorways and alleys on either side as I ran. Eventually the lights of the Minster shone through the gloom from quite a distance away, promising dryness and warmth.

  When I got in, there were a number of people sitting around the back of the building, listening to the choir as the evening service reached its climax. I sat off to the side, a small puddle dripping off me and onto the floor around my feet.

  After a minute, my phone rang drawing reproving looks from all those seated in earshot.

  “Very good. Now take a trip to the railway station. Sit on one of the benches just inside the door.”

  The Railway station was even further away from the Crisis Centre. “Is there any point to all this?” I demanded angrily, drawing more reproachful looks.

  “Just making sure that you really are on your own. Don’t be so impatient to be killed. Ten minutes.”

  By now, I was soaked through and tired. The journey to the railway station seemed endless, especially as I knew that it was taking me further away from what he had said was to be my final destination. I had barely got inside and sat down, when I was aware of someone coming towards me. A tall wild looking man with a long straggly beard and hair, wearing multiple layers of clothing, lurched towards me.

  “I’ve got a message for you,” he mumbled through blackened teeth, the words accompanied by a stale whisky odour. He stretched out his arm and handed me a note. He stood close by as I read it.

  Jack,

  The Crisis Centre seems a bit too bland a place to host my final revenge on you. Give my “friend” here your phone and this note back, and make your way to St. Thomas’s church. I “borrowed” a set of keys from the vicar last time I visited him.

  Guignol

  As instructed, I handed the note and my phone over. He grunted and then shambled off. Feeling my hip for the reassuring shape of the knife, I stepped out again into the night.

  The route to St. Thomas’s is through residential streets, normally humming with life. Tonight, though, darkness seems to have engulfed them – no lights or sounds, with even the moon taking refuge behind protective clouds. The sound of my footsteps echo eerily behind me, while the trees spit rainwater as I pass.

  As I turn the corner into St. Thomas’s Avenue, I finally take the carving knife out of its hiding place. The single street light gleams momentarily off the blade in my hand. I grip the handle harder and push open the small wooden gate that serves as the entrance to the graveyard which surrounds the church. The church itself seems to be in total darkness but as I walk up the path I can see that the main door is standing ajar, an unmistakable invitation.

  I push the big wooden door fully open and step into the darkness.

  I’ve never been in an unlit church before, and it’s surprising how large and empty if feels. I fumble along the wall, searching for some light switches without success.

  To my left and right are stone staircases, leading up to the bell tower and the wooden balconies which run along the side of the church. Ahead, the swing doors open out onto the main body of the church and it’s there that I head first. I move slowly down the centre aisle towards the altar, listening intently for any sound of movement. As I go, I glance across the pews on either side of me, but my eyes can’t make out any unusual shapes.

  The door to the church vestry and offices beside the altar is locked and I hesitate for a moment, unsure where to go next. Suddenly, there is a scraping sound from above me.

  I make my way back down the church, a bit quicker this time as my eyes have adjusted a little to the darkness. I turn left once through the swing doors, and up the stairs to the balcony. At the top of the stairs, the open bell room is in front of me, but it’s too small for anyone to be hiding inside, so I turn and edge my way along the balcony.

  Without warning, a bright light hits my eyes, dazzling me and something kicks me hard in my left shoulder, partly spinning me around. Almost at the same time, my ears register a loud bang followed by the softer clink of my knife scuttling uselessly across the floor.

  Then the lights of the balcony are turned on, and I blink in confusion. Finally my eyes focus on the face of the person who has set out to systematically destroy my life. It is Ian Jacobs.

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  “Surprise!” he calls mockingly. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forwards to this moment.”

  My mouth opens but couldn’t form any coherent words as my brain tried to take in the shock. Any doubts I had were dispelled by the gun in his hand which is pointing steadily at me. My left arm has gone completely numb, and as my right hand comes away from my left shoulder, I notice that it is coated in thick sticky redness.

  “Ian! But why?” I manage to gabble. His smile widens.

  “Why have I lowered myself to bother crushing an insect like you?” he suggests. His eyes have their customary intensity, but for the first time I could see something darker behind them.

  “Well, I have good news and bad news for you. The good news is that I’m not planning to mutilate your body before I kill you. I think hearing how you’ve brought this destruction on yourself and others will be sufficient torture. The bad news is that when I’ve finished explaining, and you realise how I’ve been moving you around like a puppet, you are going to die. There won’t be any James Bond style escape for you at the last minute, just a clip full of bullets through your brain.” He smiles again, and in that moment I looked upon the face of pure evil.

  “But what did I ever do to you, to make you hate me this much?” I ask out of genuine bewilderment.

  “Haven’t you even worked out that much yet?” Ian said, with a surprised laugh. “I t
hought I’d given enough clues even for someone as stupid as you.”

  I try to think back over my meetings with Ian and the notes I’d had from Guignol, but nothing seemed to make sense.

  “I hate you,” he said simply. “I hate everything about you. Someone hurts you when you’re a child and you spend the rest of your life whining pathetically about it. Even worse, you pick a job where you can prop up other weaklings like yourself, and pretend that you’re all doing so well. When someone hurts me, I get even - that’s the only thing that makes any sense. People like you make me sick.”

  At last, he had given me the key to begin understanding. “Someone abused you when you were a child as well,” I said out loud.

  “Don’t you dare compare yourself to me!” he screams suddenly. The frenzy which had driven him was suddenly all too apparent. “Do you know what I did? When I was old enough I went to the pervert who’d done those things to me and I slit his throat. I laughed as he bled to death in front of me. And I settled things with the bitch of a mother who didn’t protect me. Don’t you dare pretend we’re alike – you’re weak and spineless! That’s the thing that that bitch Jennifer Carter didn’t realise. She didn’t know what she was dealing with. But I taught her. Oh yes, I taught her.”

  “You were a patient of Jennifer’s,” I realise suddenly. When he spoke again, the passion was back under control and his voice is now cold and collected.

  “For a time. Do you know, I almost became as weak as you. In the end, I suppose that Jennifer cured me although I don’t think she was very happy about it. I’d achieved everything I wanted, at work and at home, but every day I seemed to be increasingly frustrated and angry. Lisa convinced me to go and talk to someone, and I ended up with Jennifer.”

  Ian’s eyes took on a harder glint. As he spoke, his hand had lowered slightly so the gun is now pointing down at my feet. Just as I prepared to leap at him, he seems to read my intention and raises it again. I forced my body to relax.

  “Jennifer spent a few meetings going over my past, but it wasn’t doing much good. Then, one evening, she said the words which helped me to see what I’d been doing wrong. She dared to compare me with you. I can remember the exact words she used. She said “There’s another patient of mine that I’m due to see first thing tomorrow who went through similar experiences to you, but has turned out the complete opposite. You hate others and love yourself, he hates himself and loves everyone else. I wish I could mix the two of you together.” That’s when I realised what a mistake I’d been making, thinking that I had a problem that needed to be fixed.”