That wasn’t it. Not what she really wanted to say. Karen could sense it, but didn’t want to force the issue.
There was definitely more, something she was hiding. Something more about the events of Saturday night, and the content of the bin liner.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Sophie
She’d wanted to tell her mum, she really had. But something had stopped her. It was like she’d lost the ability to talk, suddenly drying up, unable to communicate. Why couldn’t she just get it out in the open, tell her about the emails, and now this latest development?
The small brown envelope had been tucked longways under her windscreen wiper, barely visible from inside the car. She hadn’t noticed it until she reached home, what with the scene outside the police station with Dan having taken her attention, then the trauma of visiting Rachel. She wished it had rained, the vile thing would’ve shot off her windscreen then and she’d never have had to see it.
Inside the envelope was a note, and a picture – a photograph, folded neatly in four. It was similar to the others: her dress above her waist, exposing her knickers – but there was one terrible difference – she was smiling. Why was she smiling? She tried to focus on the words of the note instead:
I’m glad we’ve made a connection, I know we did the very first time we met, but now I can feel it strengthening, as we get closer. I think we’re kindred spirits, you and I, I could tell by the way you looked at me when I had your friend. I sensed your enjoyment. You could’ve stopped me, but you didn’t. You smiled.
You liked it, didn’t you?
Connection? What was this weirdo on about? She prayed for this to still be a sick joke. The fleeting images she’d had could have come from nightmares which were now coming back during her waking hours. Not memories of reality, memories of her dreams. Yes, that made sense. Why would she smile if she’d watched Erin being hurt? That was ridiculous.
But, there was the sensation she’d been having of someone watching her, following her. Perhaps whoever was sending the emails, the pictures, did have it in for her, wanted to harm her even. He might be using the knowledge of Erin’s death as a way of getting to her, messing with her mind. It had to be someone she knew. Had Dan put this on her car? He’d had the opportunity. Or maybe it’d been put there when she’d been inside Rachel’s house.
A throbbing pain pressed against her temples. This was messed up and she couldn’t get the pieces to add up. Maybe this person sending emails and pictures was separate from Erin’s murderer, not the same guy. But was Dan involved in some way?
And was she?
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Karen
Thursday
Karen awoke with a groggy thickness in her head – a direct result of the lack of decent sleep; the little she’d managed interspersed with visions, whispered threats and dark corners. Danger lying in wait. She forced her legs to move, to drag her body to the bathroom – every muscle heavy, weighted down by guilt. The unwelcoming tiles sent a cold shock through her feet, setting her nerves on edge. Flipping the wall cabinet door, she rifled through its contents and found some paracetamol. She really should eat first, but she’d rather put up with nausea over a headache. She didn’t want to let the darkness win.
Although, it was doing a good job of winning in every other area of her life.
A gentle creaking of the house, the sounds of movement, suggested the other occupants were up and readying themselves for the day ahead. Pushing the mirrored door closed, Karen paused, contemplating the woman in front of her. She pinched at the loosening skin on her cheeks, her chin. With a hand on each side of her face, she pulled back towards her ears, until the skin was taut. There you are, Peter. Karen smiled despite her mood, the memory of one of Sophie’s favourite childhood movie moments springing to mind. Peter Pan in Hook. How many times had she watched that?
The old Karen had disappeared, lost in the folds of age, and the responsibilities that came with it. Subsumed in a relationship that had stolen her identity, bit by bit. The single wish she’d made to regain some part of her – who she was – now a glaring mistake. One she’d been punished for. A momentary slip of her moral code had turned into more of a landslide. Would it have happened if she’d had her mum to turn to, to ask for advice? Losing her when she was twenty-five had been devastating. Going through pregnancy, childbirth, a difficult first year, all without her mother’s support, had left her mourning her loss even more. She’d been left parentless.
Would she really have confided in her mum, though? After all, she’d never even mentioned it to Rachel, afraid of her reaction. It would go against everything Rachel stood for. Karen ran her fingertip across the bump on her nose and looked at it from different angles. A permanent reminder. She had to be honest to herself, if not with anyone else. She hadn’t confided in anyone, and she wouldn’t have either, even if she had the opportunity. She didn’t want others to think badly of her. Still didn’t. No one needed to know, now. It was all over. The only remnants of her mistake a broken nose and her worsening psychological state.
And the repercussions of her decisions.
The conversation with Sophie last night, about Erin meeting someone online, had set off warning alarms. Karen shivered. It was so easy to get carried away with the messaging, agree to meet too soon, thinking you’ve found the one. While many couples met online these days and it all ended well, there were those who weren’t so fortunate, met the wrong sort. Had Erin met with such a man? You never really know who you’re talking to, it’s only ever typed words, ones you can write, delete and rewrite until you come across in the right way, the way you know will sound best, most impressive – saying what you think the other person wants to hear. So easy.
‘Mum?’ Sophie’s head appeared around the bathroom door.
‘Yes, love.’ Karen turned away from her reflection.
‘I’m running late for work, just wanted to check you’re all right before I go.’
Sophie’s eyes lowered to the floor. Her voice was quiet. Shaky?
‘Yeah, not too bad, thanks love. You?’
‘Good. Yep, I’m fine thanks.’ She ducked back out without another word, closing the door.
Karen’s ears filled with her heart’s panicking beats. Sophie was far from fine, that was obvious. When would she say what was bothering her? If she waited for Sophie to open up, she could be waiting ages. It could be too late to help. Tonight, when she returned from work, Karen would sit her down and confront this head-on. She’d let this go on for long enough. If Sophie wasn’t going to willingly open up, she’d have to force the issue.
Mike had gone to work too by the time Karen got downstairs, leaving the house eerily silent. Peculiar. It was as always, but now the house’s peace was nearly as suffocating as her attempts at leaving it. She crept through to the kitchen, as if trying not to disturb anyone. The shiver ran the length of her spine, as if someone had walked over her grave. She shook it off. What’s the matter with you?
The uneasy feeling sat like a lump of undigested food in her belly. Coffee. Need coffee. A note propped up against the kettle reminded her to phone the doctors for her repeat prescription. Sophie’s writing. Bless her. She’d also have to ask for more sleeping pills while she was on the phone. There was a PS added in Mike’s scrawl, stating, Phone and get new appointment with counsellor. She flicked the kettle switch and rummaged in the cupboard for the coffee jar. One minute he was having a go, asking what he was paying the counsellor for, then he was reminding her to rebook her missed appointment. Talk about mixed signals. Then again, that was his forte.
Sitting at the breakfast bar, coffee mug in hand, Karen wondered what she’d do with her day. It was only ten past nine. She sighed. A morning of phone calls looked likely. Doctors, counsellor. Rachel. A shooting pain at her temples warned of a stressful day ahead. She swallowed the rising panic. Only a few phone calls, come on, that’s easy. You can manage. Start with the easy one, work your way to the difficult one. Wasn�
��t that what she’d repeated again and again to the offenders she’d worked with when discussing problem solving?
But what more was there to say to Rachel? Her words of comfort felt hollow, her attempt at conveying understanding futile: how could she possibly understand? She could only imagine what she was going through, and without offering the physical comfort, Karen didn’t have much to give. If she thought this house seemed eerily quiet, what must Rachel’s feel like? Thank goodness Sophie went to see her yesterday. At least one of them could show their support.
The vibration made the phone jerk across the worktop. Karen jumped up. A text message, the number not recognisable at first glance. It was from Sophie’s new pay-as-you-go phone, the temporary one she’d bought as a fall back because the police had yet to return her iPhone.
Can you ask Dad to meet me from work tonight, please?
Karen chewed at the inside of her cheek. Why? She’d never asked anyone to meet her from work before. She’d driven. How could Mike meet her? Karen tapped a reply.
I’ll ask him. But why?
A few minutes passed, then another vibration.
Tell him to meet me outside the staff door at 5.30. See you later.
No explanation. What was she going to say to Mike when he asked why Sophie needed him, as he was bound to?
What was going on with her?
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Sophie
It was no longer a feeling. She was sure.
Whoever put the note under her wiper was still watching her.
The second she got out of her car at the car park, she could feel him as undeniable as the bitter chill of the dropping temperature. The days of questioning her gut feelings culminated now in an absolute knowledge he was here. The one sending the pictures. The connection he’d talked about in the note must be related to him seeing her when she was going to and from work; the eerie sensations were him following her. Could he be the one who’d murdered Erin? Had her visions been right – had she been there, watched her die? His intentions might have been to let her go, make her believe she’d been the lucky one, then stalk her, frighten her. Make the chase more exciting until he made his final move.
The horrible suggestion she’d enjoyed watching him hurt Erin made her sick. He was sick. She could no longer pretend to herself that this was someone’s joke. It was real.
She’d been so close to telling her mum that morning, again. But seeing how stressed she’d looked – how old – had stopped her. Her dad was right: she’d screwed up. Big time. This was her fault. Telling her mum would only complicate things, make the situation worse. Wouldn’t it?
What a mess.
Instead of getting straight back in the car and driving back home to safety, Sophie locked it and looked around her. She felt suddenly angry. No way was she letting him win. A game had a winner and a loser. So far, she’d been on the back foot – her fault for not taking the emails seriously. He was one step ahead. She looked up towards the police station; it was only fifty metres or so up the road, could she make it there?
Where was the psycho hiding?
He could actually be near the station, hiding behind a wall, waiting to jump her. Risky, though. Surely, he wouldn’t do anything there. Where else could he be? She couldn’t see anyone directly in her path; she could make it to the magistrates’ court, to the crossing. But there was no way of telling if he was inside the canopied entrance and she’d have to pass by there to get to the crossing.
She couldn’t stand here contemplating. She’d have to make her move soon. A car was pulling into the car park, stopping at the top end. She could wait for the occupant to get out, see which way they went, follow their path. It might mean a detour to work, skirting the town instead of the direct route, but better that than walking her usual way and risking being the only person around. Her heart ferociously pumped, readying itself and her muscles to take action. For an awful moment, Sophie thought the woozy, rushing noise in her head meant she was going to faint. She forced herself to take deep, steadying breaths. The man that had climbed from the car walked towards the exit at the other end of the car park. If she timed it right, she could covertly slip in behind him, follow in his footsteps.
But what if it was him?
She let him pass, then wrapped her white coat around her tightly. She began walking, her legs wobbling, casting her eyes around to see if there was anyone else. A builder pulled his van up on the opposite side of the road, the wheels snagging on the loose gravel in the pull-in.
Was that him?
Where were the girls from Anderson’s, the other shops? She darted her eyes this way and that, searching for a glimpse of the bright red tops of the employees of the store. There. A couple of women had come into sight on the corner. Quick. Run, Sophie. Run. Tears tracked across her temples as she rushed across the road; she blinked against the cold air and threw her head back over her shoulder, checking if anyone was following.
A figure moved out of the shadow of the magistrates’ court doorway.
She’d been right, he was waiting there for her.
Her throat tightened, each fast intake and exhalation of frosting breath sent a shooting pain to her lungs. Not waiting for the pedestrian crossing lights to go red, she flew across the road. The women had disappeared around the corner.
He was behind her, hurried footsteps nearing.
Scream, draw attention. Surely he’d back off then. Wouldn’t he?
The store loomed in front of her.
Nearly there. Keep going.
Last corner before the staff door.
She risked a look behind.
A man, medium height and build, a dark hoody. That’s all Sophie took in, fear snatching the ability to focus.
At the door. Punching the keypad, clumsy fingers hitting the wrong numbers.
‘Dammit. Come on!’ The voice unrecognisable as her own.
Finally, a beeping indicated the right code. Hurry up, door. Open.
Propelling herself through it, Sophie turned and pushed it, all of her body weight forcing it shut against its will. It squealed: shrill, like a scream.
It shut. The clank of the lock, reassuring. She was panting, still leaning against the door.
The man stood on the opposite side of the glass. Smiling, his open mouth producing foggy clouds of rapidly appearing and disappearing breath.
She backed off, eyes still on his, unable to tear them away – the green of his irises sharp, penetrating. Almost hypnotic.
She finally turned towards the stairs, took two steps at a time and ran into the locker room. She collapsed on a bench, all her strength gone.
There was no way she was leaving here tonight on her own.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
DI Wade
A million things were swamping her brain. Wednesday’s interview with Sophie Finch in particular continued to niggle at her. Sophie’s tendency to avoid eye contact with either her or Mack threw doubt on her assertion of not remembering anything from Saturday night. But when they’d gone through all of the interview transcripts they’d found nothing of use. Perhaps her behaviour really was because she was scared, still in shock, like Mack had thought. But Lindsay couldn’t let go of the feeling that it was because she knew something, was holding back. Not telling them something. Could it be she didn’t want to implicate someone? A friend. Daniel Pearce, for example. Now, that was one cocky lad, rubbed Lindsay up the wrong way straight off. But they were just teenagers. And their friend was lying in the morgue. Would any of them act in a normal way? Were teenagers ever normal?
Sophie’s text messages hadn’t brought anything new to the table. Clearly as far as her friends were concerned she’d got in the taxi and was going home. No one openly admitted otherwise via text. But, if one of them did know something they could be in danger. There was no way of telling at this stage whether Erin had been the intended target, or if she’d been chosen at random. Either way the killer was highly organised. And there was no way of kno
wing if she was going to be the only victim, or merely the first.
One thing was certain. They were going to have to keep an eye on the group of them.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Karen
‘Mike, it’s me. Look, Sophie has asked if you’ll meet her after work, five thirty. I don’t really know why … I think something’s wrong. Can you do that? Right, see you both tonight. Bye.’ Typical it going to answerphone when she needed him, he must be in a dip in the moor. She hoped he’d listen to his voicemail. Karen looked at the note from Sophie and Mike’s hurried scribble tagged on at the end.
‘OK. Continue making the calls, Karen.’
Two down. One to go.
Another answerphone. She left a message for Rachel, a brief ‘how are you?’ Her words were predictable, the same as any other well-wisher would say. Not the words of a best friend. She was useless.
What now?
Another cup of coffee, her third. Then back to her laptop, and the Facebook search.
Just seen your message, Amy said you’d probably ask. I can’t tell you anything different to what you already know. I’ve no idea about the taxi, which firm, who was driving it. Sorry. Wish I could be more help, but I can’t. Dan.
So, Amy had tipped him off.
Karen re-read the message. Definitely sounded like those two were in it together. Can you hear yourself? She rubbed at her eyes. Mike and Sophie were probably right, she was looking for something that wasn’t there, grasping at meaningless snippets of information, any hope of getting closer to the truth of what happened. Maybe there was no conspiracy; they did put Sophie in a taxi, but hadn’t taken notice of, or remembered, the taxi firm. Just as they both asserted. She was trying to force the pieces of the puzzle, ones that didn’t fit, to make this whole situation better. Right. To stop anything else from happening.
Saving Sophie Page 13