‘Can you believe that, I mean, I know you didn’t show, but what was she thinking going off with him, not bothering to even text?’
‘At least she’s safe.’ Mike looked up from his iPad. ‘Is she on her way home?’
‘She’s dropping Dan off first. I feel sick.’ She collapsed on to the sofa.
‘She’s so selfish, what she’s putting you through.’
‘Yeah, well I guess we’ve all been there … you know, putting ourselves first.’ The sarcasm would be lost on Mike. She doubted it would even register.
‘You say that now, now you know she’s safe. But what if she hadn’t been? Would you be so forgiving then?’
She couldn’t really say anything to that. Yes, it was only the relief that Sophie was okay that made her soft and more able to forgive her actions, her lack of consideration. She’d be livid if she were still sitting here now with no knowledge of where Sophie was. If her selfishness had put her in danger.
But her behaviour still underlined the fact that something was going on with Sophie. There was a reason she’d wanted Mike to meet her. A reason why she’d been acting strangely and why she’d hidden the black bin liner under her bed. She couldn’t avoid it any longer.
It was time for a serious mother–daughter chat.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Sophie
She was a few minutes from home and fretting about how she could get around this. When she got through the door, the questions would rain down on her. The first being: ‘Why did you ask Dad to meet you?’
Be honest, Soph.
The thought sickened her. Be honest. Yep, tell your anxiety-ridden mother you think you were with Erin when she was murdered, that you’ve been receiving disgusting pictures of yourself in compromising positions … and, by the way, Mum … I’m being stalked.
Okay, then a variation of the truth. A massive variation. She could say that Dan had been hassling her. That was a fact, at least, though probably not fair to Dan. Her mum would believe it, though, she didn’t seem to like him much. But then she’d ask why she went out with him, in that case, and had driven with him to the beach. Cross that bridge if I get to it.
The house came into view as she turned the last corner, the lounge light casting an eerie glow on to the street through the closed curtains. They were both in there waiting for her. She parked the car, sat and cracked each knuckle, taking a deep breath before going in.
‘Sorry for stressing you out.’ Her opening line – get in with a quick apology, an attempt to defuse what was likely to be a shitstorm.
Just her mum in the lounge. Sitting at one end of the sofa, legs tucked up and to one side. Her face flat, expressionless, turned up towards her as she spoke.
‘Yes, I was stressed. Am still.’ She patted the sofa, indicating for Sophie to sit beside her. ‘Sorry, though, that Dad didn’t get to you. He didn’t get the message.’
‘I thought he was still mad at me, decided to teach me a lesson.’
‘He wouldn’t do that.’ There was a shocked tone to her voice, which Sophie didn’t understand. He’d done plenty of things to teach her lessons, why was leaving Sophie to stew so remarkable?
‘Really? You don’t reckon?’
‘I admit, he may do some things that seem a little mean sometimes, but not with you, Sophie. He’d never purposely not be there for you if you really needed him. Despite how he comes across, he adores you. He’d do anything for you.’
‘Talking of him, where is he? Not cooking again, surely?’ The smell of food wafted through the house.
‘Upstairs in the office. We ate already, I’ve put some cottage pie back for you.’
‘Thanks, but I’m not hungry now, had some fish and chips with Dan.’
‘Hmm … yes. What was all that about?’
Now. Do it now. Tell her.
‘He came by Anderson’s, wanted to go out, that’s all.’
‘So, how come you wanted Dad to meet you if you were going out with Dan?’
‘I didn’t know he was going to be there.’
‘So, he’s still stalking you, then?’
This is where she’d usually argue, put up a fight, tell her mum not to be so stupid. Now though, it was an opportunity to either say, yes, he was stalking her, or tell her the truth.
‘He is acting a bit weird, I give you that.’ She waited, gathering herself before continuing. ‘But it’s not him who’s the problem.’
Right, here we go.
She stared at her mum, trying to gauge her mood, predict her likely reaction. She was silent though, waiting for Sophie to speak.
Just say it, Sophie, for Christ’s sake.
‘I think, well, I’m not sure, but there’s a possibility I really may have a stalker.’
There. Not so hard. She squeezed her eyes shut.
‘Right. Okay, so what’s been happening?’
Sophie let out a puff of breath and opened her eyes. Her mum had sat forward, frowning, but actually seemed quite calm – no panic breathing. Yet.
‘It’s a long story—’
‘I’ve got plenty of time, start at the beginning.’
She couldn’t. Not the beginning, not Saturday night. That would be too much.
‘Well, I’d been getting odd sensations, like I was being watched, since Monday really. I thought it was just because of what’d happened to Erin, playing on my mind, you know?’ Her mum nodded, but said nothing, waiting for her to continue. ‘So, anyway, I kept alert, in case my feelings proved to be right. And then I saw him.’ Her own breathing shallowed, heart fluttered hard, like a trapped butterfly in her chest. ‘He followed me to work, I got inside the staff door quickly, but he stood outside, body pressed against the glass, staring in at me.’ She stopped, couldn’t continue.
‘Are you sure, Sophie? It could’ve just been some weird bloke messing around, couldn’t it? I mean, maybe a one-off, rather than someone stalking you.’
‘It seemed personal to me, not just a joke, or a one-off.’
Her mum looked to be considering this, her eyes narrowing in concentration. Then, ‘Sophie?’
‘Yes?’ What was coming? What had she thought of?
‘What’s in the bin liner under your bed?’
She’s been in there. She already knows.
‘My dress.’ A lump in her throat, tears threatening. It was all going to come out.
‘Why did you shove it in a bag?’ Her mum’s voice, calm, but now with a hint of concern.
The calmness wouldn’t last long if she told her.
‘It was the Topshop one I was wearing on Saturday. I thought it may be important to keep it.’
‘But why would you need to? Unless—’
‘Can we discuss this later? Tomorrow, when Dad’s at work. Please.’ She bottled it.
Her mum put both her hands to her face, rubbing at her cheeks. ‘As long as we do have this talk, Sophie. I think it’s overdue, don’t you?’
Why was she so composed? She’d been shouting, giving it her all, having panic attacks and everything before. Why wasn’t she now? ‘Yes, Mum. It is. And we will. I promise.’
It wasn’t how she’d envisaged spending her day off work, but she had to talk about it now, confide in someone. It’d gotten serious. And suddenly she was afraid. Really afraid.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
DI Wade
Friday
As predicted, a lot of the information gained since the appeal had resulted in dead ends. The one piece which had initially set Lindsay’s pulse galloping – a woman reporting late-night activity at the industrial units adjacent to where the body was found – turned out to be a group of lads smoking dope at the back of one of the empty units. CCTV picked them up, they’d been there for twenty minutes, then left the way they’d come. Careful monitoring of the rest of the CCTV gave them nothing, the angles were all wrong. The perpetrator could’ve driven so far, and then dragged the body to the marshy part of the wasteland without detection.
The i
ncident room was uncharacteristically quiet following this latest disappointing news. Lindsay felt the air of tension, and a degree of melancholy. She sat at her desk, her knee bouncing, knocking the solid heel of her shoe rhythmically on the floor.
‘That’s not annoying at all.’ Mack, sitting at the next desk, didn’t take his eyes from his monitor.
‘I know, can you believe it, it’s like he’s a ghost, not showing up on any CCTV, no sightings …’
‘No. I meant you doing that is annoying.’ He took the pen out of his mouth and pointed it at her feet.
‘Oh. Sorry. It’s just frustrating.’
‘Yep. It surely is.’ Mack slipped the end of the pen back in his mouth, returning his attention to the computer screen.
‘Any luck from the footprints?’ Lindsay flicked through her notes.
‘Nope. The ones recovered weren’t useable, ground was too wet, no clear markings or distinct foot size.’
She blew her cheeks out, expelling the air in a loud hiss. Then she looked up. ‘Ah-ha. So the perpetrator’s shoes must be mud-encrusted. If we had a suspect and could find his footwear we might get a match for soil at least.’
‘Yeah, possibly. So, now we just need a suspect.’ Mack raised his eyebrows, gave a weak smile.
Yes. Yes they did. The media and public were beginning to get impatient. They were keen to see someone placed in custody for the murder of their local teenage girl. They wanted answers: why hasn’t anyone been caught? Why haven’t you got suspects? And the biggest, worst question: do you think they will strike again? So far, they’d not given them anything near satisfying results. They had to change that. And fast.
‘Anything from the taxi firms?’ Lindsay continued in what she hoped was an upbeat, encouraging tone. She had to keep her team’s enthusiasm up.
‘Clarke and Webster are on that, Boss. But there’s nothing as yet.’
‘No positive IDs of either Sophie or Erin,’ Lindsay said to herself. She got up and walked in a circle, hand up at her mouth chewing a thumbnail. Then she turned to face the team. ‘Okay everyone,’ each face turned her way, ‘we need to get motivated, get thinking. He’s not cleverer than us, he must’ve made a mistake somewhere along the line. We must be missing something.’ Lindsay paced, all eyes were on her. ‘Where’s the next CCTV along from that pub, the White Hart? We have a timeframe – someone check the taxis and cars that went by in that window.’
A low groan emanated from the room.
Lindsay stopped pacing and stood, hands on her hips, staring at the team. The entire room became still.
‘I’ll get on that,’ DC Sewell shouted from the back.
‘Good. Glad to hear it. Come on, let’s try and get something concrete by the end of today.’ She turned and headed back to her desk. ‘Because this is seriously beginning to piss me off.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Karen
Dark images punctuated her sleep: a man hiding in the shadows, a girl, tied and bound being slowly strangled by a faceless man; a creature. Sophie, dragged into an alleyway, her screams muffled by big hands, her legs kicking, not connecting with anything. Sophie, limp.
Still.
Lifeless.
The light of the morning hadn’t come soon enough. Seagulls incessantly tapped their beaks on the light tunnel, the sound piercing holes in her skull. The subsequent throbbing pain didn’t allow the dreams to dissipate. The nightmares stayed sharp, in full focus.
Didn’t Sophie realise how the information she divulged last night would affect her? Karen rolled on to her back, staring up at the circle of light. Yes. Of course she knew – that’s why she hadn’t mentioned it before, she knew exactly how Karen would react, how it would affect her condition. Poor Sophie. What else had she held back from telling her, afraid of the repercussions?
There was a full day, now, in which to find the underlying cause of all of this. No Mike. Just her and Sophie. She had to handle this in the right way: not too many questions, let her speak without interruption. Keep calm. That was the biggest problem. Whatever Sophie was going to tell her, remaining calm was key. If she panicked, had an anxiety attack, then Sophie would stop talking, wouldn’t share. She’d be back to square one.
No paper bag, then.
She hadn’t spoken to Rachel since Monday; Rachel hadn’t returned the voicemail Karen’d left on Thursday, but that was hardly surprising. She needed to make amends somehow for her lack of support. Perhaps once Sophie had told her what was going on, she’d give her a call, find out how she was doing. She’d no idea of the timescale for Erin’s funeral or anything: if the coroner was releasing her body soon, or whether they had to wait. She should know these things, as Rachel’s best friend. Karen sat on the edge of the bed, her head in her hands, squeezing her skull from both sides, hoping to expel the pain from within it.
Bailey whimpered at her feet. He stared up at her, hopefully. She reached down and gave his head a rub. He started pawing at her arm. He was hungry. She got up, beginning the routine as usual, the same as every other day. Monotonous. But, if monotonous meant safe, she was all for it. Was Sophie about to upset the routine? Yes, she’d wanted to find out what really happened Saturday, and yes, she’d been ‘investigating’ everyone she could online. But, did she really want answers, or had it just been something to do to occupy her mind, prevent her from going mad?
But now she knew answers could be on their way, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to know.
‘Have you had breakfast?’ Karen looked on as Sophie paced the kitchen.
‘Can’t. Feel sick.’
‘I think you should try. Come on, I’ll make us a bacon sarnie.’ Karen turned the grill on, got the bacon from the fridge. Sophie’s hand shot in front of hers.
‘No. Really, I don’t want to eat. I’ll puke. You go ahead though if you want one.’
Karen backed away from the fridge. ‘Nah. Can’t face it either. Let’s go sit in the lounge, shall we? Then you can tell me what’s been going on.’
It was like sitting waiting for bad news, waiting for Sophie to start the conversation she knew was going to change things. Was she mentally prepared for this?
‘Okay, look, Mum, I don’t want you to freak out over this.’
Already Karen’s palms were wet with sweat, her pulse at a ridiculous speed, as though she’d been running. Her chest was painfully tight. Deep breaths. Stay calm. She wanted to say ‘I can’t promise that’, but knew she shouldn’t. She watched Sophie, saw the tension in her face, and recognised the frightened look in her eyes – the same as Saturday night. She had to be strong now. Sophie needed her to be composed and strong. Karen nodded to encourage her daughter to go on.
‘After Saturday night, I was emailed some pictures.’ Sophie paused; she was wringing her hands and cracking her knuckles, the habit Karen hated.
Karen closed her eyes, waited for Sophie to carry on. ‘Well, actually, I was sent one to start with, wasn’t even sure the picture was of me. Thought it was a joke, one of the boys trying to be funny,’ she gave a short laugh, ‘you know how they are … twats really.’
‘But it wasn’t one of the boys.’
‘No, I’m almost sure of that now. The next one he sent made it clearer. It was definitely me and I was wearing … I was wearing—’
‘The dress you’d worn on Saturday night,’ Karen finished.
‘Yeah. I gathered you’d done some snooping.’
‘I’m sorry. I was worried about you, about your behaviour. I knew something wasn’t right. I found the bin liner, your dress inside. Sorry. You’d have done the same if you were in my position.’ It didn’t really excuse it, but it was the best she had at this point. ‘Anyway, go on.’
‘Yeah, well, we’ll save the privacy conversation for another time. So anyway, the message with the pictures said there were more. Then I was getting those creepy sensations that I was being watched when I went to and from work. And yesterday, I saw him.’
Karen couldn’t refrain
any longer. ‘Hang on, let’s get this straight. You were sent pictures of yourself from Saturday night. Where were you? Had he taken them from the pub you were in? Were you with your friends at the time? What were you doing? I don’t understand.’
‘Mum. Slow down. Look, it doesn’t matter about that for the minute, it’s the fact he’s following me that’s scaring me. Can we concentrate on that please?’
‘Okay, so we have to call the police.’
‘I knew you’d say that. I don’t want to—’
‘Why the hell not, Sophie? How am I meant to protect you from a stalker?’ Karen knew her breathing had shallowed, was becoming more rapid.
Don’t lose it.
‘I don’t know,’ Sophie shouted. She jumped up from the sofa and began pacing again.
Sophie and her father were more alike than she’d ever admit to Karen: the pacing, that same quick temper, the inability to contain it. It was the reason they clashed repeatedly.
‘They’ll look into it, find out who he is. Stop him from doing it!’
‘I want it to just go away, this whole thing.’ She collapsed on the floor and sat hugging her knees, fat tears rolling down her pale cheeks.
Karen moved behind her, putting her arms around Sophie’s shoulders. She laid her head against her daughter’s and rocked her gently. She breathed in the sweet smell of shampoo, her own tears now dampening Sophie’s hair.
‘I know, darling, I know.’ She stroked Sophie’s head. ‘I’m afraid it’s not going to, though. We have to deal with it.’
Sophie pulled away, turned and faced her. ‘And that’s coming from you.’
The words, softly spoken, not in malice; it was a straightforward statement. A valid point. Who was she to spout about dealing with stuff?
‘Together. We can face this together. I realise I’m not a good role model, but I am your mum. I will do whatever it takes to help you. Protect you.’
‘In that case, can we leave the police out of it, for now? If I ignore the messages, have someone with me at all times, I’ll be safe. Right?’
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