Karen considered this for a moment. ‘How is he sending you messages? On Facebook?’
Sophie looked away.
‘Sophie. How is he sending the pictures, the messages?’
‘Email.’
‘So, he’s someone you know? He must be, to have your email.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Love. You can’t get through this by giving the “I don’t know” answer to everything. You have to know some things.’ She tried not to let the frustration show in her voice. She was failing. ‘Come on. It’s time to tell me what you do remember, what you know. Because you do remember some things. Don’t you?’
‘Oh, Mum.’ Sophie covered her face with her hands.
‘Darling, what?’
‘The pictures. The ones he sent. They weren’t …’
Karen swallowed the fear and waited for Sophie to go on. She willed her heart to continue to beat.
‘Weren’t what, love?’ she encouraged.
‘I can’t tell, exactly … but it looks like … I’m … Shit.’ Sophie shut her eyes. ‘My dress. It’s been pulled up.’ She didn’t continue, her sobbing too much to be able to form coherent sentences.
‘You have to show me.’
Sophie shook her head. ‘No. No. No.’ She withdrew from Karen and ran from the room. Leaving Karen, hand clutching at her chest, hyperventilating.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Sophie
She slammed face down on the bed, her crying muffled by the pillow. She couldn’t show her mum. Couldn’t show anyone. She’d allowed it to happen, for that monster to do God knows what to her. The pictures were disgusting.
She should delete them.
Yes. Of course. If she deleted them, no one would ever see them. No one would know she’d been there. With Erin. The thought of keeping them to try to figure out where they’d been taken was pointless. She wasn’t going to show the police either, so there was no reason to save them. She could plausibly deny everything if they were no longer stored on her laptop.
She launched off the bed, grabbed her laptop and fired it up. Hurry up.
Footsteps on the stairs. Mum’s coming. She’d be forced to show them. No way. Come on! The screen flashed up, her fingertips stabbing the keys, entering the password.
Her mum was at the door. The handle squeaked.
She ticked the boxes beside each picture message.
Her mum burst in. ‘Sophie. Don’t.’
‘Sorry.’ Sophie hit delete. Then quickly clicked on the recycle bin and emptied that too, before her mum could stop her.
‘You silly girl. You silly, silly girl.’ Her arms dropped to her sides, her shoulders slumped.
‘Really? What makes you an expert?’
‘They were evidence, Sophie. Evidence that might help the police get him.’
‘And you’d give the police evidence which made you look bad, would you? Made you out to be a total slag. Dirty, disgusting pictures of your bare flesh for them all to see. You’d give them to the police?’
Her mum said nothing.
‘Well, would you?’
‘If it helped catch this man, yes. I would.’
‘I’m sorry I’m not like you, then. Sorry to disappoint.’
‘You could never disappoint me.’ She clambered across some clothes and sat beside Sophie on the bed.
‘Not even if …’ She couldn’t finish the sentence, didn’t want to hear herself saying it.
‘Whatever it is, we will help you through it. Me and Dad.’
‘You don’t understand. I don’t want people knowing. Anyone. Not even you. Especially not Dad.’
‘Right.’ She recoiled from Sophie. ‘I see. Okay, fine.’ She got up, and without glancing back, she left, with the parting words: ‘You know where I am if you change your mind.’
Yes. She knew where she was. In the same place she’d been for two years. Secluded. Imprisoned. Removed from the real world. How could she possibly help? How could she have a single clue as to how Sophie was feeling? She knew nothing.
Confiding in her had made things worse. Imagine if she’d told her the rest. That her stalker must be Erin’s killer. There was no way she’d be able to talk her out of calling the police.
She’d have to keep it to herself after all. She would just have to take steps to protect herself. Make sure that from now on she wasn’t alone walking to and from work or college. She was sure Amy would walk with her to her car after work most nights. But would that be enough protection? Dan. He, too, would be happy to escort her. Again, though, enough to deter the stalker? Her dad was the only likely person who would offer solid protection. Or the security guard.
All of the options had two flaws, though. One: they weren’t all going to be available at the times she needed them; everyone worked different hours, particularly her start hours. And, two: all of them would immediately alert the police.
College could offer more protection; a stalker wouldn’t chance alerting the teachers of his presence or risk the police being called. That seemed a minor plus in the scheme of things – every other week she might be okay. Maybe she had to face facts. There wasn’t a way around it; the police had to become involved. But, what if they linked the stalker to Erin’s murder? What if they caught him and he implicated her? How could she prove she wasn’t involved? And what else did the killer have in store? More pictures? She shuddered. Perhaps she’d go off sick. Stay at home. Like her mum. Two reclusive fuck-ups together. What a truly depressing thought.
He’d get bored though. If he couldn’t see her, get to her, he’d soon tire of internet stalking. Move on. But move on to who? Someone else from her group. Amy?
And if he did, it would be her fault.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
September 2014
Weds 11.45 p.m.
I’m sorry, I know you feel let down, but that’s no excuse for the emails you’ve been sending. Your anger has shocked me. You’ve been this amazing, kind and loving man for the last 12 months, please let’s not end it on a bad note.
I have explained my situation and why I can’t continue this any more, but I wish you every happiness for your future. You’ll find the right person, every bit as wonderful as you say I am, and you will be happy. I’m sure of it.
It just can’t be with me.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Karen
Was it a coincidence that Sophie believed someone was stalking her? If it hadn’t been for the disclosure of the photos, Karen might have thought Sophie was overreacting. A direct response to Erin’s murder could be heightening her senses, stimulating her mind to create a drama where there wasn’t one. When you were on edge, everything seemed like a threat; a noise, a shadow, a person in the wrong place at the right time – all added to the intensity of emotions, fed the fear – adding to the perceived danger. Karen knew this all too well.
But the photos threw a different light on it. Could they be someone’s idea of a joke, as Sophie had thought? One of the boys thinking they were funny? Pretty sick joke, but she wouldn’t put it past them, especially Dan. If only she’d seen them, been able to evaluate them, assessed if they were the real deal. Mind you, Sophie obviously thought they were, or she wouldn’t have been so horrified, deleting them without letting her see. How could they be that bad? She’d been in a pub, what’s the worst state he could’ve captured her in? She’d said her dress was pulled up. Had she been so drunk she’d collapsed on the floor, dress hitched up for all to see? Or had he got her on her own, in the toilets, or outside?
Her stomach grumbled. She might not feel hungry, but her body still demanded nourishment, something other than coffee. It was only ten fifteen, nowhere near lunchtime, but she’d skipped breakfast again. She rummaged in the cupboards. Nothing took her fancy, so she slammed them shut again. Perhaps Sophie would drive up the shop, buy them something ready-made they could have for lunch. She yelled up the stairs.
Sophie sauntered down, stopped midway and plonked her
self down on the step.
‘You fancy going up the shop for me, get us both something nice for lunch?’ Karen held out a twenty-pound note.
‘Yeah. Might be a bagful of chocolate though.’ She leant forward, and with an outstretched hand, took the twenty from her mum.
Karen grinned, ‘I’ll accept your choice, whatever it might be.’
‘I’m sorry, Mum. You know it’s not because I don’t trust you …’
‘Okay. Why, then?’ Karen sat down on the bottom stair, back against the wall.
‘I’m stupid. Dad was right. It’s my mess. I shouldn’t involve anyone else in this. Least of all you—’
‘Me? Least of all me?’ Her sharp intake of breath prevented more words.
‘You know, after all you went through. Why you’re like this. How can I drag you into it?’
Karen screwed her face up, tightened her lips, willed the tears not to come. ‘Oh, Sophie. My darling girl.’ She crawled up the steps to get to Sophie and held her tight in her arms. ‘I’m your mum. It doesn’t matter what I went through … you are my priority. I know it may not seem like it sometimes, but least of all me? I’m the one person you should absolutely involve.’ She shook Sophie’s shoulders. ‘Do you understand?’
Sophie nodded, giving a half-hearted smile through the tears. ‘Yes. Okay. Sorry I deleted the pictures.’
‘It might’ve helped to have them, to identify this stalker guy. Were you definitely the subject of the photo? He couldn’t have been meaning to capture someone else in the pub?’
‘It was me. Just me.’
‘How did he get you on your own, where were your friends?’
Sophie sighed, her shoulders dropped. ‘The pictures weren’t taken at the pub, Mum. At least not in the main part. A basement maybe …’
‘A basement? Oh, I thought …’
‘I know. I didn’t want to freak you out. And possibly I didn’t want you to be right.’
‘About what?’
‘Something did happen in the hours between leaving the pub and the police bringing me home. Like you thought.’
‘Oh, Sophie.’ Karen massaged her temples with the forefingers of both hands. ‘Do you remember, now?’
‘Not really, no. Snippets. Odd bursts of memory, in no real order.’
‘I know you’ve deleted the pictures, but tell me what exactly they depicted. Everything. And if they were sent via email, what address were they coming from?’
‘The email is a dead end, some ridiculous-sounding address, not like Gmail, or Yahoo or anything. I will tell you about the photos, but let’s have something to eat first.’
‘Hang on. When you say a ridiculous email address, like what?’
‘Something along the lines of “Big man at I have the power dot com”. It’s why I thought it was a joke.’
‘Oh, yeah, that’s strange.’ Karen let her breath out in a rush. She’d been holding it, waiting. She got up and turned to descend the stairs.
‘Although, the last one was different.’ Sophie’s voice, coming from behind her.
Karen turned back. ‘Yeah, what was it?’
‘“Ideal man at your place or mine dot com.”’
The words echoed, hit against the inside of her skull. She shook her head, the woozy sensation spreading. The stairway rose to meet her face.
‘Mum!’ Sophie’s hands grabbed at her beneath her armpits. ‘Mum, you okay? Can you hear me?’
The voice, far away, cotton wool in her head dulling the sounds. A river of thoughts flooded it, washing the cotton wool away, her hearing suddenly acute.
‘Mum. Did you faint?’
‘I’m okay, I’m okay. Sorry. My blood sugar’s low.’
‘No. That’s not it.’ A worried look stealing the sparkle from her eyes. ‘When I said the email address, you drained of colour instantly. Why?’
Excess saliva spilled into her mouth, she swallowed again and again. How? Why?
‘Seriously Mum, you’re frightening me now. What is it?’
‘I’ve heard of that email address. I know it. Unless there’s another person with the same one.’
‘You can’t have the same as someone else, it doesn’t allow you to choose it if it’s already taken. How have you heard it? I mean, who do you know with it?’
‘It’s a long story. I don’t get it, though. Why?’ Every pulse point pounded against her skin, the blood rushing to her vital organs. Sophie stared at her, her brow creased deeply, waiting for an explanation.
She must be wrong. There she was, internally accusing Sophie of overreacting, seeing something that wasn’t there, and now she’d done the same. Jumped to a ridiculous conclusion, fuelled through fear. Easily done. There was no way on earth it was the same email account. Couldn’t be.
Karen whipped her head around at the sound of the letterbox smashing against its metal surrounding. It sounded like a gunshot. Her hand flew to her chest. The thud of something landing on the mat reassured her it was just Val, the post woman. She knew Karen well now, was patient when there was a delivery, waiting with a smile as Karen took her time to get to the front door. Obviously nothing to be signed for today. She patted Sophie’s leg. ‘We need to have a long chat.’ Bailey’s barking filled the hallway.
‘Yes. Sounds as though we do,’ Sophie shouted above his noise. She helped Karen up; made sure she was steady. ‘Bailey! Enough.’ She picked him up, soothed him. ‘I’ll go put the kettle on.’
Karen stood in the hallway, recovering her composure. Through the glass inner door, a shadow remained. Val must have something requiring a signature after all. She hadn’t heard the doorbell ring over the barking. She was good, waiting for Karen the way she did. Sophie was in the kitchen, she could shout her, get her to sign.
Grow up. Do it yourself.
The inner door was easiest; it was the one opening to the outside world which troubled her. She’d made a hash of it more than once.
It’s only Val.
Once at the outer door, she took a deep breath, opened her eyes, reached for the door handle. She stopped.
It wasn’t Val.
That was close, almost opened the door to a stranger.
The man, huddled over a rucksack, appeared to be packing catalogues into it. Karen glanced down, noticed the catalogue on the mat. She released a heavy sigh, relaxed her shoulders. The man suddenly stood upright. She backed away. He turned.
Their eyes met.
He smiled at her. She returned the gesture, then retreated into her safe zone. She wasn’t up to pleasantries with the people responsible for the deluge of junk coming through her letterbox daily. If she’d felt braver, she would’ve thrown his stupid catalogue back at him.
‘You okay, Mum?’
‘Yep, just coming.’ She discarded the catalogue, an out-of-date Betterware one, on the hallway table.
‘Who was it?’
‘Damn Betterware man. I swear it’s a different one every month. I don’t like seeing all those different faces.’ Karen took the mug from Sophie. ‘A quick coffee, then go get that lunch treat, will you? I’m in need of calories.’
‘Me too. Thanks Mum.’
‘Don’t thank me yet. After our chat you may not want to speak to me again.’
CHAPTER SIXTY
DI Wade
DC Sewell thrust a tin of biscuits, together with a piece of paper, under Lindsay’s nose.
‘Here you go, Ma’am, thought you could do with a sugar hit. They’re chocolate ones.’ Sewell rattled the tin in encouragement. ‘And the analysis came back on the fibres.’
She’d said it as if it were an afterthought, like the biscuits were the important thing. Lindsay bypassed the tin and snatched the report, a little more aggressively than she intended.
‘Thanks.’ Lindsay scanned the printed report. She heard the rattle of the tin again.
‘You should have a snack, keep your energy levels up.’ Sewell – one of the older DCs on the team who always called her ‘Ma’am’ despite he
r preferring the less formal ‘Guv’, or ‘Boss’ – was clearly attempting to mother her.
Lindsay took a biscuit without looking. Sewell moved off, obviously satisfied she’d done her duty.
She read the report through several times, then called for hush. The incident room fell quickly into silence.
‘Okay. We knew there were no skin cells under Erin’s nails, but we were hopeful the analysis of the fibres might bring us some joy.’ She looked up, scanning the faces in the room. Expectant eyes. Ones waiting for a break. ‘Which they would, if we had any items of clothes to match them with. Anyway, there is a total of three different kinds of material, so if we can get a move on and recover the victim’s clothes to eliminate them, then we might have the killer’s fibres right here.’ Lindsay waved the report in the air.
‘He’s probably burned her clothes. He’s been very careful with everything else, ’ DC Clarke offered. ‘The entire area surrounding the industrial units and marshland have been swept. None of the units appear to be the primary scene. Until we have a suspect …’ He hung his head. No one else spoke.
‘Okay.’ Lindsay tried another avenue. ‘What about the laptops? Any online activity that could lead us to someone she might have agreed to meet? What about the dating site?’
‘Laptops have nothing of significance,’ Webster said, breaking the quiet frustration that Lindsay physically felt.
‘That’s weird. Surely there’d be a trail if she’d been on a dating site?’ She was aware of Sewell on the phone, watched as her hand waved in the air to gain everyone’s attention. Lindsay drew in a breath and held it. Please be something good.
‘What is it?’ Lindsay asked when Sewell replaced the receiver.
Sewell looked to Mack. ‘You were checking Sophie Finch’s mobile for texts, Mack.’
‘Yep, but didn’t find anything of interest, so, although strictly speaking I probably shouldn’t have, I gave it to the tech team to access other files on her phone that might be helpful. So?’
Sewell grinned. ‘Well … looks like that was a good move.’
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