Karen hurried; no time to panic now. Sophie had disappeared out of sight. She rounded the corner.
A man stood flattened up against the glass door of Sophie’s work entrance. She stopped. Only a few metres away.
Was this the stalker?
A dark hoody, a beanie hat, blue jeans. It’s all she could take in.
Turn around, you bastard.
She took a step closer.
Both his hands pressed on the door. His tongue protruded, licking the pane. He groaned.
Karen wanted to throw up. Disgusting man. Could this really be the man she’d fallen in love with?
He turned.
Karen jolted backwards.
His eyes met hers.
He smiled, tilted his head up in acknowledgement. Then he walked towards her.
Karen stumbled backwards. He brushed past her, their arms touching.
A shock raced up her arm. She held her breath.
After he’d gone, she remained standing in the middle of the pedestrianised walkway, the picture crumpled in her hand. Shock giving way to the inevitable panic.
Paper. Bag. In. Car. Don’t lose it here. Not now.
A hand landed on Karen’s shoulder. She screamed. People turned to look in her direction, but seeing nothing untoward, moved on.
‘Mum, are you okay? Do you want to come in and sit down? Shall I call Dad?’
‘I’m … no. I’ll be all right. Really.’ She stumbled towards the metal bench in the centre of the walkway and sat down heavily. Breathe in … and out … in … and out.
‘You saw him, then?’
‘Yeah, he’s a real piece of work.’ Karen opened her hand and unfurled the picture, looking at it briefly before meeting Sophie’s imploring eyes. ‘But, it’s not him.’
‘Are you sure? I mean, did you get a proper look at him?’
‘I saw him up close, Sophie. I got a good look. And it’s definitely not him. Not if this is anything to go by.’ She held out the picture for Sophie to see. ‘I’m afraid Jay is not your stalker.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
DI Wade
Lindsay sat in her car in the police car park. She pulled the visor down, sliding the cover to the mirror across so she could check her appearance before going in. She’d barely slept since Sunday, her face now showing the strain – its grey, weary complexion screaming lack of sleep. Whether that was to do with the case, her empty bed or a mixture of the two, she didn’t know. She still slept on her side, habit as well as a part of her that couldn’t let go of the hope. Although, possibly, it was time to admit defeat, given that she’d received divorce papers that morning. She didn’t suppose there was any coming back from that. He’d already moved on according to her source – he’d been seen, hand-in-hand with a busty blonde wandering around Plymouth Hoe. She’d tried to refrain from making the obvious joke when her friend, Fi, had imparted this information. But failed.
The commute to the station from Lindsay’s house in Plymouth was a tedious one and added a good hour on to her journey, as well as contributing to her tiredness. She slammed the visor back up and grabbed her cardboard cup of coffee from the holder. She’d be in work before the others on her shift – she enjoyed the early morning peace of the incident room, the opportunity to get her head together before her team arrived.
She spent more time in there than she did at home, she liked it that way. It came with the job; she’d always put in the hours to her work, even before Tony had left. Another sticking point. He’d suggested marriage guidance, as if she was going to pay to sit and spill her guts for some pompous, know-it-all, high-and-mighty tosser to judge her. Besides, when would she have the time for that? Probably why he’d suggested it in the first place, knowing full well she couldn’t spare the time. Or, wouldn’t spare it – that’s what he’d said. Another black cross to add to the many she had against her. She should’ve married a copper, at least there’d have been an understanding that her job came first. Or, perhaps she shouldn’t have married at all. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
‘Oh, hey, Mack.’ Her heart dipped as she swung open the door to find Mack already in the room. He was leaning back on two wheels of an office chair, feet up on the table. His brown wiry-looking hair was stuck up at the back as usual. Lindsay was always tempted to flatten it down, but had managed to refrain. One day. ‘Don’t mind me.’ She gave him a friendly nudge as she walked past him.
‘Hey!’ He flung his legs back down and hung on to the desk with both hands to prevent the chair slipping from under him. ‘And a good morning to you too, Boss. Thought I’d get on it early on this fine Saturday morning. Can feel the pressure, can’t you?’
That went without saying. It was a week after the murder, the pressure was on to get someone in custody, or at least look as though they had a credible suspect. Apart from anything else her career would take a bashing if this dragged on. And heaven help her if another dead girl turned up. As with all things, you got squeezed from the one above you. She pushed her team, and she felt the crack of the whip from SIO Bainbridge. Their only real lead had been Sophie’s emails, the unearthing of those had been a real buzz – pictures that appeared to be of Sophie, taken by someone who threatened to send her more. But, as yet, it was just that – a lead. They’d yet to question her about them, or find the source of them, and until they did, all they could do was hope the culprit came good with his promise of sending more, perhaps revealing something solid they could act on. Delaying questioning Sophie had been Lindsay’s call. She had a gut feeling that Sophie would be more useful to them covertly. Confronting her directly might cause her to clam up – and the person responsible for the pictures go underground.
She chose to leave Mack’s question open. ‘You sure you haven’t spent the night here, Mack?’
‘May as well have done, fat lot of use my two hours of kip were. Feel wrecked.’ He rubbed at his eyes, the skin beneath them crinkling like tissue paper.
‘Ah. Pretty as a picture, you are. Almost as lively looking as me today.’ Lindsay knew she might look strained, but she’d never verbalise it to the rest of the team; only Mack was privy to her confessions of tiredness or stress. She trusted him not to consider it a weakness in her, or talk behind her back. She wasn’t weak. Far from it.
But she had the feeling this investigation was going to test her strength to the extreme.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
Karen
Each body was a potential attacker. Each face, a threat. Each corner, a hiding place. She wanted to be back in her safe zone. Now. The town hadn’t fully awoken, shop fronts only just beginning to open, people hurrying on their way to work. It didn’t stop her from seeing danger at every step. When had been the last time she’d ventured here? Had to be a good fourteen months ago: she’d attempted to meet Mike’s sister for a coffee, quash Mike’s concerns about her becoming a recluse and snubbing his family. That particular outing hadn’t ended well, a full-blown anxiety attack the second she’d set eyes on her poor sister-in-law. How would this one conclude?
‘Keep head down. Keep feet moving. Each step is one closer to home.’
She repeated this over and over.
What if she bumped into Rach? How would it look? Can’t make it to her house, but can go into town?
‘Keep feet moving. Don’t think about it.’
Where was she? She had to look up, check the direction. People stared at her. She looked like a mad woman, muttering to herself, shuffling along staring at the ground. At this point, it didn’t matter. They could think what they liked.
Okay, good, she was at the indoor market entrance. The bus stop was close. Head down again. Don’t look. Don’t stop.
A strip of blue blocked her path. White above. Thank the Lord. The bus.
Karen climbed the steps, thrust the coins at the driver without making eye contact, grabbed her ticket and sat on the first seat, nearest the door. She’d done it. The first part, at least.
Relax. Half an
hour and she’d be home.
Her mind conjured Jay’s image: short, black hair, coarse texture. Dark eyes, a little too close together, a strong, square jaw line. A crooked smile, a small scar visible under his bottom lip. A clean-cut face, olive complexion. She had a dozen pictures. One of him on holiday, lying by the pool, bare chest, a sprinkling of hairs on his sternum, otherwise smooth. Another, taken on his thirty-seventh birthday this year, posing in front of a pub, arm around a life-size inflatable doll, a joke gift from his best mate. He appeared tall against it. He’d told her he was six foot four.
Everything about Jay was different from Sophie’s stalker. She’d been wrong. Had fear made her jump to the wrong conclusion? It niggled her, her mind not ready to let go of the belief that it was him. She remembered the moment when she’d finally messaged him saying she wanted to cool things. He’d reacted badly, sending a nasty email in return. He’d been quick to flare, his words harsh, a sharp contrast to every other loving email he’d written. She’d been shocked at the sudden change, how rapidly it’d then escalated into threats of telling Mike if she didn’t carry on their relationship. It saddened her, to think this man, the one she’d confided in and shared her dreams, her deepest, darkest thoughts and feelings, could so easily turn on her. He’d said he loved her.
She’d been sure when Sophie mentioned the email address that it was him. Did he have someone else stalking Sophie? It would explain the disparity. Maybe he’d roped someone else in, was paying them to do his dirty work, and even though it wasn’t Jay, there was something about him she couldn’t place. She closed her eyes and conjured the face she’d just seen. Those unusual piercing green eyes, that in any other circumstances she’d find attractive, were familiar. Did she know him? Karen shuddered. Jay might have more than one person involved in his vicious game.
There was only one way to find out. Give him what he was after.
When she got home, she would email him.
She’d never been so relieved to walk in her front door. Bailey greeted her with the most enthusiasm he’d mustered all week, jumping up, hitting against her shaky body. He must be so confused. Probably thought she’d abandoned him. Karen collapsed under his weight and sat with him, letting him lick her all over until he’d covered her in drool.
She was proud of her achievement, but had no time to revel in it now. She had work to do. She pushed Bailey off and headed to the kitchen to make a drink; her throat was parched. Whilst waiting for the kettle to boil, Karen retrieved the archived file on her laptop.
Jay’s emails.
Familiar feelings returned instantly. New ones now added to the mix – apprehension and fear. She was about to start up something she’d been compelled to finish just six months ago. Only this time, she’d no idea what to expect.
If she was right, and Jay was involved somehow with Sophie’s stalker, then she’d perhaps get answers from him, find out what he wanted from her. If she was wrong, well, then she would reopen old wounds, and who knew what the repercussions would be. She made a coffee, settled in front of the screen, fingers poised over the keys, about to compose an email that could open Pandora’s Box.
She’d be vague, to start. Test the water. See if he replied.
Hey Jay,
I know it’s been a while, and I’m messaging you despite saying I wouldn’t contact you again. I’m sorry if this causes you distress, that’s not my aim. Are you well? I hope you’ve managed to move on, and perhaps have a new relationship. I don’t wish to open old wounds by emailing you, forgive me if I have. But, I had to try and contact you as I need to ask you a question. I would really appreciate it if you could please email me back. For old times’ sake?
Thanks.
Karen x
Was it good enough? Friendly enough? Subtle? She read it, tweaked it.
If she knew him as she thought she did, he wouldn’t be able to resist replying. She took a sip of coffee. Swallowing it was like trying to squeeze an inflated balloon through a cardboard tube. She put a hand to her throat, massaging it. She felt her pulse banging against her fingertips. Was she doing the right thing? Some things should stay buried. A heaviness lay in her stomach, a swirl of nausea snaking around her gut. She’d closed the door on Jay. She hoped she wasn’t making a huge mistake by opening it again. She placed her hand back on the keyboard.
Five, four, three, two, one … SENT.
Perhaps soon, she’d know for sure.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
DI Wade
‘This could be relevant.’ DC Clarke sounded on the verge of excitement as he headed towards Lindsay with a report sheet in hand.
‘I don’t want could, I want is.’ Lindsay perched on the edge of a table, hopeful for good news whilst they awaited a breakthrough on the email account. ‘Go on. Amaze me.’ She gave a thin smile.
‘Got a call from a woman claiming to have been followed by a man today, from the centre of Coleton to where the buses stop outside the market—’
‘Really? Is that it?’ Lindsay crossed her arms and sighed loudly, disappointed with this information. ‘Some bloke was probably just walking in the same direction, getting a bus even. How shocking.’
‘Hang on, hang on.’ DC Clarke put up a hand. ‘Give me a minute, Guv.’
‘Sorry, go on.’
‘She went on to say that once she got on the bus, heading for Torquay, she noticed he seemed to be following another female, not her as she’d first thought. So she continued to watch him until her bus left.’
‘And?’ Lindsay stood up, allowing an ounce of hope to develop.
‘He followed this female closely, she didn’t appear to be aware of him, and he put his hand out as if to touch her as she stood outside the bus waiting to get on. But instead he put his nose to her hair and looked like he was sniffing it, then she reckoned he took some.’
‘Of her hair? Like a strand of it?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Okay, so that’s odd behaviour. Did the woman he snatched it from notice?’
‘According to the witness, no. Just boarded the bus without turning around. Perhaps she didn’t feel anything. Anyway, we’ve asked the woman to come in and complete an E-FIT. I thought it was worth it in case we get any similar reports.’
‘Good thinking. It’s got to be worth a go. It’s probably a long shot, but it could be our guy – perhaps he stalks his victims prior to killing them. Would the woman be able to identify the female he was following?’
‘She was asked that at the time of reporting, and no. Said all she could say about the woman was that she had dark, mid-length hair. Her attention had been on him, and trying to remember his features so she could tell the police.’
‘Fine. When we get the E-FIT check for any CCTV, see if we can follow him, see what he’s been up to.’
CHAPTER SEVENTY
Sophie
Was it a good thing or a bad thing her mum didn’t think her stalker was Jay? Apparently he hadn’t matched the photos she’d seen of him. If she was right, at least that would mean Jay wasn’t the killer; her mum hadn’t been in love with a murderer, so all good for her. Sophie, however, was no nearer to finding out who the man really was. Had it been Jay, she’d have had support from her mum and help in getting rid of him without police involvement.
Better the devil you know.
Now she was back where she’d begun – with an unidentified psycho following and taunting her. Would her mum push her to go to the police now she herself had nothing to lose? Sophie wasn’t looking forward to going home later. Thank goodness she was going to Dan’s first, putting off that conversation had to be a good thing. The thought of being with the Saturday gang had played heavily on her mind throughout the day. Watching Amy at her make-up counter, all smiles and banter, grated. She certainly didn’t look as if she was experiencing any kind of meltdown. Drama Queen.
The store cleared out. Sophie wielded the Hoover like a weapon, sweeping it fast and erratically across the ridged beige carpet, which h
ad seen better days. She watched as Amy disappeared upstairs. She’d better not leave her here alone. She pulled the plug, wound the cord, threw the Hoover out the back and ran to the staffroom.
‘Wait, Amy.’
Amy turned as she reached the external door. Sophie, out of breath, ran down the steps to her.
‘Sorry, was I meant to be waiting for you?’ Her face, innocent.
‘Well, Dan said you asked for us all to meet up at his after work, so I assumed we’d go together?’
‘Dan said that?’ Her eyebrows met in the middle.
Sophie muttered under her breath. Her confusion mixing with irritation.
‘What’s the matter, Soph?’ Amy pressed the digits on the security pad, the front door swished open.
‘Dan texted last night. Said you were having a meltdown, wanted everyone to meet. At his.’
Amy stopped outside, spread her hands and shrugged her shoulders up. ‘I said it would be good to get together, yes. I did not imply I was having any kind of meltdown, and he was the one who suggested tonight at his. Seriously, what’s he playing at?’
‘I did wonder why we’d be meeting at his if it was your idea. He’s been pushing for this all week, though, so we shouldn’t be surprised really.’
‘I don’t know what it’s going to achieve. Can’t change what’s happened, no good will come of going over it. Personally, I feel bad enough about what happened. I don’t need anyone else telling me what we could have done differently.’
Sophie linked arms with Amy and steered her towards the car park. She didn’t resist, probably didn’t even notice which direction she was walking now her rant was in full swing. Sophie looked cautiously behind them, casting her eyes in doorways. A figure, part obscured by an advertisement board, shifted and took a step out from the pub entrance.
Saving Sophie Page 19