There’s no chance of keeping going as something hard and heavy is hurled at my front wheel. Instinctively, I brake to minimise the impact and skid to a stop. I scream as I’m suddenly yanked backwards from my bike and winded as my back connects heavily with the ground. My hat has slipped over my face and being winded, I struggle to sit up and uncover my eyes.
“No!” I whimper. “Please don’t hurt me. I’ve got a little girl at home.”
I sense my assailant is crouched behind me, gasping for a breath I try to stand as he suddenly wraps his arm around my throat. He doesn’t speak. If I don’t fight, I’m going to die. My body seems to have gone into shock. I’ve frozen. I’ve always said I’d kick anyone where it hurts in these circumstances, but this man’s grip on me is rock solid. He’s dragging me through the overgrown bushes and grass towards the stream. Adrenaline courses through me. I start kicking and thrashing around within his grasp. This will not be the day someone murders me.
“Help. Someone help me!” I’m shocked at the sudden power of my voice. God please help me. I silently pray a dog walker will materialise and come to my aid. “Help!” As the man clamps a hand over my mouth, I sink my teeth into it, tasting salt as his skin punctures. He yowls and momentarily lets me go. I attempt to scrabble to my feet but he’s back on me, pinning me to the floor, still from behind. Maybe he wants to rape me. Being raped is better than being dead. I wriggle around beneath him, but he’s too strong. I try to turn and look at him but he’s got too tight a hold on the back of my neck. At least if he rapes me it might buy some time for someone to come along before he kills me.
I watch as his thin fingers curl themselves around a small rock to the side of my head. He’s going to – I feel the weight come crashing down on my head, then again and again. I feel sick and dizzy as I realise I’m being dragged along the floor again. I can’t move. I can’t open my eyes. I choose to let my body go limp. Maybe he’ll think I’m dead and leave me here. He grips the back of my neck and drags me further. Then I gasp at the ice cold water and realise my head is being immersed in the stream. He’s going to drown me.
As I kick and splutter, his grip becomes tighter. I can feel the stones at the bottom of the stream crushing against my face. Images of Alysha and Mark seep into my mind. I’m never going to see them again. I’m going to miss Alysha growing up. I’m never going to get married. And my mum… I try to breathe and instead fill my chest with water. I feel like I’m going to explode. His grip on me loosens. All becomes silent and black.
II
Part Two
Chapter Twenty
Mark
I laugh at Alysha as we step into the hallway. “You can’t still be hungry. Not after that massive piece of cake. Hang your coat up and see if Mummy will do you some lunch.”
I’ve missed Lauren this morning, though it’s been nice to spend time with Alysha. Will doesn’t know what he’s missing out on as a father. Eva’s confided in me several times he does nothing with them. I probably should have taken Heidi along with us this morning. She is my niece, after all and Will often looks after Alysha. I slide my arms out of my coat and sling it over the bannister.
“I think Mummy’s in the kitchen love. I can hear the radio. Probably why she’s not heard us come in.”
Alysha kicks her shoes off and runs into the kitchen. “Mummy, we’ve got some pictures to show…” She turns in the doorway and looks back to me. “Mummy’s not here.” She pushes the lounge door open. “Not here either.”
“She’ll be upstairs then. Let’s go and find her. Lauren!” I begin up the stairs, Alysha is hot on my heels. “Mummy looked tired this morning. Maybe she’s gone back to sleep.” Together we look in all the rooms.
“She must have gone to work Daddy. You’ll have to make my lunch instead.” She grins at me.
I ruffle her hair. “Come on then. What would you like? A cauliflower sandwich?”
“Noooo!”
“Broccoli on toast?”
“Noooo!”
“Carrots and custard it is then.”
“Noooo!”
I butter some bread and peel slices of bacon from the pack. I flick the kettle on before turning up the radio, to drown out the loud princess whatever music coming from the lounge. I’ll let Alysha have half an hour, and certainly no more than an hour of TV. She’d watch it all day if we let her.
By then hopefully Lauren will be back and we can all go out together. I slide my phone from my jeans, surprised that she hasn’t texted me to let me know where she’s gone. I thought she was just having a quiet one at home whilst we were out.
We’re back hon. Let me know what you’re up to. Thought we could all do something nice this afty. Love you. Xx
I get the notification straight back to say it’s delivered, but quarter of an hour later, Alysha and I have eaten our butties and Lauren hasn’t responded. I’m always laughing at her for never being more than two seconds away from her phone. I guess we are all like that to some extent nowadays. But it’s not like her not to reply straight away. It’s not even as though she would be driving, as I’ve got the car. That’s a good point. Where on earth is she?
As I stack plates and cups into the dishwasher, my attention is captured by the radio.
This is the BBC News at one. We can now bring you more information about reports of a seventh body that has been pulled from the River Alder in Yorkshire.
The victim is thirty-four-year-old Gemma Hopkinson, who was last seen by friends at 12:45 am. This latest death follows intense speculation that the multiple deaths, occurring in the last two months, are something other than accidental. So far police are attributing alcohol and wintery riverside conditions to the drownings, and have implemented extra safety measures. These measures include additional police patrols, extra lighting, and additional CCTV in and around the area.
The news moves onto the usual bolitics politics that’s around at the moment, another MP and his mistress, instead of real political issues like police underfunding. I dry my hands and look at my phone again. Why hasn’t anyone let me know about this latest woman? I’m supposed to be part of the investigation team, even if I’m not on duty until tomorrow. DCI Ingham is off as well today so it might be a Detective Inspector from another team that has stepped in this morning.
In any case, it explains why Lauren’s not here, so I relax. I’m surprised she hasn’t let me know about it though. No doubt, she will have her journalist nose on, sniffing for sinister circumstances. I can see where she’s coming from. Especially now. I couldn’t so much at the start.
It is a lot of deaths. It’s just that, as DCI Ingham has said, there’s been no injuries and nothing at all to suggest anything other than misadventure.
Serves her right for being so smashed, he said after the third one. A young student, I think. DCI Ingham never touches a drop of alcohol, so has never been very understanding about those who do. I’ve always kept it quiet when I have gone in nursing a hangover. I wouldn’t get much sympathy from him. He’s lucky really that we have all cut him a bit of slack whilst he has been going through his split and everything.
Still, I thought his comment about the student was overly harsh. All I could think was it was someone’s daughter or someone’s sister. The other women are wives and mothers too. He can be heartless, Ingham. He’s definitely not someone I would socialise with. He has a very old-school way of policing. I mentioned it, in passing to Will, who said he agreed with DCI Ingham. I know Will’s seen all sorts of alcohol-related stuff, especially in his job in traffic, but it shocked me when he sided with him.
DCI Ingham made similar comments about the next woman as well, something about police resources being wasted on women who can’t control themselves. I had to speak up then – ask him to keep his comments to himself. He hadn’t liked that. From being someone who was once supportive about helping me climb the ranks in the force, he became hostile and stopped giving me as much top level knowledge in conversations we had.
He acts like he cannot stand Lauren. He never passes up an opportunity to try to discredit her and her work, but then he has been funny with everyone lately. Luckily, I get on with everyone else I work with. But as my mum used to say when I was a kid, there will always be someone, wherever you go in life, that you won’t get along with.
Over the last couple of months I have stopped being one of the first to know what is going on, or even the second, which I should be as a sergeant. Instead, I become privy to things at the same time as the constables, sometimes even the Special Constables. Which is possibly why I’m finding out about this latest death, from Radio Two. I’m not impressed. And I’m more than anxious that Lauren’s not been in touch about it. Nor has she texted back yet. I glance at my phone on the kitchen table and swipe at it before pressing Lauren. It just rings out. She must be busy. Now I know how she feels when I’m late back. And Eva. It must be worse for her, especially knowing that Will’s often doing over a hundred, chasing after drunk and drugged up drivers speeding along the motorway.
I am not sure what to do with myself. As I glance around the lounge door, I see Alysha is asleep, her arms around a cushion. I must have tired her out this morning. I smile as I go in and turn the TV down. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I notice a police car pull up next to our garden wall. It must be something to do with this latest death. They’ve probably come to pick me up. They’re out of luck though, whilst I’ve got Alysha, unless I can get hold of Lauren. DI Jones and Chris Canvey, a fairly new PC, get out of the car and make their way up my drive. He’s great is DI Jones. I have always got on with him.
“I don’t know.” I laugh as I swing the front door open. “Can’t a man even have a Sunday off?”
I’m taken aback at their expressions. I’ve never seen Chris look so serious. He’s normally a good laugh – he certainly was at our last work’s do. To say he was new to our division, he soon came out of his shell after a few pints.
“Can we come in Mark?” DI Jones steps towards me.
“Course you can. Come through to the kitchen mate.” I beckon towards the lounge door. “We can’t go in there. My daughter is wacked after a morning at the fire station and has fallen asleep.” I turn to them as I open the kitchen door. “Lauren’s out so I’ll be glad of some sensible adult conversation. Or is it about the latest death at the river?”
They follow me into the kitchen, not saying a word. They’re making me nervous. “Am I in trouble or something? Has Lauren been writing something she shouldn’t have?”
They look at each other, still not speaking. They’re really making me nervous now.
“Take a seat.” I flick the radio’s off switch. “Can I get either of you a brew? The kettle’s just boiled.”
“I wish this was a social call Mark,” DI Jones begins, looking down at his hands. “Is anyone else here with you or is it just you and your daughter?”
“Well, I’ve been trying to get hold of Lauren. She should be back soon.” I study their grave faces. “What is it?”
“Can you get someone else to be here with you?”
“Lauren’s Mum, I guess, or my sister. But like I say, Lauren shouldn’t be long. I’m not sure where she is though. Anyway, tell me what’s wrong. I don’t want to wait until someone else gets here. I need to know.”
DI Jones squints in the sunshine, which bleeds through the blinds. “We’ve got some dreadful news, I’m afraid Mark.”
Chris moves the chair he is sat on, next to mine and places a hand on my arm.
“This isn’t about the woman you’ve pulled from the river, is it?” I’m confused. Obviously it’s not Lauren. She was in bed with me last night and I brought her a cup of tea this morning. “What is it?” I think of my sister, then my brother’s wife, Eva, then my mother-in-law flashes through my mind. It’s not them though. They’ve already named the woman who drowned last night. So what is it? Could something be up with my mum? But she doesn’t live around here.
“We’ve found a body,” DI Jones begins, his words slicing into my jumbled thoughts. “We were alerted by a dog walker. We got a report of a woman who had been assaulted on the cycle path which runs into town. Her injuries suggest she’d been beaten around the head and held in the stream until she drowned.”
“Drowned?” I stare at them. Another death. Is that eight now? Who? A multitude of possibilities cascade through my mind. “Do I know her?”
Chris swallows. They look at each other again. No! No! I scream silently inside my head. I don’t want them to say what they’re about to tell me. I can already read it on their faces. They’re not going to say it. I’m not going to let them.
Chapter Twenty One
DI Jones’s voice is soft as he looks at me. “It’s Lauren, Mark. I’m so very, very sorry.”
“No. No. It can’t be. There’s a mistake. There has to be. I only saw her a few hours ago. She’ll be home soon.”
“I’m so sorry Mark. I’d give anything for it not to be her.”
“It’s not her. There’s no way. I’ll ring her now. You’ll see.”
“Obviously we need you to formally identify her,” DI Jones adds. “But we’ve no doubt it’s her. Her rucksack was on the ground near her bike.”
“It can’t be her.” I straighten up in my seat. “It must be someone who looks like her. She never rides her bike when it’s cold. She’s a right wimp. If you check, you’ll find she’s at her mum’s or something.”
“It’s her rucksack,” DI Jones repeats. “It had her phone and her identification inside.”
“Someone must have taken it. Or she might have lost it and they were returning it for her.” I rise from my chair. “I’m going to check the shed now for her bike.”
“Mark. I’ve seen her body myself. We would tell you if we weren’t sure.” Chris puts his hand on my shoulder. “Is there someone we can contact? You can’t be here on your own.”
With trembling hands, I use my thumb to unlock my contacts, I slide the phone across the table towards him. “My sister, Claire.”
“Is she local?”
I nod. It can’t be Lauren. There has to be some mistake.
Chris presses the screen and raises the phone to his ear. I sit staring at the table. I feel as though I’m having an out of body experience. In a moment, I’ll wake up in bed with Lauren’s long legs wrapped around me. She always warms her feet on me in winter. It should annoy me but I find it endearing, really.
“No, it’s not Mark. I’m just using his phone,” Chris says after a few moments. “I’m PC Chris Canvey, I work with Mark. I’m with him now. Is this Claire, his sister?”
I can hear her voice on the other end of the phone in the silence of the kitchen. “Yes. Is everything alright?”
“I’m afraid not. Can you come over to your brother’s house straightaway?”
“What’s up? Is he there? Mark, I mean?” I can hear the panic in her voice. “Can I speak to him?”
“How long will it take you to get here?” Chris asks. I understand why he can’t tell her anything yet. Not when she’s about to drive. Tears are cascading down my face and dripping off the end of my nose. I never cry. I think the last time was when Alysha was born.
“Tell me what’s the matter.” Claire’s tone is more urgent now.
“I can’t, I’m afraid. Not over the phone.”
“Is Mark alright?”
“It’s Lauren,” I call out, surprised at the voice that no longer sounds like mine. “Just get here sis.”
“I’m on my way,” I hear her say.
“Lauren’s mum, Brenda,” I whisper. “Has anyone spoken to her? She needs to know what you think you’ve found.”
“We haven’t told her yet,” Chris passes the phone back to me. “We obviously needed to speak to you first.”
“When did you find this person who you think is Lauren?”
“About an hour and a half ago. We don’t think she had been there very long.”
I wretch as the bacon sandwich
decides to make a reappearance. I lurch to the kitchen sink just in time to puke my guts up. “She can’t be dead,” I howl in anguish as I wash it all down the sink. “We’re getting married soon. We’ve got a little girl asleep in there.” I can’t get my words out. I can barely breathe.
DI Jones comes up behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders. “I know, I know. Come and sit down.”
“She’s been taken to the hospital mortuary to be examined by the police pathologist.” Chris says gently, looking as though he’s going to cry too. “Our priority now is to catch the bastard who did this to her.”
I drop my head into my hands and close my eyes. This really can’t be happening. I think of Alysha, sleeping in the next room. “What the hell am I going to tell my daughter?” Tears are dripping all over the table and my shoulders are shaking. “What am I going to do?”
“You’ll have all the support in the world from the force,” DI Jones lets a long breath out. “For now, just take things one moment at a time. When you’re ready, we’ll need to ask you a few questions, but there’s no rush.”
“Her mother needs to know.” I raise my eyes from the table towards DI Jones. “She’s going to be absolutely devastated.”
“Where does she live?”
“Not far away. A ten minute drive.”
“Do you want to tell her yourself?”
“I can’t do it. I just can’t.”
“What about her dad?”
“He’s dead.”
“Any brothers or sisters?”
I shake my head, sobbing harder. “She’s an only child. Her mother. It’s going to kill her.”
“If you give us the address,” DI Jones says. “We’ll drive round. Shall we bring her back here?”
The Yorkshire Dipper Page 11