The Stalker's Song

  ‘I understand.’ Feeling a little apprehensive, I held out my hand and took the proffered mirror. I thought I was prepared for anything, but couldn’t help letting out an involuntary gasp as I saw my reflection. Nestled amongst a mass of purple, green and yellow bruising, two black eyes looked back at me. The left side of my head looked odd; swollen and misshapen. When I tilted my head to the right, I could see that my hair had been shaved in a large area behind my left temple. A myriad of black stitches stood out luridly against the white skin there.

  ‘Oh.’ I whispered, holding my fingertips gingerly to the wound. ‘There’s a dent in my head. And all those stitches. God, he must have hit me very hard.’ I was horrified to think how close to death I had been. ‘Whoever did this intended to kill me.’ My stomach turned over at the thought.

  ‘Don’t think like that, Carol. Everything is healing well. The dent is filling out nicely and should disappear altogether before too long. You’ve got thirty-two stitches in that wound, honey, but once they’re out and your hair grows back, there’ll be no scarring visible. So don’t worry, girl.’ She smiled, taking the mirror off me, and adroitly changed the subject.

  ‘So, where did you meet Peter?

  Truth be told, I felt so chastened by what the mirror had shown me, and the implications of it, that all I wanted to do at that moment, was to be left alone so I could curl into a ball and hide under the bedcovers. It took a huge effort to register Wanda’s question and respond to her. I knew she was changing the subject, trying to take my mind off my injuries. She was good at that.

  ‘At work. Someone brought him along to join a group I was running. I thought I was immune to men, but he changed all that. Before that, I’d been married to a controlling and domineering man, and it was so refreshing to be... treated nicely.’

  Wanda squeezed my hand. ‘It must have been devastating to lose him.’

  I nodded. ‘It was so sudden. No time to say goodbye.’ A pang of intense longing came over me, unbidden, a physical pain.

  Just then, the door opened and Lynn came striding in. ‘Excuse me, not interrupting, am I? Just want a few minutes with Carol.’

  ‘I was just leaving.’ said Wanda getting up. ‘We’ll talk later.’ she said in a soft voice, patting my hand again.

  Lynn sat down. ‘How are you today? You look bit pale. Are you ok?’

  With an effort I pulled myself together. ‘I’ve just seen myself in the mirror... what a mess. God, he really intended to kill me, didn’t he?’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ Gayle said, gently, ‘There was only one blow.’ She continued in her usual brisk manner. ‘Did you come up with any other names for me?’

  ‘I think you’ve got them all. Everyone’s in my phone list. Have you spoken to any of them yet?’

  ‘We’re checking on their movements and some interviews are under way now. I’ll let you know if anything significant arises. Now,’ she said, leaning forward, ‘Is your memory of that night coming back at all?’

  ‘No... It’s still a complete blank. The doctor says it might come back gradually or even not return at all.’ I could see she was disappointed.

  ‘Don’t be concerned about it. I wanted to let you know, the DNA results are through now. We’ve ruled out the man I mentioned, who we have in custody.’

  My heart sank. Up until then, I hadn’t realised how much I was hoping he would be charged. Now I knew my attacker was still out there, I was suddenly filled with a sense of dread and foreboding.

  I could hear dejection in my voice. ‘So, what happens now?’

  ‘We continue the investigation. We’re doing everything we can to find the person that did this to you. It’s a small island, and we’re confident we’ll find him.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Two days later, I was sitting on top of the bedcovers, chatting with Julia, who was telling me how upset Josie was about the attack, when Doctor Gibson came in to see me. He stood by the bed, smiling broadly, looking pleased with himself, and I looked at him enquiringly.

  ‘Well, Carol, good news. You’re progressing well. You should be well enough to be discharged in the next couple of days or so. With some provisos, I’m happy to let you fly home to England.’

  ‘Oh, that IS good news. I so want to go home.’ I felt relief, albeit heavily tinged with anxiety about what might lie ahead. ‘What are the conditions?’

  ‘Firstly, I want a nurse to accompany you on the flight to the UK. To keep an eye on you. And the second condition is that as soon as you arrive in Newcastle, I want you taken straight to the RVI for a day or so. We need to be absolutely certain you’ve withstood the journey without any adverse effects.’

  ‘That sounds fair enough.’ I said. ‘I just want to get away from what’s happened here and try to put it all behind me.’

  When Fiona learned that I was to be discharged, she told me that she was coming home with me. ‘I’ve talked it over with Simon, and we both feel that I should be with you, for a while. Just until you are back on your feet and fully recovered. I’m not needed here – the restaurant is over-staffed as it is.’

  The day before we left, DCI Brown came to see me again. I was sitting on the bed, checking my phone, when he walked in. He stood by the window, blocking out most of the sunlight, head tilted up, stroking his chin.

  ‘We’ll be liaising closely with the police in Newcastle, keeping them informed of the progress of the investigation,’ he began.

  ‘How’s it going?’ I interrupted.

  ‘I’m afraid we’re not in a position to make an arrest at present. The DNA results have ruled out a number of potential suspects. But, the investigation is very much active and we’re determined to find your assailant.’ He took a seat near the end of the bed, straddling the chair, backwards, his large eyes concentrating on me. ‘Carol, we need to know the minute your memory returns, as hopefully it will. The Newcastle police have told us they’re appointing a Family Liaison Officer to you, once you’re back home, so tell the officer as soon as you remember anything. Anything at all. Ok?’

  ‘Yes of course. Lynn said you’d want to interview my ex-husband?’

  ‘Quite possibly. We may need to speak to a number of people in the UK, in due course. Rest assured, we’re doing all we can. Just so you know, once we do charge someone, it’s likely to be necessary for you to come back to Barbados to give evidence.’

  I nodded. I thought that might be the case, but I dreaded the thought of it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  We were preparing to leave for the airport; Julia was packing a few last minute things into a holdall she’d brought in for me, Fiona was busy checking the locker to make sure nothing had been missed.

  Dr Gibson popped in to say farewell. ‘Safe journey.’ he said, shaking my hand, with both of his. ‘Just want to wish you all the best for the future. And I hope you’ll come back to visit this little island of ours again, some day?’

  ‘We’ll see.’ I said, pretty sure that I’d never come back. I was sad to acknowledge to myself that this lovely place had been spoiled for me. ‘Thank you for all you’ve done for me.’ I was feeling shaky and a bit disorientated, filled with mounting apprehension about the journey ahead of me.

  ‘I’ve prescribed some strong sedatives, to help with the journey. Wanda will make sure you take them. You’ll probably sleep for most of it.’

  My flagging spirits were bolstered by the warmth from the various staff members who came to shake my hand or hug me and wish me well. Some even brought little gifts.

  ‘They all think you’ve been a great patient, honey,’ Wanda told me. ‘Especially considering what you’ve been through.’

  It felt strange to be going home, and although I really wanted to be back in Jesmond, I felt nervous and vulnerable, leaving the safety of the hospital and the reassuring presence of the staff. And so sad to be leaving Barbados in this way, all the happy memories shattered.

  I noticed many curio
us looks as I was pushed through the airport in a wheelchair. Although my head was healing well, it was still a mess, attracting attention and making me feel self-conscious. It was a relief to get settled into my seat, and before long, I fell into a sound sleep, no doubt thanks to the sedatives.

  Once we’d landed at Gatwick Airport early the following morning, we were taken by ambulance to Heathrow. Coming out of the airport in yet another wheelchair, I drank in the freezing cold air, so glad to be back in the UK. In the executive lounge, waiting for the connecting flight to Newcastle, I was disorientated and still rather woozy. Wanda fussed around, checking I was alright. I noticed Fiona and Julia looked tired, and realised what a strain all this must be on them too.

  ‘You two look rough...’ I began.

  Fiona laughed. ‘Well, thanks. You don’t look too chipper yourself, babe.’ We all laughed and the mood lightened considerably.

  On arrival at Newcastle, I felt a huge sense of relief to be back home, even though it felt even colder there than in London. The broad Geordie accent of the attendant who helped me into a wheelchair was balm to my ears. But my relief at finally arriving home was shattered. As I was being wheeled through the terminal to the waiting ambulance, we were suddenly surrounded by reporters. Microphones were pushed under my nose and a babble of voices fired questions from all directions. I couldn’t believe it. I wasn’t aware I was news. How did they know when I’d be travelling home? And as a victim of a sex crime, surely I had a right to anonymity? Fiona and Julia were like tigresses, defending me, shouting at the reporters and physically pushing them away. It was such a relief when the ambulance doors were closed and we had relative privacy. Julia sat close up beside me in the ambulance, and did her best to calm me as I sat shaking and crying.

  They were clearly expecting me at the hospital; I was wheeled straight through to a private room, by the ambulance men, as if I were a VIP. Two nurses fussed around me, making sure I was comfortable, and, again, it was so comforting to hear familiar Geordie accents.

  ‘The consultant will be here to see you soon.’ said a petite blonde nurse.

  I looked at my surroundings. Pastel blue walls formed the backdrop for a couple of attractive seascapes. Two striped blue and fawn over-stuffed chairs were arranged to one side, in front of a small, cream-painted coffee table, matching the bedside table. The large picture window, framed by dark blue drapes, looked out on to a neat garden, with walkways and benches. I imagined it would be lovely in the summer, with all the rose bushes in full bloom.

  ‘This is a bit of all right, Mum,’ Julia said, nosing around. ‘Not like a hospital room at all. Look, there’s an en-suite through here.’

  I sank gratefully on to the single bed, closing my eyes for a second. There was a brief knock on the door, which opened to admit a middle-aged man, with short, dark hair, heavily streaked with white. He wore dark-framed glasses and a brown checked jacket.

  ‘Mrs Barrington? I’m pleased to see you got here in one piece. I’m Ian Campbell, your consultant,’ he held out his hand, peering at me over the rim of his glasses. ‘How was your journey?’

  I told him it was fine, that I’d slept most of the way.

  ‘Dr Gibson has given me a full report and I’m very sorry to hear about everything you’ve been through. We’re going to keep you here for a day or two; just under observation and to do some tests, check that everything’s ok after the journey. Alright? For now, though, you need to rest. Get settled in and I’ll come to see you again later.’

  Although I’d slept for most of the flight over the Atlantic, I still felt exhausted after the long journey, and soon burrowed under the covers and slipped into oblivion.

  It was about six in the evening when I woke up, to find a nurse by the bed with a welcome cup of tea. Wanda came and stayed with me for a while before it was time for her to leave. She was to stay overnight in a nearby hotel before catching an early flight to London, on the first leg of her journey home. I felt quite emotional at her departure, and said a tearful goodbye. She’d been there for me at my lowest ebb, and I felt a close bond with her.

  ‘Honey, you’re a strong lady. You will get over this, I just know it. I’m gonna keep in touch with you, to see how you’re getting along.’

  Not long after she left, there was a knock on the door and a woman of about forty, with bright red hair, came into the room. She was accompanied by a younger woman.

  ‘Hello, Carol. I’m DCI Patsy Mayne.’ she said, briskly. ‘This is DC Gayle Jones.’ The younger woman smiled.

  ‘The police in Barbados have been liaising with us about your case and now that you’re back in the UK we’re appointing Gayle here to be your Family Liaison Officer. I think the Barbados police mentioned this to you?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, they did.’

  Gayle smiled again, and I noticed she was attractive in a natural, no nonsense sort of way, with very short blonde hair emphasising her high cheekbones. About thirty-ish.

  ‘The role of an FLO is to offer you support,’ explained Gayle, playing with a filigree silver locket at her throat. ‘And, I’ll be acting as liaison between you and the police, both in Newcastle and Barbados. The Barbados police will keep us informed of any developments in their investigation, and of course we,’ she looked towards DCI Mayne, ‘will make them aware if anything changes at this end. Does that sound ok to you?’

  I nodded. ‘I’ve still got no memory of what happened to me.’

  ‘So I understand. But the doctors say your memory could return, in time. Let’s just see how things go. Now,’ she said, sitting down on one of the chairs by the bed, ‘your daughter’s told me about the reporters at the airport. I don’t want you to worry about it, I’ll deal with them. I’m afraid your assault attracted quite a bit of local interest. Even, national. There’ve been articles in the papers and on TV.’

  ‘How did they know I’d be on that plane?’

  ‘They have their methods, unfortunately. They’re like vultures once they get their claws into a story.’

  ‘I don’t want any publicity, I just want to get back to normal and get on with my life. Surely, they’re not allowed to name me?’

  DCI Mayne cut in. ‘No, they’re not allowed to identify victims of sexual assault. Or give information that could lead to you being identified. Unfortunately, other than identifying you, they will print any salacious detail they can get their hands on. Leave them to Gayle,’ she said. ‘She’ll deal with them. She’s good at that sort of thing.’

  Gayle got to her feet. ‘I’ll pop in to see you again tomorrow, and every day for as long as necessary. In the meantime, if you need to speak to me about anything, just give me a call.’ She handed me a card. ‘My number’s on there.’

  The next morning, Mr. Campbell came to see me again. He reminded me very much of my late father; the same dark-rimmed glasses, the short greying hair and genuine smile.

  ‘How are things today Carol?’ he enquired, ‘You certainly look a lot better.’

  ‘I’m feeling much better, thanks. I think I must have been a bit jet-lagged yesterday.’

  ‘Well, I’m pleased to tell you that you’re recovering nicely. All the tests so far are satisfactory and your blood pressure is good. I’d say you’ve withstood the journey very well. I’d like to keep an eye on you for one more night, but I think we can safely let you go home tomorrow. However, I need you to promise me that, once you’re home, you’ll get plenty of rest. It’s really important, to complete your recovery.’

  ‘Oh, I will. It’ll be a relief just to get home.’

  Mr Campbell pulled a chair up, close to the bed, sat down and looked at me, with a serious expression.

  ‘You’re very fortunate that no permanent damage has been sustained to your head. I know you’re still getting headaches, and some dizziness and this may continue for some time, but just take the painkillers as prescribed, when you need them. And it’s really important that you don’t miss any of your hospit
al appointments – we need to keep a close eye on you. With head injuries, on-going care and checks are really important. Remember, if you’re worried about anything, just ring the hospital and we’ll bring you straight in.’

  ‘I understand,’ I said, nodding.

  ‘In time, your memory of the events of that night should return, but there’s a possibility that it won’t. It’s possible you will never remember exactly what happened. It’s different in every case. I don’t want you to worry about it. Just wait and see what happens and try not to be anxious about it.’ I nodded.

  ‘Your other injuries are healing well. There was some infection, from the bites, but that’s well under control. Make sure you complete the course of antibiotics and get plenty of rest. I expect you to make a full physical recovery in time. However, the emotional and psychological trauma is a different matter. Coming so closely on the heels of your earlier breakdown, after your husband’s death, I’m concerned about your mental state, so I’m referring you to a psychiatrist and a counsellor as an urgent case.’

  I was a bit caught off guard. ‘Oh, I didn’t realise you knew about that.’

  ‘I’ve got your full medical history here. It would be difficult to make a valid assessment without it.’

  ‘Well, I’m absolutely determined there’s no way I’m going to go down that spiral again. It was the suddenness and the finality of Peter’s death that hit me so hard. I think I’m normally a strong person. But I’d lost my soul-mate, and life just didn’t seem worth living. This is different. I’m determined to deal with this head on. But, I’ll be happy to see the psychiatrist and counsellor; I know I’ll need some help.’

  The, by now familiar, feeling of dread came over me again at the thought of leaving the sanctuary of the hospital. Of course I wanted to go home, but I was filled with trepidation about how things were going to work out. Why oh why can’t they find the person who attacked me? I knew I would never be able to relax again until he was caught.