by Gemma Rogers
‘Did you have a nice Christmas?’ he asked.
‘Yes, quiet but good. You?’ I wanted to know where he’d been over Christmas. Did he have any family?
‘Lovely, thanks, nice to get away.’ I was just about to say, ‘anywhere nice?’ but he interrupted me. His fingers drummed on his thigh. ‘Are you free Friday?’ It was only two days away. A shiver trickled down my spine, but I had no reason to delay. Perhaps Friday would give me my first insight into the man behind the monster.
‘Sure.’ I chewed my lip.
‘Shall we go for a drink? I’ll meet you here at, say eight?’
I nodded, but before I could speak, Ahmed hijacked our conversation, so I returned to the chest press. I had a couple of days to decide what to wear and, more importantly, what I needed to take. Safety was my main priority, but as we would be out in public, I wasn’t overly concerned. Attacking someone who could identify him wasn’t his style, too exposed. Speculation, of course, but I believed he hid behind the balaclava.
Friday 12 January 2018
I stood in front of the mirror on Friday night appraising my appearance. I wore black skinny jeans and a red cold-shoulder top I’d purchased in the week. Everything off the sale rack. The red looked great against the platinum blonde and Ben’s expression made the splurge worth every penny.
‘Not so bad out of my PJs, eh?’ I said, striking a pose.
‘You look great. Where are you off to?’ His eyes narrowed.
‘Just out.’ I added, ‘I have a date.’ There was no harm in the telling the truth, Ben was still seeing Amy and our relationship was firmly back on the platonic side.
‘Be careful,’ Ben said, which irked me. Why couldn’t he have said ‘have fun’ or ‘don’t do anything I wouldn’t do’, but I knew he was looking out for me.
The closer I got to the gym, the more my flesh crawled. I was much more comfortable being outside. But no matter how many times I walked the streets in the dark, I still felt vulnerable and exposed. As I approached the red-brick building, I could see Ian stood underneath the neon Pulse sign. He looked smart in a shirt and jeans, his hair full of wax and styled like I’d not seen it before. I didn’t get it. He was good-looking; surely, he didn’t struggle to get a date? Why did he need to attack women to get his kicks? Didn’t they say something similar about Ted Bundy too?
‘You look gorgeous,’ he said, giving me a kiss on the cheek. He exuded confidence, which intimidated me straight away.
‘As do you.’ I could do this. Relax, just be yourself, your best self. Go with the flow.
Ian led me to Mangos, a wine bar, and selected a table at the back with high stools, away from the speakers. Everything was silver and black, it reminded me of a dominatrix’s boudoir rather than a bar. Ian went to get our drinks and returned with two mojitos, without asking me what I wanted. Did men truly believe women liked having their choice made for them? Egotistical bastards. I certainly didn’t, but I smiled sweetly on his return and sipped at the cocktail. I couldn’t deny it was nice, but it wasn’t what I would have chosen. Ian settled into his seat, looking pleased with himself. My hero.
‘Where did you go over Christmas; were you visiting family?’ I asked, desperate to know.
‘My dad lives in Oxford, he’s in a care home. It’s just me and him now so I always go and spend a few days there at Christmas. In a hotel that is, not in the care home.’ The monster had a heart?
‘That’s very sweet. How old is he?’
‘Sixty-five but he’s got dementia, diagnosed a few years ago. Early onset. He began wandering around all over the place. Getting out at night. It’s the best place for him, round the clock care.’ Ian said flatly. His tone jarred me. Not quite as sincere as I thought.
What’s his name?’ I asked.
Ian’s smile faded. ‘David. So, what do you do? I don’t think I’ve ever asked,’ he said, changing the subject.
‘Well, I was in marketing, although I’m in between jobs at the moment. I got made redundant before Christmas so just taking a bit of time to figure out what I want to do next. What about you?’
‘I’m an Account Exec for Dunnes Advertising.’ That explained the fancy apartment block. Did he drive a Porsche too?
‘How old are you?’ I blurted out without thinking and he nearly choked on his drink laughing. It struck me he could be a bit older than I first thought.
‘Thirty-two. You?’
‘Twenty-five,’ I replied. Why was he not married? Because he was a fucking rapist, that’s why.
‘We haven’t done favourite colours yet.’
‘Purple.’ I didn’t hesitate.
‘This is like speed dating with quick-fire questions.’ I could see he was being sarcastic.
For the next hour, I let him dominate the conversation and went with the flow. He wanted to find out about me, where I lived; what I did for fun, where my parents were? I didn’t give any specifics, instead skirted around the truth so I couldn’t be caught out later. There wasn’t much in the way of flirting, although I was no expert. Jane always said you should leave them wanting more, so at around half ten and three mojitos later, I made an excuse to leave, telling Ian that I needed to get up early in the morning. He offered to wait with me for the taxi and didn’t seem perturbed that I didn’t want to go on anywhere else.
Throughout the evening he’d been a perfect gentleman, helping me on and off with my coat and insisting he went to the bar for drinks. I wasn’t allowed to get my purse out once. Everything I’d learnt, apart from the obvious desire to be in control, I found difficult to reconcile with the predator I knew him to be. I stared at his eyes, fascinated by their lack of depth. He appeared empty, devoid of emotion, but he put on a pretty good act. I could see how he had everyone fooled. The charming successful bachelor. I bet he did charity work too.
When we got outside, it was freezing. A bitter wind whipped around us, and my teeth chattered uncontrollably. Ian offered me his coat, but I declined. The taxi stand had a small queue, but no cars came by in the few minutes we waited. It was only a short walk back to my flat, but there was a difference between walking home alone at seven o’clock at night, and at ten o’clock. Especially knowing Ian could follow me.
He frowned at my shivering and pulled out his phone. ‘I’m ten minutes away, come back to mine and I’ll book an Uber. You can wait in the warm.’
My heart leapt into my throat and my mind raced for reasons not to.
‘Umm,’ I said, to make it look as if I was considering it, buying some time. What the fuck was I supposed to do? If I declined, it looked weird. Why wouldn’t I go back there? Because I wasn’t going to offer myself to him on a plate, that’s why. Then I remembered I’d packed the PetCam in my bag, just in case I had the opportunity to plant it. ‘Okay.’
‘Great,’ he said with a smile, steering me by the elbow. Perhaps he thought the alcohol had gone to my head. Or maybe he wanted to get me back home for a repeat performance? The thought made my blood run cold.
Sunday 28 January 2018
I screamed outside in the bitingly cold air for a full minute until someone came out to see what had happened. A middle aged man emerged from one of the houses over the road; no one from Ian’s apartment building came out at first.
‘Mr Woodcock,’ Detective Becker says, checking her notes.
I had no idea what his name was, but he had kind grey eyes and a sizeable belly you could rest your pint on, or so my dad would have said.
‘He was the first one to find you?’
I nod, wiping my good eye. Now they are both swollen and sore. I must be dehydrated with the amount of tears I have shed, I should have grabbed the offer of water when I had the chance.
‘Yes, he called the ambulance and gave me a coat. He tried to get into the building, I told him Ian was hurt, but no one answered their buzzers.’ I sniff.
‘How long did the ambulance take to get there?’
‘I don’t know, it was quick. The police arrived at th
e same time, by then neighbours had come out and they got in to Ian’s apartment. They sat me in a car, until I was brought here.’
‘Okay, Eve, you’ve done brilliantly. Is there anything else you can remember? Anything you want to add?’
I shake my head. What happens next? Am I going to be charged?
A light tap on the door interrupts Hicks. A young uniformed officer pokes his head round.
‘Detective Becker, can I borrow you for a minute?’
Becker stands to leave and Hicks pauses the recording.
‘Do you want a drink or anything?’ he asks.
‘Please, and can I have something to eat too?’
He checks his watch and sees it’s midday.
‘Sure, I’ll be right back.’
He disappears out of the room and I see the young officer outside through the window in the door. My stomach cramps, but I’m not sure if it’s nerves or hunger. I didn’t finish the bacon roll from this morning.
When Becker returns, she looks resigned and her downcast expression troubles me.
Hicks comes back a minute later with a pre-packed cheese sandwich, which he places in front of me. I open it and take a bite. It’s good.
‘Eve, once you’ve eaten we’re going to go back out to the desk where you will be formally charged with murder.’
Suddenly I’m not hungry any more.
33
Friday 12 January 2018
We got to Ian’s apartment in less than ten minutes, the crisp air making us walk faster. I thought about the film The Green Mile, that long corridor on the way to the electric chair. That’s how I felt, like I was walking towards my demise or maybe into an ambush. I tried my best to act naturally and, on the way, we talked about our shared interest in keeping fit. He told me he enjoyed rugby, playing every Saturday for a local team. It was why, he said, he was often covered in bruises. A perfect cover. Vanity made him wear a cap to avoid cauliflower ears. I vaguely remembered seeing men wearing them on television, but rugby was a sport I didn’t understand bar the ball having to cross the line to score. He suggested I come and watch. I’d rather watch paint dry, but I giggled and agreed all the same. I was being good, little compliant Eve and he liked it.
‘Are you seeing anyone at the moment?’ he asked.
‘No, not for quite a while,’ I admitted. ‘You?’
‘No one special,’ he said with a nonchalance that made me want to punch him in the face. I was sure he’d ‘seen’ more of me and his other victims than we’d ever have let him by choice.
Fear clouded my judgement the closer we got to his flat. The conversation had stalled, and we were walking in silence. Was I going to my own execution? Despite my apprehension, I was curious to see inside. I had expectations of chrome and gadgets galore. I wasn’t disappointed, it was minimalist, light and airy with plenty of space. An open plan lounge/diner with a hard wood floor and white walls. The lounge area had an enormous television mounted onto the wall in front of two brown leather sofas surrounding a coffee table on a plush cream rug. The walls were bare except for a large framed black and white Scarface poster in the dining area. I looked around in awe at a living space so different in style to my own eclectic tastes.
‘Wow. It’s lovely.’
‘Thanks, it’s still quite new. I bought it when it was being built, so it’s only a year old.’
‘You’re so tidy,’ I said, unable to see anything that looked out of place.
‘I have a cleaner who comes in twice a week. She was here this morning.’ There was no hint of embarrassment at the admission.
‘Lucky you.’
‘I’ve got beer in the fridge, or would you prefer a coffee?’
I hesitated, not wanting to prolong being here with him any longer than I had to.
‘Coffee, please.’
He took my coat, hanging it up by the door. I looked at it longingly, my escape route. I tried to control my breathing as my anxiety spiked at being alone with him.
‘Okay, I’ll order a taxi to come in twenty minutes.’ He walked out of the lounge and into the kitchen, and I heard the tap being run. A second later the kettle began to boil.
I didn’t have time to worry. Scanning the room until I found what I was looking for. The sleek black modem was slotted into a glossy bookcase, its lights blinking. I swiftly took a picture of the security key sticker with my phone. Pausing to listen, I heard clinking of mugs and the kettle whistling.
‘Could I have sugar in mine, please,’ I called over the noise, my voice higher than intended. I needed to buy another minute.
Rummaging in my bag, I pulled out the PetCam which I’d broken out of its plastic casing at home to make it smaller. I wanted to be able to watch Ian’s comings and goings, to see what he got up to.
On the third tier of the bookcase there was a small space on top of Great Expectations, it was there I wedged the camera. A layer of dust confirmed my suspicions. The book, along with other classics like 1984 and The Great Gatsby, were for show and rarely moved.
Perspiration prickled my neck, I was running out of time. I pulled the slim cord down the side of the bookcase and plugged it into the power, tucking the cord out of sight. Any second now he would be back in the room. I could feel my underarms starting to sweat, my skin clinging to the red polyester fabric of my top. Luckily, a large-leaved pot plant shielded the plug from view. A bead of sweat drizzled down my side as my pulse continued to race. I had done it.
I dashed away from the bookcase and pretended to survey the view out of the window. Ian came back into the room and handed me a cup of coffee, which I accepted gratefully, wishing I had asked for a beer now I’d warmed up to the point of perspiration.
‘Nice view,’ I said, more to make conversation than because it was. There wasn’t much to see other than the arched railway bridge illuminated by street lights.
He smiled and sat on the sofa, using a remote control to close his blinds.
‘Can I use your bathroom please?’ I was being overly polite, but I couldn’t help it. I was nervous, scared to say anything which could be misconstrued. I didn’t want to upset him in any way. It hit me just how vulnerable I was.
‘Sure, it’s by the front door.’
I took my bag and locked myself in the small toilet. It smelt of bleach and a manly woody fragrance. I sat on the toilet seat and unlocked my phone, connecting it to the Wi-Fi using the security key I’d photographed. Once connected, I linked the PetCam to Ian’s Wi-Fi and used the app I’d downloaded at home to view straight into the lounge area. Ian was waiting for me on the sofa, I could just about see him fiddling with his phone, but the picture was good and clear.
I flushed and washed my hands, putting on lipstick before I left so there was a reason for me to have taken my bag into the toilet.
Ian smiled when I returned, perhaps assuming the lipstick was for him. I resisted the urge to glance at the bookcase, paranoid the LED light I’d covered with electrical tape at home would still be seen. I knew it wouldn’t, but I panicked anyway.
I sat on the opposite sofa, my coffee cup still steaming. I wanted to keep as much distance between us as possible.
‘You know,’ Ian said, ‘I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere before.’
I spluttered as I sipped my drink, the hot liquid escaping down my throat. Was he playing with me? His eyes were like slits, but he wore a smirk.
‘I don’t think so, I’m sure I would remember,’ I said, searching for a change of subject. ‘I’m sorry for rushing off early tonight. I’d love to do this again?’ I added.
Ian’s eyes flashed to the floor. The corner of a metal cash box poked out from under the lower level of the coffee table. I quickly averted my gaze. What was in there? Had he seen me looking?
‘I’d like that. Dinner next time?’
‘Sure.’
‘Where would you like to go?’ He leant forward, placing his mug on the coffee table. I followed suit with mine, although I had failed to use a coaster. H
e rectified that in seconds and I just caught myself before I rolled my eyes.
‘I’ll let you choose, I’m sure you know where the food is good. I don’t get out much,’ I said, playing to his ego.
He rubbed his chin, but a buzzing from his phone interrupted him as he was about to speak. He snatched it up, turning away from me. The box had been pushed fully under the table, out of sight. There was something in there he didn’t want me to see.
‘No problem,’ he said, ‘taxi’s here.’ My shoulders relaxed. Finally. Why hadn’t he tried anything? He’d had the perfect opportunity.
We stood and for the second time Ian helped me on with my coat; brushing my neck as he adjusted the collar of my jacket which had turned inward. My neck tingled, skin on fire, but not from pleasure. His hand pressed into the small of my back, guiding me out of the door and navigating the steps until we were out of the building. He opened the taxi door for me and I stiffened as he drew me in for a kiss, his tongue penetrating. I knew I was awkward, I couldn’t help it, even with the alcohol. It was over in a second and Ian wished me goodnight, closing the car door between us. Before I knew it, I was being driven away; the taxi driver looking on in amusement as I wiped my mouth with my sleeve.
34
Him
Something about her made me curious. She intrigued me from the moment I saw her. The way she carried herself; her slight frame and elfin features. Eve. Such a pretty name for a pretty girl. Now we’ve gotten to know each other; we’ve become friends and perhaps maybe something more. I want to find out her secrets and the things that keep her awake at night.
She’s dyed her mousy hair and even her eyes are a different colour; but she smells just as enticing. Fear emanates from her, like a bitch in season and the scent sings to me. She’s nervous, wary, but I can tell she’s not worldly. Not like those other girls, faces painted; the fake whores pouting for likes on Instagram. Could it be her lack of experience that makes her tremble? Or, has she hunted me down? Is it a coincidence or has she worked out I’m the one who took her behind the café? I can’t tell. Not yet. This is going to make for an interesting game. But either way, now I get to taste her again.