by Gemma Rogers
‘Okay, first one – a good kick in the balls. It’ll disable any guy if you kick hard enough.’ Jason bent down and picked a protector cup from the floor, like those worn by cricketers, and slipped it inside his jogging bottoms. The bulge obvious. I flushed red, hesitating, not wanting to look at that area.
‘You’re not seriously expecting me to kick you… there, are you?’ I pointed feebly.
‘Well, not full pelt. I do want to have kids one day, but yes, go on, give it a go.’
Unsure if I could, I paused. Jason braced himself, so I took my cue and swung my leg back, managing to kick Jason in the thigh. He shook it off, but my face turned scarlet. This was excruciating.
‘Might want to adjust your aim.’ He smiled, and I tried again. This time my foot connected with the cup. ‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘Okay, I’m going to come behind you.’ He moved around to my back, his breath ruffling strands of my hair. My pulse raced, and goosebumps appeared on my skin. I was right there, behind the café, bent over that bin.
You’re safe. Jason won’t hurt you, I told myself. My body wouldn’t listen to reason though and I could feel myself begin to sweat.
‘I’m going to put my arms around your chest and I want you to stamp down on my foot and bring your arms up in a praying motion and try to slip them under my arms.’
I nodded in agreement and his arms wrapped around me. I closed my eyes, the room blurring for a second. I was pressed against the wall and it wasn’t Jason behind me, it was Ian. His face hidden by the balaclava. Anger brought me back to the moment and I stamped down on Jason’s toes as instructed, managing to slip my arms up and break his hold. I jumped up and down, the adrenaline pumping. Thrilled to be learning the moves that could potentially save my life. Perhaps things would have been different if I’d known them then?
‘Brilliant,’ he said.
Jason went on to show me where to hit to cause the most damage and other ways to incapacitate your attacker, as well as how to free yourself if being held by the arms or shoulders. With my memory of that morning safely locked away, we reversed roles and I tried my best to restrain him. It was impossible, I could barely get my arms around him. I did manage to throw him over my shoulder using my weight as leverage, although I think he helped. Stupidly, I hadn’t thought about how much physical contact or exertion would be required and by the end of it I was a hot, sweaty mess. My face pink and shiny, with hair that had become a mass of frizz. Jason merely glistened, he hadn’t even perspired properly.
‘Thanks so much, Jason, I appreciate it,’ I said, guzzling from the water bottle he handed me.
‘No worries. It was fun. Fancy something from the snack wagon around the corner?’
Five minutes later, we were hidden away in his office cuddling polystyrene cups of hot tea. The cooling sweat making me shiver, damp on my skin.
‘That’s handy to have nearby.’ I gestured to my bacon roll as I bit into it hungrily, the tangy brown sauce escaping onto my lap. ‘Bugger,’ I swore, and Jason handed me a napkin.
‘Does quite well from the business on the industrial estate, I think.’ Jason tucked into his roll, making less mess. ‘So, why the self-defence?’ he asked.
My mouth was full, so I had time to construct my answer. ‘I was mugged last year and kept meaning to learn some moves.’
‘Jesus. There’s some fuckers around aren’t there.’ He shook his head in disgust.
I nodded, glad my mouth was full. I couldn’t tell him I was dating one.
‘Ben all right?’ he asked.
‘Think so, haven’t seen much of him.’
‘No, me either. Must be all loved up.’
A pang in my chest deflated the elation of the morning.
‘Guess so,’ I replied.
‘Are you seeing anyone?’ he asked, a smile playing on his lips.
‘Yes, well, sort of. It’s early days.’ We’ll have broken up come the weekend.
Jason shrugged slightly, more to himself than to me. I wasn’t intending to be another notch on his bedpost, although perhaps I was being unfair. He’d been nothing but generous to me, even if he had turned out to be a slave driver.
I showered and left to go to my appointment with Doctor Almara. More prepared after the self-defence demonstration but still terrified of being alone with Ian. Not knowing his plan, if he even had one, unnerved me. It was like playing cat and mouse, but I wasn’t sure which one of us was the mouse? This could all be a game to him. After all, physically, I was hardly a threat.
I managed to make it to the psychiatrist’s office in time for my appointment and she welcomed me warmly.
‘Eve, good to see you. How are you?’ Today she wore a striking burnt orange trouser suit, blending into the Moroccan tones of her office. Her smile was wide and genuine, my ears burned as she took me in.
‘I’m good, thank you,’ I replied, trying to focus on why I was here.
‘What would you like to talk about today?’ she asked.
‘I wanted to ask a question, actually.’
‘Okay, go ahead.’
‘About behaviour, and where it comes from.’
‘In what context?’
‘How would you determine if someone was a danger to society?’
The question didn’t invoke a reaction, she merely curved the corner of her mouth a little. She leant forward in her seat. ‘How do you mean? Dangerous in what way?’
‘To others, violent. Say a psychopath, for example.’
‘Well, there would be a number of contributing factors and personality traits that could identify a potential psychopath, but there aren’t as many out there as Hollywood would have you believe.’
‘What kind of personality traits?’
‘A lack of remorse or guilt, for example, also the ability to deceive others. They would be charming and excellent at manipulation. A psychopath would be impulsive, unable to accept responsibility for their actions and likely promiscuous, with little empathy for others.’
I took it all in. Doctor Almara was doing her best to not to ask any probing questions.
‘Say you were in a relationship with a psychopath. What would that say about you?’ I asked.
‘Many people find themselves easily charmed by someone with psychopathic personality traits. They are, in general, charismatic people who enjoy manipulating others, so it can be quite easy to fall under their spell.’
I nodded and stared out of the window for a minute. It had started to rain outside, and the tapping distracted me.
‘Eve, have you met someone?’
I nodded, there was no reason to lie.
‘Do you believe he has some of the traits I mentioned?’
‘I’m not sure.’ I looked at the floor, not wanting to be probed by those eyes.
She spoke softly. ‘Be careful, Eve. You’re fragile at the moment and I’m concerned you may get taken advantage of. Let things develop gradually. As we discussed before, you need to make sure you’re comfortable before any relationship becomes physical. Otherwise there is a possibility it could hinder your progress.’ Her genuine concern warmed me like a blanket. I was touched.
We spent the rest of the session discussing my recovery so far. She commented that I seemed focused and asked if this was the result of meeting someone new. She was right. I was focused. Resolute on getting my life back. On righting the wrongs that had been done to me, the girl in the alley and Sophie. And any others. It was easy to suggest Ian’s behaviour was because of his treatment as a child, but there were thousands of people who suffered similar parental abuse. They managed to move on and function normally within a community. I could not allow it to unsettle me. I was not going to feel sorry for him. It was not an excuse.
My phone vibrating in my pocket jolted me out of my thoughts on my way home, hurrying through the streets as the rain became heavier. When I saw it was Ian, I almost didn’t answer it.
‘Hello.’
‘Hi, how are you?
‘Good thanks, ho
w are you?’
‘Oh, you know, spending quality time with my dad.’
I shivered. What exactly did that entail? ‘How is he?’
‘Fine, a bit bruised. I’ve been telling him all about you. He loves hearing about what I get up to.’
There was a pause as I tried to come up with a response.
‘Is he able to talk?’ I wasn’t sure why I’d asked. Visions of Ian whispering awful things into David’s ear, tormenting him whilst he was powerless to do anything about it.
‘Not very well, he doesn’t make much sense. He gets easily confused. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I’ll be home tomorrow. He’s out of hospital and back in the care home,’ he continued. I knew full well he’d never left.
‘Okay. Might see you at the gym,’ was all I could muster.
‘Can’t wait to get my hands on you Saturday.’ He chuckled and then the line went dead.
Sunday 28 January 2018
* * *
‘Who has access to the internet at home?’ Hicks asks.
‘Me and Ben, my flatmate.’ The additional information seems an overkill considering Ben is here at the station, presumably being interviewed. I’m sure they already know we live together. I need to keep a cool head.
‘Your internet usage seems quite low. On the history of websites visited, there’s some shopping, a bit of porn, but that’s it.’
I roll my eyes. If Hicks is hoping for a reaction he’s not going to get one. I remain silent, waiting for him to get to the point.
‘No streaming or downloading. Hardly any social media. I thought all young people were into that?’ Hicks looks smug, but I’m not going to play into his hands. How old is he? Fifty? Sixty? He looks worn around the edges and the creases in his forehead run deep.
‘Not all young people. I’m not interested in seeing photos of what my friends have had for dinner.’ That amuses him.
‘Would you say you go online a lot? On your mobile or laptop?’ Hicks asks.
I shrug. ‘Not really.’
‘Do you use the internet anywhere else, Eve?’
My jaw clenches ever so slightly before I catch myself. Relax, don’t let him see.
Hicks stares intently, absorbing every movement I make. It’s his job to read people and I am, by my own admission, a terrible liar.
‘Sometimes. At work I did.’ I keep my voice even.
‘There’s also an internet café in town, isn’t there? Baristas I believe it’s called.’
Susie’s coffee shop. I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. My brain is firing, sending signals around my body I’m trying to conceal. I can’t give anything away. Especially now. My search history on that machine would be everything they needed.
‘Have you been in there before?’ he presses.
‘Yes, for coffee.’
‘Have you used the computers in there?’
I know Susie doesn’t have cameras installed, but what if he’s sent someone to see her? Someone armed with a photo of me. She wouldn’t think to lie.
‘I don’t think so,’ I say, frowning as though I’m trying to remember. I’m worried he can hear my heart hammering.
‘I see,’ Hicks responds, shuffling the papers he’s holding. Becker looks redundant, she is yet to speak. Hicks is leading the interview and it unnerves me.
I bob my legs up and down under the desk. Fuck sake, just get to the point.
‘Your phone records have been low too, a few calls to the doctors, work, friends. No more than three or four a day.’
I raise my eyebrows. I know where this is going. Shit. Why didn’t I use another phone?
‘Until a few days ago, when you had quite an erratic day I’d say. On Monday, you made over twenty phone calls,’ Hicks says.
My expression remains stoic, but inside panic swells like a balloon. Sweat prickles underarm as my temperature spikes. I need to head this off.
‘I was trying to find Ian.’
‘Is that why you called every care home in Oxford? To find Ian?’
Think you’ve caught me out, detective? Think again.
‘Yes. He told me he wouldn’t be around as his father had a fall. He was going to Oxford to see him. I wasn’t sure he was telling me the truth.’
Hicks frowns at this.
‘So, you phoned every care home in Oxford?’ He doesn’t believe me. It doesn’t matter.
‘Yes.’ I try to resist the urge to stand up and give the smug detective the finger. I can’t be convicted for being a clingy girl keeping tabs on her man.
‘And you found him? You found Ian?’
‘Yes, at Nuthatch Care Home. The member of staff told me he was there visiting his father, David.’ My poker face is good. It is hard not to smile. These tiny victories feel amazing given the circumstances. Could this be the light at the end of the tunnel or is Ben about to contradict everything I’ve said?
‘How did Ian react to you checking up on him?’ Becker asks, breaking her silence.
I glare at her, she’s fed me to the wolf that is Hicks.
‘I don’t know. He never mentioned it and neither did I. I’m not sure he knew.’ I lean back in my chair, drinking in Hicks’s grimace. You’ll need to try harder than that, detective. But deep down, there’s a niggling feeling in my gut I can’t ignore. It was a mistake using my phone for those calls. How many other mistakes have I made? My shoulders tense. They couldn’t seize Susie’s computers, could they?
50
Tuesday 23 January 2018
I stood still on the pavement, unaware of the people passing me by. Jostling for room and hurrying to get out of the rain. Staring at my phone although Ian was no longer on the line, fat drops splashing down from above. I had visions of Ian’s hands around my neck. Is that what he meant? I shuddered involuntarily and managed a few slow steps forward. Annoying those trying to navigate around me.
I was going to die on Saturday. It wasn’t cat and mouse. It was lamb to the slaughter.
Get a hold of yourself, Eve. I knew I’d have a wobble in the days before, but I didn’t anticipate wanting to turn and run. Could I go through with it? The plan I’d researched and thought about. Spent hours trying to consider every minor detail. The one that in my head was so clear, but the thought of making it a reality terrified me.
My stomach churned with nervous energy and my bladder announced the need to be emptied. I had to get home. The trouble was, I couldn’t talk to anyone about what was going on. Not Susie, not Ben, and Jane was leaving the country in less than a week. I wanted it to be over, to be rid of the months consumed by nothing but thoughts of Ian. I longed to be free of him and there was only one way I could do that, but first I was willing to give the police one last try.
When I got home, I shut myself away in my room and dug out the business card given to me months ago, wedged into my bookcase.
‘Emmerson,’ stated a weary voice after a few rings.
‘Hi Detective Emmerson. It’s Eve, Eve Harding.’
‘Hi Eve, how can I help you?’
‘I just wondered if you had any updates at all.’
I heard her sigh faintly.
‘No, I’m afraid not. I’ve got nothing to report. It’s still an ongoing investigation and we are looking at other assaults of the same nature in the vicinity.’
‘The attack on Sophie Whitaker. Do you think it’s connected?’
‘Did you go and visit Miss Whitaker in hospital?’ Emmerson cut me off.
I remained silent. My attendance had obviously been reported by Mrs Whitaker.
‘Please don’t get involved, Eve, leave it to the police.’
‘But do you think it’s connected?’
‘There was no sexual assault, so, no, I don’t think it’s connected.’
Shows what she knew. Emmerson wasn’t aware that a frustrated Ian left my house minutes before Sophie was beaten to within an inch of her life. She didn’t know that her assailant spoke the same words to her that he had to me. Was I going to tell her?
Make her believe that I knew who the predator was? It was the last chance before I took matters into my own hands.
The silence between us stretched out and I heard Emmerson sigh. Perhaps annoyed I wasn’t on the same wavelength? Or that I wouldn’t roll over and agree? It was on the tip of my tongue. Just say it. The person you are looking for is Ian Shaw. But before I could get the words out the silence was broken.
‘Eve, I’m going on maternity leave today. I’ll be passing your case over to the team and one of them will be in touch to introduce themselves. Please don’t worry. We will find him.’
But I did worry. I worried because even with everything I’d learnt there was no hard evidence to prove he was the man behind my attack. No evidence from the attack on Sophie and the nameless girl in the alley. I had nothing to offer the police but a name and now Emmerson was leaving to have her baby; I knew no one would contact me. The case had already gone cold and I was sure she hadn’t planned to touch base today. I just caught her off guard. My decision was made; I couldn’t walk away.
Wednesday 24 January 2018
After work, I spent the rest of Wednesday going through the flat, room by room, knowing someone would be here in the coming days. I hadn’t kept anything incriminating and got rid of most of what I found. Old receipts, bills and paperwork had been distributed in various rubbish bins around town. The PetCam box, instructions and eBay receipt destroyed too. None of it could be used against me, but I had to be sure. I didn’t want to make it easy for the police to build a profile of my life. The place was well overdue for a spring clean anyway.
Ben caught me on my hands and knees digging through the sofa to see what had been stuffed down the sides. The handheld hoover at my feet, ready for action.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Spring cleaning,’ I answered and, amused, he left me to it.
Every room was cleaned and picked apart, except for his. It was amazing how much stuff I’d accumulated since moving in. Much of it down to spending habits that I’d done my best to curb lately.