Philip Brennan 02 - The Creeper (17 page)

And in his mind she was taken again. One minute she was in his arms, the next she was gone, pulled away from him. He could see her getting smaller, her arm reaching out to him, screaming. Then the heat, the blackness enveloped her from all sides and, even though she fought to be free from it, it was too late. She was gone.

He sat back down. Sighed. Eyes still closed, seeing only the blackness. Alone.

He didn’t want to think of all those years alone. Lost without Rani. When the pain was so great he couldn’t eat or sleep, couldn’t live or talk, even. All he could do was think of her. And how lost he was.

And that’s how it would have stayed if her voice hadn’t called to him once more, begged him to search for her. She guided him on. Told him where she was, gave him clues, instructions on how to find her. Her body had died, she said. The body he knew her in. But her spirit was too strong. It still lived on. It lived, she said, because her love for him was so great. She had to see him again. They had to be together. Forever. The way it should be.

He had thought his heart would explode when she told him that.

So he had gone looking for her. She hid clues for him to find, secret codes for him to decipher. She warned him she would look different, depending on the body her spirit was inhabiting. But not too different, she hoped. Similar enough so he could spot her.

And he did. Easily. And he thought that was it. They would be settled. But then she jumped to the next one. And he had to follow.

He didn’t like that, was impatient, told her to find a body and settle down, so he could be with her. She said it wasn’t that easy. She didn’t have full control over the bodies yet. Sometimes, like had just happened, the shell wasn’t right. It couldn’t hold her. And she couldn’t just jump out because the person whose body it was would know. So the hosts - the husks - had to be taken away. Dealt with. He didn’t question it. Just knew that if he wanted to be close to Rani it had to be done. And that was the important thing.

Rani. He sighed again. Saw her smile.

It wouldn’t be long now. She would find another host and then he would hear her voice, the secret codes she gave him, the hidden clues so he could find her again.

Yes.

It wouldn’t be long now.

36

P
hil watched Fenwick and Fiona Welch enter the flat then turned to his team. He noticed Rose Martin had stayed behind with him, her eyes still on Fenwick’s retreating back. Phil had noticed the way Fenwick’s hand had rested on the small of Fiona Welch’s back, guiding her over the threshold. He was sure Rose had noticed it too.

‘Right,’ he said and turned to Mickey. ‘We have a profiler. Happy?’

Mickey didn’t seem to know what to say.

‘Not what you expected?’

‘Erm, not really . . .’

‘Never mind,’ Phil said, a grim smile playing at the corners of his mouth. ‘They can’t all be good. Just down to us then. Right.’ He blinked, trying to ignore the headache. ‘Plan of action. What have we got. Any ideas?’

‘I think Ben’s right,’ said Rose. ‘I think the two might be related.’

‘I think so too,’ said Phil, ‘but it’ll still pay to keep an open mind. Having said that . . .’ He turned to the team individually. ‘Anni. This was your case. Keep on it. Work on the missing girl’s background and the murdered girls. They were friends, work mates, maybe there’s some overlap between the two here and Julie Miller, something in their backgrounds. ’

‘OK.’

‘Oh, and get Rose to brief you on her visit to the boyfriend last night. Make sure we’re all up to speed. Mickey.’

He turned to his DS. ‘The van that was seen on the quay yesterday morning. Keep on it. Eyewitnesses, ownership, number plate, anything. And see if there’s been similar sightings round here. That should help to tie these two together. And Adele Harrison. Check with John Farrell for black vans.’

Mickey nodded, scribbling in his notebook.

‘Rose. You’re still part of this team. Julie Miller was your case and she still is. I want you to go through her background again.’

‘I’ve done that—’

‘I know you have. But this time you’re looking for anything that sticks out, anything that can be flagged up. And anything that might strike a chord with Zoe Herriot and Suzanne Perry. Anything. OK?’

She nodded.

‘Good.’ He sighed, checked his watch. Breakfast time. But he wasn’t hungry. ‘I’ll get Adrian to do chain of evidence, follow the body for the PM. Twice in two days. He’s going to love me. In the meantime—’

‘Ah, you’re still here, good.’

Phil turned. Fenwick and Fiona Welch had emerged from the flat. Fenwick’s face was decidedly pale. Fiona Welch looked wide-eyed, detached.

Phil felt a small pang of guilt over his earlier treatment of her. ‘We were just off,’ said Phil.

‘Can you stay? Talk to Nick Lines?’

Phil said he could. Fenwick also asked for a gathering later, pooling what information they had received. Phil agreed.

‘Oh, Phil,’ Fenwick said, putting his arm round the DI’s shoulder, taking him over to one side, ‘a word.’

Phil waited.

‘Let’s chat. Fiona. She has insights which could be most valuable.’

‘Is she qualified, Ben?’

‘She teaches at university. What more could you want?’

‘But is she qualified?’

‘Yes.’

Phil didn’t think he sounded so sure. ‘Good. Because if she isn’t, if she’s just an assistant, nothing she says will be taken seriously.’

‘She . . . she . . .’

A wicked smile crossed Phil’s face. ‘Comes highly recommended too?’

Fenwick knew what Phil meant. He reddened. ‘She’s had papers published, is, is highly thought of.’

‘And she’s cheap.’

Fenwick’s lips curled in a snarl. His voice dropped. ‘Make all the jibes you want, Phil. You aren’t the one who has to balance the books, provide accountability.’

‘No. I’m just the one who has to get results.’

Phil turned, went to rejoin his team.

Fenwick hurried after him. Phil was about to address them but Fenwick, seeing this, jumped in first.

‘Right, then,’ Fenwick said. ‘All got jobs? Good. Go softly on. And remember, we’re a team. We work as a team.’ He gave a quick glance to Phil. ‘And there is no “I” in “team”.’

Anni walking away, caught Phil’s eye. ‘No,’ she said, muttering, ‘but there are five in “patronising fucking idiot”.’

Phil smiled. He didn’t know if Fenwick had heard.

Didn’t care.

37

‘S
o . . . who, who are you? What’s your name?’

Suzanne heard only the echo of her voice, then silence. The voice had stopped talking.

‘Hello? Are you still there?’

Nothing.

‘Hello?’

Nothing.

Panic began to rise within Suzanne once more. Stuck here on her own and now hearing voices. Or maybe it was her captor, taunting her. Pretending she wasn’t alone, trying to drive her mad. Trying to get her to . . .

What? Get her to do what?

She didn’t know. Nothing made any sense any more.

‘Please . . .’

Nothing.

She sighed. Heard her breath trail away. Her heart felt like a huge black stone inside her. A dead, dark lump. She felt cold and empty. She felt, suddenly and totally, devoid of hope.

This was it. The rest of her life. No rescue. No Hollywood ending.

She was going to die here.

She didn’t realise she was crying until she felt the tears run out of the corners of her eyes and into her ears. They tickled and she couldn’t reach to scratch them. That just made her cry all the more.

‘Hey . . . hey . . .’

Suzanne stopped herself crying. Was that the voice again? Talking to her?

‘Hey . . . hey you . . .’

‘Yes? Yes, I’m here . . .’ Suzanne was shouting, her voice verging on hysterical. ‘Hello, hello . . .’

No reply.

‘Hello . . . are you still there?’

A silence that stretched for a hundred years, then, ‘Yes I’m still here. Where would I be going?’

Suzanne could almost have started to cry again. From joy this time. Someone else there. She wasn’t alone. She didn’t have to suffer this - whatever it was - alone.

Questions began to tumble out of her. So fast she could barely articulate them. ‘Are you . . . are you here like me? Held here . . . Are you . . . what’s going on? Who are you?’

‘It’s best not to talk. They don’t like it when we talk.’

‘We? There’s more than you and me here?’

A silence. A sigh. ‘Not any more.’

‘What happened?’

‘Don’t know. She went, you came.’

‘Why? What’s going on? Why am I here?’

Another silence. ‘I cried at first. Just like you. And all the questions. But you get used to it.’

‘Get used to it? How long have you been here?’

‘Don’t know.’ Her voice faded a little. ‘Try not to think of it.’

Panic began to rise in Suzanne again. ‘But we’ll get out, won’t we? They have to let us out eventually.’

‘Do they?’ Another silence. Suzanne thought the person speaking had disappeared again. ‘That’s what the other one thought.’

‘The one who was here before me?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And what happened? Did they let her out?’

Suzanne heard a bitter laugh. Tinged with hysteria. ‘Oh yeah. She got out.’

‘Good . . .’

‘I heard the screams. I heard what they did to her . . .’ The voice broke, sobbed away into silence.

‘Hello?’ Suzanne felt like she was throwing her voice into a void.

‘I don’t want to talk any more.’

Silence returned.

Suzanne tried not to panic, not to cry.

For the first time in her life, Suzanne knew what it was like to feel totally, utterly, without hope.

38

‘
O
h my God . . .’

Hazel Mills, the woman sitting opposite Anni, had

Hazel Mills, the woman sitting opposite Anni, had her hand over her mouth in a gesture of shock that would have looked caricatured if she hadn’t been so sincere and upset. ‘Oh my God . . .’

Speechless, thought Anni, then felt guilty at even thinking of a joke like that.

She was on Gainsborough Wing, in the office of the Head of Speech Therapy at Colchester General Hospital. The unit was as institutionalised as the rest of the building but efforts had been made to make it appear more colourful and comfortable. Anni had glimpsed primary coloured chairs and tables in the treatment rooms as she had been led along the corridor. Boxes of well-used toys were stacked and overflowing in corners where small children weren’t playing with them. Charts adorned the walls, phonetics and letters in bright, bold letters interspersed with positive messages.

Hazel Mills’ office was just the same: big, bright and bold. But there was little positivity at that moment. Anni had just told the head of department about Suzanne Perry and Zoe Herriot.

Anni had spoken to Rose Martin before she left the crime scene for the hospital. Asked her about her chat with Mark Turner, seeing if there was anything he had said that could have thrown some light on the situation. Given them something to work on. She had been tight-lipped about it.

‘I don’t think it’s him,’ was the first thing she had said.

Anni was taken aback by her defensiveness. ‘I didn’t ask that. Look, I’m sorry that Phil made you do it. It should have been me.’

Rose had said nothing, just looked at Anni as if waiting for her to finish talking. She barely blinked.

‘It wasn’t my decision. He’s the boss.’ Anni sighed. ‘Look, if it’s any consolation, I’ve just had a big bust-up with him.’

A light came on in Rose’s eyes.

Anni sensed a breakthrough. She smiled. ‘He’s not the easiest of people to get on with. I know.’ Phil was probably the best boss Anni had ever had if she was honest but if it would bring Rose Martin onside she would say what the woman wanted to hear.

Rose seemed to snap out of it then. She shook her head, gave a small smile. ‘We had a bit of a . . . difference of opinion yesterday.’

‘First day?’ Anni laughed. ‘Good going. I waited at least a week.’

Rose’s turn to laugh then. Anni joined her. More out of relief than anything else. She hadn’t known her long, but already she found the DS hard to get along with.

‘So, I’m sorry, yeah? Apology accepted?’

Rose nodded, the hint of a smile playing at her lips.

‘So what happened last night? Anything I should know about?’

Rose shrugged. ‘He’s a bit of an odd one. Typical student, I thought. Dull and nerdy. Not much to him. I doubt he’s a serious contender.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, for one thing he’s got a girlfriend who he says can give him an alibi for when Suzanne Perry reckons the intruder was in her flat, and another thing . . .’ She tailed off.

‘Yes?’

Rose smiled. ‘He’s just not that into her.’

Anni laughed.

‘Really. Had to be prompted to see if she was OK or not. Sounds like he’d moved on. No great loss, she can do better than him.’

‘Let’s hope she gets the chance.’

Rose reddened. ‘Sorry. I meant . . .’

‘I know.’

‘We can talk to him again, if you think we should, but to be honest . . .’ She shrugged.

‘Not a priority.’

‘I doubt it.’

So, armed with that and the hope she had made a new ally, she had gone off to the Speech Therapy Department at Colchester General.

There were other officers and uniforms taking statements from other members of staff but Anni, being of senior rank, was interviewing Hazel Mills.

She was a small woman. Compact, Anni would have said. In her late forties with short, greying hair and wearing a striped, mannish blouse, linen trousers and little make-up, she was clear-eyed and sharp-featured. But not today. Those eyes were wide and threatening tears, her featured blurred and unfocused.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Anni. She hated this part of the job. Seeing the carefully constructed worlds of ordinary people collapse. It always made her think of the Shakespeare she had studied at school. Macbeth. The death of Banquo, the spectre at the feast. The reminder that no matter how much people try and forget, go about their ordinary lives, follow their dreams, indulge their passions and make their wishes, it all, ultimately, stands for nothing. Because it can be taken away so easily, so arbitrarily. And where a work colleague or friend or lover should be there’s now just a void. An ache. And with it another reminder:
That’ll be me one day. One day there’ll be a world without me in it
.