Cut Short (20 page)

  'I'm the victim here,' she reminded herself sternly, but it didn't help. She fast-forwarded to Tuesday night. The same figure dropped to the ground, and ran out of sight in the direction of the garages. Geraldine knew a message was being painted on her garage door, out of sight of the camera. A moment later the figure reappeared, tucking what could have been a can of spray paint into its pocket. It was visible only for a second before hauling itself quickly over the fence. The face remained concealed.

  Geraldine considered her options. Of the few people who knew where she lived, someone was nursing a grudge against her. She must have colleagues who didn't particularly like her, but she couldn't think of anyone who'd stoop to such stupid scare tactics. She wracked her brains. As a detective she'd put away some nasty characters. She wouldn't be doing her job if she hadn't. But none of them knew where she lived. She was careful. Her flat was discreetly tucked away, protected by electronic gates and hidden security cameras. She would have noticed if someone was following her. She decided against discussing the problem with any of her colleagues. They might report the incident. The DCI might even want her taken off the case and removed to a safe house until the matter was resolved. She had to get to the bottom of it herself. She was a detective, after all.

  That night, pondering in the darkness, Geraldine recalled how one of the men who'd delivered her washing machine had appeared to recognise her. Within a week, the graffiti had started. If he held a grudge against her, his chance discovery of her address might have proved an irresistible temptation. She resolved to find out who he was. She closed her eyes and pictured him, hovering behind Bert. He was called Arthur. Small, wiry and strong, he'd been wearing a cap pulled down over his brow. She remembered he'd pulled it further down over his face as Bert stood talking on the doorstep, until his eyes were a mere glint beneath the brim. His build was similar to the figure captured on film, strong enough to have pulled himself up and over the fence.

  Now that she had something to go on, Geraldine felt relieved, as though she'd somehow regained control of the situation. With returning confidence, she dared to hope that was the end of it. When the current case was over, and Angela Waters' killer secured, she'd deal with her stalker. Until then nothing was going to divert her attention from the murder investigation.

  Everyone at the flats seemed to know about the second incidence of graffiti. People Geraldine had never seen before appeared in the morning with sympathetic smiles and comments. They were all incensed, although not everyone seemed to understand the message.

  'It's not as if it was even dirty!' one woman said indignantly. Geraldine kept quiet but when another neighbour asked, she admitted to being a police officer.

  'Everything all right, gov?' Peterson asked, giving her a curious stare as she walked in.

  'I'm fine. And you?' She knew who'd been vandalising her property, someone called Arthur who'd delivered her washing machine. When the time came, she'd make it clear to this Arthur, whoever he was, that she wouldn't be intimidated by inane scribbling on her fence and garage door. In the meantime she wasn't unduly worried. It wasn't as though he could gain access to her flat.

35

Departure

'What d'you mean, they were here? In my flat? Who were they?' Terry gripped Melanie by the shoulders so hard she couldn't wriggle free. She stared at him, shocked at the fury in his eyes. She'd never seen Terry lose his temper before. Clearly this wasn't the right time to suggest they spend a romantic evening at her favourite restaurant.

  'An inspector and a sergeant, like I said,' she repeated, barely able to speak for fear. 'They showed me their ID, it was all above board. They said I could phone the police station if I didn't believe them.' She tried to twist out of his grasp. 'Let go, you're hurting me.'

  'Yes, but what did they want?' He was shouting at her now, still holding her fast and shaking her. Melanie whimpered, terrified. She thought about the questions the police had asked and wondered what Terry was going to do to her.

  Suddenly she found her voice, letting him know the police were on to him. 'It was about that woman who was killed in the park. They wanted to know where you were last Wednesday morning.'

  'Last Wednesday morning?' He looked puzzled. 'What did you tell them?'

  'I told them you were here, and they left.' Terry let go of her and turned away. After a few seconds he heaved a loud sigh and looked at her, shamefaced, his head lowered.

  'I'm sorry, love. I just don't like the police coming round here, that's all.' Melanie backed away from him, her eyes narrowed and brimming with tears. 'What are you looking at me like that for?' He took a step towards her.

  'I was wondering why you're so terrified of the police.' And what you were doing last Wednesday morning, she thought.

  Terry forced a grin. 'Me? Terrified? You're having a laugh. I'm not terrified of anyone.'

  Melanie edged further away from him as she repeated her question. 'Why are you scared of the police?'

  'Aren't we all?' he asked her. 'Aren't you?'

  'No, not really. Why should I be?'

  'That's where you and me are different, Mel,' he said with an exaggerated sigh. 'You're fun to be around, but it's a different life you lead. It's like a dream. The car, the restaurants, the clothes. But you're not real, are you? You're not …' He paused and scratched his head, struggling to explain what he meant.

  'Not normal?' Melanie asked. She didn't know whether her voice was shaking with rage, or disappointment. Or fear.

  'Yeah. That's it.' He smiled uneasily, taking in the expression on her face. 'Come on, it's not important, is it? They've gone now. It's over. I reckon it was your old man put them onto us. Let's forget about it. Life's too short to quarrel. Let's have a beer and chill.' As he came towards her she took an involuntary step back.

  'How can we just go back to how it was before?' she asked in a low voice.

  'It's only words, innit? Come and give us a kiss. Come on. Let's go to bed and forget all about them.' Melanie shook her head. 'Come on, let's have some fun together.'

  'Fun,' she repeated, fighting back her tears.

  'Come and give us a kiss then,' he repeated, wheedling, but she turned away.

  'I think I'd better go,' she said quietly. He didn't reply. 'I'm leaving,' she repeated, more loudly this time.

  Terry grunted but didn't try to persuade her to change her mind. 'Tell you what, I'll make myself scarce shall I, so you can pack up in peace?' If anything, he sounded relieved. 'Only I can't bear to hang around with you snivelling like that. Never could bear to see a girl cry. Specially not a pretty girl like you. Why don't you go to the bathroom and sort your face out, for fuck's sake.' She ran into the bathroom and locked the door.

  He didn't come after her, or plead with her to come out and make up. She listened for ages. When she finally came out, Terry had gone out. Good riddance, she told herself ferociously. She pretended he'd gone out to buy her flowers. In a moment he'd return, full of remorse, clutching thousands of red roses, to tell her he couldn't live without her. But she knew that wasn't going to happen. She'd been an idiot to let herself fall for him in the first place. She didn't ever want to see him again. He expected her to be gone from his pokey little flat by the time he returned. Fine. She'd go. The sooner the better. She wasn't going to risk being there when he came back. Sobbing, she pulled her suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe and rammed her clothes into it, careless of creasing them. It didn't matter. Nora would iron them.

  She looked around for her handbag. It was nowhere in sight. She searched the tiny flat, coolly at first, then frantically, but her bag had vanished. A horrible suspicion crossed her mind; there was no denying that her handbag had gone, along with her phone, her Ipod and her purse stuffed with cash and most of her credit cards. Her leather jewellery case had also vanished with her diamond pendant and earrings, her black pearls and all of her rings and brooches set with precious stones. Terry had taken the lot, along with his own wallet and Ipod, the one she'd given him, his rucksack and his clothes.

  Melanie was alone in the flat, abandoned and humiliated. She'd been a complete fool. A search through the kitchen cupboards produced three cans of beer and a bottle of gin, three quarters empty. There was no milk so she couldn't even make herself a cup of tea. She threw herself on the bed, her anger giving way to a torrent of furious tears. But as she wept, she felt a flicker of relief that he'd gone. Terry had lied about his feelings. And if the police were right in their insinuations, she'd had a lucky escape. She blew her nose fiercely and went back to the kitchen where she poured a generous measure of gin into a cracked mug and thought about what to do next.

PART 4

'My innocence begins to weigh me down'

Racine

36

Party

'Is there really going to be alcohol at Ella's party?' Shema asked. Rusty rolled her eyes and laughed loudly. Shema laughed too. Even though her friends were all girls, Shema didn't dare tell her father about Ella's party. Since the recent murders he'd been even more protective than before, if that were possible. She knew he'd never allow her to go to a party after school.

  'Muslim girls don't roam the streets after dark,' he'd say, and that would be that.

  Shema and her father had moved to Woolsmarsh over the summer. It wasn't easy starting a new school in Year 10. The other pupils in her year all knew each other. She was aware of the boys watching her at first. After a few days their eyes slid past her as though she was invisible. The girls were worse. Only the teachers took any notice of her, praising her for her work.

  Shema could remember exactly when Rusty had first spoken to her. The maths teacher had been away and the cover teacher had allowed them to work in pairs.

  'Can you understand these?' Rusty had turned to Shema in despair. And that was how they became friends. Rusty was really nice and always said, 'Thank you,' when she copied Shema's homework before class. Rusty was in the cool gang. Once Shema would have been appalled by their obscene language, but everything was different when you were included, and being Rusty's friend meant Shema was accepted into the gang whatever the other girls thought.

  Ella was having a party and they were all invited. Shema knew her father would never give his permission.

  'Of course I'm coming,' she told Rusty. 'But my dad's working at home on Friday so can I come back with you to get ready?'

  'Sure. But I'm not going home first. We're all going straight round to Ella's so we can get ready together.'

  Shema told her father she was staying for an after school revision session and another girl's mother was going to drop her home at nine o'clock. 'There's no point in you coming out too.'

  'All right, you can go because I know you'll work hard, Shema, but you will be home by nine.'

  Shema crossed her fingers behind her back. She didn't like lying to her father, but even as she was struggling with her conscience, she was plotting her evening of freedom. Her father would never know. This was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her.

  'What did you learn at school today, Shema?'

  'I learned that life is better for you when you are good at your school work, father.' It was true. After all, she'd only become friends with Rusty because she was good at maths.

  The four girls rushed to Ella's house after school. It was only a few stops on the bus and they chattered excitedly all the way. Rusty let Shema use her make-up. Alice helped her and they all agreed she looked fantastic but she was embarrassed when she saw what the others were wearing. Shema was the only one in a dress that covered her arms and hung to her knees. When they started talking about boys who'd been invited to the party, Shema felt sick with excitement.

  The party was a nightmare. Music blared so loudly Shema couldn't hear what anyone was saying. It was like stepping into a different world, and she hated everything about it. The boys were wild and loud, unrecognisable, although she knew some of them went to her school. They were shouting and cursing, drinking from cans and bottles, and smoking. Rusty had promised to hang out with Shema but she couldn't see her friend anywhere. Ella was snogging a spotty boy up against the wall in full view of everyone. Shema looked away in shame. A tall boy came and stood in front of her, leering. Shema panicked and pushed past him. He rocked unsteadily on his legs, cheerfully mouthing obscenities at her retreating back.

  Shema pushed her way upstairs to look for a quiet room where she could phone her father, but there was no signal. It was almost nine o'clock. She had to leave. Looking for her blazer, she finally found Rusty stretched out on a bed, partially concealed by a boy on top of her. Rusty was lying on a pile of coats, her hair fanned out round the boy's dark head. Shema could see her school blazer beneath Rusty's spread-eagled legs but she couldn't get to it. She stared at them in horrid fascination. Suddenly Rusty opened her eyes wide and looked straight at Shema. She pushed the boy away and sat up, pulling her T-shirt down quickly. The boy rolled over onto his back but didn't sit up.

  'Who's the weird gash?' he asked indifferently.

  'I'm her friend,' Shema blurted out.

  'Is that why you're watching us get off?' he asked. He raised his head, lit a cigarette and let his head flop back on the coats as he inhaled deeply.