Cut Short (32 page)

  'How did she know—' Peterson began but Geraldine shook her head to silence him.

  'Go on, Shema,' she urged.

  The girl looked uncertainly at her and then continued, tears winking in the corners of her eyes. 'Rusty's … Rusty was my best friend. I wasn't sure of the way so she walked with me to the bus stop in the High Street.' She paused again, overcome by her recollection. At her side, her father exhaled noisily. He looked overcome with emotion.

  'What happened next, Shema?' Geraldine prompted her.

  'The bus came and I got on it. My father was waiting for me.' Mr Malik looked up and nodded, urging her to continue.

  'What happened to Rusty?' Geraldine asked.

  They waited a moment, while Shema wept. Her father handed her a large tissue and she blew her nose noisily.

  'She said she was going back to the party. I asked her, will you be all right? I didn't want to leave her but I had to get home. She said she'd be all right.' Shema gazed at the tape machine refusing to look at Geraldine.

  'You've done the right thing coming to tell us this.'

  Lost in her memories, Shema didn't seem to hear what Geraldine was saying. She was crying again. 'I asked her, will you be all right? She said she'd be all right but I shouldn't have left her like that.'

  'You've done nothing wrong, Shema,' Geraldine reassured the girl. 'This has been a terrible shock for you, I know, but none of this is your fault. You're not responsible for what Jacqueline did or where she went.'

  'You don't understand. I should never have left her alone. She was very drunk.' Shema glanced fearfully up at her father who shook his head, looking at the floor.

  'You see where it leads, Shema.'

  Geraldine thanked the girl for coming forward. 'What you've told us is going to be a great help to our investigation.'

  Mr Malik looked up. 'Do you know who did this terrible thing?'

  'Oh yes,' Geraldine nodded grimly. 'We've a good idea who we're looking for, and we're doing everything we can to find him as quickly as possible.'

55

Patience

Jim spotted the policemen straight away. He spun on his heel and hurried back down a side street. They were waiting for him, but he'd seen them first.

  'Can't catch me,' he chanted under his breath. This was all her fault. He needed to shut that stupid bitch up once and for all. He knew her name and now he'd found her. He got cleverer all the time with all the thinking he was doing. Very soon he'd be cleverer than all of them. He had plans. Great plans. Miss Elsie liked it when he was clever but even she didn't know how clever he was. He was going to be very busy, being clever.

  Miss Elsie was laughing. 'You're more clever than you know,' she told him but she went away before he could tell her that he
did
know. He'd tell her next time he saw her. Right now he was in a hurry. It was his turn and he was winning. He was the seeker and the finder. All he had to do was follow her. He was so close, and when he found out where she was hiding, he knew what to do. He'd done it before and it was easy. The only difficult bit was the waiting. He pulled on his gloves and clenched his fists, wishing he was doing it right now.

  He took a can of beer from a newsagent's. No one saw him. He could do anything he wanted now he was clever. If they were mean to him, he knew what to do.

  'It's easy when you know how,' Miss Elsie said. They'd never catch him. He was old enough to drink beer. He was old enough to do anything he wanted. That was what it meant to be a grown up and clever. They'd never stop him now.

  He watched the children running out of school, afraid he might miss her in the crowd. He waited in the side street, careful not to be seen. It would be easy to follow her without being noticed because he knew how to do it. He was clever, and he was patient, and he'd found her. Even the police didn't see him. She should have known she couldn't escape. He was no fool. He knew her tricks. She wouldn't go running to the newspapers to tell on him again. He'd make sure of that. He remembered the picture of him in all the papers. They made his scar look ugly. He licked his moustache with the tip of his tongue and shuddered. Then he giggled to himself because he'd seen her. She walked quickly out of the school and he followed her down the road. She didn't know he was there. No one knew.

  She disappeared round the corner and he hurried after her. He was worried he might not be able to see her when he turned into the next street but she was there. He watched her go round another corner. He was almost running to keep up with her. She was walking fast on purpose to make his legs hurt. He followed her until she went into a house. He stood under a tree across the road and hugged himself. He knew where she lived. He laughed softly and settled down to wait until it grew dark. No one knew he was there, watching and waiting in the shadows.

  As it grew dark, a car drove up and a man went into the house. Jim felt his face tighten. She had to be alone. It was all her fault. She shouldn't have spoken to him in the park. She knew he wasn't allowed to talk to strangers.

  'You're a dirty sneak. You told. You got to be punished,' the children screeched and he felt a tremor of fear.

  'Don't worry, they can't hurt you,' Miss Elsie whispered.

  'What if he never goes away?' he asked but Miss Elsie wasn't listening. No one ever listened to what he said, not even Miss Elsie. They talked to him, but no one ever listened to him. That was because they didn't know how clever he was. Only someone very clever could be the hider and the seeker. When he'd finished he was going to tell Miss Elsie how clever he was. She'd listen to him then. Everyone would listen to him. He waited patiently but the man never went away. When it was dark, Jim turned and walked away. He'd come back and find her when she was alone. It was his game now, and he was going to win.

  'It won't be long now,' he whispered to himself as he disappeared into the darkness.

56

Hideout

Jim Curtis had to be somewhere. Geraldine stood up and sat down again. There was no point going home. She fiddled with her pencil. She glared at her phone. She had to admit, when Kathryn Gordon went into action she made things happen. They'd set up a huge search. Every uniformed officer in the area had been sent to sweep the park once more. They'd examined every inch of turf, beaten their way through every leaf and shrub and searched the gardeners' huts again. The lake had been dredged, throwing up old cans and bottles tops, coins and condoms, cigarette packets and plastic cartons, more garbage than anyone would have thought possible. None of the detritus shed any light on the case. Even the letter Heather Spencer had received had drawn a blank. No postmark, no prints. It had been posted through the door by hand during the night. Whoever delivered it must've crept in under the car park barrier and slipped along the wall under the security cameras.

  From the park, they'd moved outwards, conducting house-to-house enquiries. The search was widening.

  'Have you seen this man … a man with a scar … a man with a moustache … anyone suspicious … a stranger …' Despite the public outcry against the killer, no one had come forward with any leads. They'd pulled in the odd tramp or drugged up kid, but the Woolsmarsh Strangler remained elusive. Poring over maps and cruising the area, Geraldine had joined the quest to discover where he was hiding. Shema told them Jacqueline had intended to return to the party when she'd left the bus stop. According to Ella's statement, Jacqueline had never returned. They were concentrating on the area between Queen Street, where Ella had her party, and the bus stop on the High Street where Jacqueline had last been seen alive.

  Not far from the park, there was a row of empty terraced houses waiting for demolition in Mortimer Street. The site had been bought by a property developer who was going to knock it down and put up flats. Opposite the derelict houses a block of flats had already been built, set back from the road. Geraldine sat in her car and gazed thoughtfully at the empty properties. A man could come and go there unseen. The DCI had already sent a team of uniformed officers to check out the empty houses.

  Two hours later, Geraldine was sitting at her desk trying to read through a file when an announcement was relayed to everyone. The search team had stumbled across a shed where someone had been sleeping rough. Jacqueline Ross's mother had recognised the description of some clothes found there.

  'No marked cars in Mortimer Street,' the DCI said, rushing through an emergency briefing. 'We need to maintain an invisible presence. I don't want any sign of unusual activity. A forensic team's going in at once but they're to stay hidden. All phones silenced. Complete blackout. I'm on my way. Carter,' she added with sudden ferocity, 'keep the press away.'

  'A shed?' Geraldine repeated, her frustration forgotten. Summoning Peterson, she hurried out to the car park where Carter was addressing a cluster of reporters. From what Geraldine could hear, he seemed to be giving an impromtu press briefing.

  They drove to Mortimer Street. Neither of them spoke. The only sound was the low hum of the engine. There were several rusting cars parked along the kerb in Mortimer Street but no one stirred as they drove past. Peterson parked round the corner and they walked quickly back past derelict houses, their downstairs windows boarded up. Tiny front gardens lay untended, most of them paved over, weeds sprouting between the flagstones; the few that still displayed grass and flowerbeds had run completely wild. The flats across the road were concealed behind a tall hedge. Geraldine led the way along a narrow side passage into an overgrown wilderness of a back garden at number 73. It was like an open landfill site littered with empty cans and food cartons, old newspapers and bottles. Everywhere they looked discarded clothes were heaped in damp piles: trousers and jumpers, coats and vests, all jumbled together. It was past five o'clock and would begin to grow dark soon.

  'Must be overrun with rats,' Peterson muttered, gazing around in disgust.

  At the far end of the garden they saw a shed nestling among gigantic nettles and brambles. It reminded Geraldine of the shrubbery in Lyceum Park where Angela Waters and Tiffany May's bodies had been discovered. She felt a prickling sensation at the back of her head. This had to be the killer's hideout. As she opened the door of the shed a foul stench hit her. Inside the shed the police had found Jacqueline Ross's party outfit neatly folded on top of a jumble of old clothes. The DCI was there, whispering into her phone. Lookouts had been posted in empty properties all along the street to alert them if anyone approached. The net was closing in.

  'I want officers out of sight keeping front and back access under surveillance at all times,' the DCI had said when the team had gathered at the station to receive their detailed instructions. 'Officers posted in the back gardens on either side and over the back fence. Everyone out of sight. No marked cars anywhere. No uniforms visible. As soon as he sets foot on the property, detain him.'

  They staked out the area while inside the shed two white coated forensic scientists worked on, gathering minute samples. Geraldine stood in the garden for a moment imagining their measured movements inside the shed, before following Peterson back to the car. They waited but Jim Curtis didn't appear.

  'What now, gov?'

  'We wait,' she said, folding her arms 'We wait and we catch him.'

57

Home

Heather put her mark book away and left without pausing to say goodbye to anyone. Unnerved by the note she'd received two days earlier, she longed for the security of home. William was spending the evening with his father who lived just under an hour's drive away, on the way to the coast. Sometimes Heather accompanied him on these weekly visits, but William's brother was putting in a rare appearance and Heather had agreed it would be better for her to stay at home while they thrashed out their family issues. She'd been looking forward to the luxury of having some time to herself. She kicked off with a long bath. Lying back in warm water she felt the tension of the past few days soak slowly out of her neck and shoulders. She'd done her duty. The horrible business was nothing to do with her any more. She'd have time for a microwaved dinner in front of the telly before William came home. As a final indulgence she might go to bed with a mug of hot chocolate.

  As she came downstairs, towelling her hair, her eye was caught by something white on the doormat. She was certain it hadn't been there when she'd gone upstairs for her bath. She picked the envelope up by one corner, telling herself she was being neurotic because she was alone in the house. Ridiculous, she thought, a woman of her age reacting like a hysterical teenager instead of walking past the envelope without a second glance. But she took the first glance. Familiar handwriting stared up at her.

  Heather couldn't breathe. She was alone in the house and he knew where she lived. He could be outside, watching. Or worse. Too terrified to move, she listened for footsteps on the path.

  Detective Inspector Steel had told her to call straight away if she remembered anything else. Fighting her panic, Heather ran to the kitchen to fetch her bag. The card the inspector had given her was in there somewhere, but she couldn't find it. She tipped everything out and scrabbled frantically through her purse, scattering coins. She shook her diary. Nothing fell out. She felt about in the bottom of her bag. It wasn't there. She must have left it by the sink in the toilets at school. Her hesitation was only momentary. The killer might be outside. She ran back to the hall, reached for the phone and dialled 999.