Play Dead (22 page)

W
hy did
you take me THAT DAY, Mummy?

How could you not have known what would happen?

After taking me to the toilet Louise stared at me all the way until lunchtime. I smiled, hoping she would smile back and she did. Kind of.

There was something about her that reminded me of Lindsay. I wanted her to like me. I wanted her to be my friend.

Louise found me a seat at lunchtime and then left me to eat on my own. She was a popular girl. Running from group to group and making them laugh. And in-between she would look over at me with a puzzled little frown on her face. I smiled and I waved, praying she would come over so that I wouldn’t be on my own.

I chewed my way through sandwiches that tasted like pieces of wood. I stared down to the bottom of my lunch box. I didn’t want to look around.

Finally she came and sat beside me.

‘We have PE after lunch,’ she said. ‘You can be my partner if you want.’

I nodded gratefully. I wasn’t sure what PE was, but at least I had a partner.

Suddenly I felt brave enough to ask her the question that was playing on my mind.

‘Why are they all looking at me?’ I asked.

‘Just because you’re new,’ she said, snatching the rest of my crisps and walking away.

I didn’t mind. Louise was going to be my partner. That meant she was going to be my friend.

The lunch bell sounded, and I followed the crowd back to the classroom and then over to the sports hall. I couldn’t get close to Louise. There were too many people around her. But I told myself it was okay. She was going to be my partner. She had said so. I was already hoping that one day she would come to my house for tea.

Mrs Shaw was a thin, pretty lady dressed in a short pleated skirt. She asked me if I’d brought my gym bag. I shook my head no. I hadn’t known that I’d need one.

She hesitated for a moment.

‘I think we have some spare,’ she said, heading out of the hall.

She got to the door and paused.

‘Louise, show your new friend where to get her own gym mat,’ Mrs Shaw said before she disappeared from view.

Louise turned and smiled in my direction.

But that wasn’t what she did at all.

K
im called
them to order for the morning briefing as soon as the last one had sat down.

She strode out of The Bowl. ‘Okay, guys, quick as you can, as I’ve had a message that Isobel has asked to see me. So we know Tracy Frost is either missing or has gone AWOL. She’s still not answering her phone and her car is not outside her house.’

Kim had called her mobile three times already that morning and whizzed past her house on the way in to the station.

‘You really think our guy has her?’ Dawson asked.

Kim thought for a moment and nodded.

‘Nice newspaper article,’ Dawson said and then held up his hands. ‘And before you ask, it wasn’t me.’

Kim wasn’t sure why he felt that instant suspicion would fall on him.

‘I know, Kev,’ she said.

‘I thought I’d get the blame… because… well… I’ve got a big mouth, and it was clearly leaked from someone involved in…’

‘Kev, it was me,’ Kim said.

‘What?’ Bryant and Stacey said together.

She said nothing.

‘You actually spoke to Tracy Frost?’ Dawson said, horrified.

‘Yes, I did, and now it’s time to move on. So Louise Hickman was the first victim that we know of. There was then a break for a few years until Jemima returned from Dubai. He then tried to kill Isobel and now he’s taken Tracy. So far we know that three of them went to the same school. There was an incident that the headmaster recalls vaguely that may have sparked this entire killing spree and two of our victims have the same hairgrip that Louise Hickman wore at school. We know that’s the key.’

‘Seems a bit extreme,’ Stacey offered. ‘We all had some shit at school.’

Kim nodded. ‘I agree. We need more detail of the incident.’ She paused for a few seconds before turning to Stacey. ‘Find me a dinner lady, Stace. Dinner ladies always know everything and there’s more to this than we have so far.’

‘And the guv is almost prepared to admit she was wrong,’ Bryant said with a smile.

‘Am I?’ Kim asked, surprised.

‘Well, you heard the headmaster. He said it was a girl. Even you have to admit that we were right, and you were wrong. We’re looking for a female.’

‘Could be her brother, father, uncle, boyfriend, husband?’ Kim offered.

‘Ah, so instead of saying you were wrong you might go so far as to admit it’s not the most right you’ve ever been?’ he asked.

Kim shook her head. ‘I admit nothing until we know more about what happened that day.’

‘I’m still looking to see where Isobel fits into this,’ Stacey said. ‘I’ve got Louise Hickman and Jemima Lowe in the same class. I’ve got Tracy Frost in the class above…’

‘Check middle names as well, Stace,’ Kim advised. ‘Some people adopt their middle names in certain situations.’

‘Will do, guv.’

‘I still want to know about those marks on the legs and stomach. They don’t make sense and we know that both Jemima and Isobel have them. Obviously there’s no way of knowing with Louise.’

The flesh around her thighs had been far too decayed to confirm.

‘Talking of Isobel, she regained consciousness yesterday but has no memory of the events or her own life. Added to that, the girl has hep C. I don’t know if she’s aware.’

‘What, that she’s a druggie?’

‘You’re not ignorant enough to believe that’s the only way to get it, Kev,’ she snapped. Although, to be fair, in their experience it was the most common reason.

It was possible that Isobel was an addict who’d cleaned up. Kim had noted no obvious signs of withdrawal or track marks.

‘Does the boyfriend know?’ Dawson asked.

And was she going to tell him? She heard the question in the young detective’s voice.

It was a question that had been nagging at the back of her own mind. Watching Duncan care for his girlfriend was heartening and meant that Isobel had someone but would he be quite as keen if he knew the truth? Eventually Kim had come to the conclusion that it was not her truth to share.

‘Kev, I want you asking around at local shelters and even some of our known prostitutes to see if anyone has heard of a woman named Isobel.’

‘You think she’s a whore?’

Kim’s head snapped up. ‘I’ll give you a full three seconds to rethink your terminology.’

Bryant stood before Dawson had a chance to open his mouth.

‘I’m getting coffee and Stacey’s gonna help me.’

Kim raised her eyebrows in agreement and folded her arms before the two of them had left the office.

‘How dare you? I mean how bloody dare you refer to these women or any woman with so little respect?’ she asked and then held up her hand. ‘Actually don’t even bother to answer, because this is going to be a conversation that requires no input from you, got it?’

His surprise was mixed with irritation.

‘We seem to have this same chat every investigation, and quite frankly I’ve had enough of it, Kev. You have moments of pure brilliance when I’m actually proud to have you on this team and then there are occasions when, honestly, I’m not proud at all.

‘You see, Kev, I get pissed off when you seem to apportion a different priority to a person based on your pre-judgement of them. The thing is, I couldn’t care less about whatever Isobel was or wasn’t before I met her. All I know is that I watched her moaning on the ground, fighting for breath while blood was streaming out of her head. And then I spoke to an incredibly courageous woman who has fought back from a coma, all for the pleasure of not knowing her own name.

‘So when you have the audacity to refer to her as a whore it tends to piss me off a bit. Get it?’

She could see the colour rising up his neck and that only happened when he was emotional.

‘It’s just sensitivity, Kev,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Just think before you open your mouth, yeah?’

She heard Bryant’s cough from along the hallway. Subtle he was not.

‘Canteen isn’t open yet,’ he said, taking his seat. Stacey followed.

Of course it wasn’t. They all knew it opened at eight.

‘Guv…?’ Dawson said.

‘Yes, Kev?’

‘Do you think Isobel is a prostitute?’

Kim didn’t hesitate in answering. She’d said her piece. ‘I think she could have been. The scars on her wrist mean she’s been troubled and desperate enough at some stage to consider ending her own life. The contraction of hepatitis C could indicate she’s dabbled in prostitution at some stage to support herself.’

And it was a world where people came and went without having to clock in or out. She could easily have evaded the police but not other prostitutes. It was their business to know who was around.

‘If she has worked the street, someone will know, Kev. Do some digging on your way back to Westerley.’

‘Will do, boss. And Curtis Grant is due back there today. I want a quick chat with him. The sudden insertion of Darren James as the night-time officer seems a bit odd. And I think Curtis Grant has been at Westerley a bit more than is actually necessary this week. There’s something there that doesn’t feel right.’

‘Well stick with it, and let me know if anything jumps out.’

Stacey ceased tapping for a minute. ‘What do you want me to do about Ivor and Larry?’

Kim sighed heavily.

She knew the case was active again and belonged to Brierley Hill, yet something inside her did not want to let it go. She and her team had found out more in two days than had been discovered in three years.

They now knew that every effort had been made to remove the identities of both men. They were friends or at the very least acquaintances, and Stacey had confirmed that both were registered sex offenders.

Kim now had far less sympathy for the fact that Ivor had remained anonymous for years.

‘Do some digging on their victims, Stace. They’ve both done prison time, but it may be that someone out there doesn’t think they’ve done enough.’

‘Yeah, me for one,’ Dawson offered.

No one voiced their agreement. They didn’t need to. It was a universal opinion. As was the belief you didn’t get to go around killing people, no matter what they had done.

I
sobel took
a sip of the weak tea she’d been handed by the day nurse. She almost spat it onto the crisp white sheet before a hesitant smile began to form. Looked like she didn’t take sugar after all. Fact learned.

Isobel was sorry that she’d missed Marion. The sister had been true to her word and had woken her at eleven thirty, then at two a.m. and again at five, gradually lengthening the periods of sleep. She’d been woken for the last time at seven thirty by the oncoming shift.

She’d heard the staff talking, and the snippets had told her she would be moved to a different ward later today. Apparently both her short- and long-term memory abilities were showing positive signs. She had retained the fact that she preferred toast without jam and that Duncan was her boyfriend. Her physical recovery was being hailed as miraculous.

Part of Isobel didn’t want to be moved, despite all the indications that she was recovering.

There was safety in the silent, cloistered environment where foot traffic was kept to a minimum. But she was breathing without aid, her morphine had been successfully reduced and she’d managed to get some sleep.

She experienced a brief second of panic that Duncan wouldn’t be able to find her. She reassured herself that the staff would point him in the right direction. She hated it when he had to leave and looked forward to his return. Just the feel of his palm against hers was a comfort.

When he returned she would ask him again about their dates. And she would keep on asking until she could remember herself. Maybe one time he would recall something different which would spark a memory of her own.

She found herself touching the scars on her wrist. There was a familiarity in the gesture. Why had she done this to herself? Before she’d been abducted, what in her life could have been so bad that she’d felt death was the answer? The irony was that she had very nearly had that wish granted by her attacker.

Her mind returned to the dreams that had taunted her during the night. Being carried, being touched but not sexually. A voice. Each time she’d been woken she had tried to make sense of the images that were no more than shadows dancing in the cave of her mind.

Isobel had now stopped grasping. She had learned that chasing the activity in her own mind was like trying to hold on to an oil-covered eel.

No, she couldn’t bring the images into focus, but she knew what she’d heard.

One for you and one for me.
And there was a female somewhere called Mandy.

They were two pieces of information that didn’t grow, no matter how many times she looked at them. Two little nuggets that she twisted and turned in her mind, looking at them from every angle like a precious stone being inspected for its carat.

But the nuggets remained the same. Precious because they had come from somewhere inside her head, had managed to crawl out of the locked box.

The day nurse approached and checked her teacup.

‘It’s gone cold, love,’ she said.

She opened her mouth to say something about sugar but closed it again as she saw the unmistakeable figure of the policewoman she’d met yesterday.

She had asked the ward sister to give the detective a call as soon as she’d woken, but she hadn’t expected to see her quite yet.

‘Hey, how are you doing?’ the woman asked.

Isobel smiled at her visitor. Strangely she felt very pleased to see her.

Yesterday she’d been intimidated by the manner of the female detective. But today she was reassured. There was honesty in that face, and although the mouth didn’t smile much there was a passion behind the dark eyes.

‘I’m okay, I think I’m being moved later.’

The officer shook her head as she sat down. ‘I’ve asked them to keep you here for just a little while longer. I don’t think you’re ready to be moved.’

‘You mean you haven’t caught him yet?’

The words were out before she could stop them.

The detective raised one eyebrow. ‘Let’s just say I’d be happier if you stayed here a little while longer.’

Isobel was not unhappy at the police’s involvement. Until her memory returned she relished the safety of the cloistered environment.

‘I don’t like sugar,’ she said, shrugging her shoulders.

‘Neither do I,’ the officer answered.

‘I need to tell you some things, but I don’t know if they mean anything,’ she blurted out. Now the detective was sitting here in front of her the things she had to say seemed inconsequential. Not least because she couldn’t substantiate that she’d heard either one of them while she’d been with her captor.

It could just as easily have come from her previous life.

‘
Mandy
. I think he may have someone else – someone called Mandy. I keep hearing the name, but I can’t recognise the voice. It might be nothing. It might be completely unrelated, and I might be sending you…’

‘It’s okay,’ the officer said, patting her hand. ‘It’s up to me to decide what’s relevant. Just tell me anything that comes into your mind.’

‘One for you and one for me,’ she blurted out.

‘What?’ the officer asked.

Isobel shrugged her confusion. ‘I know. It’s strange, but when I close my eyes the phrase plays like it’s on a loop. The trouble is I don’t know if that’s because of me.’ She felt the sigh building inside her as the tears pricked her eyes. ‘I just don’t know anything any more. I don’t know the difference between a thought and a memory. I just don’t know what’s real.’

‘Hey, don’t get upset. You’re doing brilliantly.’

The cool, firm hand was resting on her arm. The strength she felt pulsating through stemmed her tears.

‘You’ve suffered a horrendous attack that was intended to end your life. You fought yourself out of a coma, and your body is trying to heal. So give yourself a break, eh?’

Isobel noticed the absence of any false reassurances that her memory would return. They both knew it might never happen, so the officer didn’t bother to indulge in the pretence.

Her visitor stood and Isobel felt an immediate sense of loneliness. There was a security that surrounded this woman. Although her manner was brusque and unyielding, Isobel enjoyed the frankness in her face.

‘Anyway, it’s only the really famous that can carry off having only one name,’ she said, glancing at the nameplate above her bed that stated simply ‘Isobel’.

Isobel smiled at the statement as the detective squeezed her arm. ‘I’ll be back to check on you again, okay?’

Isobel nodded her thanks. She found the prospect reassuring.

With a final smile, the officer turned and walked away, her gait confident and assured.

Immediately the ward felt empty and dark, like a light had gone out.

Isobel had the sudden urge to shout after her to tell her she didn’t want her to go. She wanted to beg her to stay.

For just a short while, she had felt safe, as though nothing could reach into this ward and get her. But as the police officer walked away she felt exposed, vulnerable.

She realised that she would feel that way until the bastard was caught.