Dead Girl Walking (20 page)

Other than SAS man, the street is in silence. As my heart slows and I let the curtain drop back into place, there’s a knock at the front door. My heart starts to race again as I glance at the clock. It’s late, too late for casual callers or salesmen. I’m still and silent. If they think I’m not here, perhaps they’ll go.

‘It’s me,’ Dante calls through the letterbox.

I heave a thankful sigh and go to the door. ‘I know it is,’ I lie, undoing the bolts. The door swings open. He stands on the step, hugging himself. The sky behind him is velvet blackness, peppered with stars, the street deathly quiet.

‘It’s freezing out here.’

‘I thought you were going to phone before you came round.’

‘You wouldn’t have answered.’

He’s right, the mood I was in I probably wouldn’t have done. And I’m not sure I’m in a better one now, but in light of what is waiting for me in the morning, perhaps some company would be good after all to help take my mind off it.

‘Can I come in?’ he asks when I don’t reply.

‘What if I said no?’

‘Then… I’d have to go home again.’

‘True.’

‘What’s it to be?’

I step aside to let him in. ‘You can’t stay all night.’

‘I know,’ he nods. ‘I’ll look at your phone and then I’ll go.’

‘Another euphemism?’

‘Are you offering?’

‘No,’ I say. ‘Not tonight.’

‘Do you want to tell me about your phone call now?’ he asks as he follows me down the hallway. ‘It seemed like something pretty intense.’

‘Family stuff,’ I say.

‘Was it your policeman?’

‘Yes. But don’t ask me what was discussed because I can’t tell you.’

‘Was it him on the phone when you passed out?’ He leans back against the sink and regards me steadily as I flick the light on the cooker hood.

‘No.’ More lies and I hate myself for it. But if I tell him the truth then he’ll want to know what was so shocking that it made me pass out and I can’t tell him that even if I wanted to.

‘Who was it then?’

‘Nobody.’

‘I really need to get this right, you see. So, when
nobody
phones you, you pass out. I can phone you and you’ll be safe, because I’m
somebody
.’

‘Sarcasm is a form of humour, Dante. Which means it’s supposed to be funny.’

‘I think you’ll find it’s the lowest form of wit.’

‘Either way, it doesn’t suit you.’

His gaze slips sideways to the floor.

‘Don’t take it so personally,’ I say. ‘I’m this horrible to everyone.’

‘That’s just it,’ he says, turning his gaze back to me. ‘I don’t think you really are. You’re just hurting all the time.’

I roll my eyes. ‘You sound like Helen.’

‘I know,’ he smiles a little. ‘You can tell me what’s going on, though. I might be able to help.’

‘Like I can help you?’ I grab the kettle and swill it. ‘You want a drink?’

He shakes his head. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Mind if I do?’

He takes the kettle, putting it back on the stand, and pulls me into his arms. I let him hold me. We embrace in silence and I close my eyes, drinking in his scent, safe and warm in a place where no one can hurt me. I want to stay here forever. ‘Thank you for coming over,’ I whisper, and he hugs me tighter still.

But then the guilt strikes and the images come flooding in and I know there’s no safety ever until I’ve done what I came back to do.

I pull away and rub my eyes. ‘You’re sure you don’t want tea?’ I say, grabbing the kettle again.

‘I’m sure,’ he sighs, dropping into a seat at the table.

‘Maybe something else?’

‘I’m fine, really.’

I sit next to him. ‘Gail called. Gran’s funeral is next week.’

He raises his eyebrows. ‘I didn’t think you’d want me to come.’

‘I didn’t ask you to.’

‘Why tell me then?’

I shrug.‘To make conversation.’

‘You want me to come?’ he asks softly.

I look into his eyes, those dark portals to another world. I don’t speak straight away. Finally, I whisper, ‘yes.’

He leans across to kiss me, a simple, uncomplicated thing. ‘Then I’ll come.’

Dante wakes crying. I pull him into my arms and stroke his hair. He’s trembling and clutching his side as he sobs.

‘Your dream?’ I ask. There’s no reply. ‘You need to tell me what it is, I might be able to help,’ I insist.

I feel the tiniest shake of his head.

‘You have to tell me what this is about,’ I repeat slowly.

He looks up at me as if he doesn’t recognise me. His eyes are empty of the intense, soulful look I know so well, replaced by frozen fear. Whoever is in there right now, it’s not Dante. Suddenly, he jumps back, out of my arms.

‘I can’t do this,’ he mumbles. ‘I’m sorry, I thought I could…’ He scrambles off the bed and pulls his clothes on. ‘I have to go home.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I can’t…’

‘You’ll call me? You’ll come back for Gran’s funeral?’

He stares at me, still crying, and shakes his head. ‘Sorry…’ He heads for the stairs.

‘But you said you would…’ I call after him, gripped by an inexplicable new panic.

By the time I get covered up and get to the front door, he’s gone. I slide the bolts across and sit at the bottom of the stairs, trying to make some sense of what just happened. I want to convince myself that he was freaked out by his nightmare, but I saw something else in his eyes. He was afraid. More than that, I think he was afraid of
me
.

I’ve just got out of the shower and dressed when the phone rings. I glance at the clock; it’s barely nine in the morning. I pick it up, my heart thumping, expecting it to be Karl, but I’m surprised to hear Robert’s voice.

‘How are you, Cassie?’

‘I’m fine,’ I say slowly. He must be able to hear the suspicion.

‘Are you still helping the police?’ he asks.

Replies run through my head, none of them seem like the right one.

‘It’s ok,’ he says, ‘I understand if you can’t tell me.’

‘Why are you phoning me?’

‘I was wondering how you were.’

‘Really? Well, I’m ok. Is there anything else?’

‘You know there’s been another murder, don’t you?’ There’s a sort of eagerness in his voice that’s unnerving.

‘How do you know?’

‘I work in a newsroom. It’s my job to know everything that goes on around here,’ he laughs. ‘Will you be assisting with this one?’

‘What can I do?’

‘You know;
that
thing you can do.’

I sigh. ‘Even if I was, I can’t talk to you about it.’

‘I could help, Cassie. I could find this man quicker than the police, armed with the right information, you know I could. I have an army of readers at my disposal; all of them would be looking out for the man you’d describe to me.’

It’s a tempting proposition and it would make the task I have pledged myself to a whole lot easier. I want the death to stop and Robert is right that he could help achieve that. But I really like Karl and I know that I could get him into huge trouble if any of this got out. Much as it pains me, I know I have to stick with my own, painstaking and terrifying plan. ‘And when the police come to me for betraying their confidence, that would be ok?’ I ask.

‘They wouldn’t have to know who told me,’ he says.

‘It’d be pretty obvious.’

‘Not necessarily.’

I sigh. ‘I can’t help you, Robert.’

He’s silent for a moment and I imagine he’s considering some kind of argument. But when he speaks again he doesn’t air it. ‘If you change your mind, you know where to find me.’

‘I do.’

I put the phone down to prevent him from testing me further. How does he know so much? The idea nags me for a moment, but then Dante’s abrupt exit last night returns to my thoughts. I wonder whether I should phone him but he seemed so freaked that I don’t think he’d pick up.

I wander into the kitchen and grab the box of cornflakes from the cupboard. Outside the window it’s bright and clear again, the sun skimming the rooftops in daggers of light. For anyone else, it could be the start of a beautiful day.

My phone sits on the kitchen table. I pick it up and turn it over in my hands. Dante fixed it as best he could with some tape. It’s not pretty but it seems to work. He told me to go and get it replaced, and I will. Sometime. I scroll for his number, my finger hovering to make the call. Then I lock the screen and shove the phone into my pocket.

It’s late afternoon by the time I see Karl.

‘We had to have her identified before we could get you,’ he tells me, his expression grim as he leads me down to the tiled room.

‘And?’ I ask. My legs feel as though they belong to someone else as I follow him down the stone steps. The passageway is dank and cold and it feels like we’re heading into the bowels of the earth, not a modern post-mortem facility. The now familiar smells of bleach and preserving agents hit the back of my throat even before we enter the room.

‘She’s who we thought.’

We’re silent as we travel the rest of the way.

Just like last time, the door opens to reveal a room bereft of bodies apart from one, covered by a sheet. As I stumble slightly, Karl catches me by the elbow.

‘You’re ok?’ he asks.

I pull in a deep breath which results in a coughing fit. Karl leads me to a seat and hands me a glass of water. I take a sip, and notice that a jug and some blankets sit on a table nearby.

‘I used to be a boy scout,’ he says with a slight smile, following my gaze. ‘Always prepared.’

I hand the glass back. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

This time, I’m ready. I won’t pass out. This time I’ll keep my eyes open and my wits about me and I’ll store every tiny detail, no matter how much it hurts. Karl inches the sheet away to expose her hand. It’s tiny.

‘I need to see her,’ I say.

‘I thought you could do it by touch.’

‘I want to see her. I want to remember her face.’

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Cassie –’

‘I want to see her.’

He looks torn. He glances at the shape beneath the sheet and then at me. Then he peels it back.

There’s nothing I can do to prevent the sobbing and I don’t even try. She’s so small. Her skin is pale and smooth, her eyes smudged with mascara. Her blonde hair is a backcombed tangle. There are marks around her neck. I reach out to stroke her face…

When I come to I’m in a warm office, on the floor under a big pile of blankets. I can hear the low murmur of conversation and smell instant coffee. Mark is standing in the corner talking to Karl. When he sees I’m awake, he throws me a look of deepest suspicion that borders on absolute loathing.

‘I’ll be down the road following another lead when you’re done here,’ he says to Karl. Without a word to me, he strides from the office. I’m just about to ask Karl what I’ve done wrong when a familiar accent breaks in and I push myself up.

‘What’s he doing here?’

‘Charming,’ Karl says as he comes over to help me.

Dante shifts uncomfortably in his chair and glances between the two of us.

‘I called him,’ Karl says, pulling me gently to my feet and leading me to a chair, ‘as I know you have an aversion to ambulance crews and you won’t give me any next of kin details.’

I think about reminding him how I don’t have next of kin, but it doesn’t seem worth it. ‘How did you know where to find him?’

‘I’m a policeman. You’d be surprised what we can find when we want to.’

There is no reply I can give to a statement like that and I’m not sure I want to know what he means. I stare at Dante and he looks at the floor. I wonder where we are now. And how much Karl has told him. ‘You had no right to phone him,’ I say, turning back to Karl.

‘Well,’ Karl says, handing me a glass. ‘You’re probably right. I probably flouted some human rights crap but I phoned him. A: because I don’t have enough manpower to look after you all the time and, B: because I figured you might just need the one friend you appear to have.’

‘You know nothing of my friends.’

‘I know enough of you, though.’

‘I can go…’ Dante cuts in quietly.

‘It’s ok,’ I say. I try to smile but it doesn’t show. ‘I’m horrible to everyone, as you know.’

‘I could do with a private word with Cassie, if you don’t mind, though,’ Karl says to Dante. ‘Can you give us half an hour or so? There’s a canteen down the hall where you can wait; if you ask someone they’ll be able to direct you.’

Dante throws me a last, unreadable glance as he leaves the room.

‘Did you pick anything up?’ Karl asks me, his expression sharp as he pulls out a pad.

I massage my temples. ‘It’s still jumbled. Sometimes it takes a while to come through properly and make sense.’

‘You must have something. You were there a while this time.’

I stare through him, my blood turning cold as emotions flashback. When I speak my voice is so small I barely recognise it myself.

‘I was so scared… I wanted my dad. Even at the end, I thought my dad would save me and take me home. My dad never let me down before. I couldn’t believe that he wasn’t going to come…’

I look up at Karl. For the first time, he looks as though he might break. He takes a moment to compose himself before he speaks again. ‘I’m sorry to ask, but do you have anything more concrete than that?’

I think for a moment, trying to pull the snapshots into focus. ‘The smell of sanitiser was there again,’ I say. ‘I don’t know… I remember the cars and the smell of petrol and grease, but I’m not sure whether that’s just because you told me about the wrecking yard.’ Something else comes to me and I’m gripped by terror when I realise what it means. ‘The tattoo, like before, but something that wasn’t there last time… scratches on his wrist… they looked deep.’ I look up at Karl. ‘They look like the sort of scratches you’d get from an animal… maybe from a cat.’

The significance of this last statement seems lost on him but he writes it down with a frown. I wonder whether I should tell him about Marmalade. But what would he care about a missing cat? It must be a coincidence, surely.

‘Are there any details leading up to the death?’ Karl’s voice breaks in on my muddled thoughts. ‘Can you recall how she got there, what was said, what he was wearing?’