Don't Turn Around (23 page)

B
eads of sweat
glistened on Frank’s face as his eyes narrowed. ‘You’re wrong. You don’t know who you’re dealing with!’

Elizabeth’s eyes flicked to his clenched fists. But she wasn’t ready to back off yet. ‘Yeah sure, you’ve already said that. Who’s the next victim, Frank? Or are you waiting for some old dear to die of old age so you can lay claim to being responsible?’

‘You stupid girl, why would I do that?’

Elizabeth leaned forward, spitting her words. ‘Because you are a latent homosexual, and you developed feelings for Sam. But you didn’t feel confident approaching him as who you really were; a man in his forties who had sacrificed his life to care for his prostitute mother. You created this persona of a serial killer because you wanted his respect and his fear. But it all went wrong when he killed Tina, and he came to the police to report you for the murders you didn’t have the guts to commit.’

Frank drew a sharp breath, pushing back his shoulders as he enhanced his bulk. ‘How dare you speak to me like that? I’ll show you what I have the guts to commit.’

‘Will you, Frank? How are you going to do that, then?’ Elizabeth said.

‘Go to my house and you’ll find the key to a lock-up under the floorboards beneath my bed. The garage at the back of the Grove housing estate, number seven. You’ll find your proof that everything I told you is real. While you’re there, take a good look at my notebook and see what I’ve planned for you. Because let me tell you, you are a day away from death. And don’t think just because I’m in a police station that you are safe, because you’re not. It’ll take more than a police cell to stop the Grim Reaper.’

‘Thank you Frank, I’m sure my colleagues will be very interested in seeing any evidence you can provide us with.’

Frank stared at Elizabeth in amazement. ‘I’ve just told you I’m going to kill you, and you didn’t even blink. What’s wrong with you? Didn’t you hear me?’

‘Nothing you can say can hurt me, Mr Foster. But if you have hurt others then you will get all the respect you deserve in prison. Now if we can get back to the interview I’d like to discuss the specifics.’

‘Fuck you and fuck your specifics. But let me tell you, it doesn’t matter where they put me, you won’t be safe. You or your kid. I’m coming after you both and I’ll finish what I started. Everybody will know the Grim Reaper’s name.’

‘Back up there a minute, what did you just say?’

‘Oh, I know all about you, and I’m going to hit you where it hurts. They say a mother’s love for their child is an unbreakable bond. Well I’ve never experienced that so I wanted to observe it for myself, see how far you’d go for your little girl. Jennifer, isn’t it?’

‘How do you know her name?’

‘The Grim Reaper knows everything and everyone. You think you can stop me? This is only the beginning. Soon everyone will know my name.’

‘Not if I have anything to do with it. Because nobody will be writing books or giving interviews, and I’ll be recommending that your real name be used in the media, not your pathetic pseudonym. And when you go to jail, and believe me you will, I’ll be recommending that you’re not supplied with any writing materials, or anything that could potentially feed your fantasies. Because that’s all you are, a sick fantasist.’

Frank hammered his fists against the table and jumped up, sending his chair skidding behind him. ‘You fucking bitch, I killed them, and you’re next. Do you hear me? You and your kid!’ His screams of rage filled the room as threw over the table and lunged towards her. Jennifer jumped out of the way, picking up the chair in defence, jabbing the rusty chair legs towards his chest. The emergency buzzer sounded as officers piled into the room, grappling Frank to the ground. His screams rang in her ears as she made her exit, fighting to calm her shaking body.

‘
A
re you OK
, girlie?’ DC Scott asked, his face flushed with excitement. ‘He made some pretty serious threats there.’

‘I’m fine,’ Elizabeth said, as she grabbed a bunch of car keys from the hook on the wall and scribbled her name on the log book. ‘Can you keep an eye on things here for a bit? I need to speak to the search team.’

‘Woah, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. You’ve just interviewed Foster, I don’t think you should be going on scene stamping your size fives all over the place.’

Elizabeth gave him a pleading look. ‘He threatened my daughter. I need to know what’s in there.’

‘If you go to the scene you’re compromising the evidence for court. If you want to keep your daughter safe then the best thing you can do is make sure the bastard gets locked up. All right?’

‘I just feel so helpless ...’

DS Scott clamped a hand on her shoulder. ‘They’ll be back later with the evidence. You can see it then, when it’s all bagged up. I’ll keep you updated every step of the way, I promise.’

Elizabeth nodded. It would mean another late night at work but there was no way she’d be able to sit at home without being fully briefed of the threat.

‘And girlie?’

‘Yes?’ Elizabeth said, returning the car key to the hook.

‘Good work,’ DS Scott winked.

T
he atmosphere was subdued
as the search team returned with a big enough haul of evidence to put Frank Foster away for a very long time. Usually such an occasion would have been accompanied by raucous cheers, but the fact that the next next intended victim was hours from such a grisly death left them dumbfounded. A small town like Haven had its usual problems, but they had never come across a serial killer before, least of all one who took such relish in taking innocent life.

Elizabeth was waiting for their return. Her shift had long since ended, and she took a deep breath as officers recounted the evidence, laying it on the large wide table before booking it into property. She scanned the haul, which consisted of eleven large bags and numerous small ones. They were all cause for concern. She shuddered at the sight of the spade bagged up along with other weapons; an axe, several different types of hunting knives, and – for more refined work – a set of scalpels. Rolls of masking tape inhabited another bag, the edges looking like they had been chewed off in the absence of a scissors. Ropes in varying forms, gloves, cable ties, bloodied rags, air freshener, bleach, accelerant and a set of clothes. The garage had been meticulously organised from within.

‘It’s like a DIY kidnapping kit,’ DS Scott said behind her. Another officer hauled in bags of crime books and placed them on the already heaving table. But there was far worse to come. The handheld recorder they seized was still usable under the thick plastic evidence bag, and as DS Scott rewound it he issued a warning. ‘I don’t know what’s on this folks, but we’re dealing with a right sicko. If you don’t want to hear it I suggest you vacate now.’

The room fell silent. Elizabeth clasped her hands behind her back and stood firm. She knew the warning was issued for her benefit but she had no intention of leaving now. DS Scott gave her one last glance before pressing his finger to the side of his nose. She nodded in acknowledgement as he pressed ‘play’. What followed would stay in the minds of the five police officers for the rest of their careers. The tape quality was poor, but it did not drown out the tortured screams of the man pleading for his life. DC Scott rubbed his chin, his finger hovering over the ‘stop’ button as he tried to decipher the cause of the man’s excruciating pain. The words were muffled as if the victim had been gagged, and it was then, when the man was in too much pain to beg, that they heard the flames crackle and hiss on his skin. Elizabeth closed her eyes at the inhumanity of it all. Seconds before DS Scott turned off the tape she heard another sound much closer to the microphone. The hairs crept up on the back of Elizabeth’s neck at the sound of a man, lightly chortling, as he cracked his knuckles.

The officer behind them broke the silence. ‘You think that’s grim. You want to see what he had planned next, the sick bastard.’

Elizabeth’s eyes turned to DS Scott.

‘It’s up to you love, the way the jungle drums beat in this nick you’re bound to hear it anyway.’

She nodded slowly, swallowing back the bile in her stomach. Would she have goaded Foster in interview had she known what he was truly capable of?

‘We found loads of books, sketch books and journals. He refers to himself as the Grim Reaper in all of them. We think a lot of the items in the smaller bags are momentos. We even found a tooth in a bloodied cloth. Somehow I don’t think he’s keeping it for the tooth fairy.’ He looked at them with a grin that was dropped when they failed to find the humour. ‘Anyway, he has a diary about somebody he’s been watching. He doesn’t name her as such. He starts off talking about a visit he had, a lot of it is rambling, sometimes you can’t even read the words. There’s a picture of this woman tied up while he’s … well, it looks like he fantasised about rape. Anyway he seems to have scrapped this idea as he then says it’s too good for her.’ The officer looked at his notes and followed the words with his finger. ‘Here it is, he writes about testing a mother’s love to see how far she’d go for her child. He spends a page justifying it because she’s corrupt and needs to be taught a lesson. He then goes on for another page planning the kidnapping of her daughter, and bringing them to somewhere secluded. It gets pretty gruesome from therein. I haven’t copied all the details but he talks about tying up both of them and torturing the mother to see how much she can withstand before killing them both. He goes on to make a list of tools he needs, such as scalpels and ropes. The thing is, they’re all here. There’s no reason to believe this wasn’t going to happen. He said he had recruited someone to help abduct the child, and it was planned to go ahead tomorrow. Just think … if we were a day later …’

Elizabeth excused herself from the room, scrambling to the bathroom just in time to throw up. Just what am I still doing here? she thought, as she knelt on the cold tiled floor, her stomach cramping in the aftermath. She had been diagnosed with cancer weeks ago. Choosing to keep the news to herself was a form of denial she had welcomed at the time. It was easier than coping with the devastation that lay before her. The irony was that she had been notified of her promotion to Inspector the same day she had received the news of her illness. But interviewing Frank Foster was just what she needed to finally realise what really mattered in her life. The images of her daughters’ faces came to mind. Jennifer was only seven, already so obstinate and strong willed, yet desperate for her attention. And Amy, just three years old but a daddy’s girl already. A pang of guilt stabbed her as the warmth of her tears salted her lips. She had put her job before them from the day she had been able to return to work. Her only comfort was that there was enough evidence found in the lock-up to put Frank away for good. Evidence they would not have found had it not been for her style of interviewing. She could keep some clippings. It would be something for her daughters to read about one day.

T
he wind made
Jennifer’s eyes stream as she strode from the car. The local park was her favourite place to be, a place where she was never alone. The large wooden playground attracted Haven’s network of young children, and the pathways and trails that wound through the woodlands were perfect for walkers and joggers alike. She often brought Josh there, and it held nothing but happy memories. She did not see the elderly priest as she bumped into him, sending his paperwork scattering in the breeze. Father Kelly was a short, portly man. Pink and fresh faced, he looked years younger than his age, yet he was the type of man who seemed to have been around forever.

‘Oh, sorry,’ she said, blinking back her streaming eyes to see the kindly face from the past.

‘Why, little Jenny Knight, is that you?’ he said, in his soft Irish lilt.

‘Father Kelly, I’m so sorry, do you want me to chase after them for you?’ She pointed to the sheets of paper taking flight in the wind.

‘Oh no, child, don’t worry about it. It was just a sermon. I can print off another one. The joys of modern technology, you know.’ He gave her a wink. ‘Perhaps some lost soul will find hope in it.’ He stood back and smiled. ‘Now, let me look at you.’ The priest stood back, playfully wagging his finger. ‘I haven’t seen your face at mass for a very long time.’

Jennifer shrugged uncomfortably. ‘Sorry Father, I’ve been busy with work and everything.’

Would you walk with me? You look like you could do with a friendly ear.’

‘That’s very perceptive of you, Father. Yes, I could do with some advice.’

She fell into the priest’s steady stride, and her shoulders dropped as she unburdened herself. ‘This is going to sound strange, Father, and I don’t know if you will be able to help,’ she said, digging her hands into her pockets.

The lines on Father Kelly’s face fell into a smile. It seemed to be his default setting. ‘We won’t know until we try. What seems to be the problem?’

‘Remember how you helped me deal with … uninvited visitors as a child? Well, it’s all started up again and I don’t know what to do.’

Father Kelly nodded and pointed to a bench. The silence was agonising as doubts crept in. Perhaps he had only been placating her as a child, and the stories of exorcisms and ghosts were invented to make a traumatised child feel better. It wasn’t as if they had ever told anyone else. Every second that passed affirmed her concerns that he believed she was either crazy or making it up.

They sat staring out at the green, watching children chase their football as the breeze took it. Finally, he spoke. ‘Why don’t you start from the beginning?’

She exhaled in relief and relayed her concerns of paranormal activity, the voices in her head, the feeling of being watched and the suspicious deaths in the area. The more she spoke, the crazier it sounded. Intertwining her fingers, she lowered her gaze to the ground. ‘I’m sorry Father, I realise how insane this all sounds.’

Father Kelly patted her fidgeting hands. ‘I believed you then and I believe you now. I’ve been a priest for several decades and seen things I’ll never be able to explain. It doesn’t mean I’ve gone mad, it just means I have encountered experiences beyond my understanding.’

Jennifer leaned in closer to hear as the wind took his voice away.

‘Perhaps there is a rational explanation, or perhaps it’s something trying to get your attention.’

Father Kelly looked to the sky, searching for answers. ‘The problem is, you can’t block it because you’re curious about what’s going on. That curiosity is opening a door that’s very hard to close. You need to come back to me when you’re ready to return to the church and leave behind what’s taunting you.’

Jennifer’s response was non-committal, and disguised her disappointment with his lackluster response. ‘Thanks, Father, for hearing me out. I feel better now.’

The priest gave a gentle chuckle. ‘I’m glad to hear it, although I think for now we should keep it between ourselves. Talk of contact with the dead tends to unsettle people. It doesn’t matter how well they know you, people still need to rationalise it, even if it means labelling a sane person as mad.’

T
he message was not lost
on Jennifer, and she kept it in mind as she answered the door of her home to a sheepish looking Will that afternoon.

His hands were stuffed in his jacket pockets, and his chin tucked into the grey woollen scarf she had bought him for Christmas the year before. He shuffled on her doorstep. ‘Bloody freezing cats and dogs out here, are you going to let me in?’

Jennifer waved him inside as he wiped his boots on her doormat. ‘It’s
raining
cats and dogs, not freezing. Come into the living room, I’ve got the fire on.’

Will unwound his scarf, groaning at having to remove his shoes. His new clothes budget did not stretch very far and Jennifer laughed to see his right toe poking through a small hole in his black sock.

‘This Christmas I’m buying you new grey socks to match your scarf. How's your mum?’

Will followed, rubbing his hands as he took a seat in the black leather armchair beside the fire. ‘Mum? Oh yeah, she’s fine.’ He clasped his knees with his hands, and Jennifer frowned as she caught sight of the grazed knuckles of his left hand.

‘What happened to your hand?’

‘How about a coffee? One of your fancy ones, from the machine,’ Will asked, furtively.

Jennifer shook her head. ‘Not until you tell me what’s going on.’

‘You’re not going to like it.’ He picked up the poker and began digging at the flames. The Victorian cast iron fireplace added a certain charm to the otherwise sterile room. It made her uneasy when people prodded the messy coals, but she did not have the heart to tear the original piece out of her home. Instead she hoovered the dust particles away, each one a little speck of worry. But right now her obsessive cleaning did little to ease her anxiety when people were losing their lives around her.

‘Never mind the fire, just get to the point,’ Jennifer said, impatient for answers.

Returning the poker to the fireplace, he took a breath and met her gaze. ‘I punched Ethan.’

‘You what?’ Jennifer’s voice rose an octave. This was not what she had been expecting at all. Solid, reliable Will had hit someone? Not just anyone either, but their boss’s son!

Will rubbed his stubbled chin. ‘It’s OK, calm down, let me explain.’

Jennifer clamped a hand to her forehead as she stood. ‘Why the hell would you do that? You could lose your job.’

‘He was stalking you.’ The words hung in the air as Jennifer comprehended their meaning. ‘You mentioned being followed so I thought I’d keep an eye out for you. I wasn’t expecting to see anything, but when you left work, Ethan drove behind. I jumped in my car and followed him. He parked up the road from your house and sat there, watching your window.’

‘Right. And you just decided to punch him?’ Jennifer groaned. It sounded ludicrous when she said it out loud.

‘Well, that was kind of it. I walked up and tapped on his car window. He got out and I asked him what he was playing at. I was pretty pissed off by then because he had no reason to be there. He made up some cock and bull story about how you were seeing each other. We got into an argument and ... well, I punched him in the mouth. Don’t give me that look – he deserved it. I think he’s the one who’s been putting the frighteners on you. I just haven’t figured out why yet.’

Jennifer sat and rested her head in her hands. She didn’t have the energy to cope with this crap on top of everything else. ‘I take it you haven’t spoken to Susie since you got back.’

‘No, why?’

‘You owe Ethan an apology. He was kind of telling the truth.’

The colour drained from Will’s face. ‘What? You’re shagging Ethan?’

Jennifer cringed ‘No. We had a fumble at the party, nothing more. It could have gone further but I knocked him back.’ Silence passed between them as her words sank in. ‘But that’s not all. Ethan is DI Allison’s son.’

Will turned a pasty shade of white. ‘You’re kidding me. Why didn’t you say so?’

‘I didn’t know you were going to smack him one, did I? I take it he hasn’t called it in.’

’I don’t think so. I would have been nicked by now.’

‘In that case I’ll call him, try to smooth things over.’

Will stared vacantly into the open fire, shaking his head. ‘I never would have guessed it, you and Ethan.’

‘There is no me and Ethan, it was a drunken snog, nothing more. I’ve enough going on in my life without a bloke complicating things.’

W
ill groaned
. ‘What a mess. But if it was a one off why would he be following you home?’

‘I don’t know Will, but we can’t go around making accusations, we might have this all wrong. I need to speak to Ethan to find out what he has to say about it.’

‘You can't blame me for getting the wrong end of the stick. I mean, look at all that’s happened. As you said yourself, there are four dead bodies, and nobody’s doing anything about it.’

Will stayed and chatted over coffee, but a nagging feeling distracted Jennifer from his words. Like someone tapping through a fogged up pane of glass, she could not see what it was, but it would not go away until she figured it out. It was not until he left that the reason for her discomfort became apparent. Will’s words replayed as soon as she closed the door behind him. ‘There are four dead bodies, and nobody is doing anything about it.’ Four. Not three, like she had told him, but four. The death of Joan Connelly was not common knowledge and there was no way he could have known of the link. The admission fell like a stone in her mind, casting ripples of mistrust. How did he know about the fourth victim? Will was her rock, someone she could rely on. But punching Ethan was completely out of character and the smile on his face as he relayed the story had demonstrated that he did not regret it in the slightest.

She dialled Ethan’s number, praying for answers. ‘What the hell is going on?’

‘I take it you’ve heard about the assault.’ Ethan’s voice was cold as he spoke in clipped tones.

‘Will’s just called around. Have you reported it?’

‘Not yet. And I’m fine, thank you.’

Jennifer ignored his churlish behaviour. ‘Don’t start acting all peeved with me. There’re some rumours going around the nick about us, and from what I’ve heard, you’ve done nothing to set them right. And what were you doing outside my house?’

‘I was about to knock on your door to apologise. If Will had given me a chance I would have told him as much. It was a lucky punch you know, he caught me off guard.’

Men and their bruised egos, Jennifer thought, trying to placate him. ‘I’m sorry, it’s all my fault. I told Will I was being stalked and he got a bit carried away. You’re not going to make a complaint are you?’

‘I’m thinking about it.’

‘I see. What does your father, DI Allison, think about it?’ Jennifer said, unable to resist the dig.

‘Who told you?’

‘It doesn’t matter who, why are you keeping it a secret?’ Jennifer's opinion of Ethan was rapidly nose diving. She was getting answers, but not the ones she wanted.

‘We thought it best to keep it to ourselves. I wanted to be accepted by my colleagues on my own merit.’

‘What are you going to do now? Things will get real messy if you launch a complaint, you know that don’t you?’

‘Oh for God’s sake, I’m not going to report him, I was just making him stew.’ Ethan's voice softened. ‘I'm sorry things didn't work out between us. But if you have concerns for your personal safety, you need to ask him what he was doing there, not me.’

The conversation left a bitter taste in Jennifer's mouth and she drove to the park for the second time that day. She needed fresh air and sober thoughts to get her head around everything. She also needed to reevaluate her initial findings. She pulled her woollen hat over her ears, spiked red from the cold. The dark shadowed streets fell victim to the evening chill, and there were rumours of heavy snow ahead. She chose her footsteps carefully on the frost-glistened path as she walked from her car, her mind working hard to decipher everything that had occurred.

Why the hell had she messed things up by snogging Ethan? she thought, seeking out a bench. It grated on her that she had made herself a subject of gossip once more. How on earth would people ever take her seriously when she stumbled from one disaster to another? She sighed. She was no nearer to finding the murderer now than ever. The street-lit bench chilled her legs, but the isolation was welcome. She took a deep breath, exhaling a frosted fog as she profiled the killer in her mind.

Quite often murder victims knew their attacker. Intelligence suggested that somebody was hanging around with Johnny before he died, promising him alcohol. The ouija board muddied the waters, but whatever was going on wasn’t solely supernatural. A physical being had to be involved too, mimicking the deaths of Frank Foster. The person spending time with Johnny, the dark figure on CCTV with Shelly before she died – even Charlie had mentioned being taken in by someone. Then there was Josh. The thought of her nephew being involved made her shiver. It
had
to be someone Jennifer knew. But what could she do? Confronting people would label her as crazy, and everyone she had approached for help had shut down. It felt like she was missing a massive piece of the jigsaw.

S
am Beswick glanced
around the prison visiting room for the final time, glad to see the last of the familiar faces. Couples sat head to head, their fingers tentatively touching across their tables. Inmates sat with clenched fists as their criminal counterparts kept them abreast of the dealers muscling in on their territory. And in the furthest corner, contraband was passing hands, the precious currency that was the lifeblood of the prison. Sam extended his hand as he greeted his visitor. ‘I was surprised to hear from you again so soon.’

The man shook his hand briskly before pulling up a chair and sitting across from him. ‘I decided to make a special visit. How’s it going? Not long left now.’