Follow the Leader (20 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Allie’s mobile woke them at just after five thirty on Tuesday
morning
. This time it was the theme tune from the film
Top Gun
. Mark pulled the covers over his head as Allie made a grab for it and switched on a lamp. Seconds later, she was sitting up and wid
e awake.

‘When did this happen?’ She flicked her feet to the side of the bed. ‘Any sign of a magnetic letter? But you’re saying she asked for me? Okay, I’ll see you there. Yes please, email me. Than
ks. Bye.’

‘Shit, has there been another?’ Mark asked as she reached for her dressing gown and pulled it around her shoulders.

‘I’m not sure. Some girl has been raped, badly beaten and left . . . I have to go and see her.’

Mark sat up immediately. ‘Are you sure you have to be the one to talk to her?’

‘She asked for me by name.’

‘Yes, but you have a team of officers. Get one of them to interview her.’

‘No, they might miss vital evidence.’

‘They wouldn’t do that.’

‘They might. Everyone is so busy at the moment, I want to be sure that everything is looked into, and as soon as possible.’

‘That’s ridiculous! Surely it doesn’t take priority over
murders
?’

Allie ignored his jibe. ‘Of course it doesn’t, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do our best for her. I don’t want anything to be missed, that’s all.’

‘You can’t keep on thinking everything you do will bring justice for Karen just because her attacker was never caught.’

Allie recoiled. ‘You make it sound as if this kind of thing is a regular occurrence!’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘Luckily for you, I do.’

Mark ran a hand through his hair and then sighed. ‘I hate to see you like this,’ he said. ‘Seeing how all the memories come flooding back to hurt you. And then I’m left to deal with the aftermath. I can’t keep doing it. It tears me apart. I –’

‘For fuck’s sake, this isn’t about us,’ Allie interrupted. ‘This is about some poor girl who has been attacked. Have you any –’

‘Don’t patronise me!’

Allie pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes for a moment before looking back at him. ‘Mark, let’s not do this again now. You know this is my job.’

‘Yes, and always more important than our marriage.’

‘What the hell did you just say?’

Mark went quiet.

Allie didn’t have the time to spare. ‘I need to go,’ she told him.

Mark flopped back onto the bed. ‘Do what you like, Allie. You always will.’

She strode across the bedroom towards the bathroom. ‘Well, thanks for your support,’ she threw over her shoulder. ‘It’s great to know you’re on my side.’

The door slammed behind her. What a prick!

She gasped for air, only now perceiving how erratic her breathing had become. Sensing she was on the brink of a panic attack, she tried to control it. Breathe in slowly, breathe out slowly, stop it boiling over.

She took a shower, hoping the water would wash away her fears. Ten minutes later, she came out of the bathroom a little calmer. All she could see of Mark was the shape he made underneath the duvet and the top of his head.

‘Mark, I don’t want to fight,’ she spoke quietly into the room. ‘But I don’t need you to whine either. This is my job.’

When he didn’t reply, she switched off the light and left.

Forty minutes later, Allie tapped on the door of the rape crisis suite before entering the room. Although the room was clinical, it had been created to look as homely as possible. Two large settees, squishy cushions, rugs and pictures on the wall adding a splash of colour to the cream-coloured paint. A female police constable sat across the room from the victim, Chloe Winters.

Allie smiled her acknowledgement. PC Angela Butler: a woman in her late forties who had a daughter just a little older than the woman who sat across from her. Allie was glad that Angela had been on duty at the time.

Details of the attack had been emailed to her and she’d checked them in the car park downstairs before coming into the building. Deciding not to say who she was for fear of upsetting Chloe, she smiled at her too.

Chloe was twenty years old but with her make-up cried away, knees tucked into her chest, and arms wrapped around them for comfort, she looked barely older than a schoolgirl. She wore a dressing gown and slippers, the kind found in spas to throw away after one use. Already she had some impressive bruising to her face, a swollen eye that seemed to be closing by the second, a thick lip and a cut to the side of her right cheek. Allie’s heart went out to her. Lost, vulnerable and in shock, she looked exhausted too, having had no sleep. And Allie was going to make things worse by asking her once more about the attack.

‘Hi, Chloe,’ she spoke softly. ‘I –’

‘Please don’t make me go through it all again.’ Chloe’s voice could barely be heard. ‘I can’t do it.’

‘I’m so sorry for what happened to you, but we need to get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible and then you can go home.’ She sat down next to her, far enough away not to cause offence.

‘I’ve told the other officers everything.’ A lone tear rolled down the young girl’s bruised cheek.

‘I need to see if you recall any more details about your attacker.’

A sob broke loose. ‘I don’t want to remember.’

Allie paused. She wished she could tell her why she needed the information. The bodies in the city morgue were piling up quicker than her team could gather information about them. Yet, even though they had four victims who hadn’t been so lucky, Chloe wouldn’t see that as anything to be grateful for, that she was fortunate to be alive.

‘Can you tell me why you were on your own?’ she asked gently.

‘I – I had an argument with my boyfriend. I stormed off and then realised I didn’t have enough money for a taxi.’

‘Where had you been?’

‘Around the town, then finished in Chicago Rock.’ Chloe dabbed at the swollen eye with a tissue. ‘I waited for a bus for ages. I thought maybe I’d missed the last one so I had no choice but to walk.’

‘And you can’t recall anyone around nearby?’

Chloe shook her head. ‘That was when he – he ran at me, grabbed my arm and kept on running.’

‘And you thought it was your boyfriend – what did you say his name was?’

‘Daryl – Daryl Harvey.’ Chloe started to cry. ‘I thought he’d come to make up with me, say he was sorry. I thought we’d be able to flag down a taxi and get home. It was freezing.’

‘And the man pulled you into the bushes then?’ Allie saw the balled-up tissue clenched in the girl’s hand and passed her a fres
h one.

Chloe nodded. ‘He came out of nowhere. He had a balaclava covering his face and he ran at me.’

Allie gave her a bit of time. Although she knew Chloe was upset, she had to find out more. If this was their killer, why hadn’t he finished the job? Had he been disturbed? She looked at the young girl again.

‘May I ask something that is going to be hard to answer?’

Chloe gnawed on her bottom lip.

‘Did he say anything once he . . . after?’

More tears fell. ‘He said “all men are not idiots.” And then he punched me in the face.’

Allie gasped. But it wasn’t just Chloe she was thinking of now. Images of what must have happened to her sister flashed up clearly in her mind. She tried to keep her thoughts on the job in hand.

‘Can you remember anything about him? Was he tall or short?’

Chloe shook her head.

‘Well, how about was he thin, or fat? He ran a while with you – was he out of breath when you stopped?’

Chloe remained silent.

‘I know it must be hard, but we have to ask lots of questions. We want to find this man and lock him away. Anything at all you can remember might help,’ Allie continued. ‘When he spoke to you, did he have a local accent?’

‘I think so. I just lay there as quiet as I could,’ Chloe began to cry again, ‘so that he’d stop and leave me alone. I’m so ashamed that I didn’t scream.’

‘Don’t be ashamed. Not many women would have in your position,’ Allie soothed. ‘Fear often takes over, sweetheart. Did he walk away then?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you see which way he headed?’

‘No, I kept my eyes closed. I waited until I was sure he was gone and then I walked back into Hanley to the police station. I didn’t know
where else to go, what to do. But I couldn’t go home – not like this.’

Allie touched her arm, hoping she wouldn’t flinch. ‘Thank you, Chloe. I know it’s hard to go through these things over and over but they are so important to us.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll leave you with Angela until we can take you home.’

She turned to leave. Angela stood up too.

‘One more thing,’ Allie said. ‘You asked for me by name, is that right?’

‘
You’re
Detective Sergeant Shenton?’ Chloe cried out.

‘Yes, that’s right.’

Chloe pointed at her. ‘He left a letter there for you.’

Allie drew in her breath, glancing quickly at Angela.

‘He said he’d taped it underneath the nearest rubbish bin to where he – where he . . . He said I was to tell no one but you about it or he would come and finish off the job next time.’ Chloe prodded herself in the chest. ‘Did he attack me,’ she cried, ‘to get back at you for something? Did he? Did HE?’

Allie shook her head. ‘I have no idea who this is, Chloe. I’m so sorry. I’ll do everything I can to –’

‘I want to go home.’ Chloe began to cry again.

It took Allie less than ten minutes to get to Central Forest Park. She turned off Chell Street and parked haphazardly in a space by the side of the lake. As she got out of her car she could see, in the distance, yellow crime scene tape flapping in the wind. She counted two officers gathering evidence, marking the spot where Chloe had been attacked.

Running, almost scrambling over the grass in her haste to get to the letter, she headed up towards the bin. It had been raining for a couple of hours; she knew everyone would work quickly but evidence would still be lost.

A sob caught in
her
throat this time. It was too close; she wouldn’t be able to stop an image forming of the man dragging Chloe Winters out of sight, intent on harming her, violating her.

The path was at the back of the park, far from the main entrance. As she approached the bin nearest to where it had happened, she took sterile gloves from her pocket and snapped them on. At its side, she stooped and ran her hand over the bottom of the metal container. Feeling something, she dropped to her knees on the wet path and pulled at the tape it was secured with.

An envelope. She turned it over. Handwritten in black ink was
DS SHENTON.

Before she opened the seal, she beckoned one of the officers at the scene across to her.

‘Over here!’ she shouted. ‘DS Shenton. I need an exhibit bag!’

She carefully ripped along the edge of the envelope. Inside was a single piece of plain white card. Two letters this time, large and handwritten in black ink again.

Y. N.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Rhian had just got out of the shower when she received a call from Joe to say that he wasn’t returning home as planned.

‘But you said you’d probably be back by today,’ she whined.

‘The job’s going on a bit longer than intended.’

‘So, tomorrow then?’

‘No, we won’t be finished by then.’

Rhian sighed.

‘I’ll definitely be back on Thursday.’

‘Okay, fine. I suppose I’ll see you whenever.’ She disconnected the phone with a stab of her finger and threw it down on the bed beside her. Bloody men, she fumed. What the hell was she going to do with herself until he got back?

‘Hello?’ Joe waited but there was no reply. ‘Rhian?’

Cursing, he disconnected his phone with a shake of his head. Damn that bloody woman – she was so childish at times. Why the hell would she hang up on him just because she couldn’t get her own way?

‘Trouble at t’mill?’ Chris asked, eyeing his face. Chris was one of the young mechanics that he’d got to know well over the past few days.

‘Let’s put it this way,’ Joe replied. ‘I’m quite glad I’m not going back to Stoke as early as planned now for another reason.’

‘Moaning at you for staying away, is she?’

‘She’s always fucking moaning about something.’

‘You don’t have much luck with women, do you?’

Joe shook his head. Chris was referring to Suzi too. He’d told him what had happened to his ex-wife last night.

When Ryan had suggested staying until the job was finished, until the original plan to seek seven cars rather than five finally came to fruition, he hadn’t anticipated how much he’d want to stay on. Working with a good team of blokes rather than the boys who washed the cars at Car Wash City had been a good experience. He’d felt part of a team here, even though the work they were doing offered its fair share of risk. He’d enjoyed getting his hands dirty again as well but, more so, he’d had a laugh working with Chris. They’d been out for a beer a couple of times too. For the first time in ages, Joe had felt free, able to do what he wanted without having to answer to anyone.

In turn, it made him realise that he wasn’t that excited about getting home to see Rhian. Especially with her obsession of watching or reading anything she could about Suzi. Over the past week, the woman had turned into a walking encyclopaedia of knowledge about his ex. She seemed to have a morbid satisfaction over her death – or was it just satisfaction?

He’d been keeping an eye on the news since he’d been away too – couldn’t believe there had been another murder. Surely the police could link them all together now? To him, it seemed to be the work of one person.

‘If you’re not married, I can’t see your problem,’ Chris
continued
. ‘Dump her if she makes you miserable.’

Joe smirked. ‘I wish it was that easy at times.’

‘What’s so hard about it?’ Chris shrugged. ‘Life’s too short to be miserable. And I, for one, know that I’d rather keep the wad of cash we’re going to get for this job for myself if I wasn’t happy with my woman. You worked hard for it, man. What does she do for a living?’

‘She works for herself as a nail technician – which would be good if she actually showed me some of the money once in a while.’

Chris frowned. ‘Seriously? Why do you put up with it?’

Joe paused. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’

Chris raised his hands in surrender as he walked off. ‘I rest my case. Not worth the hassle. Get rid.’

‘When will you be done with these?’ Ryan came over minutes later, pointing to two cars waiting to be spray-painted.

‘They’ll be finished later tomorrow,’ Joe told him. ‘And great that we managed to get all seven too,’ he added. Ryan paused as he looked at the row of cars that had already been finished. ‘You’ve done a good job there, mate. You’re good at your trade.’

‘Cheers.’ Joe grinned.

‘You in the line to do any more?’

‘Yeah, I might be. As long as I don’t get any heat from Ryder.’

‘Why would you?’

‘You’re right.’ Joe shrugged. ‘The compound’s hard to see from the road.’

‘What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I don’t give a shit if –’

Chris came back with three mugs of coffee. ‘You two fancy coming out for a curry tonight?’

Joe nodded as he took a mug from him. ‘Sounds like a plan to me.’

‘Yeah, count me in,’ added Ryan, taking one too.

‘Sound.’ Chris grinned. ‘Be good to drink the old fellas under the table afterwards too.’

‘Cheeky bastard.’ Joe pretended to swipe for his head, but already he was looking forward to the evening. At least he would have some fun before heading home to Rhian’s nagging.

Downstairs, Rhian flicked through channels on the TV, unable to watch the midday news. Despite the other murders, Suzi Porter’s name was still all over the first story. Although Rhian had to scoff – this killer on the loose was making a mockery of the police. There had been four in the city now and they still hadn’t caught anyone. Not that the police were giving away that they were connected, but Rhian knew. Everyone was talking about it. Four in eight days – that had never been known before.

With more time to stew, she thought again about what Laila had said. It had hurt when she had suggested that Joe only wanted to be with her because she was a younger model of his ex. But now he was staying away longer than originally planned, she couldn’t stop the jealous thoughts tumbling around her mind. Was he having too much fun without her? Most likely, he was visiting some seedy laptop club with his so-called ‘business associates.’ She frowned. What if he was seeing someone else but it wasn’t Suzi?

She stared at the television, not actually taking on board what was on the screen. Then she jumped up quickly. This might be her only opportunity to be sneaky, have a search around. If she didn’t find anything, there would be nothing to worry about. At the very least, she tried to convince herself, it might put her mind at rest.

Rhian looked in the obvious places first: in coat pockets, through Joe’s clothes drawers, inside a suitcase on top of the bedroom wardrobe, in the drawers underneath the bed. She checked downstairs, in every cupboard in the kitchen, on top of the cupboards, in the sideboard, amongst the junk and magazines piled underneath the coffee table.

She moved back through to the kitchen, noticing his laptop on the table. Rhian didn’t know Joe’s password, but she switched it on anyway. After trying several words that she thought might be associated with him, she gave up. As she stood at the breakfast bar, drumming her fingers on its top, her eyes fell on the door to the integral garage. She went across and opened it, stepped down inside and switched on the overhead strip of lighting.

Christ, it was a mess. Metal shelving along each wall was filled with what seemed to her like junk, but she bet Joe would say that about her boxes of make-up stashed upstairs. Tins of white paint, brushes in old turpentine, paint stripper, floor varnish. Screws, nails, a drill set. Old blankets and towels, a rolled-up remnant of the bedroom carpet. Bathroom tiles, an old tyre and a box of light bulbs with one missing.

Disheartened by the number of things she’d need to trawl through, she turned to leave. Her leg caught on the side of a pile of 4x4 magazines, and she watched as the glossy covers slipped from the shelving, flopping to the floor. Bending to pick them up, she caught sight of an old biscuit tin behind them. She reached it out and forced open the lid.

Then she wished that she hadn’t.

The selfish, conniving bastard. Tears of rage welled up in her eyes. Despite all of her suspicions and her relentless hounding, never in her wildest moments of jealousy had she really believed that Joe would still be in love with his ex-wife.

‘Chloe Winters, twenty years of age.’ DCI Barrow pointed to a photo on the whiteboard as he joined them again for the evening’s briefing. ‘Just after midnight last night, she was dragged from Town Road and into bushes at the top of Central Forest Park, where she was beaten and raped. When interviewed, she then informed DS Shenton that her attacker had left a letter for her. It turns out it was a written letter in an envelope rather than a magnetic one this time.’ He held up two fingers. ‘Two letters, Y and N. If we’re looking at this as a word and not an anagram, add that to E.V.E.N. and it doesn’t spell anything. Any thoughts? Random attack or linked to our killer?’

‘It doesn’t fit.’ Allie shook her head fervently.

‘The letters would suggest it does.’

‘Not consistent. Two of them, and handwritten on paper.’

‘But the fact that our suspect left the note for you to find makes me assume that it has to be something to do with this case.’ Trevor glanced surreptitiously at Allie.

Or something to do with me.

Allie knew that must be what they were all thinking. After all, she hadn’t stopped thinking that since she’d found the note. She hadn’t stopped thinking about the bollocking she’d received after opening the note, too. Although she’d worn gloves, she knew she should have brought the envelope back to the office first. Both Nick and Trevor had gone berserk at her actions. But she’d been so wrapped up in emotion that she hadn’t been able to stop herself.

‘Allie?’

She looked up to see everyone staring at her.

‘Sorry?’

‘I was just saying that our man would have had less time to do what he did to Chloe,’ Trevor continued, thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘They were outside; even in the bushes they were more open. He would have been running on adrenaline, knowing that someone might have come past and caught him at any time.’

‘At midnight?’

‘Monday night is student night,’ said Nick. ‘Lots of young ones around who wouldn’t be afraid to walk through the park.’

‘Or maybe some a little worse for wear who wouldn’t see the danger,’ said Perry.

‘I reckon all the more reason to separate Chloe from this investigation,’ Allie piped up again. ‘It could be a random attack.’

‘So what would Y.N. mean, then?’ asked Sam.

A murmur went round the room.

‘Maybe the fact that he didn’t rape Suzi Porter before he killed her got to him,’ said Perry. ‘So he attacked Chloe Winters to do the deed and was going to kill her afterwards. But maybe because he raped her, he was unable to kill her? Long shot, I don’t know – but do you see where I’m coming from? Maybe by raping Chloe, he couldn’t kill her afterwards.’

Allie wasn’t convinced. She stood up and walked to the front of the room, grabbed a marker pen and wrote down the capital letters they had received so far.

E. V. E. N. Y. N.

Treating it like a game of hangman, Allie then struck through the letter Y and the letter N.

‘Chloe Winters isn’t part of his game,’ she said, turning to the room. ‘She’s too young.’

‘We need to keep an open mind.’ Nick moved to her side.

‘He’s playing with us.’ Allie blew out the breath she had been holding and glanced at Trevor. ‘And he’s going to kill again unless we can work out the next victim.’

‘But can we rule out Y and N straightaway?’ someone asked.

‘It’s a handwritten note. It’s two letters, not one,’ Allie repeated. ‘You wouldn’t link them to this case, surely? If so, why not plastic letters in a bag stuck underneath the bin?’