The Night Stalker (30 page)

A
t 6.30 p.m
. Erika was almost climbing the walls in Keith’s tiny flat. Her phone beeped in her bag and she pulled it out. It was a text from Marsh:

‘What is it?’ asked Keith, watching in dismay as Erika put her head in her hands.

‘She was a no-show…’ she said. ‘You’ve had nothing there from her? Nothing in the chat room?’

Keith shook his head.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. I’m sure, look, I’m logged in…’

Erika had a terrible sinking feeling, like a huge, heavy cannon ball was weighing her stomach down. She rubbed at her sweat-drenched face.

‘Look, Keith, we need to turn some of these lights off. It’s unbearable in here…’

‘No! I’m sorry, no. I told you, I don’t like the dark…’

Erika looked at the time. She felt completely devastated.

‘What happens now?’ asked Keith.

‘I’m waiting for my senior officer to call back… Later tonight…’

‘What happens to me?’

‘Um, I don’t know. But I stick by what I said to you.’ Erika looked at Keith in the huge wheelchair. She had recently helped him to change his oxygen tank.

She made a decision. ‘I need to step outside for an hour or so… Can I trust you here? Your computer is still being monitored. I take it you’re not going to run away?’

‘What do you think?’ he said.

‘Okay. Here is my mobile phone number,’ she said, scribbling it on a piece of paper. ‘I’m going to go for some air… Do you want some food? I don’t know, do you eat chips?’

Keith’s face lit up.

‘Battered sausage, chips and mushy peas, please. The place opposite the pier is the best. My carer always gets them from there.’

E
rika came
out onto the cool promenade. The sun was sinking down into the sea and a light breeze was coming off the shore. She stared at the text from Marsh again and tried to call him. Her call was cancelled, it went straight to voicemail.

‘Shit,’ she muttered. She set off towards a bar she’d seen further down on the promenade. The front windows were folded back and it was crowded with lairy, red-faced old men and drunken women. The ‘Macarena’ blared out of the sound system. Erika fought her way to the bar and ordered a large glass of wine. The barmaid was run off her feet and served her quickly, slamming a glass down on the bar.

‘Can I take this on the beach?’ asked Erika. The girl didn’t answer, just rolled her eyes, pulled down a plastic pint glass and tipped in the wine.

‘And could I please have some ice?’ said Erika.

She took her drink, bought some more cigarettes from the machine and came back down onto the beach. The tide had gone out quite far, and she sat back on the shingle, looking out at the expanse of wet sand. As she was lighting a cigarette, her phone rang. She pushed her pint of wine into the shingle and answered the call. Her eyes went wide as she listened to the voice on the other end.

T
he sun had now sunk
below the horizon and a cold breeze blew across the street. Simone moved quickly along the pavement beside the row of houses. She carried a small backpack, and she was dressed in her black running gear.

A few of the street lamps were broken. She moved faster when she hit an arc of orange sodium light, relaxing again when she was back in the shadows. She felt jumpy. It was early evening, and the row of terraced houses she moved past seemed to teem with life. Lights came on, music was being played. A row was kicking off in a top-floor window where the curtains were open and just a bare bulb hung from the ceiling.

Simone kept her head down when a man approached her from the other direction. He was tall and thin and moving quickly. Her heart began to beat fast and she felt her blood pressure increase. He was coming straight at her. Even her scar began to throb, as if it were engorged with blood. It wasn’t until the man was almost upon her that she saw he was also dressed in running gear. He loped past without giving her a second glance, his headphones giving off a tinny sound of music. She realised she had to calm down, get a hold of herself.

Simone knew the house number she was looking for but didn’t have to strain too hard in the darkness to find it on the brick walls. The numbers were painted gaudily on the wheelie bins which filled the small concrete front gardens.

She counted down the numbers, feeling none of the usual rush, none of the anger and excitement.

And then she arrived at the house. She approached the window, took a deep breath and placed her small hands on the sill. Looking around, she heaved herself up.

‘
E
rika
! I had the baby, they got it wrong. It’s a girl!’ her sister cried, sounding breathless and exhausted. It took Erika a few seconds to realise it was Lenka.

‘Oh, Lenka! That’s wonderful! What happened? I thought you weren’t due for a couple more weeks?’

‘I know, but Marek took me for lunch and just after we ordered my waters broke. You know what he’s like – he insisted on waiting for it to be packed up as takeaway – but it all happened so fast… The contractions started coming and then there wasn’t even time for gas and air when we got to the hospital, she just popped out.’

‘What’s her name?’

‘We’re calling her Erika, after you. And after Mum, obviously,’ said Lenka.

Erika felt herself welling up with emotion and wiped her face with the sandy back of her hand. ‘Oh, Lenka. Oh, that’s wonderful. Thank you,’ she said. Tears and exhaustion washed over her.

‘I wish Mum could be here, and you, of course,’ her sister said, also getting teary.

‘Yeah, well, things have all got out of hand here…’

There was a rustling noise, then Erika’s brother-in-law, Marek, came on the phone. She chatted away to him for a few minutes. It felt so surreal, being sat on a dark beach whilst her family was hundreds of miles away, celebrating. Lenka came back on the phone and then said she had to go.

‘I promise that when this case is over I’ll come and see the baby,’ said Erika.

‘That’s what you always say! Don’t take too long,’ said Lenka, wearily. There was a wail of the baby and then she was gone.

Erika sat for a long time, smoking and drinking a toast to her sister and niece. As the sky darkened, so did Erika’s spirits. She was an aunt, and despite the fact she and her sister weren’t close, she felt so happy for Lenka. Happy, yet dismayed at the way in which their lives had gone in such different directions.

It was only the cold breeze and the knowledge that Keith was waiting back in his flat that made her get up off the cold sand.

As she walked back along the beach, she saw the rows of houses and bed and breakfasts stretching away to where her hotel sat on the end of the prom. She came up off the beach via the steps and stopped in front of Keith’s flat. The windows above were lit up, and the twang of a sitar and smell of weed wafted down, but Keith’s windows were in darkness. She was about to knock on the door, when she pulled back her hand. Keith always left the lights on. He was scared of the dark.

Erika stepped off the small front path and into the square of concrete with the wheelie bins. She moved to the front bay window and saw that it was open. She peered into the darkness. A smell of damp and disinfectant wafted out.

She made a decision, hauled herself up onto the windowsill and climbed inside.

E
rika stood
inside Keith’s dark bedroom and listened. The air was thick with heat and dust. She tried to tune out the muffled music coming from the flat above, but couldn’t hear anything beyond the bedroom door. She moved past the gloomy bulk of Keith’s hospital bed and into the hallway. There was a pool of light cast through the glass in the front door, but as she crept down the hall she moved into the shadows. She passed the door to the second bedroom, which was ajar – she could just see the two wheelchairs, silent and empty. The two large wheelchairs loomed in the shadows.

The music ceased for a moment, and in the silence Erika strained to hear something. Then it started up again: a dull, tuneless throbbing. She kept moving, staying alert, past the wide-open bathroom door. The light pollution from the seafront seeped through a tiny window above the sink, helping her eyes adjust to the murkiness.

Erika stopped and stiffened when she heard a snuffling and then a crackle over the throb of the music. She inched towards the frosted glass door at the end of the hallway and pulled out her phone. As she turned the corner into the living room, she activated the phone’s light.

Erika almost cried out. Standing in the centre of the room was a woman. She was small, with ghostly pale skin, and an uneven bob of coarse black hair. Her eyes were pools of black that contracted rapidly to pinpricks when Erika trained the bright light on her from the camera phone. Beside the woman, she could see Keith slumped back in his chair, arms flopped apart. A plastic bag was tied tight over his head, so tight that the thick lenses of his glasses were mashed into his eye sockets.

‘Who are you?’

‘My name’s Simone,’ the woman sniffed, wiping a tear from her eye. ‘I didn’t want to kill him.’

‘Jesus,’ said Erika, her voice trembling. She moved the light from Keith’s body and trained it directly in Simone’s face, attempting to dazzle her, to give herself enough time to think, but Simone moved fast and Erika suddenly found herself slammed up against the back wall with a knife to her throat.

‘Give me the phone,’ Simone said in her calm, oddly high voice. Erika felt the cold steel prick the skin of her throat. ‘You’ve seen what I can do. I’m not bluffing.’

Erika slowly handed over the phone. It took effort to keep her eyes open. Simone was small but stared up at her with a chilling intensity. Simone worked quickly with her free hand. The phone light blinked off and Erika heard the battery hit the carpet with a thud. In the gloom, Simone’s pupils dilated like a crazed drug addict. She dropped the phone and Erika heard it crunch under her foot.

‘Why did you have to come here, Erika Foster? I was going to do this and vanish off the face of the earth. You’d never have heard from me again.’

Erika glanced around the room.

‘No, no, no – you keep your eyes on me,’ said Simone. ‘We’re going over there,’ she added, tilting her head towards Keith’s still, seated form. She loosened her grip a little, but still held the knife to Erika’s throat. They moved in a morbid dance, shuffling around until Erika was next to the wheelchair.

‘Now I’m going to step back, but if you try anything I’ll slash you. I’ll go for your eyes, and your throat. You understand?’

‘Yes,’ gulped Erika. She was sweating and she could smell Keith next to her in the chair, a goaty mix of body odour and shit. Simone moved back to the doorway and flicked on the light. The room blazed bright. She came back, training the knifepoint on Erika.

‘Take the bag off his head,’ said Simone.

‘What?’

‘You heard me. Take it off.’ She advanced on Erika, the blade glinting under the harsh lights.

‘Okay, okay,’ said Erika, putting up her hands. She slowly lifted Keith’s head. His neck was still wet with sweat, and for a moment she thought he might still be alive – but his face was a bloated, bluish purple.

‘Come on, quicker,’ said Simone. Erika started to untie the cord from around his neck, unwinding it, panicking as it seemed to tangle. She loosened and worked the cord until it was free. Keith’s head lifted up, and there was a sucking sound as Erika gently pulled at the plastic. His glasses came too, sliding up off his nose and over his forehead with the plastic bag. His head flopped back against the wheelchair. Simone suddenly came close, and Erika shrank back as she snatched the bag, holding it out.

‘Take out his glasses, and put them back on him,’ Simone said. Erika did so, gently placing them back on the bridge of Keith’s nose, tucking the arms behind his ears.

‘Why did you kill him?’ asked Erika.

‘He had to die because he’d figured me out. He told you.’

‘He didn’t tell me. I worked it out.’

‘He wanted to meet. He’d never wanted to meet before… I’d tried to get him to in the past, but he’d chickened out. I figured you might have made the link. My paranoia was correct… Paranoia doesn’t work in a relationship,’ she finished, looking back at Keith.

‘He loved you,’ said Erika, looking between Keith’s body and Simone.

‘Oh, then that’s all I need, the love of a man,’ said Simone, her mouth curling up with sarcasm.

‘What’s wrong with being loved?’ asked Erika, her mind whirring. She was trying to work out what the woman was planning next, and until then she wanted to keep her talking.

‘The right people never love you back!’ spat Simone. ‘Mothers should love you. Husbands. The people you trust. But they let you down! And once one lets you down, it’s like a domino effect… You become vulnerable, people exploit you, they see a chink in your armour.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Erika, seeing Simone was getting dangerously wound up.

‘No, you’re not. But I bet you understand, don’t you? How did people change around you when your husband died? They see your weakness. They leave you, or they stay and exploit you.’

‘Simone… I understand.’

‘Do you?’

‘Yes.’

‘’So… You see why I did all this. Why I killed the doctor who didn’t believe me when I was in pain and terror; the writer, whose sick creative mind found new and original ways to inspire my torturer; the journalist who was responsible for me being taken away from my mother when I was nine years old…’

‘Jack Hart?’

‘Jack Hart. The man has a name like Hart, but he doesn’t have one! I particularly enjoyed wiping him out. He’d made a career feeding off the misery of others, making money on tears and distress. He thought he was a hero, writing about my mother… exposing my childhood… But I knew how to survive with her, because deep down she loved me,
she loved me…
And when things got really bad I could connect with that love… I never saw her again, I ended up in a children’s home! Do you know what happens to children when they go to those places?’

‘I can imagine,’ said Erika, shrinking back as Simone hysterically swiped at the air with the point of the knife.

‘NO, you can’t!’

Erika put her hands to her face. ‘I’m sorry, no, I can’t. Please, Simone. It’s over, let me get you some help.’

‘I need
help
, do I? There’s nothing wrong with me! I just stopped taking all the shit that was being thrown at me! I wasn’t born like this! I was innocent, but that innocence was torn from me!’

‘Okay,’ said Erika, putting her hands up to protect herself as Simone swiped the knife closer.

‘Come on, be honest, Erika. Wouldn’t you love the opportunity to wipe out all those men, the ones who’ve been the architects of your future? The men who’ve shaped your life for the worse? Jerome Goodman? The drug dealer who killed your husband and your friends? Look me in the eye and tell me that you wouldn’t do to him what I’ve done. Take control and revenge!’

Erika gulped. She felt the sweat on her forehead run down into her eyes and it stung.

‘Tell me! Tell me you’d do the same!’

‘I’d do the same,’ said Erika. As it came out of her mouth she knew she was saying it to stay alive, to keep Simone happy – but she also knew that a part of her understood Simone, and it shook her to the core. She looked around the room, trying to work out how she could get away.

‘Don’t you take your eyes off me!’ shouted Simone.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Erika, frantically trying to think. She knew she was close to death. ‘I know he burnt you, Simone. Your husband. And I’m trying to understand your pain and your anger. Help me to understand even more. Show me.’

Simone started to tremble and tears ran down her cheeks.

‘He ruined me. He ruined my body,’ she said. She grappled at her T-shirt and lifted it. Erika gulped when she saw the angry, swirling mass of scar tissue all across Simone’s stomach and ribs. The skin was shiny and pinched where she’d lost her bellybutton.

‘I’m so sorry, Simone,’ said Erika. ‘I understand. Look at you… Look at you: a brave, brave warrior.’

‘I am, I’m brave…’ sobbed Simone.

‘You are, you’re brave. And you proudly show the scars,’ said Erika.

Simone pulled her T-shirt up higher to show more, and in the split second the fabric moved up to her face, Erika leaned back and kicked into the mass of red scar tissue. Simone doubled over, crying in pain. Erika managed to just get past her, but Simone recovered quickly and was on her. They crashed into the frosted glass door. Erika kicked and fought and managed to get half-up and run halfway along the corridor before Simone caught up with her again.

‘You bitch!’ she cried, launching herself on Erika. They crashed down hard on the concrete floor in the doorway of the bathroom. Erika rolled onto her back as Simone loomed above her and punched her in the face. Simone punched her again and Erika saw stars. She started to black out.

‘You lying cunt,’ hissed Simone. Erika felt herself being dragged across the cold bathroom floor and then she was pulled up into a sitting position with her back against the cold porcelain of the toilet. Simone’s sharp little face was above her, and then Erika’s vision was obscured as the plastic bag was slid over her head. The same bag Simone had used to kill Keith.

Erika heard the plastic crackle with her breathing, the blood roar in her ears, and then felt the cord tighten around her neck. Simone was sitting up on the lid of the toilet. Her legs were either side of Erika and she was pulling on the cord at the same time as her feet were pinning Erika’s arms at her side, keeping her on the floor. Erika gasped and gagged as the bag began to form a vacuum over her head.

‘You are going to die here, and I’m going to leave your body, all alone,’ hissed Simone, her grip now tight.

Erika’s arms flailed uselessly on the floor. Her hand brushed the walls behind the toilet. And then she felt a strip of thick fabric fluttering against the skirting board. It was connected to the huge swinging safety rail. Her fingers scrabbled against it and just managed to grip. Her vision was fading fast, and with a spurt of adrenalin she pulled herself forward. Simone was dragged off the toilet seat, and at the same time Erika yanked down the strip of fabric. The huge safety rail came thundering down with great force and struck Simone on the head.

Simone lost grip of Erika and went crashing to the floor. Erika grabbed at the cord around her neck and managed to loosen it, scrabbling frantically, finally getting the bag off her head. Sucking the glorious clean cold air into her lungs, she yanked on the red emergency cord beside the toilet and an alarm began to sound.

Simone lay on her front on the bathroom floor, starting to shift and moan. Erika yanked the red cord hard again, and it snapped off. She sat on Simone’s legs, pinned her hands behind her back and started to wind the red cord tight around her wrists.

‘I’m arresting you, Simone,’ Erika said breathlessly, struggling to speak, ‘for the murders of Gregory Munro, Jack Hart, Stephen Linley and Keith Hardy… And the assault and attempted murder of a police officer. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

She slumped back, sitting on Simone’s legs and holding on tight to her bound wrists. Her face was throbbing where she’d been punched. As her breathing slowed down, she heard the distant wail of sirens.