Cut Short (34 page)

  Geraldine ran back upstairs. Someone was bandaging Heather Spencer's hand and she was holding a mug of tea.

  'Inspector,' she whispered, 'where is he?' her voice a soft echo of Geraldine's thoughts.

  Geraldine answered with her own question. 'What happened?' In a disjointed narrative, Heather Spencer explained. Geraldine was shocked. The killer had been there, in the house, and they'd let him slip away. When Heather Spencer had received the first letter from him, it never occurred to them that he might follow her home. 'He's clever, Mrs Spencer, but we'll find him. Mrs Spencer – Heather – why didn't you call me straight away?'

  Heather Spencer was shaking violently. 'I lost your card, the one with your phone number,' she explained. 'I called 999 and they came. I heard the sirens. He's gone, hasn't he?'

  'Did you get a closer look at him this time?'

  'No. I'm sorry, I didn't really see him at all. Not clearly. As soon as I caught sight of him coming out of the kitchen I ran away.'

  'Of course you did. You did the right thing. You're safe now, Mrs Spencer. DC Mellor will stay with you.' Sarah nodded brightly and Geraldine gave her a wan smile. 'Don't worry, Mrs Spencer. There are constables outside. He can't come back here and he won't get far. We'll find him tonight.' Geraldine was on her feet, phone in hand.

  'Inspector.'

  'Yes?'

  'Inspector, you've got it wrong.' Geraldine stared down at her. 'He's not clever. He's backward. Not right in the head. What he said made no sense and he sounded odd. Like a child.'

  'What did he say?'

  'He was talking about someone called Elsie. He said I was Elsie, or I wasn't Elsie. I can't remember exactly, because none of it made any sense. He said he'd found my hiding place so I had to come out. That was the rules. As if it was a children's game. I know it sounds silly, but I think he was playing hide and seek. And when he found me, I think he was going to kill me.' She began to sob. Geraldine took hold of her uninjured hand and tried to reassure her.

  'DC Mellor will be here,' she repeated helplessly. 'Would you like us to try and contact your husband?' Heather shook her head.

  Despondent, they returned to the car. Back at the station, the DCI was barking out instructions. 'I want every available officer combing the area. He can't have gone far. Leave a presence at the Spencer place, front and back. No one is to be allowed in the house – apart from William Spencer. Keep the press away. The suspect left there at—' she checked her notes, 'between six and six fifteen. On foot.'

  'As far as we know,' Carter added grimly.

  'We've got officers on foot, cars, helicopter sweeping the entire area. Leave a surveillance team in Mortimer Street.'

  'Where do you want me, ma'am?' Geraldine asked. 'Mortimer Street?' The DCI nodded uncertainly. Geraldine and Peterson drove off down the dark streets. Once the bright light of the helicopter swept by. They passed several patrol cars cruising slowly, and a small knot of youngsters gathered on a corner. Otherwise the streets were deserted. As they drove, Geraldine radioed Mellor. There were constables on guard at the front and back of the house.

  'All quiet, gov,' Sarah Mellor assured her. 'Mrs Spencer's fine.'

At last the house was quiet. Heather made her way shakily downstairs. A nice young policewoman sat with her and brought her a fresh cup of tea. The inspector had promised she was safe, but they still hadn't caught him.

  'Who is he?' she asked the constable. 'Do you even know?'

  'Yes, we know who he is. Don't worry, Mrs Spencer, the DCI is onto him. She'll catch up with him very soon.'

  'It's the Woolsmarsh Strangler, isn't it?' Heather whispered. The policewoman hesitated. 'If you don't stop him, he'll come back, won't he?' She could hear her voice rising in panic. 'Where do you think he's gone?' she whispered.

  The policewoman beside her smiled uneasily. 'Don't worry, Mrs Spencer,' she said. 'We'll find him. Now, shall I call your husband for you?'

  Heather shook her head. William would be home soon enough. She needed the interim to gather her thoughts and decide what she was going to say. In the aftermath of police cars, ambulance, blaring sirens and flashing lights, the neighbours would alert him to the drama that had taken place while he'd been away. It was bound to be in the papers. She blushed hotly. The children at school would read about her ordeal, making her the centre of whispered attention for days. Her sister would ring the doorbell, newspaper in hand, demanding the right to dispense unwelcome sympathy.

  William would know about it long before all that. As soon as he came home he'd see the police, the bloodstains, the broken window temporarily boarded up, and her bandaged hand and she'd tell him everything. Afterwards she'd do her best to forget. Life would return to normal. But first the police had to find the man they called the Woolsmarsh Strangler – the man who wanted to kill her.

60

Hair

Melanie was surprised how easily she managed to forget about Terry and slip back into her former routine, spending her evenings at home listening to music in her room or going out with friends. During the day she worked in a small art gallery in West Parade. She loved the atmosphere when they held exhibitions, which happened about six times a year, but in between times the job was fairly dull. Today had been typically quiet and, in an idle moment, she'd called her hairdresser to book a late appointment. As soon as the gallery closed, she drove to the town centre and left her car in the main car park, a short walk from the salon.

  It could all have turned out a lot worse. She'd cancelled her stolen credit cards before Terry had a chance to use them and her parents hadn't given her a hard time about the jewellery. In fact, they'd been surprisingly calm about the whole affair. Her father had contacted his insurance company and reported the theft to the police. After that he'd seemed, if anything, strangely cheerful about it. Melanie's mother had been elated when the stolen jewellery was recovered. Melanie suspected her father was more gratified to learn about Terry's arrest.

  'Haven't seen you for a while, Melanie,' her hairdresser smiled at her through the mirror. 'You been away some where nice?' She began combing Melanie's dripping hair.

  'No, just busy,' Melanie replied. She gazed at her reflection. Wet hair hung down on either side of her face, emphasising her angular features. Although it was straight, her hair always looked longer when it was wet and now it reached down nearly to her waist. She'd been considering having it restyled into a short bob.

  'You've got lovely hair,' the stylist commented and Melanie smiled. She liked her hair and decided against having it cut short. She leaned back comfortably in the chair and reached for her coffee. The hairdresser waited, comb poised.

  'The usual trim?' she asked, 'or d'you fancy something different this time? Some caramel lowlights would look nice. What's it to be?' She stepped back and gazed at her client's long blonde hair appraisingly.

  'Just the usual,' Melanie answered with a lazy smile.

  'Right you are,' the stylist agreed amiably. She picked up her scissors and began combing and snipping, talking all the while about the Woolsmarsh Strangler. 'Makes you scared to go out on the streets alone, doesn't it?' Preoccupied with her own thoughts, Melanie barely listened to her chatter. One thing was certain, she wasn't going to fall for a waster like Terry again. Although she'd never tell him so, her father had been right about Terry all along.

  By the time her hair was finished it was nearly half past six and dark outside. As Melanie hurried back to her car it began to rain, big fat drops that splattered on the pavement around her suede shoes. She hadn't thought about the women's meetings for days so was pleased when her phone rang and she heard Julie's voice.

  'Melanie, it's Julie. Are you coming on Tuesday?'

  'Tuesday?'

  'We're holding another meeting to talk about police inaction, seven thirty next Tuesday at my place. Can you make it? We've decided it's time to lobby our MP. Although it's hardly likely to be top of
his
agenda. We're all sick of the way our lives are controlled by men. Every way you turn it's the men in charge, and when there's a threat to
us
, what do they do?' Slightly taken aback by Julie's intensity, Melanie reminded her that a woman was running the police hunt for the Strangler. 'Yes, but she's not really in charge, is she? It's the men at the top who make the decisions. They're the ones with the real power. And some of us think it's time we women took control of our own lives.'

  Melanie thought about her father and felt her jaw tighten. 'I'll be there,' she promised, resolving to be independent, like Julie. She threw her head back, thrust her phone force fully into the pocket of her jeans and strode along the road, a strong, confident woman. When a patrol car drew into the kerb beside her and a middle-aged policeman called out, she bristled.

  'You all right, miss?'

  'Fine, thank you,' she replied sharply and turned away, in case he recognised her. She wasn't a child. She didn't need protection. 'My car's just round the corner,' she added brusquely. But as the police car drove away, panic ran through her like a jolt of electricity. Her mouth felt dry and she was suddenly so light headed, she thought she wouldn't be able to walk straight. The hairdresser's words reverberated in her head: 'Makes you scared to go out on the streets alone, doesn't it?' She glanced around, but the pavement was empty.

  She turned off the main road and her alarm faded. The side street where she'd left her car was deserted. In the silence, the sudden shrilling of her phone startled her, making her heart beat wildly.

  'Mel, it's Julie again. I forgot to say, it's your turn to bring cake or biscuits.'

  Melanie forgot her isolation while she was chatting with Julie but when she hung up, the darkness of the street seemed to close in on her. Ahead, she could see the metallic paint of her car glimmering beneath a street lamp. Without looking round she quickened her pace.

  She'd almost reached the car when she heard someone breathing.

61

Girl

Jim walked quickly along the road. He couldn't go far without seeing a patrol car. When he saw a pair of policemen walking along the pavement towards him, he slunk into an alley and stood flat against a fence post, holding his breath, until they went past. Another time he sneaked into a front garden and waited behind a tall hedge until he heard their footsteps fade away. After that he kept out of the light and walked along alleys and across dark lawns. In one garden he nearly slipped into a fishpond. Some of the houses had lights that came on when he approached, or dogs that barked hysterically so he nearly yelled out in fear. He stayed out of gardens after that.

  He couldn't go back to the shed. He knew they'd be there, waiting for him. He'd go away, find another park and start all over again. He smiled. It was a clever plan. He heard the loud whine of a helicopter and watched as a huge beam of light swept across the street. He kept very still, pressing himself against a tree trunk. It was lucky he was so clever. He knew they were looking for him but they wouldn't find him. He was clever at hiding.

  He was hurrying so fast, he nearly didn't see the girl, walking quickly in front of him. She had long hair. He hoped she was pretty but he couldn't see her face as he came up behind her. There was no one else around. He hesitated because she was talking to someone on her phone. As she walked past the entrance to an alley he heard her say, '… thanks again Julie.' She put her phone in her pocket. No one was listening to her any more. He waited until both her arms were swinging freely and smiled because he knew what to do. She was only a few paces away. A street lamp threw a faint light over the opening to the alley; beyond lay darkness.

  His hand was over her mouth, her wrists safe in his strong grip. She wasn't heavy. It was easy to drag her into the alley. Her feet bumped on the ground so he lifted her up. He tried not to laugh because he didn't need the park any more. He could go anywhere. They'd never find him. In the alley, she began to struggle. She could only make muffled grunty noises because his hand was pressing down on her mouth. He knew what it felt like when you couldn't say the words but it didn't matter. He wasn't listening. That was fair. It was his turn now.

  He jerked her head backwards, wrenching it round so he could see her face. She wriggled and strained against him. He moved her wrists sideways to let her shoulders follow her turning neck. He didn't want to twist her neck too far. Not yet. First he wanted to see if she was pretty. Quickly, he took a step back towards the end of the alley and the faint light from the street lamp. It didn't matter if she saw his face. He looked at her and his hands released their hold. He was almost too shocked to speak.

  'I didn't know it was you,' he stuttered as her arms swung at him, shoving him back against the fence. A loud siren screeched from her hand, drowning out her screaming as he turned and fled along the dark alley.

  He ran and ran, keeping to the shadows. When he couldn't run any more he lay down under a hedge to think. Branches poked into his eyes. A police car drove past. He lay very still. He had to speak to Miss Elsie and tell her he was only playing. He was scared she wouldn't believe him.

  'How was I to know it was you?' he asked her. She didn't reply. It wasn't his fault. She should have told him. Another police car sped past and he pressed himself against the earth under the hedge. It was dirty. He was alone and very frightened. They were looking for him. He wanted to run away, but he couldn't. Not now he'd seen Miss Elsie. If he left Woolsmarsh he might never find her again.