Authors: Kevin Brooks
We just had to wait.
‘What time did Tasha say she saw the Nissan?’ Cal asked me, without taking his eyes off the screen.
‘She thought it was around two-ish.’
Cal nodded.
I leaned closer to the screen as headlights appeared in the tunnel … but the car didn’t stop. I watched it drive past the lay-by, approach the camera, and then disappear.
I said to Cal, ‘Where does this road go anyway?’
‘South from here?’
‘Yeah.’
‘London Road ends at the entrance to the tunnel. After that it becomes Great Hey Road. It follows the railway tracks for a while, maybe half a mile, then there’s a right turn that takes you back into town, but if you stay on Great Hey Road and keep going … hold on, what’s that?’
Another pair of headlights had appeared in the tunnel, this time moving quite slowly. We both leaned in closer to the screen again. The headlights were on full, the glare making it impossible to see what kind of car it was. But as it approached the end of the tunnel, it definitely seemed to be slowing down.
‘This could be it,’ Cal said quietly.
The car was coming out of the tunnel now, its left-side indicator flashing. It pulled in at the lay-by, and as I watched the grey blob that was Anna walking towards it, I felt an irrational urge to shout out to her –
Don’t do it, Anna! Don’t get in the car!
But of course, after leaning in through the passenger window and talking to the driver for ten seconds or so, she got in.
‘Shit,’ Cal whispered.
The headlights were still on full beam as the car pulled away, and at that distance there was no chance of identifying the driver. But now the car was coming towards us, getting closer all the time … and we both had our faces almost pressed to the screen … and just as the car was about to pass the camera and disappear from view, another car appeared, travelling in the opposite direction, and our driver had to dip his lights. And just for a second, we had a relatively clear picture of our car. But it was, literally, only for a second, and then the car was gone.
‘Did you see him?’ I asked Cal.
‘No, it was too quick.’
‘Shit.’
He grinned at me. ‘It’s not live …’
‘What?’
‘It’s a recording, we can watch it as many times as we want.’ He started tapping the keyboard. ‘You didn’t
really
think it was live, did you?’
I leaned back in the chair, rubbing my eyes, trying to bring myself back to reality. I knew exactly where I was and what I’d been doing for the last few hours, but I was feeling that slightly odd sensation – a kind of gradually dawning awareness – that can come to you at the end of a really engrossing film. And that, in turn, was making me feel really uncomfortable. Because what I’d just witnessed wasn’t a film … it wasn’t a drama, played out by actors. It was real. A real girl, getting into a real car with a real man … a man who was quite possibly about to kill her.
There was nothing
engrossing
about that.
‘There,’ said Cal. ‘That’s as clear as I can get it.’
I looked at the screen. He’d re-run the CCTV footage and frozen it just before the car disappeared from view. The static image was still fairly blurred and grainy, but it clearly showed a man in the driving seat, and a girl in the passenger seat, and when I half closed my eyes and squinted at the faces, it was just possible to see – or, at least, to imagine – that the man matched Tasha’s description, and that the girl was Anna. But, of course, my imagination was probably swayed by the fact that I already knew it
was
Anna.
‘What do you think?’ Cal said.
‘Is that the best you can do?’
‘I could enlarge it, but all that’d do is make it even blurrier.’
‘You can’t get it any clearer?’
‘No … I know someone in the States who could maybe
clean it up a bit. But he’s really expensive, and he’s got a really long waiting list. He probably couldn’t do it for at least a couple of weeks, probably a month.’
I leaned forward and squinted at the images again. ‘It
could
be Bishop …’
‘It
could
be anyone.’
‘What about the car?’
‘Well, it’s definitely a Nissan Almera –’
‘Is it?’
‘Yeah, but I can’t make out the number plate.’
I leaned back, lit a cigarette, and looked at my watch. It was just gone four o’clock. Deep down inside me I could feel the faint stirrings of the black place again, and I knew that it wouldn’t be too long before it dragged me down into its void. But it wasn’t quite ready for me yet. And the black pills in my pocket would help to keep it at bay for a while.
‘What time does it get dark?’ I said to Cal.
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Six, half-past …? Why?’
‘Great Hey Road …’ I said, gazing at the frozen image on the laptop screen. ‘It carries on down to the coast, doesn’t it?’
‘Yeah,’ Cal said, frowning at me, not sure why I was asking. ‘It takes you out past the Ranges, through all those little villages … and it ends up at Hale Island.’
I nodded, remembering now. I hadn’t been to Hale Island for years, but when I was a kid we used to drive down there on Sunday afternoons for family strolls on the beach … my mother and father walking together, talking quietly to each other, while I went off on my own … scuffing along the strandline, kicking up junk, looking
for jewels – tropical beans, cuttlefish bones, mermaid’s purses …
I was happy then.
‘John?’
I looked at Cal.
He said, ‘Are you all right? You look a bit –’
‘Can you see if you can find some more footage of the Nissan?’ I said to him, getting to my feet. ‘Try and see where this guy went with Anna?’
Cal nodded. ‘I can
try
… there’s a few more Network Rail cameras that might have picked him up, but that’s before the turn-off back to town.
After
that … well, I’ll have to check, but I don’t think there’s too many cameras along Great Hey Road.’ He looked at me, frowning again. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m just going to take a drive out there, before it gets too dark.’
‘Out where?’
I looked at the image on the screen again. ‘I’ll start at the lay-by, and then … I don’t know. Just keep going, I suppose.’ I looked back at Cal. ‘I know it sounds stupid –’
‘Yeah, it does. I mean, you’re not going to
find
anything, are you?’
‘I know. But I just need to
do
something, Cal. Even if it’s pointless … I need to feel like I’m doing something.’
He looked at me for a while, chewing his lip … and just for a moment he reminded me
so
much of Stacy. It wasn’t just the family resemblance – although Cal did have the same natural beauty as Stacy – but the way he was chewing his lip and looking at me … Stacy used to do exactly the
same thing when she was worried about me, especially when she was worried about my state of mind.
‘It’s all right,’ I said quietly to Cal. ‘I’m all right.’
‘Honestly?’
I smiled. ‘Yeah.’
He nodded. ‘OK.’
‘So you’ll keep working on the CCTV stuff?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And you’ll let me know –’
‘I’ll call you whether I find anything or not.’
‘And if you’ve got the time –’
‘I’ll see what I can find out about Charles Raymond Kemper.’
‘Thanks, Cal.’
‘Oh, and before you go …’ he said, fumbling around through the clutter on his desk. ‘Hold on … where the fuck is it? I know I put it somewhere … ah, there it is.’ He got up, came over to me, and handed me a flash drive.
‘What’s this?’ I said.
‘The video footage that was on that damaged memory card you gave me … I’ve transferred it all to the flash drive.’
It took me a moment to realise what he was talking about, but then I remembered – the StayBright case, Preston Elliot and his ball-peen hammer …
It seemed like a long time ago.
‘Was it all still there?’ I asked Cal.
‘Yep.’
‘You’re a genius,’ I said, pocketing the flash drive.
He smiled. ‘I know.’
Before I left, I went to the bathroom and swallowed another pill. I knew that I’d pay for it later – because the longer the black place is kept at bay, the blacker it is when it finally comes – but later was later. Right now, my only real concern was how Stacy would have felt about me taking the pills … and as I went over and looked in the bathroom mirror, and my fucked-up eyes stared back at me, I could hear the anger and exasperation in Stacy’s voice as she told me not to be so
stupid
…
You don’t need pills, John. You don’t need to keep doing this to yourself
.
‘I’m sorry, Stace,’ I muttered, pocketing the bottle of pills. ‘I’m just …’
Just what?
‘Nothing … I’m just sorry.’
The business of death
…
‘Did he rape her before stabbing her?’
‘We believe the wounds were inflicted during the rape.’
‘And then he strangled her?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did he get into the house?’
‘There were no signs of forced entry, so at the moment we’re assuming that Stacy let him in. Which either means that she knew him, or she was somehow tricked into letting him in.’
‘Do you know what time it happened?’
DI Delaney looks through the papers in the file. ‘The pathologist estimates the time of death at between 3.30 and 4.45. Stacy’s watch, which was broken during the attack, was stopped at 4.17.’ He looks at me. ‘You were still at work, John. You couldn’t have done anything.’
It’s a pointless thing to say, but I don’t hold it against him. I ask, ‘Have you got any witnesses?’
He shakes his head. ‘Not yet.’
‘No one saw anything?’
‘We’ve still got some follow-up interviews to do, and we’ve got appeals planned for the press and local TV. We’re doing everything we possibly can, John.’
‘What about forensics?’
‘The crime-scene evidence is still being analysed. No fingerprints have been found, so we’re assuming he wore gloves … and preliminary reports indicate the use of a condom during the rape, so we don’t expect to find any –’
‘A condom?’
Delaney sighs. ‘It’s not unusual, I’m afraid. Rapists, sexual predators, murderers … they all watch
CSI
these days –
CSI, Waking the Dead, Silent Witness …
’ He shrugs. ‘They all know about DNA … at least, they think they do.’ He looks at me. ‘I’m sorry if I only seem to have bad news for you, John … but there is one thing that’s giving us hope.’
I don’t say anything, I just wait
.
‘During the post-mortem,’ he tells me, ‘the pathologist found a small piece of scalp in your wife’s stomach.’
‘Scalp?’
He nods. ‘We think – and I have to emphasise that forensic work is still being carried out, so at the moment we can’t be sure – but we think that at some point during the assault, your wife must have fought back, biting her attacker on the head … and, incredibly, we think she must have actually bitten off a piece of his scalp …’
‘And swallowed it?’
Delaney shakes his head in admiration. ‘Whether or not she knew what she was doing, making sure that he wouldn’t get away without leaving his DNA behind … well, I don’t know. But either way, what she did … well, all I can say is that she must have been a remarkable woman.’
‘Yes … yes, she was.’ And I’m crying now. ‘Will you get DNA from this piece of scalp?’
He nods. ‘There’s no reason why not. It’s got everything the forensic team need – blood, skin … hair. We’re expecting the results within the week. Of course, everything then depends on matching the DNA to a suspect. If we can match the DNA profile to a profile we already have on our database, we’ve got a result. But if not, if the man who killed Stacy has never been arrested before …’
‘But he probably has.’
Delaney nods cautiously. ‘Probably, yes. This doesn’t look like the work of a first-time offender. But just because he’s done it before, that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s been arrested before.’
‘So … we just have to wait.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so. As I said, we should have the DNA results by the end of this week, and I promise I’ll let you know as soon as I get them.’
‘Thanks.’
‘And, in the meantime, if anything else turns up …’
I nod my head, getting to my feet
.
What else is there to say?
Nothing
.
I just have to wait
.
I’d told Ada that I didn’t have any proof of Bishop’s involvement in Anna’s disappearance, but the simple truth was that I didn’t have proof of anything at all. Despite everything Cal had done, hacking into the CCTV system and searching through hours of footage, all we’d really done was confirm what Tasha had told me, that Anna had been picked up by a man in a Nissan Almera. That was it.
That was all I knew. I had no idea who the man was, no idea of his intentions, no idea what he’d done with Anna.
For all I knew, Bishop had been right when he’d suggested that Anna had simply ‘met some bloke who’s promised her the world and they’ve fucked off together somewhere’. Maybe the man in the Nissan
was
just a punter intent on rescuing Anna from her life of depravity … or maybe he was nothing more than just another punter. Charles Raymond Kemper, a lonely businessman from Leicester, visiting Hey for a sales conference or a meeting with investors … he picks up Anna, takes her to a nice quiet spot somewhere, pays her to do what he wants, then drives back to town and drops her off somewhere.
Why not?
I didn’t know.
But although I’m a stone-cold realist, and I have no belief whatsoever in anything even remotely supernatural, spiritual, or mystical … when I’d watched that blurred video footage of Anna Gerrish getting into the Nissan, I knew that I’d been watching a ghost.
Anna Gerrish was dead.
I had no doubt about that.