Dead Girl Walking (21 page)

I shake my head slowly. ‘I only ever get the last moments. But the details can become really sharp and intense over time. I might be able to tell you more tomorrow.’

He nods. Even though he’s clearly trying to hide it, the disappointment is evident in his face. ‘Go home and rest. You know where to find me if anything else comes back.’

‘You must have DNA clues and stuff,’ I say. ‘You can catch him, right, even if I don’t give you anything more?’ Fear overwhelms me and suddenly I’m not this tough,
strong champion of justice that I’ve been pretending to be but a lost little girl who just wants someone to keep her safe. Right now, I desperately hope that Karl can get this guy, because I don’t think I have the strength to do it after all.

He sighs. ‘Yes, I do believe that we’ll catch him. I just worry about how long it will take. Every night he spends at liberty brings the possibility of another murder.’ He bites his thumbnail as he stares at me with an unnerving frankness. ‘I feel the responsibility for each new death as though I’ve killed them myself.’

At this moment, I know that if he thought he could get away with it, Karl would be waiting in the shadows with a knife too.

‘I’ll take you down to the canteen to meet your friend,’ he says, rising from his chair. ‘Are you ok to walk?’

‘I’m fine now.’

‘Cassie…’ he begins as he helps me up with a gentle hand under my elbow. ‘You’re not still harbouring these silly ideas of chasing this man yourself, are you? Because I’d hate to see your body lying on that slab next time.’

I try to smile, but all I do is stretch my face into a pained looking grimace. ‘You don’t need to worry about that, it’s the last thing I feel like doing now.’

Dante is hunched over a table hugging a plastic cup when we get to the canteen. The strip-lights throw a sickly pallor over his form and his foot taps against the leg of his chair in a rapid staccato. The canteen is virtually silent, apart from the clanging of cutlery and the churning whoosh of a dishwasher in the kitchens. He’s the only customer and he looks up sharply as he hears us arrive.

‘Everything ok?’ he asks, standing up.

‘Sure, why wouldn’t it be?’

‘No reason,’ he replies with a questioning look of disbelief in Karl’s direction. He turns to me. ‘So, you’re ready to go then?’

‘Thanks for waiting,’ Karl says.

Dante gives him a short nod.

‘I’ll wait to hear from you,’ Karl says to me.

‘As soon as I have anything I’ll phone you straight away,’ I reply.

‘Stick close going home,’ Karl says to Dante. He turns his bushy-browed stare to me. ‘Got that?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’m serious, Cassie.’

‘So am I.’

Karl looks as though he might say something else, but then turns and leaves.

‘I didn’t think I’d see you again,’ I say to Dante when Karl has gone. ‘Do you want to explain what happened last night?’

He glances around the canteen. ‘You want to go somewhere?’

‘We are somewhere.’

‘Somewhere quieter.’

I raise my eyebrows. ‘Quieter than here?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he says. ‘Let’s go.’

‘I’m not moving until you tell me what’s going on.’

‘But I told that police guy I’d take you home.’

‘I know you did. So it looks like you’re either going to spill, or we’re going to be here for a long time.’

He doesn’t reply, but fixes me with his dark-eyed, mournful gaze. ‘My nightmare freaked me out, that’s all,’ he says finally.

‘So much that you ran out in the middle of the night?’

‘I shouldn’t have been out all night anyway, I didn’t tell my mum I was staying over.’

‘You’re a big boy now, I’m sure she would have coped.’

‘She worries about me,’ he says with a hurt expression.

‘That’s nice,’ I say. ‘Just imagine having a mum to worry where you are.’

‘That’s not fair,’ he says, dropping into his chair again.

‘Life isn’t fair.’ I take the seat next to him. ‘Are you going to buy me a cuppa or what?’

‘I’m supposed to take you home.’

‘And you can. Just not yet.’

‘Are you really ok?’

I slump onto the table and rest my head on my folded arms. ‘No. Can we stay here for a while?’

He gets up and crosses to a hatch in the wall to wait for service. I hear him quietly order a tea. A moment later he returns with another plastic cup.

‘It tastes like shit,’ he says, setting it down for me.

‘It’ll be just like being at my house, then.’ I take a sip and can’t keep the grimace from my face. ‘I see what you mean. If they give this out when they’re interviewing suspects – instant confession every time.’

He gives me a small smile. ‘You look better already.’

‘You don’t. You still look freaked out.’

‘You have to admit, being called by a policeman to come and fetch your passed out girlfriend is not a normal day. I’m entitled to look a bit freaked out.’

‘I’m your girlfriend?’

His gaze drops to the table.

‘There’s no need to look so coy about it,’ I say, trying not to laugh.

‘It’s not that.’

‘What then?’

He sighs and looks up at me. ‘This,’ he says, sweeping his hand around the room. ‘There’s all this going on and you won’t share it with me. What am I supposed to think about all this?’

‘I don’t tell you because I can’t. It’s classified – police business. I’d probably have to kill you if I told you.’

‘I won’t breathe a word, you know I won’t.’ He doesn’t pick up on my attempt at humour, probably because it’s lame and so totally not the right time. ‘But I don’t feel like I know you at all. And I don’t feel like I can trust you right now. It terrifies me.’

I choose to ignore his last admission and deal with the steady ground where I feel safe I’m not opening a whole new can of slippery worms. ‘I’m not in trouble,’ I say, ‘at least, not in the way you think.’

‘So you
are
in trouble, though. What kind of trouble?’

‘I’m helping Karl. It’s something massive and I can’t tell you what. You have to trust me.’ I trace the rim of my cup with a finger. ‘Is that why you bailed out last night? Because you thought I was dangerous or something?’

‘It was just my nightmare,’ he says. ‘It’s stupid. Since I met you, I’m beginning to see that it’s stupid.’

‘It didn’t seem like that last night.’

‘It’s just that…’

‘What?’

‘I’m scared that you’re going to hurt me. There’s a danger to you and me and even though I try not to think about it, because it’s stupid, sometimes, I still get scared.’

‘You’re scared of me? Dante…’ I grasp his hand. ‘I would never knowingly hurt you. I’m not the sort of girl who fools around or plays mind games with boyfriends. I’m not saying things will always be golden, but if there’s ever a problem with our relationship I would always be honest and get it out in the open so we can talk it through. You trust me, don’t you?’

He nods uncertainly. ‘I’ve trusted you this far.’

‘Then know there’s no danger for you and me.’

He shakes his head as if to clear it. ‘I know. I let things get to me and I shouldn’t. And there’s no way any of what I dream can come true; that’s just the crazy in me talking.’

‘You said you were certain it would come true.’

He slips his hand from my grasp and takes a sip of his tea. He scowls. ‘Tastes like shit and cold too now.’

‘Dan?’

‘Nobody calls me Dan.’

‘I’m a trailblazer. You didn’t answer me.’

‘You didn’t ask a question.’

‘You’re a pain in the arse.’

‘That’s why you like me.’

‘Stop changing the subject.’

‘Like you do?’ He stares at me. I can’t decide whether I want to slap him or kiss him.

‘I can’t tell you,’ I say. ‘We’ve been over this.’

‘Neither can I,’ he says.

‘I thought we just had this whole discussion about trust and now we’re back to emotional tag. This is ridiculous.’ I set down my cup. ‘Please take me home.’

‘Ok…’ he says slowly. ‘That’s what I was trying to do anyway.’

I ignore the tremors in my legs and the snapshot visions that won’t stop invading my head and I push myself to stand. Even as I do I know that my face is draining of colour.

‘I can get someone to drive us,’ he says. He gets up and puts an arm around me. ‘I know you don’t like it but you’re not fit to walk.’

‘No driving.’

‘But look at the state you’re in. I’m sure your policeman would sort something.’

‘I said no driving. Besides, Karl made it quite clear that he doesn’t have time and the thing he’s working on is really far more important than my wobbly legs.’

He looks as though he might argue. ‘Ok,’ he says. ‘But you’re sure you’re up to walking?’

‘You just said you wanted to take me home.’

‘I do. I just don’t want to carry you there.’

‘There’s no pleasing you.’

He pulls me to face him and smoothes a hand over my hair. I can’t help but close my eyes, every care draining from me to be replaced by a quiet contentment. It’s a precious, stolen moment and I grasp it. My head falls to his chest and his warm heartbeat is solid and real. He wraps his arms around me.

‘I really want to believe that there’s a future for us. Remember when you talked about unalterable paths?’ he asks quietly, ‘Do you think that we’re really all set on one straight path that never alters no matter what we do?’

‘No, I don’t,’ I say, still nestled against him.

‘So the future that I dream, I can change?’

‘I think you can,’ I say. ‘I think the power to change our future does lie with us.’

‘What if it doesn’t?’

‘Then,’ I look up at him, ‘what you have seen will come anyway, and there’s no point in worrying about it.’

He pulls me close again. I’m struck by the truth of my own wisdom. Some things, like coming back from the dead, we have no control over. But some futures we do have the power to change. Back home, there’s a knife in a rucksack. Tonight, I’m using it. Tonight, I exercise my power to change the future.

‘What’s that?’ Dante asks, peering over at the windowsill as I search for my house keys.

I follow the direction of his gaze. On the sill of the front window lies a single white lily. Funeral flowers, my Mum always called them, the only flowers she really hated because of that. Their haunting beauty has always given me the creeps since I first heard her say it. He goes over to pick it up.

‘I have competition?’ he says with a wry smile, handing me the flower.

I take it from him and stare at it, turning it over in my fingers. ‘I don’t think so,’ I say slowly.

‘Who’s left you this then?’

‘I don’t know.’ I wonder whether to tell him about the bird on my doorstep. But I’m still weak and it feels like it would take too much explanation.

‘It looks like I’ll have to get tough with someone,’ Dante quips.

I throw him the best withering glance I can muster. ‘You? Marmalade would have more chance of defending my honour than you.’ As soon as I’ve said the name of my missing cat (if she ever was mine) I feel her loss. It’s weird how much I’ve missed her since she’s been gone. And then the image of those scratches on the killer’s wrist comes back to me and I hope to God that the conclusion I’ve come to is the wrong one… for Marmalade’s sake, for my sake… even Dante’s.

He doubles over and pretends to be hurt. ‘Oooh, that’s below the belt.’

He straightens up and grins as I unlock the door with a last glance up and down the street. Once we’re both inside and I’ve bolted up again, I march straight to the kitchen bin with the flower.

I’m angry at myself for not sending Dante home. What should have been a simple task is now complicated because he’s here. I lie awake and listen to his breathing in the darkness, waiting for it to deepen as he falls asleep. His skin is warm and fragrant and part of me wants to nestle into him and sleep too. It’s strange, being in bed with him. We’ve never actually made it to the bedroom before, at least, not for sex, and it feels sort of too civilised. But when he’s lying next to me, it’s like he keeps the ghosts away. Funny that, Dante – sloping script, high crossed T – keeping me safe. I run my
hand so gently down his arm that I’m barely touching it. He stirs, but then settles into the pillow, his face in the half-light more peaceful than I’ve ever seen it.

I rouse myself. It would be too easy to sleep and I have work to do. I wriggle from Dante’s arms and slip from the bed. My clothes are scattered around the floor. They’re not clean but I don’t suppose my serial killer friend will care. Gathering them up, I steal from the room and take myself to the bathroom to dress.

The bathroom mirror shows a face that I hardly recognise: pale and taut, ready for the fight. I scrape my hair together to tie it back but then wonder if I will be more attractive with it down. So I leave it. I throw my jeans and top on but then glance down at them and wonder if they’re provocative enough. I can’t remember what the other victims were wearing.
Other victims
. Thinking that way makes it sound like I’m destined to be a victim too. I shudder at the prospect. But then I realise that I don’t have to worry about hunting for him or whether he’ll be tempted by what I’m doing with my hair or what I’m wearing. He will find me whatever I do. He’s the reason I came back from the dead. And I’m living a borrowed life anyway, so maybe I shouldn’t think any further than that.

I put my head around the bedroom door. The light from the hallway washes over Dante, casting shadows over the angles of his bare torso and throwing his cheekbones into sharp relief. He twitches and frowns in his sleep. What if he wakes and I’m not here? I can’t have him phoning me while I’m out. And if he does and I don’t reply he’ll come looking for me. As silently as I can, I tear a page from my notebook on the bedside table and scribble him a brief explanation, withholding as much truth as I can without arousing suspicion. I leave the scrap of paper on my pillow.

The front door clicks shut. As soon as I step out, the cold bites through my jacket and I hug myself as I walk in a bid to stop the shivering. Frost glints diamond hard on the pavement in the clear moonlight, the streets hushed and mournful. I take my phone out and mute it. I don’t really know where to start this search. I think about the car yard but as he was there not long ago, it’s unlikely he’ll go there again. Would he even be out killing again this soon? Something makes me certain he won’t be, but while there’s a chance it could happen, I have to be out here waiting for him. I decide that it doesn’t matter where I go first. Sooner or later, he’ll find me. So I just walk.