Joe got onto all fours, sucking in air. There was blood on the back of his head, he could feel it matting his hair, but he wasn’t backing down. This was his moment.
Melissa shouted, ‘Where’s Carrie?’
Proctor got to his feet. He laughed, blood running from his mouth. His eye was swelling, a fractured eye socket perhaps, but he bared his teeth in anger, unbowed. ‘Little Melissa. It’s been a long time.’
Melissa ran across the walkway. It bounced as she ran, the air filled with loud clangs. She scrambled over Joe and flailed towards Proctor, her blows wild and angry. Proctor punched her face and she went down hard, groaning, lying on the floor just inside the doorway.
Proctor turned as if to go back towards Joe but his attention was distracted by a noise, like bangs on the roof, the sound of someone struggling: Carrie.
Joe got to his knees and ran at Proctor. His shoulder thumped into his stomach, a rugby tackle, his legs driving hard, forcing Proctor backwards, unbalanced. As Proctor landed, winded, Joe pushed himself off and headed for the hole in the roof. Melissa had lifted up her shoulders and blood pooled onto the floor.
Joe hauled himself upwards.
The height was dizzying. The orange streets seemed a long way below. He tried to stay steady in the join between two roofs. He couldn’t see her. The tiles felt slippery. They made loud cracks as he moved across the roof, his arms out to balance himself. He tried not to think of the height, but he felt sick with every slip as he went.
‘Carrie!’
His shout was loud and bounced between the buildings a long way below. There were blue flashing lights in the distance, coming from two angles. Sirens wailed. Help was on its way, but it might be too late for Carrie.
Then he saw it. A drainpipe. It was sticking out above the roof edge and was moving. As he listened, it clanked against the brickwork.
Joe threw himself forward, clattering onto the tiles. He scrambled towards to the edge. He gasped and closed his eyes when he got there. The view below swirled, it was so high, the street lights moving as if they were caught in a high wind. He had to fight that. Carrie was hanging from the drainpipe, her body swinging. She was looking up, petrified, a soaked and filthy gag around her mouth. The drainpipe was leaning away from the wall, as if her weight was pulling it out.
Joe shuffled further forward, taking deep breaths to fight the nausea of the drop, and reached over. His shoulders and chest were over the edge. He banged into the drainpipe and it creaked. Mortar dust drifted onto Carrie, making her blink and grimace. He couldn’t stop. He reached down and grabbed her under her arms. He strained as he pulled her towards him. He tried to push his legs against the roof tiles, scared she would drag him forward, send them both over. She cried. The muscles in his arms felt about to give up the fight.
He shouted as he strained, and then her bound wrists cleared the top of the drainpipe. He had all of her weight. He tried to inch back and bring her with him.
Carrie banged against the edge of the roof, her face on the tiles, her body still over the edge. She was wriggling, scared, trying to pull herself forward. She was soaked in sweat and it made her slippery.
‘Keep still,’ Joe gasped.
He roared as he pulled her back one final time, his shoulders straining, his teeth bared. She cried out in pain as the edge of the roof tiles dragged along her stomach, drawing blood. That didn’t matter, she was coming up.
She flopped forward onto the roof tiles as Joe fell backwards, drained, panting.
Carrie’s eyes were filled with fear, cheeks stained by dirt and tears. Joe hauled himself onto his knees, sucked in lungfuls of air and reached forwards to pull at her gag, bringing it below her chin. Her mouth curled into a sob.
‘No time,’ Joe said.
The sirens got closer. Joe looked. Blue lights were colouring the buildings around.
He pulled at the knot on the rope around Carrie’s wrists. The rope was thick, making it easier. Once they were free, Carrie threw her arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder. He let her stay like that for a few seconds, her ribs against his arms, her arms skinny and frail. For a moment, he wished it had been like this with his sister, that he could have rescued her and had this moment with her.
There were noises behind them. Proctor’s head appeared through the hole in the roof. Carrie tried to scramble up the tiles to get away, but Joe gripped her hand.
‘Stay behind me,’ he whispered. ‘Get off the roof when you can.’
Carrie nodded.
Proctor hauled himself up and then stood with a foot on each roof slope, his feet wide apart. He was holding a large knife.
‘It ends now,’ Proctor said, and he moved towards them.
Roof tiles cracked under Proctor’s heavy footsteps. He was just a few feet away. He lashed out with the knife.
Joe leaned backwards. Carrie scrambled away. They were close to the edge again. Joe sneaked a look back and his breath caught in his throat.
Proctor was moving towards him. ‘You’re frightened, just like your baby sister,’ he said, sneering.
Joe tensed.
Proctor grinned, his eye swollen. ‘She enjoyed it, I think. She thought it was a game at first, sweet Eleanor. I had her secrets, because I’d watched her. Not so sweet, you know.’ He swung out with the knife again. ‘I liked how she struggled against me. Do you know she cried?’
Joe closed his eyes. He couldn’t listen to this. He understood what Proctor was doing. Proctor knew his days were done. He was trying to make Joe go with him.
‘You must have guessed, though,’ Proctor said, his tone mocking. ‘I could see the confusion in her eyes, that her brother was just behind her. So where was he? He’d save her, her big brother Joe. But no, you were a coward, not wanting to follow me. So she pushed against me as I killed her. I like to think I gave her a good time just before she went.’
Joe rushed at him. His feet skidded and clattered on the tiles but he wasn’t going to stop. Proctor lashed out with the knife and it felt like a punch to his side, but Joe kept on going, lifting Proctor, pushing him backwards.
Then they were falling, the roof gone, air whistling through his hair.
The landing came hard. They’d fallen through the hole in the roof. Proctor screamed, drowning out the loud crack of his rib. Dust flew. The knife clattered across the floor. Carrie scrambled down behind them, sobbing, and then ran to Melissa, who was trying to stand, still dazed.
Joe scrambled towards the knife, now close to the top of the stairs, glinting in the faint light.
Proctor rolled onto his front. ‘Is this how you dreamed of it?’ he said, gasping, spitting blood. ‘All those years thinking of me, of what I’d done to little Ellie. How does it feel?’
‘Melissa, go,’ Joe said, panting, exhausted. ‘Take Carrie home.’
She didn’t say anything, just hugged her daughter.
‘Go!’ Joe shouted and grabbed the knife. He held out the blade, his teeth bared, blood on his chin.
Proctor got to his knees and took a deep breath. Then he laughed, his head thrown back. ‘What are you going to do? Kill me?’ He laughed again. ‘You’d spend your life in a cell.’
There were more shouts behind them.
‘Oh look,’ Proctor said, glancing backwards. ‘Got the whole fucking family here now.’
Joe looked over Proctor’s shoulder to see Sam and Gina on the other side of the metal walkway.
‘Put the knife down,’ Gina shouted, her voice hoarse.
‘It’s over,’ Joe said to Proctor, and he grimaced. He looked down at his jumper. There was a small tear at the side and the wool was dark and slick. His own blood. Adrenalin was keeping away the pain but how long could he last?
The sound of sirens became deafening.
‘I should have fucked her,’ Proctor said. ‘Not her.’ And he gestured towards Gina. ‘No, your sister. I’m pretty sure I’d have been her first.’
‘Don’t listen to him, Joe,’ Gina shouted, getting closer, the metal bridge making loud clangs as she walked across. Sam was with Melissa and Carrie, trying to lead them away.
Joe didn’t pay them any attention. He was replaying that day again. Ellie walking. Proctor waiting. Flashes of memory coming to a head in an abandoned warehouse in Ancoats. His long-held promise to himself: to kill the man who murdered his sister.
And the man was right there.
Proctor turned towards the doorway as the police cars outside came to a stop.
‘Maybe not,’ Proctor continued, stepping closer to Joe. ‘There was a moment, just a moment, when I thought she was enjoying it. Just the way she pushed against me. Took away some of the enjoyment, if I’m honest. Had to press that little bit harder.’
Joe dropped the knife, it clattered on the floor, and ran at him. His hands went around Proctor’s throat. He pushed backwards. Proctor’s feet skidded on loose stones, his hands flailed at Joe. But Joe wouldn’t be stopped.
He propelled Proctor towards the open doorway, to the metal walkway, until Proctor banged into the railing, leaning backwards.
Proctor gasped but grinned, his eyes bulging.
Joe pushed him harder, towards the blackness beneath. Proctor was unbalanced, one foot off the ground, over the edge, not resisting hard enough. Someone was shouting but Joe paid no heed. He was locked into the memories of Ellie, of all those years of wanting this moment. Proctor’s fingers were trying to find Joe’s eyes but Joe dipped his head, got closer to Proctor, felt his spittle on his cheek. The bones in Proctor’s neck were brittle under his grip so he squeezed tighter, felt the sweet rush of revenge as Proctor gasped louder for breath, his eyes starting to roll.
Joe didn’t see the blow coming. Another brick, thrust in hard between his shoulder blades. He yelped in pain and his hands loosened around Proctor’s neck.
Proctor dropped onto the walkway, gasping, clutching his throat. He crawled towards the safety of the warehouse. He collapsed onto his stomach, moaning, breathing hard.
When Joe looked round, it was Gina. She dropped the brick.
‘I didn’t do it for him,’ she said. ‘I did it for you, Joe. You can’t be like him.’
The warehouse on the other side of the walkway became filled with torch beams and shouts, the sounds of heavy police boots.
‘Over here,’ Gina shouted. She pointed at Proctor. ‘There. He’s the one.’
The bridge bounced as three police officers ran across. Proctor didn’t move as they took hold of him.
Joe hung his head. His breath came hard. He felt cheated, that had been his chance, but as his anger subsided he was left with just one truth: his hunt for justice for Ellie was over.
Joe was driving. Sam was doing all the talking, cajoling Helena Proctor, wanting her to find out what she could from her husband. Helena wasn’t saying much; just polite agreement, her hands toying with the handles of her handbag.
They were heading for Forest Bank, the prison where Mark Proctor was being held until his trial. It was new and plush, along a road that ran past a country park. It could be mistaken for a new office complex if it wasn’t for the high concrete wall that surrounded it.
This wasn’t an official visit; it was just about Sam and Joe getting answers. Two weeks had passed since his arrest and Mark Proctor hadn’t spoken to anyone. He’d stayed silent in his police interviews and even during the court hearings. Joe had been there for the first appearance, where the court clerk had become frustrated, even threatened Proctor with contempt if he didn’t give the information required. That had drawn a slight smile from Proctor. Joe knew what it meant, that his problems were too great to worry about that.
Joe got some satisfaction from that, knowing that Proctor saw everything ahead as bleak.
Joe looked into the rear-view mirror. Helena was staring out of the side window, her bag on her lap. She’d been married to one of the worst serial killers in the history of the north, preying on teenage girls for years, and one of the victim’s turned out to be her own sister. Helena had a lot of things to work out for herself and Joe guessed it could take her some time.
‘Will you be all right?’ he said.
Helena looked forward and nodded, gave a faint smile. ‘I’ll be fine. I just want him to know that it’s goodbye.’
That sounded reasonable, although Joe was surprised that her anger wasn’t greater, as if she still bore some feelings for her sister’s killer.
Joe pulled into the car park opposite the smoked glass of the entrance and stayed silent as Helena got out to make the lonely walk. She was dressed smartly, as if she wanted Proctor to know just what he’d let go, in skirt and heels, her handbag now over her shoulder.
As they watched her, Sam said, ‘She must feel so cheated, knowing what he did. He’d been in her bed all these years, comforting her, when all the time he’d been the killer.’
‘Like we’ve found out, a grief-junkie,’ Joe said. ‘Helena must have been the biggest prize of all, someone he could watch every day.’
‘What I can’t understand is that he must have had some feelings for Helena,’ Sam said. ‘People like Mark Proctor don’t have feelings, not in the same way that we do, but he took Helena’s revenge. He persuaded Henry Mason to kill the teacher who’d been molesting her sister and then he killed Henry Mason himself, revenge for selling the car that killed her parents. That’s pretty smart. Perhaps it was his way of making amends for what he did.’
‘You’re being too kind,’ Joe said. ‘Something doesn’t fit well with me. The man killed in Worsley was meant to be him.’
‘The perfect distraction. There might be a reason why Proctor sent that man along, or perhaps it didn’t matter who was chosen, but you have to admit that his death makes you doubt Proctor’s part. What better defence can there be than to claim himself as the victim?’
‘I understand your case theory, but when I saw Proctor in court, he looked confused. There’s something we’re not getting, I’m sure of it.’
‘That’s just his arrogance,’ Sam said. ‘He assumed he was too clever for us and can’t work out how he got caught.’
‘Are you sure you’ve got enough?’
‘We got lucky. My hunch about the custody record was right: Henry Mason’s DNA is on the page where Proctor signed it the night he was arrested for stealing his own car back. For the first time, Proctor had panicked. He’d been caught in the act and it trapped him. The link with the IP address does the rest, because it shows that Proctor was in contact, luring Mason to his death, posing as vodkagirl. We have a motive, revenge for the death of Helena’s parents, and it’s enough to keep him inside for now, along with Carrie’s abduction.’
‘You must be the real hero, coming up with the DNA and IP stuff.’
‘It doesn’t feel like that,’ Sam said. ‘And we want more, because I want him to pay for everything. Yes, we’ve got the photographs and souvenirs but they don’t prove direct involvement in Ellie’s murder. His defence lawyer might squirm Proctor out of that.’
‘Perhaps if they find the bodies of the missing girls, there is nothing a defence lawyer can do,’ Joe said.
‘Yes, maybe.’
Joe frowned. ‘Something isn’t quite right, though.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I just don’t get that Proctor was being so gallant, getting revenge for his wife. He killed Adrianne. How could anyone be as cruel to Helena as that?’
‘Perhaps somewhere he saw it as redemption,’ Sam said.
‘It didn’t do Gerald any good.’
Sam didn’t answer that. When the police went to Gerald King’s house, they found him hanging from the same stair rail his wife had chosen, his daughter’s notebook on the floor beneath him, the last thing he’d held.
Sam watched Helena disappear into the prison entrance and asked, ‘How’s Carrie?’
‘They’re taking it slowly, but she’s a strong kid.’
‘And Melissa?’
Joe smiled. ‘Taking it even more slowly.’
‘But there’s still something to take?’
‘It’s weird that something good should come out of all of this.’
‘You think a lot about her.’
Joe didn’t reply. Sam’s smile told him that he didn’t need to.
Helena walked over to the table where Mark Proctor was sitting. She’d left her bag in the locker in the reception area and fought the urge to fold her arms across her chest self-consciously. She wanted this to be her swagger. This moment had been a long time coming. Other prisoners looked at her as she walked, wearing red bibs over grey sweatshirts, except those awaiting trial; they got to wear their own clothes. The bibs were still compulsory.
The room was comfortable, she hadn’t expected that. Blue carpets and chairs, the prisoners separated by small tables. There was a corner with playthings, so that the prisoners’ children could find some joy in the formality of the meeting. Prison guards stood around the edge of the room, with keys on silver chains looped onto their belts, their clip-on ties smart over pressed white shirts. She glanced up at the cameras mounted on each wall, looking for the passing of contraband. She doubted they would record sound; there’d be too much of it.
Proctor watched her all the way, a half-smile on his lips. When she sat down, he said, ‘Go on, get it out of the way. You hate me? There’s a queue for that.’
Helena put her knees together, her hands on them, poised. She tilted her head. ‘Is that why you think I’m here?’
‘Isn’t it? Or is it that you’re divorcing me? Fine. Get your solicitor to send a letter.’
She shook her head. ‘That isn’t why I’m here. I want to tell you things.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘I hurt you? Yeah, well, these things happen. What do you want to know? How your baby sister cried and pissed herself as I squeezed the life out of her?’
Helena blinked and looked down, took in a breath to compose herself.
‘Are you miked up, hoping for a confession?’ he scoffed. ‘So predictable.’
Helena looked up again. ‘The confession is from me, you murdering prick.’
Proctor’s smile twitched. ‘What do you mean?’
She smiled, but it was thin and mean, her eyes glaring. She spoke quietly and slowly. ‘I’ve got four words for you, and I want you to remember them every morning you wake up in your cell, when you try to work out how it all went wrong for you.’
He cricked his neck.
She leaned forward and spoke in a whisper. ‘I did it all.’
He went as if to say something, but stopped. He put his head back, confused. He leaned forward, his arms on the table. Helena leaned back. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘It was all down to me,’ she said. ‘You need to know that.’
He frowned. After a few seconds, he said, ‘You’re not making any sense.’
‘I’ve known about you for some time now. This was about payback.’ She raised her eyebrows as she spoke with a snarl. ‘Nice little Helena wouldn’t do that, would she? Sweet invisible insignificant docile servile little Helena? No, not her. That’s what they’ll think.’
Proctor folded his arms, his jaw set.
‘I found your box,’ she said, spitting the words out. ‘Did you think I could watch you disappear to my father’s workshop and not wonder what you were doing? There were other rooms you could have used, but it was always down there, in my father’s special place? You were so secretive even though it was so cold. So I went looking and I found it.’
He swallowed. ‘The box was locked.’
‘I know. I had a new padlock ready, exactly the same make,’ Helena said. ‘I scuffed it up so that it didn’t look new. All I had to do was replace the padlock and put the new key onto your key ring. I did the swap when you were in the bath and waited until you went out. I used my spare padlock key, because they always come in pairs.’
‘This is bullshit.’
‘Is it? You might not know but I can get a little obsessed about things. But you wouldn’t know that, because you never really noticed me. Tell me: were you the one messaging Henry Mason, making him spill his dirty little secrets?’
He didn’t answer.
‘So if it wasn’t you, who else could it have been?’ she said.
Proctor paled.
‘I saw everything. My sister, you bastard.’ She took a deep breath through her nose, tried to blink away her tears. ‘You murdering fucking bastard. I saw her pictures, how she died. And all those other sweet things too, those young souls.’
He folded his arms. ‘Bullshit. You’d have gone to the police.’
‘That wouldn’t be enough,’ she said, her fist clenched, fighting to stop herself from banging the table, knowing it would bring the guards over. ‘You’d walk away from it all and I wasn’t having that. It wouldn’t stop you either.’ She crossed her legs. ‘So I used you. I had my own demons to exorcise.’
Proctor shook his head. ‘No, I would’ve known.’
She scoffed. ‘Would you? Or maybe you didn’t see past the little woman act? Didn’t you ever wonder why it was
that
teacher?’
‘So, he’d been fucking your sister, and for that you wanted him killed? And I’m the bad guy?’
‘It’s not just that he was fucking her,’ she hissed, leaning forward, gripping the edge of the table. ‘Don’t you get it? He let her go home alone, a child, because protecting himself was more important. He couldn’t be seen with Adrianne, so she stayed on the bus for the extra stop, so that she came back to the house a different way, so no one would know where she’d come from. And you were waiting.’
‘That was down to her,’ he said. ‘The same routine every time. I used to watch them, but you know that, if you’ve seen the pictures. She loved the back of his car. He didn’t love her back, though. Why didn’t he come forward to help the investigation?’
She slammed her hand onto the desk, unable to stop herself, making a guard look over. ‘So now you understand.’
He shook his head in disbelief, gritting his teeth. ‘You know what, for the first time in my life, you interest me.’
‘I don’t need your admiration. You’re weak. How easy was it to get you to kill Henry Mason, all over your little box of dirty secrets, your treasured memories?’ She blinked away tears. ‘My little sister, reduced to a souvenir. I guessed how much you’d want it back. Remember the burglary, when it went missing? So easy to stage. I just threw a few things around and moved the box to somewhere you couldn’t find it. I knew you’d do anything to get it back. You think you’re so clever but you were predictable. I knew you wouldn’t call the police. You didn’t even bother with an insurance claim. And do you remember the blackmail that made you kill Henry Mason?’
‘“Kill him or the box goes to the police”, the messages said.’
‘No,
I
said,’ and Helena slapped her hand against her chest in emphasis. ‘You kill the man in the park and it goes no further, that’s what I said, because we’d have something on each other. Simple.’
‘So you were sending me those messages?’
‘Right in front of you, and you thought I was just looking at the internet or going on that quiz app I like.’
‘But you weren’t so clever, because you didn’t mask your internet address enough,’ he said. ‘Some of those messages will come back to you.’
‘No, Mark, not to me. To you. Don’t you get it? That was my back-up plan. Whenever you were in the house, I didn’t use a proxy server. I made sure it would all come back to you.’
‘But you wanted Mason dead. Why am I the bad guy?’
‘Because he killed my parents when he sold them that death trap.’ She stood up and leaned over the desk, jabbed her finger towards him. ‘I had a good life before you came along, before that car came along. I never told you his name because when Adrianne was taken away,’ and she raised her hand, ‘no, when
you
took her away, Henry Mason seemed less important, and my hatred was focused elsewhere. But he sold them a car that my father drove into a bridge. It was faulty, it must have been. He’d told me the pedals felt strange. Without that car, my sister wouldn’t have had just me, and she wouldn’t have sought out a new father figure, like Keith Welsby. And she wouldn’t have come across you. We’d still be a happy family. I was only twenty-four. It wasn’t my job to look after her.’
‘And you didn’t, did you?’ Proctor said, sneering. ‘This is what it’s all about, that you let your sister down and you’re trying to make it everyone else’s fault.’
A guard shouted over, ‘Sit down!’
‘But I got Mason’s secrets,’ she said, ignoring him. ‘Like you, he was sick, liked them young. Sometimes he paid for it, I watched him, so I knew how young he liked them, and other times he looked for it on the internet. He put a link on his Facebook page, No One Tells. It wasn’t there for long, but I saw it.’
‘I said, sit down!’
‘You remember all that weight I lost last year?’ she continued, ignoring the guard. ‘You never noticed me, did you, but it dropped off. I set the trap, and sometimes being skinny enough to show your ribs is enough to convince someone you’re a child. He never got my face, though. And the things he shared with me.’ She shook her head. ‘I had enough to ruin him. Pictures of very young girls, some he’d even taken himself.’