Don't Turn Around (6 page)

’No, I was just about to tell you we’re ready to leave. What have you got?’

‘It’s a ouija board.’ Jennifer held out the board for inspection.

DI Allison raised his eyebrows. ‘Bit soon for a séance.’

Jennifer gave an uncomfortable laugh. ‘I haven’t checked the rest of the building yet.’

‘It’s been done. The meat wagon’s taken the body away. There’ll be an autopsy, but I don’t expect they’ll pick up anything unusual. We’re good to go.’

She sighed, relieved she had managed to avoid helping with the aftermath. She had enough dead body memories to last her a lifetime. Dropping the board on the bed, she followed the DI outside. The wind whipped errant strands of hair into her face and she pushed back the misgivings that were plaguing her mind.

DI Allison’s phone rang and he nodded for Jennifer to go ahead to the car. ‘Yes, that’s taken care of. We’re heading back now.’

Plucking off her gloves, Jennifer fished for the car keys in her bag. She needed to focus on her job and keep a clear head; she was a police detective, for God’s sake. She should fall back on her training for answers, not musings of ghosts and whispers. The truth would come out in the end, without the help of the supernatural.

T
he flag
outside the Salvation Army danced in the icy wind. Tina was glad the edges were frayed and torn. She wanted to rip it off the flagpole and set it on fire. That would teach the do-gooders, approaching her with pity in their eyes then toddling off home to their tea and digestives. They hadn’t a clue what real life was all about. She jigged as she stood on the pavement, elbows clamped to her side as she dragged on her cigarette.

Frank looked her up and down as he approached. Her legs, bare and mottled, were a pathetic sight. Questions ran through his mind, the same ones he had asked five years ago when he was thirteen years old, watching Tina from the refuge of the shadows. Why did Gloria have to die? Why couldn’t it have been Tina? The monsters inside him scurried like unwanted rats, gnawing at his insides, demanding attention. They had grown. They were fat and greedy and wanted to be fed. He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind. Impulse had no place here. He could not afford to mess this up.

‘Hello my dear, fancy a good time?’ Tina’s voice was slick as she walked towards him, jutting her denim-skirted hips, the same as before.

Frank realised he was clenching his fists, and relaxed his face into an alluring smile. ‘Tina. You don’t recognise me.’

Tina’s eyes narrowed and she looked around her swiftly. ‘Are you a cop?’

‘No. I’m Frank. Viv’s boy.’

Tina frowned in puzzlement as she tried to recall the name.

‘A friend of Glo’s.’

Her eyes widened, and she stubbed out her cigarette with the heel of her boot. ‘Glo’s dead.’

‘I know. How much?’

‘How much for what?’

‘A tour of the city – what do you think?’

Tina smirked. ‘Bit of a comedian aren’t you? What’cha got?’

Frank waved a couple of notes before her.

‘This is all I’ve got. Have you got somewhere we can go?’ Frank said.

Tina glanced at the notes and smiled. ‘Well, if the alley ain’t good enough, my mate lets me use his flat.’

‘I know somewhere quieter,’ Frank said.

Tina cocked her head to one side. ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure if I trust you.’

Frank’s nails bit into the palms of his hands and his voice deepened into an impatient growl. ‘Do you want the money or not?’

T
ina swore
as she tottered through the wet leaves, bowing to avoid the low branches on the narrow path.

‘Where are you bringing me? We’ve been walking for ages.’ The bones in her fingers dug into Frank’s forearm, and he resisted the urge to push her into the briars.

‘Quit your moaning, we’re here.’ The beam of his torch lit a derelict house. The torch was for Tina’s benefit. His eyes had long since adjusted to the night, and he knew these paths well.

‘Stinks a bit.’ Tina wrinkled her nose as Frank pushed open the back door. The scent of soot still hung in the air, remnants from a partial house fire. The original occupants of the house had long since fled.

‘Sorry, I forgot you’re used to the Ritz,’ he said, lighting a fat roman candle and carrying it through to the sparsely furnished room. A porcelain doll lay on the thinly carpeted floor, its arm outstretched, searching for the owner that abandoned it. Tina removed her high-heeled boots and tiptoed over to the burgundy sofa in the corner. She made an effort to drape herself seductively on the damp material. ‘Well, come on then. Let’s see your money so we can get started.’

Frank hesitated, somewhat tempted as she began to undo her blouse and hitch up her skirt. He waved the cash and left it on the table.

‘C’mon my lad, let the dog see the bone,’ she said, hitching her knickers to one side.

Christ, what was he thinking? Yet there it was, laid out on a plate in front of him. He had only intended on getting her alone to question her, but it was too good an opportunity to miss.

The candlelight flickered against her bare breasts as she pressed them together in an effort to hurry him up. Frank moved towards her, his plans changing by the second. He undid the buckle of his belt, his heart beating hard in his chest. ‘Turn around,’ Frank said, enjoying the feeling of empowerment. Grabbing a fistful of Tina’s hair, he satisfied himself until his plans were temporarily forgotten.

‘You got a fag?’ Tina said, appearing indifferent to it all.

‘I don’t smoke.’

Tina shrugged and took a pack out of her bag. ‘Maybe now you’ve popped your cherry you can start. It’s good after sex. You should try it.’

Frank stared at Tina as the circular orange glow of her cigarette punctuated the darkness. He imagined stubbing it out on her face. How dare the dirty slut talk down to him? He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, a small trickle of blood leaking a copper taste into his mouth.

‘Aw c’mon, what are you looking so mad about? You got what you wanted. Now show me the way back. It’s fucking freezing in here.’

‘Sit down,’ Frank said, his voice deep and low.

Tina sniffed. ‘Look, I don’t know what’s going on here but I don’t have time for it. Are you going to show me the way back or do I have to find it myself?’

Frank took two strides towards her, and placing both hands on her shoulders, pushed her back against the sofa. Tina yelped as her head hit the corner of the tattered armrest. Frank leaned over her and pressed his finger to her mouth. Fingering the knife in his jacket pocket, his words came slow and deliberate.

‘You want to get out of here in one piece, you listen to me.’

Tina’s eyes widened as a panicked look flashed across her face. Her eyes darted towards the door and back at Frank. She nodded, edging herself backwards.

‘Where’s Osborne?’

‘Who wants to know?’ Tina’s chest heaved up and down like a frightened bird.

‘I would have thought that’s pretty obvious,’ he said, relishing the power he held over his frightened captive.

‘He’s not on the scene anymore. Now let me go or I’ll scream.’ She straightened herself up defiantly, but her large frightened eyes betrayed her.

’You make one move and I’ll slice you from ear to ear.’ Frank drew the hunting knife from his pocket and admired the glint of candlelight on the blade.

Tina sank back into the chair. ‘Look, I don’t give a shit about Osborne, but if it gets out I’m a grass, I’m finished around here.’

The serrated edge of the knife left an imprint on Tina’s face as he pressed the cold blade against her cheekbone.

She flinched, recoiling from the blade. ‘OK, don’t hurt me, I’ll tell you. He’s squatting somewhere in the old Barnes estate. He meets his dealer every Thursday night and goes back there to score.’

‘You better be telling the truth … because if you’re not …’

‘I am, I swear!’

Frank stroked her face with the knife. ‘What happened to Gloria?”

‘It’s a long time ago, but rumour on the street was that he overdosed her. Go and shank the old bastard, I don’t care, just let me go.’

Frank gripped the knife and stared intently at the veins bulging on her neck. What would it be like to slice into it? To watch as her lifeblood drained away. But not yet. Not when he had so much work to do. ‘If you tell anyone about this I’ll be back to finish the job. Understand?’ He pushed the blade further into her skin and a film of blood seeped red.

Tina drew a sharp breath at the sting of pain. ‘I swear, I won’t say a word.’

Frank reluctantly lowered the blade. ‘Go on, get lost. Just remember what I said.’

With shaking hands, Tina grabbed the cash on the table before gathering up her things and running barefoot out the door.

I
n all of
his eighteen years, Frank had never felt so alive. He walked with silent footsteps as he stalked the dark alley, waiting for Osborne to appear. Frank slung his rucksack on one shoulder, the anticipation lending him a heightened sense of perception. This was no practice run. This time it was for real, and he was ready for it. He had been ready all his life.

The thin, shabby figure crossed the road towards him, his black beady eyes cast greedily over his drugs purchase. If his routine played out as normal, Osborne would go inside the derelict building and shoot up. In about ten minutes, he would be sky high.

Completely oblivious to his stalker, Osborne’s feet splashed carelessly through the dirty puddles leading to the rear of the large vacant house.

Frank’s breath quickened as he followed, each footstep bringing him nearer his prey. He had tried to stem these feelings, as society taught him they were wrong, abhorrent. But the exhilaration as he finally surrendered to the monster inside him was like no other.

Frank’s hands trembled as he waited outside and pulled the plastic covers over his boots. The back door was barely on its hinges, and Frank pushed his shoulder against the chipped paintwork. He picked his way through the debris littered on the floor.

A rat scuttled past an empty milk bottle, causing it to spin. Frank moved only to grip the knife in his pocket. If Osborne came out to investigate, he would be ready for him.

Frank steadied his breath and walked into the remnants of a living room. The ceiling blossomed with black damp spores, which reached out to a glass chandelier, a hint of the grandness this house had once harboured. Splinters of wood cracked and spat from the fireplace, casting light into the dingy space. The damp pores invaded Frank’s lungs. He resisted the urge to cough.

In the corner of the room Osborne lay on a mattress, his head tilted back as a soft moan emitted from his lips. A rubber band wrapped around his skeletal arm confirmed that he had taken a hit. Frank stared at the pimp intently, years of frustration fuelling his hatred. The feel of his leather gloves lent him a certain satisfaction as he clenched his fists. How good it would feel to end his worthless life.

Osborne lay with fingers extended and eyes closed, still holding the empty needle.

Adrenalin pumped through Frank’s veins as he strode towards him, and Osborne raised his head, squinting in the flickering light.

‘Whatdaya want? I ain’t got nothing.’ The man’s voice echoed haplessly, and was greeted with silence as the dark figure above threw his rucksack on the ground.

Frank worked swiftly. Pulling the heavy hemp rope from his bag, he threw it over the beam. He tugged it twice, satisfied it would hold. His hands worked purposefully as he knotted the top half into a loop. The noose was already lovingly prepared. The legs of the wooden chair dragged on the thinly carpeted floor as he pulled it into position. It was a good thing one chair had escaped the fire, although Frank would have found a way if things hadn’t gone to plan. He was twice the size of Osborne to start with. He smirked. It would be like snapping a twig.

Osborne dropped the needle and forced himself to sit up. He flailed his arms in an effort to chase away the intruder. ‘I said, fuck off and leave me alone.’

Frank’s lip curled in a sneer. Kicking the bag out of the way, he marched over to the man. Osborne’s eyes grew wide as he pushed his hand under his mattress, grasping for something that was no longer there.

‘Looking for this?’ Frank said, waving the knife in front of him. ‘I took it yesterday. Now be quiet and this won’t be too painful.’

Osborne tried to stand, but his useless legs crumpled beneath him. Using one hand, Frank grabbed him by the throat and lifted him up. Osborne’s eyes bulged as he fought to breathe, clawing at Frank’s muscled arms. Frank punched him in the mouth, knocking out two of his front teeth. ‘I said, be quiet. Now, do I need to tell you again?’

‘Pleath messr, pleath don’t hurth me.’ The words whistled through the bubbles of blood, pouring from his gums into his ragged beard.

‘Did Glo say please?’ Frank said, shoving him into the mattress and binding his wrists. Frank wiped his brow. He flipped Osborne around and shoved a rag into his mouth.

‘Did Glo ask you to stop as you pinned her down and injected your poison into her?’

He pulled Osborne up and held him at arm’s length.

Osborne almost looked pitiful – but it was too late. Frank had seen the guilt in his eyes.

He dragged him to the center of the room and placed the noose over his head.

‘Blindfold? No? Glo didn’t have a blindfold when you killed her, did she, you murderous bastard.’ The irony was completely lost on Frank as he pulled a length of rope tighter over the rafter, stretching Osborne to his full height.

‘Guaarghh,’ Osborne gurgled, his bloodied tooth nestled in his greying beard. Frank wrapped the rope around his arm and lifted Osborne onto the chair. He flopped like a fish out of water, fighting his grip.

‘Let’s see how long you can keep your balance.’ Frank said, as he pulled the rope tighter over the beam, tying a double knot. He giggled manically as his fantasy reached fruition. Somewhere in the back of his brain, a voice spoke to him. It was his father.
You don’t have to do this Frankie, it’s not too late. Just cut him down and tell him you were teaching him a lesson. He
won’t tell a soul.

Frank stood back and took one last look at the man, dancing on his toes on the chair. The truth was, he didn’t want to back out. He had imagined the scene so many times, it had already happened. With one swift kick, Frank sent the chair skidding onto the floor. Osborne’s body jerked and wriggled as Frank burned the image into his memory. Soon the only noise was the creaking rope as the body became limp and swung from side to side.

Taking out a pair of scissors from his rucksack, Frank cut the binding from Osborne’s wrists. He tutted at the red marks they left behind. The bloodied nose, the red wrists – Osborne had fought more than he had expected. He paced the room, mumbling under his breath. He gathered up the bindings and bloodstained blanket from the mattress, throwing them onto the fire. It roared into flame and he stepped back, still holding the gag. A trickle of sweat ran down his back as he decided what to do with it. Frank shoved it in his pocket. With any luck, the body would not be discovered for weeks, maybe months. By then the bruises would not show.

H
e ran home
, expecting to hear sirens screaming behind him. The faint glow of the upstairs light could be seen from the road, which meant mother was awake. Frank panted heavily, rooting for his back door key buried deep in his jeans pocket. He had to get inside without arousing suspicion. She was his only alibi.