Grave Doubts (27 page)

The driver didn’t answer. He just looked sceptical, as if he doubted that the woman in the back of his cab could walk anywhere. The minutes passed in silence. Ginny struggled against the fog that was enveloping her. She knew that something was wrong but the thought brought confusion and dull compliance, not fear.

‘Just here will do. Pull over. Here, keep the change and the ten quid.’ He paid, and if the driver noticed his hand shaking, the tip dulled his curiosity.

A sensation close to terror struggled to fight through to Ginny’s consciousness and failed. She knew that if she left the stuffy heat of the car something horrible would happen. The thought hammered away at the inside of her skull with puny fists as her body followed his lead and unfolded obediently, onto feet a thousand miles away that stood on a wet grass verge.

The driver took another look at the couple he’d left standing on the muddy margin of the road. The girl looked high on something more than booze. Disgusting, couldn’t be more than eighteen, letting herself get into a state like that. He shook his head in condemnation as he reversed into a layby and pulled away. As he did so, he glanced in his rear-view mirror one last time. The bloke was trying to get the girl’s arm over his shoulder but she seemed to be lolling away from him. Her face was turned towards his car, head heavy, her shadowed mouth open. From this distance it looked exactly as if she was screaming. He moved up from second gear and accelerated back towards the lights of town.

Ginny felt numb. Her eyes were wide and staring, trying to focus on the night around her but she could barely make out her surroundings. Darkness and drugs were blinding her to everything but the immediacy of her body. The man beside her was dragging her away from the road and she hadn’t the strength to resist him. He was pulling hard and her skin burned. There was a stone hidden in the grass and she tripped, falling onto her knees. The ground beneath her felt as soft and insubstantial as a cloud.

‘Get up!’

He yanked at her arms but her weight had settled low and he had to drag her towards the five bar gate set back in the hedge. Once he reached it he dropped her to use both hands to push back the heavy fastening. Then he was pulling her through the entrance into an empty pasture. She could smell dung from the milk cows that had passed through earlier in the day and coughed.

‘Shut up.’ He sounded angry now and there was a dull stinging sensation against her cheek, forcing her half-closed eyes open. Had he hit her?

‘Don’t you laugh at me, you fucking bitch.’

She saw the boot raised and swinging towards her. There was a thud that made her whole body shudder but no pain. Only her sense of smell stayed true and she recognised the taint of blood as it joined the manure.

Ginny lay flat on her back. He lifted her arms and dragged her as the drizzle fell on her face. Her body was completely passive by the time he reached the shelter of a hedge where the ground was dry and firm. Even when he ripped open her coat, tore her blouse and pulled her skirt up around her waist, she felt formless, like a paper doll left outside in the rain. As he kicked her legs apart she gave in to welcome unconsciousness.

As a taxi driver, Geoff was familiar with the local radio station but he’d had enough of their mellow midnight sounds, thank you. He needed something to keep him awake in the closing hour of his shift and selected Radio Four. He listened passively until the item about the abduction and rape of a young girl in Wales captured his attention. It was almost local news. He tut-tutted over the details and thought how lucky she’d been to escape with her life. Young women these days needed to be more careful. The thought brought back a memory of the lass he’d just dropped off. Just as well she had a boyfriend decent enough to see her home.

The radio journalist was interviewing the policeman in charge of the investigation, a Superintendent Amos. He was describing the attacker: white male aged about 25-30, six foot tall and slim but muscular, with brown hair and blue eyes. Amos emphasised that he frequently altered their colouring. The presenter described him as dangerous and a serious threat to young women, particularly those who were dark haired and attractive.

Geoff Minny slowed his cab. A bright flash of memory brought a picture of that young girl into his mind, her mouth open in a soundless scream as he drove away. All at once the sensible, well-tipped ride he was returning from became sinister and he pulled over to think.

It had been a legitimate fare he told himself. She’d been drunk, young, out late. All he’d done was take her home…except of course he hadn’t, had he. He’d dropped a kid no older than his niece on her own in the middle of nowhere, with some strange bloke who claimed to be her boyfriend.

‘Oh bugger!’ he said out loud, feeling a bit sick all of a sudden. He’d wondered about the age difference and about her state when he’d picked them up, but he’d seen worse. Guilt ambushed him, making him hot and queasy.

He turned the volume up so he could hear the end of the report.

‘…and you think he may be the same man who killed a young woman in Knightsbridge in June?’

‘We are keeping an open mind but there are similarities that I can’t go into now.’

‘Any other sightings of him?’

‘We believe that he may have caught a train from London to Birmingham, and potentially from there on to Telford in the weeks before the abduction of Tasmin. Residents of these areas should be particularly vigilant.’

‘Just a regular fare,’ he muttered to himself and wiped his palms on his trousers leaving damp traces. His wife was on the blower chasing him for another pick-up but he ignored it. Supposing…the thought was too awful. No, he was being over imaginative. It was late and he was tired. He put the car into gear and relaxed the clutch and handbrake. He travelled less than fifty metres before he stopped again.

What if his instincts we right? What if that young girl had been in trouble, not drunk but drugged? He’d read more than once about that date rape thing – Rippi something or other. What if…? He shook his head to try and clear the confusion from his mind. He was going daft. Too many night shifts for the extra money and too much coffee to keep him going. He’d look a right burke if he gave in to his fears and called the police only to find he was fingering a courting couple. The old bill would be unamused and he’d lose the rest of the night’s fares into the bargain.

He lit a cigarette but the worry wouldn’t go away. What would his wife and son say if they ever found out he’d turned away from a girl who was later murdered? He shuddered at the thought.

‘Bugger, bugger!’ He stubbed out his cigarette and turned the car around.

‘Graham’ sucked deeply on the roll up and watched the tip glow red and die, glow and die, unlike the anger inside him, which just kept growing. He’d never used drugs before because of his confidence in his ability to seduce women. Tonight he’d decided to experiment and combine some of his usual skill with medicinal help to speed the process along. Bad idea. He’d used too much. It looked as though the biscuits he’d prepared beforehand would have been enough, but the thrill of doping the coffee and watching her drink it had added to the excitement. He’d really got a kick out of persuading her to drink the stuff. When she’d started to become dizzy he had enjoyed the charade of assisting her and the original helplessness had been erotic. But then she’d blacked out on him and with her unconsciousness his passion had died.

He kicked the inert body lying at his feet. What was the point screwing that? There was no fear to feed his desire. Stupid bitch. He kicked her again. Instead of the terror he was used to seeing in acknowledgement of his supreme power, there had been nothing. No matter what he did, or how much pain he inflicted there was no response. He was left feeling unfulfilled and angrier than ever. His body was temporarily satisfied but even now he could feel the knot of tension tightening deep in his stomach. He would either have to find someone else or start over again with her. He bent and slapped her hard.

There was a faint moan and the body on the ground stirred slightly. He smiled briefly, a flash of white teeth in the moonlight. If she was coming round perhaps he could have his fun with her after all. He dragged her deeper inside a small copse. It was little more than a few trees and brambles but was better than nothing. He decided that he hated this outdoor work and regretted his commitment to his sometime partner. This one, then the police bitch, and he would go back to his old ways. If that wasn’t enough to provide grounds for appeal then tough, Griffiths would have to handle it himself. His anger bubbled like an erupting boil under his skin as he tried to shake her back to consciousness.

Geoff slowed to twenty miles an hour. The rain was a faint drizzle now, making it easier to see the roadside but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember where he had dropped them off. The man had asked for Sheinton and he’d stopped a good mile before their destination but each hedgerow and gateway look the same. A car came up fast behind him and he opened his window and waved them past. Someone in the back gave him a single finger salute, which he thought summed up his evening.

There was a heavy five-barred gate to his right tied with bailer twine. Something about it was familiar and he braked to a stop, then reversed so that his headlights lit up the scene. The mud was rutted with old tyre tracks and there were dark depressions that might have been footprints. He lit a cigarette as he decided whether to investigate. It was warm and cosy in the car and he regretted his impulse to go in search of the girl. She was sure to be home already while he was out here wasting petrol and building up a sweat. Now that he was here though he might as well check the gateway.

He stepped outside and stretched. The ground was black and featureless in the starlight, the night silent. There was another gate further along the road close to a lay by. It looked familiar…perhaps he’d used it for his three-point turn. He walked up the road towards it, muttering to himself that this was the last time. A final look then he’d head back into town for a bollocking from the wife and a nice cup of tea.

There was a clump of stinging nettles hidden within the brambles. He sucked his hand, spitting on the cluster of white bumps, then rolled her over so that she was on top of them to be rewarded with a cough. About bloody time. He pulled the remains of her tights from her legs and used them to bind her wrists tightly behind her back.

The sense of anticipation was acute now and he slapped her face until her eyes flickered open. They closed again and her head lolled to one side. He cursed her out loud and shook her until they reopened. It was too dark to read her expression but when he raised his hand to strike her she flinched and his blood surged. He undid his belt and let his trousers drop, ready again. This is what he had been put on earth to do, to search out weakness and destroy it.

He carried on long after he was finished, unwilling to let the moment pass, but eventually he could see again as the red mist cleared from in front of his eyes. He was sweating like a dog after its kill and wrinkled his nose in disgust. Was she dead? God, he hoped not yet. As the drumming in his ears quieted he strained to catch the sound of her breath. Moonlight was fighting through the clouds but the trees cast barred shadows across her face. There was blood where he had bitten her but he checked his pocket and was relieved to find his knife unused inside – for a moment he hadn’t been sure. He bent his head to her open mouth and thought he felt the faintest breath on his cheek.

After all that, she was still here with him. The thought made him smile like a child at Christmas. He needed another cigarette but his hands were trembling so much that he dropped the first paper. At his third attempt he managed to seal a roll-up well enough to light it. He sucked in the smoke and held it in his lungs until it burnt, then exhaled slowly.

Life was so good that he could cry. He looked at the girl, her white limbs splotched black, her once pretty face bloodied and bruised, and howled with delight. For the first time he began to understand why Griffiths worked outside. With it came a sense of freedom, of behaving as nature intended. He had already perfected the arts of seduction and entrapment indoors, now he could add to them a new skill. He was a master.

Another deep drag on the cigarette and he started to relax …and think. If he left her like this the police would find his traces all over her. He needed water. One of the reasons he’d selected this place was that he recalled there was a stream nearby. He never used fire as it had serious disadvantages. A body was too wet to burn without accelerant and even then there was no guarantee that all the evidence would be destroyed. During his long days between jobs he went to the library and read every available book on forensic investigation. He considered himself an expert. Even the police knew less than he did. Only other specialists would appreciate his insight. Sometimes he fantasised about giving a lecture, illustrated with slides of his own work. They would be astonished, those forensic scientists; they would have no choice but to acknowledge his supremacy.

He caught himself daydreaming, a potentially dangerous habit. She wasn’t even dead yet and here he was mentally debating slides of her autopsy. Time to move. He found the fast running stream and dragged her into the shallows, careful to keep her face out of the water. The night was young and he could afford to wait before he finally killed her. If he held off using the knife he could keep them alive for hours. He was always in control, not like some of the sad cases he read about in the papers, driven by primitive sexual urges to perform unimaginative crimes that deserved punishment. He spat and started to wash her.

Geoff stumbled and almost fell into a puddle at the entrance to the field. Despite the growing light as the clouds shredded and cleared, he could make out very little of his surroundings. Had he not heard the hawking cough as he peered over the gate he would have abandoned his search already. It had been distinctively human. There was no mistaking it for the bark of a fox or grunt of a hedgehog. At the sound the hairs on the back of his neck had risen. He moved into the field as quietly as he could and instinctively hunched into a crouch of which he was unaware.