Hurt (The Hurt Series) (23 page)

Ray fingered the glass of water, nodding to himself rather than her. ‘Yep.’

‘This was her mum who died, Ray, not a fucking pet hamster! She could be grieving for years.’

‘Not if the bastard who killed her mum gets to us first.’

‘That’s not fair.’

‘None of this is fucking fair, Catherine, but it’s happening.’

Jessop regarded the man before her. He had the look of a man whose mind was made up, free of the burden of indecision. She had seen it many times before, and would always welcome the feeling of security the look brought. Men with such assured confidence in their decisions were rare. Problem was, once their minds had been made up, rarely were they unmade. Nevertheless…

‘If you think I’m going to stand here and knowingly watch you die, you’re out of your mind.’

‘Then go.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me.’ Ray stood, his movements slow and laboured. ‘Go. I’m serious, because I’m not putting Vicky through this hell.’ He grabbed the brandy and poured some into a fresh glass. ‘I know how this sounds, and I know what you must think of me.’

‘I fucking love you, that’s the damn point.’ Jessop swallowed through a thick, dry throat. Her eyes misted with tears. ‘Put yourself in my shoes. What if I was standing here telling you I was going to kill myself. How would you feel, huh? What would you do?’

‘Believe me, I understand what I’m asking of you.’

‘No. You don’t. You haven’t got a clue, because if you had, you wouldn’t be asking it of me.’

‘I’m sorry, but my mind’s made up. If you decide to leave then I would really appreciate it if you didn’t tell Vicky before you left. Please, do me that one favour.’

Jessop’s vision blurred. She could make out the faint outline of the man she loved, but the words she heard seemed to be coming from elsewhere, from some parallel universe where emotional torment and moral dilemmas reigned. ‘I need some fresh air,’ she finally said, and left the kitchen before the tide of tears broke.

One
cigarette turned into three. Before she knew it, there were five butts littering the flagstone patio between her feet. The night had drawn in, turning the woods behind the garden into a twisted mass of black skeletal limbs. Beneath her thin sweater her flesh pimpled from a cruel chill in the air. She shivered, yet had no desire to return inside just yet. She needed more time to think, to process what Ray was asking of her. It was the impossible, yet to Ray it was the only option, despite the almost certain devastating outcome. He’d spent the best part of the day tending to his traumatised daughter to think about it.

Between trembling knuckles, she took one final pull on the cigarette and flicked it into the dark. A parents’ job was to protect their children from any potential harm, be it physical, mental, or emotional. This was the parents’ number one priority, and should never become less than number one.

But at what cost?

Despite her fury, she could not ignore the begrudging respect she had for him, and kept returning to the same question that infected her mind: What would she do in his shoes? Could she confess to Chloe, knowingly risking sending her already traumatised daughter into the abyss of insanity?

She ground her teeth as the answer burned bright in the forefront of her mind: No way. She would die for her daughter, and would strike out at anybody who stood in her way, just as Ray had.

‘Christ.’ She sighed into the dark, and lit another cigarette.

Chapter
Fifty-nine

You know quite well, deep within you, that there is only a single magic, a single power, a single salvation…and that is called loving. Well then, love your suffering. Do not resist it, do not flee from it. It is your aversion that hurts, nothing else.

Ray understood. Had found the single magic, the single power, the single salvation. Had accepted his suffering to spare his daughter from further suffering. He knew resistance was futile, and that there was no escape from the big C, mankind’s second most feared adversary after God.

Ray understood, just as Vicky would eventually understand when finally the shell of her understanding broke.

Catherine did not understand. She hadn’t learned.

But she would.

She needed a reminder. Someone to guide her through the darkness and teach her that only when she was no longer afraid would she begin to live.

Instinctively, his hand reached for his chest, where the tattoo was inked across his heart.

He blinked moisture from his eyes in time to see his hunter extinguish her sixth cigarette and step back into the house.

Chapter
Sixty

Ray was nowhere to be seen when she snuck back into the house. The kitchen light was still on, and the shards of the glass he’d dropped had been swept up and binned. Typical Ray, she thought, grimacing against the spear of guilt that had lodged in her heart

Grabbing the brandy, she switched off the kitchen light and headed to her office. She logged onto her computer and went online, looking up prostate cancer and any possible alternative treatments the doctor had not disclosed. After half an hour of reading the same notes and prognosis that had become so familiar to her, she resigned herself to not being able to find a cure for mankind’s most feared adversary and closed the screen.

She clicked on the file containing the killer’s profile she’d started. Poured herself a brandy and considered the cryptic message the killer had left her warning he knew she’d cracked his MO. Unless he’d tapped her phone, which never left her side, it was impossible.

And that was the point.

He hadn’t known. It was bullshit. A bluff to put her at a psychological disadvantage.

She thought about what Mason had said about their boy messing with them by taking Tuesday off when he knew they were hunting Nathan Randal. By doing so meant he was mocking them, showing them he was ahead of the game. And now this: the warning that somehow he’d crept inside her head and read her mind. The aim of the mind games was simple: he wanted to deflate his hunter’s ego to nothing, whilst inflating his to the size of the God he envisioned himself to be.

She typed: And just as God liked to remind us who was in charge with indiscriminate acts of random destruction, this bastard liked to remind his hunters who was in charge by boasting of his power.

She sat back, sipped some brandy, the drink burning her lips and throat. Read what she had just written. Found her eyes hovering over the first line about God’s indiscriminate acts of random destruction.

Attention pricked, she scrawled up the document to the notes she had made about serial killers hunting a particular demographic defined by either sexual tastes or resemblances to a person who had once caused them harm.

Yet this bastard chose his victims indiscriminately, just as God does with his so-called acts of nature.

Heart pumping fast now, she accessed the list of victims, all as random as she’d ever known:

Tanya Adams, a black 25 year-old single mother to Keisha, who lived in a housing association flat in the east side of the city.

Darren Spencer, a white 21 year-old assistant retail manager and boyfriend to Rebecca, who lived with his parents in the city centre.

Paul Bromley, a gay white 47 year-old graphic designer who lived with his partner Stewart in suburbia.

Samantha Dixon, a white 39 year-old clothing boutique owner, who lived with her daughter Vicky in a townhouse south of the city.

And of course, Spartan the bloody dog, whose owner, 23 year-old owner Wayne Thacker, had no fixed abode.

Five completely different victims living five completely different lives in five completely different parts of the city. They had nothing in common, and no connections she and her team
could
establish. They neither went to the same schools, drank in the same pubs, were registered to the same doctor, attended the same after work classes, subscribed to the same magazines, or appeared on the same social networking sites.

The only thing they had in common was they had people who loved them very much, and that they lived in the same damn city.

She sat up and swapped the brandy for a pen. Scribbled seven words on her notepad, underlined them then reached for the phone.

Within five minutes her team was on the conference call she’d arranged.

‘People always ask why, if there is a God, would He inflict such devastation upon his flock? What did these thousands and thousands of people do to deserve to die? we ask ourselves. What did the survivors do to deserve to live? How does God choose who lives and dies?’ Jessop waited a beat for the question to sink in. ‘Our boy believes God kills to teach us all a lesson in how precious life is. That maybe we take our lives for granted sometimes, and that only by witnessing death on a personal scale do we learn to really appreciate what we have.’

‘So how does he choose them?’ Brooke asked.

‘Indiscriminately and randomly,’ Jessop answered. ‘Just as God does.’

‘But no one knows where and when God will strike again,’ came Davies’ weary voice. ‘God is omnipotent.’

‘Yes, but our killer isn’t. We
know
where he’ll strike again.’

‘We do?’

‘What do all the victims have in common?’

‘Absolutely nothing,’ groaned Davies, who had made it his personal mission to try to find some connection between them and had failed miserably.

‘Not true.’ Jessop looked to the seven words she’d scribbled. ‘They all live in the same city.’

Silence. She’d expected nothing less.

‘Brooke. I want you going back over all the vics’ and their loved ones’ bank statements, credit card statements, and any shopping receipts they’ve kept. Pay particular attention to anything bought on the high street over the last month.’

‘Why particularly the high street?’ Brooke asked.

‘Because at some time or another every resident and every demographic of this city has shopped there. What better place to hunt random victims than on a street full of random people?’

‘That’s a hell of a large hunting ground,’ Mason said.

‘Agreed,’ Jessop said. ‘Both for him and for us. Tom, the council retain CCTV footage for thirty-one days. Get it.’

‘Done.’

‘Our boy looks for people he is sure has a close partner or loved one. So the chances are all our victims were out with the ones he made watch: Tanya with Keisha, Darren with Rebecca, Paul with Stewart, and so on. Liaise with Brooke. She’ll tell you the dates and times our victims were out shopping according to the receipts and statements.’

‘Got it.’

‘Our man is super careful. He’ll know where the cameras are positioned. But at some point he would have had to have followed our vics home, so be extra vigilant. This bastard’s far from finished, so tomorrow Scott, Gary and me will be on the street. Make sure every CCTV operator has all the versions of the E-FITS and are focusing on couples, be it lovers, or parents with their kids.’

Another silence. Jessop sipped some brandy, sensing her team’s doubts. ‘I know this is a long shot, people, but it’s the only one we got.’

Chapter
Sixty-one

Friday, November 3
^rd

Davies and Brooke had worked tirelessly over the night, gathering receipts from the victims’ belongings and marrying the times and dates of the transactions to CCTV footage of the couples shopping in town. What they had learned had determined where Jessop was to focus her search. Of course, being that the bustling high street ran for near a kilometre, this wasn’t the most accurate method of targeting their killer, but she had to start somewhere.

On October 12
^th
, seventeen dies before she was killed, Tanya Adams had bought a denim skirt costing £9.99 in the discount clothing store opposite to where Jessop now stood. CCTV footage showed both Tanya and Keisha exit the shop and head to the Burger King across the street. They were captured on film three more times before hopping onto a bus to go home. There was no sign of anyone following them.

October 16
^th
, sixteen days before he was killed, Paul Bromley had purchased a polo shirt costing £49.99 at Lewis department store situated in the heart of the high street. He and Stewart were caught on CCTV leaving the store at 2.36pm with the new purchase before ambling east along the high street, stopping only once to glance in the window of a bookshop. Two more cameras had caught the couple as they had made their way to the Mall car park, where they had gotten into Paul’s Honda and driven away seemingly with no one following them.

Twelve days before her death, Samantha was caught on camera shopping the high street with Vicky. At 2.06pm Samantha had bought some perfume from the Boots opposite the department store where Tanya and Paul had made their purchases. CCTV had captured Samantha and Vicky four more times before they had caught the bus home that day. Once again, there had been no sign of anyone following them.

Being as though Darren Spencer and his girlfriend both worked in town, they were captured a number of times on CCTV, usually eating lunch together on one of the high street benches. Wayne Thacker and Spartan were also no strangers to the city centre, and appeared loitering along the busy high street most days.

Loitering on the cold street now, wearing a knitted hat, black coat, jeans, flats, and holding a Next bag, Jessop peered through the department store window. To anyone watching her, she appeared to be sizing up the Sony 42” Plasma TV with the incredible hundred pound saving. She wasn’t.

She was watching what was playing on the TV, the image of Yew Tree Close behind the news reporter telling of the latest murder to shock the city and its residents. The latest murder that had the police baffled and chasing after the wrong man. The latest murder that had spawned a sudden increase in home security systems sales.

The latest murder that had subdued the city’s residents with paranoia.

Jessop turned her attention away from the TV and to the reflections in the glass of the steady stream of residents trying to go about their normal lives as best they could. The press had made sure each and every one of them knew of the danger that lurked among them, but life did not stop because of one man’s twisted belief he could enhance life through taking life. Be extra cautious about people following you was the message to everyone, and it was one she subscribed to. Because she and her team, along with the eleven all-seeing CCTV cameras, had spent all morning looking for the danger among them along the city’s most congested street, and so far
had
found only one possible.