Invisible (25 page)

‘No comment. Except…surely
someone doing something like this would wear gloves or protection or something.
Can’t be evidence if they did that.
Bit thick, aren’t
you, plod?’

Both ‘actors’ then put their
scripts down, having finished reading the interview aloud. Apparently that had
been the only time Daryl had deviated from his ‘no comment’. I can only assume
he got annoyed by the constant questioning and decided to goad the officers a
little – well, I can understand that having been through it myself, but I’m
worried other people might think it looks like a boastful criminal. Honestly,
sometimes my husband can be such an idiot, if only he’d kept his mouth shut!
And to think that initially I’d thought not giving a proper interview had been
a bad idea…

Twisting my wedding ring round
and round nervously, I silently urged Baxter to get to the good bit of his testimony.
Sounds terrible, but I needed him to start talking about details of the murder,
which we hadn’t heard about yet. Instead he started droning on about
Tilbury
Docks; how it’s located on the River Thames at
Tilbury
, Essex, and is the principal port for London; it’s
the main port for importing paper, and is the third largest container port in
the UK. Who bloody cares?!

Tension bubbled into hysteria
and I fought back the urge to giggle as I flashed back to the road trip Daryl
and I had taken together to
Tilbury
that time; how
Daryl had bored me with dull facts like this. I felt like shouting to the
stand: ‘You two should get together after the case, you have a lot in common.’

Finally, though… ‘The body of
a female woman was found in bushes near the grounds of
Tilbury
Fort at 7am on Saturday 30 May by a dog walker,’ said the inspector. ‘Through
dental records she was identified as Julie
Scrivens
,
26, who worked behind the counter of a local convenience store. Tests indicated
that her time of death was approximately 7pm the previous night, Friday 29 May,
and this was further established by witness statements and CCTV footage.’

Goosebumps shivered over my
skin. I suddenly felt feverish, hot and cold all at once. She was killed at
7pm, on her way to meet friends at the pub after work. Daryl didn’t arrive at
our home until 10pm. Oh my God, he doesn’t have an alibi.

All hopes of having my husband
home that night melted away faster than an ice
lolly
in the desert.

Even as I shivered in despair,
Baxter continued his monologue. He described how the victim (‘Julie, call her
Julie,’ I wanted to shout) had been found stuffed under a bush.

‘Her lower half was naked, her
upper half clothed, but the top pushed up to expose her chest and cover her
face. She had been restrained with duct tape at the wrists, and been severely
beaten until her facial features were no longer
recognisable
.’

Revulsion made me look away
from him, as though that would somehow block out his words. As I did so, my
eyes landed briefly on Daryl. For a second he smirked. Just the tiniest
flicker, but enough for me to know I hadn’t imagined it this time, as I’d
thought I had the other day.

My insides turned to ice as
efficiently as if someone had poured liquid nitrogen into them. I once saw
someone instantly freeze a beautiful red rose that way and been amazed by how
perfectly the bloom had been preserved – until they’d shattered it to show how
brittle it had become. And I swear, if someone had touched me or looked at me
right at that moment, I’d have exploded into a million pieces too until nothing
was left of me but splinters.

Loathing twisted through me
so suddenly I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I didn’t know this man at all; that
I’d spent nine years of my life with a person I don’t recognise. It makes me
think of the medieval myths of changelings; trolls secretly left in place of a
stolen human baby. Someone stole my husband and replaced him with a monster.
And I didn’t even notice.

Daryl didn’t seem to
realise
I’d seen his mask momentarily slip. Our lawyer
started cross-examining the DI, at him like a Rottweiler, making him look a
fool who hadn’t done his job properly. I tried to feel pleased but I couldn’t
shake my sense of disorientation. What had I just seen? Had my husband really
been amused by that horrifying description of Julie’s discarded body? I shook
my head to physically shake off the fear that gripped me, and tried to listen
to what was being said.

‘Did you even consider anyone
else as the culprit in this case?’ the barrister asked

‘No, he was the person we concentrated
on.’

‘A little blinkered, is it
not? Considering the attacks were scattered not just across the country but the
globe? Is it inconceivable that someone else might have committed the crime?’

The inspector pursed his lips,
annoyed, pulling his dog-bum face. ‘As I said, we concentrated on the accused.’

‘Some might say you took the
easy option. To cut off all other possible avenues seems very hasty. Within 75
miles of
Tilbury
Docks alone there are
18
million people, and you’re saying not one of them was worth considering? You
decided to concentrate on just one man? Some may say that’s a brave
decision…others foolish…’

Foolish, foolish, foolish, that’s what it was, I told myself over and
over. Repeated it silently like a mantra. But why had the police been so sure
it was Daryl? Why hadn’t they even looked at anyone else? He had no alibi for
any of the attacks…

By the end of that day’s court session my head hurt from the confusion
swirling round it. As Daryl was led away, I stared straight ahead, stunned and
scared. From the corner of my eye though I saw him try to make me look up so he
could tell me he loved me. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him.

 
The second he disappeared from
sight though I knew I’d made a terrible mistake – I needed to see him, right
away, if I was to get rid of the fear and doubt at the back of my mind that was
like an itch I couldn’t scratch.

I raced over to Daryl’s
defence team. ‘I want to see him,’ I demanded. ‘I have to see him.’ I needed to
confront him.

‘No one can visit him until
he’s given evidence,’ I was told with an exasperated huff.

‘I need to see him!’ I said,
voice rising hysterically.

‘Well…legally it is
possible…but it’s a logistical nightmare.’

I repeated the sentence a
fourth time, urgency robbing me of originality.
 
Finally they gave in. ‘You’ll have to make your way to the prison, and
it’ll only be for a few minutes.’

That was fine. A couple of
quick calls and everything was arranged. I drove like a loony to the prison,
racing against the beat of my heart. Then I sat down with Daryl. Just seeing
him
instantly made me feel calmer, my resolution to confront
him sliding away. I had to ask though.

‘I need you to tell me the
truth, babe,’ I urged. ‘It’s just me and you, no one else
is
listening. Did…did you hurt those women.’

The shock and betrayal in
his eyes brought tears to my own. ‘I can’t believe you’d think that,’ he said
finally, his anger clear but controlled. ‘Don’t you know me at all? Do we have
a marriage left, if that’s what you believe I’m capable of? When do I get the
time to go off all over the place hurting women when I’m working all hours to
keep a roof over our heads?’

‘I’m sorry, so sorry.’ I
reached out to grab his hand but he shook me off. Sat back, massive hands
folded in his lap, trying to get as far away from me as he physically could.
Panicked and guilty, I apologised again and again for the hurt I was inflicting
on him. ‘I know it sounds stupid but I had to ask, I thought I saw…’

What did I think I’d seen?
It seemed ridiculous now I was away from the courtroom and actually sitting
centimetres away from my husband, the man I loved and who I knew inside out.

Finally he relented,
grudgingly said he forgave. ‘The atmosphere in court is enough to get to
anyone. I just thought we were stronger than that,’ he said, clearly
disappointed in me.

As he was taken from the
room though, he turned from the guard and those beautiful ice blue eyes of his
bored into mine. ‘I love you,’ he said. My face lit up with relief.

‘I love you, too,’ I said
desperately.

Back at the car though, I
hunched over the steering wheel and cried, great racking sobs that threatened
to shake my whole body apart. What am I going to believe? I was always taught
to believe the good in people not the bad. The doubts are driving me
insane,
my head hurts with trying to figure out if he’s
guilty. If he is, surely he’d have admitted it though – at least to me, after
all this time, so I could know exactly what I’m dealing with?

This is just a bad dream;
he’s never laid a finger on me.

Friday 15

A bad night’s sleep had followed
Monday’s bad day at court…and was followed up with…well, I don’t know how to
describe it. There’s been an avalanche of evidence and I’m buried under the
snow, hoping someone will dig me out, but I can’t see anything but white, can’t
hear anything, oxygen is running out. It’s cold, so cold, and I’m so tired that
I want the end to come. I’d welcome it.

The blizzard that started the
avalanche was the forensics expert. When the police had taken Daryl’s lorry
away and searched it, they’d found what was described as a ‘rape kit’ in the
locked overhead glove compartment – that compartment I hadn’t been allowed to
touch when I’d been in the cab with him during our weekend trip away.

Still, I told myself that
describing silver
Gaffa
tape, latex gloves, and
condoms as a rape kit was a bit over the top…even if it was odd that they were
stuffed inside a briefcase. After all, I know he used those gloves to stop
getting oil and dirt under his nails when tinkering with the engine, and duct
tape comes in handy for quick repairs sometimes too. The condoms were harder to
explain though.

The forensics officer started
talking. It was really complicated but I tried my best to follow. Basically, they
proved that the duct tape was exactly the same brand as the rapist had used to
truss up his victims – something to do with the same chemical signature or
something. I wasn’t convinced; lots of people must use that same brand, and I
didn’t see them in the dock.

Then she started showing
pictures of the end of the tape, where Daryl had torn it off. Alongside that
she brought up a snap of the bloodstained end of duct tape the killer had used on
Julie. Both torn ends slotted together like jigsaw puzzle pieces, a perfect
match for one another. Julie’s attacker had used Daryl’s silver duct tape.

That was when the avalanche
smashed over me. I should have had hysterics. I should have had a total
meltdown. There it
was,
simple but inarguable proof
than my Daryl was a killer; I knew I to be true now, there was no room for my
denials and excuses any more.

A leaden sense of
inevitability had settled over me then.

At the end of the session I
couldn’t help myself. I’d looked at Daryl as he was led away. He smiled as his
eyes met mine, eyes like a shark’s now that the truth was out.

‘I love you,’ he mouthed,
still grinning.

My stomach lurched, saliva
filling my mouth. I jumped from my seat, shoving people out of the way,
running, running, running to the ladies, cubicle door punched open and rebounding
onto me as I heaved. I barely got there in time, some yellow vomit splashing
onto my navy suede shoes.

Over the following days more
and more pieces of evidence slammed into me, each one making me cower down
further and further. I couldn’t stop going to court though, had to know the
truth. It was almost a relief to finally have everything slot into place. To
have the doubt finally brought to an end.

They’d found the all-in-one,
boiler-suit-type overalls he liked to drive in. The outside was clean as a
whistle, but on the inside…

‘We found blood stains and
hair from a number of the victims. We have concluded that the accused would
approach his victims in smart trousers, shirt and tie in order to look business-like
and gain their trust,’ the forensics officer said.

He’d then attack them, using
his strength to overpower them and sometimes pretending to have a knife. In
order to not leave any evidence behind of fingerprints or DNA, he wore the
gloves; and used condoms during most of the attacks, taking the used ones with
him in the briefcase so they wouldn’t be left behind. Then, the clever devil
would quickly slip his overalls on, over the top of his by-now bloodstained
smart clothes, and walk away without a care in the world, knowing no one would
link this
overalled
lorry driver with the businessman
rapist.

The smug bastard wasn’t as
cunning as he’d thought though. Despite his best attempts, he’d left DNA
evidence at a number of the attacks. The first woman, in our home town, had
been littered with evidence – he hadn’t even bothered wearing a condom then;
and of course the skin under the victim’s fingernails from her scratching him
had also been a match to Daryl.