Never Look Back (16 page)

‘Morning,’ he said.

‘Good morning,’ she said, not feeling any of the cheer that she had managed to put into her voice.

‘Beautiful morning, isn’t it?’ With a sweeping arm gesture he indicated the scene before them.

‘Yes, it is.’ That was all she could say. She turned away from him, without smiling, and walked towards the trees. He had clearly walked the left-hand route, ruining it with his clumsy feet and pesky dogs, so she was going to opt for the fairyland entrance. Once she was further in she could go off the path and find snow that no one, not even dog walkers, would have spoiled.

As she looked down and watched the snow disappear beneath her feet she let the muffled sounds of the morning wash over her. Everything looked clean as she entered the cover of the trees. She thought about home, about her mother, and then she thought about him and that night. She had been partying in the Wandsworth Palais, a total dive of a club. She’d never been back. In her quest to discover the perfect drink she had mixed wine, spirits and cocktails, all night.
He
had looked at her from the other end of the bar and smiled. She hadn’t known what to do. She had felt sick, so a half smile, half sneer was all she could manage. But, as if by magic, he had picked up his drink and begun making his way through the crowd towards her.

Hayley kicked the woodchip at her feet. Small brown flecks clung to her boots. The sky through the trees was getting lighter. She wouldn’t be alone for long. She veered off to the left and clambered over a fallen tree, sending icy flakes down the top of her boots. She found an almost level route and with her head down, she kept on walking.

The remainder of that evening had been a total blur. When she had finally made it back to halls in the early hours of the morning she had been ambushed by Louisa for the ‘goss’ but could only dredge up small flashes; him walking over, him talking, a cab, a house,more drinking, loud music, a bedroom, an incense candle and finally a lot of pushing and shoving. She hadn’t even known his name. She wished that was the worst part. Tears filled her eyes. She swallowed hard. What was the point in crying? It was done. She could never take it back.

She dug her headphones out of her coat pocket, pulled off one glove and scrolled through her iPod to Chicane’s new album. With her already freezing finger, she set the volume as loud as it would go and shoved the earphones as far into her ears as she could. Music was her version of white noise. She replaced her glove, tucking it into her sleeve.

As she entered a small alcove of trees she saw movement out of the corner of her eye and turned. A heavy clump of snow fell from a branch; a shower of fine powder hung in the air. Sometimes there were deer in this part of the park but she couldn’t see any this morning. They were probably all huddled together somewhere, keeping warm. The snow was deep here, up to her ankles. She lifted her feet higher. Her muscles ached with the effort of each step but she smiled. This was exactly what she had needed; fresh air, the cocoon of her music and the clean white landscape all around her. She might even go the whole hog and lie down and make a snow angel. Another movement to her right made her turn. All she could see was white and the bark of the tree trunks.

She reached into her pocket for her fags as the next song came on. The pulsing beat was so loud it made her wince. She held a cigarette with her teeth, digging around in her pocket for her lighter. As her fingers closed around it she felt something heavy hit the back of her head. She fell to her knees and turned in time to see a man towering over her.

He pushed her face down and was on top of her before she could react; her right hand was stuck in her pocket, pinned underneath her. Her left arm was stretched out in front of her. He was heavy. She tried to move but he was astride her, holding her legs down with his own. His powerful hands pushed down on her shoulders, so all she could do was lift her head away from the snow, freezing against her face. She could see his mouth moving but couldn’t hear what he was saying. Her music blared in her ears, now accompanied by the pounding of the blood that was rushing to her head. When she tried to speak, she choked on the snow. She looked up at the side of his face. He was smiling.

She let out a strangled sob as she watched his lips move, transfixed. It was like watching someone talk under water. She could feel the vibrations of his speech: a low hum against her spine. His hand reached around to her face. Oh God, she thought, please don’t touch me. He pulled at her scarf, yanking her earphones out. He exposed her neck to the cold, to his hands. Hayley closed her eyes. He’s going to strangle me in the park, in broad daylight on a Sunday morning, she thought. And there’s nothing I can do about it. She tried to scream but he bent forward at the same time and pushed the air out of her lungs with his body.

‘Shhhh . . . Hayley.’ He stroked her lips with the tip of his gloved index finger. Her whole body shivered with revulsion.

A scratch, followed by a burning pressure against her neck made every muscle in her body tense. She then felt her whole body relax and her eyelids became heavy. She could see her earphones lying in the snow next to her face.

‘Shhhh,’ he said again.

She didn’t want to hear any more.

2 February – Sunday

Lockyer paced back and forth in front of the corner shop, his boots turning the snow into slush. They were here to arrest Malvern Turner.

Russ, the head of surveillance, had phoned Lockyer late Wednesday night to say they had identified a potential suspect in the Grainger case. DVLA records on the vehicle being used confirmed the registered owner as Rosemary Turner. However, as she lived in a residential home in Wandsworth and the car hadn’t been reported stolen, it was a safe bet that it was her son, thirty-seven-year-old Malvern Turner, who had been seen on numerous occasions at Grainger’s address.

Lockyer’s decision not to alert Sarah to the surveillance had weighed heavily, but there was no other way. He hadn’t wanted to risk her inadvertently alerting the stalker to the police presence. She wouldn’t have been able to stop herself looking for Russ and his team. If she spotted them, it followed that her stalker might too. Whether it was the right decision was moot now.

Questions circled in his head like vultures. Was Sarah’s stalker just another dead end, like Hodgson? He could have wasted precious time and resources for nothing. On the other hand, what if this guy was Debbie and the other girls’ killer? The surveillance team was only authorized to observe Sarah’s home address. Every time she was out on her own she was at risk.

He smacked his hands together to force blood into his freezing fingers. This wasn’t where he wanted to be right now. He wanted to be where the action was. Instead he was listening to the surveillance team as they fed back information via a piece-of-shit handheld radio. As he looked over at Jane, who had chosen to stay in the car, he saw that she was looking at him with her head cocked on one side. She was probably wondering what would possess anyone to stand in several inches of snow, in the dark, for an hour, when they could be sitting in the warm, with her. But Lockyer couldn’t stay still. Adrenalin had his body humming with energy.

He looked at the almost frozen fruit and veg on display outside the corner shop before walking in, stamping the snow off his boots and nodding a greeting to the woman behind the till. She smiled but immediately turned away to resume a muttered telephone conversation while staring up at a television set that showed a black-and-white Bollywood-looking film, the volume turned down to nothing. It was clear that the police presence outside the shop for the past hour hadn’t fazed her in the slightest.

The aisles were so narrow, piled high with toilet rolls, Brillo pads and Kleenex Aloe Vera tissues, that Lockyer decided going any further in would be a mistake. Instead he stared into the refrigerated unit. Behind the thick strips of plastic that kept in the cold, he could see milk, yoghurt, cheese and row upon row of unrecognizable pieces of meat. He tuned out the chattering woman as he picked up an energy drink. He was thinking about the footage he had seen yesterday. One section showed Turner getting out of his Nissan, approaching Sarah’s front door and touching her doorbell, although it looked more like he was caressing it. Even the thought made Lockyer’s skin itch. Some of the surveillance showed Turner talking to himself, covering his mouth with his fingers when he laughed, like a schoolgirl at a dance. He put the drink on the counter. ‘Do you have any energy bars?’ he asked. The woman continued her telephone conversation and pointed to a shelf in front of the till. He picked up one bar after another, reading the labels and ingredients to pass the time. The waiting was killing him.

The radio at his hip crackled. He waited but it fell silent. Nothing yet. He paid for his drink and two energy bars before walking back into the freezing February evening. As he approached the car he tried to picture Turner as a highly motivated killer. Phil’s psychological profile detailed someone of above-average intelligence, an accomplished problem solver. If Turner had possessed either of those qualities, surely he would have spotted Russ and Amir in the maroon Volvo and the other officer sitting alone in a white van for the past four days? But he hadn’t. It seemed that Malvern Turner was so preoccupied with watching Sarah’s flat that he was oblivious to everything and everyone around him. That wasn’t the behaviour of a calculating killer.

He pulled back the sleeve on his coat to look at his watch and let out a frustrated breath. An hour and a half he’d been stood here and nothing had happened. ‘Sod this,’ he said, opening the door to the squad car, climbing in and turning up the heater to full blast. It was only when the warm air hit his face that he realized just how cold he was.

‘Feel better, sir?’ Jane asked.

‘I can’t just sit here all evening waiting. It’s driving me nuts.’ He pulled off his gloves and handed Jane one of the energy bars before cupping his hands over the air vent. His fingers tingled as they came back to life. ‘Do we have any idea when she’s meant to be home?’

‘No, sir. All Amir said was that Grainger left the flat with the Italian woman this afternoon.’

‘Great . . . do you think Turner has anything to do with these murders, Jane?’ he asked.

Jane paused but only for a second. ‘Well, he fits some of the profile. He’s a predator in the killing zone.’

‘Yes, I know that, but what do you think?’ He waited.

Jane finally turned to face him. ‘I don’t think he’s our killer, sir, no.’ She shrugged. ‘As for him being your “watcher”, I just don’t know.’

‘Neither do I,’ he said, turning his face into the heater. What had he expected from Jane – reassurance, or a confirmation she couldn’t possibly give? The radio crackled. Lockyer sat up, his mind suddenly clear, his body ready.

‘Target in sight, red Mazda, registration X-ray, one, three, three, mike, bravo, delta,’ Russ said, his voice quiet.

‘And the suspect?’ Lockyer asked.

‘Yes, suspect in sight, blue Nissan Micra, registration Mike, four, five, four, papa, uniform, delta. He’s parking up . . . five cars up from target . . . engine stopped. Target out of her vehicle with one female, five foot five, long black hair. They’re entering the flat, 10A Surrey Road. Target is carrying a handbag, green. Target and other now inside, door closed.’

Lockyer’s muscles jumped beneath his skin as he listened. Something inside him was firing up.

‘Target closing front blinds. Porch, hall and lounge lights all on. Suspect has a camera, seems to be using the zoom to look at the target. No flash, no pictures taken that I can see. What do you want us to do, sir? How long do we wait?’ Russ asked.

‘You and Amir stay put. We’ll be there in three.’ Lockyer pulled his gloves back on and opened the car door. ‘Jane, we’re on.’

He jogged down the street, favouring the centre of the road where the majority of the snow had melted. He could hear Jane close behind him. As he approached the end of Surrey Road he slowed and stopped. He peered around the corner at the quiet street. He could see the surveillance van parked on the opposite side. He held the radio up to his mouth.

‘I’m at the corner, Russ. Am I going to be able to get across to the van without Turner seeing me?’ he asked in a hushed voice.

‘Yes, sir. You could dance up and down the street naked and this guy wouldn’t notice.’

‘Good,’ he said, pulling up his collar and reaching back to take Jane’s hand.

As they crossed the street, beginning their charade of a husband and wife out for an evening stroll, he resisted the urge to look down Sarah’s street. He found himself wondering whether Grainger had ever been married, but the thought vanished as they took position behind the white van. ‘Right,’ he said into the radio. ‘I want to take him quietly. Amir will run interference on the passenger side, allowing Russ to approach and make the arrest before the suspect has time to react or run. Jane and I will provide back-up.’ With a bit of luck this would be quick and simple. In and out and back to the station before the first curtain twitched. ‘On my word, move in on the suspect.’ He put his arm around Jane’s shoulder and held her close as they began walking up the street, talking and laughing about what a great night they’d had and how good the food was at The Green now it was under new management. Lockyer kissed her forehead, using the opportunity to take a sly look at the blue Nissan.

Once they were a good distance past Turner’s car, Lockyer stopped, checked the road behind them and then crossed, both of them immediately crouching behind a long line of cars. ‘We’re in position, Russ,’ he whispered into his radio.

Russ and Amir climbed out of the Volvo and began walking up the street. Turner was motionless, his face turned up to Sarah’s lounge windows. The guy was totally oblivious. Still, Lockyer held his breath as Amir knocked on the passenger-side window of the Nissan.

‘Just need some directions, mate,’ Amir said, in a loud voice.

Turner barely reacted. He just turned to look at Amir, leaned over and rolled down the passenger window. ‘What do you want?’