Page 27 of Dying Breath
He screwed his eyes up whilst he thought about it, then looked at them and shook his head.
‘No, sorry. I came straight home and had to lie down.’
His mum nodded her head.
‘He did – look at the state of him. He’s burning up. He went to bed and hasn’t moved until now.’
She smiled at him. ‘You get yourself back to bed, lovey.’
He looked at the two men towering over his mum, but they didn’t object. So he turned around and began to walk up the stairs. He paused to speak to them again. ‘I hope you find Jenny soon – she’s my friend.’
‘So do we.’
He got upstairs and climbed back into bed. If there were an award for acting he would surely have won first prize. He was bloody amazing. He could hear the muted voices of the two men as they spoke to his mum, but he didn’t care. He had her as his witness, and – what did they call it in the movies? An alibi, that’s right. He had the best alibi in the world because if his mother were one thing, it was stubborn and protective.
He stayed in bed for two days. It killed him because he so badly wanted to be out in the thick of it with the teams who were searching for Jenny. In a way, it would be good to see what happened if they found her. He knew that they wouldn’t, though; the drainage hole he’d hidden her in was well off the paths. He’d found it the previous year and had used it to put next door’s yapping dog Susie in when she had followed him into the woods one day. He’d strangled her with his bare hands just to see if he was strong enough; then he’d dropped the dog in the hole and covered it back up again. For days after, he’d gone back to see if he could smell it; he’d heard that dead things stank. But he’d never got a whiff of any bad smells; there were so many overgrown bushes surrounding the hole that, unless you knew about it, you wouldn’t ever find it.
Once they’d stopped searching the woods he’d go back one night and pull her out. He’d bury her in a deep grave that only he knew about. As long as he dragged some weeds, twigs and a couple of rocks across the top they’d never know. He couldn’t wait to see what she looked like now; the weather had cooled down and it had been raining the last two days. He couldn’t move her until it was night-time, though, because she might smell and he didn’t want to risk anyone walking their dog finding him burying a dead body.
He felt bad about Jake, who wasn’t allowed out to play any more. He missed him; he was his best friend. He’d been to call for him as soon as he’d told his mum that he felt better, but the policewoman who’d answered the door had sent him away. Jenny’s picture was in all the papers. He kind of missed her cheeky smile, even though she’d been a nuisance when she’d followed them everywhere.
He was sitting at the dining table, staring at her picture, when his mum caught him.
‘It’s so sad, isn’t it? Are you okay?’
He nodded.
‘Some pervert has bloody taken her, you mark my words. There’s too many of them wandering the streets and no one has a clue about their dirty little habits and what they get up to. Except me – I’ve written books about some of the vilest people in this country. I know what humans are capable of; look at what happened to your poor mum.’
She stopped herself and her hand flew to her mouth as she gasped at the words she’d just spoken out loud. ‘Anyway, what do you fancy for tea?’
He knew she was hoping he’d misheard her, but he hadn’t. He stared at her.
‘What did happen to my mum?’
To give her credit, she didn’t bother trying to lie to him. She came and sat on a chair opposite him, ashen-faced.
‘Your real mum was murdered, by that piece of shit John Carter. He killed three young women, including your mum. All of them were beautiful, beautiful girls with their whole lives ahead of them.’
He knew everything about John Carter; he’d read her books by now. But they didn’t mention anything about Linda being his mum and he couldn’t tell her he’d read them either because she’d go crazy with him for snooping in her office.
‘So who are you?’
‘I’m your aunt, your mum’s sister. But you can still call me Mum. I’d like it if you did. I’ve brought you up since the day your mum brought you home from the hospital. That night she went out to the carnival dance and never came home.’
He got up and crossed the room, bending down to wrap his arms around her and hold her close. She hugged him back and he wondered how she’d feel about him if she knew that he was just like John.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lucy yawned. She was so damn tired and wasn’t sure if it was because she hadn’t slept properly or if it was the worry of the case weighing heavy on her mind. It was inconceivable to believe that there could be a serial killer roaming the streets of Brooklyn Bay. Yet it was a very real possibility that there was. Both victims were completely different from each other. Melanie was older and blonde; Stacey young and brunette. Whoever it was didn’t have a certain type. It seemed to her that if he were picking victims who fitted some warped ideal, it would be easier. If he stuck to older blondes, they could send out a press release warning all blonde women over the age of thirty not to be out on their own.
Both women had been out drinking; their judgement would have been clouded by the alcohol they’d consumed, making them easy targets. It would be far less trouble to overpower someone who was unsteady on their feet than it would if they were stone-cold sober. This in Lucy’s eyes made the killer a fucking coward: was he afraid that he wouldn’t be able to handle a woman in control of all her senses? Did this mean he harboured some hatred towards women who were out drinking and having a good time? They would need to speak to all the pubs and clubs in town, asking them to keep an eye out for any males on their own eyeing up women. They could also put posters in the ladies’ toilets warning them not to walk home alone, to pre-book a taxi or go home with friends. She’d speak to Tom about this – although what if the perpetrator were a taxi driver? She was scribbling it all down in her notepad. At least there were plenty of options to try to do something to prevent another murder.
Patrick walked past her office and she wondered how he was getting on with the body in the woods. She wanted to know, but was damned if she’d ask him. He suddenly stopped and turned around. She picked up the phone on her desk, but he came straight into her office before she could even dial a number.
‘How’s it going?’
‘Busy. Have you got any news about the body?’
