The Victim

11

Alone in the CID Room, Ed glanced at her watch. There was no hurry, but she’d reached a good place to stop. Shutting down the computer, she slipped her mobile into her bag and left the Station on foot. In the city centre, she crossed the Buttermarket to Sun Street and took a window table in Deakin’s where she toyed with a mineral water, wishing Verity Shaw was already there to distract her from her thoughts.

Last June, transferred to Canterbury from the London Met, Ed had been pitched straight into the disappearance of a local schoolgirl. With her new team she’d discovered the case was one of a series of abductions stretching back ten years. The perpetrator was now in jail awaiting trial. However, although the investigation was effectively wound up, Ed still woke at night with an image of the abductor in her head. She had worked on horrendous crimes with the Met, but in London she’d been able to switch off and walk away. With the abductions in Canterbury it had been different. For the first time in her career, the images stayed with her, not because she had led the investigation, but because she couldn’t forget the mothers separated from their daughters. The image of the abductor returned and she shuddered at the evil he had perpetrated.

As she took another sip of water, Ed’s honesty forced her to concede she was troubled by more than recurrent thoughts of the abductions. She would never let her mood influence her work, but for some months she’d felt decidedly below par. Not down, exactly, but until recently things had not been as she would have liked. Ed knew herself well enough to know the reason. There had been a long gap without a man in her life.

Men!

They’d not always treated her well; indeed, a few had treated her badly. Ed could live without them, but on balance, she would rather have a bastard in her bed than no one at all. This time, perhaps, she’d struck lucky. So far there had been no sign that Daniel was a bastard. He was fit and attentive, but he was another cop and that should be warning enough.

12

Gina Hamilton weaved through the meandering tourists on Mercery Lane and Sun Street. Quickening her pace, she left the city centre and headed home via Palace Street. Mechanically following the familiar route, she was still wondering how long it would be before the Metcalffes offered her a partnership in their dental practice.

‘Bhaaarrrr!’

Gina stopped abruptly at the edge of the kerb, jolted from her thoughts by the blare of a car horn. The number of pedestrians had thinned rapidly and the street was narrowing between flint buildings and a high brick wall. From nowhere she felt a twinge of apprehension, a cold tension between her shoulder blades. She’d felt it before, as if someone were watching her, following her, but that had been weeks ago. Approaching the dogleg beside the entrance to The King’s School she glanced back. The pavement behind her appeared deserted but then, before she could be certain, she’d turned into The Borough and Palace Street had disappeared from view.

Why was she feeling so jumpy? The last time it happened, Gina had been unable to fathom what had sparked her apprehension and now she was equally unable to identify the source of her unease. Annoyed that she should feel so unsettled the evening before her holiday, Gina crossed the road to pick up a ready meal and a foil-sealed glass of white wine at the supermarket on Kingsmead.

‘Snap!’ said a guy behind her at the checkout.

Gina jumped at the sound of the male voice and turned to face the speaker. It was some stranger with a beard.

‘Sorry?’

‘Snap! Your items and mine; seems like we’re both facing a lonely meal for one.’

Gina wanted to end this exchange quickly before he suggested they eat their meals together at his or hers.

‘Sorry, I’m in a rush. I have to get back to pack for my holiday.’

What was she doing? That was way too much information – an open invite for him to continue the conversation. Fortunately, the assistant was scanning her last item. Gina, thinking quickly, put her card back into her purse and pulled out some cash.

‘I guess you live nearby?’

‘Sorry, can’t stop, I must run.’

Gina picked up her bag and turned to leave.

‘Excuse me, Madam.’

What now? It was the assistant. Surely the tenner would cover it.

‘Yes …?’

‘You’ve forgotten your change, Madam.’

‘That’s okay. Put it in the charity box.’

‘I shop here a lot so I’ll see you around.’

Ignoring the stranger’s parting shot, Gina walked towards the exit without looking back. Once outside, she paused to put her purse back in her shoulder bag. Zipping it closed, she saw the bearded guy about to follow her out. Without thinking she half ran around the side of the building to a gap in the fence and took the short cut home via the path by the river.

Hurrying along the rough track, she began to have second thoughts. The path appeared deserted but she was aware of someone behind her, their footsteps in time with her own. Was it the guy from the checkout? It couldn’t be; she was sure he hadn’t seen which way she went.

Gina continued walking, but the chill of apprehension and tension between her shoulder blades, which she’d felt earlier in Palace Street, had returned. Here on the lonely path, Gina was convinced someone was following her. She turned to look back, but could see no one there. Why couldn’t the bastard, whoever he was, have come up to her in the street? She could have handled that. What was he playing at, hanging back, following her?

Gina knew she should have taken the main road. It was crazy to lead him down this deserted footpath under the trees by the river. Knowing it was too late now to change her mind, she quickened her pace. The illuminated area, which surrounded her block of flats, was just beyond the next bend.

Stepping into the light, Gina forced herself to walk normally to the rear entrance of her building. She opened the door and relaxed as it clicked shut behind her. The apprehension disappeared the moment there was a locked door between her and the outside world. Peering through the glass door panel, she was unable to see anyone outside. Whoever had been following her had stayed on the footpath, hidden by the bushes. Trying to dismiss the incident from her thoughts, she walked to the entrance foyer and paused to check her post box. It was empty.

Buying the apartment in Great Stour Court had stretched her financially. Even with her minimal social life, meeting the mortgage payments took much of her income, but she was happy. She loved her new home and she’d splurged her remaining cash on having her bedroom redecorated. She wasn’t sorry, but that additional expense had put a holiday out of the question. It really had been her lucky day when she entered the singles club competition. A chance to meet and mix with bright young professional people on equal terms for fun and maybe romance. Never had twenty – well, actually nineteen – words been so profitable. Gina had been surprised she’d won the Tuscan holiday, but she wasn’t going to complain.

Taking the lift to the third floor, she planned her evening. First, she’d pack, and then have a long soak in the bath before the ready meal, glass of wine and an early night.

13

Sitting in the kitchen, I hear a key in the lock. The front door opens and closes. Bleeping starts and then stops as the alarm is cancelled. My pulse remains steady despite a brief moment of doubt. I dismiss my unease. It must be Georgina. There’d been no trace of another person and no evidence in the flat, or on her laptop, that she knows anyone who’d have access to her home. Certainly, there’s been no sign of a boyfriend.

I listen as she puts her keys on the side table in the hall. Everything is ready. Georgina is perfect. All will go well. All we need is some time together, time for her to get to know me, to see my worth.

I hear her turn and then pause. She’s noticed the kitchen door’s closed. I’m pleased. She’s bright. The first few moments could be tricky, but I know exactly how I’m going to play this. Aroused by a sense of anticipation, I wait for the kitchen door to open.

14

Gina opened the door to her apartment and heard the reassuring sound of the alarm. She stepped inside, used her foot to close the door behind her and automatically tapped her code into the pad. Silence. Immediately she felt the warm contentment she always experienced when safely home. She resisted the impulse to look at her newly decorated bedroom; there would be time for that later. Since the workmen had finished, she had gone immediately to admire it every time she came home. Tonight would be different; tomorrow she was flying to Italy.

First things first: wine in the fridge and switch the oven on. Gina put her keys and handbag on the hall table, stepped towards the kitchen and stopped, puzzled. The door was closed. Something wasn’t right. She always left the kitchen door open. Gina shrugged. This morning, preoccupied by thoughts of her holiday, she must have shut it without thinking.

‘I’m here.’

Gina froze.

It was a man’s voice.

Without thinking, she pushed the door open.

15

Gina was face to face with a man sitting at her kitchen table. He rose to his feet and she recognized his thin, almost emaciated body and the white-blond hair that fell sideways across his forehead.

‘What on earth are you doing here?’

‘I’m sorry if I startled you, Ms Hamilton. Mr Smith, Colin Smith … of Decorart, the interior design company. We decorated your bedroom last week.’

He held out his hand, which Gina ignored.

‘Yes, yes, I know who you are. More to the point, what are you doing here now?’

‘A problem arose, Ms Hamilton.’

‘A problem? What problem?’ Gina’s first thought was the money. She was stretched financially, but surely that wasn’t the problem? When she had bought a new dress and two tops for her holiday, she’d calculated carefully that what remained in her account would cover the decorators’ bill. ‘Did I make a mistake with the cheque?’

‘No problem with your cheque. It was our mistake. We inadvertently overcharged you for the work. I’ve come round to refund the balance.’

‘You didn’t need to come in person. A cheque in the post would have been fine.’

‘I wanted to apologize to you directly and I thought this would be a good opportunity to make sure you were completely satisfied with our work. As you know—’

‘Hang on!’ Accustomed to seeing this man in her flat during the redecoration of her bedroom, Gina had lost sight of what was happening. ‘We didn’t have an appointment.’ Anger welled inside her. ‘How dare you come into my home uninvited?’ Spurred by a nascent anxiety she added, ‘This is outrageous.’ Then, before he could answer, a further thought struck her. ‘How did you get in?’

‘With these …’ He reached into his pocket and dangled a set of keys. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to take some photographs for publicity—’

‘Are they my keys?’ Gina desperately tried to think back to when the work was finished and she’d given him the cheque. Had she overlooked getting her keys back in the excitement?

The man continued to speak, ignoring her question. ‘As a thank you for letting us use the photographs I’ve taken the liberty of putting a bottle of champagne in your fridge. I thought we might celebrate the completion of the work.’

‘You’ve done what?’ Gina couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘You’ve come into my home uninvited, you’ve brought champagne and you want to celebrate! This is totally unacceptable. Please leave immediately.’

Struck by another thought, Gina added, ‘Wait a minute. Where did you get those keys? I took my spare ones back. Look, they’re hanging on the wall.’

‘I had this set cut while the work was in progress.’

‘What? You copied my keys! You can’t just have somebody’s keys copied!’

‘Oh, but I can. These keys are not high security. Anybody can take them to a shoe repair shop and have copies cut in a few minutes.’

‘But you’ve no right. You can’t let yourself into other people’s homes uninvited. Give me those keys and my refund, then leave my home immediately!’

‘It wasn’t like that. You invited me in and you gave me a set of keys so that I could return when you weren’t here.’

‘But that was for the decoration of my bedroom. I trusted you to return my keys when the work was finished.’

‘I did return your keys. You said so yourself; they’re hanging on the wall.’

‘Yes, but you’d already had them copied.’ Gina paused, frustrated that the exchange was going in circles. ‘Your behaviour is intolerable. Give me the keys you’re holding and get out of my home.’

He slowly returned the keys to his pocket.

‘I’d rather stay.’

‘Give me those keys and leave immediately!’

‘But the champagne, the photographs—’

‘There’s no question of photographs. You can take the champagne with you.’

‘Let’s not be hasty, Georgina. I may call you Georgina?’

‘It’s Ms Hamilton to you. Now, give me those keys and go.’

He remained standing by the kitchen table. Gina’s mind was racing. A new thought struck her.

‘Wait a minute. This morning I set the burglar alarm. Just now, when I came in the alarm sounded and I cancelled it at the pad. The alarm was set but you were in the flat.’

‘As I said, you invited me in. You gave me a code for the alarm. I used my code to enter the flat, reset the alarm and came to the kitchen before the alarm activated. There are no sensors in the kitchen.’

This man had an answer for everything. Why was he here? When she came home to find him sitting at the table her initial fright had quickly been replaced by anger. Now a growing sense of frustration that he wouldn’t leave was morphing into an ominous apprehension. Whatever he wanted she must get him out of the flat before things slipped further from her control.

‘Give me the refund, give me the extra set of keys and get out!’

‘Georgina …?’

‘Leave now before I call the police.’

‘Don’t do that, Georgina. What harm can there be in a glass of champagne?’

‘I’ve asked you repeatedly to leave my home. Leave at once or I’ll call the police.’

He began to move round the table.

‘And leave the keys.’

He stopped, opened the fridge and took out a bottle of champagne.

‘And take your bottle with you.’

‘It’s vintage.’

‘Give me the keys and leave.’

He began to open the bottle.

‘Right, I’m calling the police.’ Gina turned back to the hall. He made no move to stop her. She heard the cork pop behind her as she went to the telephone on the hall table.

‘Where are the glasses?’

Gina began to dial 999.

‘No matter, I’ll find them myself.’

Two rings and then that reassuring voice: ‘Which service do you require? Fire, police, or ambulance?’

‘Police. And please …’

The line went dead. Gina froze and began to panic until the connection went through.

‘Canterbury Police Station: please state your name and address.’

‘There’s a man in my apartment. He won’t leave. Please, send somebody – quickly!’

‘Calm down, Miss. First, your name, you are …?’

‘Ms Hamilton, Georgina Hamilton. There’s a man here and he—’

‘Let’s take it slowly, Miss Hamilton. Your address is …?’

‘Apartment 32, Great Stour—’

‘Apartment 32, Great Stour Court, Canterbury, CT2 7US.’

‘Yes. There’s a man—’

‘You say there’s a man in your apartment—’

‘Yes, and—’

‘—and he refuses to leave. He’s used copies of your keys to access your home and—’

‘Yes, how did you know?’

‘—he’s offering you a glass of champagne.’

Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Gina felt her body turn cold. Her mind struggled to grasp what was happening. Words continued to come from the receiver. She recognized the voice. The phone slipped from her hand to the floor. She heard glasses clink in the kitchen. He came into the hall. Her feeling of disbelief turned to horror as he walked towards her. She had to get away. She had to get out of the flat.

Gina rushed to the front door, turned the latch and pulled. The door remained shut. She grabbed her keys from the hall table. He made no move to stop her. Back at the door she searched frantically for the correct key. She felt her panic increasing with each fumble, and the cold tension between her shoulder blades returned. She had turned her back on him. Any second, he could attack her. At last, Gina got the right key and pushed it into the internal lock. It wouldn’t turn. She pulled it out, checked it was the right key and tried again. Still it refused to turn. The feeling between her shoulder blades was unbearable. Tearful and shaking with fear and frustration Gina turned to face the intruder.

‘What’s happening? What’s happened to the lock? What have you done?’

Standing calmly in front of her, he held out a glass of champagne. ‘All in good time. Have a drink. There’s nothing to be afraid of.’

‘I’m not afraid. Open this door!’

‘Come –’ he gestured with the champagne glass ‘– let’s take it slowly.’

That voice … let’s take it slowly … the telephone. It was the same voice as the policeman. How could he do that? She had dialled 999! Gina turned back to the door and tried the key again. No use. She pulled frantically at the latch but in vain. The door remained shut. She dropped her useless keys and beat on the door with her fists.

‘Help! Help! In here. Please, somebody, help me!’

‘Nobody will hear you.’

Gina pulled off her shoe and hammered on the wall. The heel dug into the plaster. She screamed uncontrollably, beating at the wall with her shoe. Gradually her blows became weaker and her screams were broken by sobs.

He stood calmly, holding the two glasses of champagne.

The strength to scream deserted her and she convulsed with sobbing. The shoe fell from her hand. Her shoulders slumped and she leant against the wall.

He remained at a distance, still making no move to approach her. Again, he proffered the glass of champagne.

Gina continued to lean against the wall, her fear and panic joined by a feeling of total powerlessness. Vulnerable and defenceless, she forced herself to look at him, pleading.

‘What do you want?’

‘You … you to drink a glass of champagne with me. Come, let’s sit in the kitchen.’

‘Why are you doing this?’

‘Come, let’s have a drink. We’ll go to the kitchen and talk about it.’ He held out the glass. ‘We’ll talk as we drink the champagne.’

Gina remained leaning against the wall. Although she barely had the strength to stand, her mind sought frantically for an escape.

‘My neighbours … they’ll be back soon.’

He smiled. ‘Your neighbours are away for two weeks.’

‘I’m due to check in at Gatwick tomorrow. The tour company will miss me and raise the alarm.’

‘I cancelled the holiday. You’re here until I decide to let you go.’

Gina barely registered what he said. She was flustered, desperate to convince him. ‘You can’t keep me here indefinitely. If I don’t turn up for work, my boss will raise the alarm.’

‘Come now, have a drink. Rachael won’t miss you for a fortnight. You must have told her that you were going on holiday for two weeks.’

Rachael? Holiday? Renewed fear and panic made speaking difficult.

‘How – how do you know?’

At first her arms and legs, but then Gina’s whole body, began to shake. She crumpled and slipped to the floor. He put the champagne glasses down next to the telephone and bent to pick up the receiver. She flinched away from his movement. He replaced the receiver, turned and stepped towards her.

‘Come, let me help you.’

Threatened, her strength and voice returned. ‘Don’t touch me! Stay where you are!’

‘Okay …’ He picked up the glasses. ‘I’ll put your glass by your feet.’

Drained and defeated, Gina was immobilized by an overwhelming sense of helplessness. She stared blankly at an unsightly mark on the opposite wall and remembered she’d meant to ask the decorators to retouch that blemish.

Decorators!

If only she hadn’t contacted them, invited them into her home, he wouldn’t be here now, she wouldn’t be trapped in her own home. She must escape, but the door – her key wouldn’t work. She’d tried to call the police, but the phone wouldn’t work. All of these thoughts tumbled in the back of Gina’s mind as if behind a veil. She didn’t have the strength to bring them into focus. The power to concentrate and think clearly had deserted her. Gina’s eyes glazed; her brain, as if protecting her from the horror of her plight, fixed her eyes on the wall and held on to that one single thought: the blemish should be repaired.

16

In Deakin’s, still musing on the men in her life, Ed Ogborne took another sip of water.

‘I’ve got us a bottle of Picpoul and some olives.’

Lost in her thoughts, Ed had not seen her friend arrive.

‘Verity!’

‘Sorry I’m late, my new reporter had a bit of a run-in with a drunken husband on the Hersden estate.’

Ed didn’t want to go there. Hersden was where the abductor’s sister lived. Looking up at Verity, she smiled a welcome.

‘Thanks. A cold glass of white is just what I need.’

‘You seemed very engrossed.’

‘Haunted is probably a more appropriate word.’

Verity quickly poured two glasses of wine and moved one towards Ed.

‘The abductions?’

‘Yeah …’ Ed sighed. ‘We’ve done our job and the CPS say it’ll come to trial next year. I’ve almost finished tying up final loose ends.’

‘If you’ve put it to bed, why the brooding?’

‘I can’t get the images out of my head – thoughts of what those girls went through.’

Verity reached out to cover Ed’s hand with her own and squeezed it reassuringly.

‘You’ve a tough job, but I’d have thought you saw worse during your years with the Met.’

Ed nodded.

‘Somehow, they weren’t the same. At every turn this case has reminded me of lost children. I thought the pain would ease with time but I’m still waiting.’

‘You need a break.’ Verity sipped her wine. ‘If you’ve wound up the case, you must be due at least a long weekend. Let’s go away for two or three nights. I know the perfect place, it’s on the South Coast, about an hour’s drive from here. Rye, have you been there?’

Ed withdrew her hand and picked up her wine glass. ‘I know of it, of course, one of the Cinque Ports, but I’ve never been.’

‘You’ll love it. We’ll have a leisurely walk or two – Camber Sands is good – and there’s good food to be had in Rye.’

‘Thanks for the offer.’ Ed took an olive. ‘A weekend away sounds good.’

‘So you’ll come.’

‘I’m sorry, Verity, I’ve got a lot on at the moment. May I take a raincheck?’’

‘Of course.’ Her habitual half-smile had disappeared.

Both women busied themselves with their white wine and olives. Verity was the first to speak.

‘How’s the team? I’ve heard your DS Potts has been seen drinking alone in back-street pubs.’

Ed stiffened. ‘My team’s my business. Anyway –’ she indicated Verity’s near-empty glass ‘– Mike’s not the only one who likes a drink after work.’

‘Touché!’

Before Verity could say more, Ed continued. ‘I’ve never seen Mike the worse for wear and it doesn’t affect his work.’

Verity held up her hands. ‘Sorry, it was the journalist—’

‘It’s a non-story.’ Ed held Verity’s eyes. ‘Your work and mine are our own concerns unless something happens that is of public interest.’