‘Suzanne…’ Her voice was small, wavering. Her heart skipped, a shiver of real dread passed through her. ‘I think… can you come here…’
Bitch.
Fucking Bitch. Why did she have to find it first? It wasn’t for her. It was for Rani. It was all for Rani. The blonde bitch was unworthy of it. Like she was unworthy of everything to do with Rani.
The snake was writhing and hissing inside him, coiling and uncoiling, baring its fangs, spitting poison. The voice had returned.
He hated the blonde bitch. Wanted her gone. She’d come between them, she had no future.
Rani entered the kitchen. The snake calmed itself.
He watched.
Listened.
Hung on her every word, her every action and gesture.
Spotting the secret ones she made just for him.
Breathing fast. Excited, because even if the blonde bitch was there, Rani was going to see his present.
His valentine.
‘Oh my God…’
‘Is… is that what… what I think it is…?’
Suzanne had taken one look inside the fridge and stumbled backwards. Her legs were shaking, about to collapse beneath her, her heart hammering, thudding against her ribcage. Zoe was still looking, fascinated yet repelled.
‘Oh God…’ Suzanne’s eyes were screwed tight shut, willing it all to be a dream, herself to be somewhere else, somewhere safe.
Zoe reached out a hand. Suzanne opened her eyes.
‘Don’t touch…’
Zoe turned, stared eyes wide at her friend.
‘Please, don’t… don’t touch…’
‘Leave it for the police, you mean?’
‘Just, just leave it. Leave it…’ Suzanne wanted just to slump down on to a kitchen chair, her head in her hands. Give in. Not hold back any longer. Let those huge, great, wracking sobs out of her body. And tell him: you win. Whoever you are, you win.
But she didn’t.
Instead she stood there, felt that heat rise once more, that anger. Clenched her fists. ‘I’m not giving in, you bastard. You hear me? I’m not…’
‘Suzanne?’ Zoe crossed to her, put her arms round her.
‘He’s been here again, Zoe, here…’
‘Or the police missed it. Bloody useless.’
Zoe looked at the open fridge door. On the top shelf was a pair of her knickers. With something unmistakeable on them.
Semen.
‘Oh God… what a fucking nightmare…’
Zoe held her, said nothing. There was nothing she could find to say.
The Creeper smiled. Watched. Rani was sitting down, overcome with emotion. Weeping with joy at his present.
‘Oh, Rani…’
He felt himself hardening as he stared at her.
Touching himself.
Smiling.
Blonde bitch or not, it couldn’t have gone any better.
‘What d’you want to do?’
‘I want to find him.’ Suzanne didn’t recognise her own voice. ‘I want to find him, Zoe, and I want to take the biggest knife I can find and stick it in him. Right in him. And watch him suffer. Like he’s made me suffer. And watch him die. That’s what I want to do, Zoe.’
Zoe was sitting next to her. Her arm tightened round her. ‘I know you do. I know. What about the police? D’you want me to phone them? D’you want to go somewhere else?’ No reply. Suzanne stared at the wall. ‘Just tell me and we can do it.’
She spoke eventually. ‘I want…’
Zoe waited.
‘I want…’ She sighed. ‘I want my life back…’
Zoe kept holding her.
Suzanne started sobbing. She didn’t know if they were tears of anger or pain or pity or what.
She just sobbed her heart out.
The Creeper kept watching.
Smiling.
Waiting.
23
‘She still down there, then? Heard she was in, poor cow. Don’t know what I can do, though. Part from slap an ASBO on her, restraining order, or something.’ He snorted. ‘Probably not the first.’
Detective Sergeant John Farrell leaned back in his chair, stretched out his legs, hands behind his head. He was a small man, round and bald. His suit looked like he had been wrestled into it, collar open, tie askew. Tired shoes on his feet. His words contained the usual amount of copper’s front and bluster, but his eyes showed a genuine care. Or at least Phil hoped that was what he saw there.
‘She says you’re not updating her on the investigation.’ Farrell looked at Phil, eyes narrowed. ‘FLO not good enough for her?’
Phil held up his hands. ‘I’m only repeating what she said. She’s concerned. Wants to know what’s happening.’
Farrell sighed. ‘Nothing. That’s what. Her daughter ran off a couple of weeks ago, we’ve been trying to find her. Exhausted all the avenues, boyfriends, ex-boyfriends, work colleagues, family, the lot.’ He reeled off his achievements – or lack of them – on his fingers. ‘Tried all the usual stuff, TV, the papers, internet, radio, National Missing Persons Helpline. Nada. Blank.’
‘No sign of abduction? Nothing like that?’
‘If it was it must have been Derren bloody Brown.’
‘Right.’
‘But between you an’ me…’ Farrell removed his hands from behind his head, leaned forward. ‘Typical mispers case, I reckon. Done a bunk. She’s got previous.’
‘For what?’
‘Runnin’ away. Works as a barmaid, pub in New Town. Part-time. Got history of bein’ a bit loose, if you catch
