So he would wait. Be patient. Lie low. Even though it was killing him.
The reason it felt so bad this time was because he felt so… unconsummated.
It was the third time she had appeared. Each one better than the last. Closer. And in the flat, just the two of them… that was the best so far. Perfect. Living with her, watching over her, looking out for her. They had eaten together, watched TV together, even slept together. Him right above her, watching over her in bed. He smiled, his heart sang again at the memory. Sure, certain people got in the way and had to be dealt with but that was nothing. That always happened. The course of true love, and that.
And then she said she was leaving. And he had to dump the husk. It wasn’t right. All his plans, his ideas… never got to carry them out. And that upset him. He had such plans for Rani, such exquisite plans… she would have been screaming in pleasure at them.
But no.
Or rather, not yet.
He sighed, looked round. At least he could see Rani from where he was. He had covered the walls with pictures of her in her various incarnations. He saw her everywhere. Sometimes glimpsed only through TV and magazines. Newspapers. Sometimes tantalisingly close, near enough to reach out and stroke, but just too far away. And sometimes right beside him. With him. He had photos from all of that.
He smiled. Lost in his world, lost in Rani.
And eventually he heard her voice again.
‘Never. Always. I’m here for you always…’
He heard her laugh, waited until it died away. Felt like his heart had stopped beating, waiting for her to speak again. Waiting for her to say the words he wanted to hear.
He sat up. ‘A new host? When can I see you?’
She was being playful. He should enjoy it, play along. But it just made him angry when she did that. Like she was mocking him. His love for her.
He said nothing, waited.
‘Course I do. You know that…’ He could wait no longer. ‘So… where are you? When can I see you?’
He felt himself starting to shake. Someone else with Rani? He couldn’t have that… ‘I’ll see to them.’
‘OK.’ He calmed down a little at her words. Patience. That was all. No matter how much it hurt. And then there was the next question. The one he always asked. He both feared and loved the answer at the same time. ‘What… what do you look like now?’
And she did. Always. That was the strange thing. When he would first see her in her new body he wouldn’t recognise her. But when he’d looked at her for a while, spent time with her, she started to change, resemble the Rani he knew and loved. It was weird. He wondered how it was only him who noticed, never the people around her.
‘When can I see you?’
‘And your new name. Don’t forget that.’
‘I can’t wait. I love you, Rani.’
And she was gone.
He lay back, grinning like some love-struck teenager. Happy once more.
He ran over everything she had said to him, all her words. Over and over. Memorised them. Like always.
Then he had her new address. Easy enough to find. Then he saw what she looked like. And smiled again. Beautiful. But not as beautiful as she was going to look.
The name meant nothing to him because he knew her real one. Her secret one. But this was what the husk was known by so he would have to remember it, get used to it before he could start calling her by her real one.
He said it out loud, practising. Once. Twice. Then again, loud as he dared.
‘Rose Martin,’ he said and smiled.
48
‘I thought we might be seeing you again…’
Rose Martin forced a smile. She found the man sitting before her obese and obnoxious. His suit was stretched tight over his flabby frame, as if wearing a size smaller would make him look slimmer, and he seemed to be composed of melting lard. His face so sweaty he looked like he was leaking oil, his hair stubbornly refusing to be gelled down. He had a squint and a lecherous smile and his eyes constantly addressed her breasts.
As Head of Occupational Therapy he might be good at his job, she thought, a truly gifted man in his profession. But to Rose he was a dead ringer for BNP leader Nick Griffin. And just as charismatic.
‘Julie Miller…’ He lay back in his chair, the springs and joints groaning, and furrowed his brow. ‘I read about it in the papers. Terrible…’
‘We haven’t officially confirmed that it’s her, Mr Laverty.’
He rolled his eyes theatrically. ‘Oh come on. Why else would the whole of this wing be getting torn apart by your people?’
She frowned. ‘My people?’
He ploughed on, pleased to have the upper hand. Thrilled, even. ‘The police. The murdered woman whose body was found this morning was a SALT. Speech and language therapist. So was the woman who went missing.’
Rose Martin understood. And was immediately angry with herself. Ben had briefed both her and the new profiler separately otherwise she would have made the connection straight away.
If the police were here, then the connection had already been made.
‘So I suppose it’s all connected, then?’ Laverty said, reading her mind.
‘It’s too early to say at the moment.’ The answer trotted out automatically.
Laverty wiped his brow with the back of his hand, wiped his hand on the side of his jacket. His eyes were dancing, he was almost buzzing with excitement. Some people were like that, thought Rose. Ignoring any tragedy, horror or upset to personal relationships, just thrilled to be part of a police investigation.
‘We’ll need to see your files.’
He frowned. ‘Why?’
‘To cross-reference them against the speech and language therapists. See if any patients match up. See if we get a hit.’
A look of horror was creeping up his face. ‘Patients? Our patients’ records?’
Rose nodded.
‘Don’t you need a warrant for that kind of thing?’
‘I can get one. If I need one.’
He sighed. It took some effort. ‘Out of the question.’
