telling what she would do next. Did she have one last trick, a final twist of the knife…
He saw Marina in his mind’s eye. Josephina next to her. Had he just got them back for him to be taken away from them? Permanently?
100
Suzanne was awake. And listening to every word.
She lay curled up on the walkway, not daring to move, hardly daring to breathe. It was something she had perfected in the box. Her eyes were half open, darting back and forward between this policeman, Phil Brennan, and the mad woman who had captured him. She recognised her from the hospital. Fiona something. A psychologist. She was behind this? Why? They had hardly exchanged two words.
But it was the presence behind the mad woman that eyes kept being drawn to. The hulking, mute presence, silent except for his rasping breathing. He was mostly in shadow but not totally, and as he moved from foot to foot she recognised him.
He had the face of a nightmare.
She tried not to look up, for fear of attracting attention to herself – because she had seen what the madwoman’s attention had done to Phil Brennan’s face – but she couldn’t keep her eyes off the man in the shadows. The Creeper, the madwoman had called him. That made sense. Considering what he had done to her. In her own home.
Her own bedroom.
But she had been following the conversation. Or as best as she could. The madwoman had made the Creeper think that she – Suzanne – was the spirit of a dead woman? And that’s why he was stalking her? If someone else had said that to her, told her that it had happened to them, she would have said they were lying. That she had never heard anything more insane in her life. But it wasn’t someone else. It had happened to her. And she had never been through anything more terrifying in her life.
And she still wasn’t free of it. She was still here.
She gave another surreptitious glance round. Directly ahead were Phil Brennan and the madwoman. Behind them was the Creeper. No escape there. She slowly moved her head, pretended it was a random gesture. Looked the other way down the walkway.
Darkness.
She squinted. She was sure she could see a set of stairs among the shadows, leading down from the gantry to the floor. But not sure enough to make a run for it. Along the gantry hung chains, clanking in the breeze, or when anyone moved. Some with huge hooks on them, some with heavy counterweights. Could she grab one, swing down to the ground? Would that be the best way to get down? Would that be faster than someone coming down the stairs after her?
She checked herself. What was she thinking? Was that how desperate she was to escape? That she was willing to risk her life that much just to get away?
Yes. It was.
So how could she do it?
She hadn’t worked that out yet. She still didn’t have enough strength in her body to make a move. The walk up the stairs to the walkway had given her a chance to exercise her legs, get her circulation moving again. Probably helped more than they realised. But not yet. The time wasn’t right yet.
So she lay there. Faking unconsciousness. Or something near to it.
Biding her time until it was time to go.
Time to break free.
101
Mickey looked at Mark Turner sitting slumped down in his seat. Aiming to look like a slouching student at a boring lecture, Mickey knew better. It was a posture of defeat. Turner was on the way to being broken.
I’m going to have you, Mickey thought. Time to take you down.
‘So,’ Mickey said, leaning in once more, ‘Fiona chose all the girls. The victims.’
He nodded.
‘Why those in particular?’
‘Because they all looked like that dead woman, the one the Creeper was obsessed with. Rani.’
‘All dark-haired and brown-eyed?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And it was just coincidence that they were all your ex-girlfriends? ’
Turner, without moving in the chair or changing position, shrugged.
‘Is that a yes?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And you were happy with that?’
‘Yeah.’ Eyes down, gaze averted. Something there he didn’t want Mickey to see.
‘Fiona Welch knew you’d had other girlfriends. I’ll bet she asked you about them. She probably saw you with them. That’s why she wanted you.’
Turner said nothing.
‘You went out with the popular girls at uni and at work. Must have made her jealous. Must have made her want you.’
Again, Turner didn’t speak.
‘And what if you still had a thing for one of them? Or all of them? She wouldn’t have liked that. Better get them out of the way. Remove the competition. So she did. One by one. And got you to help her.’
Turner remained silent.
‘Why did that not bother you, Mark?’ He waited. ‘Mark?’
‘Told you why.’ His posture more withdrawn, his voice more sullen.
Getting to an uncomfortable truth, thought Mickey. Making him face up to demons he’s been trying to ignore.
‘That you were superior to all that. That you were superior to human emotions.’
‘Yeah.’
‘All human emotions.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Like love.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Liar.’
Turner shot up like he’d just been slapped, shocked and wide-eyed at the sudden change in Mickey’s tone.
‘You fucking liar.’
Turner’s eyes widened. ‘You can’t…’
‘What? Talk to you like that? Why not? You’re a lair.’
‘No I’m not…’
‘Yes you are. You still had a key for Suzanne’s flat. Why? To pop back there one day? Just in case you started up again? Or could you just not let it go… because deep down inside, whatever Fiona Welch was feeding you, you knew it was bullshit, knew it was wrong. Knew that, no matter what she said or did for you, you’d never be as happy with her as you were with Suzanne. Is that it?’
Turner clamped his eyes tight closed. ‘Stop it…’
‘Stop it… why? Why should I? Let’s look at them. Julie Miller. She was the first.’
