Louise as she listened. Since they had met, the woman had developed a facial tic in the left eye. She probably had not slept much and was having nightmares about her attack. The combination of anxiety and fatigue could bring on the involuntary twitch.
She’d also lost weight. Her face and wrists seemed thinner.
“How are you getting on?”
Louise twisted her wedding ring. “I’m scared to stay awake and too scared to sleep. I can’t keep any food down. It just comes straight back up.”
“You need to give yourself time,” Anya offered. “And so does your husband.”
Louise didn’t respond, but continued fiddling with her ring.
“I’ve moved in with a friend for a couple of weeks. I can’t go back to the pharmacy again. Not after-”
She stopped herself.
Anya spoke first. “We’d like to talk about what you remember from that night. Things you might not realize you noticed. Smells; what you heard; the way he spoke to you. Anything could be helpful.”
“I know this is going to be difficult,” Hayden said softly, “but we need to talk about what happened. Anything you can think of, even if you don’t think it’s important.”
She took a deep breath. “When he grabbed me from behind-around the neck with his arm-he said he wouldn’t hurt me, just wanted my handbag. And then he loosened his grip around my neck.” Louise rubbed her neck, as though she were reliving the moment. “I stood up and went to turn around, to give him my bag. That’s when he hit me hard in the side of the face, as I was turning.”
Hayden began scribing on a large pad. “Did you see any part of his face? A nose, chin, ears?”
“The tip of his black cap. It covered his face. Then I saw his hand and it felt like my face was on fire.”
“What happened next?”
Anya was impressed by the sympathetic tone the detective showed.
“He said he had a knife and would kill me if I didn’t do what he wanted or if I made any noise. Then he pushed me to the ground and raped me. I couldn’t bear to look at him, but he seemed to have trouble and got angry.”
“Angry in what way?”
“Frustrated, as though it was my fault he couldn’t climax.”
Hayden took copious notes. It was either shorthand, or atrocious handwriting.
“Did he say anything?”
“Called me a bitch. And told me not to look at him. That’s when he stopped and dragged me across the car park, on to the grass near one of the trees. Before that we were on gravel. When a car started up nearby, I thought he would kill me.”
Her voice trailed off.
“But he didn’t kill you,” Anya said. “You stayed alive.”
Louise fiddled with her hair again. “When the car drove off, away from us, he whispered in my ear, ‘If you can’t be hurt, you can’t be loved.’ I remember because he said it like he was helping me understand what he was doing.” Her eyes glassed over. “That’s when he took off his gloves and dug his fingers into my chest. Then he raped me again, under the tree.”
“You’re doing really well,” Hayden said. “What did he do next?”
“This time, I think he came because he got off me. He grabbed my bag and said he knew where I lived. If I went to the police, he’d come back and finish me off. Then he was gone.”
“Can you describe the knife at all?”
Louise thought for a moment. “Sharp, small. I don’t know what happened to it. One second it was on my chest, then it was gone.”
“Was there a click sound?”
Louise hesitated. “Maybe. There was a noise.”
“Could have been a switchblade.” Hayden scribbled fast. “Do you remember what the gloves looked like?”
“They had to be surgical gloves. I could smell the latex.”
Anya said, “That’s why there was a trace of talcum powder on your leg. It’s used to stop the gloves from sticking to themselves.”
“That’s really, really helpful,” Hayden urged. “Did you notice anything about his hand? Like, whether he had a tattoo?”
“No, I don’t think so. It was a white hand.”
Suddenly distracted, Louise looked around the cafe. A group of bowlers ordered and collected their fast-food from the service counter.
Hayden moved closer, locking eyes with Louise Richardson.
“How do you mean, white? Like a Caucasian?”
Louise avoided the detective’s gaze, as if losing confidence. “It was pretty dark, but I remember this flash of white skin when he moved.”
“Could you see his wrist, or any other part of him?”
Louise closed her eyes again and paused. “I didn’t think of it before. I did see his wrist and it looked normal.” She faltered. “This is going to sound crazy, but he must have had some kind of white stripe on his hand. I remember a flash of skin. I’m sorry, this isn’t helping. It doesn’t make any sense.”
Hayden looked enthusiastically at Anya. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. You are helping-a lot. Do you think there could have been a mark on his hand?”
“I suppose so. That makes more sense-like a streak of faint white paint.”
Anya admired Louise’s strength. She had just given them the most helpful lead yet.
25
Geoff Willard lay in the dim light, body aching. He wasn’t sure what hurt more-his back from where he had taken the boot, or his hand from where he had punched the bastard who did it. His right hand felt broken but he could just make a fist. All he’d wanted to do last night was sleep where he lay on the floor in the rotunda. In the park, he’d been out of sight but could see the main road and police patrols. He hadn’t bargained on being beaten up by a couple of drunk teenagers with dutch courage. At least one of them had scored a broken jaw for his trouble. He suppressed a grin at the way the boy had whimpered as he slunk away.
Now, Geoff sat, propped against the wall. He had chosen this place because the old-style laundry was separate from the rear of the house. No pets in the backyard to alert the owners, either. He heard the back door open and slam shut, followed by heavy footsteps down the steps. The owner wheezed in between each step. Having taken the light globe out as a precaution, Geoff pulled himself behind the door and waited.
The door creaked open and the light switch clicked on and off. He inhaled the secondhand cigarette smoke from the other side.
“Marge, the globe’s blown,” bellowed the elderly voice. The owner coughed a few times and then managed, “I’ll fix it later.”
The footsteps back to the house were slower. The old man struggled up the flight, and after what seemed like ages, the back door slammed again.
Geoff breathed out. Since the door had been left ajar, he could make out men’s clothes hanging on a rail. He quickly stripped, grabbed a flannel shirt, a pair of pants and a large jumper. A woollen cardigan tied around his waist would be good for extra warmth tonight. A large pair of women’s knickers lay on a pile on the washing machine. He picked up the pair and took a moment to sniff the crotch area before throwing them back. The coins in the pockets of the other trousers would feed him today.
Hearing nothing but the sound of a distant lawnmower, he slipped out of the door and down the side of the house.
A few streets away, he found a huge fast-food takeaway place on the corner. After a hamburger meal, he felt a lot better. Four cups of coffee later, and two trips to the toilet, Geoffrey Willard decided to find Nick’s friend Luke. At least he had tried to help the other night. Finding someone wasn’t hard. The guys in prison had taught him how to do lots of stuff. All he had to do was remember things, like he did with movies and TV shows.
