the peace and quiet before darkness fell. Ben would arrive after dinner for another weekend, and there’d be noise, cuddles and laughter in her house. She couldn’t wait.
After unpacking the shopping, she kicked off her shoes and sifted through her mail on the lounge. Bills, more bills and a letter from her brother, Damien, in England. The rest could wait, along with email and phone messages. For once, she wasn’t on call and was happy to let someone else deal with whatever presented to the SA unit.
With stockinged feet tucked up beneath her, she read the letter and couldn’t help it when her smile burst into a laugh. Damien had a wonderful way with words and could make the most boring anecdote about being lost in London sound like a thrilling adventure. She missed him, and wondered about what his letters didn’t say. There was nothing about a girlfriend, or his social life. He talked about his work as a forensic scientist, but the absence of anything personal made her think he was lonely. She’d give him a few hours for work to start in England and then call, once she had put Ben to bed.
She checked her watch and switched on the TV with the remote control. A game-show caught her attention for only a moment. It was much better without sound. Light fading, she decided to have a quick shower and freshen up.
As she undressed, a vague image of Barry Lerner came to her. She went over the facts in her mind. The knife with Elizabeth Dorman’s blood was pretty damning. She could only imagine how the women felt when he surprised them. Did fear stop them from fighting? Melanie Havelock must have been paralyzed with fear to stay in the bedroom while he helped himself to dinner. Knowing the police had him under arrest meant women would sleep better tonight. She just hoped that this time they did have the right man. Why he raped and returned to kill only two women gave her a frisson of uneasiness, though.
With the gas water-heater set to forty-two degrees Celsius, she turned on the hot tap. Steaming water surged over her flexed shoulders and neck.
She thought about the effect Lerner had had on so many people’s lives. Ever since the assault, Melanie had showered in a swimsuit, too afraid to be naked. Jodie Davis had sold her house and disappeared with the family, possibly to the US. Louise Richardson might never again work in her chosen profession.
Steam fogged up the shower screen. With the tap on full, water cascaded over Anya’s skin. The heat stung, but the sensation felt like a pulsing massage. The fine line between pleasure and pain, she thought. Far different from having to be hurt to feel love.
Every muscle felt fatigued, like she’d run a marathon. Thank God she’d reached the finish line. She closed her eyes and savored the time to herself.
The list of Lerner’s victims just kept getting longer. Crime had a ripple effect, which spread through the whole community. There was never just one victim. Lerner had irrevocably changed the lives of the victims’ families and friends. It was like an irreversible chemical reaction. No one could ever go back to how they were before he had struck. The lives of the investigating police had changed as well. Anyone dealing with the effects of Lerner’s attacks would remember the case for years to come.
There was nothing more she could do except focus on Ben. With rain predicted, they could spend all day inside playing games like Battleship and Mousetrap. And she could deliberately lose the Concentration card game-not by too much, but so it looked close. Even small children loved to beat a worthy opponent. The thought made her grin with pride.
Out of the shower, she quickly slipped into the blue pencil skirt she had bought on their last shopping expedition. It wasn’t overly practical, but her son liked the color and feel of the wool. On top of her bra she pulled a loose jumper, another of his favorites, and her ugg boots. At last she felt warm.
Facing the mirror, she threw her head forward to toweldry her hair and froze when she saw the shoes behind her. A man blocked the doorway.
Pulse racing, she flicked her head back and clutched the towel in her hands. The heat and sudden movement made the room fade in and out for a moment.
“Turn around slowly! Don’t think about trying anything,” he said, playing with something metal in his hand.
She turned to face him, trying to stem the rising panic. He raised his eyes, which she saw beneath the black cap. She had seen that face somewhere before.
“I’ve been watching,” he smirked, letting his eyes roam down to her legs and back to her chest. “You’ve got a great-looking body.”
He’d been there while she showered. God. The adrenalin surge made her want to be sick. But she had to think. Quickly. The small en suite only had one door and no real escape options. A hairdryer was the only possible weapon.
As if anticipating her next move, he revealed what looked like a crucifix on a chain in his hand and pressed a button so she could see. A long blade released, just like the one she’d described to Hayden; the one that left the marks on his victims. Jesus, he wore the knife around his neck.
Heart pounding, she made a split-second decision. She wrapped the towel around her left arm.
He laughed. “What do you plan to do with that? Dry me to death?”
She clenched her left hand around the end of the towel. If this didn’t work, he’d try to stab her. The towel might cushion the blow. She nervously waited for the right moment.
He stood staring, and took a step forward.
Right then, Anya grabbed the hairspray from the bench, lunged with all her strength, spraying at his face. With the other arm she hit out at the knife. All she needed was the chance to get away.
The force made him stumble back. He grabbed at his eyes. She ran toward the open bedroom door. The stairs were only feet away.
Suddenly, her head whipped backward as pain shot through her scalp.
He twisted her hair to get a better grip. “You stupid bitch!”
Anya clawed at his hand, desperate for him to let go. Unaffected, he dragged her along the floorboards, back into the room. Toward the bed.
Jesus! He was going to rape her! She knew she was helpless on her back, and flipped over onto her knees. He breathed hard but couldn’t swing a hand to hit with her so close. She couldn’t see the knife and struggled to her feet.
With one movement, he picked her up and flipped her onto the bed. Before she could resist, he was sitting on her chest, knees pressed hard on her upper arms. She had to fight to breathe and gasped small amounts of air.
His face distorted with rage and he slammed a fist down hard on her chest, forcing what little air was inside her lungs to escape.
Then she saw the knife again and braced herself.
50
The pain from the blade on her collarbone forced her head off the bed. Every muscle strained against his weight. For a moment he sat back, knees still pinning her arms above her head. Then he unbuttoned his belt and unzipped his trousers. The smell of ketones in his sickly sweet breath made her gag. He probably hadn’t eaten for hours.
Anya swallowed hard and struggled to think how to stop him. “My ex-husband will be here any minute with our son. He’s got a key,” she lied. “You could get away if you go now. I won’t say anything.”
The words sounded hollow, even to her.
The man cocked his head to the side. “Don’t look at me,” he hissed, and landed a punch to her cheek. “Don’t make any noise.”
The thumping of her heart was almost deafening, and she was sure he was enjoying the sound of air straining to move through her lungs. Is this what excited him-the fear and terror?
Suddenly he froze. “There’s someone downstairs,” he said, zipping his pants with his left hand. The knife stayed put at her throat.
Anya was too afraid to scream.
