Tania Carver - The Creeper

‘Maybe we need a profiler, boss,’ said Mickey.

Phil nodded, trying not to think of Marina. ‘Maybe. Let’s see what Fenwick can come up with.’

‘Speak of the devil,’ said Anni.

She was looking down the stairs. The two men followed her eyes. Fenwick was making his way up towards them, suit and hair immaculate. Rose Martin was behind him with another woman next to her.

‘Charlie and his Angels,’ said Anni quietly, but loudly enough for the other two to catch and smile at.

Fenwick arrived on the landing. ‘Phil. You and the team here already. Good man.’

‘Sir,’ said Phil. He was aware of Rose Martin looking at him. A strange look on her face: a mix of sly smile and barely disguised loathing. He smiled at her. ‘Rose. How you doing?’

She didn’t reply.

Neither did Fenwick. Instead he turned and ushered forward the woman standing behind him. ‘Allow me to introduce the answer to your prayers,’ he said with what Phil would call his typical modesty. ‘Fiona Welch.’

The woman was small, compact. She stood with her clasped hands before her body, handbag hanging from them. Her mousey hair was cut into a short bob and she wore glasses and little make-up and she was wearing a flowery summer frock in the manner of someone who didn’t get the opportunity to dress up much.

‘Hello,’ she said, giving a little wave of her hand, nearly dropping her oversized handbag in the process.

Phil returned the greeting then looked quizzically at Fenwick.

‘Remember we discussed getting a profiler in?’ he said by way of explanation, then gestured to her with a flourish. ‘This is her.’

‘Welcome aboard,’ said Phil, then turned to Anni and Mickey.

‘She’s got both a B.Sc. and an M.Sc. in Forensic Psychology,’ said Fenwick as if reciting. ‘She’s working at the hospital and teaches at Essex University.’

‘I’m studying there for my Ph.D. in Victimology,’ she said in voice that looked surprisingly stronger than her frame. ‘Part-time.’

Fenwick beamed as if she was his puppet and he was operating her from behind.

‘Right,’ said Phil. ‘Good.’ He introduced her to Anni and Mickey. She smiled shyly at both of them, her eyes perhaps staying on Mickey for a beat longer than was professional, Phil thought. Mickey didn’t seem to have noticed.

‘Right. I think we have to assume,’ said Fenwick, looking round to see if they were alone, ‘that these two murders are connected.’

‘We don’t have to assume anything,’ said Phil, looking round also. ‘There’s a strong possibility but given a lack of similarities so far it’s not a certainty.’

‘Can I… Can I say something?’ said Fiona Welch.

The two men stopped talking, looked at her.

‘Thank you.’ She reddened slightly. Cleared her throat. ‘I’ve, erm… I’ve examined the case notes from yesterday’s murder and of course been briefed by Ben on today’s,’ she said, giving a shy smile and a nod towards Fenwick who beamed in response. ‘And I have to say, it looks very definitely like the same man. And it is a man.’

Phil raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?’

‘Oh yes,’ she said, her voice becoming stronger, more enthusiastic as she warmed to her theme. ‘I believe, in this instance, we’re looking for a spree killer.’ She began gesturing, her handbag swinging from her wrist. ‘Someone who it’s clear has killed once, liked it and wants to do it again.’

‘Right,’ said Phil.

‘And he will do it again. There’s no doubt about that.’

Fiona Welch’s voice trilled, like the song of an insistent bird. Phil closed his eyes. Felt a thumping behind them, in his head. Wished Marina was with him. She would tell him what to do, who they were looking for…

‘Anything else?’ he said.

Another shy smile. ‘I think I should look at the crime scene first. It should help to confirm my suspicions.’

‘Yes, that’s a good idea,’ said Phil, his headache starting to intensify. ‘Where did you say you were from? The Department of Wild Guesses?’

Fenwick turned to him, anger flaring in his eyes. ‘Phil.’

Fiona Welch’s mouth fell open. She stood, stunned, like she had just been slapped in the face.

‘Sorry,’ said Phil. ‘But you seem very sure of your theories and you haven’t even seen the crime scene yet, or the reports.’

Before she could reply, Fenwick took her arm, hurried her wide-eyed inside the apartment. ‘Well, let’s get a move on, then.’

Phil watched them go. And wished, not for the first time and, he felt, not for the last, that Marina was with him.

The latest husk had been stored away.

It would be screaming and shouting and sobbing by now. The carrier shells always did because that’s what happened when the spirit left them. But the Creeper never listened. Just walked away, wondering where Rani would appear next.

He lay back, eyes closed. The slight swaying from side to side lulled him, gave him peace, allowed him to conjure up her face once more. How she had looked when he first met her. How she would look one day when he saw her again.

Her smile. That’s what he had first noticed about her. The way the skin round those dark eyes crinkled at the corners as her lips turned up, her even, white teeth exposed. His heart would sing with joy when she did that. It was all he could do to stop himself jumping up and grabbing her, whisking her round and round, off her feet, taking her in his arms, hearing her laughter in his ears and seeing that smile light up her face.

And knowing he was responsible for that smile. He couldn’t describe how good that made him feel.

‘I’m thinking of you again.’ He told her his thoughts, of picking her up and whirling her round.

I wish you had , she said. I wish you’d said something at the time .

‘So do I,’ he replied.

Not kept it till later, when …

He could no longer see Rani’s eyes. Like a cloud obscuring the sun, the rest of her smiling face disappeared.

‘No…’ He stood up quickly, shaking his head, his eyes still closed. ‘No, no…’

And in his mind she was taken again. One minute she was in his arms, the next she was gone, pulled away from him. He could see her getting smaller, her arm reaching out to him, screaming. Then the heat, the blackness enveloped her from all sides and, even though she fought to be free from it, it was too late. She was gone.

He sat back down. Sighed. Eyes still closed, seeing only the blackness. Alone.

He didn’t want to think of all those years alone. Lost without Rani. When the pain was so great he couldn’t eat or sleep, couldn’t live or talk, even. All he could do was think of her. And how lost he was.

And that’s how it would have stayed if her voice hadn’t called to him once more, begged him to search for her. She guided him on. Told him where she was, gave him clues, instructions on how to find her. Her body had died, she said. The body he knew her in. But her spirit was too strong. It still lived on. It lived, she said, because her love for him was so great. She had to see him again. They had to be together. Forever. The way it should be.

He had thought his heart would explode when she told him that.

So he had gone looking for her. She hid clues for him to find, secret codes for him to decipher. She warned him she would look different, depending on the body her spirit was inhabiting. But not too different, she hoped. Similar enough so he could spot her.

And he did. Easily. And he thought that was it. They would be settled. But then she jumped to the next one. And he had to follow.

He didn’t like that, was impatient, told her to find a body and settle down, so he could be with her. She said it wasn’t that easy. She didn’t have full control over the bodies yet. Sometimes, like had just happened, the shell wasn’t right. It couldn’t hold her. And she couldn’t just jump out because the person whose body it was would know. So the hosts – the husks – had to be taken away. Dealt with. He didn’t question it. Just knew that if he wanted to be close to Rani it had to be done. And that was the important thing.