Tania Carver - The Creeper

Phil’s defences were up. ‘What about in there?’

‘You’re off your game. You’re going for him hard, why? Because she says so?’

‘No. Because… because… because it’s my job…’

Fenwick shook his head. ‘Phil…’

‘Look, Ben. If he’s guilty, he’ll crack. If he’s not he won’t. Simple as that.’

From the look on Fenwick’s face, he had realised he would get no further with Phil. ‘Fine. Do it your own way.’

‘I will.’

And Phil went back in the room.

‘So you didn’t do it,’ said Phil, looking at the top of Howe’s head, resting on the table.

The head moved slowly, side to side.

‘But you admit to stalking Suzanne.’

He nodded.

‘Good. That’s progress. We’re getting somewhere.’

Howe looked up. ‘We were in a relationship… She ended it and… and… I couldn’t bear it… I wanted to see her, talk to her… that’s all, just to talk to her, tell her I… I…’ His voice trailed off once more. He sighed. ‘She phoned me yesterday, yes. And I didn’t call her back.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because she would have… shouted at me…’

‘And you don’t like being shouted at?’

He shook his head.

‘Right,’ said Phil. ‘What about Julie Miller?’

He shook his head.

‘Adele Harrison?’

Another shake of the head, eyes tightly closed.

Phil’s voice was rising. ‘Zoe Herriot. Why’d you kill her? Was she in the way? Was she a barrier to you being with Suzanne again? Is that it? Would she have shouted at you?’

No response.

‘Is that it?’

Howe started to cry again.

Phil sat back, stared at him. And a moment of self-doubt crept into his heart. A thought took shape: Fenwick’s right. I don’t know what I’m doing .

Was Howe guilty? Phil realised he didn’t know. And he didn’t know why he didn’t know. He should have been on top of it, looking for the signs, interpreting them, basing his next set of questions on those interpretations. Instead he had gone in shouting, breaking the man before him and still not knowing whether he was guilty or innocent.

He thought once again of Marina. Wished she was with him.

And that was it. He knew it. The reason he couldn’t operate.

He stood up. ‘Interview terminated.’

Howe looked up, hope daring to dance at the corners of his eyes. ‘That’s it? I can go home?’

Phil looked down at the broken man sprawled across the table and didn’t know the answer.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m going to charge you with the abduction of Suzanne Perry and we’re going to keep you here overnight. We’ll talk again in the morning.’

Howe recoiled as if he’d been hit. ‘No… no, you can’t… please…’

Phil gestured to the uniform by the door to take over, turned away from him.

‘Please, you can’t… I can’t go in a cell, please…’

Phil said nothing.

‘I’m… I’m claustrophobic, please… please…’ And then shouting. ‘I’m scared…’

Phil left the room. Hands shaking, unfocused.

He had a phone call to make.

Phil sat on Marina’s side of the bed for the second night in a row. Staring ahead, seeing nothing, eyes focused inwards not outwards.

Thoughts focused once more on his partner and daughter.

He shook his head, lifted the beer bottle to his mouth. Empty. He couldn’t remember drinking it. He sighed. His head wasn’t where it should be. He should have been in the case, right in the thick of it, on top of it, surfing it like a wave, but he wasn’t. He just couldn’t bring himself to concentrate on it. And that both worried and scared him.

Anthony Howe. Innocent or guilty?

Julie Miller/Adele Harrison.

Suzanne Perry/Zoe Herriot.

And Fiona Welch. Why did he dislike her so? Why was he listening to what she said? Why were any of them?

There was something he was missing. Something he couldn’t see. Like there was fog all around, inside and out. Something…

The phone was in his hands. He didn’t remember putting it there. He looked at the floor. Must have let the empty beer bottle slip to the floor.

He dialled a number he knew off by heart.

Waited. Not breathing.

Marina saw the phone light up, vibrate. It was on the bed next to her. She had carried it with her all day, in her hands all night. She just looked at it. Let it ring.

Josephina was asleep in the travel cot at the side of the bed. The TV was playing softly in the corner of the hotel room. From the window in her bedroom she could see the night. It seemed barely dark, the lights of Bury St Edmunds twinkling and shining. Safe and enticing.

She sighed.

The phone kept flashing, vibrating.

Josephina stirred.

She had told herself she would answer it when he rang. Talk to him. Explain.

Because she would have made up her mind by then. She would know what she was going to do.

But she didn’t. She hadn’t made up her mind. In fact she was no further forward. So she couldn’t talk to him. Didn’t trust herself.

The phone kept flashing, vibrating.

Her fingers were right next to it. Reaching…

It would be so easy, just pick it up, talk to him…

So easy…

It stopped.

She sighed. Sat back. Looked at it.

She felt empty once more, alone.

She could pick it up, call him.

She could.

But she wouldn’t. Because she didn’t know what to say.

So she sat there looking at it.

Her heart breaking.

Phil put the phone down. He didn’t leave a message. He lay down on the bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.

He tried to sleep.

Couldn’t.

Added it to the list of things he couldn’t do.

The Creeper stood outside the house. Smiled.

It was a large house but, crammed into a small street with other large houses, it just looked small. Old, with grey and red brick and big bay sash windows with stained glass in them. Nice. The sort of place that looked welcoming. The sort of place you could call home.

Rani had done well for herself this time.

The Creeper would never have dreamt of calling a place like this home. It was a different world. But he might. Soon.

He had watched it for a long time. A man had driven up, parked down the road in the first available space and let himself in. Suited and carrying a briefcase, he was young, confident looking. Like he knew what he was worth. Or thought he knew.

The Creeper had smiled. The man would soon find out.

He had waited longer. Eventually another car had pulled up, parked in the road. There were two people in it, a man driving and a woman in the passenger seat. His heart skipped a beat. There she was. He knew it as soon as he saw her.

Rani.

He couldn’t stop smiling. It was all he could to stop himself running out to meet her. But he did. He would be patient. He would wait. Bide his time.

He watched them talk. The driver looked like an older version of the man who had entered the house. He saw them hold hands before she left the car. Felt a sharp pang of anger when that happened. The car drove away. He watched it go, saw Rani enter the house.

Went back to waiting.

It wasn’t perfect where he was but it was good. It would do. It wasn’t as good as the last place, where he lived with Rani, was together with her all the time, but it would do. He wouldn’t be disturbed. The owner of the house he was in would be no more trouble. He could see her leg sticking out from the spare room where he had left her body.

All he had to do was wait.

And he was good at that. He could be a patient man. Because he had something to wait for. Someone.