Peter Robinson - The First Cut

“Finished me off?”

“Yes. Instead, the constable stayed put and called in on his radio, but by the time we got there our man was long gone. We didn’t even get a description.”

“And he never tried again?”

“No. Not as far as we know.”

“Does he know where I live?”

“I don’t think so. How could he? The press details were sketchy. The local police have been warned to keep a lookout for any strangers in the area, but I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about.”

Kirsten thought of all her walks in the woods, all the times she had lingered in the streets of Bath after sessions with Dr. Henderson. She felt a sudden chill. “Why didn’t you tell me all this before?” she asked.

“We didn’t want to alarm you.”

“Thanks a lot.”

Elswick leaned forward and rested his palms on his knees. “Believe me, Kirsten, you’ve been perfectly safe. I can understand how you feel, but look at it this way. Whoever attacks you is worried when he hears you’ve survived, so he rushes over to the hospital with some half-baked scheme of trying to silence you. He fails. Time goes by, he no doubt loses track of you when you come down here, and lo and behold, it’s already three months ago and nothing’s happened to him. He’s still free as a bird. So obviously, from his point of view, you can’t know anything, you’re not a threat.”

“Until he strikes again?”

“I still don’t think you’re in any danger. We’ll keep an eye on you, don’t worry, but it’s more for form’s sake than anything else.”

Kirsten felt a little relieved. There was some truth in what Elswick had said. If anything was going to happen, it would have happened long before now. And she wasn’t about to start walking around in fear of her life; it wasn’t worth that much. Though she no longer felt suicidal, she did feel reckless sometimes and often drove the car too fast or walked alone after dark in streets she shouldn’t visit. Even genteel Bath had its seedy characters and sleazy areas. So she wasn’t going to give in to fear. She had determined not to spend the rest of her life jumping at every sound and running from every shadow. If he found her, so be it; may the best person win. More than anything, she was angry at the police for being so useless and for joining the growing list of people who didn’t want to “alarm” her by telling her the truth.

“Why does he do it?” she asked. “Mutilate women like that. Why does he hate us so much?”

Elswick shook his head. “If we knew the answer to that we might have an easier job stopping him. Usually it’s a him, and that’s about all we can be sure of. Who can say what sets them off? We have people in to do profiles and doctors write books, but who knows really? Often it’s prostitutes they go after, but this time it seems to be female students, if we’re reading the pattern correctly. No doubt there’s a million unresolved conflicts from his childhood on, that have turned him into what he is. Perhaps he was sexually abused. But plenty of other people suffer from cruel parents and don’t turn into killers. We don’t know what the trigger is that makes the odd one different.” He shrugged. “I suppose it comes down to fear, really. People like him are terrified by women, whatever the reason, and the only thing they can do about it, because of the kind of people they are, is strike out and despoil and kill.”

“How do you know it’s the same person?” Kirsten asked. “You said something earlier about the similarity of injuries.”

Elswick looked at her grimly. “Do you really want to know?” he asked.

Kirsten wasn’t sure, but she certainly didn’t intend to give in. “Considering that so much else has been kept from me, I think I have a right, don’t you?”

Elswick sat back and studied her face for a moment. “All right,” he said. “The wounds were the same, the areas he used his knife on were the same; there was also bruising about the face consistent with punching and slapping. And that strange cross he cut, with the long vertical and short horizontal just below the breasts, that was found on her body, too. Do you want me to go on?”

Kirsten nodded.

“When he was with you, he was disturbed. The dog, we assume. Up to that point your injuries are identical with those of the other victim.”

“What killed her, then?”

“She was strangled.” Elswick pinched his nose, then scratched the mole lightly. “Oh, she’d no doubt have died of loss of blood or internal bleeding, but just to make sure, the bastard strangled her. And according to our forensic experts, he did this after he had inflicted the other injuries.”

“Are you saying that she was conscious while he did all…what he did to me?”

Elswick shook his head. “We don’t know. It would have been difficult for him if she’d been able to struggle. The blows to the face and head were probably enough to cause loss of consciousness, and it seems that they were the first injuries. He grabbed her from behind, threw her down onto the ground, straddled her, pinning her arms down with his knees, and then began beating her about the face. Perhaps it wasn’t until she was unconscious that he went on to the more serious business. And this time he wasn’t disturbed.”

Kirsten felt sick. She could feel the blood drain from her cheeks. She struggled to control herself. She wasn’t going to be sick. She wasn’t going to let Elswick say, “I told you so.” She wouldn’t appear as the weak woman in front of these men who were intimate with every aspect of her brutalization. To cover up her discomfort, she poured another cup of tea. Inspector Gregory shook his head quickly when offered some. He was so still and silent he seemed really to have become part of the chair.

“What we were wondering,” Elswick went on slowly, “was whether you’d remembered anything else, no matter how insignificant or unimportant it might seem to you.”

Kirsten shook her head. “No, I haven’t. I’ve tried, of course, but after what I told you, it’s all still a blank.”

“You see,” Elswick persisted, “what we think is that the victim must have still been conscious, at least at the time he threw her onto her back. And if that’s so, then it might have been the same with you. You might have got a glimpse of his face. Maybe he was wearing a mask or a stocking, but even that could help us. Or maybe he said something. Anything.”

“I’m sorry,” Kirsten said, “really I am. But I just can’t remember. You might be right. Maybe I did see his face, maybe he did talk to me. But I can’t remember. Do you think I don’t want to? Of course I’d like to help you, but I can’t. After that rough hand closed over my mouth, I can’t remember a thing.” She felt tears in her eyes and fought to hold them back.

“There was a moon that night,” Elswick said.

“Yes. I was looking for it when…before. But I couldn’t see it.”

“It was there, behind you, just over the tops of the trees. We’ve checked.”

“Why?”

“Light. Because if you were conscious when he pushed you down to the ground, there would have been just enough light to make out at least something about his appearance. It was a clear night-a bit hazy maybe-and there was a full moon.”

“But I can’t have been conscious,” Kirsten said. “I don’t remember.”

“Never mind, then.” Elswick glanced over at Inspector Gregory, who slipped his notebook back in the inside pocket of his tan jacket, and both men swung forward in their chairs, preparing to leave. “I’m sorry to have brought such bad news and stirred up painful memories,” Elswick went on, getting to his feet. His knees cracked and he put his hand to the small of his back as if it hurt. “Getting old. I hear you’ve been seeing a doctor, Kirsten.”