Luke Delaney - The Keeper

Sean faked a smile. ‘Hi. The door was unlocked so I let myself in,’ he told the madman. ‘I was worried something might have happened to you. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘No,’ Keller stabbed his answer, using the back of his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked, enjoying the torture, knowing Keller was anything but OK, knowing that he would be dying inside. He saw Keller’s legs momentarily twitch, as if he was about to sprint away, and realized he was moving too fast. He wanted to speak to Keller, not end up chasing him across ground the madman would know better than him — into the woods where he felt so comfortable and empowered. No, he needed to keep him here, in the confined space he himself was already growing accustomed to.

He pulled an old wooden chair from under the littered kitchen table and slowly sat down, his eyes never leaving Keller, the false smile still keeping the madman disorientated. ‘You don’t mind if I sit down, do you?’ Sean asked. ‘It’s been a long week.’ Keller said nothing. ‘Hell of a place you’ve got here,’ Sean continued, ‘lots of space. Not easy to find in this neck of the woods. Must have cost plenty?’

Sean held his silence and his nerve, knowing Keller had to be the next to speak or the game would be over before it started. While he waited, he studied the thin, unimpressive man standing on the other side of the foul-smelling kitchen — a man who would be feared by no one who saw him in the street, a man who looked like one of life’s victims, yet a man who the media and public would soon be branding a monster. What name would they create for him, Sean wondered: The South London Strangler? The Keston Rapist? The Keeper?

‘I got it cheap,’ Keller’s weak voice brought Sean back from his musing. ‘It used to be a poultry farm, and they slaughtered calves here, for veal. It put people off wanting to buy it.’

‘But not you?’ Sean asked, trying to keep him talking.

‘No. Not me, but I don’t suppose you came here to talk about how much my land cost,’ said Keller, stepping into the kitchen, his eyes wandering around the room, avoiding contact with Sean’s.

‘No,’ he agreed. ‘It’s like I said, I’m doing a follow-up to the visit by my uniformed colleagues. Do you remember them?’

‘Of course,’ Keller answered, still standing, his back to a tall, narrow, built-in cupboard he clearly didn’t want to be too far away from.

Sean sensed that the cupboard spelled danger. Was it where he kept his cattle prod and the stun-gun? Years of experience searching suspects’ houses had given him a sixth sense of where the threat would come from. If Keller went for the cupboard, he would have to move fast, unthinkingly, hit him hard and stop him before he got the door open. If he hesitated he could be dead. He needed to get Keller away from there.

‘Why don’t you take a seat?’

‘No,’ Keller replied, ‘I’m fine. Thank you.’

‘Suit yourself,’ he said calmly, despite his soaring heart rate, his eyes flicking between Keller and the cupboard. ‘Did the other officers tell you why they were here?’

‘They said it was about some prowler?’

‘That’s right,’ he said, managing to sound flippant and friendly. ‘But we’re also looking for some women who’ve gone missing,’ Sean told him matter-of-factly, hoping he could panic him into running and confirming his guilt there and then. ‘We’re up to three women — so far.’ He let the smile slip from his face, but only for a few seconds while he listed their names. ‘Karen Green, Louise Russell and Deborah Thomson. Those names mean anything to you?’ Again he saw the twitch in Keller’s legs.

‘No,’ he replied. ‘Why should they?’

‘No reason, other than they’ve been on the news a lot and in the papers — local and national.’

‘I don’t watch television,’ Keller answered truthfully.

‘Ever read the papers?’

‘Not really.’ Another truthful answer.

‘Then you probably don’t know that we’ve already found two of the women, both dead. Both slaughtered, just like the animals on this farm used to be.’ He waited for a reaction, but Keller was blank.

‘That’s very sad. I’m sorry for their families.’

‘Sorry for their families?’ Sean probed. ‘It’s the women I’m sorry for. I’m sorry for Karen Green and I’m sorry for Louise Russell. And unless I find her soon I’m going to be sorry for Deborah Thomson — it’s strange you’re not.’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ Keller stammered. ‘Listen, I’m very sorry, but I can’t help you and I’m really busy, so if you don’t mind …’

Sean ignored him. ‘What happened to your face?’ he asked. Keller’s hand involuntarily reached for the deep gouges Deborah Thomson’s nails had made. ‘Cut yourself walking in the woods round here?’ Sean knew the marks had not been left by a tree, but he didn’t want to panic his prey — not yet. ‘Me too,’ he continued, pointing to the cut on his own cheek, left by the branch of a tree at the scene of Louise Russell’s body drop.

‘Something like that,’ Keller answered.

‘Who would have thought walking in the woods could be so dangerous?’ Sean asked. Keller said nothing. ‘I think my uniform colleagues were a little worried they hadn’t searched your land properly — checked inside the other buildings and maybe the woods that seem to surround you here.’

‘Why would they want to do that?’ said Keller, his eyes blinking fast.

‘I don’t know. I suppose they thought you’ve got a decent amount of land and plenty of outbuildings. Lots of places to hide things.’

‘Like what?’

‘You tell me,’ Sean inched closer. Keller said nothing. ‘Maybe we could take a look around now, together — see what we can find.’

‘I …’

‘Check the outbuildings together. Check the cellar or bomb shelter or whatever it is.’

‘No. I …’

‘What did you do with the clothes and the mattress?’ he suddenly asked. ‘The clothes and the mattress I saw you with?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Keller lied, every muscle in his body tensing, the shotgun in the cupboard behind him so close, already loaded and primed to fire.

‘You know who I spoke to, just before I came here?’

‘No.’

‘Samantha Shaw, Thomas. I spoke to Samantha Shaw.’

Keller nodded slowly and silently. He understood now.

‘You do remember Samantha, don’t you, Thomas? We don’t forget our gods, do we? I just wanted to talk to you, you know — alone, before the world falls on you, Thomas.’

‘Why? Why do you want to talk to me? We have nothing to say to each other.’

Sean remembered his interview with Jason Lawlor, the gaps in his own imagination that Lawlor had been able to fill — the things he’d felt, the things he’d desired that Sean never could or would. ‘After you’ve raped them, could you go on smelling them, smelling their sex? Did you avoid washing your private parts for days after so you could still smell them on you?’ He watched the madman’s eyes narrow and then grow wide and round, his nostrils flare as his breathing intensified. ‘God, they smelled so good, didn’t they? Tell me, what was it like, being in their houses, their homes — taking them from the place where they felt safest of all? My God, that must have made you feel so … so powerful — so alive . And keeping them close, so you could go to them whenever you wanted to — whenever you needed to … Was it everything you dreamed it would be? Did you feel accepted by them, when you forced yourself inside them? Did you feel loved?’

‘No!’ Keller shouted, taking a step towards him and then stopping, almost making Sean leap from his chair and spray blinding CS gas into his eyes. ‘No. They disgust me. I can’t stand the smell of them on me.’