Luke Delaney - The Keeper

Her eyes bulged as the pressure inside her head grew, turning red as the blood vessels began to rupture, a hideous cracking sound leaking from her lips as she tried to draw a breath. Her hands wrapped around his wrists and pulled weakly as she tried to save herself, her naked, bleeding feet sliding hopelessly on the wet soil and dead leaves, digging sad little trenches as her heels slid back and forth, slowing as the life eased from her as quietly as a child drowning, unseen by anyone who could save her, who could pull her back to the surface.

His hands remained clamped around her neck for a long time after she’d stopped moving and her hands had fallen away from his wrists. He was frozen with the fascination of how dead she already looked. He hadn’t expected such a rapid transition from life to death — it was the first dead body he’d ever seen.

Eventually the cold night rain drifting into his face brought him back to this world. He hurriedly released his grip from her throat as if he’d had an electric shock, as if he had no idea how his hands came to be there in the first place. He shuffled away from the twisted body, aware that he was breathing heavily and that the salt he could taste on his lips was his sweat as it mixed with the rain that ran down his face. A calmness he’d never before experienced began to wash over him. A sense of control surged through him, clearing his mind, giving him focus and purpose.

Remembering what he needed to do next, he crawled around the body using only the light from the stars and moon to search for her meagre clothing, his eyes by now well adjusted. Having found the garments he stuffed them into his pocket, then stood and began to walk steadily away from the patch of forest that would forever be haunted by what it had witnessed. As he walked he thought nothing of Karen Green. She had already faded to a distant memory, something that had happened a long time ago.

His thoughts had shifted to the next woman he would be visiting, the woman he knew was the real Sam.

Friday, seven thirty a.m. and Sean found himself driving towards the scene of another tragedy the rest of the world would probably never even notice. The closer he got to the scene, the more Louise Russell’s attractive face etched itself into his mind. But what would she look like now? Would she be mutilated with ugly stab wounds or would the visible damage be restricted to a few telltale signs of strangulation around her neck? Perhaps her scalp would be matted in sticky red hair, like burnt jam, her skull caved in. He couldn’t be sure how she’d died yet, at least not until he saw her, but somehow he already knew she would be naked and uncovered — that her killer would have made no effort to conceal her body or destroy forensic evidence, other than possibly dumping her in running water.

He rolled his car along the dirt road through Three Halfpenny Wood, looking for the obvious signs of a police presence and soon spotted two uniform patrol cars and Donnelly’s unmarked Ford at the side of the road. Blue-and-white tape cordoned off the road ahead and the forest edge close to the parked cars. Ignoring the aches and tiredness that tried to distract him from what he had to do, he sat on his bonnet and awkwardly pulled forensic protective covers over his shoes before striding towards the two uniform officers who guarded the cars and entrance to the scene, his thin mackintosh coat trailing behind him as he approached. He tugged his warrant card free when he was close enough to the men for them to be able to see it clearly. ‘DI Corrigan,’ he announced himself. ‘Where’s the body?’

‘About fifty feet into the woods, sir,’ one of the uniforms replied. ‘Just head straight in and you should find your DS easily enough.’

Sean peered into the woods, pausing for a couple of seconds before turning back to the uniform officer. ‘Thanks,’ he said, and ducked under the tape. He began to walk into the woods, always studying the ground ahead for evidence before moving forward a few steps. It was difficult to work out which route the killer had taken in and out of the wood as so many paths had been made by people and animals trampling through the vegetation, but he was sure the killer would have taken the most direct route in and out — he wasn’t trying to cover his tracks. It would probably be easier to track backwards after he’d seen the body. He looked up and through the trees to a clearing where he could see Donnelly casually chatting to two more uniform officers. A twig snapped under Sean’s foot and made all three look in his direction as if he was an unwanted intruder.

‘Guv’nor,’ Donnelly greeted him.

‘Is it Louise Russell?’ Sean asked bluntly.

‘Who else could it be?’

‘Have you seen the body?’

‘I didn’t get that close,’ Donnelly told him. ‘It was already confirmed that she was dead, no need for me to trample the scene. But I was close enough to see it’s a young white woman with short brown hair, so unless you know different, I’d say it’s her.’

‘If that’s the description, then it’s her.’ Sean felt his spirits sink further, any last hope it could have been a female vagrant dying of exposure or a young suicide victim leaving him. ‘Where is the body?’

‘The other side of that raised ground, in a clearing. Do you want me to fill you in on what I know so far?’

Sean shook his head. ‘No, I’d rather see her myself first.’

‘Fine,’ Donnelly agreed. He wasn’t insulted — he knew how Sean liked to work.

‘Who found her?’

‘A man taking his dog for an early morning walk. The dog did the finding.’

‘Don’t they always?’

‘Any suspicions about the walker?’

‘No. He’s just an unlucky witness, but we’ve got him at the local nick anyway, reluctantly handing over his clothes and giving samples, intimate and non-intimate.’

‘Good,’ said Sean. ‘Make sure we get hairs from the dog too.’

‘You what?’

‘I want hair samples from the dog,’ Sean repeated.

‘Why would we want that? If we find any hairs on the body, DNA will tell us whether they’re human or canine. If they’re canine, we’ll know where they came from — the walker’s dog.’

‘And how do you know her killer doesn’t have a dog? How do you know he didn’t bring his dog out here with him? How do you know he didn’t keep her somewhere where he also kept a dog or dogs?’

Donnelly sighed before answering. ‘I don’t.’

‘Fine, then let’s take the samples from the dog and get someone to do a cast of his paws too, for comparison with any found close to the body.’

‘If you really think it’s necessary.’

‘I do — so let’s make sure it’s done.’ There was a pause, then Sean spoke again. ‘I need to see the body.’

‘Forensics won’t like it.’

‘They’ll survive. Besides, I want Dr Canning to examine the body in situ before Roddis’s team crawl all over the scene. I’ve already asked him to meet us here. Are forensics on the way?’

‘Aye,’ said Donnelly, ‘they should be here soon enough.’

‘Keep them at bay until Dr Canning’s been and gone, OK?’

‘No problem.’

Sean looked at the moss-covered patch of raised ground formed by the undergrowth spreading over an ancient fallen tree. He knew what lay on the far side and he knew it was time to enter the other world that existed beyond the world that most walked: a world of pain and suffering, of mindless violence and the death of innocence. ‘I need a few minutes alone with her,’ he told Donnelly, then set off towards the grassy knoll, moving slowly, making a show of searching the ground in front of him, hoping the watching police would assume he was being careful not to tread on any evidence. The truth was he needed time to prepare himself for what he was about to see — for what he was about to feel. He needed time to prepare himself for the person he was about to become.