Luke Delaney - The Keeper

Keller rolled out of bed and stepped across the bedroom to the drawer where he kept the bundles of letters. Quickly he searched through the detritus until he found what he was looking for — a bottle of Black Orchid perfume and a jar of Elemis body cream. Lifting the perfume carefully from the drawer, as if it was so delicate his mere touch might shatter it, he sprayed a tiny amount on to the back of his hand, breathing in the drops of fine vapour as they travelled through the air. His eyes rolled back into their sockets with pleasure, exposing blood-vessel-streaked whites. When his pupils returned he slowly unscrewed the lid from the Elemis cream, savouring the anticipation of what was to come, the smell of it, the feel of it. Only when he was truly ready did he push his index finger into the cream, its oily coolness making him sigh with delight, his eyes flickering, overcome by such rare sensations of absolute joy. Slowly he pulled his finger from the whiteness and carefully wiped the excess on the side of the jar, gently, painstakingly massaging what was left into the back of his hand, releasing the scent of the Elemis to mix with the perfume, the combination once more carrying him back in time — back to the day only weeks ago when he’d let himself into her house, while she and the man she lived with were at work. The man who pretended to be her lover, but who he knew was one of them , sent to watch over her, sent to keep her from him.

The kitchen window had been easy enough to open and the house wasn’t even alarmed. He’d slipped the blade of his flick-knife between the upper and lower sash and snapped the latch. The window slid open silently and easily, the scent of her life rushing at him all at once, almost knocking him back out of the window as he snaked into the house, his agile, wiry body ideally suited for climbing through tight spaces. Doing his best to ignore the assault on his senses, he jumped down to the kitchen floor, landing like an alert cat alive to any changes in sound or shade; to even the tiniest deviation to the atmosphere of the interior. Once he was satisfied he was alone, he explored the small house, always taking care that he could not be seen from the windows, searching drawers and cupboards, picking up anything and everything that belonged to her, carefully replacing items in exactly the same place he’d taken them from. He drank in as much of her life as he could without over-gorging and losing control, overloading his starved senses with her essence.

Eventually he reached her bedroom and slipped through the barely open door, the indentations left by her body still visible on the unmade bed, her pillow flattened in the centre and puffed at the sides. But what should have been a magical moment had been ruined by the smell of the man and the deeper mould his heavy body had left in her bed. Trying to block out everything else, he had knelt next to where she had laid, his hands tracing the shape of her body and head, the faintest trace of her warmth still detectable. He rested his hands on the bed until the warmth had completely gone. Then he began to move inch by inch around the room, absorbing every detail, until he came to her dressing table, littered with make-up and things only women had, things that were strange and exotic to him, things that had never had a place in his life.

His eyes searched the chaotic surface, finally coming to rest on two of the larger, more eye-catching items: a black bottle with a gold label, and a heavy glass jar with a chrome seal containing something white. He lifted the black bottle and read the words embossed on the label: Black Orchid Eau de Parfum. He sniffed at the top of the bottle, nervous and suspicious of the contents, surprised at the beauty of the odour, glancing from side to side as if he was being watched, then quickly stuffing it into his trouser pocket, its weight and size awkward, but worth it for the prize. Next he lifted the heavy glass jar and read the unfamiliar words written around its body — Elemis body cream. He unscrewed the lid and let the subtle, pleasant vapours drift up and into his face. Unable to resist, he pushed his finger into the cream. That had been the first time he’d enjoyed its cool oiliness, but there had been many occasions since. He rubbed the cream into his face, closing his eyes to allow images of Sam massaging the cream into her skin — all of her skin. This was not how he remembered her scent, but he knew it was how she must smell now — now the girl had become a woman.

A sudden noise in the distance outside startled him, brought him back to where he was and what he was doing. He screwed the top back on the Elemis, tucked it into his other pocket and left the bedroom and then the house, slipping out of the same window and closing it behind him.

The memory was a sweet one, but now he was alone again in his own bedroom, the opened jar of Elemis in his hand. He noted that the jar was half-full — enough to last a long time yet, provided he wasn’t wasteful, provided he only used it on those who really could be her . He would have to be more selective in the future, but even so, he had enough for many more women — for many more Sams. He screwed the lid back on the cream and carefully replaced it in the drawer.

Close to midnight and Sean sat alone in his office with the overhead lights turned off to lessen the chances of being ambushed by a migraine, a desktop lamp the only lighting in the room, although the strip lights in the main office still washed the place with harsh, white light. There were a few people floating around, including Donnelly and Sally. Most were typing up their reports of the day’s findings, others making apologetic phone calls to husbands, wives and partners. His tired eyes searched the office, subconsciously processing who was there and who was missing. He noticed Sally and Anna hunched over Sally’s desk, whispering conspiratorially, no doubt discussing his harsh words at the scene of Deborah Thomson’s car, or perhaps Anna was still trying to persuade Sally to let her help. If that was the case, he wished her luck.

He was still considering the possibilities when he saw Donnelly stretch, stand up and head his way. The lack of urgency in his manner told Sean not to expect any ground-breaking news.

Donnelly stepped into his office and sat without being invited. ‘Guv’nor.’

‘Dave,’ Sean replied.

‘Anything happening?’

‘You tell me.’

‘Anything in the information reports prick your interest, from the roadblocks … door-to-door?’

‘Not yet,’ Sean answered, ‘although, as you can see, I still have plenty to get through.’ He gestured to the pile of A4 sheets on his desk.

‘Aye,’ Donnelly sympathized. ‘I’ve cut the wheat from the chaff as much as I could, but you know what it’s like with an investigation of this profile: every Tom, Dick and Harry wants to get their little piece of information in so they can spend the rest of their careers in the canteen boring anyone who’ll listen that they were the one who discovered the key that broke the case and caught a murderer.’

‘I know,’ Sean agreed, ‘but the answer will be in there, somewhere. It’s just a matter of whether I can find it.’

‘You will,’ Donnelly told him.

‘Not until I get that Production Order for the Post Office employee files, and you and I both know there isn’t a judge in the land who’s going to give me an Order on all I’ve got so far — one wobbly witness who’s had a bit of junk mail stuffed through his door.’

‘We keep digging, we’ll find more. Hopefully enough to get the Order by Monday.’

‘Maybe,’ Sean answered. ‘Anyway, not much else you can do here tonight. Why don’t you go home for a bit or go for a drink?’

Donnelly glanced at his watch. ‘Too late for the pub,’ he sighed.