Luke Delaney - The Keeper

‘Christ,’ he said out loud. ‘What were you thinking when you heard that sound?’

Another voice reminded him he was not alone.

‘Sean?’ called Sally. ‘Is everything OK?’

‘Everything’s fine,’ he answered. ‘Just give me a few seconds.’

He forced his eyes from the bramble-bushes and scanned the clearing, until there, almost dead centre, about twenty feet away he saw her, partially covered in brown leaves swept over her by the wind, piled up against her in the direction the breeze had been travelling. Even from this distance he could see she was lying on her side, her knees apparently folded in a near foetal position. Her pale skin contrasted somehow beautifully with the rich brown of the leaves and the green of the moss that provided her soft deathbed. His eyes followed the outskirts of the clearing until he saw the place where both killer and victim would have entered — a break in the trees, where the wood wasn’t so dense — the path of least resistance. A trail of flattened grass and moss led from the same place to where Louise Russell’s body was lying. Another path stretched out directly in front of him, made by the first officers on scene who confirmed the birdwatcher’s fears — he had indeed stumbled across a dead body lying in the woods.

Sean wondered which direction the birdwatcher would have approached from and decided it was most likely the same one as the killer. He might have entered the woods at a different point, but at some point the paths they’d used had joined. The birdwatcher was about to lose his favourite walking boots to Roddis.

Finally he lowered his hand, signalling it was safe for Sally to move forward. After a few seconds he felt her by his side. He gave her as long as she needed, waiting for her to speak first. Eventually he heard her voice.

‘I suppose we should take a closer look,’ she almost whispered, as if she didn’t really want to say what she just had — afraid he would agree. He answered with movement, carefully stepping into the clearing, scrutinizing the forest floor in front of him before each next step, looking for the slightest sign the ground could have been disturbed by someone other than the police who initially attended the scene, trying to step inside the footmarks they’d already left. Sally followed gingerly behind him. Once he was no more than seven or eight feet away from the body he squatted as low as he could to the ground and looked across at the face of the dead woman — short hazel hair fallen over her temples and brow, eyes half-closed, mouth open with her tongue sticking slightly out between her blue lips, gripped by her upper and lower teeth. She was completely naked, the cuts and bruises on her body too numerous to count, but even from this distance he could see the same telltale circular marks the cattle prod had left on Karen Green — confirmation of what he already knew: it was the same man.

‘Is it her?’ Sally asked sombrely, expecting only one answer.

Sean looked over his shoulder at her. ‘It’s her — Louise Russell. We’re too late. Nothing we can do now.’

She sensed the self-accusation in his voice. ‘It’s not your fault, Sean.’

‘Yes it is,’ he snapped back. ‘I missed something. We’re here because I missed something.’

She knew there were no words that would change his mind. ‘We should go,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing more we can do here other than mess up the crime scene.’

‘Not yet,’ he argued. ‘I need to check something out first.’

‘Roddis won’t be happy,’ she warned, still standing at the edge of the clearing, not wanting to step inside the circle.

‘It won’t take long,’ he assured her as he began to move towards Louise Russell’s lifeless body. The closer he got, the more the world around him ceased to exist — the sounds of the birds and trees replaced by a thundering humming in his mind, like the sound of rushing water. He tugged a pair of rubber gloves over his hands and reached out for her head, gently gripping her chin and forehead. The bruising and reddening around her neck and throat told him she’d been strangled, but he needed to know what else had happened.

‘What are you doing?’ Sally whispered as loudly as she could, but her words fell on deaf ears as Sean carefully tilted Louise Russell’s head, the onset of rigor-mortis making her muscles stiff and difficult to manoeuvre. Eventually he was able to see the back of her skull. He held her head just above the ground in one hand while the fingers of the other gently moved her hair aside, looking for a wound — a wound like the one he’d found on Karen Green. But he could find no sticky, hair-matted patch of blood. He laid her head back, exactly as he’d found it, the rushing sound in his mind growing ever louder as he crouched, staring into the earth at his feet.

Again Sally called from the edge of the clearing, louder this time. ‘What is it?’ He didn’t hear her. ‘What is it?’ she repeated. Sean looked up at her, unspeaking, as if in a daze. ‘Did you find something?’

‘There’s no head wound,’ he said, sounding confused, ‘and he’s at least a day early. He shouldn’t have killed her yet.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means he’s changing. His cycle is speeding up. But not just that, something else too …’

‘Go on,’ she encouraged him.

‘When he killed Karen Green it was functional — it meant nothing — the actual killing. Everything that went before the killing was intensely personal, but when it came to her murder, it was a simple case of disposing of something that had no value to him. He was more worried about self-preservation than the experience of taking a life — that’s why he all but killed her with a blow to the head before he strangled her, or … or at least that’s what he told himself. He was trying to convince himself that he wasn’t killing for the thrill of it, because that would have … what? Affected his self-image? But what image do you have of yourself? What do you think you are?’

He broke off the questions and pictures in his head. ‘Fuck’s sake,’ he swore at himself for not being able to solve the puzzle instantly, then continued: ‘This time there’s no head wound … because … he wanted to feel her life drain away. Not just what was left of it, but all of it.’ He studied the position of the body for a few seconds, then went on: ‘He stood in front of her. She was already kneeling on the ground because she’d tried to run away, but in her bare feet, in the dark, she had no chance and she fell or he tripped her, so she was on the floor when he came to her, standing above her, looking down into her eyes. He took his time, reaching out towards her, his fingers sliding around her neck, his thumbs pressing into her throat. She tried to fight, but he was too strong and it felt so good — her struggling, her life ebbing away as he held her tight, it felt good. Even after she was dead he kept hold of her, looking down into her dead face, until eventually he released her and watched her fall to the ground in exactly the same position she’s in now. And then he watched her some more. The cold night air must have felt so good and once you’ve admitted to yourself that the killing feels good too, you’re not going to stop until you’re stopped, are you? Not until I stop you.’

‘Sean?’ Sally called. ‘Sean — who’re you talking to?’

He turned his head quickly towards her, suddenly aware of what he must have done. ‘You,’ he lied. ‘I was talking to you.’

They stood in silence for a moment, then Sally spoke. ‘I think we should go now.’

‘Just one more thing I need to check,’ he promised.

‘Fine. Do what you have to do and let’s get out of here before forensics show up.’