Kevin Brooks - Dance of Ghosts

He looked at me for a while, chewing his lip … and just for a moment he reminded me so much of Stacy. It wasn’t just the family resemblance — although Cal did have the same natural beauty as Stacy — but the way he was chewing his lip and looking at me … Stacy used to do exactly the same thing when she was worried about me, especially when she was worried about my state of mind.

‘It’s all right,’ I said quietly to Cal. ‘I’m all right.’

‘Honestly?’

I smiled. ‘Yeah.’

He nodded. ‘OK.’

‘So you’ll keep working on the CCTV stuff?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And you’ll let me know — ’

‘I’ll call you whether I find anything or not.’

‘And if you’ve got the time — ’

‘I’ll see what I can find out about Charles Raymond Kemper.’

‘Thanks, Cal.’

‘Oh, and before you go …’ he said, fumbling around through the clutter on his desk. ‘Hold on … where the fuck is it? I know I put it somewhere … ah, there it is.’ He got up, came over to me, and handed me a flash drive.

‘What’s this?’ I said.

‘The video footage that was on that damaged memory card you gave me … I’ve transferred it all to the flash drive.’

It took me a moment to realise what he was talking about, but then I remembered — the StayBright case, Preston Elliot and his ball-peen hammer …

It seemed like a long time ago.

‘Was it all still there?’ I asked Cal.

‘Yep.’

‘You’re a genius,’ I said, pocketing the flash drive.

He smiled. ‘I know.’

Before I left, I went to the bathroom and swallowed another pill. I knew that I’d pay for it later — because the longer the black place is kept at bay, the blacker it is when it finally comes — but later was later. Right now, my only real concern was how Stacy would have felt about me taking the pills … and as I went over and looked in the bathroom mirror, and my fucked-up eyes stared back at me, I could hear the anger and exasperation in Stacy’s voice as she told me not to be so stupid …

You don’t need pills, John. You don’t need to keep doing this to yourself .

‘I’m sorry, Stace,’ I muttered, pocketing the bottle of pills. ‘I’m just …’

Just what?

‘Nothing … I’m just sorry.’

The business of death …

‘Did he rape her before stabbing her?’

‘We believe the wounds were inflicted during the rape.’

‘And then he strangled her?’

‘Yes.’

‘How did he get into the house?’

‘There were no signs of forced entry, so at the moment we’re assuming that Stacy let him in. Which either means that she knew him, or she was somehow tricked into letting him in.’

‘Do you know what time it happened?’

DI Delaney looks through the papers in the file. ‘The pathologist estimates the time of death at between 3.30 and 4.45. Stacy’s watch, which was broken during the attack, was stopped at 4.17.’ He looks at me. ‘You were still at work, John. You couldn’t have done anything.’

It’s a pointless thing to say, but I don’t hold it against him. I ask, ‘Have you got any witnesses?’

He shakes his head. ‘Not yet.’

‘No one saw anything?’

‘We’ve still got some follow-up interviews to do, and we’ve got appeals planned for the press and local TV. We’re doing everything we possibly can, John.’

‘What about forensics?’

‘The crime-scene evidence is still being analysed. No fingerprints have been found, so we’re assuming he wore gloves … and preliminary reports indicate the use of a condom during the rape, so we don’t expect to find any — ’

‘A condom?’

Delaney sighs. ‘It’s not unusual, I’m afraid. Rapists, sexual predators, murderers … they all watch CSI these days — CSI, Waking the Dead, Silent Witness … ’ He shrugs. ‘They all know about DNA … at least, they think they do.’ He looks at me. ‘I’m sorry if I only seem to have bad news for you, John … but there is one thing that’s giving us hope.’

I don’t say anything, I just wait .

‘During the post-mortem,’ he tells me, ‘the pathologist found a small piece of scalp in your wife’s stomach.’

‘Scalp?’

He nods. ‘We think — and I have to emphasise that forensic work is still being carried out, so at the moment we can’t be sure — but we think that at some point during the assault, your wife must have fought back, biting her attacker on the head … and, incredibly, we think she must have actually bitten off a piece of his scalp …’

‘And swallowed it?’

Delaney shakes his head in admiration. ‘Whether or not she knew what she was doing, making sure that he wouldn’t get away without leaving his DNA behind … well, I don’t know. But either way, what she did … well, all I can say is that she must have been a remarkable woman.’

‘Yes … yes, she was.’ And I’m crying now. ‘Will you get DNA from this piece of scalp?’

He nods. ‘There’s no reason why not. It’s got everything the forensic team need — blood, skin … hair. We’re expecting the results within the week. Of course, everything then depends on matching the DNA to a suspect. If we can match the DNA profile to a profile we already have on our database, we’ve got a result. But if not, if the man who killed Stacy has never been arrested before …’

‘But he probably has.’

Delaney nods cautiously. ‘Probably, yes. This doesn’t look like the work of a first-time offender. But just because he’s done it before, that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s been arrested before.’

‘So … we just have to wait.’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so. As I said, we should have the DNA results by the end of this week, and I promise I’ll let you know as soon as I get them.’

‘Thanks.’

‘And, in the meantime, if anything else turns up …’

I nod my head, getting to my feet .

What else is there to say?

Nothing .

I just have to wait .

I’d told Ada that I didn’t have any proof of Bishop’s involvement in Anna’s disappearance, but the simple truth was that I didn’t have proof of anything at all. Despite everything Cal had done, hacking into the CCTV system and searching through hours of footage, all we’d really done was confirm what Tasha had told me, that Anna had been picked up by a man in a Nissan Almera. That was it. That was all I knew. I had no idea who the man was, no idea of his intentions, no idea what he’d done with Anna.

For all I knew, Bishop had been right when he’d suggested that Anna had simply ‘met some bloke who’s promised her the world and they’ve fucked off together somewhere’. Maybe the man in the Nissan was just a punter intent on rescuing Anna from her life of depravity … or maybe he was nothing more than just another punter. Charles Raymond Kemper, a lonely businessman from Leicester, visiting Hey for a sales conference or a meeting with investors … he picks up Anna, takes her to a nice quiet spot somewhere, pays her to do what he wants, then drives back to town and drops her off somewhere.

Why not?

I didn’t know.

But although I’m a stone-cold realist, and I have no belief whatsoever in anything even remotely supernatural, spiritual, or mystical … when I’d watched that blurred video footage of Anna Gerrish getting into the Nissan, I knew that I’d been watching a ghost.