Terror of the incomprehensible took over and he slid back down the rocks, ran towards the road. He got to his car, jumped in and locked the doors. There was no credible explanation — the only possible way a group of voices could suddenly sound in the middle of nowhere was if there were loudspeakers hidden all around the rocks.
Yet there could be no doubt it was him they were addressing. Because the voices he'd heard were repeating the same word over and over again. 'Tom, Tom, Tom.'
They came for the car a week later.
He found that his sleep pattern was coinciding less and less with the night. Now he tended to stay up until the small hours, watching videos, surfing the internet, waiting for the phone to ring. Always suppressing the memory of that awful collection of disembodied voices. Mornings were becoming a thing of the past; his days usually started after lunch.
So when the doorbell went at ten thirty in the morning, he struggled from a shallow and listless sleep to shuffle down the stairs in his dressing gown. Hoping it might be Charlotte, he pulled open the door to find Ges and Ed outside.
Ges spoke first, awkward and uncomfortable. 'Hello Tom.'
Tom scratched his fingers through his hair. 'Ges.'
'Late night, then?' said Ges. 'The joys of being in between jobs, hey?'
Ed simply stared at him, shock registering on his face.
Hesitantly Ges announced, 'Sorry mate, we've come for the Porsche. London office has been hassling us. You haven't been answering the phone and I couldn't put them off any longer.'
Tom thought about how he'd ignored all his calls. 'No, I understand,' he murmured. As he unclipped the Porsche key he said almost absent-mindedly, 'Seen anything of Creepy George?'
Ges looked confused. 'Erm, no. You sacked him.'
Tom was about to answer, then saw Ed standing there. He handed the key to him and beckoned Ges down the corridor.
In the front room Tom let out an exasperated sigh. 'He's evil. Keep him away from your house. Have you ever seen him hanging around? Has your wife ever seen him hanging around?'
'Sally? No, she's never met him.'
'Good, that's good. But if she does ever see him, get her to call the police. I think he has all of our addresses.' He ran a hand through his tangled curls.
'I don't understand. Is this to do with why he was sacked? What happened, Tom?'
Tapping his nose, Tom replied. 'Confidential.' His eyes shifted to the window, filling with regret as Ed circled the Porsche. He turned back to Ges. 'He's evil. Just keep him away from your house. And tell Ed too. I've taken precautions.' He gave a secretive smile.
Ges hesitated. 'You all right, Tom? I'm sorry I haven't called round before. You can imagine how it's been.'
Tom waved the comment away. 'Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. 'He looked back out of the window. The silence stretched out as he kept his eyes on Ed unlocking the Porsche and climbing in. 'Well, I'd better get back too…' Ges suggested. He walked slowly back to the front door and hovered at the top step. 'Give us a call. We could go for lunch one day. How about it?'
Tom nodded. 'Yeah.' He glanced around Ges to have one last look at the car, then shut the door in the face of one of his few remaining friends.
Chapter 21
3 November 2002
The investigation was going nowhere. More than fifty officers were now assigned to the case. Despite dozens of statements from anyone who had been in contact with the three victims, an obvious thread linking them together refused to emerge.
In desperation they had begun to retread old ground, including raking through the contents of each victim's home again.
Jon was en route to the facility at Trafford Park police station to help go through the refuse recovered from Polly Mather's flat when the call came through on his mobile.
'Bad news, Jon. Another body has just been discovered. A Gabrielle Harnett, same MO as all the rest,' said the officer back at Longsight.
Jaw set tight, he speeded up, anxious to get to Trafford Park and start making phone calls. He pulled into the car park about a quarter of an hour later. Without bothering to get out of the car, he called back the incident room at Longsight.
'DI Spicer here. The victim who's just been discovered — what type of property did she live in?'
'Some sort of flat complex.'
'Can you give me the phone number of any officer attending the scene?'
He jotted the number down and immediately called it. 'DS Moffatt? DI Spicer here. Where are you exactly?'
'Outside the victim's flat.'
'What's the parking situation like?'
'Bloody nightmare. Half of Manchester's newspaper reporters are already here. I don't know who's got more vehicles in the vicinity
— us or them.' 'I mean for the residents. Is there private parking for them?' 'Oh, hang on. 'There was a pause. 'Yeah, I'm standing in a kind of courtyard. It's all little one or two bedroom flats, residents-only parking. Each slot is allocated to a flat.'
'And what's parked in the slot for the victim's flat?'
'Hang on,' he said again. 'Flat six, here you go. It's a Mini — one of those new BMW ones.'
'Registration?'
Jon noted it down, then called the incident room at Longsight again. 'Hi, DI Spicer. Can you run me a vehicle check?' He read out the registration and waited with his crossed fingers resting on the steering wheel. 'Please don't let it be Gabrielle Harnett's,' he whispered to himself.
'Here we go,' said the operator, 'Gabrielle Harnett, flat six, Richmond Court…'
'Fuck!' He thumped the back of his skull against the headrest.
'You just crashed?' came the alarmed voice.
'No. My fucking theory has, though.' He hung up, got out and walked over to the prefabricated hut in which the rubbish had been laid out on long trestle tables. Standing outside the doors were a couple of uniformed officers getting a last cigarette in before having to don rubber gloves and start sifting.
'Morning,' said one, seeing Jon approaching.
'Morning,' Jon grunted. A couple of seconds' silence followed before the officer produced a packet of cigarettes and held one out.
Jon realized his eyes had been fixed hungrily on the man's lit cigarette. He hesitated for a second, then sagged a little and took it. 'Cheers. This case is doing my head in.' He leaned forward to take a light as Nikki Kingston stepped out of the hut. Her face had brightened on seeing Jon but, on spotting the cigarette in his mouth, her smile died. Their eyes met and with a sigh Jon pulled the cigarette from his lips. 'Bad day, all right?'
'Here,' she said and gestured him inside. They walked along the side of a table scattered with a layer of mouldering food scraps, old tea bags and crumpled packaging. 'What's up?'
'Another body has just been found.'
'Oh, Jesus.' She picked up her handbag and took out a pack of chewing gum. 'Try one of these. I'm not sure about the flavour, but it's got to be better than going back to smoking.'
He conceded with a half smile and slid a stick from the pack. After popping it into his mouth, he said, 'What is it? Lemon flavour?'
Nikki looked at the pack and with a lofty tone said, 'Actually, it's citrus flavour with extracts of energy-giving guarana. Limited edition too, so count yourself lucky.'
Jon was shaking his head. 'What is it with these limited edition sweets? They were doing mint-flavoured Kit Kats the other day. Meddling with a classic. Go on, let's have a look.'
She handed him the pack and he looked at it with a cynical expression. Alongside the spiky yellow lettering spelling 'X-treme' was a yellow lightning bolt that zig-zagged down the ice-blue wrapper, its point entering a cartoon-style lemon sitting on a bed of what he guessed were guarana leaves. His eyes narrowed and he looked at the rubbish on the trestle tables.