‘I’ve got a date with Emilia Garanita.’
83
Emilia Garanita cast her eye over yesterday’s front page again. She had been allowed so few headlines recently – she was sure the editor was punishing her for her disloyalty – that she allowed herself to wallow in this one. It was a good cover with a great photo – the fluttering police cordon and then not one, but two crime scenes beyond it in the near and middle distance. It captured the magnitude of the crime perfectly, the bleakness of the beach and the loneliness of the graves serving to underline the fact that once more Hampshire Police were hunting a serial killer. Emilia had felt that old excitement when writing the copy – finally a major story to sink her teeth into.
Emilia lowered the paper to find Helen Grace walking towards her. It was a moment of pure serendipity that momentarily struck her dumb: Southampton Central’s hunter-in-chief striding towards her, fresh from the investigation. In the past, Emilia would have greeted her with sarcasm and snide innuendo, but not now. She ushered Helen into the vacant editor’s office, shutting the door behind her.
‘I need your help.’
As usual, her former adversary cut to the chase. Despite their difficult past, Emilia was the first to admit that she and Helen Grace shared some attributes. Women working in male-dominated industries, they both possessed a directness and courage that others of their sex lacked.
‘Happy to do whatever I can,’ Emilia replied breezily.
‘We need to better understand the significance of a tattoo that is present on all three victims.’
‘The bluebird tattoo,’ Emilia responded.
‘Exactly. We haven’t been able to link it to any previous victims or offenders. So it could be a dead end. It may even be a ruse, designed to throw us off the scent.’
Emilia nodded sagely, swallowing a smile. Helen Grace had never been this open with her before about an ongoing investigation. Was she worried this time? Stumped? Or was this the start of a rapprochement in their relationship?
‘Or,’ Helen continued, ‘it may be significant. If it is, then odds on there is someone out there who knows what it means. Who saw it on a friend or colleague or family member. I know it’s a long shot, but presuming the killer lives locally, we were hoping the Evening News might go big on this. Capture the attention of the public -’
‘And rattle the killer too?’
‘Perhaps.’
So much and no more. Emilia was enjoying being back in the game.
‘I’ll talk to my editor but I know he’ll be happy to help. This is a big public-interest story.’
And a juicy one too, Emilia thought, but didn’t say.
Helen left shortly afterwards, the rough approach having been agreed between them. Emilia knew that usually this would be a job for media liaison, but Helen had come to her personally. Had her past vendetta against Helen been erased from her rap sheet? Emilia felt the old excitement returning. This could play well for her at the paper – and, who knows, perhaps beyond – so as Emilia sat at her desk, next leader article already half written, she made a silent vow to ride this story as hard as she could.
84
Ruby hadn’t slept a wink all night. She had been exhausted by her efforts and under normal consequences would have sparked out, but hope and adrenaline were keeping her awake. Time was elastic down here – she imagined the minutes and hours passing steadily but had no idea what time it really was. So she tried to stop herself counting and think of other things.
She thought of things she would do when she was free. All the dreams she had postponed out of fear, insecurity or lack of resources. To hell with hesitation now. Silly as it was, she pictured herself in Tokyo. She had always wanted to go to Japan. Why, she couldn’t say, but she had once gone as far as buying a Teach Yourself Japanese CD and had listened to it religiously one summer. She had forgotten almost all of it of course, but there were some words she retained. She still loved the sound of them. On-ay-guy-shee-mass. Kon-eech-ee-wa. She smiled to herself as she rolled the words around her mouth, enjoying their familiarity.
Movement upstairs. A sound, then another. Was it morning? It could just be him wandering around. He wasn’t a good sleeper and she heard him walking around at all hours. But the fact that he had been silent for so long gave her hope that the night had finally passed.
This was it then. Ruby clutched her weapon a little tighter. She would only get one shot at this, so she would have to get it right. Stupidly she found herself smiling again, excitement overcoming caution. Was she crazy to hope? Could it all end so simply? She tried to quell her sense of anticipation – to fail now would be too much to bear – but she couldn’t help it. She had won his trust. She had the element of surprise. And something inside was telling her that she would be home by nightfall.
85
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. A slick, rust-coloured patch of damp stared back at him. He took in its contours, its shadings of colour, and saw in its form a million different things – an island, a cloud, a sailing boat, a unicorn. He was amused at his eccentricity, lying in bed dreaming up nonsense when there was so much to be done, but he made no attempt to stop. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself the luxury of happiness – why not indulge himself?
How dark and unremitting his life had been since Summer left. How had he endured so many years of misery and loneliness? It seemed crazy to think now that he had survived more than a decade without her. He had been ripped apart by her desertion of him and he blushed still at the thought of his younger self cradling Summer in his arms, slapping her face to wake her. He had been unable to speak for a month after it happened, mute with shock at this sudden betrayal. He was surprised to find that, even now, if he really concentrated he could summon the distinctive, acrid smell of the vomit that had coated her that night.
His first thought on realizing she had left him was to kill himself. It was the obvious thing to do and there had been many points since when he’d regretted losing his nerve. He had gone to a DIY store and bought everything he needed, but when it came to the crunch, something held him back. At the time he rationalized this as Summer intervening, pulling him back from the brink. But now he wondered if it was just plain cowardice. He didn’t know whether it was a sign of strength or disloyalty that he was still breathing. Still trying to be happy.
Many were the times since then that he had lain in this bed and imagined himself back there. When he thought of that space – their small attic room with the ill-fitting floorboards and rotting joists – he always pictured himself as being horizontal. Lying on his tummy, spying through the floorboards at the goings on below, or lying on his back with Summer, staring at the ceiling, imagining themselves anywhere but there.
There was so much junk in that small room – left by the previous occupants – and he and Summer had made a little sanctuary for themselves out of the discarded objects. A roll of musty carpet, an old tea chest, an old-fashioned doll’s house, a saggy beanbag – they made a little circle of them and hid in the middle, safe from the world, cocooned in secrecy and love. They had read of fairy circles and lucky charms. They had liked the idea so much they had stolen a well-thumbed book from the library – laughing like idiots as they outran the fat librarian – and then, plucking nonsense fantasy words from it, they had cast spells over their little circle, hoping to render it secure and impregnable.
Once safe, they had turned their attention to the toys within the magic circle. They stole valuable items from Dixons – Gameboys – as well as books, dolls and Top Trumps from other children – but oddly the thing they kept coming back to was the doll’s house. They had inherited it in poor condition. The plastic windowpanes were long gone and there were childish scribblings in biro on the roof that wouldn’t come off however hard they scrubbed. But for all that they loved it, not least because inside were two small figures. One dressed in pink, one dressed in blue.