Senseless, page 18
‘Hence the outdoor site visits,’ she said, reminding him of their very first conversation. ‘Sounds interesting.’
‘Not really,’ he replied, managing a small laugh. ‘But it means I don’t have to work in the office much.’
‘Not a people person then?’ she teased.
‘Depends on the person,’ he answered. ‘And you? How do you earn a living?’
‘Software engineer,’ she told him.
‘I have absolutely no idea what a software engineer does,’ he joked. ‘Fixing software problems, I assume.’
‘That’s about it.’ She smiled. ‘Very boring, but the pay is decent. I’m one of those people who had no idea what they wanted to do, so ended up just doing anything.’
‘No great calling then?’
‘No,’ she admitted. ‘I finished university and the job came up, so I took it. I get the feeling you didn’t grow up dreaming of becoming a wind-turbine engineer?’
‘Not exactly,’ he answered, imagining her horror if he told her about his dreams growing up.
‘So what did you want to be?’ she persisted.
‘Nothing really,’ was all he could think of to say as he cursed himself for not preparing for such obvious questions. He could have picked a specific career, researched it and planned an entire thread of conversation to see him through their first few minutes. ‘I didn’t want to go to university or anything,’ he managed to add. ‘I just wanted to leave home and be independent.’
‘When did you leave home?’ she asked.
‘When I was seventeen,’ he answered truthfully, without mentioning his home had been the care home.
‘That’s young,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you get on with your parents or something?’
‘My parents?’ he repeated, taken aback by another question he should have prepared for. ‘No. They were fine. Just wanted to make my own way in the world.’
‘Good for you,’ she told him. ‘Is London your home town?’
‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘East London mostly. Moved around a bit. You?’
‘I grew up in Southampton,’ she answered. ‘Nice place, but I wanted to get out. I went to university in London and never left.’
‘London’s all right, I suppose.’ He shrugged. ‘Where’s your office?’
‘Ealing,’ she told him. ‘Pretty easy to get to from here. Better than hiking into the City or West End every day. Where’s your office, when you have to go in?’
‘We have a head office in Croydon,’ he explained, relaxing more into un-engineered, natural conversation. ‘But I don’t have to go there much.’
‘Doesn’t look like many of us will be going into our offices for quite a while,’ she said, reminding him of the new rules of life.
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘Not for a while anyway.’
‘Imagine being stuck at home with a wife or husband and a couple of kids.’ She shook her head and gave a short laugh. ‘I’ve never been so happy to live on my own.’
‘Won’t you get lonely?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she quickly replied. ‘I’ll find a way to see friends and my sister lives in Hammersmith, so I’m sure we’ll have a few sneaky meetups. It’ll be tough not seeing Mum or Dad though. Will you be able to see your parents?’
‘No,’ he answered. ‘They’ve moved away.’
‘Brothers?’ she persisted to the point where normally he’d end the conversation and find a reason to leave, but with her he didn’t want to. ‘Sisters?’
‘No,’ he told her. ‘I’m an only child.’
‘Will you get lonely?’ she moved on. ‘Being on your own while this goes on?’
‘No,’ he said again. ‘I’m good on my own.’
‘So, you’re not planning on meeting that special woman?’ she said, seizing on it. ‘Living with somebody one day? Marriage? Kids?’
‘I didn’t say that.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s just not something I’ve thought about.’
‘Never?’ she asked. ‘Most people would have at least thought about it.’
‘I mean I’ve thought about it.’ He struggled to find an appropriate response, although her intrusions weren’t making him feel uncomfortable or threatened. ‘I just haven’t given it any serious thought. Never met the right person I suppose. I’ve had girlfriends, before you ask. Just nothing serious.’
‘Same.’ She shrugged. ‘Only with boyfriends. You know.’
‘Hard to believe,’ he told her. ‘I mean you’re very – attractive.’
‘Thank you.’ She looked at him and smiled. ‘It’s just so hard to meet the right person. I don’t really do pubs and bars and the whole internet dating thing turns me off and there’s certainly no one at work that’s ever interested me. Not that I’d ever mix business with pleasure anyway. London can be a lonely place. Despite ten million people living here.’
‘It can,’ he agreed, although loneliness was an alien concept to him. Growing up in a care home had deprived him of the sanctuary of solitude and made him crave it – never fearing it. He needed to be alone to pursue his lifelong desire to become as human as possible the only way he knew how. Until now. He looked at her from the corner of his eye – the sun turning her hair white gold and her perfect skin into a translucent silk and it was then that true fear, a primaeval fear born of the threat of destruction he hadn’t felt since he was a small child trying to survive the cruelty of his situation, struck him in the heart. A fear he thought he’d long ago forgotten. Now it was back.
‘I still love it here though,’ she replied.
He realised all the thoughts he’d just had had happened in a split second. His supremely evolved survival instinct screamed at him to run away – to flee from her, but he couldn’t. ‘If you have to be somewhere,’ he conjured a reply. ‘Might as well be here.’
‘That’s one way of looking at it,’ she replied as they continued to walk and talk, as if he was just another ordinary man.
Geoff Jackson waited in his car close to the address in Sutton that his contact in the Probation Service had provided him for Brian Cramer. The information had been expensive and he needed it to pay off or his editor would never authorise it as an expense and he’d be out of pocket. A flat in Soho and a younger girlfriend didn’t come cheap. He picked up the photograph of Cramer from the passenger seat and examined it to further burn his image into his mind. It was an older photo, but he was confident the likeness would be good enough. After a long wait, he finally saw a man walking towards him that could be Cramer, making him drop the picture and grab his camera, complete with telescopic lens. As he focused in on the man’s face, he was sure it was indeed Cramer, although he was slimmer and his hair longer. He quickly rattled off a series of shots as the camera’s motor whirred, before tossing it on the driver’s seat, covering it with the photo and jumping out of the car. He locked the car with the remote as he headed for the approaching Cramer and swapped it for his mobile phone, turning its camera to video and pressing record. Cramer seemed to sense danger as he swerved to keep his distance, increasing his walking speed, but Jackson was quickly after him, breaking into a slight jog to catch him, shamelessly pointing his recording phone into his face.
‘Brian?’ Jackson asked. ‘Brian Cramer?’
‘Who the hell are you?’ Cramer demanded angrily.
‘Geoff Jackson,’ he proudly told him. ‘Chief Crime Correspondent for The World newspaper. You are Brian Cramer, right?’
‘Fuck off,’ Cramer replied.
‘The same Brian Cramer who was arrested for the murder of Lucy Harris out by Heathrow?’ Jackson said, ignoring his demand.
‘Get your damn phone out of my face,’ Cramer insisted as he kept walking fast.
‘Why did you murder her?’ Jackson persisted in his rapid-fire style.
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Cramer told him.
‘Do you deny it?’ Jackson asked. ‘If you deny it, I’m happy to tell the British public you do.’
‘Leave me alone,’ Cramer snarled.
‘So you don’t deny it?’ Jackson said, trying to trip him up.
‘I’m not telling you anything,’ Cramer insisted. ‘Now go away before I have you sacked for harassment.’
‘Just doing my job,’ Jackson argued. ‘The British public have the right to know the truth. They have the right to know if there’s a murderer living amongst them.’
‘I’ve read that rag you call a newspaper,’ Cramer told him. ‘You don’t give a shit about anybody’s rights.’
‘Why do you torture them, Mr Cramer?’ he surprised him. ‘Why do you slash them before killing them?’
Cramer stopped dead in his tracks. ‘Where the hell are you getting your information from? Is it the police?’
‘That’s confidential.’ Jackson smiled.
‘Bastards,’ Cramer said. ‘I knew it. Stay away from me, Jackson or whoever you said you are, or I won’t be responsible for what happens.’
Jackson didn’t follow him as he stormed off. He let him go, watching him as he put distance between them, a wry smile on his face. He was very pleased with himself. The first contact had gone just as he’d hoped it would.
Chapter Seventeen
Jameson had got home late by most people’s standards, but he felt fortunate to have just made it back before his daughter had gone to bed. Neither of them had eaten yet, so he made them a late dinner which they sat eating in the small but ordered kitchen of their terraced house in Teddington.
‘This is nice,’ Jenny told him after swallowing her first mouthful.
‘Thanks,’ he replied before taking a large sip of red wine – the mere anticipation of the dulling effects of alcohol to come making him immediately relax, although he knew he’d need a few more glasses to block the case from his mind and allow him to sleep properly later.
‘I wasn’t expecting you back so soon,’ she added cheerfully.
‘I sneaked away.’ He winked at her. ‘They think I’m following up on a lead.’
‘Might you have to go back in?’ she asked, sounding a little worried. ‘Tonight?’
‘Only if something major happens,’ he assured her. ‘But otherwise, no.’
‘Good,’ she told him, not trying to hide her relief.
‘And what about you?’ he asked, picking up on it. ‘Can’t be easy being here on your own all day?’
‘It’s okay.’ She shrugged. ‘The weather’s good, so I go meet friends for a walk most days.’
‘A friend,’ he reminded her. ‘You’re only supposed to meet with a friend.’
‘Oh yeah,’ she grinned, ‘that’s what I meant.’
‘Just be careful,’ he warned her.
‘But everyone’s saying it’s not even dangerous for young people,’ she argued. ‘Why can’t we just carry on as normal?’
‘I guess they don’t know for sure yet,’ he explained. ‘When they do things will probably change. Get you all back to school. It’s not good for young people to be isolated.’
‘I’m not,’ she assured him. ‘When I’m not out I’m on social media with my friends. It’s not that different from before. Only we don’t have to go to school.’
‘Oh yes you do,’ he reminded her. ‘Your laptop’s not just for chatting with your pals. You’re supposed to be doing your schoolwork on it. Online lessons. Remember?’
‘I only have a couple of them a day,’ she insisted. ‘School haven’t got everything worked out yet.’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘I don’t suppose they have.’
Jenny finished her mouthful of food before speaking again. ‘If we’d stayed in New Zealand we might not have had to go into lockdown. Apparently, it hasn’t reached them.’
‘It will,’ he told her. ‘It’s an island in the middle of the Pacific, at the end of the day. They can isolate themselves better than most, but it’s probably already there. They just don’t know it yet.’
‘I guess,’ she agreed unenthusiastically, losing interest in the conversation. ‘It would be easier if Mum was still here. She was always so organised and positive. She’d have us all believing Covid was a good thing, somehow.’
‘Yes,’ he smiled, ‘she probably would.’
‘I still really miss her,’ Jenny told him.
‘You will.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s not been that long. Not really. I think we’ll both always miss her, but she’d want us to get on with life. She wouldn’t want to see us moping around.’
‘We’re not,’ she reminded him.
‘No,’ he agreed before taking another good sip of wine. ‘We’re not.’
There were a few seconds of silence before Jenny spoke again. ‘You going to tell me about your new case?’
‘No,’ he answered flatly. He didn’t want even thoughts of the man he hunted anywhere near her.
‘Is it the man that’s been on TV?’ she asked, undeterred. ‘The one they’re saying you’re investigating? I can’t remember his name.’
He’d seen the pictures of Cramer on TV and seen the small print in the bottom corner of the screen accrediting and copyrighting the footage to Jackson. Clearly the journalist had a contact in the police. Maybe even on his team. He wasn’t surprised, but it meant Jackson wasn’t to be underestimated. ‘That’s one of the people were looking at,’ he admitted.
‘Did he do it?’ she pressed.
‘I can’t discuss it,’ he said, trying to dissuade her.
‘The TV says he’s killed two women,’ she continued. ‘They say the attacks were bad.’
‘I won’t discuss it with you,’ he insisted.
‘I can handle it,’ she argued. ‘Besides, the TV has already said what happened to them.’
‘They didn’t give the details,’ he reminded her. ‘They’re not allowed to.’
‘But you can tell me,’ she persisted. ‘I won’t tell anyone.’
‘Why do you even want to know these things?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged and looked down. ‘Maybe it’s after what almost happened to me in Auckland. When I hear about things like this, I just want to know more.’
‘Is it because you’re afraid?’ he asked. ‘Worried they’re going to come after you somehow?’
‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged again. ‘I mean, I know they won’t, but it brings back memories. It’s like I want to know about them because it makes them less scary. Reminds me they’re just sick people. Not monsters.’
‘I understand that,’ he told her. ‘But knowing the details of crimes like these aren’t healthy for you. Especially for you.’
‘He’ll keep on killing though, won’t he,’ she said, surprising him. ‘I’ve learnt enough from you to know that.’
‘No he won’t,’ he insisted.
‘How can you know that?’ she asked. ‘How can you be sure?’
‘Because I’m going to find him,’ he told her, his eyes narrowing slightly and his lips thinning. ‘I’m going to stop him.’
‘Well, I suppose that’s what you do,’ she replied, almost regretfully.
‘Yeah,’ he agreed. ‘That’s what I do.’
Martin Thomas was at home alone reading a copy of The World he’d bought from the petrol station on his way back from a site visit. He never usually bought any newspapers, but he saw the front-page headline was about the search for the killer and couldn’t resist finding out what they were saying about him. He was initially amused to see they were now calling him The Werewolf, but the more he read the more he liked the name. It gave him a sense of power. Made him believe that other people were now beginning to take notice of him and of how special he had become, although he had no desire to show himself to the world that was clearly in awe of him. He could smell the fear of the people seeping from the pages of the newspaper and it pleased him.
The papers were calling him The Werewolf because of the strange marks found on the victims’ bodies, although they weren’t specific about details, even if they did make it obvious that they’d been mutilated in some way, hence the tabloid name they’d given him. He wondered how they’d found out such details and assumed the police must have told them. But surely they would have withheld the exact details? He understood they usually did that so they could eliminate crazy people who sometimes came forward to claim the crimes as their own, only to be dismissed when they couldn’t give exact details of the murder. He shook his head at the madness of normal people who would no doubt consider him insane for the things he’d done.
As he read deeper into the article, he discovered that the police had actually arrested someone on suspicion of committing the killings and had even gone as far as to name him. Brian Cramer. It even said that he lived in Sutton. Again, he was surprised at how much information the journalist had, leading him to the conclusion that he was either trusted by the investigating team or he had a police informant. Either way, it didn’t matter to him, but it was something he needed to be aware of. He checked for the name of the journalist and found it easily enough, just above the beginning of the first paragraph, along with a photograph of Jackson. He would take time to learn all he could about him. Information was power and he never knew when he might need it to eliminate any risks.
He ran his finger along Cramer’s printed name, as delighted as he could be that the police had arrested the wrong man. Their incompetence made him feel even more powerful and untouchable – as if he was in total control of a giant game with him as the puppet master at its centre. He felt a slight smile spreading across his lips as his body tensed and stirred with one of the few pleasurable physical feelings his broken body could feel. An animalistic feeling he hadn’t really felt since meeting Sophie and it was a bonus he wasn’t expecting from merely reading a newspaper article. He quickly connected his phone to the TV and was about to play footage of the second killing when his phone began to ring. The caller ID told him it was Sophie, immediately wiping away his more basic desires as all he could think about now was her. He felt real excitement and tangible fear for one of the few times in his entire adult life as he prepared himself to act. After a few seconds he’d composed himself just enough to answer, unwilling to push it any longer and risk her hanging up. He slid his finger across the screen and spoke. ‘Hello.’
