Ready or Not, page 2
‘I hope so,’ Tom said. ‘But one way or another, I need some sleep.’
Alice
THIRD VICTIM RAISES FEAR OF SERIAL KILLER
By Alice Sark
The body of a 23-year-old male was discovered yesterday, at 9 p.m. The corpse had been concealed under a tarpaulin on a piece of waste ground near Appleton Thorn, in Warrington.
The victim – who has not been named – suffered serious head wounds which were confirmed by police as the cause of death. It is being treated as a suspicious death. No other details were forthcoming at this time.
If confirmed as a murder inquiry, the victim will be the third person killed in this manner in the Warrington area in the last four months. The body of Jane Kirkpatrick, 21, of Moston, Greater Manchester, was found under a bridge in Sankey Valley Park in April of this year. In June, the body of Amy Martin, a 31-year-old mother of two, was found in a field in Walton. Both were killed by blows to the head.
Although the latest victim is male, this has not stopped speculation that there is a serial killer at work. A spokesperson for Cheshire Police did not confirm or deny whether the force believed this to be the case, saying only that at this stage of the investigation ‘all possibilities are being considered’.
Alice read through the story. It had already had – in the hour since she had posted it – more comments and likes than any story she had ever written. People evidently loved serial killer stories, and they had a lot to say about them.
No doubt this is a serial killer. Has all the hallmarks.
Puts me in mind of the Ripper. Yorkshire variety, that is.
Bloody police need to find this bastard. Instead they’re too busy arresting parents for taking their kids on holiday. Typical.
None of them knew the first thing about what was going on, of course, but that didn’t stop them speculating; in fact, it had the opposite effect. It made them speculate more.
As she read the comments, more appeared. There really were a lot of people interested in this. She glanced at the clock. It was later than she’d thought; she was going to be late for Jo’s appointment at the doctor’s office.
She closed her laptop. She could read the comments later.
The doctor – Freya Quinn, Joanna’s paediatrician – pressed her stethoscope to Joanna’s chest. Alice watched as her daughter – already five months old, a fact that prompted everyone who met her to marvel at how quickly babies grew up – pawed at the instrument.
‘Now, now,’ Doctor Quinn said gently. ‘I need to listen to your heart. It won’t take long.’
Alice held Jo’s hands away from the stethoscope. The doctor concentrated for a few moments then smiled.
‘Sounds good,’ she said. ‘So. How is she?’ She consulted her notes. ‘Is she sleeping better? When I last saw her, your husband said she was struggling to settle at night?’
That didn’t quite cover it, but it was a start.
‘Not really,’ Alice said. ‘She goes down for a while but then she’s awake all night.’
‘All night?’
‘Pretty much. It’s like we’re in a movie. That’s what I say to my friends – we have the kid that you hear the nightmares about. I can’t believe it when I’m out at 2 a.m., driving her around’ – Alice shook her head – ‘it’s crazy.’
‘Have you tried letting her cry it out?’ the doctor asked.
‘We did. But she just cried. After an hour we – well, me mainly – couldn’t take it.’
‘Does she sleep during the day?’
‘Yes. I had to wake her up to bring her here. It’s really frustrating!’
The doctor nodded. ‘I went through the same,’ she said. ‘I have three, and the last one was allergic to sleep. At night, anyway. She was like a vampire – up all night and dead to the world all day.’
‘How did you cope?’
‘She eventually grew out of it. But not entirely. She’s sixteen now and she’s still a night owl. Children are who they are. You have to work with them.’
‘So we wait? It’s been a while. Some of the other mums I’ve met have babies who slept through the night from day one, which I can’t even imagine, but even the ones whose babies didn’t sleep well at first are through it now.’
‘Don’t compare yourself to other parents, if you can help it,’ Doctor Quinn said. ‘As I said, children have to find their own path, even at this age.’
‘So there’s nothing we can do? You don’t think there’s a problem?’
‘Not a serious one,’ the doctor said. ‘There could be something. Colic, maybe. An immature gut that causes her pain when digesting food.’
‘Someone suggested lactose intolerance?’ Alice said.
‘I don’t think so,’ Doctor Quinn replied. She consulted her notes once more. ‘Her weight gain is normal. But we could check.’
‘If it is colic, or an immature gut, what would we do about it?’
‘There’s not a lot you can do. It’s her digestive system developing. It can cause discomfort.’
‘And will it just get better?’
‘Normally it does.’ She reached for some plastic gloves and snapped them on, then adjusted her face shield. ‘But I’ll examine her.’
Doctor Quinn placed her right hand on the baby’s pale abdomen and gently palpated it with her fingers. She moved her hand around, her face fixed in concentration.
‘I don’t feel anything abnormal,’ she said. ‘And Joanna doesn’t seem to be experiencing any discomfort when I press on her stomach. She has normal movements?’
‘What’s normal?’ Alice said.
‘Same as for you, more or less. Not explosive, or persistent diarrhoea.’
Alice paused. Joanna’s nappies were hardly things of beauty, but she didn’t think they were anything to worry about, at least given what the doctor was saying.
‘Normal, I think,’ she said.
‘Then I think we can simply monitor her for now.’ Doctor Quinn started to popper up the onesie. Her nails were short and neat, her hands nimble and quick.
As she did up the second button Joanna twisted and her arm became exposed. Dr Quinn paused, and ran her finger along Joanna’s upper arm, then frowned and looked up at Alice.
‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘What’s that?’
‘What’s what?’ Alice said.
Dr Quinn leaned forward, slid Joanna’s arm out of the onesie and nestled it in her palm. She studied it for a moment, her expression watchful and concerned.
‘A bruise,’ she said slowly. ‘On her upper arm.’
She tilted Joanna into a sitting position and lifted her arm. She examined it, her forehead creased in a slight frown. There were two bruises, one on each side of her arm, dark against her pale skin. There was a long pause before she spoke.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘That’s a little unusual.’ The smile was still on her lips but the warmth was gone from her face. ‘It’s on both sides of her arm. Do you have any idea where it came from?’
Alice wanted to snatch her daughter from the doctor’s hands and run from the room. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I have no idea.’
‘Hmm.’ The silence settled between them. Dr Quinn studied Joanna’s arm more closely. She pushed her chair back to her desk and opened her notes. She flipped through the pages, then took a pen from a mug with World’s Best Aunt on it and started to write.
‘What is it?’ Alice said.
‘Just making a note,’ Dr Quinn replied. She scribbled some more words, then put the pen back in the mug and folded her arms. ‘You can dress her now.’
Alice put Joanna’s arm back in the onesie. She buttoned her up and held her on her lap.
‘So you have no idea how this bruise came about?’ Dr Quinn said. She picked up a cloth and wiped her face shield; there was a smudge on it where Joanna had grabbed at it.
‘I don’t,’ Alice said. ‘But – I mean, it’s a only a bruise.’
‘Bruises have causes,’ Dr Quinn said. ‘I’m wondering what that might be.’
‘Maybe she was falling and someone grabbed her,’ Alice said.
‘Did anyone mention something like that happening?’
‘No,’ Alice said.
‘And you don’t remember doing that?’ The doctor picked up the pen and wrote some more notes.
‘No. I would remember. I could ask Tom. He spends a lot of time with her. Or Martha.’
Dr Quinn glanced up at her. ‘Martha?’
‘She’s been helping out with child care. Now Tom’s back at work.’
‘Is she a nanny?’
‘Kind of. She’s a retired teacher. A ten-pound pom.’
‘A what?’
‘Her family emigrated to New Zealand in the sixties, when she was a teenager. They paid ten pounds – so they were called ten-pound poms.’
‘I see.’ Dr Quinn’s pen scratched over the paper. ‘And she’s been taking care of Joanna?’
‘Recently, yes. It’s possible there was an accident when she was with Jo. If that’s what happened, I’m sure it was no more than an accident,’ Alice said. ‘Or do you think—’ She left the question hanging, unasked.
‘I think the same as you. An accident. But you might want to check with your husband. And with Martha. Just to be sure.’
‘Thank you,’ Alice said. ‘I will.’
Tom
He had headed for the door at 4 p.m. It was – at least – two hours earlier than he would normally have left work, but his eyes were closing and he could barely concentrate. He felt like he’d pulled an all-nighter and was leaving at dawn; when he walked across the car park the warm afternoon sun felt bizarrely out of place.
At least his boss was OK with it. Carol had walked past his desk and asked how he was.
Hanging in there. Good, actually.
She’d laughed. I’d hate to see you when you’re in a bad way. Why don’t you wrap it up for the day? Go home and see that daughter of yours. And try to get some sleep.
He’d muttered something about finishing up before leaving, and then, about sixty seconds after she left his resolve broke and he shut down his laptop.
He approached the roundabout that fed onto the motorway. There were four lanes; it was confusing at the best of times, but his mind felt like it was gummed up with treacle and he struggled to process the information coming at him. He had driven home from a friend’s house once when he was drunk and it reminded him of that.
He blinked and forced himself to concentrate. It was easy to see how he could have an accident. Now he was back at work he really needed to get some rest.
He just didn’t think Joanna was going to care too much about that.
When he pulled up outside their terraced house he saw Alice’s dark blue Astra already there. He felt a surge of excitement at the thought he would see Jo – and Alice, too – in a few seconds. It was crazy that he had missed her so much when he’d seen her at eight that morning – and for most of the preceding night – but he did.
He opened the front door. The house was quiet, but he didn’t want to call out in case Jo or Alice was sleeping. He walked quietly down the hall and into the living room.
Alice was sitting on the couch, her phone in her hand.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Good day?’
‘Yeah, not bad.’ She patted the couch and he sat next to her. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. ‘You?’
‘A bit rough.’ He put his head on her shoulder. ‘I missed my girls.’
‘We missed you, too.’
She stroked his head and he closed his eyes.
‘God, I could go to sleep right now,’ he said. ‘At least I got out early. Carol told me to call it a day.’
‘That was nice of her.’
He looked around the room. ‘Where’s Jo?’
‘Sleeping. I put her down.’
‘I might have a nap myself.’
‘Me too.’ She held up her phone. ‘Big day tomorrow. I heard there’s a press conference I have to go to at nine. It’s about the murders. I think they may be about to confirm it’s a serial killer.’
‘Can you ask your buddy in the police? Get the story early?’
‘Nadia? I did. She wouldn’t confirm or deny. That’s what makes me suspicious. If there’s no news the police force is a like a sieve. They only stop talking when they’ve been told to.’
Tom crossed the room and went into the kitchen. He poured a glass of water. ‘That’s at nine?’ he called into the living room. ‘What’s the plan for Jo? Martha?’
Alice appeared in the doorway. ‘Yep. I called and she’s free.’ She hesitated. ‘We had the doctor’s appointment today.’
‘How was it? What did she say about the sleeping?’
‘She had a daughter who was the same. She thinks it’ll pass. But we should keep an eye on it.’
There was an awkwardness in the way she was speaking, a stilted, uncertain tone that made him pause.
‘Is everything OK?’ he asked.
‘There was one thing.’
His stomach clenched and his throat tightened. What was she going to tell him? His mind raced to a series of catastrophic conclusions in an instant. Some rare form of childhood cancer? A fatal disease with no cure? Some awful reason his daughter couldn’t sleep that would ruin her – and her parents’ – lives?
‘What is it?’ he said.
‘She – the doctor noticed a bruise—’
‘A bruise?’
‘—on her arm.’
‘Where on her arm?’
Alice touched the top of her bicep. ‘Here. On the front and the back. Like she’d been grabbed hard. Or pinched.’
Tom stared at her. ‘Pinched? How bad is the bruise?’
‘Not terrible. But it’s noticeable. Enough for the doctor to comment.’
‘Jesus. How did it happen?’
‘I don’t know. Dr Quinn asked me the same. I said maybe she’d been falling off a bed or couch and someone had grabbed her arm to stop her. I don’t remember anything like that, but I thought you might?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Are you saying I hurt her?’
Alice shook her head. ‘No! Of course not.’
‘It sounds like you might be.’
‘I’m not.’ She stood up and put her hand on his forearm. ‘I know you would never hurt her. I felt the same when the doctor was asking me. Like she was accusing me.’
‘It’s her job to look out for this stuff.’
‘I know. But it did make me wonder. The bruise came from somewhere, and if it isn’t you or me, then who?’
Tom leaned against the kitchen counter. ‘Not my mum. She would have said.’
‘No. Not her.’
He took a deep breath. ‘Martha?’
‘It could be. I mean, I’m sure it’s totally innocent. I’m sure there’s an explanation, but—’
‘We don’t know anything happened yet. Let’s not jump to conclusions.’
‘We know something happened. There’s a bruise. On both sides of her arm.’
‘I need to take a look.’
‘Let her sleep. You can look later. But trust me. It’s not nothing.’
‘Then what do we do?’ Tom said. ‘I don’t want to leave her with Martha if there’s any risk of something happening to her.’
‘Could you ask your mum?’
‘Not tomorrow. She’s taking Dad to the hospital for his chemo.’ He sat on the couch. ‘You think there’s any risk leaving her?’
Alice shook her head. ‘I’m sure she’ll be fine. If it was Martha there’ll be a simple explanation.’
‘You want me to talk to her tomorrow morning?’
‘I think so. I have to leave early. She’ll be here at 7.30.’
‘OK,’ Tom said. ‘It could have been from anything. I can’t believe Martha had anything to do with it. She would have said.’ He paused. ‘Maybe we’re being overprotective. Everyone’s still on edge after eighteen months of mask wearing and hand washing.’
‘It’s times like these I miss my parents,’ Alice said. ‘It’d be so much easier if we had them around to help.’
‘I know,’ Tom said.
‘I mean, they never even met Jo,’ Alice said, her eyes welling up.
They never even met me, Tom thought. But I don’t suppose the grief ever leaves you, however long ago something like that happened.
‘I miss them,’ she said. ‘I really miss them.’
‘I know,’ he said. He hugged her close. ‘But it’s going to be OK. Really, it is.’
Ambleside, July 2013
Alice
Alice laughed as Hendrik – a tall, Dutch student from Rotterdam – finished his story about a hapless hiking trip he and his friend, Donny had taken that day. It had been a mess from start to finish; they’d brought the wrong map, forgotten to pack rain clothes, got lost in a sudden fog, and then ended up miles from where they expected to be, and had to hitch-hike back to Ambleside, to the relative comforts of the youth hostel, where Alice – and Ned, her boyfriend – had met them.
‘But anyway,’ Hendrik finished. ‘That’s what I like about England. Whatever happens, every day we finish in the pub!’
‘Remind me not to go walking with you.’ The speaker was a girl, Clara. She was blonde and athletic and had a strong Yorkshire accent and went everywhere with her friend, Lizzie. ‘Although it does sound like an adventure.’
Donny nodded. He was shorter than Hendrik and very muscular, with a round, freckled face and cornflower blue eyes.
‘Tomorrow we go hiking again,’ he said. ‘It will be even more fun. You can come. And Lizzie, of course. Has anyone ever seen you two apart, by the way?’
‘No,’ Clara said. ‘Never been done. Where are you going?’
‘We’re going to that one you guys call Hell.’
‘Helvellyn?’ Ned, Alice’s boyfriend, leaned forward. ‘You’re going up Helvellyn?’
‘Yah. That’s it.’ Donny said. ‘That’s the one.’
‘You might want to be a bit better prepared. It’s a serious mountain.’
There was a brief, uncomfortable silence around the pub table. Alice and Ned had come to the Lake District for a holiday after graduating from university in Nottingham. On the first night they had met Hendrik, Donny, Clara, Lizzie, and a host of others in the youth hostel, and over the past few evenings had met up with them to eat or go to the pub. Alice enjoyed their company, enjoyed hearing the stories of their home countries, but Ned was less interested. The night before she had bumped into Clara and arranged to meet up, but Ned had insisted they go to a restaurant to spend some time together – after all, that was why they had come away.
