Talking to Strangers, page 23
“No,” Elise replies. “It looks like he went equipped with the drugs last night. He’s done this before.”
I shiver and wrap my arms around myself.
“Can you describe his vehicle?” Elise asks.
“Er, it was silver, I think. Quite small. It smelled of old cigarettes and a vanilla air freshener. Look, I’m sorry, I should have taken more notice on that first date, but it was dark and I was…”
“Distracted,” Elise says. “I understand. Look, I’ll come back after the doctor’s seen you. But I need to arrange for officers to search your house—it looks like Rob took you home afterward. Your body is the crime scene, but he may well have left other evidence in the house. We could be lucky. This man may be on our system. And we’ve got the voice recording to nail him when we find him.”
The police have downloaded the recording and the messages and photographs Rob sent, and I feel sick at the thought of strangers looking at them.
I start to cry again. It is all becoming too real.
“I haven’t told my mum yet,” I weep. “Let me ring her first, please. I don’t want Pip upset.”
“Make sure she gets a morning-after pill in case he didn’t use a condom,” I hear Elise murmur to the doctor as they cross paths in the doorway.
* * *
—
Mum gulps along with me when I phone from the police station and tell the tale.
“Oh, love,” she whispers. And we both go.
“I don’t want Pip to know anything about it,” I say when we quieten. “Will you pick her up from school and take her to yours? Just tell her I’ve had to go on a job? This is my mess and I’ll deal with it.”
“You should never have gone on those dates,” Ma says, as I knew she would. My stomach curdles, and I can taste vomit-stained regret at the back of my throat.
“Don’t say that,” I tell her. “This is down to the man who put roofies in my drink so he could rape me. This isn’t my fault.”
* * *
—
When I finally get home, the police have been and gone, but it feels like I’m being gaslighted. The kettle has been plugged into the wrong socket. The book I left on my bedside table is now on the dressing table, and my toothbrush is missing.
I flop down on the stripped bed and switch my phone back on. There are no new texts—none since I got in the police car—and I wonder if he knows I’ve reported him. If he’s out there, watching me…
I jump up and peer around the curtain into the empty street below. No one there. I cry with relief and make myself walk downstairs. I wince as I place my feet—I’m still tender from the swabbing. And the embers of my earlier anger catch and flare. He has done this. He has turned me into this frightened, weeping wreck. And Elise said he’d done it before. There are other women just like me, jumping at every sound, trying to scrub him off their bodies.
I sit on the stairs, clinging to the banister. I just want to go to bed and sleep but I can’t. I need to stoke my anger up to keep me afloat. I’m going to write my way through this. Use my voice. And find those other victims.
TUESDAY:
DAY 11
FIFTY-EIGHT
ANNIE
Tuesday, February 25, 2020
Annie had been unable to breathe when he’d said the name. She’d made him repeat it three times. But each time, her brain had rejected it as impossible.
Karen Simmons. Dead Karen.
In the silent hours that followed, Annie had kept finding herself searching for the moment it had happened. Had their eyes met in the mirror as she trimmed his hair? Or in the Neptune on one of Henry’s boys’ nights out? Or had Henry sought her out? Karen had been pretty and bubbly. Shiny hair and makeup. Not weighed down by two rowdy boys who sucked the energy—and love—out of her. Henry must have basked in that kind of attention.
He’d said he hadn’t existed in their house. That she’d failed him. That was how he’d squared it with himself.
And maybe he was right. Perhaps she had driven him into Karen’s arms. My fault.
Annie was moving around the sitting room, straightening pictures and plumping cushions on autopilot. Sleety rain was hitting the window, and she’d had to put the main light on to see what she was doing. There was no other sound in the house. Henry had gone off to work first thing without saying a word.
They hadn’t spoken since Monday morning. Henry had moved into Xander’s room. Snoring like he had a right to sleep while Annie fought her pillow in the early hours. He’d got it off his chest, she supposed, and probably felt cleansed somehow by his confession. But now it sat on her, crushing her, tormenting her with a slideshow of imagined encounters between Henry and the woman he’d planned to abandon her for.
* * *
—
She was pretending to read a book in the sitting room when he walked back in hours later, and she didn’t look up. But Karen was immediately in the room with them. Annie suddenly wondered who else knew. She cast around her memories for knowing looks or sniggers from the people they’d lived among in Ebbing. Maybe he’d told his mates at work? She burned at the thought. It made her jump up and march into the kitchen and stand in front of him.
“Did everyone but me know?” she said.
His head jerked up. “No, of course not.”
“Did you see her again?”
“No.” Henry’s breathing became ragged as his distress built, but she wouldn’t let him off. “Archie dying changed everything. I had to be here for you and Xander.”
“Had to?”
“Wanted to be. Needed to be. And then Gav came along, of course.”
“In a way, I wish you had left,” she gasped. “Our life’s been a lie, hasn’t it?”
Henry got up and came round the table. “What do you want me to do, Annie?” he said, taking hold of her shoulders. “I don’t know what you want.”
“I want to get rid of all the dishonesty,” she said. But didn’t know how. There were too many layers. And she was scared to dig too far down, in case there had never been anything there in the first place. No foundations. Just echoing emptiness.
“Okay,” he murmured, and Annie could hear the relief in his voice. “We’ll talk more. Do more things together as a couple. We’ll go out tonight if you like. Look, I’ll just pop out and get the car washed before my appointments tomorrow. Is that all right?”
Annie just looked at him. He clearly thought that was it. He’d drawn a line under it and was getting back to domestic chores, back to normal. How could he do that? Slice and dice his life so nothing mattered for longer than a day?
“No, Henry. Not all right,” she snapped. “We should tell the police about your affair with Karen.”
His arm dropped to his side and he stepped back. “What are you talking about? Why? It’s ancient history. Do you really want the boys to know? Do you want to destroy our family all over again?”
What he meant was: What sort of a mother would she be if she wanted to do that? How could Annie argue against that? He knew her weakness. He was too clever for her.
Annie looked at the man she’d loved for what felt like forever. And had never really known.
FIFTY-NINE
KIKI
Tuesday, February 25, 2020
Miles won’t take his eyes off his screen, so I invade his personal space and start to hum annoyingly until he tuts and looks up.
“Have you read it?” I ask. He nods and looks back at his computer.
“Miles!” I croak. “Sorry, but it is so bloody rude. I’m talking to you.”
My news editor pushes his chair backward and begins chewing at a thumbnail.
“I don’t know what you expect me to say,” he mutters, unable to meet my eye. “It’s horrible. Why did you let it happen?”
“Er, I was drugged, Miles.” I whirl his chair around to face me. “I didn’t let anything happen. I was raped.”
He blinks at the word and swallows hard, the muscles in his throat struggling against the emotion.
“No, no, I get that,” he murmurs. “But why do you want everyone to know?”
“I don’t. But I have to, because this isn’t just happening to me. Don’t you get it? Lots of other women—and men, actually—are having dangerous experiences with online dating. Bloody hell, Karen Simmons was murdered. People need to be warned.”
“It’s just it’s a bit meta—and does that work for our demographic?” Miles edges his chair backward away from me and seeks refuge in impenetrable exec-speak.
“Welcome to the real world,” I say, hating the catch in my voice. “Look, you asked me to write about middle-aged dating to reach a new audience, do you remember? And now I have.”
Miles blinks. “But, Kiki, I think you’ll regret it,” he says. And undoes me.
“Sod it, I’ll put it out there myself,” I sob as I walk out the door.
* * *
—
Miles rings a couple of hours later. I almost don’t answer but pick up on the fifth ring.
“Are you okay?” he says, all gruff and out of his comfort zone. “I was a bit worried, that’s all.”
“No, of course I’m not,” I growl. “But thank you for asking,” I add grudgingly.
He clears his throat, and I imagine that throbbing Adam’s apple. “I’m sorry if I came across as unsympathetic—I was just really shocked it had happened. I guess I’m finding it hard to deal with. Look, please will you change your mind and come back?” he says, his voice running through the register as if it is breaking all over again.
He’s only twenty-four, I tell myself. The closest he’s knowingly come to a rape victim is probably in a two-hundred-word news story.
“I need some time, Miles,” I murmur. “But I will come back.” I’m making it sound like a magnanimous gesture, but the truth is I’ll have to—I need the monthly salary to pay the bills, never mind ski trips and branded trainers for Pip.
“That’s great.” He breathes out his relief. “Oh, so, probably not the moment, but just so you know, I’ve got some new intel for you on the BOBs in Ebbing.”
“Have you?” I know I sound flat, but I just can’t rouse myself. I’m losing power, and the last of my energy is focused on simply keeping myself upright. But my weakness lets Rob back in and I flash back to setting out to meet him like a lamb to the slaughter. I can see his face. That tight smile. The moment when he must have decided and reached for the roofies or GHB to put me in my place. Remembering makes me feel as if I am being pushed, inescapably, toward the edge of a dark hole. And then I fall.
I jerk back into the room, and Miles is still burbling in my ear. “Yes, I think the Captain works in a bar. He’s posted about creating cocktails with porno names.”
I try to respond, but I’m suddenly too tired to even hold my phone up and have to lie down on the kitchen floor with it beside my ear.
“Okay, thank you, Miles,” I murmur. “I’ll call you in the morning.”
I roll onto my back and force myself to think about the rest of the day. But it swamps me. Okay, just the next hour. I’m wondering if I can make it to the shower when I suddenly give a silent scream. The Captain is Barry Sherman, isn’t he? The smirking Barry Sherman. He and the rest of the Band of Brothers are out there. Two of them still faceless. And Rob’s tight smile suddenly looms back up to taunt me. Oh, God, is Rob one of them? Is he Deadpool or Bear? Was he lying in wait for me on the app? Hunting down the REPORTER BITCH to teach me a lesson. To stop me.
I kneel, then lever myself up as if in slow motion. Up. Don’t let this sink you. Keep going. I sound as if I’m shouting from the coach’s bench.
In the shower, I pretend to be rinsing Rob off for the last time and dress in my favorite jeans and jumper. I look like me in the mirror when I make myself stand there. “Chin up!” I mouth. It’s a mistake. It’s what my dad used to say when things went wrong, and tears burn my eyes. No! I command. Find Rob!
You should ask Barry, the reporter murmurs from somewhere deep within me. He must know.
I pick up my car keys and drive straight to the Lobster Shack. I find Sherman lounging in his office chair with a whitening gum-shield in.
“Hello, Captain,” I say. And his eyes go dead.
“I’ve been reading your posts about having sex with Karen. Two out of five seems unnecessarily cruel. Even X-Man gave her a three.”
“For Christ’s sake,” he splutters after yanking out the device in a shower of saliva and gel. “Okay, I had sex with Karen. So what? It was very occasionally.”
“I see.”
“There was no relationship,” he hurries on. “It was just sex. And she was happy with that.”
“Was she?”
Sherman stares at me defiantly and spreads his thighs. “Who are you, anyway? Some nobody reporter, poking your nose in everywhere. It’s none of your bloody business. I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“Did you ask Karen to pose for Lenny? For one of his photo sessions?” I plunge on—nothing can stop me now—and Sherman blinks nervously.
“I don’t know who you mean,” he mutters and looks away.
“Sorry, should have used his real name. Noel Clayton.”
Sherman’s face sags. “Look, I hardly know the man,” he blusters. “I buy the occasional tube of superglue from his place.”
“Come on! You swap indecent photos with him. I’ve seen your posts online,” I say, holding his eye. “The chats with Eamonn, Lenny, and X-Man. I know who you really are. But who are Bear and Deadpool?”
He flushes a deep red and clamps his legs back together. “No idea. It’s just a bit of fun,” he squeaks. “We’re all consenting adults.”
“Well, that’s good. What about Karen? Did she consent?”
He rears up from his chair. “She wasn’t interested. End of. I had nothing to do with her death—and you have no right to ask these questions.”
“Perhaps the police will want to.”
“Get out!” he bellows.
I do. I sit in my car where I know he can see me and phone Elise.
“Hello, how are you doing?” she says.
“I’m waiting for the tests to come back to make sure Rob hasn’t given me an STD as a bonus,” I say, fighting down the bubble of emotion rising out of my chest.
“That must be bloody hard,” Elise says, and the sliver of kindness almost tips me over.
“I’m working and that’s helping,” I say too loudly.
“Are you? What sort of work?” I can picture her eyes narrowing.
“I’ve tracked down a group of six men who discussed Karen in intimate and degrading detail,” I say quickly.
“Bloody hell,” I hear her mutter under her breath. “Who are they?”
“They go by anonymous nicknames online—but I’ve been on dates with a couple of them and got a lucky break. I’ve identified four of them.”
“Dates?” Elise sounds appalled. “Is Rob one of them?”
“I don’t know,” I say quietly. “But I think he might be. Look,” I plead my case, “I needed to get into the group, and going undercover was the fastest way.”
“The most dangerous way, given what happened to Karen.” And you hangs in the air between us.
“Kiki, you need to step back from this,” she rasps. “For your own good. This is way too close to what you have been through.” Her exasperation rings through every word.
“I can’t just lie on the floor and wait. I need to be doing something.”
“I get that,” she says quietly.
“Okay. So two of them live in Ebbing.”
“Christ on a bicycle!” Elise explodes. “Who are they?”
“Noel Clayton and Barry Sherman,” I say. And there is silence on the other end of the line.
“How long have you known this?” Elise eventually growls.
“Clayton—a few days ago. I was going to come to you earlier but then…” I trail off. “And I confirmed Sherman just now. Just before he threw me out of his bar.”
“Right, I’ll get the team to bring both of them in. What about five and six—the ones you haven’t identified?”
“Deadpool and Bear,” I say, and I hear the whoosh as she sucks in her breath.
“Bear?” she barks. “Are you sure? Have you got any information on him?”
“Er, yeah, I’m sure, and no, no info,” I mutter. She’s already looking for him, isn’t she? “Why? Do you know who he is?”
“Not yet,” she says.
“I’m on it,” I say, adrenaline spiking.
“No, we’re on it,” Elise snaps.
“Of course,” I say with my fingers crossed. She’s right, but how can I? Finding Rob may save my sanity. I can’t have him out there. Circling. Watching.
SIXTY
ELISE
Tuesday, February 25, 2020
Elise’s headache throbbed in her left temple. The team had been briefed, and cars were picking up Sherman and Clayton. She needed to digest the details of Kiki’s information properly before they got there. But she couldn’t settle to it.
Kiki’s rape had affected her more than she’d expected. It had felt intensely personal for a second when she’d looked into Kiki’s devastated eyes. Elise had quickly pulled back to professional concern, but inside, she was angrier than was healthy. She ought to let Caro take the lead on this. Give herself some space. She had Karen to think of.
Elise fished for paracetamol in her top drawer, dry-swallowed the tablets, and immediately regretted it. The taste made her gag, and she raced to the ladies.
