Eye Snatcher (17 page)

“You made your thoughts perfectly clear with your reaction the other night.”

Brian knocked the empty cereal bowl to the kitchen floor. Sent the pottery crumbling all over the place. His cheeks were hot. His neck was itching. He leaned against the kitchen worktop and stared at the black granite surface. “How many weeks are you?”

Hannah paused for a moment, then said: “Six weeks.”

“Six weeks? Is that when we last screwed?”

“Oh don’t be such a dick about this Brian. This is exactly why I didn’t want to talk about it. Anyway, it’s done now. The decision’s been made. I’m not having this baby.”

Brian turned back and looked at Hannah. Saw the way she was typing on the computer, not really typing but just tapping for show. “You’ve started the abortion process?”

She kept her eyes on the screen. “Yes.”

Nausea filled Brian’s body. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Hannah’s decision. Logistically, having a kid was a bad idea considering how distant they’d both been lately. But then again, that could be exactly the reason why they
should
have one. It could bring them together again. Take things back to how they were.

He took in a deep breath. Steadied himself, like the therapist told him to. Cleared his thoughts, emptied his mind of all noise. “I respect your decision. Have a good day.”

He smiled at Hannah and walked out of the kitchen.

He stopped when he got to the kitchen door. Stopped, wanted to turn around and tell Hannah how much he loved her, how much she meant to him. How much he’d always love her.

But his phone vibrated in his pocket like it always bloody did, dammit.

He lifted it out. Put it to his ear. “Yeah?”

“Brian,” Brad said. “You want to get down to work right now. It’s about the Eye Snatcher.”

“The—”

“It’s what the papers are calling him. You on your way?”

Brian turned around and looked at Hannah while she tapped away on her laptop. He wanted to stay. Stay and talk things through with her. Talk things through, like adults. “I’ll be there in… in an hour or so. Any word on Patrick’s DNA at the scenes? Conclusive evidence?”

“We’ve got another body,” Brad said. “Another girl. And she went missing last night. After Patrick Selter died.”

A wave of sickliness battered against Brian. He felt the sides of his mouth dropping, felt the heat draining from his face. “I’ll be right there,” he said.

Baby talk would have to wait.

Brian pushed open the rickety, rotting door to the apartment block where the third body had been found and immediately wished he hadn’t eaten his Weetabix that morning.

The block was just outside of town in a quiet little suburban area. A lot of kids hung around here—cycled around at night, went in abandoned old flats to smoke pot.

Abandoned old flats like this one.

Brian stepped in through the door. He felt glass cracking underneath his shoes. Behind him, he could hear the chatter of fellow officers, of concerned members of the public all gathering around to see what was going on. The snap of journalists’ cameras and people’s phones lit up the darkened hallway.

“Who found her?” Brian asked.

Brad followed him into the cramped little hall area. “Few kids were cycling around here this morning. Saw an open door and one of them goes in to hide from his friends. Finds her like this. The puke you just stepped in is his.”

Brian lifted his foot. Stickiness on his favourite Timberland shoes, and the sour smell of sick. “Fuck.”

He looked to the left, where the lounge door was ajar. He didn’t have to look far to see the Janie Doe.

She was just like the others. That familiarity about her—the way she was leaning against the wall. Tears of blood had poured down her fair-skinned cheeks from her bloodied eye sockets. On her lap, the contents of her sliced-up insides rested. She sat in a coppery pool of her own blood. The smell of her emptied bowels combined with the sick from the guy who found her was inescapable, no matter how much aftershave Brian sprayed onto his sleeve or Vaseline he rubbed under his nose.

“Janine Ainscough,” Brad said. “Aged twelve.”

Brian stepped closer to Janine. “How do you know her name already?”

“Name tag in her coat,” Brad said.

Brian looked at the blue mac she was wearing. Saw the washed-out ink on the little label poking from her neck. “Contacted the parents?”

“They contacted us. Said their little girl didn’t come home last night. And although she likes staying out late, she always comes home. Always.”

Brian looked at the holes in her eye sockets, blood and bone fragment visibly chopped at. “She’s not naked. Not like the others.”

“Panties and jeans missing. Just left us with a coat.”

“Why would he do that?” Brian asked.

“Who?”

“The killer. Why would he leave anything that might trace back to him somehow?”

Brad sighed. Crouched down beside Brian and stared at the girl with glassy detachment. “Maybe he’s getting confident. After what happened with Patrick Selter.”

The name made Brian’s stomach lurch. He was wondering how long it would be before Brad, or anyone, brought up that elephant in the room. Patrick Selter plunged to his death yesterday. Patrick Selter, who was seen leaving the Booths toilets where Beth Turner’s butchered body was found. Patrick Selter, who was a notorious child-porn filming paedophile. Patrick Selter, who had Beth Turner’s earring in his possession. Who lived just down the road from Sam Betts.

“Patrick Selter was involved somehow,” Brian said. He leaned around the side of Janine Ainscough. Peeked at her ear, tried not to see her as a human but as a model or something. Anything to keep the distance between them. “Just because another kid is dead doesn’t mean Patrick Selter wasn’t involved.”

Brad shuffled from side to side a little. Looked down at the dusty, bloody floor.

“What?”

His eyes met Brian’s. He sighed. “What it
does
mean is he isn’t the Eye Snatcher.”

“Can you not call him that, please?”

“Whatever. You’ll be calling him that in no time too. It just… All this. It means we’re back to square one. The Selter route, I’m not sure how much further that’s gonna lead us. We’re back to the beginning.”

Brian slipped on some prosthetic gloves and moved some of Janine Ainscough’s sweat-drenched blonde hair from in front of her right ear. “Not quite back to the beginning,” he said.

He didn’t have to say any more to Brad. He knew Brad understood. “The earring. Right.” A silver one in her left ear, none in her right.

“Our killer likes jewellery.”

“A lot of people like jewellery.”

Brian disregarded Brad’s quips. “Sam Betts’ ear piercing was found across the road from where Adrian West frequents. Beth Turner’s earring was found on the mattress of Patrick Selter’s little sex dungeon. Our killer likes collecting, but he also likes dropping them. Leaving little breadcrumbs for some reason. If we can find Janine’s earring, it’ll give us something else. Something big.”

“All fair and well saying that, but we’ve no clue where Janine’s earring is.”

Brian grunted in acknowledgement. Brad had a point. The earring might be something. It might lead them somewhere. But all they had right now were mights and maybes.

“Patrick Selter’s porn stash. Some of the officers need to go through those. If Beth Turner or Sam Betts or this girl are in those tapes, we know we’re onto something. And if anyone else is in those tapes, we know we need to go have a chat with them.”

Brian stood up. Stepped away from Janine Ainscough’s body. He couldn’t bring himself to stay here and stare at it for much longer. He made his way towards the doorway, towards the gathered crowd of police and people. Forensics were just arriving, so now they could do their part on the scene, but after the lack of evidence at the previous two murder scenes, Brian wasn’t holding out much hope.

“Shotgun
not
going through any of those tapes,” Brad said, disgust on his face.

Brian nodded in agreement. “I’m with you there. We need to question those close to Janine Ainscough, too. Her parents. Her friends. We need to find out where she was when she went missing. The sooner we can find that out, the sooner we can—”

“My daughter knows something! She saw something! She saw something!”

The police were struggling to hold a man with a gelled-up quiff of brown hair back. He was wearing a white shirt, which was unbuttoned at the top. Looked like a lawyer who enjoyed a few too many drinks on his lunch break.

Brad inhaled a lungful of the exhaust-fume-filled outdoor air. “I was gonna suggest some brunch, but after seeing that, I’m not so sure now.”

Brian focused on this guy as the police held him back, pushed him away. He looked eager. Desperate to share something. “Hold on a sec.”

He rushed down the steps of the derelict council flat and crossed under the police line.

“Let go of him,” Brian said to the short, stocky officer holding him back.

“But—”

“Just let go,” Brian said. “Don’t make me remind you of your bloody rank.”

The officer sighed. Let go of the man and lifted his hands.

Brian stepped up to the man. “What’s this you’re saying about your daughter?”

The man looked back at Brian with quivering lips, tired eyes. Smelled of booze. So he was right about the daytime drinking. “My daughter. My—my Harri. She’s her best friend. She’s…”

“You said your daughter knows something,” Brian said.

The man wiped some sleep out of his eyes. Nodded fast. “She… she was out playing with Janine last night and—and she—she saw him. She saw the man.”

“Which man?” Brian asked.

More quivering of this guy’s lips. “The man in the car outside our house. The—the man who was watching them play. The man who killed these children.”

Harri Johnson was sitting at her kitchen table with an untouched glass of orange juice in front of her.

Her dad, Stan Johnson, put a hand on Brian’s shoulder. “Go easy on her. Please. She’s… Janine’s her best friend. She’s mortified.”

Brian looked Stan in his tired, worried eyes. Nodded. Walked in through the kitchen doorway, leaving Brad outside to contact the department about getting CCTV for the surrounding area. Besides, Brian didn’t want Harri intimidated. One police officer was intimidating enough. Two was just painful, especially with what had happened to her best friend.

Harri looked up when Brian entered the well-lit kitchen area. She was wearing a blue hoodie and a black school skirt, with dark shoes on underneath. She looked pale, washed out. Safe to say she wasn’t going to school today—and who could blame her?

“Harri, is it?” Brian asked. He stopped in the middle of the white and black tiled kitchen floor.

Harri nodded. Fidgeted with her hands at the circular, light wood table.

“Harri, I’m Brian. Brian McDone. I’m a detective from down at the police station. Can I sit down?”

Harri looked at the vacant chair opposite Brian. Eyed it up, weighed up whether she should allow Brian into her comfort zone. That was the key with kids—make them feel secure and in control, always. Losing a friend to murder was a lot for anyone to go through, let alone a twelve-year-old, so Brian had to appreciate that. Respect that.

Harri nodded, and Brian pulled the chair back and sat down.

He rested his hands on the table. Tried not to stare at Harri, or freak her out in any way. Instead, he looked around the kitchen for some kind of talking point. Looked at the bird calendar by the patio door. Looked out at the yard, where a basketball net dangled, worn and lifeless. Looked at the opposite side of the kitchen, where a little white hamster ran around on its cage wheel.

“That hamster yours?” Brian asked.

Harri nodded. Her eyes drifted away. She rubbed her hands. “He’s called Snowy.”

“Snowy. Nice name. I used to have a hamster. Want to know what her name was?”

Harri eyed Brian up unsure, then nodded.

“Hamster. Original, huh?”

Harri showed a flicker of a smile. Well, that was something at least.

Brian cleared his throat and leaned closer to Harri. “Harri, I… I’m very sorry about Janine. Really, I am. I have a kid your age. Davey. So I… I’m sorry.”

Harri’s expression dropped. Redness filled her eyes. “She… she should’ve walked me home. She should’ve… should’ve stayed at mine.”

“You, erm… Your dad. He tells me you saw something last night. Saw someone.”

“I was out playing with—with Janine and Stacey’s gang,” she said. “At… It was late. Half eleven. Too late. And… and I wanted them to walk me home because Stacey and the others were on bikes, but they didn’t. And I… I saw him outside the house.”

Her eyes widened. She gripped the edge of the table tighter.

“It’s okay, Harri. You’re here in your home now. You’re safe. I promise. This man, what did he… did you see his face?”

Harri nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again. “Yes. No. I… I saw him in the car. He was—he was bald, I think.”

Brian thought about Harri’s words. The bald man in the car outside her house on Walton Road. Walton Road, which was just around the corner from Long Lane, where Janine Ainscough was found. “And what was it about this man that made you feel… well. How did he make you feel?”

Harri stared beyond Brian. Shook with fear, squeezed her hands together. “Just the… Everything was quiet. The whole road was quiet. And—and he was in his car. The lights were bright. And I thought he was watching me but… but when I looked back I realised he wasn’t watching me. He was watching Stacey and… he was watching Janine. All the way down the road, he was watching Janine.”

Her voice went croaky and she started to sob.

Brian reached over and patted her on her shoulder and she flinched. From the hallway, Brian heard the creaking footsteps of Stan Johnson, no doubt listening in to check Brian wasn’t pushing his daughter too much.

“Is there anything else you remember about the car?” Brian asked. “Or… or about the man in the car? Anything at all?”

Janine’s sobs turned into full blown chesty cries. “I… I don’t know. I just want… I just want Janine back. I just want my best friend back.”