LITMIR.BIZ

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do you think Luke saw it differently to Sarah?’

      ‘Does it matter?’ she asked.

      ‘Maybe. It can't be a lover's rage if it was just a fling.’

      ‘Are you in love, Jack?’

      I found myself about to say no, I didn't know why, like I'd been caught off-guard, but then I stopped myself and asked her why she wanted to know.

      ‘You're a man, Jack,’ Katie continued. ‘When have you ever told your friends that you loved a woman? I don't mean find attractive, or wanted to fuck, or whatever. I mean told a friend that you truly loved a woman?’

      I didn't answer when I realised that she was right. And Callum too. That living up to being a man is all about the conquests, not the losses.

      ‘Sarah was in love,’ she said, her voice low and soft. ‘She talked about Luke all the time, like she was making plans. If Luke thought differently, well, that was his choice. He wouldn't be the first man to say I love you and not mean it.’

      ‘So that's it then?’ I said incredulously. ‘This all happened because Sarah loved Luke, but he didn't respond? Was she that unpredictable?’

      Katie pulled at some strands of hair, twisting it between her fingers before letting it fall to her head. ‘Some people are like that,’ she said. ‘Great fun when things are going well, but she could be nasty and hurtful, very hot-tempered.’

      ‘A lot of people snap,’ I said, ‘but they don't all plunge knives into their boyfriend's chest. They'd just been in bed together. It seems quite a leap.’

      ‘I wasn't there when it happened, so I wouldn't know,’ Katie said, and she sounded hurt, like I was pushing it too much. Then she sighed. ‘I've never seen a dead body before,’ she said quietly, and she dabbed her nose with her sleeve, like a nervous reaction, her cuff over her hand. ‘He was just sort of splayed out,’ she continued, although I was surprised at the evenness of her voice. ‘There was this knife, just there, sticking out, with blood all over the bed. I've never seen so much blood before.’

      ‘What did you do?’

      Katie gave a small laugh, embarrassed. ‘It sounds stupid now, but I called an ambulance. I don't know why, I could tell he was dead, but it was like an automatic reaction. When they came, they called the police.’ She rested her elbow on the car door and looked at me, her eyes filled with worry. ‘I'm scared, Jack.’

      ‘You've no need to be,’ I replied.

      ‘Because you're here?’ She shuffled closer towards me and put her hand on my leg. ‘You seem like a kind man.’ Her eyes stared into mine. Before I could answer, she said quietly, ‘Hold me.’

      I was surprised, her touch unexpected. I closed my eyes, knowing that I had to end it as her hand stroked my leg. An image of Laura flashed into my head, and I took hold of Katie's hand.

      ‘It's okay,’ she said softly, ‘it doesn't mean anything.’

      ‘It would mean something to me,’ I said firmly, and lifted her hand from my leg.

      ‘I just needed someone to be there for me,’ she said, sounding hurt. ‘I'm sorry. Just forget it.’

      ‘No, no, it's not like that,’ I protested, feeling guilty now. ‘It's just, well…’

      ‘You might get caught?’ She shook her head. ‘Like I said, it doesn't matter,’ and then she reached for the door handle.

      ‘Don't,’ I said, too quickly.

      Katie turned around, a half-smile on her lips. ‘What is it?’

      ‘I just want to finish the story,’ I said. ‘There are more things I want to know.’

      ‘Call me then, so we can spend more time together,’ Katie replied, flirting, and then she opened the door and stepped onto the pavement.

      I leaned across the passenger seat and asked, ‘Do you think Sarah killed him?’

      Katie leaned into the car. ‘Who else could it be?’

      ‘If Sarah had killed Luke and run away,’ I replied, ‘she would go somewhere she felt safe, maybe a favourite holiday place, or with friends who didn't know about Luke. Did Sarah ever talk about anywhere away from Blackley?’

      ‘Everyone in Blackley dreams of being somewhere else,’ she said.

      ‘Except that not everyone leaves,’ I responded. ‘So did she talk of anywhere else?’

      Katie shook her head. ‘She's nearby.’

      ‘How do you know?’

      Katie looked round, seemed worried that someone might be listening, and then whispered, ‘She has written to me.’

      I was shocked. ‘What do you mean?’

      She gave me a knowing smile. ‘Just that,’ she said. ‘I've been getting letters from Sarah.’

      ‘There's been nothing in the papers about that,’ I said.

      ‘The police are keeping them quiet, and they told me not to say anything about them,’ she replied.

      I knew that sounded right. It was the sort of thing that the police would keep back, they had done ever since the Yorkshire Ripper tapes misled everyone and allowed Peter Sutcliffe to kill more women.

      ‘What do they say?’ I asked.

      Katie shook her head at me. ‘Give me a call, Jack Garrett, and you might just find out,’ she said, and then she walked away, her bag swinging in her hand.

      I jumped out of the car and shouted, ‘Wait!’, but Katie just kept on walking.

      I watched her go, intrigued. I wanted to know more, I knew that, but I wondered what risks came with that, from the story and from Katie.

       Chapter Fourteen

      Blackley police station was on the edge of the town centre, in an old Victorian building next to the court, with steps to the front door and Roman arches over the windows. The interior showed its age, as paint flaked from the walls and cold draughts blew along the corridors. That would all be changing soon. The police were moving to a new-build station on the edge of Blackley, so the station was filled with boxes and crates as officers packed up exhibits and personal effects.

      Laura was at the custody desk in its basement, a high wooden counter with dingy lighting and posters advertising prisoners' rights. The sergeant was hovering over a clipboard, watching Laura's prisoner count his change, making sure that he couldn't accuse anyone of stealing from him, before he got him to sign the custody record. An end to another fruitless day, thought Laura.

      ‘There'll always be another time,’ growled Pete.

      ‘You said that last time,’ came the reply, the prisoner smirking as he threaded his belt around his waist.

      Laura placed her hand on Pete's arm as she saw him tense, but then she saw someone through the glass in the custody door. DCI Karl Carson.

      He was hard to miss, a large man in a lilac shirt and navy trousers, his tie bright purple, knotted large, like he had lost count when doing the final loop. His bald dome glowed bright pink, more scrubbed than shaved, his face just the same, with not even the trace of eyebrows to break up the shine. Laura knew his name, and his reputation had been whispered around the station when the murder squad moved in. Ruthless and rule-bending, sometimes arrogant, but he had a squad of eager young men devoted to him, knowing that Carson got results, either through sheer persistence, or often by persuading witnesses to talk to him when they had resisted the polite way, his squad happy to swap their social lives for long hours of overtime and the occasional glimpse of the spotlight.

      Laura

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