Flashes: Part Three Read online

  ‘It has something to do with the death of that girl, doesn’t it?’

  I looked at him and nodded.

  ‘Charley, this has got to stop,’ he said, his voice softer.

  ‘What has?’

  ‘You’ve got to stop running around the countryside trying to solve these crimes,’ he sighed. ‘It’s not your responsibility. And not only that, you could be putting yourself in danger.’

  ‘How?’ I asked.

  ‘Charley,’ he said. ‘You’re stuck in the middle of nowhere, late at night, in a blizzard, with no way home!’

  ‘I’m not in any danger,’ I said, not wanting to admit to myself how dumb I’d been.

  ‘Not in any danger?’ Dad sighed. ‘What if you’d slipped out here in the snow and broken a leg? What would have happened to you then? No one knows you’re out here. You would’ve had to lie in the snow all night long and the chances are you would’ve frozen to death. Did you even consider that?’

  ‘No,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘But I had to come out here, Dad. I had to.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘You know why. To prove to you and everyone else that what I see in my flashes is real.’

  ‘I do believe you,’ he said, coming closer.

  ‘Really?’ I whispered with surprise. ‘You’re just saying that.’

  ‘Let’s just go home and talk about it in the warm, Charley,’ he said.

  ‘But you don’t believe that Mum’s death is connected to what has happened to these girls, do you?’ I asked him, and with every step he took closer to me, the atmosphere in the shack became more oppressive.

  ‘Your mum committed suicide,’ he said.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I’ve already told you,’ he said, his voice almost soothing. ‘On the railway tracks.’

  ‘Where exactly?’

  ‘Just at the bottom of this hill.’

  ‘And you still don’t think that all of this is connected?’ I asked, tears standing in my eyes at the realisation my mum had died near here too. ‘Don’t you see, Dad? This man could have been involved in Mum’s death as well.’ Tears trickled down my face. Dad took one of my hands in his, and gently squeezed it.

  My head jerked backwards.

  Flash! Flash! Flash!

  A small child sitting in a car nearby. The sound of crying. Looking through a window. The rundown chimney just visible through the trees in the distance.

  Flash!

  The images disappeared as quickly as they had come and my brain felt as if it was spinning inside my skull.

  ‘Charley, are you okay?’ Dad asked me, releasing my hand. ‘You’re seeing something, aren’t you?’

  ‘I saw the child again,’ I whispered.

  ‘Child?’ he asked, and took my hand again.

  Flash! Flash!

  I could see the train. It was screaming towards me. No, it was the woman screaming, the woman whose eyes I was seeing through. She was making such a hideous noise. She stood, locked by fear. Rigid. Unmoveable.

  Flash! Flash! Flash!

  ‘What did you see?’ my father asked, sounding concerned. ‘Did you see him? Did you see his face?’

  ‘No,’ I whispered, shaking my head. ‘But I will see it. I know I will.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ he asked.

  ‘Kerry’s close by, that’s why the flashes are coming,’ I told him, looking into his eyes.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Kerry is close,’ I whispered, rummaging for my phone. I pulled it out, waiting for her call. ‘She told me to meet her here. She’s going to lead me to her killer.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ he snapped.

  ‘I must text her and tell her I’m here, that I’m waiting for her,’ I said, starting to type.

  ‘Stop that!’ Dad tried to snatch the phone.

  ‘No!’ I cried, pulling away from him.

  The phone started to buzz. Someone was trying to connect with me. Not via text, or phone, but by facetime. I hit the connect button. The screen flickered, green, black, then blue.

  I waved the phone in the air, desperate for a better connection. Then I saw her. Her face was faint, but she was there. It was Kerry staring back at me from the iPhone screen. It was the face I had seen in my flashes. Kerry’s eyes were dark and round, her skin pale, translucent. Blackness framed her face as she peered out of the darkness at me. I looked into the phone, my heart racing, feeling sick with fright.

  ‘I’m here, Kerry. I want to know now. Who was it? Who was it who killed you?’ I said.

  The screen flickered and for a moment she was gone. I shook the phone in frustration and she reappeared.

  ‘Who was it, Kerry?’ I urged, fearing I’d lose her again. ‘Who killed Alice and Natalie?’ The taste of decay washed over my tongue and down the back of my throat. I swallowed hard. ‘Who killed you?’ I begged her.

  Earth escaped from her mouth and tumbled over her chin, ‘Look behind you, Charley.’

  The screen went black.

  Very slowly, heart thumping, I turned around and looked at my father.

  CHAPTER 34

  Tom – Wednesday: 23:48 Hrs.

  After making Lois her third cup of coffee of the shift, Jackson grunted, ‘I’m going for a smoke. If you want another coffee, I’ll be in the yard.’

  Once he’d gone, Lois picked up the telephone and looked meaningfully at me. ‘Are you phoning his alibi?’ I said. She nodded.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit late to be calling her now?’

  ‘Not my problem,’ she shrugged, punching the numbers into the phone. ‘The Guv says he wants her checked out, so I’m checking her out.’

  I turned away and tried to make myself look busy, but I couldn’t help but listen to what Lois was saying. Even though I was only privy to a one-sided conversation, I got the feeling that whoever this Michelle was, she was extremely embarrassed by the questions Lois asked her. It was obvious from what I could hear, that Jackson had been telling the truth.

  My heart sank. Not because I wanted it to be Jackson who had taken Kerry and the other girls, but because the real killer was still at large.

  Lois finished her phone call, hung up, and without saying anything, went into Harker’s office and closed the door. I sat and drummed my fingers on the desk, then decided to go back to the briefing room and check the rosters pinned on the wall there, to see who else had been on duty that night.

  I was just about to leave the office when I heard the fax machine buzz in the corner and a stream of paper began to print. I crossed the office and picked up the print-out. It didn’t take me more than a moment to realise it was the list of calls and texts sent and received from Kerry Underwood’s phone.

  With my eyes growing wide, I could see that several messages had been sent to and from the phone since her death. Then, with my heart racing, I realised the messages had been sent to and from the same number. It was a number I knew. It was Charley’s number.

  ‘What in hell is going on?’ I said aloud, trying to make sense of what I was reading. ‘How could Kerry be sending texts when she’s dead?’

  With my head spinning and my knees feeling as if they were going to buckle at any moment, I read the last few messages that had been shared between Charley and Kerry. Whoever had texted Charley had told her to follow the lights. A feeling of dread crept over me; I felt I might just stop breathing at any moment. It couldn’t have been the dead girl texting Charley. Charley must’ve been communicating with the killer, and now he was waiting up at the derelict house for her.

  The sheet of paper slipped from my fingers. With my heart racing, I felt unable to move, as if my shoes had been nailed to the floor. All I could think of was Charley making her way up to the shack in the dark and not knowing the danger she was in or who was waiting for her there.

  Think!

  Then, pulling my phone from my pocket, I frantically searched through my contacts and dialled Charley. Nothing! The line
was dead.

  ‘Bloody phone!’ I roared, throwing it across the office.

  It bounced off the wall, its plastic shell shattering. But before it had even hit the floor, I was racing from the office.

  I barged through the swing doors into the briefing room, snatched a set of keys from the wall and headed to the yard. The snow was still falling and looked something close to a blizzard. Shielding my eyes with my hands, I cut across the yard to the last remaining marked vehicle. I dived inside and turned on the engine. The windscreen was covered with snow and even though I had switched on the wipers they were groaning beneath the weight of it.

  ‘For Christ’s sake!’ I cried, climbing from the car. With my bare hands, I started scraping the windscreen. My fingers were soon glowing like raw lumps of meat.

  ‘What’s your problem?’ I heard someone shout.

  I looked up to see Jackson shivering in the smokers’ corner. The tip of his cigarette winked on and off in the dark as he puffed.

  ‘Give me a hand over here!’ I shouted.

  ‘And why should I help you, exactly?’ Jackson called back. I didn’t need to look up to know he would have that stupid-looking grin plastered across his arrogant face. ‘I thought you were top-cop around here. I didn’t think you needed help from anyone?’

  ‘He’s got Charley!’ I shouted, scooping handfuls of snow from the windscreen of the police car.

  ‘Charley who?’ he said, sounding disinterested.

  I had cleared enough of the snow to be able to see my way, so I climbed back into the car. I looked at Jackson, ‘Just do one thing for me – tell Harker there is going to be another death on the tracks tonight!’

  ‘How can there be?’ he grinned back at me from the gloom. ‘The prime suspect is standing right here having a smoke.’

  ‘Screw you, Jackson,’ I said under my breath and sped away as fast as the icy ground would allow me.

  The wind howled as snow pelted the side of the police car. Several times, I felt the back wheels of the car spin uncontrollably, and then grip the road again.

  ‘Please! C’mon! Please!’ I screamed, slamming my hands against the steering wheel. This was all wrong. I had to get to the derelict house, and fast.

  CHAPTER 35

  Charley – Thursday: 00:03 Hrs.

  The wind screamed around the roof of the house. Over my father’s shoulder, I could see the snow falling so heavily now it was impossible to see any more than just a few inches into the night. It was like the outside world had been smothered – cut off.

  ‘You?’ I gasped, unable to catch my breath. My heart felt like a lump of lead in my chest. ‘Did you kill Kerry . . . Natalie . . . the others?’

  ‘So what if I did? I’m still your father, aren’t I?’ he shrugged, a smile creeping over his face like a shadow. He looked smug, pleased with himself.

  ‘Please Dad,’ I breathed. ‘What are you saying? You’re scaring me.’

  ‘There’s no reason to be scared,’ he smiled again. ‘I’m not a monster. In fact I’m quite a genius.’

  ‘Genius?’ I gasped.

  ‘I had it all figured out,’ he said, his voice eerily calm. ‘See, Charley, I had to bring Kerry here first. Very important part of the plan. Kerry couldn’t have got onto the tracks too soon or the police might have wondered how she got there so quickly. Clever isn’t it? I know how these coppers think, you see. There wouldn’t have been enough time for her to have walked from the pub. That would have meant she came up here by car and that would have led to ques—’

  ‘Stop it, Dad,’ I cried. ‘You’re making this up. Why are you saying this?’

  ‘Oh, Charley,’ he said, reaching forward and stroking my hair with his fingers. In that instant, I pictured the hand from my flashes reaching out and stroking Kerry’s cheek as she lay on the tracks. I flinched backwards. I didn’t want him to touch me. ‘It’s not so bad,’ he whispered.

  ‘Not so bad?’ I whimpered, my lower lip beginning to tremble. ‘You killed Kerry . . . you killed Natalie?’

  ‘No, I didn’t kill Natalie here,’ he smiled wistfully. ‘Two girl’s deaths in the same place in just a few weeks? No, no, no.’ He shook his head and tutted. ‘That would never do.’

  I couldn’t believe how calculated he had been. It was like he had planned each of his murders with a callous precision. They hadn’t been the random acts of a madman like you see in the movies or on TV. Perhaps that made him worse than mad. Perhaps his cold calmness made him evil . . .

  ‘I took her to that other place. That little outhouse you stumbled across after dashing away from her funeral,’ he said, rubbing his hands together in delight ‘There was a mattress for her to lie on and everything. It was perfect.’

  ‘Why?’ I mumbled, numbed by what he was telling me.

  ‘Natalie didn’t like me,’ he said. ‘I didn’t like the way she used to look at me. It was like she didn’t trust me. I couldn’t have that. Then, that night, she called for a cab . . .’

  ‘And you picked her up,’ I said, all the parts slowly falling into place. ‘She would have got into the car because she did trust you. But instead of driving Natalie to our house, you killed her.’

  ‘No, don’t you see the beauty of it, Charley?’ he said hopping from foot to foot with excitement. ‘I didn’t kill her – I didn’t kill any of them. It wasn’t like I strangled them, beat them, cut them in two . . .’

  ‘Stop it!’ I screamed, covering my ears with my hands. I didn’t want to hear him. For as long as I could muffle his voice, then he was still my dad, not the killer he wanted to confess to being.

  ‘Listen to me,’ he whispered, pulling my hands from the side of my head and holding me close.

  ‘Get off me,’ I screeched, slapping at him. ‘You’re lying.’

  He let go of me. ‘Charley, you know what I’m saying is true. It was only going to be a matter of time before you saw me in those flashes. I couldn’t let you find out like that. It’s only fair that you heard it from me first. See, I was trying to protect you all along and you got mad at me because I locked you in your room. Tut, tut,’ he smiled, wagging his finger at me as if I were a naughty little girl.

  ‘Have you lost your mind?’ I cried. ‘Do you think that by not killing them with your own hands that it makes it all right? That it makes it better?’ I looked at him through the darkness. ‘Dad, you’re a murderer. However you try and justify it – you killed Natalie, Kerry and all the others. You laid them on those tracks. None of them would have been on those tracks if it hadn’t been for you.’

  He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. ‘Maybe you’re right, Charley. But you don’t understand the power.’

  ‘Power?’ I gasped. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Ever killed a spider?’ he suddenly said.

  ‘What?’ I asked, shaking my head in confusion.

  ‘Ever killed an insect?’

  ‘I guess,’ I mumbled.

  ‘As a kid, I killed hundreds of them.’ He spoke as if he was giving confession to a priest. ‘I pulled their legs off and watched them wriggle around on their bellies. Ripped their wings off and laughed as they tried to fly away from me. I had an ant farm as a boy, filled it with boiling water one day from the kettle.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’ I asked, my flesh crawling, as if those insects he had tortured had come back to haunt me.

  ‘Because you know when you stamp on that spider, swat that fly, Charley, did you ever feel the slightest bit of guilt?’ he asked. ‘Of course you didn’t. Who does? It’s an insect, right? But it was still a living thing. And I used to wonder about that a lot as a boy. It kept me awake at night. Then, I got to wondering if they knew they were going to die. Did they have thoughts? Did they feel the same fear we would just moments from our death?’

  ‘Dad, please . . .’ I begged.

  ‘Then one day, I came across a big fat ginger tomcat lying in the gutter,’ he said, his voice taking on a dreamy quality. ‘It had been
hit by a car, I think. It was covered in blood and dirt, and its back legs were twitching . . .’

  ‘Please . . .’

  ‘Shhh, Charley, you need to understand,’ he soothed, placing his forefinger against my lips. ‘The cat’s eyes were open and it was looking at me and I wondered if it knew it was dying. Like those insects, did the cat know it was so close to death? Does a cat have any concept of death – of dying? There was a rock nearby . . .’

  ‘Please stop,’ I sobbed.

  ‘Shhh,’ he soothed again, slowly drawing his finger down the length of my cheek.

  I shuddered at his touch as he continued, lost in his own madness. ‘And as I brought that rock down, I looked into its eyes and could see that it understood. To take that creature’s life was power. It was a rush. But it wasn’t enough. And as time passed, I couldn’t forget those feelings of power. I started to wonder what it would be like to kill a person. That would have to be more of a rush, right? Killing insects and animals was one thing, but to kill a human being was something different. That would be murder and that wasn’t allowed. To kill someone isn’t an easy thing. How do you dispose of the body? I read the newspapers as one killer after another got caught. Very few got away with it. Then one day, I was fourteen, I had gone walking with a friend along the cliffs near Land’s End. We were alone. There was no one else around. I coaxed him to come stand next to me on the edge of a steep cliff. As he looked down at the waves smashing and crashing against the rocks way below, I pushed him over the edge. I watched him bounce off the rocks, his body broken and twisted as it floated out to sea. Like any good friend, I raced for help. I raised the alarm. The coastguard dragged my friend’s body from the sea, while I sat and cried and was given tea and biscuits to help me get over the shock of seeing my friend fall to his death. No one ever suspected a thing. It was perfect. No one knew what I had done. I had got away with murder.

  ‘But then, many years later, what I had done came to light. My secret was discovered.’

  ‘Who by?’