Dead Like You

123

I’ve started talking. Just for one reason, to get even with you, Detective Smug Superintendent Roy Grace.

It’s not great in here on the remand wing. People don’t like guys like me in this place. Nonces, they call us. I cut my tongue open on a piece of razor blade that was in my Irish stew. I hear rumours that people piss in my soup. One guy’s threatened to put my other eye out.

I’m told it will be better after my trial. Then if I’m lucky (ha) I’ll be put into the nonces’ wing, as it’s known. All of us sexual deviants together. How great will that be! Party-party-party!

Some nights I don’t sleep at all. I have all this anger everywhere – all around me in this place and deep inside me. I’m angry at whoever it was who did that rape on the ghost train. It meant that the pier was swarming with police afterwards, completely messing up my plans. It was all going so nicely until then. It just didn’t go nicely after that.

I’m angry that the bitch escaped the humiliation that she would have faced, being known as my wife. Something’s not right about that. Although I don’t really care and I don’t suppose anyone else does.

But I have even bigger anger inside me that is directed at you, Detective Superintendent Grace. You thought you were clever, telling the world about the size of my dick. You can’t be allowed to get away with something like that.

That’s why I’m talking now. I’m fessing-up to all the other times I raped and took the shoes. In particular the ghost train. You won’t be able to get me on any trick questions – word seems to have got around about all the crimes the Shoe Man perpetrated – the recent ones – every detail of what he did to the women. Including every detail of what happened in the ghost train.

So I’m briefed!

You didn’t understand why I changed my MO, from taking one shoe and panties to taking both shoes. You weren’t meant to understand, see? I wasn’t going to make your job easy for you by just repeating exactly the same stuff over again. Variety’s the spice of life, right?

I’m your man, all right! I’m just going to hope that the creep who raped that woman on the ghost train strikes again.

You’ll have egg all over your face, Detective Superintendent Grace.

And I’ll have a big grin on mine.

And who will have the smaller dick then?

124

Sunday 22 February

‘It’s good to see you relaxed, my darling,’ Cleo said.

It was the evening now. They’d spent the afternoon together, working on the wedding list. Roy Grace had his feet up, a glass of red wine in his hand, and was watching The Antiques Road Show, one of his favourite programmes. Most of all he enjoyed watching people as they were given the valuation of their treasured – or otherwise – heirloom. The look of astonishment when some tatty bowl they’d been using to feed the dog was valued at thousands. The look of dismay when some splendid painting, which had been in the family for generations, was pronounced a fake worth only a few quid.

‘Yep!’ He smiled and just wished he felt relaxed. But he didn’t. Doubt was still gnawing away at him, despite the Shoe Man having been caught. And there were still ripples from Starling’s wife’s suicide. He’d listened to the prison tape, where she’d talked about going home and topping herself. It had sounded like an idle threat. But then she had gone and done it. No note, nothing.

‘I mean,’ she said, gently lifting Humphrey out of the way and curling up next to him on the sofa, ‘as relaxed as you’re ever going to be.’

He shrugged, then nodded. ‘At least the Shoe Man’s had some comeuppance. He’s permanently blinded in one eye.’

‘How sad is that? Shame that young woman didn’t castrate him while she was at it,’ Cleo retorted. ‘All of his victims are maimed in some way and one’s dead.’

‘I just wish we knew who all of them are,’ he said. ‘He’s coughed, but I somehow don’t think he’s telling us everything. He’s one of the nastiest creeps I’ve ever come across. His home and office computers are full of weird shit. All kinds of foot- and shoe-fetish sites and chatlines – a lot of it sadistic. And he’s got a whole cocktail of sleeping and date-rape drugs in his office fridge.’

‘Is he going to plead guilty and spare his victims the ordeal of giving evidence?’

‘I don’t know. Depends on his brief – good old Ken Acott again. We’ve a ton of evidence against him. The lock-up’s in his name. We’ve found missing pages from the Shoe Man’s 1997 files in a safe in his office. There are links to Facebook and Twitter sites of some of his recent victims on his computer and iPhone. DNA evidence from Rachael Ryan’s body.’

He drank some wine.

‘But we’re going to have to wait for psychiatric evaluations as to whether he is fit to stand trial. Great! Garry Starling’s able to run one of the biggest companies in the city, to be vice-captain of his golf club and treasurer of his Rotary Club – but he might not be fit to stand trial! Our legal processes suck.’

Cleo smiled sympathetically. She understood some of his frustrations at the criminal justice system.

‘Jessie Sheldon should get a medal. How is she? Has she survived her ordeal OK?’

‘Remarkably well. I went to see her at home this afternoon. She’s had surgery on her ankle and hopefully it will be fine in time. In fact she seemed in very good spirits, considering. She’s looking forward to her wedding this summer.’

‘She was engaged?’

‘Apparently. She told me it was her determination to get married that kept her going.’

‘So don’t feel bad about his injury.’

‘I don’t. Not about his injury, no. I just don’t feel we’ve nailed it. Not completely.’

‘Because of those other shoes?’

‘I’m not so concerned about those. If we can get him to talk more, eventually, maybe we’ll clear those up.’

He sipped some more wine and glanced at the television.

‘Is it the one on the ghost train who’s bothering you? What’s her name?’

‘Mandy Thorpe. Yes. I still don’t believe it was the Shoe Man who raped her. Even though he says he did. The forensic psychologist is wrong, I’m still convinced.’

‘Meaning the perpetrator is still out there?’

‘Yes, that’s exactly the problem. If Proudfoot’s wrong, then he’s still out there. And might attack again.’

‘If he is out there, you’ll get him. One day.’

‘I want to get him before he attacks again.’

Cleo pouted her lips playfully. ‘You’re my hero, Detective Superintendent Grace. You’ll always get them eventually.’

‘In your dreams.’

‘No, not in my dreams. I’m a realist.’ She patted her tummy. ‘In about four months’ time, our little Bump is going to be born. I’m depending on you to make it a safe world for him – or her.’

He kissed her. ‘There are always going to be bad guys out there.’

‘And bad girls!’

‘Them too. The world is a dangerous place. We’re never going to lock them all up. There’ll always be evil people who get away with their crimes.’

‘And good people who get locked away?’ she said.

‘There will always be blurred boundaries. There are plenty of good bad guys and bad good guys. Life’s not clear and it’s seldom fair,’ he said. ‘I don’t want our child growing up under the illusion that it is. Shit happens.’

Cleo smiled at him. ‘Shit used to happen. It stopped happening the day I met you. You rock!’

He gri

‘Do you, Detective Superintendent Grace? I don’t. Not for one moment. And I don’t think I ever will. You make me feel safe. You have from the day I met you and you always will.’

He smiled. ‘You’re so easily pleased.’

‘Yeah, and I’m a cheap date. I don’t even have one pair of designer shoes.’