Those who stand by and watch are as guilty as those who hurt people. They deserve to be punished and sometimes a person has to take things into their own hands. Can you remember how it felt back then? How it hurt? Does it still hurt? Do your dreams take you to places you can’t escape from? Close your eyes, think back, take a journey through that tunnel, back in time.
I know. I know everything.
We are the same, I just need you to see that. I will show you, I promise.
I promise.She trembled as she held the letter and envelope that were in the clear plastic wallet. A million thoughts rushed through her mind. They were referring to her past, to Terry. She knew that much.We are the same.What did that mean? Was this person one of Terry’s other victims from his past? He’d never mentioned any previous relationships to her, getting irate if she dared to ever mention the subject.I will show you.She felt her throat starting to close as she held back a sob. She could never escape her past. However hard she tried to let it go, it always came back for her. She knew she had to tell someone – and it had to be her superior. A shiver ran down her spine. No, it couldn’t be anything to do with the current case she was working on. It was nothing. She threw the note to her desk.
There was a knock at the door. She placed a file over the letter and Briggs entered, taking a seat at the other side of her desk. ‘Panic over.’ He began to fiddle with the end of his tie.
She nodded. ‘It seems that way. Only your back appeared on the CCTV. But you can’t do that again.’
He paused and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I know. It was a slip up. It just felt so… natural.’
Gina cleared her throat and thought about breaking the silence with the news of her letter but then stopped as he went to speak.
‘You okay?’
‘Yes, why wouldn’t I be?’
‘Okay, onto the case. The press have our victim’s photo and it’s due to be released on the local news at lunchtime and, get this, the nationals are out there too.’ He paused and linked his fingers together on the desk.
‘Don’t keep me waiting. There’s more, isn’t there?’ She leaned forward, eyes widening as she urged him to continue.
His smile dropped. ‘Lyndsey Saunders is back. She’s been sent from Fleet Street to follow the story and she’s teamed up with theHeraldwhile here as they already apparently have inroads. I don’t know where they got that from either.’
Gina slumped back and ran her fingers through her hair as she took in the news. The reporter who’d always tried to make a feature of her, who’d caught her at her worst, was back. Just when Gina thought she had gone for good. ‘Damn it! Anyone but her would have been fine. If she comes near me—’
‘You’ll just refer her to Corporate Communications. Stay calm and don’t say anything to her. Let Annie deal with her, that’s what she’s there for. Any updates?’
She moved her mouse, lighting up her computer screen. ‘Yes, I was just updating the website before briefing the team. As you know, Jacob and I went to the café and the church. First things first, we came straight back and sent you the screenshot of our victim. After, I began working my way through everything that was said and updating the system. We have the start of a name. June, the lady who always knits at the café.’
He smiled. ‘I remember June.’
‘She said she’s seen our man before. He hangs around the streets with a sleeping bag. I’m guessing he’s homeless given that he smelled of smoke and looked so unkempt. I must admit, it didn’t click when he came into the café. He just came across as angry. Now I think of it, he must have been hungry. I feel as though I should have slowed down a little and analysed that situation better.’
‘Don’t think that. He came in with a right temper and was scaring everyone in the café.’ Briggs caught her gaze, then looked away.
‘Okay. June also mentioned that she and Cyril have tried to speak to him before. She gave him some change and he said his name was Al. It’s not much, but it’s a start. I still can’t get that moment out of my mind when I saw him at the back of the gardens on Monday evening. He was lurking around there and I can’t think why. We really need to put out a search for those kids too but I know how hard that will be. Then, get this: our vicar, Sally Stevens, saw a person by a grave in the middle of the night on Wednesday.’
Briggs sniggered and scratched his nose. ‘It’s all sounding a bitHalloweenif you know what I mean.’
She smiled. ‘I know exactly what you mean.’
His phone beeped and he checked it. ‘The press are already having a field day. First headline is in and guess who reported it.’
‘Bloody Lyndsey Saunders. Go on.’ Gina took a swig of her coffee.
‘“Man Buried Alive – The curse of Cleevesford strikes again. More murders per square mile than Inner City London.”’
‘That’s a total lie!’ Almost choking as she swallowed, Gina began to laugh as coffee almost escaped from her nose. She coughed a few times to clear her throat. ‘What on earth? More murders than Inner City London. Curse – what the hell is she on about?’
He clicked on the article and shook his head. ‘Looks like she’s been speaking to the locals and our vicar, Sally Stevens. Apparently, Sally mentioned the figure in the graveyard and our Lyndsey has put two and two together and come up with a curse. If you read on, she mentions the ghost of a boy who buried a girl alive because she didn’t love him – all backed up by the locals of course. In Lyndsey’s words, all the dead girl ghosts come out to haunt the woods and get their revenge on Halloween. Anyway, that’s ridiculous. Her reputation should be out of the window by now but people seem to lap it up. Thinking of other things, maybe it’s a ritualistic killing or someone took the ghost story a bit too far.’
Gina rubbed her temples as she finished clearing the coffee from her windpipe. ‘It all sounds ludicrous but we have to consider it. Our victim was buried alive with a bell. The bell didn’t have a clapper in it. Our victim was never meant to be found. Imagine him in that coffin, pulling away in the hope that someone would come? This murder is so ritualistic. We found three matches and a matchbox. This case is warped. Coffins, matches, bells and clappers. It has odd written all over it. Ghosts – no. Someone is playing on the haunted thing and we need to find out who.’
‘You’re right. I just wish they’d concentrate on our victim more than sensationalising everything. Poor Al’s photo is no bigger than one you’d use on a passport. I know it isn’t the clearest but it could have been at least double in size. He’s playing second fiddle to a stock footage photo of a creepy druid that has nothing to do with the case.’
‘It’s all about selling papers. Lyndsey doesn’t care about people. She’s shown that to be true in the past.’
