The silence, p.20
The Silence, page 20
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Are you?’ Akintola said, staring straight at Shona.
‘You reported the rape to the police?’ Shona said, ignoring the tone of Akintola’s voice.
‘Not at first. I was confused about what had happened, he kind of gaslit me back into a relationship with him but I was like a zombie for those few weeks, I wasn’t even there, I was trapped and afraid. It doesn’t even make sense when I say it out loud now. I really felt like I had no options. He told me it wasn’t rape and I don’t know why but I believed him. When I did eventually come to my senses I went to the police, for all the good it did. It went nowhere, not enough evidence. The icing on the cake was when he went online and told a load of lies about me and apparently that was fine with you guys, too.’
‘Online? Can you remember where online?’ Shona said.
‘Some incel woman-hating website called The Sanctuary.’
‘I’m sorry those things happened to you,’ Shona said, trying to remember if she had seen Martha’s story on the site. There were so many.
‘Yeah well. That doesn’t really mean anything.’
‘So out of the blue last night you decided to go to his house and what?’
‘Not really out of the blue. I have thought of little else since it happened. That is until I was raped again.’
‘He raped you again?’
‘Not him, no. Someone else. I don’t know who.’
‘We don’t have a report of that.’
‘Damn right you don’t.’
‘Do you want to tell me about that?’ Shona said, but she knew before Martha even opened her mouth again what she was going to say.
‘Last year, on the 12th of June. I guess with the anniversary in a couple of days I was feeling extra stabby,’ Akintola said, almost smiling at the end there. There was no remorse here.
Shona was hit instantly by the date. This must have been the woman Gail Reynolds told her about, the one who was attacked by the same man who raped her. This also might be the sexual assault James Garfield saw livestreamed. At least this explained why she’d asked for Shona by name. Shona wondered if Gail hadn’t picked her to punish her. It wasn’t like Gail had any reason to trust her after the way she handled Gail the first time she came to report the rape. An overwhelming sense of responsibility came over Shona in a wave of shame. If she had been more diligent in dealing with Gail Reynolds maybe they would have stopped the rapist before he even got to Martha Akintola and then maybe Tristan Walker wouldn’t be dead. Shona couldn’t help wondering if this was Gail trying to twist the proverbial knife.
‘Why didn’t you report that to the police? The attack last year? We don’t have any record of it,’ Shona said when she finally composed herself.
‘Ha!’ Akintola yelped almost involuntarily. ‘Why? So you could ignore me again? So my name could get dragged through the mud? So I could lose what remaining friends I have left? No thank you. I didn’t see the point. There wouldn’t be any evidence. He took it all with him.’
‘Did he break into your home?’ Shona said, realising she shouldn’t be leading her in this way, but she just had to know if it was the same man.
‘He did.’
‘Walk me through what happened.’
‘I went out with some mates after work, had a few, got home and turned in for the night. Then when I woke up someone had laid out plastic sheeting, I couldn’t see anything and I couldn’t move, everything felt like lead. I hadn’t been that drunk when I got home so I knew it wasn’t that. By the time my brain caught up with what was going on it was too late to do anything. He raped me on the floor. Covered me in bleach and made me scrub myself raw. I could taste bleach in the back of my throat for days afterwards. The smell of it disgusts me now.’
‘How much had you had to drink? Was it possible you were still drunk? I mean, do you think it was him that made you unable to move? Did he give you something?’
‘Yes. It wore off after a while. I was unable to move temporarily, long enough for him to take what he wanted without any resistance at all. I felt like a Barbie.’
‘Do you know what he drugged you with?’
Martha looked guiltily at the floor. It was clear she had an idea what he had given her.
‘It’s OK to tell me. If you think you know what he gave you, we can investigate that and see if we can trace the source. No judgement.’
‘I think it was ketamine. It was a big dose though, or maybe it was mixed in with something else. I only ever tried it in small quantities before. This felt like that much deeper. The comedown was particularly brutal.’
‘Thank you, I will investigate that. Did he take the plastic sheet with him when he left?’
‘He did. He took my towel, too. It was a Quiksilver towel, my favourite one. Is it weird to have a favourite towel? I bought it with my first ever wage packet. It’s blue and red and orange with stripes that sort of fade into each other. A beach towel. I wanted to try surfing. I wasn’t any good at it though, so I sold the rest of the kit I bought. But I always liked that towel …’ She trailed off, maybe remembering that she wasn’t having a catch-up with a mate over a coffee. She composed herself again. Crossing her arms and leaning back in the chair.
‘So last night. You went to see Mr Walker. He let you in, did he?’
‘I still had keys. I went inside and waited for him to go upstairs, then when I got the chance, I attacked him.’
‘Did you speak to him at all?’
‘A little.’
‘And it was just you there?’
‘Of course. Well, apart from him. Why are you asking me that?’
‘Because you stabbed him in the back. Seventeen times.’
‘I wanted to make sure he was dead.’
‘But in the back? Why would he turn his back on you?’
Martha Akintola leaned forward, palms face down on the table and with a concentrated look of anger that made Shona lean back. ‘Because he wasn’t afraid of me, not even a little bit. Even with a knife in my hand I was nothing but an insect to him. A fly to squash. He was a big man.’
‘He was.’
‘He isn’t anymore though. He’s nothing.’ Akintola smiled.
It wasn’t hard for Shona to understand why she had done it, it was hard not to take her side. She had a sneaking suspicion that Gail was involved in this somehow, whether she just revved her up and set her loose or whether she was actually present for it. Shona wondered if Martha Akintola had been present when DI Post had been attacked, but she didn’t want to ask her on tape. What Akintola had done had well and truly opened the door to a full investigation into the June 12th rapes. When the press inevitably got wind of what had been going on at least they could say they were in an active investigation and were dealing with it. She was surprised they hadn’t been in touch already, it wasn’t like Gail had been subtle with the flyers. Shona would make sure she could pull a decent team together to pursue the case now. She had already amassed a fair bit of information. Maybe she could find this guy. It was a case of finding out where he had heard about the women’s previous assaults and, without knowing who else had been visited by this monster, that was going to be difficult. The chances of her finding anything significant before the deadline in two days was almost nil but she had to try. She had to go through any previous rape claims that went nowhere and ask these women if they had been targeted again. She couldn’t risk Gail Reynolds finding another woman and taking revenge on her behalf, or worse, killing someone else.
No matter Shona’s personal feelings about the perpetrators of this particular crime she had to respect the law, even when it didn’t work in her favour. She knew that was a simplistic view but there it was. If you started allowing your own opinions to colour the way you implemented the law then that’s where things went awry. So why had she kept silent about Gail and her suspicions that she was involved? Why hadn’t she brought her in? It was no different to DI Coleridge deciding that Gail was wasting their time because of the previous report. You investigate, you present the evidence and then it’s up to CPS and court what happens next. Even though she knew all of that to be true, she still didn’t want to question Akintola over DI Post’s attack. He had all but said he didn’t see anything and she knew if she came forward with her suspicion then people would want to know why and then her secret would be well and truly out. Sure, there had been plenty of rumours but they were short-lived and she had never even told Aaron about what happened with her and Post – there was no need. The fact that the word ‘pig’ had been carved into Post’s head had raised all kinds of speculation but she didn’t want to entertain it. Luckily most people thought it was a crime motivated by someone Post had put away in the past and he wasn’t refuting that in any way. There was nothing to link the two attacks now that Martha had explicitly said her motivation was personal. In the photo, Shona could see that maybe they had tried to write a word on Walker’s head but obviously everything had gone south before they got the chance. It wasn’t the smartest move but she guessed it was because they never intended to kill Walker. Shona didn’t want to be caught in that web even though she knew what happened to Post was the exact same crime as the one perpetrated against Walker. Post had made out it was something else and even if he remembered what happened, which she suspected he did, he wouldn’t want anyone else to know he had been overpowered by two women so he was unlikely to point the finger at Martha. No, Shona thought it better to keep Post out of this lest she entangle herself in a he said/she said scenario that she would inevitably lose. The statistics on convictions proved that much. Some people would believe her and some people wouldn’t. Graham was a popular man and so she didn’t fancy her chances. She had heard of more than one case where a female officer who made such allegations was ostracised by her colleagues during an investigation and then summarily dismissed for discreditable conduct a few months down the line. She would just be happy every time she saw the faint outline of the word pig on his forehead. He was marked now, just like he had marked her.
Chapter 52
All I can think about is what Martha is probably going through and how I was the architect of this mess. In my enthusiasm to get retribution for all the injustices against victims of rape I didn’t really think things through. What a shit show. Nervous energy pulses through me as I wonder what I can do next. I wonder if you will recognise her on the news when the story breaks? I open my laptop and start looking through The Sanctuary forum. I look at all the pictures and all the stories and opinions and it makes me livid. I find a story about a Kathy Lewis and confirm she is one of your victims too from the way they talk about her, the fact that she killed herself and the fact they were gloating about it. I wonder again why everyone isn’t more angry about this, about all of it. Do we just resign ourselves to the fact that there is nothing we can do about it? There is no way it’s not happening to someone right now, right this second and here were these dickheads making fun of the victims to make themselves feel better. No. I have no remorse for what we did to Tristan Walker. He crossed that line once, he would have done it again, that much was almost certain. It’s not something you do once, is it? Once you get a taste for it? Once you’ve crossed that line I imagine boring old vanilla sex with consent doesn’t quite cut it for you anymore.
The rage builds inside me until I can no longer look at these words. For all the good I tried to do the only thing I have effectively changed is that Martha is now going to prison and there’s one less rapist on the planet, and that part wasn’t even my idea. Not quite the slam-dunk win I was hoping for. I look at the calendar. It’s the 10th of June. I have to do something.
I look up the number for the local newspaper which I know comes out tomorrow morning. I find the reporter I want to speak to, Duncan Weston. He handles all the biggest stories for the Eastport area. He has his own radio show, too, likes the sound of his own voice a bit, a local celebrity of sorts. He will want to hear my story, probably because it will give him plenty of attention and that’s what he loves. I call through to his line and he picks the phone up straight away. I recognise his voice and find myself bizarrely starstruck, which I wasn’t expecting.
‘Duncan Weston. How can I help you?’
‘I assumed you’d have a secretary,’ I say, not sure why he would care what I assume about anything.
‘She’s off with the flu. Who is this?’
‘Who I am isn’t important, but I have a story for you.’
‘I’ll decide if you’ve got a story for me or not.’
‘Have you seen those flyers around town? The ones with the red rose on them.’
‘They are hard to miss. Are you the crackpot who put them up?’
‘Yes, but you can call me Eris.’
‘I’m afraid that’s yesterday’s news, we’ve got a murder case now so—’
‘Let me tell you something about those flyers, Mr Weston. I was raped by the same man who raped the other women on the 12th of June. I went to the police and they told me to drop it, and I am not the only one they did that with. The woman who murdered that man last night was also a victim of the June 12th rapist.’
‘How can you know that?’
‘Trust me, I just know.’
‘What do you know about the woman, or the victim for that matter?’
‘I can fill in the blanks for you, all of them.’
‘So give me names. The police haven’t released them yet.’
‘The victim’s name was Tristan Walker. The killer’s name was Martha Akintola. Tristan raped Martha several years ago and she went to the police. They didn’t proceed with the prosecution. Then last year a man broke into Martha’s house on June 12th and raped her.’
‘The same man, Tristan Walker?’
‘No, a different man. But, get this, the man knew about her previous attack, that’s why he chose her.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘Because the same thing happened to me. I was assaulted, I went to the police and they did nothing. Then a few years ago on June 12th, I was raped by the same man that attacked Martha Akintola. He breaks into a different woman’s house in the early hours of the morning on the 12th of June.’
‘Do you know who he was? What did he look like?’
‘He drugged us, put a cover over our faces and then made us shower after he was done. We aren’t the only ones either. Seven years ago he raped a woman called Kathy Lewis, she had also been attacked before. Then she was hounded online on this website called The Sanctuary and she couldn’t take it anymore, she killed herself.’
‘And the police did nothing?’
‘No, they kept burying cases that were too difficult to put forward and so for at least the last seven years, he has been getting away with this. The police are only paying attention now because of the murder of Tristan Walker.’
‘I don’t suppose you know the name of the detective handling the case?’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t help you there,’ I say. Not technically lying. I just don’t want to drop Shona White in it. I feel our relationship is precarious, but for now she is on my side or I would have had a visit from the police already today.
‘Thank you, Eris, you have been most helpful. I’m guessing you wouldn’t agree to a photo to put with the article.’
‘You’re going to write it then?’
‘It’s going to be front-page news, don’t you worry.’
‘Brilliant, no picture though, sorry. I have to go now,’ I say, hanging up the phone. It makes me nervous that he might try and work out who I am, even though I have no idea how he would be able to do that over the phone. But my work here is done. I’ve given the local paper what the police have managed to keep under wraps. No more secrets, the people need to know. I bet you get all hard reading the effects of your handiwork in the local rag.
As for my own mission, what happened to Martha has made me realise that, as much as I might want to play the long game, I could get caught at any moment; and if I get put away then no one will be around to put the pressure on. Martha was right, this is so much bigger than both of us. I need to stay out of prison long enough to make a difference. So, no more jaunts outside to exact justice, no more trial by combat in the dead of night. I’m not strong enough to keep control of a situation like that on my own, I’ve learned that the hard way. I can still feel Tristan Walker’s hand around my throat, pushing me up the wall. I felt completely helpless against him. If Martha hadn’t stabbed him I would probably be dead, we both might be. Martha is paying for my arrogance. The screen of the Eris project phone lights up: private number calling. I pick up the phone and press the green button.
‘Duncan, I told you that’s all I have to say.’
‘You are certainly living up to your name. Look at the mess you’ve made.’ A man’s voice, not Duncan’s. It’s you again. For the last three years it’s the voice I hear in my nightmares, whispering into my ears, telling me where to wash, how to wash, how to clean myself thoroughly enough to ensure there is no trace of you left on my body. So clear this time. It’s exactly as I remember it, calm, cold, devoid of humanity. Somewhere in the back of my mind you only exist as a bogeyman, not someone with a life outside that one night in the summer. Not someone I might bump into on the street or speak to outside of my own subconscious. You are real.
‘What do you want?’ I say, determined not to let you know you have rattled me. I rush to my back door and make sure it’s locked. Skittles the cat is sitting there ready to be let out. I press my index finger to my lips for her to be quiet as though the cat might understand. Skittles blinks and settles patiently.
‘You’re playing a dangerous game. You need to stop with the stupid posters and trolling that website.’ You’ve found out about that already? That was quick. I try to listen for anything in the background that might indicate who you are or where you are. There is no outside noise though.
‘I’m not the only one. You’ve gone too far. People are starting to put the pieces together. Enjoy your freedom while you can.’
‘Listen to me, you bitch, when I find you, I’m going to make our last meeting feel like a day at the park,’ you say, the frustration in your voice giving you away.
‘Are you?’ Akintola said, staring straight at Shona.
‘You reported the rape to the police?’ Shona said, ignoring the tone of Akintola’s voice.
‘Not at first. I was confused about what had happened, he kind of gaslit me back into a relationship with him but I was like a zombie for those few weeks, I wasn’t even there, I was trapped and afraid. It doesn’t even make sense when I say it out loud now. I really felt like I had no options. He told me it wasn’t rape and I don’t know why but I believed him. When I did eventually come to my senses I went to the police, for all the good it did. It went nowhere, not enough evidence. The icing on the cake was when he went online and told a load of lies about me and apparently that was fine with you guys, too.’
‘Online? Can you remember where online?’ Shona said.
‘Some incel woman-hating website called The Sanctuary.’
‘I’m sorry those things happened to you,’ Shona said, trying to remember if she had seen Martha’s story on the site. There were so many.
‘Yeah well. That doesn’t really mean anything.’
‘So out of the blue last night you decided to go to his house and what?’
‘Not really out of the blue. I have thought of little else since it happened. That is until I was raped again.’
‘He raped you again?’
‘Not him, no. Someone else. I don’t know who.’
‘We don’t have a report of that.’
‘Damn right you don’t.’
‘Do you want to tell me about that?’ Shona said, but she knew before Martha even opened her mouth again what she was going to say.
‘Last year, on the 12th of June. I guess with the anniversary in a couple of days I was feeling extra stabby,’ Akintola said, almost smiling at the end there. There was no remorse here.
Shona was hit instantly by the date. This must have been the woman Gail Reynolds told her about, the one who was attacked by the same man who raped her. This also might be the sexual assault James Garfield saw livestreamed. At least this explained why she’d asked for Shona by name. Shona wondered if Gail hadn’t picked her to punish her. It wasn’t like Gail had any reason to trust her after the way she handled Gail the first time she came to report the rape. An overwhelming sense of responsibility came over Shona in a wave of shame. If she had been more diligent in dealing with Gail Reynolds maybe they would have stopped the rapist before he even got to Martha Akintola and then maybe Tristan Walker wouldn’t be dead. Shona couldn’t help wondering if this was Gail trying to twist the proverbial knife.
‘Why didn’t you report that to the police? The attack last year? We don’t have any record of it,’ Shona said when she finally composed herself.
‘Ha!’ Akintola yelped almost involuntarily. ‘Why? So you could ignore me again? So my name could get dragged through the mud? So I could lose what remaining friends I have left? No thank you. I didn’t see the point. There wouldn’t be any evidence. He took it all with him.’
‘Did he break into your home?’ Shona said, realising she shouldn’t be leading her in this way, but she just had to know if it was the same man.
‘He did.’
‘Walk me through what happened.’
‘I went out with some mates after work, had a few, got home and turned in for the night. Then when I woke up someone had laid out plastic sheeting, I couldn’t see anything and I couldn’t move, everything felt like lead. I hadn’t been that drunk when I got home so I knew it wasn’t that. By the time my brain caught up with what was going on it was too late to do anything. He raped me on the floor. Covered me in bleach and made me scrub myself raw. I could taste bleach in the back of my throat for days afterwards. The smell of it disgusts me now.’
‘How much had you had to drink? Was it possible you were still drunk? I mean, do you think it was him that made you unable to move? Did he give you something?’
‘Yes. It wore off after a while. I was unable to move temporarily, long enough for him to take what he wanted without any resistance at all. I felt like a Barbie.’
‘Do you know what he drugged you with?’
Martha looked guiltily at the floor. It was clear she had an idea what he had given her.
‘It’s OK to tell me. If you think you know what he gave you, we can investigate that and see if we can trace the source. No judgement.’
‘I think it was ketamine. It was a big dose though, or maybe it was mixed in with something else. I only ever tried it in small quantities before. This felt like that much deeper. The comedown was particularly brutal.’
‘Thank you, I will investigate that. Did he take the plastic sheet with him when he left?’
‘He did. He took my towel, too. It was a Quiksilver towel, my favourite one. Is it weird to have a favourite towel? I bought it with my first ever wage packet. It’s blue and red and orange with stripes that sort of fade into each other. A beach towel. I wanted to try surfing. I wasn’t any good at it though, so I sold the rest of the kit I bought. But I always liked that towel …’ She trailed off, maybe remembering that she wasn’t having a catch-up with a mate over a coffee. She composed herself again. Crossing her arms and leaning back in the chair.
‘So last night. You went to see Mr Walker. He let you in, did he?’
‘I still had keys. I went inside and waited for him to go upstairs, then when I got the chance, I attacked him.’
‘Did you speak to him at all?’
‘A little.’
‘And it was just you there?’
‘Of course. Well, apart from him. Why are you asking me that?’
‘Because you stabbed him in the back. Seventeen times.’
‘I wanted to make sure he was dead.’
‘But in the back? Why would he turn his back on you?’
Martha Akintola leaned forward, palms face down on the table and with a concentrated look of anger that made Shona lean back. ‘Because he wasn’t afraid of me, not even a little bit. Even with a knife in my hand I was nothing but an insect to him. A fly to squash. He was a big man.’
‘He was.’
‘He isn’t anymore though. He’s nothing.’ Akintola smiled.
It wasn’t hard for Shona to understand why she had done it, it was hard not to take her side. She had a sneaking suspicion that Gail was involved in this somehow, whether she just revved her up and set her loose or whether she was actually present for it. Shona wondered if Martha Akintola had been present when DI Post had been attacked, but she didn’t want to ask her on tape. What Akintola had done had well and truly opened the door to a full investigation into the June 12th rapes. When the press inevitably got wind of what had been going on at least they could say they were in an active investigation and were dealing with it. She was surprised they hadn’t been in touch already, it wasn’t like Gail had been subtle with the flyers. Shona would make sure she could pull a decent team together to pursue the case now. She had already amassed a fair bit of information. Maybe she could find this guy. It was a case of finding out where he had heard about the women’s previous assaults and, without knowing who else had been visited by this monster, that was going to be difficult. The chances of her finding anything significant before the deadline in two days was almost nil but she had to try. She had to go through any previous rape claims that went nowhere and ask these women if they had been targeted again. She couldn’t risk Gail Reynolds finding another woman and taking revenge on her behalf, or worse, killing someone else.
No matter Shona’s personal feelings about the perpetrators of this particular crime she had to respect the law, even when it didn’t work in her favour. She knew that was a simplistic view but there it was. If you started allowing your own opinions to colour the way you implemented the law then that’s where things went awry. So why had she kept silent about Gail and her suspicions that she was involved? Why hadn’t she brought her in? It was no different to DI Coleridge deciding that Gail was wasting their time because of the previous report. You investigate, you present the evidence and then it’s up to CPS and court what happens next. Even though she knew all of that to be true, she still didn’t want to question Akintola over DI Post’s attack. He had all but said he didn’t see anything and she knew if she came forward with her suspicion then people would want to know why and then her secret would be well and truly out. Sure, there had been plenty of rumours but they were short-lived and she had never even told Aaron about what happened with her and Post – there was no need. The fact that the word ‘pig’ had been carved into Post’s head had raised all kinds of speculation but she didn’t want to entertain it. Luckily most people thought it was a crime motivated by someone Post had put away in the past and he wasn’t refuting that in any way. There was nothing to link the two attacks now that Martha had explicitly said her motivation was personal. In the photo, Shona could see that maybe they had tried to write a word on Walker’s head but obviously everything had gone south before they got the chance. It wasn’t the smartest move but she guessed it was because they never intended to kill Walker. Shona didn’t want to be caught in that web even though she knew what happened to Post was the exact same crime as the one perpetrated against Walker. Post had made out it was something else and even if he remembered what happened, which she suspected he did, he wouldn’t want anyone else to know he had been overpowered by two women so he was unlikely to point the finger at Martha. No, Shona thought it better to keep Post out of this lest she entangle herself in a he said/she said scenario that she would inevitably lose. The statistics on convictions proved that much. Some people would believe her and some people wouldn’t. Graham was a popular man and so she didn’t fancy her chances. She had heard of more than one case where a female officer who made such allegations was ostracised by her colleagues during an investigation and then summarily dismissed for discreditable conduct a few months down the line. She would just be happy every time she saw the faint outline of the word pig on his forehead. He was marked now, just like he had marked her.
Chapter 52
All I can think about is what Martha is probably going through and how I was the architect of this mess. In my enthusiasm to get retribution for all the injustices against victims of rape I didn’t really think things through. What a shit show. Nervous energy pulses through me as I wonder what I can do next. I wonder if you will recognise her on the news when the story breaks? I open my laptop and start looking through The Sanctuary forum. I look at all the pictures and all the stories and opinions and it makes me livid. I find a story about a Kathy Lewis and confirm she is one of your victims too from the way they talk about her, the fact that she killed herself and the fact they were gloating about it. I wonder again why everyone isn’t more angry about this, about all of it. Do we just resign ourselves to the fact that there is nothing we can do about it? There is no way it’s not happening to someone right now, right this second and here were these dickheads making fun of the victims to make themselves feel better. No. I have no remorse for what we did to Tristan Walker. He crossed that line once, he would have done it again, that much was almost certain. It’s not something you do once, is it? Once you get a taste for it? Once you’ve crossed that line I imagine boring old vanilla sex with consent doesn’t quite cut it for you anymore.
The rage builds inside me until I can no longer look at these words. For all the good I tried to do the only thing I have effectively changed is that Martha is now going to prison and there’s one less rapist on the planet, and that part wasn’t even my idea. Not quite the slam-dunk win I was hoping for. I look at the calendar. It’s the 10th of June. I have to do something.
I look up the number for the local newspaper which I know comes out tomorrow morning. I find the reporter I want to speak to, Duncan Weston. He handles all the biggest stories for the Eastport area. He has his own radio show, too, likes the sound of his own voice a bit, a local celebrity of sorts. He will want to hear my story, probably because it will give him plenty of attention and that’s what he loves. I call through to his line and he picks the phone up straight away. I recognise his voice and find myself bizarrely starstruck, which I wasn’t expecting.
‘Duncan Weston. How can I help you?’
‘I assumed you’d have a secretary,’ I say, not sure why he would care what I assume about anything.
‘She’s off with the flu. Who is this?’
‘Who I am isn’t important, but I have a story for you.’
‘I’ll decide if you’ve got a story for me or not.’
‘Have you seen those flyers around town? The ones with the red rose on them.’
‘They are hard to miss. Are you the crackpot who put them up?’
‘Yes, but you can call me Eris.’
‘I’m afraid that’s yesterday’s news, we’ve got a murder case now so—’
‘Let me tell you something about those flyers, Mr Weston. I was raped by the same man who raped the other women on the 12th of June. I went to the police and they told me to drop it, and I am not the only one they did that with. The woman who murdered that man last night was also a victim of the June 12th rapist.’
‘How can you know that?’
‘Trust me, I just know.’
‘What do you know about the woman, or the victim for that matter?’
‘I can fill in the blanks for you, all of them.’
‘So give me names. The police haven’t released them yet.’
‘The victim’s name was Tristan Walker. The killer’s name was Martha Akintola. Tristan raped Martha several years ago and she went to the police. They didn’t proceed with the prosecution. Then last year a man broke into Martha’s house on June 12th and raped her.’
‘The same man, Tristan Walker?’
‘No, a different man. But, get this, the man knew about her previous attack, that’s why he chose her.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘Because the same thing happened to me. I was assaulted, I went to the police and they did nothing. Then a few years ago on June 12th, I was raped by the same man that attacked Martha Akintola. He breaks into a different woman’s house in the early hours of the morning on the 12th of June.’
‘Do you know who he was? What did he look like?’
‘He drugged us, put a cover over our faces and then made us shower after he was done. We aren’t the only ones either. Seven years ago he raped a woman called Kathy Lewis, she had also been attacked before. Then she was hounded online on this website called The Sanctuary and she couldn’t take it anymore, she killed herself.’
‘And the police did nothing?’
‘No, they kept burying cases that were too difficult to put forward and so for at least the last seven years, he has been getting away with this. The police are only paying attention now because of the murder of Tristan Walker.’
‘I don’t suppose you know the name of the detective handling the case?’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t help you there,’ I say. Not technically lying. I just don’t want to drop Shona White in it. I feel our relationship is precarious, but for now she is on my side or I would have had a visit from the police already today.
‘Thank you, Eris, you have been most helpful. I’m guessing you wouldn’t agree to a photo to put with the article.’
‘You’re going to write it then?’
‘It’s going to be front-page news, don’t you worry.’
‘Brilliant, no picture though, sorry. I have to go now,’ I say, hanging up the phone. It makes me nervous that he might try and work out who I am, even though I have no idea how he would be able to do that over the phone. But my work here is done. I’ve given the local paper what the police have managed to keep under wraps. No more secrets, the people need to know. I bet you get all hard reading the effects of your handiwork in the local rag.
As for my own mission, what happened to Martha has made me realise that, as much as I might want to play the long game, I could get caught at any moment; and if I get put away then no one will be around to put the pressure on. Martha was right, this is so much bigger than both of us. I need to stay out of prison long enough to make a difference. So, no more jaunts outside to exact justice, no more trial by combat in the dead of night. I’m not strong enough to keep control of a situation like that on my own, I’ve learned that the hard way. I can still feel Tristan Walker’s hand around my throat, pushing me up the wall. I felt completely helpless against him. If Martha hadn’t stabbed him I would probably be dead, we both might be. Martha is paying for my arrogance. The screen of the Eris project phone lights up: private number calling. I pick up the phone and press the green button.
‘Duncan, I told you that’s all I have to say.’
‘You are certainly living up to your name. Look at the mess you’ve made.’ A man’s voice, not Duncan’s. It’s you again. For the last three years it’s the voice I hear in my nightmares, whispering into my ears, telling me where to wash, how to wash, how to clean myself thoroughly enough to ensure there is no trace of you left on my body. So clear this time. It’s exactly as I remember it, calm, cold, devoid of humanity. Somewhere in the back of my mind you only exist as a bogeyman, not someone with a life outside that one night in the summer. Not someone I might bump into on the street or speak to outside of my own subconscious. You are real.
‘What do you want?’ I say, determined not to let you know you have rattled me. I rush to my back door and make sure it’s locked. Skittles the cat is sitting there ready to be let out. I press my index finger to my lips for her to be quiet as though the cat might understand. Skittles blinks and settles patiently.
‘You’re playing a dangerous game. You need to stop with the stupid posters and trolling that website.’ You’ve found out about that already? That was quick. I try to listen for anything in the background that might indicate who you are or where you are. There is no outside noise though.
‘I’m not the only one. You’ve gone too far. People are starting to put the pieces together. Enjoy your freedom while you can.’
‘Listen to me, you bitch, when I find you, I’m going to make our last meeting feel like a day at the park,’ you say, the frustration in your voice giving you away.
