26

Abi was convinced that Robert was up to no good. It all began to click into place, and the more it did, the more convinced she was of his guilt. Nothing about the situation made sense, nothing was normal. And even if she dismissed everything that had happened in the last few days, and everything that had happened on and after their date, she couldn’t shake the memories of being inside his home.

It had been empty, devoid of life, as if its only purpose was to get closer to her, to keep her near.

It was devious, it was twisted, and it was elaborate, but it worked. It also worried Abi. Not only was she living next to someone with bad intentions, someone who likely spent the day spying on her and the night thinking about her, but he had gone to great lengths to get close to her.

He was a disturbed individual, but he was also a committed one, and his commitment was to Abi.

Abi sat in her home office all morning; her phone on the desk next to her, her eyes on the expansive windows that looked out onto the street below. She watched people come and go, crowding around the deceased woman’s house like flies around shit. The scene sickened her—all those people, all that excitement, all that intrigue. Someone had been stalked and killed mere feet from where they stood, but all they were interested in was snapping a few pictures for their Instagram or piecing together a story they could tell their friends.

“I was there,” the young mother would say, babe in arms as she stood at the school gates, waiting for her other offspring to trundle forward. “Just an hour or two after the body was found. I didn’t see anything, but you could almost sense the death in the air. It was like nothing I have experienced before.” On her pedestal she would stand, enjoying her fifteen minutes of fame courtesy of someone else’s misery.

Her story would likely change over time as she went from being a casual, retrospective observer, to someone who had heard the screams, seen the body being carried out, and even caught sight of the killer. Whatever made her story more interesting.

“It was gruesome. Blood everywhere,” the middle-aged man would say, telling his story to his friends down the pub. “It was like a horror film. Never seen anything like it. It changed me. It would change anyone.”

The policeman had done the rounds and taken impromptu interviews from all bystanders. He looked like he was ready to call it a day when one of the interviewees pointed to Robert’s house. The deputy, the same youngster who had interviewed Abi—his face a picture of tranquility, as if set in stone, his heart and mind no doubt racing under the calm exterior—checked his notes, nodded to himself, gave a signal to his colleague, and then trotted over to Robert’s house.

Abi perked up, the disgust on her face switching to intrigue. She retrieved her coffee mug and reveled in the searing taste of the milky drink. The deputy remained rigid and professional in his manner as he rang the bell and waited patiently. The front door wasn’t visible from where Abi sat, but she saw the officer talking and gesturing, indicating that Robert had answered.

Robert had been there all along, no doubt peeping through his curtains and watching the chaos unfold on the street, his eyes fixed on Abi, studying her every reaction. The thought sent a chill down her spine, and she shook her head as if to empty it.

Dirty little creep that he is.

The deputy moved to the side and Robert stepped outside. He wore a brown fluffy dressing gown and matching slippers, his attention on the house opposite as he made a show to the officer, feigning surprise and seemingly pretending he had slept through the ordeal. The officer acknowledged the reaction and made a few notes in his book before departing.

Abi heard the faint sound of the officer’s voice as he reached the end of the driveway and then shouted back to Robert, “If you think of anything else, be sure to let me know!”

Else? What does he mean? What did he tell them?

Abi took another sip of coffee, checked her phone. Steven hadn’t replied to her message and it was now nearly dinnertime. He was at work, she knew that much, but she had hoped he would have seen it and replied by now.

One of her biggest clients had sent her an email, checking that she was prepared to meet a deadline, but the work was days away from completion and she didn’t feel up to the task. She made a mental note to send them an excuse later.

Robert was still standing in his driveway, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes on the commotion opposite. There were still several police cars and a forensics unit outside, with even more tape surrounding the house. Abi assumed that the body had been taken away, but—

The sound of screeching tires interrupted her thoughts and she turned to see another van pull into the street. It stopped at the end of Abi’s driveway, getting as close to the action as it could. The doors slid open as soon as the brakes were applied, and a news team filed out like excitable clowns in a circus act.

The cameraman came first, lugging a large camera fixed to a tripod. The soundman came next, followed by someone Abi assumed was the producer. They shut the sliding door with force, caring little for the noise they were making or the people they were upsetting. They were joined by a reporter from the passenger seat.

Abi recognized the reporter from the local news station, the same woman who had reported on the previous deaths. A local celebrity of sorts, on a mission to elevate her status and become the figurehead of this local crime spree. Excitement and anticipation seemed to follow her wherever she went, from the eager, bright expression on her face, to the erratic way she moved and ordered her colleagues around.

The “producer” turned out to be a lackey, tasked with setting up the equipment and keeping police and onlookers away and out of shot. The driver assumed the same role and immediately began arguing with a nearby officer while the reporter did her bit to the camera. Abi was tempted to turn on the TV but assumed they weren’t live.

Abi couldn’t hear what the reporter was saying, catching only glimpses of her words when she shouted, often in anger and often directed at the soundman, who seemed to have little control of the overhead microphone. The reporter took her time in delivering the piece, moving in and out of shot, fixing her hair and makeup between takes, and even pausing to use her phone.

“Yes, yes, I know!” Abi heard her yell at one point, rolling her eyes to the cameraman as she directed her impatience to the person on the other end of the phone. “I’m on it!”

The news team didn’t stay long, but more reporters took their place. There were women with digital recorders, men filming on their phones; one woman seemed to be writing a real-time journal, going from officer to officer and from bystander to bystander and frantically jotting down their responses on a bulging notepad. Abi initially thought she might be a detective, but the readiness with which the other officers dismissed her, and the contempt that she expressed, suggested she was a reporter or blogger.

Plainclothes officers appeared later in the afternoon, by which point Abi was on her third cup of coffee. They didn’t stay for long and didn’t seem to do much, merely spending a few minutes inside the house before gathering some tidbits of information and then departing just as hastily as they had arrived.

By that time, very few onlookers remained. They had gone back into their homes, to their friends’ homes, or to their nearest place of gossip, eager to tell their stories for the first time and to break the story before the local news network did. Of course, it had already broken on social media within minutes of the body being discovered, but they would have the details, they were eyewitnesses and, as a result, they would be in high demand.

As noon gave way to afternoon and then to evening, the street cleared. Robert had been inside his house for the last few hours; the woman with the baby had gone back inside after he woke and began screaming for attention, food, or warmth; the police had returned to their daily duties, leaving only trails of tape and warning signs in their wake. The house had been sealed, the relatives had been informed, and although Abi hadn’t checked, she knew the local news would have broadcast the story in all its gruesome details.

Abi still hadn’t received a call or message from Steven, but she didn’t worry, and didn’t doubt that he would contact her when he was able.

Her bones creaked and her back stung as she rose—the first movements she had made in hours. She stretched, groaned, and squeezed her eyes shut as blue stars danced around the corners of her vision.

“Too much caffeine, not enough movement,” she told herself. “And if I don’t go to the toilet soon, I’m going to wet myself.”

She allowed herself a smile, but that smile quickly faded when she heard a door slamming. Her eyes immediately fixed on Robert’s house, just in time to see him locking the door behind him and shooting suspicious glances over his shoulder. He had changed into a pair of jeans, a padded jacket, and a baseball cap, with the bill arched down over his eyes.

He turned to look in Abi’s direction and she froze. There was no light in the office, nothing to illuminate her from the outside, but somehow, he knew she was there, he was staring right at her, and Abi was sure he could see her. A deafening, pulsing, rushing sound echoed through her head and she held her breath. For the briefest of moments, time stood still.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, lowered his head, and walked away, allowing Abi to breathe again.

Where to now, you creepy fucker?