The Creeper by Tania Carver Page B

Zoe, and I want to take the biggest knife I can find and stick it in him. Right in him. And watch him suffer. Like he’s made me suffer. And watch him die. That’s what I want to do, Zoe.’
    Zoe was sitting next to her. Her arm tightened round her. ‘I know you do. I know. What about the police? D’you want me to phone them? D’you want to go somewhere else?’ No reply. Suzanne stared at the wall. ‘Just tell me and we can do it.’
    She spoke eventually. ‘I want . . .’
    Zoe waited.
    ‘I want . . .’ She sighed. ‘I want my life back . . .’
    Zoe kept holding her.
    Suzanne started sobbing. She didn’t know if they were tears of anger or pain or pity or what.
    She just sobbed her heart out.

    The Creeper kept watching.
    Smiling.
    Waiting.

23

    ‘S he still down there, then? Heard she was in, poor cow. Don’t know what I can do, though. Part from slap an ASBO on her, restraining order, or something.’ He snorted. ‘Probably not the first.’
    Detective Sergeant John Farrell leaned back in his chair, stretched out his legs, hands behind his head. He was a small man, round and bald. His suit looked like he had been wrestled into it, collar open, tie askew. Tired shoes on his feet. His words contained the usual amount of copper’s front and bluster, but his eyes showed a genuine care. Or at least Phil hoped that was what he saw there.
    ‘She says you’re not updating her on the investigation.’ Farrell looked at Phil, eyes narrowed. ‘FLO not good enough for her?’
    Phil held up his hands. ‘I’m only repeating what she said. She’s concerned. Wants to know what’s happening.’
    Farrell sighed. ‘Nothing. That’s what. Her daughter ran off a couple of weeks ago, we’ve been trying to find her. Exhausted all the avenues, boyfriends, ex-boyfriends, work colleagues, family, the lot.’ He reeled off his achievements - or lack of them - on his fingers. ‘Tried all the usual stuff, TV, the papers, internet, radio, National Missing Persons Helpline. Nada. Blank.’
    ‘No sign of abduction? Nothing like that?’
    ‘If it was it must have been Derren bloody Brown.’
    ‘Right.’
    ‘But between you an’ me . . .’ Farrell removed his hands from behind his head, leaned forward. ‘Typical mispers case, I reckon. Done a bunk. She’s got previous.’
    ‘For what?’
    ‘Runnin’ away. Works as a barmaid, pub in New Town. Part-time. Got history of bein’ a bit loose, if you catch my drift.’
    Phil frowned. ‘You mean, what? She’s a prostitute?’
    Farrell shrugged. ‘Part-time, like I said. Used to go off with blokes, not come back for days. Mother says she’s changed, havin’ a kid an’ that, but . . . dunno. Leopards an’ spots, you know.’
    ‘So what you’re saying is,’ said Phil, ‘she’s not a priority.’
    Another shrug. ‘You know what it’s like. When they don’t want to be found they don’t want to be found. They’ll come home when they want to.’ He sat back once more, replacing his hands behind his head. ‘When the bloke’s money runs out.’
    Phil was more than a little annoyed at his colleague’s attitude but he had to admit he did know what that was like. He’d been on enough cases that didn’t come to a conclusion but just petered out, faded away. But that still didn’t excuse his attitude.
    ‘And you don’t think there’s any connection between Adele Harrison going missing and the body we found this morning by the Hythe?’
    Farrell sat forward again. ‘It’s not her, is it?’
    ‘We think it might be Julie Miller, the girl who disappeared last week.’
    Farrell sat back again, satisfied. ‘There you go, then. Different case entirely.’
    ‘You don’t think there’s a connection? Two young women disappear within days of each other?’
    ‘What, that posh bird that’s all over the news and my case? Doubt it.’
    Phil sighed. ‘Her mother’s downstairs. Go and see her.’ Farrell looked to Phil as if he was about to say something but changed