The Case
Will stared at the picture in his hand. Maria Harker had been young, friendly, well liked. She’d never been in trouble and wanted to be a doctor. Her brown hair used to swing around her shoulders and her laugh made her peers jealous at the sing-song sound it made when it bounced through a classroom. She’d just had her first kiss. She was going to the gymnastics championships with her local team.
Will had never heard her laugh, he’d never seen her smile except for pictures which always took on a ghostly feel to him. He’d never had the chance to see her swinging around a bar and grinning as she managed that final turn her fellow team mates never had. And Will had only heard her voice on the answering machine of her mobile phone, a gift from her grandparents for Christmas.
The only working memory that Will had of the girl was a bloodied, torn elbow. The skin lacerated and sliced. The barking of a police dog. The smearing of blood on the ground in footprints. The streaks of it up the wall. All Will had of Maria Harker was theories of how her last minutes on this earth had been spent. Screaming as her murderer tore her skin and lashed at her supple young body until it was no more than so many strips of skin.
“Will?” Jack Crawford’s voice had a way of cutting through his personal silence. He tore his eyes away from the smiling school photo in front of him and glanced over to the drivers seat.
“Sorry. I was somewhere else,” he’d been back in that abandoned warehouse, retracing the killers steps for the hundredth time. Each connection, mental or otherwise, that he made with the psychopath stung like a blade. Will knew what colour hair he had, what size feet and type of boot he’d worn. But he also knew roughly what had been going through his head when he picked out his young victims. That, no matter how helpful, made him feel physically sick.
“You don’t have to come along,” Jack told him, turning the car (Will’s new car, the replacement for the one Jack had crashed) around a corner. “Richard’s can do it. Or uniforms. You don’t have to keep putting yourself through this.”
Will’s head was shaking on the first sentence. “No. No, Jack I have to do this. I have to see this through.” Telling the parents that they’d found a body part would be hell. But he had to do it, there was no shirking responsibility on this one. And that would be, in Will’s mind at least, almost as bad as not having found the girl alive.
“You don’t have to do anything, Will. Christ knows, you’ve hardly spent five minutes with your eyes shut since this freak started.” That was true. Of course it was, how could he sleep when there was a psychopath out there with a blade slicing up little brunettes when they should be safe in the arms of their family? For Will the subject was closed before Jack had even thought to argue with him.
They drove in silence. Until Will realised that the only place his brain would allow him to go was back to the field and the warehouse that lay at the end of it.
“It makes me think of Josh.” He could see Jack’s eyes sliding across to him, back to the road. Uncomfortable maybe with the subject of Will’s son. Will’s son that had come from a marriage between him and Molly that Jack had a hand, however indirectly, in breaking up.
“It’s bound to. After what happened with Dollarhyde.” He didn’t want to talk about that though. He wasn’t interested in revisiting the old house in Sugarloaf Keys and thinking about the tiny slivers of glass that still clung to the woodwork from the mirrors that the psychopath had smashed to use in Josh and Molly’s eyes. He didn’t want to think about the pencil thin white scar that went in a diagonal line across his chest or the tiny finger width white bumps, all scar tissue from bullets and a knife. His kitchen knife.
“He’d coming to stay for Easter. That’s why I applied for the leave,” Will explained absently, trying to forget the wet patch down his young sons leg from pure fear and the terror in those ice blue eyes.
Jack’s mood almost palpably changed. His body straightened up suddenly in the seat and his jaw jutted slightly to the side. “Thought you were taking Carter somewhere again.” He should have been expecting that but even an argument right now was preferable to thinking about Maria Harker’s voice. Hey, I’m not around right now or I’ve lost my mobile again! Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you …
“George’s got caseloads falling down around his ears. And a mutual friend in crisis. He’s lucky if he gets a full nights sleep never mind a week off for a holiday.” Jack just grunted at him. Will wondered absently if Regan did this to George, snide comments and searching questions all the time. Mind you … hadn’t he said that Regan didn’t talk to him if he could help it?
“So he’s going to meet Josh?” Jack’s voice, as always, betrayed him. Gruffer, more grainy. Angry deep, deep down.
“Yeah, I’m going to try and talk him into taking him out for the day just the two of them,” Will carried on as if he hadn’t noticed. If he pushed the topic he might end up with another wrecked car. And the prospect of a long drive with tension you could cut with a knife and distraught parents at the end of it wasn’t what he needed.
“He got kids of his own?” but Jack was determined to find everything he could out about George. Down to his inside leg measurements. Will knew that it had cut deep when he’d called things off between him and Jack. It had messed with his head. Now it was messing with his work life. Jack was ready to start a new life with Will when they’d moved to England but three nights in bed a week and the promise of a blow in the toilets at work for the risk factor wasn’t what Will had ever intended for himself.
“Nope. No kids.” Jack snorted. His boys were both grown up and carried very little whether their constantly rowing mother and father were apart or together. It just made their lives a little simpler if they only saw them together at birthdays and Christmas’.
“Heard he used to be married,” Jack slotted in when it became obvious that Will wasn’t going to elaborate on the kids issue. The photos he thrust into the glove compartment and left them there, trying to forget about smiling faces and bloody elbows.
“How’d you find that out?” Will leaned back in the seat, head making contact with the rest on the back of his chair.
“Asked around,” in other words, ‘Wanted to know exactly who you were sleeping with and what he had that I didn’t.’ For a guy who worked in criminal psychology Jack was surprisingly transparent sometimes.
“He was once. She had an accident, didn’t make it through. Allison.” Will thought about George then, how he’d left him that morning. Stretched out across the bed, eyes sleepy and closing again as he stroked that blonde fringe out of his eyes. He’d had a brief moment of madness where he’d wanted to bend down and kiss every freckle, every tiny mark on his body and curl up around him. Keep him safe and loved and wanted. Away from all of the insanity that was their lives.
“Do I get to meet him then or are you going to hide him away in that house of yours forever?” The same question for the same answer for the umpteenth time. Will didn’t answer him. He just let his eyes close, long lashes settling against his cheeks as he tried to find his centre for the last time before he sat on some mothers couch and told her that all that was left of her darling daughter was an elbow with a positive DNA match. Before he had to face another night with case files open and spread over the living room floor and then a cold, empty bed with the smell of George lingering behind to tempt him towards sleep.
Will had never heard her laugh, he’d never seen her smile except for pictures which always took on a ghostly feel to him. He’d never had the chance to see her swinging around a bar and grinning as she managed that final turn her fellow team mates never had. And Will had only heard her voice on the answering machine of her mobile phone, a gift from her grandparents for Christmas.
The only working memory that Will had of the girl was a bloodied, torn elbow. The skin lacerated and sliced. The barking of a police dog. The smearing of blood on the ground in footprints. The streaks of it up the wall. All Will had of Maria Harker was theories of how her last minutes on this earth had been spent. Screaming as her murderer tore her skin and lashed at her supple young body until it was no more than so many strips of skin.
“Will?” Jack Crawford’s voice had a way of cutting through his personal silence. He tore his eyes away from the smiling school photo in front of him and glanced over to the drivers seat.
“Sorry. I was somewhere else,” he’d been back in that abandoned warehouse, retracing the killers steps for the hundredth time. Each connection, mental or otherwise, that he made with the psychopath stung like a blade. Will knew what colour hair he had, what size feet and type of boot he’d worn. But he also knew roughly what had been going through his head when he picked out his young victims. That, no matter how helpful, made him feel physically sick.
“You don’t have to come along,” Jack told him, turning the car (Will’s new car, the replacement for the one Jack had crashed) around a corner. “Richard’s can do it. Or uniforms. You don’t have to keep putting yourself through this.”
Will’s head was shaking on the first sentence. “No. No, Jack I have to do this. I have to see this through.” Telling the parents that they’d found a body part would be hell. But he had to do it, there was no shirking responsibility on this one. And that would be, in Will’s mind at least, almost as bad as not having found the girl alive.
“You don’t have to do anything, Will. Christ knows, you’ve hardly spent five minutes with your eyes shut since this freak started.” That was true. Of course it was, how could he sleep when there was a psychopath out there with a blade slicing up little brunettes when they should be safe in the arms of their family? For Will the subject was closed before Jack had even thought to argue with him.
They drove in silence. Until Will realised that the only place his brain would allow him to go was back to the field and the warehouse that lay at the end of it.
“It makes me think of Josh.” He could see Jack’s eyes sliding across to him, back to the road. Uncomfortable maybe with the subject of Will’s son. Will’s son that had come from a marriage between him and Molly that Jack had a hand, however indirectly, in breaking up.
“It’s bound to. After what happened with Dollarhyde.” He didn’t want to talk about that though. He wasn’t interested in revisiting the old house in Sugarloaf Keys and thinking about the tiny slivers of glass that still clung to the woodwork from the mirrors that the psychopath had smashed to use in Josh and Molly’s eyes. He didn’t want to think about the pencil thin white scar that went in a diagonal line across his chest or the tiny finger width white bumps, all scar tissue from bullets and a knife. His kitchen knife.
“He’d coming to stay for Easter. That’s why I applied for the leave,” Will explained absently, trying to forget the wet patch down his young sons leg from pure fear and the terror in those ice blue eyes.
Jack’s mood almost palpably changed. His body straightened up suddenly in the seat and his jaw jutted slightly to the side. “Thought you were taking Carter somewhere again.” He should have been expecting that but even an argument right now was preferable to thinking about Maria Harker’s voice. Hey, I’m not around right now or I’ve lost my mobile again! Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you …
“George’s got caseloads falling down around his ears. And a mutual friend in crisis. He’s lucky if he gets a full nights sleep never mind a week off for a holiday.” Jack just grunted at him. Will wondered absently if Regan did this to George, snide comments and searching questions all the time. Mind you … hadn’t he said that Regan didn’t talk to him if he could help it?
“So he’s going to meet Josh?” Jack’s voice, as always, betrayed him. Gruffer, more grainy. Angry deep, deep down.
“Yeah, I’m going to try and talk him into taking him out for the day just the two of them,” Will carried on as if he hadn’t noticed. If he pushed the topic he might end up with another wrecked car. And the prospect of a long drive with tension you could cut with a knife and distraught parents at the end of it wasn’t what he needed.
“He got kids of his own?” but Jack was determined to find everything he could out about George. Down to his inside leg measurements. Will knew that it had cut deep when he’d called things off between him and Jack. It had messed with his head. Now it was messing with his work life. Jack was ready to start a new life with Will when they’d moved to England but three nights in bed a week and the promise of a blow in the toilets at work for the risk factor wasn’t what Will had ever intended for himself.
“Nope. No kids.” Jack snorted. His boys were both grown up and carried very little whether their constantly rowing mother and father were apart or together. It just made their lives a little simpler if they only saw them together at birthdays and Christmas’.
“Heard he used to be married,” Jack slotted in when it became obvious that Will wasn’t going to elaborate on the kids issue. The photos he thrust into the glove compartment and left them there, trying to forget about smiling faces and bloody elbows.
“How’d you find that out?” Will leaned back in the seat, head making contact with the rest on the back of his chair.
“Asked around,” in other words, ‘Wanted to know exactly who you were sleeping with and what he had that I didn’t.’ For a guy who worked in criminal psychology Jack was surprisingly transparent sometimes.
“He was once. She had an accident, didn’t make it through. Allison.” Will thought about George then, how he’d left him that morning. Stretched out across the bed, eyes sleepy and closing again as he stroked that blonde fringe out of his eyes. He’d had a brief moment of madness where he’d wanted to bend down and kiss every freckle, every tiny mark on his body and curl up around him. Keep him safe and loved and wanted. Away from all of the insanity that was their lives.
“Do I get to meet him then or are you going to hide him away in that house of yours forever?” The same question for the same answer for the umpteenth time. Will didn’t answer him. He just let his eyes close, long lashes settling against his cheeks as he tried to find his centre for the last time before he sat on some mothers couch and told her that all that was left of her darling daughter was an elbow with a positive DNA match. Before he had to face another night with case files open and spread over the living room floor and then a cold, empty bed with the smell of George lingering behind to tempt him towards sleep.