But his father was gone.
Just two months after his father had passed, Ben was losing it; losing the self-control, losing the love and respect for life. Could Eve be the one to help him back onto his feet, back to normality?
He was still ‘compos mentis’ ninety-nine per cent of the time, of this he was sure. How dangerous was being ‘non compos mentis’ one per cent of the time? But he was also aware of the voices in his head, the sudden waves of uncontrollable emotion that coursed through his veins, and the reflections, how could he forget the man in the mirror?
He’d first noticed the man in the mirror a few days after his father’s death.
He was in the depths of despair by then, after the initial shock of the accident, then denial, and then came the despair, and with that was the sense of hopelessness, which caused him to grow angry.
He had seen a counsellor to help with his coping of the grief, and discovered that these were normal reactions to someone who had lost such an important figure in one’s life. Different people cope in different ways; some people accept the situation after just a few days, others take months, some years. But with regards to his stages of grief, Ben was going round in circles. He had given up on the counsellor, even though he was far from accepting the situation and moving on.
Ben continued to stare at his reflection, wondering when his alter ego would make an appearance. He would often do this, trying to figure out if he could predict the next showing, then maybe one day control it. Although controlling your alter ego would mean it wasn’t an alter ego at all, it was just you, but maybe with a different perspective on the things around you.
He wanted to know if his father had often done the same. Had he stood in front of a mirror and waited for his ‘evil self’ to give some murderous instructions or crude remarks, or maybe do that little twinkle thing with his eye, just to let him know he was still there.
‘No.’
Ben shook his head, his father wasn’t like that.
His father was the strongest man he had ever met, not physically, although he wasn’t weak, but he had a soul and was a kind generous man. He was truly a good guy, who not only knew right from wrong, but would act on it, too.
There was a knock on the door, he unlocked and opened it to Eve, who stood before him in her smart, but feminine attire, wearing subtle make-up, high-lighting her gorgeous eyes and shapely cheek bones.
‘I’m going to a feminist seminar this morning,’ she said, ‘would you like to come?’
Ben smiled, ‘Erm, what?’
‘Never mind,’ she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. ‘Pull the front door up until it clicks, on your way out. My number is on the post-it note on the table, call me, and leave me your number, please.’
Eve gave a flirtatious wink then turned and headed out of the apartment, leaving this near-stranger in her home without a second thought. If only she knew the truth of the man she had just invited into her life.
Ben felt a small flutter of butterflies in his stomach, the feeling you get when you know that a special bond is developing, or is maybe already there. He smiled, then made his way back to the sink and washed his face. The cold water against his skin felt refreshing, he wished he could stay in this safe-haven for ever, but he knew he had things to take care of.
He dabbed his face dry with a towel and glanced into the mirror one last time, his reflection winked back at him, that same cheeky wink that Eve had just moments ago given to Ben.
‘You leave her alone,’ he said, pulling his gaze away from the mirror.
21
Still cordoned off, the crime scene was a lot quieter than the day before.
Summers had returned with a couple of uniformed officers, hoping to come across something that they had maybe missed yesterday. One of the uniforms, a new recruit, young and eager to impress, approached Summers with a used condom in a plastic evidence bag.
Summers shook her head, trying not to dishearten the newbie, and softly said there was absolutely no evidence of any sexual activity involving the two victims from the day before. This was the conclusion from the post-mortem examination; Ricky would have died a frustrated young man. The officer’s face reddened a little, realising the amateur mistake she had made and turned to walk away.
‘Wait,’ called Summers. ‘Tag it anyway. Maybe it could be useful to rule someone out at a later stage.’
Summers didn’t know if she was trying to soften the blow for the youngster or if she was just clutching at straws with regards to the case. Any evidence was better than none, which is what they had at this point.
She ducked down under the police tape and took a few steps along the path of the canal. The way in which the canal curved really did make under the bridge quite a secluded location, which is probably what attracted the young lovers to the spot in the first place. Somewhere out of sight, as they were both meant to be elsewhere, somewhere to make out without prying eyes, maybe somewhere to drink and get high if that’s what they were into. She thought this may be the case with Ricky, but wasn’t so sure about the girl.
Was Alexia another ‘good girl gone bad’ in the wrong company? It had certainly happened before, and would likely again.
Summers glanced up to the top of the bridge and caught a glimpse of a man peering over the side, down onto the crime scene. This could have been a reporter, or even a member of the public being nosey, but the way in which he jumped backed, almost frightened, when Summers and he caught each other’s eyes gave her the impression that there was more to this guy.
She ducked back under the police tape and hurried up the steps, under the next tape line and onto the path that ran alongside the road that crosses the bridge.
The man was gone.
Was that him? she thought. Had Summers just set her eyes on the brutal murderer of two teenagers? Was this the same man who had been randomly taking lives for the last eight years?
She took out her phone and called Kite.
‘Yes, boss,’ he answered.
Kite was at the video surveillance centre, going through the digital surveillance data from around the time of yesterday’s crime.
‘I need to know what is on the camera that covers the bridge,’ she said, impatiently.
‘We’re just going through it now,’ he replied.
‘No, Kite, I mean now. There was a guy on the bridge just one minute ago and I need to know if we got him on tape,’ she said.
Kite passed on the request to the technician he was working with, only for the man to shrug his shoulders, shake his head and give the bad news. Apparently, the problem when using the system for playback is that they were interrupting the recording schedule, therefore, no longer recording.
Summers heard the explanation over the phone and hung up.
‘Shit.’
She looked up and down the road, hoping, but there was nothing to look at, not even many cars at this time of day.
Had she just let slip a cold-blooded killer?
By now, Ben was a good half-mile away, breathing heavily after his impromptu run. He cursed himself for being stupid enough to go back to the crime scene, and promised that would be the last time he acted so ridiculously dumb.
Startling him, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Thankfully, it was Eve saying her seminar had been cancelled due to a lack of turnout; she was home and invited him back to her place. She wanted his company.
‘Back to the safe-haven?’ he asked himself.
He could think of no place better to go.
22
Summers had just sat down behind her desk when her phone rang. Kite walked into the office carrying two coffees, as per usual, when she answered the call from her boss, wanting them both in his office straight away for an update.