CHAPTER FIFTEEN

By the time Greg came barging through the doors, Molly was gone. The window reduced to shards and there was blood everywhere. He shook at the sight, burning it into his brain without permission.

He was speechless. Nothing came to his lips, no swears, no tears, just blank. He was furious, but too furious for screaming. Too furious for words. She was gone, and as far as he could see, there was no clue as to where they were. But it wasn't over. He wouldn't let it be.

Molly was going to be all right. He'd vowed it before, and though it seemed odd for a divorcee to say, but he would always keep things he vowed. There wasn't another option: Molly would walk away from this on her own two feet. He'd guarantee it.

The Cambria Constabulary arrived shortly after he did. Taping off the premises, taking blood samples, looking for fingerprints. Any sign of where she could be. Greg might've been kicked away from the cabin, forced to step outside, had he not had his Scotland Yard I.D with him.

He watched the forensics team spray down the room and search for extra blood or bodily fluids.

Other than the blood visible by the window, there wasn't any extra hiding in corners. They found plenty of semen throughout the cabin, Greg prayed silently to any deity who might listen that it was his. It was answered a few minutes later, when the forensic pathologist declared it several days old, shooting a sly look towards him.

Anything on the island was on the ground, evidence of a struggle, and the lamp laid unplugged under the broken window. They took prints, but quickly only found them to be Molly's.

They quickly viewed the surveillance, finding it had short circuited on the extra power supply.

It almost looked as though Molly had a scuffle with herself. Only her DNA was found, other than the semen (which was too old to be relevant to the case at hand).

"Dreadful business." The Detective Inspector for the Cumbria Constabulary (his name was Joshua or Jeremy or Jeffery or…did it fucking matter?) "She was your wife? Girlfriend?"

Greg shook his head. "No. Not really. I'm in charge of a case of the man who's stalking her. Took her away from London for protection."

"That worked well," Joshua/Jeremy/Jeffery muttered sarcastically, resulting in a stare down from Greg. He coughed. "For purely professional purposes, the semen's yours?"

Greg blinked. He supposed it did look strange, and they'd find our from a quick DNA test anyhow. "Yeah."

Detective Inspector Joshua/Jeremy/Jeffery nodded. "I'm sure you realise how this looks."

Greg nodded gravely.

"However," The other Detective Inspector mused. "The security in the main building and on the drive over wasn't altered, so we do know you weren't in. But, we do have cause…"

"I understand." Greg said through his teeth. "But this is my case."

"It was in London," He reminded him. "Now we're up here, and what happened here is mine. But maybe we can work together."

Greg lowered his brow. "I don't have time for pitching ideas back and forth. This man kills the women he stalks."

"Well, then, you've got a suspect?"

"No. He never left evidence."

"Now he did," An office called from the back of the cabin. "Look, the web cam's been running for hours."

Greg's eyes snapped back to the Joshua/Jeremy/Jeffery "Mind if I take a look with you?"

The video opened with Molly, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. She took a deep breath, and looked straight at the camera.

"I don't know if you'll get this. Or who you even are. Or what exactly you want. But I…" She inhaled slowly again. "I don't know if the others tried to talk to you. But you've…you have some things wrong."

Joshua/Jeremy/Jeffery/whatever shook his head. "First mistake, that. Can't reason with the crazies."

Greg ignored him, turning up the volume.

Molly went on. "I don't know you. You don't know me. You…You've got it wrong." She bit her lip. "I don't love you – you don't love me. You have to let it go through – this is all a mistake. And I'm done with it."

Greg drew his brow, and focused in on Molly's digital image.

"I'm going to do whatever," She paused, shook her head, and went on, "Anything it takes. Anything at all. If it's me you want, you can't have it. If it's the chase…I'm…I'm through with running. If it's manipulation you want…you…you can't have it. I'm through with hiding."

Well, then, Greg thought, what did she intend to do?

"I know," Molly's recording continued. "I know that you've…killed Celeste Paxton and Shaelee Birdie. I don't know why, exactly. Your emails sounded like you thought they were cheating. But…there's, there's no relationship. So, just stop it. Stop. I'm going to live. If I need somebody to walk me places, I'll do it." She opened her eyes, contained fury gushing through the cornea, "But, you stay the bloody hell away from me."

She sighed. "And, so, I won't run anymore. You…you don't…can't. You. Can't. Ruin. Me."

From inside the computer screen, they heard the soft hum of a mobile. Molly looked down. Then got up to answer the door.

Greg felt a pang of anger welling up in his chest at that. Didn't he tell her not to answer the door? She might have been fine if she had just listened to him.

Then, without warning, as she unlatched the door and opened it, the screen went black. Replacing the video, sat a strip of font.

NICE TRY, WANKERS.

"Well, is that it then?" Joshua/Jeremy/Jeffery said, beginning to stand up. "What other evidence do we have?"

The young officer looked at a clipboard that was too large for her petite hands. "The blood's only Hopper's.

"Hooper," Greg mumbled. "It's Hooper."

The officer shrugged. "The fingerprints don't match anyone either."

Greg however, still stared at the computer screen. There was something humming underneath it all.

"Hey! Quiet down!" He hissed to the other two officers. "The audio's still running."

The younger officer managed to raise the volume quite a bit, with some fancy looking program Greg thought resembled something off Dr Who.

They could make out a voice. A young man, as assumed. Northern accent, as though local.

A chill rushed down his spine as he heard the stalker call out to Molly. Here kitty, kitty, kitty, he said.

And that's when something clicked. The voice was familiar. He had definitely heard it before. But, somehow, he could not place it.