The Infirmary (DCI Ryan Mysteries prequel)(69)

She’d have a hot bath before bed and take care of it then.

Once the crowds had departed, she made her usual exit from the stage door and mustered a smile for the people who had waited around in the rain to see her, although her back was aching, and her feet wept from hours spent treading the boards.

“Goodnight! Thank you so much for coming!”

She waved them off and hovered in the doorway waiting for Mark, the usher who usually accompanied her back to her aparthotel. She was not normally anxious about these things but, in the present climate, she was grateful for the company. Everyone had seen the news reports and it was the stuff of nightmares for women like her; young women with dark hair. Pride prevented her from cancelling the final days of the tour but, as she stood framed in the doorway of the theatre, she found herself wishing that she had.

“Hi Stephanie, sorry to keep you waiting. I got held up dealing with some old codger wanting to know how he could get Puccini’s autograph.”

Mark joined her, wielding a large black umbrella.

“With some difficulty, considering he died in 1924,” she chuckled. “Shall we go?”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to call a taxi?”

“It’s only a couple of minutes away,” she said. “It’ll be quicker to walk, rather than wait around.”

“Okay, let’s make a run for it.”

*

After a mad dash through the rain, Stephanie said ‘goodnight’ at the door of her aparthotel, or tried to. It seemed that, since this was the last show, Mark had mustered the courage to ask her out. It was both endearing and awkward, considering he was hovering in the doorway of her hotel.

“So, um, I was wondering if you might want to have a drink before you go? The rest of the cast are heading out for a quick one to celebrate.”

Stephanie stifled a yawn and tried to think of a gentle way of saying ‘no.’

“Ah, that would have been nice, Mark, but, you know, I don’t drink. I have to protect my voice.”

Thankfully, he took it well enough.

“Ah well, I had to ask!” He smiled beneath the rim of his umbrella. “Take care of yourself, Stephanie. It’s been really nice to know you.”

She watched him hop over puddles on his way back to the theatre and she smiled after him. If only every man could be so good-natured.

And she would know.

Two years ago, there’d been a man in London. Over the course of a weekend, he’d waited around after every performance and just the sight of his face had been enough to set her nerves jangling. He’d made no overtures and hadn’t insulted her in any way.

It was just something in his eyes.

Remembering sent a shiver across her skin and she found herself peering out into the gloomy night, imagining she would see him standing there waiting for her. Just watching her.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she told herself, and pulled the door shut.

*

A few miles further west, Ryan watched the sun go down over the city and knew that, somewhere out there in the darkness, a killer waged a war with himself. If he went out hunting tonight, there would be no way of pinning anything on Sebastien Draycott, and that would undo all the effort of planting Nicola’s keys in the man’s office.

And yet, to deny himself would require a level of restraint that was beyond his capabilities. More than twenty-four hours had passed since Nicola Cassidy died, depriving him of his chance to satisfy whatever need compelled him to kill. Ryan suspected there was a paraphilic desire to see inside the human body, or something equally perverse.

But, when all was said and done, he didn’t care what motivated him except to the extent it helped to stop him.

He continued to watch as the sun slipped off the edge of the earth and darkness fell. Warm rain beat heavily against the window pane and Ryan watched the drops run down the glass, wondering where the hammer would fall.

*

Stephanie never saw it coming.

The corridors of her hotel were impersonal and deserted, with yards of worn carpet in a geometric pattern that was hard on the eyes. Faded prints of Van Gogh’s famous works hung at intervals in cheap plastic frames and she followed them, counting them off until she reached The Starry Night which hung next to the door to her suite.

She already had the key in hand, some odd sense of foreboding having alerted her to move quickly to safety.

Despite it, she still didn’t see him until it was too late.

She caught a flash of movement behind her and then a firm hand clamped around her mouth while the other stabbed something sharp into the side of her neck. He used a knee in the small of her back to thrust her forward into the room she’d already opened, and she fought her faceless attacker, twisting so that he lost his grip on the needle.

But the drug was already taking effect and he watched her stagger into the room, trying to pull it out, her arms flailing.

Calmly, he closed the door and locked it from the inside.

“There now,” he said. “Together at last.”

She collapsed onto the floor and her last thought before she lost consciousness was that it was the same man as before.

He had come for her, at last.

*

Ryan hadn’t been able to settle down to any meaningful work and he acknowledged it was time he allowed his body some rest. His hands shook with fatigue and as Phillips had kindly remarked, he was starting to resemble the arse end of a bus.