Escape From Evil - Cathy Wilson [132]
But the simple explanation was that he wasn’t inside. He hadn’t been since 2004. I’d naturally assumed that when Peter had broken his parole, he’d be incarcerated until the end of his original term. But no, he’d served a further three years only. He’d been let out and had immediately fled to Paisley in Scot land, an area he was obviously comfortable with for some reason. The following year a warrant had been issued for his arrest after a knife attack on Cheryl McLachlan, but he’d absconded again. Only now, a year later, had he popped up, this time under the pseudonym Pat McLaughlin. This time as a fully fledged killer.
For years I’d been convinced I was the only one who knew what Peter was capable of. Now the whole world knew – and that just made him all the more terrifying.
‘Tim,’ I said, ‘the police have no idea where he is. But I promise you now: he’s heading here.’
Seeing it on the news, Tim finally grasped the magnitude of the shadows of my life.
‘I’d better get that spy-hole put in.’
The first time Peter had gone on the run in 1993, the police couldn’t have been more supportive. Then, I suppose, it was in their interests to look after me because I might lead them to him. Thirteen years later and they obviously didn’t think I warranted so much attention this time. I couldn’t understand it, but I didn’t let that stop me. When I marched into Havant police station, I noticed there was a copy of the local paper on the desk. Guess whose picture was plastered across the front page?
‘Can I help you?’ the desk sergeant asked.
‘Yes,’ I said, pointing at the paper, ‘I’ve come to talk about him.’
Thirteen years earlier that would have been enough to guarantee, at the very least, a cup of tea with the chief constable. Times had changed, the old personnel had moved on. This time I really had to fight for a panic button. I wished I hadn’t had to give the last one back, but there were only two or three in any county. Eventually I got one, but I also wanted answers. Why hadn’t anyone told me Peter had been released? This was 2006 – he’d been out for two years. Daniel had been walking to school, I’d been working all over the place. We’d been sitting ducks had Peter come this way.
The next twenty-four hours were hideous. I was convinced Peter would be looking to recreate past glories. I didn’t dare leave the house once. Even with all my security in place, I still found my greatest ally was the TV. Sky News had updates running like ticker tape across the bottom of the screen and I couldn’t drag myself away. Every TV in the house was tuned to a different station, in case I missed some detail. I had the radio on too. I knew nothing would change while I stared at the screen, but I couldn’t stop watching. Not until the monster was caught.
Once the media publicity kicked in, Peter – or Pat – was actually picked up very quickly. He’d checked himself into a London hospital, complaining of heart difficulties. I think he must have thought doctors are too busy to read newspapers. Someone recognized him instantly and called the police. He had no heart trouble at all. At last I could turn off the TV. I wouldn’t be seeing him ever again.
Or so I thought. The police investigating Angelika Kluk’s murder kept me informed throughout. When the case finally went to trial in Edinburgh in 2007, I couldn’t help following its progress in the news. It was so macabre, but I couldn’t ignore any little detail. To my knowledge, Daniel didn’t read a single headline. He just wasn’t interested. I’d told him the truth about his father the day we’d seen Peter’s image on TV, but a year later Daniel hadn’t asked another question. That was his way of dealing with things and I respect that.
I, on the other hand, needed closure.