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By Root 392 0

when a plastic bag is used to obstruct the airways—and I did wonder if the killer’s “play” involved this type of torture. It’s favoured by totalitarian regimes because it leaves no marks. Mock drownings are also popular…but tend to “saturate” anything over the victim’s eyes. If it’s any comfort, there’s nothing you can tell me that I haven’t seen or heard before. There’s a depressing familiarity about the way deficient men bolster their self-esteem, and it invariably involves the attempted “humiliation” of another human being. In your case, I’m glad to see that the attempt has proved unsuccessful, despite your (hopefully temporary) belief to the contrary.

Finally, I’ve passed MacKenzie’s details and picture to the Met and asked for heightened alert in the region of your parents’ flat and your father’s office, and I’m happy to do the same with your county police force if you’re prepared to tell me where you are. I have upped MacKenzie’s description to “extremely dangerous and possibly armed” and I urge you to consider that before you “go it alone” any longer. I understand very well that you feel safer with no one knowing your address, but you’ll be isolated and vulnerable if MacKenzie does succeed in finding you.

Yours as ever,

Alan

DI Alan Collins, Greater Manchester Police

From:

connie.burns@uknet.com

Sent:

Sun 15/08/04 02:09

To:

BandM@freeuk.com

Subject:

Correspondence with DI Alan Collins

Attachments:

Alan.doc (356 KB)

* * *

Dear Dad,

I’m really sorry to be causing all this trouble for you and Mum, and I don’t blame you in the least for being a grouch. I’ve sweated buckets trying to put an explanation into words, but I can’t do it. It’s 2 a.m. and I’m exhausted so, instead, I’m attaching some pieces I wrote and my correspondence with a Manchester Inspector called Alan Collins. It’s fairly self-evident. FYI: The conclusions in Alan’s last email (yesterday) are spot on. He’s obviously a very good policeman.

Lol, C xxx

PS: I do NOT need sympathy, so please don’t offer it. I shall refuse to discuss this again if you go tearful on me. You know I don’t mean that unkindly, but the milk’s spilt and there’s no point crying over it.

13

IN RETROSPECT, I’m sure my primary reason for keeping quiet was because I knew how difficult it would be to accept support. Perhaps I’m a deeply contrary person but I started to see everything as a control issue—advice or offers of help were euphemisms for “I know better”—and I struggled with anger in a way I hadn’t before. Yet it was never directed where it should have been, at MacKenzie.

I was still obsessed with the fear that he’d come looking for me, but my new objects of suspicion and dislike were Alan, Peter and my father, who in their various ways spent the following week urging me to step up to the plate. The only one who put it so baldly was Dad, but when I accused him of trying to exorcize his own demons through me, he retired hurt from the battle. Which increased my irritation, because I saw it as a ploy to make me feel guilty.

My mother tried to breach the gap by leaving messages of love on the answerphone; Alan sent well-argued emails, appealing to my intellect, which sat in my inbox; and Peter brought me piles of research until I bolted all the doors and refused to answer the bell. By the end of the week I was so stressed out that I was thinking of doing another vanishing act. In a grotesque way, their generosity and affection were more intrusive than MacKenzie’s sadism. I’d survived brutality, but I couldn’t see how I could survive kindness.

Jess showed up for the first few days and stood around, saying very little, but she stopped coming when I started ignoring the doorbell. I left a message on her phone, saying it was Peter I was trying to avoid, but she didn’t reply or come to the house. It was one of the reasons why I thought about leaving. There seemed little point staying if the only person I felt comfortable with had lost interest. Even if the fault was mine.

SHE FRIGHTENED the life out of me when she walked into my bedroom