The Night Stalker

69

‘I met Night Owl online a few years ago,’ said Keith. They were sitting back in his cramped, brightly lit living room.

‘“Night Owl”?’ asked Erika.

‘Yes, that’s her handle; the name she uses in the chat rooms. I don’t sleep much, and I go and talk to like-minded people.’

He saw Peterson glance at Erika.

‘I’m not a like-minded person like Night Owl… What I mean is, she’s different with me. We’ve connected on a deep level. We can tell each other anything.’

‘Has she told you her real name?’ asked Erika.

‘No, I only know her as Night Owl… But that doesn’t mean we’re not close. I love her.’

Erika realised they were dealing with something far darker than they had thought. Keith was in deep.

‘What exactly did you talk to her about?’ asked Peterson.

‘Everything. We started off just chatting, for months really, about what we liked on telly, favourite foods… And then one night the chat room was busy, other users kept butting in, so I invited her to go and have a private chat, one that other people in the chat room couldn’t see. And things got… heavy.’

‘How do you mean, “heavy”? Cyber sex?’ asked Peterson.

‘Don’t say “cyber sex” – it was more than that,’ said Keith, shifting awkwardly.

‘I understand,’ said Erika. ‘Did anything else happen that night?’

‘She started talking about her husband and how he would rape her.’

‘Rape her? Where?’

‘At home, in bed, during the night… He’d just wake up and make her do it. She said lots of people don’t think that’s rape, but it is, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it is,’ said Erika.

Keith let that sink in for a moment.

‘I just listened to – well, I read – what she said on the screen. She poured it all out. He was violent and abusive to her, and she felt trapped. What was worse was she couldn’t sleep. She’s an insomniac. Like me.’

‘When was this?’ asked Erika.

‘Four years ago.’

‘You’ve been talking to her for four years?’ asked Peterson.

‘There are times when she goes off the radar, and I have times too, but we hook up most nights. We’re going to be together. She wants to run away with me…’ Keith looked down for a moment, realising. ‘Well, that was the plan.’

‘What did you tell her about yourself?’ asked Erika.

Keith opened and closed his mouth a few times, unsure of how to say it. ‘She thinks I have my own business, a charity, for clean drinking water. She thinks I’m unhappy in my marriage too. That my wife doesn’t understand me like she does.’

‘And I take it you’re not married? Divorced?’ asked Peterson, looking around at the tiny living area.

‘Neither,’ replied Keith.

‘How did you describe yourself, physically?’ asked Peterson. Erika shot him a look; she didn’t want Keith closing down on them. There was another awkward pause.

‘It’s okay. So you weren’t entirely truthful with her. What happened next?’ she asked.

‘She said she fantasised about killing her husband… At the same time, I was going through a very dark patch in my life and I was looking at how to commit suicide. You see, with my condition I’m not expected to live beyond the next few years… I’m often in constant pain… I’d been on this forum where it explained how you could buy one of these suicide bags, and together with a gas canister you could use it to kill yourself. No pain, just drift away.’

A look passed between Erika and Peterson.

‘And you gave her details of this bag, and how to kill her husband?’

Keith nodded.

‘And did she ask you to buy one of these bags for her?’

‘No. At this stage, I had one. I posted it to her.’

‘You posted it?’

‘Yes, well, I got my carer to put it in the post, to a PO Box address in Uxbridge, West London. She told me she’d set it up, the PO Box, so her husband wouldn’t find out. He didn’t, but before she could go through with it he died.’

‘How?’ asked Erika.

‘He had a heart attack. I thought she’d be happy, but she felt like she’d been robbed of the opportunity to do it herself. She then got really obsessive and angry, looking at her life. She seemed confused. She started to talk about all the men she wished she could kill. Her doctor was one; she’d gone to him because her husband had started to be abusive in other ways. He’d held her down and poured boiling water over her.’