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Cara

Today 10:19AM
Have you seen the news!?
We should throw a fucking party! 💃
Today 1:26PM
Helloooooo
Today 4:03PM
PIP
Today 4:56PM
ANSWER YOUR PHONE!

The sole member of Amersham Police's cold case department shuffles through a leaning pile of papers. Shop receipts and phone records, witness lists and grainy CCTV images enhanced a hundred times over. Zoomed in and brightened, trying to pick out the tiniest details. Louisa Carter can’t have just vanished into mid-air.

It’s not possible.

Pip stares more intently at the printed out papers, the answer there before her in black and white if only she could see it.

She huffs a sigh, flicking back through the autopsy report, and the newspaper clippings, the interviews with grief-stricken family and friends, pausing on the phone log. Her mobile had been manually turned off – she frowns at the time. 8.11am.

She turns back to the CCTV photos. The young girl talking on a tiny silver device pressed to her ear. She checks the time stamp in the bottom corner of the screenshots as it flicks over to 8.12am.

She straightens up, trying to tame the excited chill running down her spine. Maybe the phone provider was just mistaken in the exact time it shut off. A slight delay in the hardware system as it powered down… but what if they weren’t?

She checks the images again, fingers tingling. There’s no discrepancy in the phone model. And there’s only a gap of – 17 seconds. She flicks back to the shop cameras. The back of Louisa, walking to the exit. Head down, rummaging with her keys and purse, large raincoat slung over one arm. Stepping back, still rooting in her bag as another customer wanders in, emerging outside a second later. Adjusting her bag, straightening her outfit, raising the phone up to her ear as she gazes at the overcast sky. Is it possible she had another phone, identical and secret?

Pip knows what it’s like to have a burner phone. 

Could she have changed the phones, then? Slipped her everyday one into the bag, taken out another for – what?

She gazes at the young woman's face, perpetually frozen in... fear? Annoyance? Delight? Innocent people don't have burner phones. Was it an illicit affair, or a drug deal gone wrong?   

Without knowing the person on the other line, any emotion can be transposed onto the low quality footage. The only sure facts are what happened next. How Louisa walked off down the street, cut through a back alley and vanished. Until her corpse turned up thirty three days later.  

Forever seventeen.

She blows out a sigh, neck crawling at the thought of Louisa being stuffed into a car. Tape around her mouth -

Pip shakes the thought away, sliding another document closer. A list of vehicles seen in the area that morning. Already carefully inspected a decade ago when the case was active, but always worthy of a second - or third - look.  

As a one woman team, Pip is confident her high standards don't slip an inch. She's already solved three cold cases from the last century alone, giving names and dignity back to Jane Doe's and lost children. Answering questions decades old, ending elderly parent's agonising wait. Erasing their cruel hope, granting them answers at last. A horror story told with the tenderest care, because Pip knows better than anyone what the victim would have gone through in their last waking hours.

It is her penance, a sort of torture, but oh so exhilarating when she wins and tortured spirits are set free.

What were you hiding, Louisa Carter?

"Mummy look!"

Pip looks up at the sound of Maya's bare feet slapping on the wooden floor. Her daughter skids to a stop before the desk, pink glittery tutu rustling as she thrusts her fingers into her mother's face.

Silver glitter adorns each little nail she wiggles proudly. 

"Oh, you look beautiful." Pip beams, leaning it to examine her daughter's nails with exaggerated care. Turning each finger this way and that, letting the nail polish catch the light, and actually... he didn't do too bad.  "Daddy did a good job, huh?"

She nods vigorously. "We match!"  

"Wow." Pip's lips curl into a smile as she looks towards her husband, ambling into the room. His shirt collar is loose and the tie long gone, the high flying solicitor façade erased the minute he left his office.  

“Hey I’m secure in my masculinity.” Ravi grins, eyes twinkling as he wafts his fingers in her direction. “Who doesn’t love glitter?”

"I love glitter." Maya agrees reverently, dancing over to the dog. Chip thumps his tail on the mat as she hugs him, chattering away. "I like silver and pink and purple and Chip likes it too."

"To eat." Pip mutters under her breath. "Maybe don't put nail varnish on the dog, sweetheart. You know what I think Chip would love? Your... unicorn headband."

"Oh yes." Ravi nods instantly. "Very pink. Very fluffy. He'll be a style icon. The envy of every canine in the neighbourhood. The neighbours will throw biscuits at his feet and beg to be licked." 

Maya giggles, leaping to her feet and scampering off to find it.  

"How's it going?" Ravi asks, peering at the mountain of paper now spread across her work station.  

Pip pulls a face. "Terrible."

"Oh ye of little faith. You make cold cases hot, Pipette.” Ravi says, sliding his arms around her waist and pulling her in close.

She rolls her eyes, but sinks into his kiss anyway. 

"I’m a laboratory tool now, I am?" She murmurs when they part. 

"Because we have great chemistry." He winks, grin making her chest burn with affection. 

"Oh my god." She pushes his shoulder playfully. "How do you always come up with such cheesy lines so fast?"

"Because I’m so naturally punny? Quick witted? -"

"Big headed." She kisses him. "But I happen to love it."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Unfortunately, it's not."

"Careful." His teeth gleam. "If you keep bestowing such compliments on your amazingly handsome and hilarious husband he won't fit through the door." 

"I think there’s only one of us that might happen to soon, and it’s not you." She laughs, looking down at her protruding belly between them.

The reminder makes Ravi hum with pleasure, eyes sparking alight as his hands reach out to caress Pip's stomach. "Is she okay?"

"I think your bad jokes put her to sleep. No!" She shrieks when his glittery fingers move to tickle her ribs, squirming. "If you do that I might wet myself - literally!"

"Damn, not just metaphorically?"

She loses herself in light hearted laughter, looping her arms around her husband's neck and dragging him in for another kiss.

"Before I forget," Ravi says, pecking her lips, "there was an envelope for you on the door mat when I came in. I figured you must not have heard the postman."

Her arm knew what to do.
Pip pulled it back and swung the hammer.
It found the base of his skull.
A sickening crunch of metal on bone.
He staggered. He even dared to gasp.
Pip swung again.
A crack.
Jason dropped, falling forward onto the concrete, catching himself with one hand.
“Please –” he began.
Pip pulled her elbow back, a spray of blood hitting her in the face.
She leaned over him and swung again.
Again.
Again –

She lurches upwards, a drowning woman in desperate need of air, choking on the copper blood coating her lips. She killed him, drove the hammer claw into his brain and dug out all the rot. The evil, infecting his psyche, infecting her –

But no, it was all just a dream. A bygone phantom, a fucked up mirage of her deepest and darkest desires. Acid coats Pip's throat, trembling fingers clutching the soaked bedsheets, and when hands grab her she can't help but let out a yelp despite their tenderness. Ravi's fingers skirt her shoulders and she turns and crushes her head into his chest. Feeling the steady beat of his heart thundering against her cheek, his aliveness; his pure Ravi-ness. 

“You’re okay.” He croons, rocking her softly and stroking her back like she’s Maya. “You’re okay, I have you, you’re okay…”

She shakes her head, because Jason Bell kidnapped her, and Stanley Forbes died in front of her, and she has hideous heartburn.

“I’m not okay.”

A pause.

She feels the shift as Ravi slowly nods his head against her in acceptance.

“You’re fucked up.” He says gently, stroking her hair. “You’re really fucked up right now."

And somehow, that makes a laugh bubble up from her lips. Not hot with blood, cracked with thirst.

"But I still love you, Maya still loves you, and we're going to get through this together." 

She nods, taking a deep breath. “I need a drink.”

She wipes the grit and tears out of her eyes as Ravi throws the bedsheets back.

"I'll get it." 

The baby in her belly kicks violently, trying to bruise the ghost assaulting her mother and Pip strokes the stretched skin cooing softly, trying to transmit all her love. 

By the time he returns with an ice cool glass of water, her heartbeat has returned to normal. She takes a long grateful drink.

“I dreamt I killed him.” She confesses. “It wasn’t self defence. It was cold blooded murder. I wanted to.”

She looks at her hands, fingers puffed from pregnancy, recalling the slick heat of Jason Bell’s blood. Her stomach lurches and she swallows the familiar nausea back.

“I think quite a few of his victim’s families would say the same.” Ravi murmurs. “Myself included.”

“Taking a life… his life. It would technically make me as guilty as him, but I don’t think so.” she whispers. “Not morally. I would call it justice.”

His eyes flick over her cautiously. The high flying lawyer, upholding England’s judicial system. “He’s in prison. Maximum security and solitary confinement, and in the absence of a death penalty he got a whole life order.”

“Life.” She snorts. “They call it that, and then let him appeal for early release because he has cancer that will kill him eventually. Two weeks or two years or two decades from now! You know who had cancer? Sarah Peterson in the forensics department. She was a lovely woman who suffered for years, who dragged herself to work almost every day until the end to leave as much inheritance behind as possible for her children. She left three kids without a mum. If anyone deserved compassionate grounds to enjoy the last few weeks of their life stress free it was her. Not him.”

“I know.”

“His sentence is life. It should be until he stops breathing in that cell.”

"If he's let out he'll be knocking on death's door."

"You don't know that."

"I do." He says grimly. "I'll make sure of it."

She nods. He tilts her chin up, so their eyes meet. 

"But it won't happen, you hear me? Only four prisoners have ever been released after being handed a whole life order. Three were IRA men and the fourth was Reggie Kray, which is... debatable. Numerous prisoners have attempted to argue it and been denied, just like Jason will." His eyes blaze. "Fucking hell I’m going to fight this. I’m going to find every obscure law and ruling I can to help you. Kidnap victim aside, you’re my wife, Pip. We're Team Pipravi. Forever and always."

"Yeah." She whispers into his lips before they meet.

They kiss softly, sweetly, and she melts into his tenderness. His gentle hands will always protect her. For a long time she is wrapped in his gentle embrace, his love chasing away the fear and emboldening her. Her biggest supporter from the start. Her only supporter, at times. Her one constant since she turned up at his house with bribery muffins fifteen years ago.  

They break apart. One black lock falls in front of Ravi's eyes, and Pip brushes it back with a tender hand. Ravi moves to take her hand, kissing her wrist, cradling her cheeks. 

“He’s been in prison the past thirteen years.” Ravi says, his smile wry. “It’s his home now, and who wouldn’t want to die in their own bed? He can’t argue otherwise.”

She nods with agreement, jaw set, eyes blazing in the dark. “I won’t let him.”

"Aren’t you on maternity leave?" Jenna on the front desk blinks in surprise as Pip sweeps through the double doors into the familiar reception of Amersham Police Station. 

"Yes." Pip answers, at the same time Ravi says. "No."

She scowls at her husband as Jenna laughs.

"You try and pull the woman from her work." Ravi grins. "If she could investigate in her sleep, she would."

"Tragically, I don't sleepvestigate. I'm here for a meeting with Henry Rawlins." Pip says.

"Oh." Jenna's eyes widen in remembrance. "Henry Rawlins is in one of the family rooms. Room A3."

"Thanks." 

They'll have comfy seats at least, which will help her aching back. She directs her husband through the reception, past the private offices - 

"Pippa." Constable Mawson sticks his head out with impeccable timing; had he been watching the CCTV? "A quick word."

"Of course." She smiles at her work colleague, stepping away from Ravi who gamely turns to study a nearby poster. 

"I know why you're here so I'll keep it brief." He starts. "I think it’s very strange how the local newspapers have somehow managed to obtain private records of individuals linked to my recent case."

Pip shrugs, entirely innocent. "Nothing specific, from what I understand. Anyone could have seen the police cars called to the house numerous times without action… you know what nosy neighbours are like.”  

Yes, I do." His eyes rove hers. "And I would hope you understand all the media attention brought onto something like Miss Jenkin's case could jeopardize our ongoing investigation?"

She presses her lips together. "Only if the investigation was done properly in the first place, Constable."

He inhales sharply, but Pip isn't done. 

"I think any whistleblower is merely trying to help a victim who had been routinely dismissed by incompetent officers. And if your department is lax in their duty, it has nothing to do with how I run mine. Now if you excuse me, I have my own trauma to attend to."

And she spins around and walks away, dismissing herself from the conversation.  

Being in charge of cold cases doesn't mean she won't fight for the living too. As an officer of the law, she will uphold their solemn oaths. She remembers well how DI Hawkins had dismissed her claims of pigeons and chalk; Pip won't ever let another girl be ignored. She'll do everything others won't, to ensure justice is done and victims sleep soundly.   

"Work trouble?" Ravi asks, shooting a wary look back at Mawson. Pip takes his hand and smiles.

"Nothing I can’t handle. Especially when I have a hot solicitor as a husband."

"Ah. Does that mean you’re breaking the law again?"

"Bending." Pip rephrases. "And don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it."

"Is that all I am to you? His bottom lip slide into a pout. "Someone who can’t testify to your crimes? A poor, hot, fall guy, bewitched by a younger woman..." 

She snorts. 

"Yes, I see what drew you to me now. Not my good looks or saintly personality, no it was my prowess in legal jargon and getting offenders off."

"Getting offenders off?" Her eyebrow pops up with humour. "It was definitely your tendency to exaggerate."

"Exaggerate? Moi? Pippa Amobi-Singh!" 

Their banter dies down as they approach the designated family room, the reality of the situation unable to avoid. Soon, minutes from now, she'll be face to face with her kidnapper for the first time in thirteen years.

“I’ve been looking at all the signs Ravi.” She tells him quietly. “I’ll be able to tell if he’s faking it. He should have a pale face and –”

“You have a pale face.” He says, concerned.

“I’m fine.” She says dismissively, grabbing his hand and pressing it to her stomach where their daughter rolls, one foot kicking in agreement. "We're fine."  

"Good." His eyes study her intently. "But the moment you aren't, you have to tell me, Sarge. Promise?" His pinkie finger sticks out and a smile unfurls across her lips.

She hooks her little finger around his, a solemn oath. "Promise."

They open the door together. 

Henry Rawlins sits at a small table, cupping a plastic cup of coffee between his hands. 

"Ms Amobi-Singh." He smiles, standing up to shake her hand. "Mr Amobi-Singh. How are you doing?"

"We've been better."

His smile fades, gesturing for her to sit. 

"Yes. But he won't see you, understand?" He assures her, tapping away on a laptop. "You speak first, opening the floor for discussion, and as soon as your live feed is cut, the prisoner will be conducted into the room to hear the proceedings."

Live from Woodhill prison. What a show.

"Will he know she's watching?" Ravi asks. 

"They may mention it." He rolls his shoulders uncomfortably, checking his watch. "Can I get either of you a drink?" 

They shake their heads; Pip's stomach roils so much she's half afraid she'll vomit. 

Henry types in the password, and Pip enters the board meeting - virtually. Fluorescent lighting blazes in the small room, overcompensating for its basic interior. Only five chairs sit in a loose 3 v 2 formation, three of them occupied. There's a large crack under the barred window opposite only sloppily half repaired, and Pip wonders how many altercations have happened in the stale room as a result of the decisions made there. The place has an air of clinical hopelessness infiltrating it, and she only hopes when he enters Jason Bell feels it too.

"Ms Pippa Amobi-Singh." Henry introduces with a smile. 

Pip gives an awkward wave to the representatives of Thames Valley Police parole board. 

"Is she the last to join?"

An officer in the room checks a list. "Yes." 

"Shall we get on with this, then?" A white haired man says brusquely. 

"Yes." The sole woman of the trio has a soft voice, and she nods towards Pip with a faint smile. "We don't want to keep a lady of her condition waiting."

Pip wants to reply she's only pregnant, not mortally ill - not like Jason Bell.

If she's this outwardly compassionate to a woman whose only visible sign of abnormality is her growing daughter, how will she fare against a terminal cancer patient? The illness is eating away at his evil insides, a slow poison. Hopefully he's in pain.   

But then... perhaps her soft heart is a good thing. She'll be more moved by Pip's statement, surely. Narrowing her eyes in the woman's direction, she smiles widely. 

"Thank you." She says, rubbing her belly for extra effect.  

"The parole board have convened today at the behest of the Home Secretary to discuss the release of Mr Jason Bell on compassionate grounds. He was sentenced to a whole life order thirteen years ago, and has suffered from cancer of the prostrate for the last three years. It has recently been deemed terminal with a prognosis of under a year. To begin the proceedings, we shall start with the victim impact statements. Mr Rawlins, your client can begin."  

"Pippa Amobi-Singh," Henry introduces. "Sole survivor of the Duct Tape Killer in 2018. She has wrote the following personal victim statement for the parole board to take into consideration."

He nods at Pippa, clutching her piece of paper with suddenly sweaty hands.

Her belly constricts, tightening. An echo of a pressure felt three years ago, and her hand automatically goes to her back as the constant ache increases an inch. 

Ravi's eyebrows shoot up in question, and she shakes her head. Still, she's grateful when his hand gently goes to minister aid, familiar fingers rubbing comforting circles into her spine. 

She begins, clearing her throat. 

She swallows thicky.

Henry cuts the connection, severing Pip's voice. Her time to talk is done, and the fate of Jason Bell lies in the parole board's hands now. She feels nineteen years old again, sick with nerves waiting for the jury to decide his guilt. 

A silence for a minute following her statement. A shuffling of papers, an exchange of looks.

"And now we hear from the parents of Julia Hunter."

Pip startles. Somehow, wrapped in her own trauma, it had not occurred to her the families of his other - mute - victims would also be furious at his possible release. Guilt pools in her belly, swiftly replaced with hope. Surely they would have to come to the correct conclusion, with two statements reiterating the danger and evil of the man. 

"You did amazing." Ravi's reverent whisper in hot in her ear, and she turns to him. 

He is looking at her, eyes wide in adoration, her raw pain reflected, and she drags in a grateful breath, letting his expert hands soothe the pain, tame the ache that buries bone deep. So relaxing, her eyelids go half heavy for a minute as the pressure eases and the parole board pay attention to the next victim. 

And after them, it is Bethany Ingham's sister, and then Tara Yates's father... 

A select group of individuals, united by the actions of the chained monster before them. An unnerving quietness creeps over the room as the prisoner is brought in. 

Still in chains, despite his feebleness, because all know the true danger lurking within. He can clearly never be trusted. Not in prison, and certainly not outside it. 

Pip stares at Jason Bell, gaze burning through the computer screen. He is pale. Gaunt, with thinning hair, and jowls that wobble with every ragged exhale. Vicious pleasure twinges deep in her gut at his pain.

Good.

The white haired man clears his throat. “I will remind everyone, for the sake of the newly entered prisoner, there are people observing these proceedings virtually from online links. We have convened today to decide whether Mr Jason Bell, sixty two years of age, should be allowed a release from prison on compassionate grounds. Under a whole life sentence, he has recently been diagnosed with stage 4 prostate cancer and requests he live out the rest of his natural life outside of Woodhill prison.”

"And is there a plan if he is successful? Where he is to be housed?" His fellow member of the board questions. 

"He has recently married his long term partner, a Mrs Read-Bell. He would be cared for by his loving wife in the privacy of her own home with 24/7 police surveillance via an electronic ankle tag." His lawyer promises. "She owns a property in Bristol where he would relocate to." 

"Outside of Little Kilton's jurisdiction."

"Yes, you would need to inform the local authorities there of his presence."

"And is he deemed a danger to the citizens there?"

"At his advanced stage of cancer, no." His lawyer assures them, adjusting his glasses. "The severity of his illness has been verified by two different independent doctors. In his current condition, he would have no strength to pose the same threat." 

"But there are his crimes to consider, naturally. May I remind the parole board he was found guilty of the murders of five young women and attempted murder of a sixth. The only known survivor has wrote a victim impact statement which we heard." The woman frowns.  

"His behaviour in prison?" Her colleague queries.

"A model inmate. Organised, respectful, punctual... he’s taken several young men under his wing."

"Yet –" The woman turns over a page. "A former inmate, a Mr Max Hastings, claimed he was mentally disturbed. For reference, that is page 7 in the parole dossier." 

Pip doesn't have a copy, but she knows what they reference. Social media had been ablaze with reactions after Max Hastings had left prison and given an exclusive tell all interview about her and Jason Bell, Andie and Sal, all of Little Kilton's secrets. He half admitted his own crimes - for the right price; because of course Max Hastings wouldn't do the decent thing and apologise due to his conscience's sake.

"A salacious tale to sell to the press for money." His lawyer refutes. "Mr Hastings is not a figure to inspire trust, after being convicted of drugging Lord Worthington's niece with the intent to rape. He has a history of manipulating the truth, as seen in his trial where he was declared a sociopath, I believe."

"And Mr Bell is clinically diagnosed as a psychopath.”

“What is in Little Kilton’s water?” Ravi mutters, tightening his grip around Pip’s waist. 

“My conscience would be troubled allowing a man out of prison without restrictions.” The woman frowns. “If this were to be approved, there would need to be monitoring. Would his cancer require ongoing treatment, or would it be palliative?”

“For the consideration of the parole board, his treatment has already changed to palliative. They estimate a life expectancy of… months, if not weeks.”

How many? Pip wants to know.

Two weeks? Twelve months? A whole fucking year knowing he’s out, free to indulge his sick desires. It would take only a matter of hours to track Pip and her family down. 

She shudders violently, and there is tape pressed unyielding to her mouth, digging into her lips and eye sockets, suffocating. Her nostrils clogged, throat closing -

She takes a deep shaky breath. Her daughter has responded to her mother’s fear, kicking with fury at the intrusion of her peace, and Pip's large stomach ripples beneath her blouse, an alien. The miracle of life. Life, that Jason Bell snuffed out with no mercy. Julia Hunter’s womb a rotten husk, Philippa Brockfield's ring finger decayed, Melissa Denny's eyelashes and fingernails curling and dropping out, drip, drip, drip, like blood – Stanley Forbes’s pooled on the floor, wet on Pip’s skin, a gun going off –

Ravi’s hand squeezes her own, his gentle warmth melting the rising terror.

"There's always the possibility as well, that some vigilante might take justice into their own hands if they hear..."

"A name change."

Pip rears up in her seat at the suggestion. 

"Witness protection for a perp?" She spits, even more annoyed when no one in the footage reacts to her muted outrage. 

"No point when he'll be dead before the legal process ends." Ravi says confidently, a fact brought up only seconds later from another member of the board. "It's stupid. A last desperate plea."  

But they will try every angle or avenue to get Jason what he denied innocent girls. His lawyer reiterates it all in his closing speech, Jason nodding along with it.

And then –

He looks at her.

Directly down the camera lens, and she is struck immobile by his gaze. The sheer evil in them. And it all comes rushing back, his hot hands on her, his breath, the terror she had when thinking she was facing her last minutes on earth –

Paralysed, taken back fourteen years, and a wave of fury breaks through the terror, scalding in its intensity.  

How dare he?

Pip made her own fortune in that warehouse, grasped the thread of life when opportunity presented and let it pull her through the danger.

Does he think she came to beg, and weep in fear? She's not one of the little girls he tortured anymore. She came to conquer, force him to stay shackled to the gallows where he belongs. He can't ignore her; he won't. 

Hands that once manhandled her so roughly, pinning her in place, slapping tape on her face now belong to a sad, pathetic old man. A luxury he never afforded his victims.   

She glares, taking in every miniscule cell of his aged body. Adam's apple bobbing as he struggles to swallow, the scarce remaining hairs translucent and wispy thin on the top of his head, the tremor of those hands. 

Dying naturally - it’s a mercy he never afforded his victims. She wants to wring her hand around his scrawny neck, feel his frantic pulse fluttering beneath her palms, and the violent urge makes her fingernails clench into her thighs. Make him feel what she felt for a second - and how that second felt an eternity.

Her lip lifts up into a snarl, entire body bristling. 

This is all merely a show to him. The last modicum of power he can exert over his victims.

Over anyone.

Because when his appeal is dismissed and he’s thrown back into his squalid cell no one will care when he dies; the world will be thankful for it and Pip will celebrate. 

Her heartbeat thunders in her ears, and he is the one to look away from her in the end. Pip sits victorious, and was that fear, flickering for a second in Jason's eyes?

An acknowledgement, that a tiny piece of them, locked down deep, are the same.  

“- newest client. Josh might come home with a Mercedes of his own in a couple of months!" 

Her mother laughs as she pours Pip a strong cup of herbal tea. She clasps it between her trembling fingers, trying to leech the heat from it despite the summer day. 

”Yeah.” She says belatedly. "Perks of being a personal trainer to all the rich housewives, I guess."

Rationality has crept in; Rawlins had assured her Jason could not see her. He was mad, but it was merely because she and others had banded together to deny him what he wanted. She's not like him... is she?

"You need to try and forget about it now. Focus on the baby, and Maya. We had a lovely day." Leanne says, masking her concern with bright cheer. "She loves digging through the dirt and finding creatures."

Pip raises a smile at the thought of her mother, squealing at every spider encountered. "I bet you loved that." 

"Oh, you will." Her mother laughs back. "She’s put them all in a bucket to take home."

"I think we have the next zoologist or palaeontologist on our hands. She's like a walking encyclopaedia on animals." Pip says, and the pride that bubbles in her belly chases the last dregs of fear away.

"And she's only three and a half!" Ravi exclaims.  

"That reminds me of someone." Leanne smiles softly, and mother and daughter look at each other.

A new bond had emerged between them in the days following Maya's birth, a silent acknowledgement of how much pride and pain Pip's mother had concealed to support her throughout the terror of her teenage years. 

"DI Hawkins told me the other day in passing you teach an old dog new tricks."

"I should hope so." She grumbles, but Hawkins isn't that bad.

Not really. He went above and beyond to apologise and gain her trust back after Pip's kidnap; he's the reason she has her exclusive job title.

Ravi dives into the offered biscuit tin, and Pip rolls her eyes at her husband as she declines a custard cream. 

"Do you have any peanut butter?"

"I'm sure we have some somewhere, if Josh hasn't eaten us from house and home." Her mother rises. "Cravings?"

"Yeah... I like it on watermelon." She admits sheepishly. 

"Ah, your wish is my command. Victor!" She calls into the garden. "I'm sacrificing your supper for our daughter."

"Mum!" Pip protests. 

"Your dad can go get another one later. You're here right now and hungry."  

She gives in with a sigh. "At least you haven't treated me like an invalid. I thought the woman on the parole board was going to call an ambulance on me at one point. All Ravi did was rub my back."

Ravi eyes her. "Need my services again?" 

"I've had enough of your services being administered, thanks."  

He swats her, and the two engage in a mock tussle over the table as Leanne goes about preparing her snack. 

"In front of your mother, Pip -"

"Oh, don't pretend you're a prude." 

"Oh, you know I'm not." His voice drops, to a barely there whisper as he whispers something truly truly scandalous. 

"Ravi!"

"Ow!" 

He rubs at his pinched wrist with soulful eyes, as Leanne places the bowl down and watches them closely. 

"Braxton Hicks?"

"Maybe." She shrugs, taking a slice of the fruit.

"Have you thought of names yet?" 

Her question is interrupted by the arrival of Pip and Ravi's firstborn, stomping into the kitchen in rainbow wellies splattered with mud. Pip's dad follows in her wake, holding what Pip can only assume is the bucket of creepy crawlies. 

“Mummy Daddy I found a millipede.” Maya says proudly, flashing the same dimple in her chin as her father.   

“Are you sure it wasn’t a little mayapede?” Ravi teases, swinging him into her arms. She shrieks, giggling and writhing as he attacks her with tickles.

"Can you bring her every day?" Victor booms. "Mini Pickle and I have had a grand time!"  

"Picking all the slugs off your peas?" Pip says knowingly, and her dad winks. 

"Prize winning peas." He corrects, as behind him his wife mouths the familiar phrase in perfect unison.

Pip laughs, holding out her arms as Maya runs towards her, ponytails swinging. 

A surge of love washes over her as she embraces her squirming body, pressing a kiss to her temple, listening to her talk of ants and worms. Worms, feeding on the dead bodies of Pip's fellow victims... it makes Pip's stomach twist to think of Maya in her place, with her love of animals and carefree spirit. Locked in a car boot, fingernails raking at the interior, breath rattling in her windpipe certain that one would be her last. 

She shudders.  

At least I came home.

She has to remind herself of that. She went through Hell and emerged through the other side. Built herself a Heaven, with a husband and daughters and even a dog. 

The other girls didn't...

Jason Bell won't.  

pipamobi-singh added to her snapchat story:

14 days, to decide.

Two hot prickly weeks in suspense. She can't catch a breath in the humid air, and she doesn't know if it's from the anticipation or the baby constantly kicking her ribs. The hours simultaneously drag and speed up. Summer days spent in the garden, watching Maya dance through sprinklers, Chip bounding at her heels until he retires to the shade, furred head on Pip's thighs. Baking with Maya, her clumsy hands helping make buns that taste doubly cheesy for her father. 

She sorts through old baby clothes, receives new presents, tries to solve the mystery of Louisa Carter and her burner phone. 

Everyone is just waiting. Pip, and Harriet Hunter, and Becca Bell.  

"We're going on a bear hunt..." Pip says dramatically. "We're going to catch a big one. We're not scared!"

Maya roars the last line with her and Pip can't help but smile broadly at her daughter's enthusiasm, her bright eyes as she bounces on the sofa beside her.  

Pip had gone on a hunt once, tracking down the true killers of Andie Bell and Salil Singh. She had investigated the disappearance of Jamie Reynolds and her own stalking... she had escaped the DT killer. 

You won't be scared, Pip vows silently. Not like I was, bound blind in a warehouse, waiting to be slain.  

"It’s good to not be scared. But if you ever are," she tells her daughter softly, "you still have to keep going. Even if that means running away from the bear when you have to, or fighting it when no one else will. You can do anything, scared."

Maya nods solemnly. "But I don't want to fight the bear, Mummy. I want to be his friend."

She presses a kiss to her forehead. "You can be friends with him. Just remember he has sharp claws."

Her ringing phone interrupts them, and Pip fishes her mobile out of her pocket with clumsy fingers. 

"Hello?" 

"Pippa? This is Henry Rawlins. Your victim officer." He says unnecessarily as Pip nods. Her belly tightens, a phantom contraction squeezing vice-like, making her question abrupt. 

"Have you heard?"

"Yes. I'm pleased to tell you the Parole Board and Home Secretary have denied his request due to the gravity of his crimes. Jason Bell will die behind bars."

Relief washes over Pip, strong enough to choke. For a moment she is breathless, tears prickling her eyes, and then she gasps for air and gratitude.  

"Thank you." She says. "Thank you."

"I didn't do anything." He answers, modest. "It was all down to you and the other victims persuading the parole board members. Congratulations."

She hangs up, ears ringing, smoothing her daughter's hair as she paws for attention.  

"We're not scared!" Pip suddenly bellows and Maya giggles. 

She shrieks with delight, dancing with her mother as Pip grabs her arms and spins her around with pure undulated relief. 

"We're not scared." Pip gasps into Maya's hair, kissing her. "We're not scared any more." 

pipamobisingh

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pipamobisingh Lila Amobi-Singh. 18.07.32. 

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21st July, 2032

Soft rays of midsummer dawn filter through the cracked curtains of the living room. Pip yawns, flicking through teleshopping channels and early morning news as she settles into the sofa, the soft weight of her daughter clutched against her front. 

She winces, adjusting her on her breast as her daughter suckles. Loudly.  

"So greedy." She coos, stroking her velvety head of hair. "Just like your father."

Lila snuffles in agreement, big brown eyes gazing up at her. A current of love flows through Pip, and she inhales the sweet musty milk smell of her new born daughter deeply. 

"You have his chin too, I think." She confesses quietly, finger trailing along one dimpled cheek. "So much more beautiful than mine." 

She is half asleep in a haze of happy hormones, until the photo flashes on the screen and Pip leans forward.   

"Breaking news from overnight." The presenter says solemnly. "The murderer Jason Bell has died from prostrate cancer. The man from Little Kilton -"

Pip sucks in a breath, frozen, but the blonde keeps on talking.

"- multiple murders and was serving a whole life sentence. He died behind bars after having parole denied by the Home Secretary three months ago. Now we go live to the scene at Woodhill Prison, where -"  

She has to give credit to the editors; they've managed to make a five minute highlight reel of all his crimes and court sessions within hours. Or maybe they always had it on standby, a morbid countdown. Pip can't complain, even when she sees her teenage self on screen and jumps. 

Lila squawks and she releases her grip. Grateful to turn her attention away from the television, she checks on her daughter. 

"Sorry sweetheart." She whispers, tracing the thin scattering of freckles on her chubby cheeks. Truly cherubic, her angel, and she smiles, captivated as her little face scrunches up and she sneezes. Lila definitely has her nose.  

A noise of disgust from behind. "They'll give air time to anyone nowadays." 

"She didn't wait long, did she?" Pip comments as her husband wanders into the room with a yawn. 

The couple gaze for a second at the wild eyed wailing widow, clad in black crying before the cameras.  

"It's what he deserves." She concludes.  

Ravi takes Lila gently from Pip's arms, a lock of hair falling into his eyes narrowed with focus. Her heart melts all over again at his soft cooing, the way he clutches her to his broad chest, so tiny against him. He was made to be a father, to make bad dad jokes to his little girls, to paint their nails and wipe away their tears... 

His face has crumpled, soft with adoration as he looks down at their baby girl.  

"Did we wake you?" 

"Nah. I have an in built alarm system for when my girls are eating without me." His grin is sleepy soft. "Just kidding... I had an alert on my phone for news articles on Jason." 

The revelation stuns Pip, though it shouldn't. Isn't that Ravi all over? A wave of love crashes over her, and she can't help but lurch forward and kiss him deeply. Lips melding to his, and he reciprocates quickly, and swaddled between them in her dad's arms Lila's fingers tangle with her mother's hair.

Pip and Ravi extricate herself slowly, laughing as their daughter watches bewildered, big eyes blinking slowly. 

"I love you." Ravi says emphatically."Fuck I'm so glad this is finally over. Closure for us all, isn't that what your therapist says?"

"Yes... but not all of us. I've been so caught up in my grief I didn't think of yours." Pip murmurs, hand stroking her husband's. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." He squeezes her hand back. "I'm glad Elliott Ward accepts his punishment, and doesn't try to get out on some bullshit compassionate plea. I hear he's started a book club at the prison, teaching others to read. Helping the younger ones have a better future on the outside... I try to convince myself Sal would be happy. Proud even, that his death had an impact on the lives of others."

"He would be." Pip says.

"Still feels shit sometimes though." He blows out a breath. "If Sal hadn't been murdered, he would have done far greater things than Elliott Ward in Woodhill prison." 

Pip hugs him tight, trying her hardest to transmit all her love, all her admiration and loyalty. 

"Yeah, he would."

At the end of Jason's segment, it pans to his daughter's memorial. Andie Bell, in all her immortal beauty. And there, next to her, a newer edition after his innocence was revealed - Sal. Kindness still emanating from him, the live couple mirrored in the television reflection as Pip and Ravi stare at the ghosts. His brother has an identical smile, mirrored long after the screen fades onto the next story. 

They sit there for a long time on the sofa, half asleep and hearts bursting with contentment. They can hear Maya stirring, chattering to her stuffed animals, and doubtless she'll be running in any minute to join their cuddle and Pip will wait, eager. Lila gurgles, nuzzling into her father, and Ravi is so warm as he wraps an arm around Pip and holds her close, lips pressed to her hair. 

They can rest, for a while.    

Their daughters won't worry about murderers and missing people, or secret identities and serial killers. There are no monsters to slay now - but when there's another, Team Pipravi will gladly be on the case.