Dee suddenly lost her composure. Her eyes welled up with tears and her voice emerged as a strangled wail. I dont know. Look, we shared the room and the rent, we didnt live in each others pockets, I dont know what she did or who she did it with.
Kevin reached across the table and took her hand. Astonishment overcame her emotional outburst and her mouth fell open. Im sorry. We just need to explore every possibility if were going to have any chance of catching him.
Dee snorted derisively, pulling away from him. Listen to you. Anybody would think it was a respectable mother of three whod been killed, not some throwaway tart.
Kevin shook his head sorrowfully. I dont know who youve been listening to, Dee, but we dont treat anybody as a throwaway victim here. My guvnor wouldnt stand for it.
Dee looked momentarily uncertain. You mean that?
I mean it. Nobody on this investigation is giving any less than a hundred per cent. Now, I want you to come upstairs with me and look at some photographs. Will you do that for me, Dee?
All right, she said. It was hard to say who was the more surprised.
After midnight, the fluorescent lights in Carols office seemed indecently bright, turning skin tones grey. Carol was reading the scant computer files on Derek Tylers murders when the door opened and Tony walked in. Its rubbish, you know, he said without preamble.
Carol, accustomed to the vagaries of his conversational style, humoured him. Thanks for coming in. Whats rubbish?
Copycats. They dont happen. Dont existnot in sexual homicide. He dropped into the chair opposite her desk and sighed.
What are you saying, Tony? That Derek Tyler managed to be in two places at once?
I dont know anything about Derek Tyler until I read the files. What I do know is that whatever weve got here, its not a copycat.
Carol struggled to make sense of what she was hearing. But if the MO is the same?
Then youve got the same killer. He gave her an apologetic smile and shrugged.
Thats not possible. From what Don says, and from what Ive read here, there was no doubt on the forensics. And Derek Tyler is behind bars.
Tony yanked the chair forward and leaned on the desk. His face was inches from hers. What is sexual homicide about? he demanded.
Carol knew the answer to this one. The perverted gratification of desire.
Good, good, he said, moving even closer. How many lovers have you had?
Flustered, Carol looked away. Whats that got to do with anything?
More than one, right? he continued insistently.
Carol gave in. It was easier than the alternative. More than one, she agreed.
And have any of them ever behaved identically in bed? Tony asked, as if the answer would settle an important argument.
Carol started to see a glimmer of where he was going with this. No. Tonys intense blue eyes were irresistible. In spite of herself, she grew tense at his physical closeness. Whether he recognized that or not, he gave no clue.
His voice dropped, becoming intimate and gentle. My particular needs can only be met by one specific ritualistic process. I need you bound to the bed, I need you clothed, I need your voice stilled by a leather gag, I need you in my power and I need to destroy the manifestation of your sexuality. He took a deep breath and pulled back. What are the chances that there are two of us out there who want exactly the same thing?
Comprehension dawned on Carol. She relaxed now the immediacy of the intimacy had receded. Point taken. But were still left with an identical MO. Which is a problem for me.
Tony leaned back and his voice changed. Carol recognized the shift. Now he was thinking out loud, unformed conclusions bumping into each other. It had taken him a while to be comfortable enough with her to riff like this, but now it was almost as if he saw her as an extension of himself in these moments of verbal reverie. Unless of course someone wanted to get rid of Sandie specifically and thought it would be clever to do it in a way that made us run around like headless chickens looking for an impossible killer.
I suppose thats conceivable, Carol said reluctantly.
I mean, if it wasnt for the history, tying it into past cases, it wouldnt be that far out of the ordinary. Extreme, but not extraordinary.
Jesus, Tony, Carol protested. You think what he did to her wasnt extraordinary?
Divorce your personal response from your professional one, Carol, he said quietly. Youve seen worse than that. A lot worse. Whoever did this still has a lot to learn about sexual sadism.
Id forgotten how far from normal you are, she said wearily.
Thats why you need me, he said simply. Probably the only really interesting aspect of it is that she wasnt undressed. I mean, if you go to the trouble and expense of going back to a room with a hooker, Id have thought youd want her to take her clothes off. I know I would. Otherwise, you might as well just do it in the back of the car or up against a wall.
So what does that say to you?
Rape. The word hung in the air between them. For months it had been unspoken and unspeakable. But now it was out in the open. Tony raised his shoulders in an apologetic shrug.
Carol struggled to stay in the professional zone. Why do you say that? Theres no sign of a struggle back there. Presumably Sandie agreed to be tied up. Presumably hed agreed to pay her.
Absolutely. But he wants it to feel like its rape. So he doesnt want his victim undressed. That way he can fool himself that hes a rapist.
It was Carols turn to look puzzled. He wants to pretend hes a rapist? And then he kills them? Why cant he just pretend to be a murderer?
Tony sighed. I dont know that yet, Carol.
Its ironic, but hes calmer now the streets are full of cops. Its what he expected, and its always comforting when what he expects happens, even if its bad shit. Because at least then he knows its not something worse.
He was doing a bit of business in the toilets at Stans Café when he saw the blue strobe of their lights through the high frosted-glass window. One set of lights could have been anything, but three together had to be Sandie. And he didnt panic. Hes proud of that. Before the Voice, he probably would have run, just as a matter of principle. But now he carried on selling rocks to the nervy black kid, acting surprised when he tried to hurry the action along because of the bizzies outside.
The kid had barely walked out the door when the conversation started. Theyve found her, the Voice said, warm and caressing. Theyre going to be all over Temple Fields tonight. Theyre going to want to talk to everybody. Theyregoing to want to talk to you. And thats fine. Just fine. You know what youre going to say, dont you?
He gave the door a nervous glance. Yeah. I know.
Humour me. Let me hear it again, the Voice coaxed.
I was round and about, just like usual. Dropped in at Stans, had a couple of beers in the Queen of Hearts. I never saw Sandie all night. I sometimes used to see her down the end of Campion Boulevard, but I never saw her last night.
And if they ask you for alibi names?
I just act thick. Like I cant tell one night from another. Everybody knows Im a bit slow, so they wont think anything of it.
Thats right. Vague is good. Vague is what they expect from you. You did a great job last night. Wonderful footage. When you get home tonight, therell be a little reward waiting for you.
You dont have to do that, he protested, meaning it. Im sorted.
You deserve it. Youre a very special young man.
He felt a warm glow inside, a warm glow thats still there. Nobody but the Voice has ever thought anything about him was special, except his educational needs.
So now hes out there, mooching around like usual. He checks out the cops, a mixture of uniforms and obvious CID. Theyre working their way down both sides of the street. He could go back to Stans and wait for them to come to him, or he could amble towards them like a fool with nothing to hide.
He recognizes one of the CID from before, when they were all over Temple Fields a couple of years ago. A big Geordie. Geordie didnt treat you like shit. He changes his angle of approach to come close to Geordie and the woman hes working with. Theyre talking to a punter, but hes gotnothing to say, he cant wait to be away. Hes probably given them a moody name and address and he wants to skip before they catch him out.
They step back and the punter scuttles off sideways like a crab. The cop looks up and sees him. Hes got that I know you but I cant put a name to you look. He gives Geordie a stupid grin and says hi. Geordie says hes Detective Inspector Merrick.
He repeats the name a couple of times to fix it good and proper because he knows the Voice will want to know everything. He tells Geordie his name and address almost before he asks and the woman cop writes it down. Shes not bad looking. A bit on the skinny side, but hes learning to like them like that. The cop asks if hed heard about Sandie and he says yes, everybodys talking. And he comes out with the lines that the Voice has carved on his brain. Word perfect.
They ask if he saw anybody acting strangely. He laughs loudly, playing up to the image of the Gay Village idiot. Everybody acts strange round here, he says.
Youre not kidding, the woman cop mutters under her breath. Can anybody vouch for your movements last night?
He looks puzzled. Mr Merrick says, Who saw you around? Who can confirm where you were last night?
He opens his eyes wide. I dunno, he says. Last night, it was just the same as every other night, you know? I dont remember stuff too good, Mr Merrick.
You remembered you didnt see Sandie, the woman chipped in. Smart-arsed cow.
Only because thats what everybodys talking about, he says, feeling a tickle of sweat at the base of his spine. Thats a big thing, not a little thing like who was in the café or the pub.
Mr Merrick pats him on the shoulder. He takes a cardout of his pocket and tucks it into his hand. If you hear anything, you give me a call, right? And theyre off, ready for the next friendly little chat.
Not a flicker of doubt. Not a breath of suspicion. He fooled them. They were talking to an assassin and they had no idea. So whos the thickie now?
Carol eased the door shut, not wanting to disturb Michael and Lucy. She was aware how even slight noises carried in the high-ceilinged loft. She slipped out of her shoes and padded through to the kitchen at one end of the open-plan living space. The concealed fluorescent strips that cast light on the worktop were turned on, revealing her cat Nelson sprawled on his side, soaking up the warmth. He twitched one ear as she approached and let out a low rumble that the charitable might have interpreted as a welcome. Carol scratched his head, then noticed the sheet of paper he was half-obscuring. She slid it out from under him, ignoring his wriggle of protest. Hi, Sis. Lucys doing an armed robbery in Leeds tomorrow and Thursday, we got last-minute tickets for the opera so Im staying over there with her tonight. See you Thursday night. Love, M.
Carol crumpled the paper and tossed it in the bin, allowing herself to be momentarily wistful about the prospect of a night at the opera in good company. Anything was better than thinking about a night alone in the apartment. Opening the fridge to take out the half-eaten tin of cat food, she was drawn irresistibly to the bottle of Pinot Grigio sitting in the door. She took both out, fed the cat and contemplated the wine.
In her battle for restoration, Carol had resisted the easy comfort of drink, nervous of its easy promise of oblivion. Shed told herself she didnt want to sleepwalk through the aftermath of the rape. She wanted to deal with it, to unpick its effects and put herself back together in something approximating the right order. But tonight she wanted erasure. She couldnt bear the thought of closing her eyes and seeing the images shed brought home from the mortuary. Without anaesthetic, there was no way she was going to sleep. And without sleep, there was no way she could effectively lead the hunt for Sandie Fosters killer. Carol raked through the cutlery drawer for the corkscrew and hurriedly opened the bottle. Full glass in hand, she leaned against the worktop and buried her fingers in Nelsons fur, grateful for the beat of his heart against her skin.
Before last night, shed had nothing in common with Sandie other than their gender. But what had happened to the prostitute had given her a sort of kinship with the woman charged with hunting down her killer. They both possessed a victimhood that had been conferred because theyd both been guilty of being female in a world where some men believed they deserved never to feel powerless. Sandie hadnt merited what had happened to her any more than Carol had.
Carol drank steadily, topping up her glass whenever it fell below the halfway mark. She understood the terror Sandie must have known as she realized there was no escape from her attacker. She knew that sense of utter helplessness, knew the absolute fear of the prey that has no defence against the predator. But in one crucial sense, perverse though it sounded, Sandie had been luckier than Carol. She hadnt had to find a way to live with what had been done to her.
Tony stood by Carols side, his eyes focused on Sandie Fosters lifeless face. He didnt mind being present at post mortems. If he was honest, it intrigued him to watch the pathologist uncovering the messages contained by the dead. Tony read corpses too, but his was a different text. What they had in common was that they both received communication from the killer via the conduit of his victim.
The body lay in a pool of halogen light, the surrounding room a collage of shadows. Dr Vernon, the pathologist, stooped over the body. It offered a gruesome illustration in contrast. Below the waist, Sandies body was still caked in blood, a study in scarlet. Above the waist, she was apparently untouched. The plastic bags covering her hands partially obscured the bruising at her wrists, allowing the illusion of wholeness to persist. Poorly nourished, Vernon said. Underweight for her height. Signs of intravenous drug use He pointed to the needletracks on her arms.