But spectacular views were no justification for turning his back on the true north of his talent. He wasnt an academic. He was a clinician first and foremost, then a profiler. His resignation would take effect at the end of term, which gave him a couple of months to figure out what he was going to do next.
He wasnt short of offers. Although his past exploits hadnt always endeared him to the Home Office establishment, the recent case hed worked on in Germany and Holland had helped him leapfrog the British bureaucracy. Now the Germans, the Dutch and the Austrians wanted him to work for them as a consultant. Not just on serial murder, but on other criminal activity that treated international frontiers as if they didnt exist. It was a tempting offer, with a guaranteed minimum that would be just about enough to live on. And it would give him the chance to return to clinical practice, even if it was only part-time.
Then, there was Carol Jordan to consider. As always when she came into his thoughts, his mind veered away from direct confrontation. Somehow, he had to find a way to atone for what had happened to her, without her ever knowing that was what he was trying to do.
And so far, he had no idea how he could achieve that.
Day Two. And still no trace of Tim Golding. In his heavy heart, Merrick knew they were no longer searching for a living child. Hed visited Alastair and Shelley Golding that morning, cut to the bone by the momentary flash of optimism that lit their eyes when he walked into their neat Victorian terraced cottage. As soon as theyd comprehended that he had nothing to offer them, their eyes had glazed over. Fear had gnawed at them till there was nothing left inside but barren hope.
Merrick had left the house feeling bleak and empty. He glanced down the street, thinking ironically that Tim Golding had, in a way, been a victim of gentri-fication. Harriestown, where the Goldings lived, had been a working-class enclave until enterprising young couples in search of affordable housing had begun buying up decaying properties and restoring them, creating a trendy new suburb. What had been lost was a sense of community. The avid followers of Changing Rooms and Home Front were interested in their own lives, not those of their neighbours. Ten years before, Tim Golding would have known most of the people on his street and they would have known him. On a summer evening, people would have been out and about, walking to allotments or from the pub, standing in their doorways chatting as they soaked up the last rays of the sun. Their very presence would have protected the boy. And they would have noticed a stranger, would have clocked his passage and kept an eye on his destination. But these days, those residents of Harriestown not whipping up some exotic recipe from a TV chef in their exquisitely designed new kitchens would have been in their back yards, cut off from neighbours by high walls, designing their Mediterranean courtyard gardens or arranging the Greek urns that held their fresh herbs. Merrick had scowled at the blank doors and windows of the street and longed for a simpler time. Hed headed back to the incident room, feeling ill at ease and jaded.
His team had worked through the night, interviewing the known paedophiles on their patch. Not a single pointer had emerged to move the inquiry forward. A couple of punters had phoned in, reporting a white Transit van cruising slowly round the narrow streets at about the time Tim had disappeared. By chance, one of them had remembered enough of the index number to make it worth checking out on the Police National Computer. Theyd identified half a dozen possibles in the local area, which had given the incident room a fresh surge of energy.
But that lead had died on its knees within a matter of hours. The third van on the list belonged to a company who made home deliveries of organic vegetables. The driver had been going slowly because he was new to the round and wasnt sure of the layout of the local streets. That alone wouldnt have been enough to get him off the hook. But the clincher was that hed been accompanied by his fifteen-year-old daughter, augmenting her pocket money by helping him out.
Back to square one. Merrick shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and glared at the pinboard in the incident room. It was pitifully bare. Usually by this stage in a missing-child inquiry, information was pouring in. It certainly had in the Guy Lefevre case, although it had all proved fruitless in the long run. But for some reason all they were getting was a pathetic trickle. Of course there were the time-wasters, calling to say theyd seen Tim on the Eurostar train with an Asian woman; in a McDonalds in Taunton with a grey-haired man; or shopping for computer games in Inverness. Merrick knew these so-called sightings were worthless. Whoever had taken Tim certainly wouldnt be parading him round the streets for everyone to see.
Merrick sighed. The images in his head now were not of a small boy playing with his friends. What he saw when he closed his eyes was a shallow woodland grave. A flash of yellow football shirt in the long grass of a field margin. A tangle of limbs in a drainage ditch. Christ, but he felt inadequate to the task.
He racked his brains for some other avenue of approach, summoning up the images of previous bosses, wondering how they would have handled things differently. Popeye Cross would have been convinced their abductor was someone they already had on the books. Hed be sweating the nonces, determined to get a confession out of someone. Merrick was confident hed covered that already, even though his team knew better than to exert the kind of pressure Popeye had been famous for. These days, you leaned too heavily at your peril. Courts had no patience with police officers who bullied vulnerable suspects.
He thought of Carol Jordan and reached for his cigarettes. Shed have come up with some tangential line of attack, he had no doubt of that. Her mind worked in ways hed never managed to fathom. His brain was wired differently from hers, and hed never in a million years arrive at one of her inspired angles. But there was one thing Carol would have done that he could pursue.
Merrick inhaled and reached for the phone. Is the boss in? he asked the woman who answered. Id like to talk to him about Tony Hill.
John Brandon climbed the steps up from the Barbican station. The dirty yellow bricks seemed to sweat and even the concrete underfoot felt hot and sticky. The air was stuffy with the thick, mingled smells of humanity. It wasnt the best preparation for what he suspected was going to be a difficult conversation.
No matter how much hed tried to prepare himself for his meeting with Carol Jordan, he knew he didnt really have a clue what hed find. He was certain of only two things: he had no idea how she felt about what had happened to her; and work would be her salvation.
Hed been appalled when hed heard about the botched undercover mission that had ended with the violent assault on Carol. His informant had tried to stress the significance of what her operation had achieved, as if that were somehow a counterbalance to what had been done to her. But Brandon had cut impatiently across the rationale. He understood the demands of command. Hed given his adult life to the police service and hed reached the top of the tree with most of his principles intact. One of those was that no officer should ever be exposed to unnecessary risk. Of course danger was part of the job, particularly these days, with guns as much a fashion accessory in some social groups as iPods were in others. But there was acceptable risk and unacceptable risk. And in Brandons view, Carol Jordan had been placed in a position of intolerable, improper risk. He simply did not believe there was any end that could have justified such means.
But it was pointless to rage against what had happened. Those responsible were too well insulated for even a Chief Constable to make much of a dent in their lives. The only thing John Brandon could do now for Carol was to offer her a lifeline back into the profession she loved. Shed been probably the best detective hed ever had under his command, and all his instincts told him she needed to be back in harness.
Hed discussed it with his wife Maggie, laying out his plans before her. What do you think? he asked. You know Carol. Do you think shell go for it?
Maggie had frowned, stirring her coffee thoughtfully. Its not me you should be asking, its Tony Hill. Hes the psychologist.
Brandon shook his head. Tony is the last person Id ask about Carol. Besides, hes a man, he cant understand the implications of rape the way a woman can.
Maggies mouth twisted in acknowledgement. The old Carol Jordan would have bitten your hand off. But its hard to imagine what being raped will have done to her. Some women fall to pieces. For some, it becomes the defining moment of their lives. Others lock it away and pretend it never happened. It sits there like a time bomb waiting to blow a hole in their lives. And some find a way to deal with it and move forward. If I had to guess, Id say Carol would either bury it or else work through it. If shes burying it, shell probably be gung ho to get back to serious work, to prove to herself and the rest of the world that shes sorted. But shell be a loose cannon if thats what shes trying to do, and thats not what you need in this job. However she paused, if shes looking for a way through, you might be able to persuade her.
Do you think shed be up to the job? Brandons bloodhound eyes looked troubled.
Its like what they say about politicians, isnt it? The very people who volunteer for the job are the last ones who should be doing it. I dont know, John. Youre going to have to make your mind up when you see her.
It wasnt a comforting thought. But hed since had support from a surprising quarter. The previous afternoon, DI Merrick had sat in his office asking Brandons sanction to bring Tony Hill in to profile the disappearance of Tim Golding. As theyd discussed the case, Merrick had said almost wistfully, I cant help feeling wed be doing better if we still had DCI Jordan on the team.
Brandons eyebrows had shot up. I hope youre not having a crisis of confidence, Inspector, he said.
Merrick shook his head. No, sir. I know were doing everything we can. Its just that DCI Jordan looks at things differently from anybody else Ive ever worked with. And with cases like thiswell, sometimes it feels like its not enough to cover all the bases.
Brandon knew Merrick had been right. All the more reason why he should do everything in his power to bring Carol Jordan back into the world again. He squared his shoulders and headed for the concrete labyrinth where Carol Jordan waited at the epicentre.
John Brandon was shaken to see the change in Carol Jordan. The woman who waited in the doorway for him to emerge from the lift bore almost no resemblance to his memory of her. He might well have passed her in the street. Her hair was radically different, cut short at the sides, the heavy fringe swept to one side, changing the shape of her face. But she had altered in more fundamental ways. The flesh seemed to have melted from her face, giving it a new arrangement of planes and hollows. Where there had been an expression of intelligent interest in her eyes, now there was a blank wariness. She radiated tension rather than the familiar confidence. In spite of the warmth of the early summer day, she was dressed in a shapeless polo-neck sweater and baggy trousers instead of the sharply tailored suits Brandon was used to seeing her in.
He paused a couple of feet from her. Carol, he said. Its good to see you.
There was no smile of welcome, just a faint twitch of muscle at the corners of her mouth. Come in, sir, she said, stepping back to allow him to enter.
No need for formality, Brandon said, taking care to keep as much physical distance as possible between them as he walked into the flat. Ive not been your boss for quite a while now.
Carol said nothing, leading the way to the pair of sofas that sat at right angles to each other with a view through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the old church at the heart of the Barbican complex. She waited till he sat down, then offered him a drink. Coffee, tea?
Something cold. Its warm out there today, Brandon said, unfastening the jacket of his charcoal suit. Catching her sudden stillness, he stopped awkwardly at the third button and cleared his throat.
Mineral water or orange juice?
Waters fine.
When she returned with two glasses of water still hissing their effervescence into the air, Carol set Brandons in front of him then retreated with her own to the furthest point from him. How are you? Brandon asked.
Carol shrugged. Better than I was.
I was shocked when I heard what had happened. And upset too. Maggie and Iwell, I know how Id feel if her, or my daughtersCarol, I cant imagine how you begin to deal with something like that.
There isnt anything like that, Carol said sharply, her eyes on his. I was raped, John. No other violation comes close except death, and nobodys reported back on that yet.
Brandon took the rebuke on the chin. It should never have happened.
Carol let out a deep breath. I made mistakes, its true. But the real damage was caused by people who set up the operation and never levelled with me about what was really going on. Sadly, not everyone is as scrupulous as you. She turned away and crossed her legs tightly. You said there was something you wanted to discuss with me? she continued, changing the subject irrevocably.
Thats right. I dont know how current you are with recent changes in the service in the north?
Carol shook her head. Its not what Ive been paying attention to.
No reason why you should, he said gently. But the Home Office in their wisdom have decided East Yorkshire is too small a force and it should be amalgamated. And since my force is the smaller of the two involved in the merger, Im the one whos had to give up the top job.
Carol showed the first sign of animation. Im sorry to hear that, John. You were a good Chief Constable.
Thank you. And I hope I will be again. Im back on my old stamping grounds.
Bradfield?
Brandon noticed Carols body relaxing slightly. He had, he thought, penetrated the hard outer shell. Thats right. Theyve offered me Bradfield Metropolitan Police. His lugubrious face creased in a smile. And Ive said yes.
Im very pleased for you, John. Carol sipped her drink. Youll do a good job there.
Brandon shook his head. I didnt come here for flattery, Carol. I came here because I need you.
Carol looked away, her eyes fixed on the marled grey stone of the church. I dont think so, John.
Hear me out. Im not asking you to come and fly a desk in CID. I want to do something different in Bradfield. I want to set up an operation like the Met has for dealing with serious crime. A couple of elite major incident squads on permanent standby to catch the tough ones. All they do is the big cases, the really bad lads. And if theres a lull in the action, the squad can pick up cold cases and work them.