I wont be solving your crimes, Major. Im a consultant psychologist, not a consulting detective. All I can do is make suggestions. Its up to you to decide whether theyre worth pursuing, and its up to you to find the evidence to nail your killer.
Berrocal grinned. Doctor, you know and I know that the media are not interested in the truth of the situation. If they find out about you, they will portray you as some sort of miraculous detective, a modern Sherlock Holmes who is called in because the police are too stupid to do their job.
Which is why we dont tell them Im here, she said. For a minute or so there was silence, until Berrocal turned off the main road and headed up the steep hill towards the parador, leaving the dramatic vista behind them.
Will your geographic program tell us if the murderer lives in the same place as the mugger? he asked.
I dont know if theres enough data, she answered frankly. On their own, the two murders wont give us anything approaching pinpoint accuracy. Not enough locations, you see. But Ill play around with various combinations and see what I come up with. I should be able to answer your question tomorrow morning.
Are you positive you dont want to go out to dinner? Berrocal asked as he pulled into the car park.
Its very kind of you. But Id rather get through the work. The sooner I get finished, the sooner I can go home. Besides, Im sure your family would like to see something of you.
He gave a soft snort of laughter. Im sure they would. But like you, Ill be working this evening, Im afraid.
At least Ill have Kits company for dinner. He has the knack of making me laugh, even in the middle of something as grim as this. And lets face it, Major, there arent too many laughs in this line of work.
He nodded gravely. I know what you mean. Sometimes I feel Im dragging the sewer in behind me when I walk in from work. I almost dont want to pick up my children and hug them in case I infect them with what Ive seen, what I know. He leaned across to open the door for Fiona. Good hunting, Doctor. She nodded. You too, Major.
Fionas first reaction when she opened the door was bewilderment. The only light in the room came from the distant vista of Toledo, dramatically up lit by dozens of spotlights. Silhouetted against the light, Kit was sitting on the end of the bed, elbows on knees, head hanging. Kit? she said softly, closing the door behind her. She didnt know what could be wrong, only that something clearly was.
She crossed to him with swift strides, shedding briefcase, laptop and coat on the way. Kit raised his head and turned to face her as she sat down beside him. Whats the matter, love? she asked, concern and anxiety in her voice. She put an arm round his shoulders and he leaned into her.
Drew Shands been murdered, he said unsteadily.
The guy who wrote Copycat?
According to BBC World, they found his body early this morning just off the Royal Mile. Kit sounded dazed.
Thats how you found out? From the telly? she said, dismayed at the thought.
Yeah. I thought Id catch the news headlines. He gave a bleak bark of laughter. You dont expect to hear one of your mates has been murdered and mutilated.
Thats terrible, Fiona said, conscious of the inadequacy of her words. She understood only too well the shock and pain of such a discovery. Though in her case, it had been the telephone that had been the unwelcome messenger.
Yeah, and Ill tell you whats worse. Because he was out and proud and hung in the kind of bars where the patrons indulge in the sort of sexual practices that your average Edinburger finds repulsive, hes already being trailed as the engineer of his own destruction. Its blame-the-victim time. Nothing like that approach to make the respectable citizens sleep easy in their beds, knowing it couldnt happen to them. He sounded angry, but Fiona recognized that as a defence against the hurt.
Im so sorry, Kit, she said, holding him close and letting him nestle against her.
Ive never known anybody who was murdered before. I know weve talked about Lesley, and I thought I understood how you felt about what happened to her, but now I realize I didnt really have a clue. And its not even as if I knew Drew particularly well. But I just cant get my head around the idea that anybody would kill him. I just cant imagine why.
Fiona had never met Drew Shand, but she knew too much of murder and its consequences not to feel the horror that lay behind the bare fact of his death. She knew only too well what murder meant to those left behind. It was the reason she had become the woman she was.
Kit had hit her with the trigger word. Lesley. If she closed her eyes, it would all come flooding back. It had been a Friday night like any other. Shed been in her first year of university teaching and had fallen into the habit of unwinding at the end of the week with the clinical staff from the institute where she was conducting a research study. Theyd start in a pub in Bloomsbury, then work their way up towards Euston Station, ending up in a curry house in a side street on the far side of Euston Road. By the time shed got back to her two-roomed flat in Camden, it had been almost midnight and the rough edges of the week had been blurred into a genial wooziness.
The light on the answering machine had been flashing crazily, indicating half a dozen messages or more. Intrigued, shed hit the playback button and carried on walking towards the kitchenette. The first words on the tape stopped her in her tracks. Fiona? Its Dad. Phone me as soon as you get in. It wasnt what was said, it was the manner of its saying. Her fathers voice, normally strong and confident, had been almost a whisper, a pale quivering echo of its normal self.
A bleep, then the next message. Fiona, its Dad again. I dont care how late it is when you get this message, youve got to phone. This time the voice cracked towards the end of the short message.
Already, she was turning, moving towards the phone. A bleep, then her fathers voice again. Fiona, I need to talk to you. It wont wait till the morning. All her instincts told her it was bad news. The worst kind of news. It must be her mother. A heart attack? A stroke? An accident in the car?
Fiona grabbed the phone and punched in the familiar number. Almost before it could ring, it was answered. A strange voice said, Hello? Who is this?
This is Fiona Cameron. Who are you?
One moment, please. Ill get your father. There was a muffled exchange then a clatter, then her fathers voice, almost as alien as the strangers.
Fiona, he blurted. Then he started sobbing.
Dad, whats wrong? Is it Mum? Whats happened? All Fionas professionally soothing skills vanished in the face of her fathers tears.
Fiona, he blurted. Then he started sobbing.
Dad, whats wrong? Is it Mum? Whats happened? All Fionas professionally soothing skills vanished in the face of her fathers tears.
No, no. Its Lesley. ShesLesleys been He forced his ragged breathing into stillness. She heard a deep, wrenching intake of air, then he said, Lesleys dead.
Fiona had no idea what hed said next. She felt an enormous distance build between her and her surroundings, his voice a faraway echo against the ringing in her ears. Her little sister was dead. It wasnt possible. There had to be a mistake.
There was none. Lesley, a third-year student at St. Andrews University, had been raped and strangled on her way back to her shared house. No one had ever been charged with the crime. The police believed the killer had raped two other students in the previous eighteen months, but they had no significant clues. A couple of footprints from a popular brand of trainers. A description so vague it could apply to half the adult males in the town. Even if theyd had DNA analysis back then, it wouldnt have been much use. Hed used a condom. All the attacks had taken place in winter and the women were wearing gloves, so they hadnt scratched their attacker.
For six months after Lesleys death, Fiona had felt as if she was walking around inside a very bad dream. Any minute now, she could force herself to wake up and none of it would have happened. Lesley would be alive. Her mother wouldnt be suicidally depressed. Her father wouldnt be drinking too much and writing endless letters to his MP, the press and the police, complaining of the failure to make an arrest. And she wouldnt be blaming herself for persuading Lesley to spread her wings and go to St. Andrews when she could have joined Fiona in London.
Then one day, shed gone to a lecture given by a visiting fellow from Canada. Hed talked about the infant science of crime analysis and how it could be applied in criminal investigations. It was like a light bulb in her head suddenly turning on. The cocoon fell away and with piercing intensity, Fiona knew what she wanted to do with her life.
An hour in a lecture theatre, and nothing would be the same again. She couldnt save Lesley. She couldnt even catch Lesleys killer. But now Fiona understood that one day she might find her redemption by saving someone else.
That prospect was enough. Most days, anyway, it was enough. But now murder had touched her life again, even if at one remove. All of this swam through her mind as she sat with Kit in her arms, doing what little she could to comfort him.
After a lengthy silence, Kit finally drew away from her. Im sorry Im being such a wet nelly, he said. Its not like he was my best mate or anything.
Youre not being a wet nelly. You knew him, you liked him, you respected his work. And its a shock to realize hes just not here any more.
Kit stood up and turned on a lamp. Thats the curse of an imagination at a time like this. I keep thinking what it must have been like for him, how scared he must have been. He took a deep breath. I need to do something to keep my mind occupied. He picked up the pile of paper the printer had spewed out. Do you mind if we just get something sent up from room service?
Whatever you need. Fiona hung up her coat and picked up her laptop. Ive got plenty I can be getting on with if you want to work.
Kit managed a faint smile. Thanks. He settled cross-legged on the bed with his pile of manuscript and a pencil. Fiona watched him in the mirror for a few minutes until she was sure he was reading and not brooding. More than anything, she was glad hed accompanied her to Toledo. The news of Drews death wasnt something he should have had to face on his own.