‘And have you?’ said Poole, instantly on alert.
‘Well I stood in front of the board trying to make sense of it all. Trying to see what the pattern is.’ Jane wiped her mouth with a paper towel and looked for somewhere to put her plate.
‘Signature and MO,’ said Kirsty. ‘Sorry, spending too much time with a certain detective sergeant. Carry on.’
‘Well that’s just it. We have no evidence that there’s any connection between our victims and any potential suspects,’ said Jane. ‘Although I now have a suspicion as to what the reason might be.’
‘And we have a small pale-coloured car in the vicinity,’ said Poole, ‘but we can’t prove who was driving it. Where are we on CCTV and ANPR around the times of the first murders?’
‘We’re still checking on that, skip. The footage I’ve seen so far from the Phillips and Waite murders isn’t sharp enough to see who is driving the car and the number plate was too muddy to be seen clearly,’ said Tim Jessop. ‘Hi, everyone, I saw you all here and guessed what you might be talking about. Didn’t want to be left out.’
‘Are you talking about your mystery murderer?’ said Aspen slipping her arm through Tim’s. ‘I saw you huddled here and guessed what you were talking about. Come on, tell me more.’
‘You know we can’t,’ said Tim. ‘Your dad would kill us if we did.’
‘I know,’ said Aspen glumly. ‘He’s such a stickler for the rules.’
‘It’s not just that, Aspen,’ said Poole. ‘You know that we can’t discuss a live case.’
‘Yep,’ she said. ‘Impact on prosecution’s case, if facts are widely known. But I’ve been following it in the papers and on the news, so I know about the mutilations. Is it something like Jack the Ripper?’
‘Not quite,’ said Tim quietly.
‘So, do you have any suspects?’ asked Aspen.
‘You know we can’t discuss any of this with you. Give it a rest, hun, please?’ said Tim.
‘Okay, I’ll be good,’ she said lightly. ‘You should probably look at film themes though. My flatmate at uni is doing media studies. Last term they were looking at revenge films. Lots of mutilation in revenge films.’
She turned at a call from her mother. ‘Come on you lot, time to cut the cake. Dad hates this bit. It’s great fun.’
She dragged Tim away behind her and the three left in the group stood staring at each other.
Jane, pale-faced turned to her colleagues. ‘That’s the conclusion I came to this morning, when I went into the office. I’ve told the boss that I talked to Sarah Jenkins on the phone just a couple of days ago and she said what she’d like to do to Latimer after what he did to her.’
‘We need to find the killer’s connection with our victims for definite,’ said Poole, ‘but you’re right, that gives them the perfect motive. Revenge for an attack. And we know at least one of them has tried to rape a colleague.’
‘Should I go and visit Sarah again? Or perhaps she’d let me talk to her therapist to get a more neutral viewpoint?’ Jane looked up at Poole.
‘What did the boss say when you spoke to him?’ asked Poole.
‘He said we’d have a briefing in the morning,’ replied Jane.
‘Urgh, on a Sunday?’ said Kirsty. ‘Shall we leave after the cake? I guess we’re looking at revenge films this evening?’
Poole bent down and kissed her on the head. ‘I guess so,’ he said.
Embarrassed, Jane looked away. Straight into the honey brown eyes of Chris Hagen.
‘I didn’t know you were going to be here,’ said Jane.
‘I think Mrs Carlson invited everyone at the station.’ He smiled, and flecks of gold shone in his eyes. ‘Apparently, his birthday party used to be a regular event before his daughter died.’
‘Ah, I see,’ said Jane, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. ‘I wasn’t working here then. I only joined his team last year.’
‘What’s he like to work for? He’s got a reputation for being tough.’
‘I have no idea where that came from,’ Jane sniffed. ‘He’s a really good boss. Very supportive; well so long as you don’t make too many mistakes. He’s not a fan of mistakes.’
‘Perhaps that’s where the reputation comes from,’ replied Chris, taking a bite of the birthday cake. ‘This is good. You should try some.’
‘Thanks, maybe later,’ said Jane, quite sure that she’d not be able to eat without making a fool of herself in front of this man.
‘How’s your case coming on?’
‘I think we may have had a breakthrough,’ Jane replied.
‘Anything for the press?’
‘Not yet, no. I’ll let you know though,’ said Jane. ‘I don’t suppose you know anything about films, do you?’
‘Not really. I’m more a written word kind of man,’ said Chris looking around for somewhere to put his empty plate. ‘I’m good at research though. Goes with the journalist tendencies.’
‘I thought you were a press officer, not a journalist,’ said Jane.
‘I am,’ drawled Chris. ‘But I have a degree in journalism and have worked on papers and local radio. My job is about knowing who to talk to as much as giving information to the journos.’
‘I see. I may give you a shout if I need some help then,’ said Jane. ‘I’m sorry. I have to go. Never off duty when there’s a big case on.’
Jane raced back to her car, sure that she would regret leaving the press officer behind, but for now she had something else she wanted to focus on.
Ben Poole opened the door to his riverside apartment and held it for Kirsty to enter ahead of him. It still made her feel slightly uneasy being in his space. Everything was pristine and beyond neat. It was not a space which made her feel comfortable, as if even sitting on the Swedish sofa she would need to sit to attention.
Ben did not seem to notice her discomfort and she was loathe to raise it, even after he had been so open about his OCD issues.
‘Make yourself at home,’ he said. ‘You know where everything is.’
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Wine?’
‘I’d like a beer please. Wine’s in the fridge or there,’ he said pointing to a wine rack next to the fridge-freezer.
Kirsty nodded and opened cupboards until she found glasses and a bottle opener. She poured beer into a glass for him and decided on white wine for herself. Placing his beer on a coaster, she strolled to the floor-to-ceiling windows, sipped her wine and gazed at the yachts bobbing around in the marina. ‘I love this view,’ she said as he walked back into the room.
‘Me too,’ he said distractedly. ‘Right, I’ve done a quick search for movies and revenge. There’s a lot. Look there’s a top ten. Top twenty-six. Why twenty-six, I wonder. Why not twenty-five?’
Kirsty laughed and sat next to him on the sofa, getting close enough to read the tablet screen. ‘None of them sound very nice,’ she said.
‘You’re not wrong,’ he replied. ‘Oh Jesus, look at the description for that one.’
Kirsty took the tablet from him. ‘I don’t want to see that,’ she said, passing the iPad back. ‘I get enough gore in the day job.’
‘That’s true,’ he said. ‘I don’t get why people want to watch this stuff.’
‘But you are interested in people. What drives them to do the things they do?’
‘Yes, that’s one of the reasons that I decided on criminology. Although psychology might have been a better fit, but if I’d done that, I wouldn’t be here, and I’m glad I’m here,’ he said raising his glass to hers. ‘What about you? Are you interested in what drives people to do the things you see?’
‘I think I’m more focused on picking up the mess and making sure they are found and brought to justice. My role is to work out how they have done it, not why.’ Kirsty looked at her glass and twirled it in her fingertips. ‘Sometimes I think about the senseless waste. RTCs for example. Why someone had that last drink and ploughed their car into someone else’s. That sort of thing.’
She looked at him. ‘I suppose that’s a bit maudlin,’ she said. ‘May I have some more wine? I seem to have drunk that rather quickly.’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Mi casa es tu casa.’
‘If you don’t mind, I’ll leave my car here and get a taxi home, later,’ she said.
‘Of course, that’s fine. So, I take it we’re not watching any of these films?’ Ben said.
‘You choose one,’ she replied. ‘Another beer? I feel now like we have homework to do and I’d hate to turn up to a Ronnie-briefing without having done my homework.’
Ben laughed. ‘I know exactly what you mean, and you’ve got more experience of him than me. I’m still the new boy.’ He took the fresh beer and turned on the TV and set-top box. ‘Okay, here goes.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
6th December 2016
Bristol
‘How are you feeling today?’ asked Torrie. ‘You’re looking well.’
‘Okay, I guess,’ replied Mal. He stifled a yawn, then ran his hand through his hair. ‘I’m still not sleeping through the night. I wake around two am and my head is buzzing.’
‘What are you thinking about?’ asked Torrie. She took in his sunken eyes and the slate grey shadows beneath them.
‘My sister, still. It’s always my sister. How things were after, well, you know, afterwards.’ He crossed one foot over his knee, resting his ankle on the joint and started picking at the hem of his sock.
‘How often does this happen?’ Torrie looked at him quizzically. The sister was new. He’d not mentioned a sister before.
‘Quite often. Two or three nights a week. Sometimes more. I lay there and can’t get back to sleep.’ He thumped his foot back onto the floor and started rooting around in his pockets. He pulled out a Kit Kat in a crumpled wrapper.
‘What do you do to help you get off to sleep?’
‘I lay and stare at the ceiling. I get a drink of water. I try and read. Nothing helps.’ He’d opened the wrapper and split the bar in two, offering one half to Torrie.
‘I’m fine thanks, Mal. You eat it all,’ she said. ‘Have you tried meditation or sleep stories?’
‘I can’t meditate. My mind races all over the place,’ he replied.
‘Even with a guided meditation? You can find them on the Internet. I could send some links to you, if you let me have an email address,’ said Torrie, making a note on her pad.
‘That sounds good,’ said Mal, but his voice made it appear as if the suggestion were anything but. ‘I’ve tried bedtime stories, but I just wake later worrying about what happens next.’
‘Can’t you carry on listening?’
‘I tried book at bedtime, on the radio, so I can’t hear the next part until the next night. I wake and I’ve got those thoughts spinning in my head instead.’ He finished the Kit Kat and sat smoothing out the foil on his thigh.
‘Have you mentioned this to your GP? Perhaps they could increase your medication if you are finding that you’re worrying excessively?’ said Torrie, finding herself fascinated by the smoothing of the foil. She shook her head and tried to focus on something else, but she kept finding her eyes drawn back to the rhythm of his hands.
Suddenly, he screwed the sheet up into a small ball and slipped it into the pocket of his chinos. ‘I’ve got to go,’ he said.
‘But, Mal, we still have thirty minutes of the session left,’ Torrie said, trying to keep her voice calm. The ferocity of the foil scrunching had left her more perturbed than even she understood. His knuckles were still white, demonstrating the force used. Torrie began to stand, but he had already gone. The glass outer door to her rooms carried on quaking.
14th December 2016
‘You off then?’ Lissa rasped, sinking into the large armchair. Her mouth was so dry that her lips seemed glued together. Unable to create enough saliva to swallow, she leaned back against the too-soft cushions and closed her eyes, waiting for her sore head to recover. ‘Mal? Are you still here?’
‘What?’ he said.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked. With her eyes now open, she shaded them with her hand raised against the dazzling sunlight from the window and squinted at him.
‘Wheresh you going?’ he mimicked her slurring from his pose leaning against the door frame. ‘I’m going out. Do you think I want to stay here with a piss-head like you? I’ve got things to do.’
Lissa saw the keys he was jangling in his hand. They were hers, her car keys. Not that it mattered these days. Most of the time the car simply sat on the driveway in front of the garage doors over which the granny flat was constructed. She mused that it was good the car was at least getting some use. Mal slipped the keys into his pocket and the silence hung between them. He glowered at her and Lissa tried to make herself smaller in the chair. She shivered, as the atmosphere seemed as heavy and grey, and as solid as the Cornish sea frets which had surrounded her grandmother’s house.
‘I’m taking care of things and you should be grateful. Not nagging me all the time. It’s not as if you’re capable of handling anything is it?’ he growled at her, his mouth twisted into a snarl. ‘Right, I’m off, unless there are any other questions?’
Lissa jumped at the harsh sound. She wanted to know what his plans were but didn’t dare ask anything more. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘Drive carefully.’
‘Hmph,’ he grunted, and slammed the front door. She heard him stomping down the stairs.
He’s disappearing a lot these days, she thought. No idea when he’ll be back either. She pushed herself out of the deep chair. Come on, girl, she told herself. Breathe, just breathe. She eased her jaw, which ached from clenching so hard. Her teeth ached too. She wandered into the kitchen, which overlooked the now empty driveway. Plucking a peach from the fruit bowl which her mother regularly replenished, she pressed both thumbs into the valley left by the tree’s umbilical cord, splitting the fruit into two perfect halves.
Lissa relaxed in the armchair and ate the peach, allowing the juice to dribble down her chin and relishing the freshness of the fruit after her recent poor quality diet. The moisture eased her throat a little, but her head still ached. She jumped when she heard the door slam again, the piquancy of fear turning to anger, and she yelled, ‘You back already? Did you forget something? Do you want my phone, or maybe my bank card?’
Jenni peeped her head around the door. ‘It’s just me, hun,’ she said. ‘Who were you talking to?’
‘Oh, Mal was just here. We had an argument. Now he’s gone again.’ Lissa closed her eyes and sat back in the chair and banged her head against the headrest – an action she instantly regretted and she groaned aloud. ‘He makes me so mad.’
Jenni said nothing but came and sat next to Lissa and held her hand. ‘I’m sorry to hear he’s still around. I thought you two might have parted company while I was gone.’
‘At least he has been here for me. Where have you been?’ asked Lissa, leaning herself forward and brushing Jenni’s hand away. She pushed a greasy lock of hair off her face and covered her mouth as she burped. ‘Sorry, indigestion.’
‘Sure,’ said Jenni, looking around at the mess of takeaway boxes and washing-up piled in the sink. ‘I did tell you that I was going to stay at my parents’ place in Tuscany. I had a good time. They didn’t hassle me like they usually do.’
‘Good, good,’ sighed Lissa, not really listening. ‘So, you’ve not been away with Mal then?’
‘With Mal? Good grief, why on earth would I do that?’ Jenni replied. ‘I’ve had nothing to do with him since the start, you know that.’
‘He has a tan. You have a tan. I guess that’s just one of life’s coincidences, is it?’
‘Liss, you have to believe me, I can assure you that I have spent no time at all with Mal. Not last week nor at any time ever.’ Jenni stood and turned to leave but twisted around to face Lissa. ‘You need to clear this mess up, not only in here, the flat, but in here,’ she said tapping her index finger on her head.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Lissa. She rubbed her right eye where the pain of her hangover lingered. The peach’s attempt at an amuse-bouche was subsiding and its juice was now just a sticky mess on her chin and T-shirt. ‘I just keep thinking that you and Mal are talking about me behind my back and doing things without me. I’m trying to get better, I really am, but it’s tough, you know?’
Jenni frowned at her. ‘Liss,’ she began.
‘No, I know you don’t believe me, I can see it in your face, but I’m doing my best.’
Jenni shook her head, motioning at the chaos of the shambolic room. ‘Liss,’ she said. ‘I think you should consider going back to the Abbey for a while. Rest up. Get back on your meds and get off the booze. You’re doing yourself no favours at the moment.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
Early hours of 15th July 2018
Ben Poole watched the credits of the last film roll. Kirsty was asleep against his shoulder and it was a good feeling, despite his bursting bladder and empty stomach.
Just as he wondered how he could move without waking her, she stirred and opened her eyes. She blinked whilst taking in the as yet unfamiliar surroundings and stifled a yawn. ‘Was it any good?’ she asked.
‘Not really my type of film,’ he replied. ‘Did you enjoy it?’
She looked up at him ruefully. ‘I think I fell asleep.’
‘You did,’ he said grinning. ‘Sorry, I need the loo. Be right back.’
‘What time is it?’ Kirsty yawned, rubbing her eyes. She stared out of the tall, uncovered windows where she could just see the tips of masts glowing with their running lights. Despite the number of years she’d spent working on the southeast coast she had not taken to sailing, yet it seemed to be the only thing that some of her acquaintances could talk about. Now she could see the romance of being at one with the sea and wondered if Ben was a sailor. She suspected not, her lips curving into a gentle smile as she imagined his horrified face as saltwater splashed his polished shoes.
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