by Tania Carver
Mickey, saying nothing, was fascinated despite himself.
‘Looked into their minds. It wasn’t hard. They were so obvious, really. So typical. Clichéd even. But still, I was testing my hypothesis and it was what I wanted so I went along with them. But that wasn’t enough. I had to take it to the next level. Initiate phase two.’
Mickey kept his eyes straight ahead. Darkness was all around him, no overhead lighting, the only illumination from the occasional oncoming car on the other side of the road. It was like he had the radio on, telling a horror story in the most intimate way. He leaned forward, turned the classical music down slightly so he could hear her better.
‘Aha,’ Fiona Welch said, ‘so you are listening. Good. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. The boys. The second phase. Obvious, really. No point getting them where I wanted them if I wasn’t going to do something with them. And I wanted them to do the ultimate. Kill for me.’ She laughed. ‘You know, you’d be surprised how easy it was. I’d shown them their fantasies, the real them, then I threatened to cut them off from that. No more sex. No more anything. And they did exactly as I wanted. Men always do what you want them to do. Even when they think they aren’t doing so.’
Another laugh. Mickey said nothing.
‘So they killed their girlfriends. Because I told them to.’ She leaned forward again. ‘You should writing this down, you know. Or record it, or something. This is the only confession you’re going to get from me.’
Again, Mickey bit back his response.
‘Oh well, your loss. So yes. The boys killed their girlfriends for me. And had very little remorse about it. In fact, the only remorse they showed was when I wanted nothing to do with them afterwards, when I told them it was over with them. That was the only thing they were bothered about. Don’t you think that’s strange? Don’t you?’
Mickey didn’t reply.
‘I’ll take that as a yes. Because I think so. But it proved my hypothesis. Those boys didn’t care about anyone but themselves, ultimately. I showed them their inner fantasies, became their fantasies, manifestly. Became a part of them. And to preserve that part of them they were willing to kill. That was more important to them than their girlfriends, their relationships. Themselves.’ She sat back. ‘So there you have it. Conclusive proof that people, particularly men, when confronted with their true beings only think about themselves. Only care about themselves. Anyone else is unimportant. My thesis laid bare.’
Mickey fought the urge to talk to her, counter her argument, get her to open up more. But it wasn’t his job. She could recant all this at a later date. Instead, he filed it all away, ready to be used in the formal interview room in a couple of hours.
‘But I hadn’t killed them myself. And of course I’m a dead woman. So no one knew what to do with me. So off to Finnister I went. But that’s the end of another chapter. Shall I tell you what happens next?’
Mickey was finding the urge to talk to her stronger and stronger.
He didn’t know how long he’d be able to fight it.
58
‘W
hat’s he up to now?’ Phil was still scanning the room. No one suspicious so far. Or as far as he could tell.
‘Still chatting to that bird,’ said Nadish, before correcting himself. ‘Sorry, woman.’
‘Okay, good,’ said Phil. ‘Keep him in sight. With any luck she’ll stay with him all night. Although I use the word luck advisedly.’
‘Might be a bit of trouble with that,’ said Sperring. ‘Best we can hope for is they get a hotel room, don’t go back to his. Or hers. That way we can keep an eye on them.’
‘True,’ said Phil. ‘But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. He hasn’t had much success so far tonight.’
‘Think his luck’s about to change,’ said Nadish. ‘She’s playing with her hair. They’re sitting very close.’
‘Lucky her,’ said Imani.
‘Wait,’ said Nadish, ‘he’s stood up. Gone to the bar. Asked the barmaid something. She’s pointing to her right. He’s thanking her, walking off.’
‘Toilets?’ said Phil.
‘Looks like it.’
‘Stay on him,’ said Phil. ‘Follow him. This could be just the opportunity our friend needs to get to him.’
‘On my way.’
‘Imani, get over to where they were sitting. Keep an eye on that woman.’
‘Will do.’
Silence in Phil’s ear.
‘She’s gone,’ said Imani.
‘What?’ Phil felt panic rise again. ‘You sure?’
‘Yeah,’ said Imani. ‘Must have taken my eye off her for a second. Just a second…’
‘Maybe she’s followed him to the toilet or gone to book a room, or something. You know what she looks like. Find her.’
‘On it.’
‘Nadish, you still got him in sight?’
‘Yeah, right in front of me. No wait. He’s gone for the stairs.’
‘Up or down?’
‘Down.’
‘Keep on him,’ said Phil.
Phil checked the room once more. He had a decision to make: join his team or stay in the room, wait for Looker to return. He made the call. Went to join his team.
‘Talk to me, Nadish,’ he said, walking towards the exit.
‘He’s going down the stairs. Coming to you, Ian.’
‘Cheers,’ said Sperring, ‘I’m waiting.’
‘You got him?’ asked Phil.
‘He’s here,’ said Sperring. ‘Just smiled at me. I’m smiling back, little shit, doesn’t know what I’m saying… He’s looking for the toilets on this floor, I think.’
‘Stick with him,’ said Phil. ‘Ian, he doesn’t go in there alone. Imani, where’s the woman?’
‘Lost her. She’s disappeared.’
‘Shit.’ Phil felt panic rising once again. He tamped it down, remained professional. ‘Keep looking. What’s happening with you, Ian?’
‘Be embarrassing if she’s in there with him,’ said Nadish, out of breath from running down the stairs, ‘noshing him off in the cubicle.’
‘Keep out of it, Nadish,’ said Phil. ‘Ian, what’s happening?’
No reply.
‘Ian? Ian?’
Nothing.
Phil abandoned all pretence of working from the shadows and ran for the stairs.
59
‘I
’m going to be famous,’ said Fiona Welch. ‘That’s what I’m doing it for. Fame and fortune. And to show the world how brilliant I am, of course.’
Fiona Welch was becoming tiresome, Mickey thought. He felt she had told him everything he wanted to hear – or needed to hear – regarding her crimes, and now she was grandstanding. And there was nothing worse than hearing a bore sound off, serial killer or no serial killer.
‘And for other reasons. Which will…’ She laughed. ‘Oh, let’s just say, which will become known in the fullness of time. God, I hate clichés.’ She shrugged, or tried to. ‘But still…’
Mickey checked his watch. It seemed like time had stood still for the duration of the trip. She had volunteered some good information but there were gaps that needed filling. Something to work on, though. He just hoped it wouldn’t be him. However, since he was the one to bring her in and most conversant with the case, he was sure it probably would be. The bath and the beer were looking more distant the closer he got to home.
The screen of his mobile lit up on the seat next to him. He glanced down at it. Anni. I’m just leaving. See you soon. Xxx. He smiled at that.
Fiona Welch was still talking. ‘I’m sure I won’t have trouble finding a publisher. Not if it’s me. And then they’ll see for themselves how clever I am. And how valid my theories are. I won’t be shunned, if that’s what you’re thinking. No. There’ll be a radical reappraisal of both me and my work. I’ll be seen for what I am. A trailblazer. A radical. Someone who didn’t just theorise, postulate. No, someone who went out there, saw for themselves. Then came back, wrote it up.’ S
he leaned forward once more. ‘Someone who knew the truth.’
Mental, thought Mickey. Completely mental. That was something she had in common with the real Fiona Welch, then.
‘I might have to do the talk shows,’ she said, laughing. ‘Or even Big Brother. The celebrity version, of course. I’m sure the great British public would find me fascinating. I mean, they’re all narcissists and psychopaths who go on that anyway. I’d just be more honest than most.’
Mickey had to stop himself from speaking once more, this time to agree with her.
‘Who won that last one? A comedian whose act is racist and homophobic with a history of alcoholism and wife beating. What have I done in comparison?’ Another giggle. ‘I should imagine it’s very similar to where I’ve just been, really. Except with better-looking people, of course. Well, slightly better looking.’
Mickey checked his watch again. No time at all had passed.
‘I would win, of course. I mean, I would. It’s not arrogance saying that. I know I would win. Wouldn’t I?’
Mickey felt like agreeing with her just to shut her up.
‘You know how I know I would win? Do you?’ She leaned forward, her voice dropping to just above a whisper. Mickey had to strain to hear her. ‘Because I’m very good at manipulating people. Very good. Even when they don’t realise they’re being manipulated.’ She laughed. ‘Especially when they don’t realise they’re being manipulated. Wouldn’t you say so, Mickey the thicky?’
She sat back and laughed.
It was one of the most disconcerting sounds Mickey had ever heard.
60
P
hil reached the toilets on the floor below just as Nadish was entering. ‘Where is he?’ he shouted.
‘I… dunno… I just got —’
Phil pushed Nadish aside and ran inside. ‘Ian?’
The toilets were gleaming, sparkling. Sperring was lying in the middle of the room, oozing dark red blood spoiling the minimalist décor.
Phil knelt down beside him. ‘Ian…’
Sperring’s eyelids fluttered. He tried to move his mouth.
‘Don’t speak.’ Phil looked up. ‘Nadish, get a paramedic here. Now.’
Nadish took out his phone, began to talk in urgent tones. Phil looked down at Sperring once more. He was bleeding through his shirt, pumping out blood in time with his quickening heart rate. He would go into shock soon, thought Phil. But before that he needed to calm down or he would die of blood loss before the paramedics got here.
Phil looked around, trying to find something, anything, that would stop the flow of blood. Towels would be a start but all he saw were hand driers.
‘Nadish, get to the kitchen, the laundry, wherever. Get some towels, some linen. We need to wrap him up, stop the blood loss. Cling film, anything. Go. Now.’
Nadish ran from the toilets.
‘Come on, Ian,’ said Phil, ‘don’t give up on me, don’t let go, come on…’
Phil felt so helpless before his bleeding colleague. He had to do something. He took off his suit jacket and tried to pull it tight round Sperring’s body. Sperring grimaced with the sudden pain.
‘Come on, Ian, don’t let go… come on…’
Imani ran in, saw the sight before her and stopped dead.
‘Oh shit, oh no…’
Phil turned to her. ‘Find him,’ he shouted. ‘Get out there, get the uniforms, whoever you can. He’s got Looker. Find him.’
Imani turned and, recovering composure from what she had just seen, went about her allotted task.
Phil turned back to Sperring. ‘Ian… Ian… can you hear me?’
No response.
‘Ian… Ian…’
Sperring’s eyelids no longer fluttered.
The blood kept pumping.
61
‘S
o what’s the story with you and DC Hepburn, Mickey? Anni?’
Mickey knew it had been too good to last. After her pronouncement about manipulation Fiona Welch had fallen silent and Mickey had found the drive much more tolerable. But no. She had to start talking again. And about Anni now.
He didn’t reply. She carried on regardless.
‘How long have you been together? Oh, you didn’t have to tell me. I worked it out straight away. Guessed. You don’t have to be a psychologist to see that. It’s so obvious, the way you look at each other. Especially the way you look at her. Trying to look like the hard copper but you’ve got these big puppy-dog eyes on her all the time.’ She laughed. ‘You still act the hard man, though, even when she’s there. Is that deliberate? Are you trying to impress her?’ Her voice became teasing. ‘Does that turn her on? Go on, you can tell me.’
Mickey put his hand down hard on the horn, angry at the driver in the opposite lane who he had narrowly missed while overtaking another car.
‘Oh,’ said Fiona Welch. ‘Think I’ve hit a nerve there…’
Mickey didn’t reply. Just kept his eyes on the road dead ahead.
Fiona Welch kept probing. ‘Is that even allowed? In the force? You know, two people in the same outfit having a relationship? I would have thought you’d have had to get special permission, or something. In case being with your partner in private as well as public life was too much of a distraction. Or if you haven’t got permission can they separate you?’
Mickey said nothing.
‘No, seriously, I’m interested. Honestly.’
Again, nothing.
Fiona Welch sat back, sighed. ‘Well, this is boring.’ She looked out of the window. The stretch of road they were on was unlit, hedges either side. She turned back to face front. ‘Just put me off here, please.’
Mickey almost laughed.
Fiona Welch didn’t. Her face was flat, a death mask. ‘I’m serious. Put me off here.’
Mickey shook his head.
‘Just stop the car, and let me get out. You don’t even need to undo the cuffs.’
No response.
She sighed. ‘It’ll save a lot of trouble and heartbreak. Really. For you, I mean. And Anni.’
No reply.
She leaned forward, speaking as if he hadn’t been able to hear her until now. ‘Look, at the risk of repeating myself, put me off here. Please. You’ll be saving yourself a lot of trouble and heartache. Trouble for you, heartache for Anni. I’m serious.’
‘You’re going to Colchester,’ Mickey said and was immediately angry with himself for having spoken.
‘She sat back, laughed. ‘He speaks! He speaks!’ The laughter died away. Her face resumed its earlier death-mask quality. ‘No, joking aside, I’m not going to Colchester. In fact, it’s time I got out.’
‘Stay where you are,’ said Mickey. ‘You’re going to Colchester. And you know it.’
Fiona Welch smiled. It wasn’t pleasant. ‘Mickey, there’s a question you haven’t asked me. And really, it’s one of the most important ones and you should have done it. Before we got into this car. Know what it is?’
He didn’t reply.
‘Then I shall tell you. It’s this: what was I doing in Finnister? Why did I go to all that trouble to be put away in a place like that instead of a prison? And once I was in there, why would I try to make a suggestible patient kill herself? Actually, that’s more than one question, that’s three, but you get the idea. Three questions you should have asked me. Do you want to ask them now?’
Nothing.
‘I really think you should. It’s important for what happens next. For you, I mean.’
Again, nothing.
‘Fair enough, I’ll tell you. I was there to get your attention. Simple as that. You and your team. Especially the psychologist. And I’m sorry about what happens next, but —’
She leaned forward in her seat, the movement too sudden for Mickey to do anything about. She lunged at him, putting all her weight into it. Mickey was too startled to react. Without giving him a chance to move, she opened her mouth as wide as she could and sunk her teeth into the flesh of his neck.<
br />
Mickey screamed in pain, his hands coming off the steering wheel and going to her face, trying to push her away.
His actions just made her cling on all the harder, her teeth, unexpectedly sharp, gripping his flesh with the remorselessness of a mantrap, sinking in deeper.
The car began to weave all over the road, Mickey’s foot still on the accelerator, his leg stretched out as his body thrashed around trying to shake her off.
But she held on. Harder. He could hear a strangulated screaming coming from her as she did so, a feral, animal hunting cry.
Mickey tried to grab her face, find her eyes. Push his thumbs into the sockets. He managed to get his thumb in one, pushed as hard as he could. A screaming sound came over the top of his own and he realised that he had drifted over to the other side of the road and a huge articulated lorry was bearing down on him, horn blaring.
With one hand he managed to yank the wheel over to the left, pulling the car back to the right side of the road, trying to regain some semblance of control. As he did so, Fiona Welch renewed her attack.
He could feel her teeth chewing, grinding. Looking for an artery. He knew he couldn’t let that happen.
He tried to think logically, work out an order to do things. He took his hand away from her face, put both of them on the steering wheel, tried to control the car, guide it to the side of the road where he could pull over then deal with her properly.
She sensed this and renewed her attack, biting down even harder.
She found the artery she was looking for.
Mickey tried to pull away, taking his hands off the wheel as he did so.
She bit down hard, tugged at it, pulled, like a dog worrying a toy.
Mickey felt his hands, his neck become suddenly wet. The wetness spread down his front. He knew immediately what had happened, tried frantically to get her mouth from his neck.