‘I’ve had a few sexual encounters like that,’ Chris says.
‘Amazing how far things have come though, when you think about it.’ She walks towards him. ‘Wonder what they’d have done with the likes of us back then?’
‘Maybe leeches were good for withdrawal,’ Chris says. ‘Maybe badger spunk was like methadone. Maybe they could drill a hole in your head to let the demons out. How the hell should I know?’
‘Easier ways to get inside people’s heads now.’
‘Not sure that’s progress though.’ Chris starts slowly climbing the benches. He shouts back to her. ‘I don’t think I want anyone inside my head.’
‘That’s your problem.’ Heather follows him up and sits next to him on the topmost bench of the theatre. They stare down at the operating table.
‘I’m not stupid, you know,’ Chris says.
‘Never said you were.’
‘I know exactly why you wanted to go out today.’
‘I told you, I always wanted to come here.’
‘Yeah, but you didn’t have to drag me along.’ He lets his head drop back and stares up through the enormous skylight above them. He closes his eyes against the sunshine. ‘You want to have another go at me about this shame shit.’
‘It’s not shit,’ Heather says.
‘You think it helped Diana last week? She didn’t look very happy about it when she’d finished.’
‘Nobody says you’re going to be singing and dancing afterwards,’ Heather says.
‘Who says I’m going to do it?’
Heather turns to look at him. ‘Shame is primitive,’ she says. ‘That’s why it’s so powerful. It’s all tied up with why we feel unworthy all the time, why we feel bad about who we are.’
‘You been borrowing some of Tony’s books?’
‘Look, the only way you’re going to learn your own pain isn’t shameful is by connecting with other people’s. That’s pretty bloody obvious, isn’t it? I know you’re scared about it, because so am I, but you have to expose yourself.’ He turns, grinning, but she holds up a hand before he can exploit the unintentional double entendre. ‘Being scared of showing who you really are is what leads to all the lying. Lying to yourself as much as anyone, which is the stupidest thing of all, when you think about it.’ She reaches across and takes his hand. ‘You’ve really got to do this.’
‘I haven’t got to do anything.’
‘All right, you need to do this… both of us do. And if you don’t, how do you expect me to have the bottle?’
‘Since when does what I do matter so much?’
‘Please,’ Heather says.
There’s half a smile as Chris turns away and stares down into the scrubbed and airy well of the theatre. It isn’t hard to imagine the place crowded with people, stinking of blood and piss and loosened bowels. The squeak of the drill or the grind of the saw against bone; the screams of the hapless patient and the grunts of effort from those trying to hold him down.
‘I think I’d rather be strapped to that table,’ he says.
… NOW
Robin Joffe opened the door to his flat and looked at them. He blinked and said, ‘Oh.’
‘Sorry to drop in unannounced,’ Tanner said. ‘We were in the area anyway and we just have a couple more quick questions, if that’s all right.’
Joffe nodded and glanced back into his flat.
‘Is now not a good time?’ Chall asked.
‘Not particularly, no.’
‘Expecting company?’
‘Not tonight.’ Joffe looked right back at him. ‘But I’m going to a meeting in twenty minutes, so I don’t have a lot of time.’
‘We don’t need much,’ Tanner said.
Joffe showed them in and led them quickly to the living room. He turned off the music that had been playing – something jazzy – and sat down. He said, ‘There isn’t even time to offer you a drink.’
‘It’s fine,’ Tanner said.
‘I don’t know why people always do that,’ Chall said. ‘I know they’re only being polite but we don’t need endless tea and coffee. We’re coppers not builders.’
‘How can I help?’ Joffe focused on Tanner.
‘“I don’t lie”. That’s what you said when we talked to you last time.’ Tanner looked at him.
‘I don’t and I didn’t,’ Joffe said.
‘Well, we don’t have time to get into what defines lying, but let’s just say we’re concerned about what you didn’t tell us.’
‘I didn’t tell you lots of things.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘My favourite cricket team or the date of my mother’s birthday.’ Joffe looked irritated and confused. ‘I answered all your questions as well as I could. I explained about the importance of confidentiality when it came to the sessions themselves, but otherwise I told you everything you wanted to know.’
‘All right then, let’s talk about what you chose not to tell us. You chose not to tell us about the situation between yourself and Christopher Clemence. We’re keen to know why, that’s all.’
‘Situation?’
‘The letters.’
It was immediately clear that Joffe was desperate to know who had told them, but he fought the urge to ask. Instead, he said, ‘Why on earth should it matter? Why would something that was going on between myself and another individual have any bearing on what happened to Heather?’
‘We believe that whatever was happening inside your group… between the members… had a lot to do with it.’
Chall glanced at Tanner. It was news to him that they believed any such thing. He’d been told it was no more than one line of inquiry, but he was certainly not about to question his boss.
Joffe shook his head. ‘Yes, after you talked to Diana she told me she thought you were taking this approach. Well, I can only say to you what I said to her, which is that it’s completely ridiculous.’
‘I appreciate your honesty,’ Tanner said.
‘You’re wasting your time while whoever murdered poor Heather is still out there.’
Tanner took a few seconds to look around. The flat was actually no bigger than Heather Finlay’s and was laid out in a similar fashion, with the living area and the kitchen sharing the same open-plan space. The furnishings in Dr Joffe’s flat were rather more expensive, of course, and the kitchen was decidedly more luxurious. The leather armchairs sat on bleached boards and designer rugs, while on the other side of a partition made of glass bricks, marble floor tiles reflected the gleam of glossy cabinets and high-end appliances.
‘Tell me about the letters,’ she said.
Joffe sighed and folded his arms. He looked at his watch. ‘They were more like notes, actually. Blackmail notes.’
Tanner leaned forward.
‘I was told to pay five hundred pounds if I didn’t want the medical authorities to be informed about my past. A thousand, the second time.’
‘About the drugs.’
‘Yes, obviously, the drugs.’
‘And you believed that Clemence was responsible for this, did you?’
‘To start with, I certainly did.’
‘Any particular reason?’ Chall asked.
‘Because of the kind of person he is.’ Joffe’s mouth twisted in distaste. ‘Because he clearly needs the money. Because I didn’t think it could possibly be anyone else.’
‘So you confronted him in the pub, did you?’ Chall could see that Tanner was busy scribbling in her notebook. ‘That what the big row was about on Heather’s last night?’
Joffe shook his head. ‘No, the altercation with Chris was actually a couple of weeks before that night. A few days after Heather’s party. I’d only received one letter by this point, but I told him straight away that I wasn’t going to sit back and be threatened. I told him to drop it or I’d go to the police.’
‘You’d have done that, would you?’
‘In a heartbeat,’ Joffe said.
‘You said you thought it
was Clemence to start with.’ Tanner looked at Joffe, her pen still poised. ‘Does that mean you came to believe it was someone else?’
‘I considered the possibility, yes.’
‘Who?’
‘Heather.’ Joffe watched Tanner write. ‘It was something Caroline told me. She said that while she was at the party, she’d seen all these scratch cards in Heather’s bin. Lots and lots of them, she said. I mean, I knew Heather had had a problem with gambling in the past, because she talked about it in the sessions…’ He stopped himself, took a few seconds. ‘Now, it looked like she was doing it again.’
‘That made you suspicious, did it?’
‘If there’s one thing I know about a gambler, especially one on benefits, it’s that they’re always on the lookout for money.’
‘So, after what Caroline Armitage told you, you stopped thinking Chris was responsible for the note and decided it must have been Heather.’
‘It wasn’t quite as clear-cut as that,’ Joffe said. ‘I was… thinking about it for a while. Trying to weigh things up.’
‘Did you talk to Heather about it?’
‘I was certainly going to.’ Suddenly, Joffe looked genuinely upset. ‘I didn’t get the chance though, did I?’
‘But by that time… by the time Heather was killed… you had decided she was the one trying to blackmail you?’
Joffe smiled. ‘I realise that this is probably a stupid thing to admit in the circumstances, but yes. I thought she probably was.’
Tanner waited.
The doctor shifted in his seat. He crossed his legs. ‘Let’s just say that by then I’d discovered what she was capable of.’
‘Because…?’ Tanner left it a few seconds, then gave the answer that she knew Joffe would not. ‘… of something that happened in one of Mr De Silva’s sessions.’ She studied Joffe’s face. ‘In that final session?’
Joffe said nothing.
‘Can we take that as a yes?’ Chall asked.
‘No, you can’t.’ After another cursory glance at his watch, Joffe stood up. ‘I’m sorry but I’m going to have to throw you out.’
Walking to the door, Chall said, ‘Do you go to a lot of these meetings? NA or AA or whatever?’
‘At least once a week,’ Joffe said. ‘More, sometimes, if I feel I need them.’
‘Why might that be?’
‘Could be anything,’ Joffe said. ‘You go to extra meetings if you’re stressed, or if there’s some problem with work or something. You go to reassure yourself, when you’re feeling vulnerable.’
‘What about since Heather Finlay’s murder?’ Tanner asked. ‘Been going to a few more meetings?’
Joffe already had one hand on the door. ‘About average,’ he said.
… THEN
It’s a long time since Chris has done this, but it’s not like he’s forgotten how. It makes riding a bike look like rocket science; doesn’t have to come back, because it’s never really gone away. While it’s not exactly comfortable, it all feels very familiar and he knows he hasn’t lost the knack as he walks into the bar; as he looks around and is looked at. He knows it will be easy enough, because he’s good at it, and even though, more than anything, he does not want to do it, there’s still a part of him, deep down somewhere, that’s excited.
There’s a rush, and it’s like kissing an old mate he hasn’t seen for far too long.
He tells himself it isn’t his fault he’s back here again, back on display. His mum let him down badly when he needed her and Heather’s as tight as a duck’s arse, which is ridiculous because she should know more than anyone what difference a few quid can make to someone like him. Why is everyone else so much better with this stuff than he is? His mum putting it away for this and that and Heather accounting for every last penny, while his benefit cheque is always cashed and gone halfway through the week.
It’s honestly not like he’s pissing it away. He just can’t hold on to it, that’s all. Yes, you need to try and be careful and he knows that self-denial isn’t something he’s ever been good at, but why the hell should recovery mean living like a hermit?
Like a loser.
This isn’t somewhere he’s visited more than a couple of times before, but it works the same as anywhere else. Back in the day, he would probably have been somewhere predictable in Soho – Comptons, maybe, or Circa on Frith Street – but tonight he’s chosen to come down to Vauxhall, where there isn’t usually as much competition. Where the business is a little less obvious.
The bar isn’t quite as ‘scene’ as a few other places and, most important, it’s close to the flat that’ll cost him fifty for a few hours’ use.
He stands at one end of a crowded bar with an orange juice, then pushes his way to the other end and stands there for a while. A man he knows vaguely, a friend of a friend of someone he slept with once, comes across to say hello. It’s a very one-sided conversation. Chris stays just the right side of surly, but makes it obvious that he’s got more important things to do and the man quickly melts back into the crowd.
It’s annoying, because although the chances had always been slim, he’d been hoping he wouldn’t bump into anyone he knew. It’s not like he’s been giving friends the same story he spins his mum, but still, most of them would be shocked if they saw him out and about doing this again. Even if it is just a one-off. A quick blast from the past to tide him over.
In the bar, looks are traded and smiles exchanged and it doesn’t take too long before Chris sees a reaction he recognises. One that counts. That says, yeah, I’m up for it, of course I am, but don’t worry, I know that all the things I’m thinking right now that I’d like you to do to me are going to cost me something.
Job done. Well, the tricky bit, anyway.
It’s a mild evening, so Chris wanders outside and within a minute, the man has joined him.
They talk, but Chris knows that later on he won’t be able to remember very much about the conversation. While he smiles when he needs to, touches and leans in when he should, he’s busy thinking about how he’s going to spend the money this man has in his wallet. He’s already shopping.
New jeans.
CDs.
That flash new sushi place in Covent Garden.
As punters go, this one’s fairly typical. He doesn’t give anything away, but an accountant or a frustrated City boy is Chris’s best guess. A smart suit and spreadsheets all week, then desperate to get out and spread something else on a Friday night. He’s somewhat nervous and he’s certainly not a looker, which probably explains his willingness to shell out for something a little out of his league. Bulky and badly dressed, but not big or hairy enough for those who like that sort of thing.
They don’t bother to finish their drinks.
Walking to the flat, the man says, ‘I’ve never done this before.’
Chris nods. As lines he’s heard more times than he can count go, it’s right up there with I can stop any time I want to, or the old chestnut, I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I haven’t got a problem with drugs.
‘Neither have I,’ he says.
When it’s finished, mercifully quicker than Chris could have hoped, the man steps back and turns away to zip himself up.
Chris gets to his feet and walks to the sink. He spits and wipes his mouth. He says, ‘Was that OK?’
Behind him, the man grunts, like he’s desperate to be gone.
‘Glad to hear it.’
Chris washes his hands and tries not to think too hard about why he still needs the praise, why he seeks validation for such things, least of all in a situation like this.
It’s all tied up with why we feel unworthy all the time…
Of course, he’s pretty sure that Heather would have something to say about it. Plenty, in fact! He turns from the sink, thinking about her and the fit she had about the bird shit, and the weird thing she has for old hospitals, and he’s smiling when the man he can still taste steps smartly forward and hits him in the face.
… THEN
Robin opens the door and leads Diana into the room. A couple of his colleagues are talking at a table in the corner, while a third sits alone with a newspaper. He introduces Diana as a close friend and all exchange greetings. He gestures towards the couple of slightly threadbare sofas and armchairs, a hot drinks machine against the wall and a second that dispenses cold drinks and snacks. ‘So this is the consultants’ coffee room,’ he says. ‘Not quite the lap of luxury, but we like it.’
Diana nods. ‘Very nice.’
‘There’s another one closer to the theatre that everyone uses, but this is where the consultants can come to take a breather. Let off steam, that kind of thing.’
‘Have a good old moan,’ the one with the paper says.
‘That too.’ Robin looks at Diana. ‘Shall we…?’
He says a perfunctory goodbye to his colleagues and escorts her out of the room. They walk back towards his office.
‘Thanks for the tour,’ Diana says.
Robin nods to a nurse as she passes. ‘Pleasure. I’m only sorry there wasn’t an empty theatre to show you. Next time… if you want to come back?’
‘Yes please. It’s nice of you to ask me.’
‘I thought you might be interested.’
‘Yes, I am… but for lunch, I mean.’
‘Well, I wanted to say sorry for being a bit snitty at the last session.’
‘Oh, it’s all forgotten, honestly.’
‘No.’ Robin sounds insistent. He lays a hand on her arm as they begin climbing the stairs. ‘It was wrong to criticise you for wanting to talk about your daughter. It was selfish and unsupportive.’ He looks at her. ‘Am I forgiven?’
Diana smiles. ‘Well, let’s see how good lunch is, shall we?’
At the top of the stairs they turn on to the corridor where the anaesthesia department is housed. Diana points towards Robin’s neck. ‘This is snazzy, by the way.’
His hand moves to the black and white spotted bow tie he is wearing. ‘Ah, yes…’
Die of Shame Page 24