There seems no real effort involved, no obvious movement of the head or neck, and it’s only when Robin emits a groan of disgust that Tony sees the thin string of brown spittle dropping from Chris’s mouth on to the sleeve of Heather’s jacket. Now he moves across, but Chris is on his way out before Tony can get there; walking towards the door as though he’s simply noticed he’s in the wrong room. Raising a hand to waggle his fingers goodbye, without turning round.
Tony fetches a tissue from the box beneath his chair. He hands it to Heather, then sits down again and looks at his watch, pretending to ignore the sound of the front door closing. Nice and gently, this time.
‘I wouldn’t normally do this,’ he says. ‘But maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have a short break. Just a few minutes.’
Diana says, ‘No,’ as she gets to her feet. ‘I think I’ve had quite enough for one night.’
‘You’re not the only one.’ Robin stands too.
‘Well, it’s up to you,’ Tony says, though he is not particularly happy at the group’s choosing to cut the session short.
Caroline is reaching for her bag and umbrella, the coat on the back of her chair. She looks across at Heather who is still trying to remove Chris’s spittle from her jacket; wiping and wiping. ‘You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?’
‘We should definitely carry on with this though.’ Tony stands up. ‘Next week, OK?’ He watches Diana and Robin as they move together towards the kitchen, Caroline as she hurries to follow them. ‘Plenty to talk about, I think…’
When Heather finally looks up, she doesn’t seem surprised or disappointed to see that the others have gone. She hugs her jacket to her chest.
‘That went well,’ she says.
Tony says, ‘I need to talk to you.’
… NOW
Tanner could see that Tony De Silva was enjoying his morning; engrossed in the Saturday Guardian at a table outside the Crocodile café, a cigarette on the go, an espresso in front of him. He didn’t see her until she was close enough to smell the coffee, pulling a chair across from an adjacent table, and it was clear from his expression that he wasn’t enjoying himself any longer.
‘I only need five minutes,’ she said.
He folded his paper and laid it down. He reached for his coffee cup.
‘Do a lot of you smoke?’ Tanner asked. ‘Ex-addicts?’ She nodded towards the ashtray which contained three or four butts. ‘I always thought you had to give up any kind of drug.’
‘I don’t really,’ De Silva said. ‘It’s just a treat. A ritual, that’s all.’
‘Harder to give up than heroin, I heard.’
‘Like I said, I don’t really smoke.’
A waitress stopped at the table to ask Tanner if she wanted anything. Tanner asked for a glass of tap water. ‘I tried cigarettes once,’ she said. ‘Didn’t like them. Not much of a drinker either. I suppose some people just aren’t wired that way.’
‘You’re close to someone who is though, right?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘The last time we spoke. I got the impression you were asking certain questions on someone else’s behalf.’ De Silva laid his cup down and leaned forward a little. ‘Your partner, maybe? Wife? Girlfriend?’
Tanner smiled, though something had begun to jump in her gut. She guessed that De Silva was not in the habit of dispensing therapy free of charge outside cafés on a Saturday morning. It was an assertion of a certain sort of power, she understood that; an attempt to gain control of his situation.
She wondered if she’d make a decent therapist herself…
‘I wanted you to know that we’re almost there,’ Tanner said. ‘With the Heather Finlay case.’
‘That’s good to hear.’
‘I gather you’re starting the group up again.’
‘Yeah, I thought it was about time, and my other clients are keen to carry on.’
Tanner nodded. ‘Good. Well, I’d like you to do me a favour and imagine that group sitting there in a circle again. The five of you, next week or whenever it is. Chris Clemence, Robin Joffe, Diana Knight, Caroline Armitage and yourself. All of you sitting around in that lovely conservatory of yours, sharing and caring and supporting one another… and I want you to think about Heather Finlay rotting in her flat. I want you to think about her father laying what’s left of her to rest. Will you do that?’
De Silva shook his head. ‘Do you seriously think we won’t remember Heather? That we won’t talk about her… honour her memory and the place she had in the group?’
‘That sounds very nice. Very… spiritual.’
‘You don’t think we care?’
‘Up to a point, yes.’
‘I’m not sure why you’re being so sarcastic.’
‘I just want you to know that when I picture that group, it’s because I’m certain that somebody in that circle is responsible for Heather’s death. One of those people who’ll be sitting there “honouring her memory”.’
‘Sorry, but I must have missed something,’ De Silva said.
‘It was all here in your notes.’ Tanner removed the sheaf of papers from her bag. ‘When we eventually got them.’
‘What was?’
‘Well, I should start by saying that they were a bit vague, but perhaps you were in a hurry, or distracted.’ De Silva started to say something. ‘Never mind.’ She flicked through the pages. ‘Funny that you hadn’t mentioned anything about asking Heather to look for another therapist.’
‘Sorry?’
‘That’s in your notes, too,’ Tanner said. ‘But you never said anything about it when we first talked about her.’
‘I was rather more concerned with the fact that she was dead.’
‘Why was that? I mean, why did you not want her to come to the sessions any more?’
De Silva pointed. ‘As you said, it’s all in there. I felt that by the end of that final session there were certain… tensions within the group that could only be eliminated if she wasn’t part of it any more. That’s all.’
Tanner nodded. ‘Never needed to in the end though, did you?’
‘Never needed to what?’
‘Ask her to leave.’
De Silva hesitated. Then: ‘Sadly, no,’ he said. ‘I didn’t.’
Tanner went back to looking at the notes. ‘So, as I understand it, in that last session Heather confessed to being responsible for one person’s death and for somebody else being sent to prison.’ She put the papers down and looked at him. ‘That’s two lots of brothers, sons, fathers, husbands. That’s a lot of people who might have wanted Heather to pay for what she did, even after all this time.’
‘And it just so happens one of them is in my Monday night recovery group. Is that what you’re saying? It’s a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?’
‘Don’t think we haven’t been looking elsewhere,’ Tanner said. ‘She wasn’t killed by a stranger.’
‘Maybe I could start the next session by just asking everyone.’ The therapist stubbed out his cigarette and immediately drew a new one from the packet. ‘“Nice to see you all again. Now, as we’re all being honest with one another, hands up if any of you killed Heather.” Would that be helpful?’
‘Now who’s being sarcastic?’
De Silva sat back in his chair, hard. ‘Well…’
Tanner took her water and thanked the waitress. She took a drink. ‘It’s funny, you getting so irate at the idea that you might not care. The fact is that up to now you’ve had a strange way of showing it.’
De Silva broke off lighting his cigarette. ‘For God’s sake, do you mean my reluctance to divulge information?’
‘It certainly wasn’t helpful.’
‘Do we really need to go over this again?’
Tanner shook her head. ‘Listen, obviously you care about Heather, I know that. I mean how could you not?’
‘Thank you.’ He threw up his arms and lit his cigarette, relieved at finally getting blood from a stone.
‘All t
hat stuff you told me about empathy,’ Tanner said. ‘Listening to your clients, guiding them. I’d say it would be almost impossible not to get close to some of them. Or for them to get close to you.’
‘There are boundaries, obviously.’
‘Of course, but there must be… infatuations. Flirtation, I should imagine.’
‘I suppose.’
She looked at him. ‘More than that, sometimes?’
De Silva turned away, used the moment to catch the eye of the waitress and signal that he was ready for the bill. He said, ‘Look, I’m really not sure where you’re going with this, but I know it’s got nothing to do with your investigation.’ He smiled and licked his lips as he leaned across the table. ‘Maybe you’re borderline voyeuristic. I should imagine a lot of police officers are.’
Tanner smiled back, said he was probably right, then waved the notes. ‘All right, let’s get back to these.’
De Silva sat back; bored, or pretending to be. ‘If we must.’
‘Well, as I said, they’re a bit vague, unfortunately. So, bearing in mind where we are with the case, it would be enormously helpful if you could tell me anything that Heather said that night that isn’t in these notes. I’m sure there are things that weren’t particularly relevant from a therapeutic point of view, that you never even thought of putting in your notes, but which would really help me a lot.’ She waited. ‘Look, I think we’re way past the whole confidentiality thing, considering everything I’ve been told by members of the group already.’
‘Well, I don’t know what you’ve been told —’
‘On top of which, look how easy it was for me to get these. Now, bearing in mind my genuine suspicions, I don’t think I’d have any trouble persuading a judge that you telling me what you know was in the interests of public safety. Making you tell me, see what I mean? I’m sure you’d rather we had that information quickly, Mr De Silva.’ Tanner reached into her bag for her notebook. ‘Considering how close you were to Heather.’
De Silva waited until the waitress had handed him the bill and left. Enough time to look as though he was considering it.
Then he told her.
‘That’s as much as I can remember, anyway. It was a while ago.’
Putting her notebook away, Tanner thanked him and said she’d let him know if she needed anything else. He hadn’t given her all that much in the end, but she felt like it might be enough. A name, a time frame. A detail or two that gave her somewhere to start.
When Tanner stood up, she said, ‘Just so you know… the someone else, those questions I was asking.’ She waited until he was looking at her. ‘I’m dealing with it.’
… THEN
Heather follows Tony into the kitchen, stands and watches him make his fancy coffee. She waits to see if he’s going to offer her one, but right now he doesn’t seem keen to say anything. Like he’s building up to something. He’s making her nervous and she guesses that now might not be a good time to move up behind him, wrap her arms around his waist.
Anyway, is his wife not around somewhere?
She’s still trying to process what happened, the reactions to her story and why the session ended so early. She knows perfectly well that what she said in the circle was shocking: how could it not be? She had not been expecting that silence though, the weight of it and such desperation to get away. Like they might catch something. What Chris did afterwards was hideous, no… humiliating, but at least there’s a simple enough explanation. People that high are capable of anything and how can she, of all people, not forgive a junkie?
The others, though? And now, Tony’s being weird and when he finally turns round to look at her, it’s obvious the one person she was hoping to get some support from isn’t in a very supportive mood.
‘That wasn’t very… cool,’ he says. ‘In the session.’
‘Cool?’
‘What you said.’
Heather steps towards him and doesn’t miss the fact that he takes half a step back. She feels like she’s back at school, being told off for something that wasn’t her fault. The unfairness of it starts to burn and bubble up. She says, ‘Have you got any idea what it took for me to tell everyone that? I’m still shaking —’
‘Not your story.’
She blinks. ‘What, then?’
‘Before, when you asked me to let Chris stay.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Which was a huge mistake. For him as much as anyone.’
‘I wanted him there to hear it,’ Heather says. ‘It must have been obvious how important that was to me.’
‘It was the way you asked.’ He looks at her, as though she should know exactly what he means. He sighs when she fails to respond. ‘It wasn’t just you asking me as a therapist, you know? You were appealing to something else, to… whatever’s between us. It was like you were trying to twist my arm because of what happened the other night, like that should be a reason for me to let you get what you wanted. Like you expected it.’
‘I needed Chris to be there.’ Heather is trying to sound calm, rational; someone who would never dream of using the emotional blackmail Tony seems to be accusing her of. ‘I mean yeah, I hoped you’d care enough to see that.’
‘You persuaded me to act against my professional judgement.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she says, and now she knows that touching him, trying to, is probably not a good idea. ‘I didn’t mean to.’
He nods, and just for a second or two Heather thinks that’s the end of it. That the teacher’s just going to let her off with a warning.
‘We can’t see each other again,’ he says. ‘And it’s probably a good idea if you find another therapist.’
She stares at him.
‘I can help with that… recommend someone.’
‘Because I asked you for something?’
He looks away, then half turns to reach for his coffee. He picks it up, puts it down. ‘Because I love my wife.’
She can’t do anything about the laugh that bursts from her like a cough, or the taste it leaves in her mouth. ‘Oh… right. Yeah. That was pretty obvious the other night when you had your fingers in my knickers.’
‘Don’t —’
‘It was just what I was thinking, when I was on my knees and you were moaning and groaning. Christ, this bloke really loves his wife, I thought. Only reason I didn’t say anything at the time was because I had my mouth full.’
‘It was a mistake, all right?’
‘No,’ she says. ‘This is a mistake.’
‘Please, Heather…’
She steps back then starts to walk slowly round the island, stabbing a finger against the granite. ‘You really think you can do what you did and just trot back to your missus? I mean, for real? You think that now you’ve got into my pants you can just stand there and talk about your shitting wife and tell me to find another therapist? Like we’re not quite… hitting it off or something?’
‘It’s the best thing for both of us, I really think that.’
‘Because you’re the therapist and I’m just the stupid ex-junkie who let you pull her into that alley?’
‘You didn’t need pulling anywhere.’
‘Well, sorry, but you don’t get to do that. I think you need to seriously reconsider, because the last thing you want is me telling your wife about what happened. A quick phone call, maybe, or an email. Actually, it would be far better in person… is she here now? No, course she isn’t, or you wouldn’t be brave enough to do any of this.’
‘Have you finished?’
‘Maybe I’ll take her there.’ Heather nods, pleased, like it’s a stroke of genius. ‘You know, show her the scene of the crime. Maybe I’ll tell her how much you pestered me and pawed at me and how eventually, when I told you to leave me alone, you got rough and did what you wanted anyway.’
‘Hold on —’
Heather isn’t listening. ‘Maybe I’ll show her that nice metal door you pushed me against, forced me against while you we
re trying to rip my knickers off, even when I was telling you to stop. Begging you to. Even when you were really hurting me.’ She stops pacing and sits down on one of the leather barstools. She reaches for the lever to adjust the height, then waves at him, like someone spotting an old friend across a room. ‘How’s that sound?’
Tony nods, as though weighing it up, and the nod becomes more confident. The assessment of someone who prides himself on his ability to read people; to empathise when it really matters. He says, ‘I don’t believe you.’
Heather jumps to her feet and jabs a finger towards the conservatory. ‘Were you not listening in there? I wasn’t making that up for anyone’s fucking amusement.’
Tony pales, reaches behind to wrap fingers around the edge of the worktop. ‘You’d seriously do that? You’d make something up to destroy my marriage? You’d ruin my career?’
‘You do not get to do this to me.’
‘You’re not that person,’ Tony says.
‘I deal with shit like this.’
‘I don’t… believe you’re that person any more.’
Heather says, ‘Fair enough,’ and starts walking towards the kitchen door. Tony can’t see the smile when she hears him sigh with what sounds like relief, so she glances back over her shoulder to give him a good look. Then she closes the kitchen door and leans back against it. She takes off her jacket and lays it across a table near the door.
Tony takes a few small steps towards her. He holds out his arms. He says, ‘For God’s sake, Heather. My wife will be back at some point. My daughter.’
‘Obviously,’ she says. ‘They live here.’
‘Please…’
Heather doesn’t move.
… THEN
It’s busy in the pub and their usual table is taken, but they’ve managed to snag a spot in a corner near the toilets. They’re pushed a little closer together than they would otherwise have been, but the huddle suits them; the conspiratorial air of it. Though all three seemed lost for words only fifteen minutes before, they suddenly have plenty to say.
Die of Shame Page 33