Past Mortem

by Ben Elton

  ‘There’s no complication, sir, I — ’

  ‘Don’t interrupt me, Inspector. You can have your say when I’ve finished and not before. Now, what I want to know, before I take the decision to take you off this case and dump you somewhere in the depths of traffic, is whether you have anything concrete to go on.’

  Newson produced his list and laid it on the chief superintendent’s desk.

  Ward glanced at it, unimpressed. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘The progress you’ve been asking for, sir.’

  ‘Does this list include the name of the killer or killers?’

  ‘Possibly, but I doubt it.’

  ‘Then could you explain what damn use it is, Detective Inspector?’

  ‘It tells us that we’re dealing with a vigilante, sir. A serial killer whose motive is revenge.

  ‘Revenge for what?’

  ‘Just revenge, sir, not personal, but general.’

  ‘I never knew a killer, serial or otherwise, whose motives weren’t personal.’

  ‘Well no, sir. The killer’s core motive will be personal, deeply personal, but the murders he’s committing are set at one remove from his own experience. I think he’s taking a general revenge for a private hurt.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘All the murder victims were bullies at school, sir,’ Natasha interjected quickly. ‘Every single one subjected their classmates to appalling brutality. It seems certain to us that our killer or killers are taking a belated revenge for what these people did when they were growing up.’

  ‘Is this true?’ Ward asked Newson. The chief superintendent was never very comfortable in conference with women. ‘It seems pretty far-fetched to me.’

  ‘Yes, sir, it’s true. I don’t think there can be any doubt.’

  ‘What evidence do you have for this theory?’

  ‘The killer murders his victims using the method of torture that they inflicted on others when they were at school. Look at the list. As you know, Adam Bishop was stabbed to death with a pair of compasses. We’ve discovered that forty-five years ago he nearly killed a classmate — William Connolly on the list — by stabbing him with a pair of compasses.

  For the first time Chief Superintendent Ward showed interest. ‘What about Porter? She’s the one I’m getting the pressure about.’

  ‘She was murdered using an acidic bleaching agent that turned her tanned skin white, and her hair was dyed ginger. We now know for certain that during the late eighties, while attending a girls’ boarding school, Farrah Porter made another girl’s life a misery over her white skin and ginger hair. Her particular delight was to taunt this girl over the supposed presence of red pubic hairs on the soap. The only thing that the killer left out of place in Farrah Porter’s bathroom was a single red pubic hair, which he carefully attached to a brand — new cake of soap.

  ‘Extraordinary.’

  ‘In the case of the girl with whom I was acquainted, sir…’

  ‘Yes, I’ve read Dr Clarke’s report on how she died.

  Are you telling me that at school she forced a tampon down another girl’s throat?’

  ‘Yes, I am, sir. It’s documented.’

  ‘Where? Where is it documented? How the hell do you know what all these people did at school?’

  ‘I read it on the internet, sir. Just as I believe the killer did before me. I believe that he tracks down his victims via an internet website called Friends Reunited, which is a site where old schoolfriends can re-establish contact and — ’

  ‘I know what Friends Reunited is, Inspector, I’m not a bloody idiot.’

  ‘No, sir. Of course not, sir.’

  ‘These others?’ said Ward, looking at Newson’s list. ‘All the same? All dispensed with in the manner of their own previous cruelty?’

  ‘Without a shadow of a doubt, sir.’ And Newson went on to describe the grotesque mimicry perpetrated by the murderer on Neil Bradshaw, Angie Tatum and Denis Spencer.

  ‘This really is the most extraordinary case,’ concluded Chief Superintendent Ward at length.

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘And then there’s your connection.’

  ‘Coincidence, sir. I happen to have attended the same school as the bully and the victim in one of the cases on my list.’

  ‘And you slept with them both.’

  Newson was silent.

  ‘The question is, what are you going to do about it?’ This was a question that Newson found difficult to answer. He had come a long way in his understanding of the murders but he did not feel that he was any closer to discovering who had committed them.

  ‘I’ll have to get back to you on that one, sir.’

  The meeting over, Newson offered to buy Natasha a sandwich. As they were leaving the building, however, they discovered Lance waiting on the steps. He was holding a bunch of roses.

  ‘All right, doll?’ he said sheepishly.

  There was an embarrassed pause. Newson did not know how to react. He wanted to arrest the man immediately for assault, but he knew absolutely that this was something Natasha must sort out for herself.

  ‘I’ve been here since ten. Thought I’d have to wait all day.’

  ‘Lance, I’m working.’

  ‘You’re always working.’

  Newson tried to leave them to it, but Lance stopped him.

  ‘Don’t worry, mate, I’m going. You’ve got your precious murders to investigate, not that you ever seem to arrest anyone.’

  ‘These things take time.’

  ‘Yeah, all the time.’ Lance turned back to Natasha and handed her the flowers. ‘Look, ‘Tash, these are for you…I’ll see you later, all right?’ He turned and headed for his motorbike. Natasha and Newson made their way to a nearby sandwich bar.

  ‘Don’t say anything,’ Natasha said.

  ‘He’s a bully, Natasha.’

  ‘I said don’t say anything. What the hell does he think I’m supposed to do with a bunch of flowers in the middle of a working day, anyway?’

  ‘Stick them in the bin.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’

  ‘Why’s that stupid?’

  ‘Because it must have taken a lot for a man like Lance to bring me flowers.’

  ‘A man like Lance? What sort of man would that be, Natasha?’

  ‘He’s a proud bloke, Ed, and he’s hurting.’

  ‘How much did it hurt when he punched you in the face? And what did it do to your pride, for that matter?’

  They were outside the café now.

  ‘Look, I told you. I don’t want to have this conversation, and if you can’t respect that then I’m going. Understand? I’m going. I’ll take a sickie and you can find this bloody killer on your own.’

  ‘OK, I’ll shut up.’

  ‘Good.’

  The café was small, and only a table for two remained vacant. Natasha was forced to place Lance’s flowers beneath her chair.

  ‘So,’ said Newson after they had ordered their sandwiches, ‘what do we know about our killer?’

  ‘He’s mad.’

  ‘Yes, that’s probably true, but what else? My guess is that he was a victim himself. These murders must have taken an enormous amount of planning, and considerable nerve. The psychological motivation to commit them would have to be absolutely compelling. He’d have to be a truly tortured soul.’

  ‘Or perhaps he’s the parent of a bullied child,’ Natasha suggested. ‘I mean, that’s got to be the worst nightmare for a parent, hasn’t it? Their child being bullied. It’d kill you, you’d feel so guilty that you didn’t stop it. So helpless.’

  ‘That’s possible, I suppose,’ Newson conceded.

  ‘For me the problem with the idea of our killer being a victim is that he seems so cool and confident.’

  ‘Cool?’

  ‘Yeah, psychopathic but definitely cool,’ Natasha went on. ‘I mean, look, he’s killed six people and we haven’t got the faintest idea who he is. He pulled off these murders on his terms. He mad
e life amazingly difficult for himself, but he managed it all the same. He’s tough, resourceful, clever, he’s got nerves of steel. How is someone like that ever going to have let himself be bullied?’

  Newson looked at Natasha sitting opposite him with her swollen eye. ‘You, above all people,’ he said, ‘should be able to see that strong, brave people, cool people, can still end up letting themselves be bullied.’

  ‘I said not to talk about it, Ed.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. I’m sorry.’

  ‘But that was a nice thing to say.’

  Natasha’s hand was on the table top. Newson put his on hers and gave a gentle squeeze.

  ‘I’m not very cool, Ed,’ she said. ‘I know you think I am, but I’m not. I’m an idiot.’

  On their way back to the office Newson picked up a copy of the early edition of the Evening Standard. The front page was dominated by news of the death of a teenage girl attending a north London comprehensive, who had killed herself as a result of being bullied at school.

  ‘My God, it’s everywhere. We can’t get away from it, can we?’ said Natasha.

  The story of Tiffany Mellors’ suicide was doubly uncomfortable for Newson, because it reminded him of Helen Smart. The girl had gone into her bedroom while her parents were out, lit some joss sticks, put on some music and begun cutting at her arms. By the time she got down as far as her wrists she had generated sufficient despair and self-loathing to make the cuts deep enough to end her torment. She had left a note in her big girlish handwriting that simply said, ‘The bullying killed me in the end.’ Her school had long been identified as one with a problem of bullying and the Standard carried an editorial calling upon the government and the teaching unions to do more to combat what they called the ‘cancer in the classroom. The article included a lengthy quote issued by Kidcall. Newson wondered whether Helen had written it.

  ‘Bullying is a cancer. It eats at the souls of everyone involved, including the aggressor. It undermines the entire environment in which it occurs and in the long run diminishes us all. Our hearts go out to the parents of this beautiful young girl and I urge any other children who find themselves facing the same kind of despair to pick up a phone and call Kidcall. We can help. As for the government, we say the same thing that we say to teachers, parents and counsellors. It’s not enough to stand around wishing these things did not happen. We all have a duty to do something about it.’

  Newson thought again about Helen Smart. Damaged, self-destructive Helen, a bright, attractive woman who was crippled by self-loathing. He remembered the lout Kelvin slouching around her flat. What strange psychological point was she trying to make against herself by taking a man like that into her bed? Newson thought that perhaps it was the sexual equivalent of the cuts she made on her arm.

  Tiffany Mellors’ smiling face stared up at him from the front of the paper. The Kidcall quote had got it right. She was beautiful, with a big, twinkling smile. What kind of bullying could possibly have led a girl like that with seemingly so much to live for to take her own life?

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  The offices of Kidcall occupied a floor of Centre Point. Newson was visiting Kidcall because he had decided that he needed to understand more about the psychology of bullying and bullies, and this was the principal charity dealing with the issue.

  ‘Everybody else does child abuse,’ said the counsellor he had spoken to over the phone, ‘but, you see, to us, bullying is child abuse. It just happens to be other children who do it.’

  Newson had arranged to meet a senior counsellor and full-time employee of the charity. As he entered the offices he was relieved to see no sign of Helen. He’d known that by contacting Kidcall he ran the risk of bumping into her, but he felt he had no choice. He wanted to speak to experts.

  The offices consisted of a phone room where four counsellors were permanently on call, a large administration office and a small office for Dick Crosby, the President.

  ‘He’s here quite often,’ Henry Chambers said as they entered Crosby’s office, ‘but when he’s not I get to use his room. So, Inspector? What can I do for you?’

  ‘Well, Mr Chambers.’

  ‘Please. Henry.’

  ‘Henry. I’m interested in the psychology of bullying.’

  ‘Well, you’ve come to the right place. That’s our business. Bullying…Well, of course, I should say the prevention thereof.’

  ‘Perhaps you could tell me a little…’

  ‘You’re a friend of Helen Smart’s, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I…’

  ‘I mentioned you to her this morning. You know, said that you’d called and were coming round and she said she knew you. Small world, eh? To coin a cliché, ha ha.’

  ‘Yes, isn’t it?’

  ‘She’s a lovely girl, Helen.’

  ‘Um, yes, yes, she is.’

  ‘Best thing that happened to this charity, her coming to work for us. She’s terrific on the phones, talking to the kids, you know. She’s a great administrator and, well, just really, really nice.’

  ‘Yes. I don’t know her very well now. We were at school together.’

  ‘That would have been nice.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘To have known her at school.’

  It could not have been more obvious to Newson that Henry Chambers had a crush on Helen if he had written it across his forehead. Newson knew that grim habit of feeling the need to talk about the object of one’s love and sing their praises to anyone who would listen because he recognized it in himself. He wondered if it was as glaringly obvious to Helen as it was to him.

  ‘I’m trying to build up a profile of the typical victim of bullying,’ Newson said.

  ‘I’m afraid there’s no obvious answer to that, Inspector. How long is a piece of string? What we’ve come to recognize is that bullying can happen to anyone. Kids who’ve never experienced it before might swap schools and get into trouble completely unexpectedly. Parents are often astonished when they discover that their child has been bullied. Look at the case in the paper today. The girl who cut her wrists. It’s amazing how it takes a child to kill herself to get bullying on to the agenda at all.’

  ‘Yes, amazing.’

  ‘From what I’ve read, that girl wasn’t a typical victim at all. She was popular, she was beautiful, which incidentally is another reason for the media interest. It’s sad that we seem to find the death of a child more upsetting if that child is beautiful.’

  ‘I suppose we’re all attracted to beauty, aren’t we?’

  ‘Beauty and the appreciation of it are very subjective things,’ Chambers said primly. ‘Anyway, this girl Tiffany Mellors suffered in silence. Nobody knew anything about her torment and they were not on the look-out for it because she didn’t fit any kind of victim profile.’

  ‘But there must be some characteristics that are ‘more common to victims than to others.’

  ‘Obviously some kids are more vulnerable. Common sense tells us that. Kids who have problems physically are always targets. Slow kids, too, but also sensitive, clever ones get picked on. Helen could tell you more about that. You should talk to her. She was bullied at school, you know. Were you aware of it?’

  ‘Not at the time, no.’

  ‘You see, it’s often a secret crime. Secret victims, secret motives, although in Helen’s case it’s pretty obvious that the other girls must have been jealous of her.

  Newson knew it was pretty obvious that this was absolute nonsense. Christine Copperfield had not been remotely jealous of Helen Smart, she had merely despised her and resented what she saw as Helen’s feelings of superiority. But in Helen’s case Henry Chambers was looking through the eyes of love and hence saw everything exclusively in that context.

  ‘You simply can’t tell who’ll be the next victim,’ Chambers continued.

  A loud voice could be heard in the outer office greeting the staff. Newson recognized it immediately. Assured, confident, well-spoken but with the tiniest carefull
y protected hint of proletarian roots. Dick Crosby had arrived to pay a visit to his charity. He entered the office and recognized Newson before Chambers had even had a chance to introduce him.

  ‘Are you following me around, Inspector? Should I be worried?’

  ‘Not at all, Mr Crosby. Actually, I’m not here to see you.

  ‘And sadly you don’t have your gorgeous colleague with you, either, so nothing in this for me at all, then.’

  For a moment Newson was taken aback. How on earth did this man know Natasha? And then he recalled that when he had last met Crosby backstage at the eighties concert claiming to be on police business he had been in the company of Christine. Naturally Crosby would have assumed that Christine was a police officer too. Poor Christine. How she’d have loved to know that Dick Crosby had remembered her, that the first thing he’d done was bring her up in conversation.

  ‘I never forget a face,’ Crosby added, ‘but in that girl’s case I haven’t forgotten the rest of her either. Definitely my kind of copper.’

  Newson wanted to tell Crosby that Christine was dead, to smother his joshing in the thick blanket of sorrow that had wrapped itself around him. But he didn’t. What would have been the point?

  Henry Chambers spoke up from the corner of the room. He had removed himself from Crosby’s desk the moment the great man had entered the room. ‘Inspector Newson is investigating a case that involves bullying,’ he said, sounding apologetic.

  ‘Yes,’ Newson added. ‘I’m anxious to learn about the psychology of the subject.’

  ‘Ah, tricky. Very tricky,’ Crosby mused, crossing the room in a proprietorial manner and dropping elegantly into his chair. ‘The only thing I know for sure about the psychology of bullying is that I don’t know anything about the psychology of bullying. No two bullies are ever alike, no two victims either.’