Approaching Zero

by R. T Broughton

  When she had finished her explanation of events—how she had floored Malcolm Scott, but ended up in hospital herself—Brady said, “Are you sure you’re okay?” and her face filled the screen as she looked into the camera to scrutinise her friend.

  “I’m fine. We’ll a bit battered, but nothing I can’t handle. It’s just… It’s just.”

  “I know, Kathy. It’s always just the same thing, but we’re trying. In fact I’ve got some awesome news for you.”

  “But none of it makes a difference, Brade. It’s laughable.” Kathy only began to realise just how angry she was as she spoke to Brady. “Running paedos over on my bike?”

  “Well you could hardly have used your car. You don’t want to end up inside.”

  “You know what I mean. I can’t run them all over and they’re everywhere. Everywhere. The vapour rub doesn’t work anymore. Kids just aren’t safe anymore. They never have been really. But what’s the point in knowing who these perverts are if there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s getting worse if anything, Brady. They’re everywhere and I’ve got no idea about the missing kids.” She hardly noticed the tears flowing down her cheeks as she ranted at her friend. It was as if she had been waiting for this moment since she woke up alone in the hospital. “And I’ve lost the list,” she said pitifully as if everything that could possibly have gone wrong had gone wrong. And then she stopped and looked closely at Brady. “Are you laughing, Brade?”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just–”

  “I can’t believe you’re laughing at me. What’s funny? Why are you laughing at me?”

  “It’s just that you’ve got a great big lump of something white on your forehead. I’m not laughing at you honestly.”

  Kathy swept her hand over her forehead and found the blob of moisturiser. She rubbed it into her hands and couldn’t help smiling just a little herself.

  “It’s all going to be okay,” Brady reassured her before she could cry again. “I can’t believe you actually did it, you know. I don’t think I’d have the balls to knock someone down on a push bike.”

  “Yeah, right. Because you were just twiddling your thumbs in Afghanistan.”

  “It’s different, Kath. You get a uniform when you join up and I know it sounds a bit wrong, but it gives you permission to do things that are… well, you know. I don’t think I could do what you did.”

  Kathy knew that she was being appeased, a bit like you would a child, patted on the head and told that she had done well despite the overall futility of the thing, but she was happy to take it. She needed a bit of comfort and support at the moment and if this were the only thing on offer then it would have to do. The soothing effect lasted only as long as it took for Brady to finish the sentence, though, before the principal issue was back with them.

  “I just can’t do it all, you know. It feels useless. I feel useless.”

  “Well, that’s what I was calling to tell you about. And to make sure that you’re all right. But—you’re not going to believe this—I’ve found someone… to help.”

  Now it was Kathy’s turn to move closer to the screen. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I’ve found what we’ve been looking for—someone like you, but someone who can take care of things for us.”

  “Who? Where? I didn’t even think you were looking seriously.”

  “I wasn’t really but then I met her and, well, she’s just everything we could ever want, Kathy.”

  “So what happens now? Tell me about her. Where did you find her? Is she happy to help? Do we need to pay her?”

  “That’s a lot of questions, Kathy, and I’ve only got a few minutes until I’m back out there. Her name is Suri, and she’ll be at the airport tomorrow at seven thirty.”

  “Tomorrow!”

  “Yes, tomorrow. She can explain it all to you. I’m sorry I haven’t got more time to talk.”

  “Bloody hell, Brady. What, that’s it?”

  “This is a good thing, Kathy. Just try and hold that in your head will you. All of our prayers have been answered. We never need to feel powerless again and they won’t be able to touch us for it.”

  “But–”

  “Got to go, Kathy. I’ll be in touch in a few days to see how you’re getting on. Later,” she said and her face disappeared from the screen, leaving a silence that was far more imposing than the calm quiet that had hung in the air before the Skype call. Kathy closed the laptop. She had lost the taste for communication suddenly and checking her emails could wait. She looked over at the TV, which hadn’t been turned on in years, and wished for a moment that life could be as easy as switching it on, finding a chat show or a soap, sitting back with her cup of tea and letting the day fold around her. She didn’t even know where the remote control had hidden itself, but wherever it was it was winning the game of hide-and- seek that it was playing.

  Kathy took another bite of the toast and the crunch echoed around the room so loudly that it took her by surprise. She threw it back on the plate, drained the last of the tea, and then just sat. She had dreamt that Brady would actually come through for her and find someone to help them, but in reality she had thought it pie in the sky. It was just something that Brady had suggested to appease her—another of her hair-brained ideas that went away if Kathy paid it little attention. And here she was telling her that she had actually found someone and she was coming tomorrow. Tomorrow? Kathy looked around the room with fresh eyes. Where was this woman going to stay? She couldn’t stay there. It was okay for her. It was perfect for her, but it was hardly The Grosvenor. And the living room was the least of her troubles. Where was she going to put her? Of the three bedrooms, one was her room, one was her nan’s, untouched since her death, and no one had been able to get into the other for years. Storage was the polite name for it—it housed everything from camping gear to unused furniture, to photos, toys and God only knew what else—a dumping ground would be a more realistic description. Kathy could feel all of the good work of the bath being systematically undone, and she didn’t know whether this was because she was expected to put a strange woman up in her house, who may have come from anywhere in the world, or because of the power that this woman would have. Suddenly her head was full again, but the psychologist in her, never off duty, was looking after her once again and a little voice told her that she really just needed to go to bed, get some proper sleep, and start again when she was fully rested. She slowly dragged herself off the sofa, the strain highlighting every single pain caused by the collision, but then the shrill ringing of the landline in the corner of the room nearly knocked her down again. She considered leaving it, but she knew who it would be, not because she was psychic but because there was only one other person it could be and she would be worried sick.

  “Hello,” she answered sleepily, perching on the thin lip of the dusty cabinet beside her.

  “Kathy?” She was right on both counts; it was her mum and the way she said her name betrayed the fact that she had been fretting about her daughter’s whereabouts.

  “Hi, Mum. Sorry I haven’t been in touch.”

  “That’s okay, honey. Just as long as you’re okay.”

  “I’m always okay,” Kathy said, manufacturing a strength in her voice that she didn’t know she was capable of. She also managed a little giggle, shrugging off her mum’s concerns in the way that years of practice had informed. “I was out with some friends from work last night. Feeling a bit rough today. Is everything okay?”

  “That’s great, baby. I can’t remember the last time you went out. Did you go anywhere nice?”

  “Just into town, you know. Few drinks. Have you been up to anything nice?”

  “Erm…” The pause was longer than normal, suspiciously so. “Actually, I wanted to tell you something, Kathy.” Another pause. “I’ve met someone. It’s early days and we’re taking it slowly, but his name’s Marcus and he’s beautiful. He’s a bit younger–”

  “How much younger?” Kathy didn’t mean to sound outrage
d, but the question leapt out of her before she could contain it.

  “He’s in his twenties. But that doesn’t matter, it’s–”

  “His twenties!”

  “Yes, he’s–”

  “How did you meet a man in his twenties?” Again, the high pitch of Kathy’s voice wasn’t intentional, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “We met online, but it turns out that he’s a friend of Jackie’s.”

  “Who the hell is Jackie?” This was just getting better and better.

  “You know Jackie.” Kathy didn’t. “She’s a friend.” Kathy had never heard of her. “Anyway, it’s been a few months now, so I thought it was time to let you know.”

  “A few months?”

  “I would really like you to meet him, sweetheart. He’s heard all about you. Maybe you could come over for dinner next week.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Another pause. “To be honest, Kathy, it’s been really nice, you know, just having him to myself. You’re going to love him. He’s such a sweetheart. And you’re so serious with work.”

  Serious with work? Was that even a real expression?

  “How is work anyway? You used to tell me all about your clients and I haven’t heard anything for so long.”

  “It’s fine, Mum – good.”

  “So you’ll come, to dinner?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  What came through the receiver next could only be described as lovers’ giggles and then, “I’ve got to go, Kathy.”

  “Mum?”

  “Let me know about dinner—get off, Marcus. Bye, sweetheart.”

  Dead line.

  “Yeah, bye, Mum,” Kathy said sarcastically, holding the receiver in the air and staring at it accusingly before replacing it in the cradle. She then puffed out her cheeks and said, “She didn’t even say–” But she was interrupted by the phone ringing again. She smiled before picking up the receiver and automatically saying, “Yes, I know, Mum, I’ll be safe.”

  “That’s a first,” a deep, gravelly voice replied. “I’ve been called many things in my time but never Mum.”

  “DCI Spinoza.”

  “You’re psychic.”

  “What? No. What are you talking about? There’s no such thing as psychic. What do you mean? I’m–”

  “I just meant because you knew it was me, Miss Smith. We’ve only met once and I’m surprised you recognised my voice.”

  “Oh, yeah, I know. I’m just really good with voices.”

  “And psychic.” Spinoza repeated, now sounding as if he was teasing Kathy but she was too tense to notice the lightness in his voice.

  “Is there something I can help you with, DCI Spinoza?”

  “Funny you should ask. How are you recovering after your accident?”

  “I’m fine now, thank you.” Kathy propped the receiver between her cheek and shoulder and reached over to the phrenology head on the shelf behind her that had followed her all the way through her life so far. She set it down beside her and traced the painted lines on the head as she spoke.

  “Good. In that case, you most definitely can help me.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, I need a psychological consult for a suspect and I think your unique skills would be invaluable.”

  “What unique skills?”

  “Well, you are a psychologist, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, yes. But I think I explained that I’m on sabbatical at the moment, DCI.” Her finger swept over morality and memory and then onto sections of the well-polished head representing courage and devotion. “I’m really not doing this kind of work at the moment.”

  “Okay, Miss Smith. Not to worry. I thought I’d ask because this particular suspect is connected to the missing children and–”

  “You have a suspect?”

  “Yes, we have a suspect but you’re clearly busy.”

  “When’s the interview?” Kathy’s fingers were now tightly wrapped around bulbous head and squeezing.

  “It’s tomorrow afternoon. Two p.m.”

  “I’ll be there on one condition,” Kathy tried, sensing that she maybe had the leverage to get her list back, but Spinoza replied, “No, Miss Smith. You’ll just be there.”

  “Right… okay. And my list?”

  “We’ll see how useful you are tomorrow, Kathy.”

  “Right… two o’clock tomorrow then.”

  “Two o’clock,” Spinoza repeated in agreement and the call ended.

  With the oppressive silence filling the room once again, Kathy caught herself playing with the phrenology head and puffed out her cheeks again, as if catching herself in an unpleasing act, and unceremoniously stuffed it into the drawer headfirst then slammed it shut and leaned herself against it. Now she would finally sleep.

  Chapter 7

  For the first time in years, Kathy woke up after midday. This was not like her at all; there was always so much to do. But she had clearly needed it and had been so tired that she didn’t even stir as the blazing sun gate-crashed her room through the curtains she had forgotten to draw the day before. Her room was decorated in cool charcoals, with teak furniture, a black duvet and curtains and black-and-white, framed art on the walls. It was the only room that was free of her nan’s influence, but it was just as cluttered as the rest of the house, with boxes that went as far back as her childhood still littering the floor.

  The lie-in meant that she didn’t have to spend the morning fretting about the interview in the afternoon, desperately trying to find things to occupy herself until 2 p.m. The downside was that she had left herself precious little time to get ready. Thankfully, her work clothes, unused for some time, were all hanging in a neat row in the wardrobe and she was able to throw on a pastel-blue shirt and navy skirt, which combined to create a non-confrontational outfit—if such a thing existed—providing calm, serenity, and just enough cleavage to distract a difficult client. She didn’t have time to tackle her hair, which would need to be washed, dried, straightened and styled, so she threw on a blue stretchy band that she had picked up years ago at a flea market somewhere. It wrapped around twice and covered her hair, but was pretty enough to look like a style choice. She completed her outfit with tights and low heels then threw a few handfuls of cornflakes into her mouth, some irrelevant papers into her bag, and, eventually, the whole shebang into the car. She arrived at the station with just minutes to spare.

  Kathy had had no reason to visit the police station before. Her dealings with the disturbed criminal mind had all taken place post-conviction, taking her to mental institutions and prisons. She had had no cause to deal with the police on a personal level until she met Spinoza, and so as she parked in the car park there was definite apprehension in the pit of her stomach, not necessarily because of the task at hand, but because of the unfamiliar surroundings. She hadn’t actually had to turn up anywhere for some time, let alone professionally, and she was definitely out of practice.

  “Right, here we go,” she told herself and straightened out her skirt and shirt in the windows of the cars she passed en route to the front door. But superseding this apprehension was a foaming excitement at the prospect of making headway with Spinoza’s case—her case. Running into paedophiles was one way of solving the problem (and clearly not an effective way), but now for the first time she had an opportunity to actually get involved… and she couldn’t wait.

  The police station was a drab building, constructed with red bricks and a distinct lack of imagination and zeal. The inside was no better, with a waiting room resembling that of a doctor’s surgery—if you were waiting to see Doctor Crippen. Every expense was spared on the bright orange plastic chairs and copies of Take a Break from the nineties. A token junkie had secreted himself into the corner of the room and was either sleeping, unconscious or dead, and a worried-looking, old woman was seated in a chair as far away from him as possible and flinched at every little sound, however innocuous, including Kathy’s arrival. Judging by the str
ong spell of disinfectant, Kathy imagined a team of industrial cleaners waiting in the wings in nuclear suits ready to swoop in and disinfect anything that either of them touched the moment they were gone.

  Kathy approached the old gentleman behind what she imagined was a reinforced glass window and was surprised by the lack of stripes on his shoulders. He had the distinct look of a military man—immaculately turned out, ironed and polished, not a hair out of place, erect posture—but the way he greeted Kathy told her that he hadn’t achieved half of the things he had hoped, including rank, and was now being put out to pasture in hell’s waiting room.

  “Name?” he said, barely looking up. He hated Kathy already. He hated everyone.

  “Erm, Kathy Smith,” Kathy answered politely. “I’m here to provide a psychological consult.” She made a show of looking at her watch and said, “I’m actually running a little late,” but it did nothing to hurry him along. Here was a man who now did everything in his own time. If he hadn’t done enough by now for the powers that be to elevate him above the rank of a constable, he wasn’t going to start trying to impress now. He looked up at her briefly and then creakily turned toward the computer on the desk beside him. If it hadn’t been for the glass, Kathy would have been able to smell the whisky that had been his assistant since he started his shift a few hours ago.

  “We’re not expecting any kind of consult today,” he said with alarming finality and looked past Kathy as if there were suddenly a long queue behind her and she should move along and stop wasting his time.

  “Do you think you could check again, sir? I was asked to attend by DCI Spinoza.” The ‘sir’ was well judged. Although the jaded PC didn’t check again, there was something vaguely human in his eye as he spoke to her again.

  “This computer here is the control centre of this station, love. If we were expecting a consult of any kind it would be on the day list. I would love to give just any Tom, Dick, or Kathy Smith access to this hub of criminal justice just to brighten up my day, but my hands are tied. No name, no access.”