by Baker, John
Sam was ready to cook. He drizzled olive oil into the pan.
‘What’s that?’ Geordie asked.
‘Read the label.’
‘I read the label. It’s olive oil.’
Sam turned up the heat and tipped the pan to move the oil around its base. ‘Why’d you ask me what it is when you already know what it is?’
‘I wanted to be sure. Just because it says olive oil on the label, doesn’t necessarily mean there’s olive oil in the bottle.’
‘Nitro-glycerine,’ Sam said. ‘I can’t cook bacon without something highly explosive in the pan. But it’s illegal so I keep it in an olive oil bottle. Saves me going to jail.’
‘Y’know what I think?’ Geordie said. ‘I think you must’ve had a real fucked-up childhood. That’s why you’re so defensive all the time. I asked you a simple question, like what’s that in the olive oil bottle, and you have to give me a hard time. You should see a therapist, Sam, I mean it. A good therapist would turn you around in no time. Jungian, somebody like that, he’d find out where the blockage was and set you free. There’s this childhood trauma backed up in your psyche, could be you were jealous of your father because he slept with your mother or you were frightened of his dick.
‘What these Jungians do, they’re trained to see what type of trauma it is and they get you to say it and once you’ve said it, admitted it to yourself, you’re cured.’ Sam put the sausages in the pan and peeled the mushrooms. ‘Sounds like an AA meeting,’ he said. ‘My name is Sam Turner and I’m an alcoholic. Doesn’t cure you, though. What it does, it helps you stay in touch with reality.’
‘That’s important,’ Geordie said. ‘If you lose touch with reality, where are you?’
Sam continued peeling the mushrooms. After he’d peeled one he chopped it in half and went on to the next one.
‘Is that a real question?’ he asked. ‘If you lose touch with reality, where are you?’
‘It’s a real question,’ Geordie told him. ‘Why would you think it wasn’t a real question?’
‘It’s like the olive oil question over again, that’s why. “What’s that?” when I’m pouring olive oil out of an olive oil bottle. “If you lose touch with reality, where are you?” when it’s obvious if you lose touch with reality you’re lost, out of sync. I can’t believe this is happening sometimes. I’m locked in a flat with you and you’re asking me these questions that don’t make any sense. I think it might be a dream or I’ve ended up on a mental ward. I keep looking round for big nurse.’
He turned the sausages and added the mushrooms and the bacon. He reached for the olive oil and added a little more to the pan.
‘This’s exactly what I’m getting at,’ Geordie told him. ‘It’s this defensiveness. What you should do, you should ask yourself why you get so worked up in response to a couple of questions.’
‘I’m not worked up,’ Sam said. He cracked the eggs on the side of the pan and dropped them into the hot oil. ‘You got some plates ready?’
Geordie walked around the kitchen, opening cupboard doors, on the hunt. ‘This is typical of suppressed schizophrenia,’ he said. ‘You think you aren’t worked up because you’ve discovered the best way of handling it is to appear calm. Anytime you get worked up you worry that people’ll think you’re worked up so you slow yourself down and talk calmly to make them think you’re not worked up. That’s understandable, you want everyone to think you’re normal.’
Sam watched the eggs. He said, ‘You know this breakfast I’m cooking here? Your half of the sausages and the bacon and the mushrooms, one of the eggs, and the bread I’m gonna fry in the olive oil that’s left over?’
‘My half?’
‘What I’m thinking at the moment is, I don’t have to give it to you. Long as it’s in the pan and I cooked it, it still belongs to me. I could eat it all, or I could pour half of it down the John and eat my half by myself at the table.’
‘There you go again,’ Geordie said. ‘It starts off and you’re defensive, like someone’s attacking you when they’re only asking questions. And now we’re moving on to the next stage, which it always comes to, and that’s where the defensiveness stops and you get outright aggressive.’
‘Stop!’ Sam told him, taking the frying pan off the cooker and holding it with two hands.
‘Is that a threatening gesture?’ Geordie said. ‘Or is that a threatening gesture.’
‘I’m taking it to the John,’ Sam said.
‘If you could see yourself objectively, Sam, really, this is ridiculous.’
Sam set off down the narrow corridor, taking the frying pan with him.
‘OK, I’ve stopped,’ Geordie called.
Sam turned. ‘Am I worked up?’
‘Not at all. No.’
‘Do I need to see a Jungian therapist?’
‘Would be a waste of time and money,’ Geordie said. ‘Therapists - what do they know?’
‘Have you got the plates ready?’ Sam said, arriving back in the kitchen with a grin on his face.
‘Yeah,’ Geordie said, sitting at the table. ‘Oh, the smell. Can’t remember when food smelled so good.’
After the food Sam poured the coffee and sat back in his chair. ‘You know what he makes me feel, this guy?’
‘The killer?’
‘He makes me feel numb. I can’t stand far enough back from it to get a handle. I want to be able to say, “OK, the guy is killing these women because of their involvement with me.” But as soon as I start to think about it, I see their faces, I remember when we were young and together. All those memories come flooding in and then I can’t see the wood for the trees.’
‘Mixed metaphor,’ Geordie said.
‘What?’
‘It’s a mixed metaphor. You start off with a flood and end up with woods and trees.’
Sam’s mouth fell open. ‘Are you listening to what I’m saying?’
‘Yeah, I hear you. I just pointed something out.’
‘I’m trying to stay calm, here, Geordie. I don’t want an English lesson right now.’
‘OK, I’m listening. All those memories come flooding in and you’re swamped. It’s like you want to concentrate on the foundation of the crime, get to the guy’s motivation. But the flood of memories rises so high you can’t see the foundations any more.’
‘Right. Which is one of the reasons I brought you here. I need somebody who can be objective, somebody who can keep me objective.’
‘Thank you. I appreciate that,’ Geordie said. ‘I appreciate that you appreciate my objectivity. That’s one thing. And the other thing is that it’s Scandinavia. Which means I’ve really been abroad, not just to Amsterdam.’
‘Tell me what you know about the killer.’
‘It’s probably a guy,’ Geordie said. ‘There are women serial killers but not many of them so almost certain to be a man. He’s killing women who have been married to you or who you’ve lived with and he’s arranging it to look as though you’ve done it. First he murdered Katherine Turner when you were in Nottingham, then he arranged for you to be in the same street as Nicole Day in Leeds at the exact time she was killed. What I get from that, the guy has got a real boner for you.
‘You must’ve upset him big time, which you’re good at, upsetting people. But this one, I can’t imagine what you did to him. Maybe you should write down everybody you’ve ever got under their skin. Try to think of the guy in the world you’ve given the most grief to. You might’ve robbed him or screwed his wife and he’s been nursing it for years. It’s grown in his mind like a brain tumour, so now all he can think of is revenge.
‘You can bet he’s not getting on with his life, this guy. He’s so obsessed about setting you up for a life sentence he’s forgotten to have relationships. If he’s married, his wife’ll never see him. This’s what I think we’re looking for, Sam. I might be wrong about one or two of these things, but most of ’em will be right. Mainly it’ll be somebody you’ve taken to the cleaners and now they’
re coming back, looking for a bite at the cherry of revenge.’ Sam laughed.
‘What’s funny?’
‘Cherry of revenge,’ he said. ‘This from the guy who criticizes my English?’
‘What’s wrong with that?’ Geordie said. ‘Revenge is sweet. Cherries is sweet. Nothing to laugh about.’
‘All right, let’s not get waylaid here. Anything else about this guy?’
‘Oh, yeah, there’s the biggie. The knife he’s using, sword, whatever it is. Some huge implement. In psychology terms it’s a penis substitute, like a car, but it’s not a car, therefore the guy’ll probably have a crap car.’
‘You been reading those books again.’
‘Yeah, I’ve been reading those books again. This weapon, whatever it is he’s using, it’s about power. Cars, bullets, guns, rockets... anything that’s powerful and makes a lot of noise, something you can use to poke with or stick in somebody... can be penis substitutes. Guys who use them or have obsessions about them, they’re either impotent or might not be impotent but they certainly worry about it. So somebody who kills women with a sword, that’s gotta be significant. This is a guy who doesn’t understand women. Might be a misogynist. Has trouble getting a hard-on.’
‘And there’s one other thing,’ Sam said. ‘The guy’s manipulative. Always moves me into position before he closes in for the kill. That could be one of his strengths, the way he manipulates people. Could be something to do with his job. What kind of job could that be, where you manipulate people? Is he a politician? Some kind of manager?’
‘Yeah,’ Geordie said. ‘But he doesn’t just manipulate people, he manages the whole scene. He manipulates events as well.’
‘So think about jobs that involve all that,’ Sam said. ‘Could be in the Army or the Navy?’
‘Another thing too,’ Sam said. ‘Because he’s into manipulating the scene, he makes himself vulnerable.’
‘How do you work that out?’
‘He has to get me into place before he can kill the next victim.’
‘Seems like he’s managed that fairly easily up to now,’ Geordie said. ‘He got you here, to Norway.’
‘That’s right. He did. He told me Holly would be next. And he knows enough about my character to realize I’d come here to protect her.’
‘Which means he’s sussed you,’ Geordie said. ‘How does that make him vulnerable?’
‘Because he can’t be sure I’m here.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘He’s guessing I’m here, hoping I’m here, but he doesn’t know. Before he can kill Holly, he has to see me.’
‘Right,’ Geordie said. ‘You might’ve gone to Scotland. He’s given you the clues, and he knows you’re a detective, hopes you get it, that there’ll be enough to lure you here.’
‘But he has to see me,’ Sam said. ‘If he doesn’t see me here, then Holly’s safe. He won’t touch her.’
‘Does that mean we’re going home? I haven’t seen the Munch Museum yet.’
‘No, we’re staying. We can play him at his own game. He’ll be watching Holly’s flat, hoping to see me going in there.’
‘Which means we watch the street, Calmeyers gate,’ Geordie said, looking for the guy who’s watching the flat.’
‘You got it, Sam said. ‘That’s exactly what we do.’
21
‘You can sit there until you decide to give me some civilized answers,’ Ellen said.
Marilyn was seated on a high stool at the end of the kitchen table. She’d stopped crying but her eyes were red and she was sniffing and blowing her nose into the remains of a man-size tissue.
‘It’s that Danny Mann character, isn’t it?’ Ellen said. Marilyn nodded her head. ‘Yes.’
‘You’ve been following him? Stopping him in the street?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Marilyn, I’m not going to beat about the bush here. The signs are all too clear. You’re not taking your medication. You’re clearly obsessed with this man - all that stuff on your bedroom wall. Two or three times lately you’ve stayed out all night, or most of the night. You’re weepy and erratic in your behaviour.’
‘Only when you go on at me.’
‘Correction, not only when I go on at you. Usually you behave like this when the chosen man of your dreams doesn’t know what is happening to him and tells you to get lost.’
‘God!’ Marilyn said, getting off the stool. ‘I don’t have to stand for this.’
‘Oh, yes, you do, my girl. Sit on that stool now or I’ll ring the doctor immediately.’
‘And what’ll that prove?’
‘It’ll prove that you’re not taking your medication, that you’re highly emotional and unstable, and will probably lead to another spell on a locked ward. You know exactly what it means, Marilyn. We’ve been here before, remember?’
‘I’m not listening to this,’ she said. ‘I’ve got things to do. I’m going out.’ She flounced across the room and pulled at the door, which remained closed.
Marilyn turned on her mother.
‘You can try the front door, too, if you like,’ Ellen said. ‘And the windows. You are locked in here with me, and that’s the way it’s going to stay until I know exactly what’s going on. It’s for your own good, Marilyn. If you think about it, I’m only doing what’s best for you.’
‘This’s ridiculous, locking a person in her own house. There’s laws, personal rights laws. You can’t treat me like a criminal. Civil liberties are involved here, Mother. I could contact Amnesty International. I’m a prisoner of conscience.’
‘No, you’re not, Marilyn. You’re a prisoner of your own making. I want to hear the whole story and I’m not prepared to compromise until I do. Sit on the stool and talk.’
‘No. I don’t have to.’
‘OK, my girl, I’m going to ring the doctor.’ Ellen walked to the kitchen door and opened it.
‘Stop! What do you want to know?’
Ellen closed the kitchen door and stood with her back to it. ‘Sit on the stool.’
Marilyn climbed back on the stool and dabbed at her eyes with the saturated tissue. ‘This is unfair. It’s not right.’
‘Never mind that. Danny Mann, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’ve been following him?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘I knew it. Stopping him in the street, going to his house?’
‘Not in the street. I had to talk to him. I had to go to his house, Mother. I don’t know where he is.’
‘Start at the beginning.’
‘We met in the theatre.’
‘In Nottingham. I know that, I was there. And it wasn’t a meeting, Marilyn. You helped with one of his tricks. There was another woman helped him the same night, and two gentlemen. You were already fixated on him before that night. You had his picture on your wall. We only went to Nottingham because you were obsessing about him, remember?’
‘I remember what I remember,’ Marilyn said. ‘And you remember what you remember. The trouble is that you think what you remember is what happened.’
‘No, Marilyn, the trouble is that as soon as you stop taking the tablets you make up an alternative reality inside your head. I take it that this man has not encouraged you in any way whatsoever, that he has probably asked you to stop bothering him. Therefore the tears. Am I right?’
‘No, you’re wrong. Danny loves me. He’s been testing me.’
‘What does that mean? Testing?’
‘He sent me into the dark in Leeds, to see how I coped.’
‘Goodness, Marilyn, was that where you stayed out all night? In Leeds?’
Marilyn nodded. ‘It was magic. Danny was there all the time, on the edge of things. Invisible. He was watching over me.’
‘I can hardly believe you’re saying these things. You know what it’s like in Leeds at night. A couple were killed there last week, in their own home.’
‘Danny wouldn’t let anything like that happe
n to me.’
‘I’m going to see him, Marilyn, explain about your illness. We don’t want him calling the police.’
‘You can’t see him, he’s disappeared.’
‘He’ll be on tour or something like that. He’s a theatrical. They go away all the time.’
‘He’s not on tour. He only had one bag. He flew to Norway.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I followed him.’
‘To Norway? You couldn’t have.’
‘Not to Norway, I followed him to the airport, Newcastle. Saw him checking in.’
‘When was this?’
‘Three days ago. He got a taxi to the station and I followed in the car. He got on the Newcastle train and I got on it too, at the last minute, and didn’t have a ticket. That was the problem.’
‘So when the guard came to inspect the tickets, you said?’
‘I told him that my boyfriend had our tickets.’
‘And he didn’t believe you?’
‘I took him to Danny, and Danny said he’d never seen me in his life before.’
‘He didn’t remember you from the theatre?’
‘It was a test. I have to be worthy of him.’
‘What happened about the ticket?’
‘I had to show them some ID, and the guard gave me an invoice with the amount on. I have to pay it in thirty days.’
‘Carry on. You’re on the Newcastle train.’
‘Danny got on the Metro and went to the airport. I went with him. I tried to explain about the ticket, said I was sorry to put him in the spotlight, asked him to forgive me. He said to wait until he got back from his trip, that he’d sort everything out then.’
‘Are you sure he said that, about waiting until he got back? Seems to me in a situation like that he’d be wondering why a strange woman was attaching herself to him.’
‘I’m not a strange woman, Mother.’
‘I’m sorry, Marilyn, I’m your mother after all but this is one of those times we are going to have to agree to disagree. If you take your medication and get yourself together, though, you’ll stop being such a strange woman and go back to your normal self. Then we can draw a line under all this. But if you don’t I’m going to call in the doctor, and when this magician chap comes back from Norway, I’ll have no option but to go and see him as well. Do you understand me?’