“Is there nowhere else that could do it for less?”
“None we could recommend. Nowhere else has the trained and experienced staff in this highly specialized field. Our services are the very best in the United States. And I honestly feel that, where you have two young children in your care, it would be unwise, extremely unwise, to make do with second rate treatment. You understand my concerns?”
Randall understood only too well. Do it on the cheap and risk harming the Dynamite Twins.
Quinlan drove home the advantage. “As I understand it you have not discussed the problem with your own doctor?”
“No. He treats Elizabeth and the Twins. I couldn’t face him.”
“There's also a further consideration. Once your information is on a database it could end up anywhere. At the Foundation we can guarantee absolute privacy.”
Randall was mortified. “We... We have savings, but not that much. Not fifteen thousand...”
Quinlan dripped sympathy from every pore. “I quite understand. Some of our past clients have remortgaged their homes to obtain the help they need. Now I'm not for one minute suggesting you should do the same, of course. But you must weigh up the long term security of your family against the short term financial inconvenience.”
“All our savings are earmarked. Christmas, then a vacation for the Twins. I don't know how I could explain it to Elizabeth.”
“Mr Randall, the only alternative, if you genuinely want to protect your daughters, is to move out. To keep away from them. So long as you live in the same house those children are at risk; risk that will increase daily. I'm very sorry, but that's how we see the situation.”
“I just don't have that much money. If I did... Dr Quinlan, the Twins mean everything to me. I couldn't live without them.”
Quinlan made a show of concern. “I don't wish to pry, but how much could you raise?”
“I don't know. I could borrow, but not that much. Finding half that would be difficult.”
Quinlan looked thoughtful. “Let me extend a special offer to you, given your rather exceptional circumstances. Because I'm so concerned for your daughters' safety if treatment is not undertaken with a degree of urgency, I'm prepared to stretch a point and accept a lower fee of just ten thousand dollars for the full course. Obviously such a move will push up our prices to other clients in the future, but our primary concern just now is the safety of Natalie and Tamara.”
For Randall there was nothing else to think about. The Dynamite Twins were everything to him. He couldn't risk losing them through some stupid indiscretion which he knew would one day come. What was money compared with the love of his family? Compared to the risk of harming the Twins?
“It may take a few days.”
Quinlan leant across, extending a hand. “Excellent, Mr Randall. Excellent. The girls have a father to be proud of.”
Randall stared at the table, unable to look Quinlan in the eye. Maybe Reynolds wasn't so bad after all. At that moment he could have murdered a beer.
“This treatment. What exactly does it involve?”
107
Quinlan brought his gnarled hands together in a pyramid beneath his chin as he considered the query.
“We offer three basic methods of treatment, as I've said. Pharmacological therapy, behavioral therapy and psychotherapy. For my part, my specialty is Pharmacology. Quite simply, the treatment of a given dysfunction by drugs. There are a number of anti-libidinal drugs available designed to lower the sex drive. I expect you've heard of the synthetic hormone Depo-Provera. Tranquilizers have much the same effect. However, I recall from Dr Reynolds' observations that you in fact have an active sexual engagement with your wife, during which you maintain the facade of normality while actually fantasizing about younger girls. Isn't that the case?”
Randall was sure that wasn't how he'd explained it, but he found himself nodding compliantly, too worried about his daughters to be embarrassed.
“In which case pharmacology is probably not best suited to your needs. The anti-libidinal drugs would repress your overall sex drive, not just the pedophilic desires. This would, of course, be deleterious to your relationship with your wife and family.”
“And the other methods?”
“Well, psychotherapy is very popular, and can be very effective in certain cases, but it is a long, drawn-out process involving regular visits over a lengthy period, which you may find difficulty in maintaining. I understand you have problems as it is getting here without arousing suspicion. Ideally we would envisage a counseling period for psychotherapeutic treatment over a minimum of six months, probably much longer. It can run, literally, to a period of years. Not a very practical option if you're to attend these sessions discretely.”
“Isn't there something quicker?”
“There is, but it has to be said, aversion therapy is not... How can I put it? Not pleasant. But it can be done in the space of a few visits and with no untoward side effects.”
Randall didn't like the sound of this. He nodded warily for Quinlan to continue.
“The principles of aversion therapy are quite simple, and applicable to a wide range of problems. Having identified the sexual stimulus which we agree is unacceptable, in your case prepubescent girls, what we do is simply to pair the stimulus to an unpleasant experience and so create a conditioned aversion. The most effective method, which we and most aversion therapists use, is controlled electric shocks.”
Randall looked like he'd just received one. He choked the words out. “Electric shocks?”
Quinlan smiled reassuringly. “Don't misunderstand me, Mr Randall. It's just slight jolts of electricity, not ECT! Have you ever touched an electric cattle fence? It's that sort of level. Just enough to be unpleasant, so you won't want to do it again. There's no danger, I assure you.”
“And this would work? I'd be cured?”
“Well, not cured, exactly. Pedophilia is not a disease. But yes, aversion therapy will help suppress the pedophilic aspects of your sex drive. If at the same time we try and encourage interest in, how shall I say, more normal sexual activities, then yes, you would be effectively, if not clinically, cured.”
Randall was still coming to terms with the prospect of the electric chair. Aversion therapy was the least appealing of the three options Quinlan had outlined. The doctor hadn't specified where exactly the electric shocks would be applied, but he had a good idea. Even the thought of prolonged sessions with the obnoxious Ruth Reynolds seemed a preferable alternative.
He thought again of the Dynamite Twins.
Their smiling, happy faces.
Their sweetness.
Their innocence.
He remembered the bath time session. The Twins' confusion. His own fears.
He took a deep breath and looked Quinlan in the eye.
“When can I start?”
108
“This is Lieutenant Pitman, Rochester Police Department. My colleagues in Clinton County have been dealing with you in regard to the stolen vehicle. That's right, the one the child's body was found in.”
The junior to his left stopped work in surprise. Matt put his hand across the receiver and whispered, “Listen and learn, son. Listen and learn.”
Into the receiver, “They were supposed to forward me some information on the case, but there's been a slight mix up. Probably sent to the wrong email address. If you could just confirm the details given to hire the vehicle. Yes, I appreciate you've done so already, but like I say... It would assist the investigation considerably if you can just... Yes, that's all I need.” Matt jotted the details as he spoke. “No, of course not. No, no, that's fine. Thank you so much for your help.”
The junior stared at him. “Rochester Police Department?”
“Well, they say the best reporters are detectives. Just proving the point. He dialed again. “Danny, Matt Burford. Can you be at Starbucks in an hour? See you there.”
He dialed a third number. Four minutes and three extensions later he conn
ected to Gavin Large.
“Matt, what can I do you for? Business or pleasure?”
“You know it's always a pleasure doing business with you, Gavin. When I can get hold of you. Don't they have cell phones in darkest New Hampshire?”
“Not on campus, no. Can hardly hammer my students for bringing theirs to class if I carry one myself. Anyhow, what are you after this time?”
“Not what. Who. How's your star student?”
Large grunted down the phone. “My star student is fine, Matt, but I don't think you know her. She's too busy on her studies to associate with low-life’s like you. Perhaps you're thinking of young Miss Ceri Jones.”
“That's the gal!”
Large sighed into the receiver. “Star student she is not, Matt. Ceri's falling way behind. If you ask me, she needs a good boot up the ass.”
“Maybe she just needs a vacation.”
“Yeah, sure. A fortnight in the Caribbean does wonders for your grades. I recommend it to all my students.”
“I was thinking more Lake Ontario.”
“You mean your place?”
We'd like to have Ceri come down and see us a while.”
“We?”
“Claire and I. She can stay at Claire's. A nice break will do her the world of good.”
“What’s this all about, Matt?
“You've been following events here?”
Large snorted dismissively. “Madam talks of little else. That's one reason I'm on the verge of throwing her off the course.”
“You joke me.”
“Deadly serious. The girl's got potential, Matt. Real potential. But there's more to this course than hunting Hannibal. I'm afraid this profiling lark has gone to her head. My fault, of course. I should never have sent you that essay.”
“So maybe a week here will help her get it out of her system.”
“Matt, I can't go sanctioning students, my students, getting involved in criminal investigations.”
“You already did.”
“That was a mistake.”
“Gavin, trust me. There's a few things not been made public yet, that are causing ructions this end. The FBI profile is sinking fast. We need someone down here to talk us through the jargon and make sense of what's going on. Ceri said all along the killer would be unknown to the cops. Well off the record, they've got a print and she's right. No record. No previous.”
Large chuckled down the phone. “Like I said, Matt. My star student.”
“So you'll let her come?”
“Just like that? Drop everything and jump on a bus?”
“Didn't you ever travel as a student?”
“Not in the middle of a semester, no. I attended classes, respected my lecturer and worked my balls off.”
This is important, Gavin.”
“So are Ceri's grades. I was serious about having to fail her.”
“Just one week, Gavin. Five measly days.”
“There's no way she's missing lessons for a whole week.”
“A weekend, then?”
“Hmm. I'm not sure, Matt.”
“This Friday. Stick her on a bus and we'll meet her this end. Is she okay for money?”
“Matt, she's a student. Next silly question?”
“Slip her the fare and a ton on top. I'll square up with you on pay-day.”
“You think I'm made of money? Have you any idea how much a lecturer earns these days?”
“You'll get it back at the end of the month.”
“Ceri won't agree to this if she thinks you're going to publish anything.”
“She has my word.”
“Yeah, but what can I say to reassure her?”
“Thanks, Gav. E-mail me when you've sorted travel times.”
“If she flunks this course...”
“She'll do just fine. I'll lecture her on the benefits of a good education whilst she's here.”
“That's what worries me.”
Matt was grinning broadly when he put the phone down. He put his feet up on the desk, stretching out. McIntyre appeared behind him.
“Don't laze about on the firm's time, Burford. I'm trying to run a paper here. Christ, what if Proctor walked in now? What are you looking so smug about, anyway?”
“Just pieces of the jigsaw, Mac. You don't want to know till I've got the whole picture, remember?”
“Well at least have the bloody courtesy to look busy.”
Matt grabbed his jacket. “This look busy enough? I'm off to run up some expenses in Starbucks.”
McIntyre glared after him, then spotted the junior grinning. The junior quickly tapped at the keyboard, looking busy.
109
Danny was halfway through a Mocha when Matt arrived, settling down with his grande skinny latte. He pushed a scrap of paper across the table. Danny stared at it.
“Who is it?”
“Never you mind.”
“Is it to do with Uncle Tom?”
“He's not the only baddie around.”
“So it is to do with him?”
“How's your mom?”
“I might be able to help, you know.” It was the usual offer. Danny wanted in on everything.
“You will be helping, by getting me the form on this guy.”
“A new suspect?”
“I wish. The cops have checked him out already.”
“So why bother then?
“Clutching at straws, Danny. Can you get it or not?”
“So why do I have to do all the hard work and you get all the glory?”
For Christ's sake, Danny, do you think getting hardened criminals to sign your bloody autograph book is easy?”
“I'd just like to be trusted a bit more.”
“Okay, okay.” Matt considered briefly. “It's the driver who rented the car that girl was found in. Or at least, the name on the license he used.”
“Wow! You mean this could be Uncle Tom himself?”
“If only. The cops think the license was stolen and the photo changed. Claire and I are meeting him Monday.”
“Can I come?”
“What the hell for?”
“I've never met a real-life criminal before.”
“This isn't a game, Danny. Stick to Space Invaders.”
Danny pushed the scrap of paper back across the table. “Fuck you, Matt. Get someone else to do your dirty work.”
“Sulky bastard today, aren’t you?”
“I’m not sulking. I’m offended. I wasn’t even born when Space Invaders were around.”
Matt sighed. “This is important, Danny.”
Danny stared into his mocha silently, then: “I read this morning the Saranac girl might not be connected with Uncle Tom after all.”
“You shouldn't believe everything you read in the papers, Danny.”
Danny smirked. “Especially under your by-line, right?”
“Ha, ha, very funny. Danny, just get me the info, okay?”
“Do you wanna hear my theory?”
Matt looked aghast. He had enough problems without Sherlock Junior proposing the butler did it. “Maybe another time.”
Danny looked hurt. “I'm trying to help.”
“Can't you think of anything else but computers and crime?”
“What else is there?”
“Haven’t you got a girlfriend yet?”
Danny looked faintly embarrassed. “I'm not gay!”
“Did I say you were?”
“I just haven't met the right person yet. So do you wanna know my theory?”
“About girls?”
“About Uncle Tom.”
“Danny, I haven't got time for this.”
“Suit yourself. Just remember I offered.”
“I'll bear it in mind.”
110
Over a vegetable tikka masala, his first attempt at vegetarian cuisine, Matt explained to Ceri what Pitman had told him about the mystery print on the CD.
Ceri nodded enthusiastically. “I've said all along Uncle
Tom's not a convicted offender.”
“That's why you're here! There's something else, too. The prints were probably those of a woman.”
Claire looked surprised. “They can tell that from a fingerprint?”
“A CD or its case would be perfect for lifting prints off,” Ceri said.
“Although even the card insert could provide a print if sprayed with some chemical or other,” Matt added.
“Ninhydrin,” Ceri said. “Protein staining. My guess is, the print is from Uncle Tom. The cops are just too stupid to realize what they've got.”
“But if it's a woman's prints?” Claire looked confused. “Surely you're not suggesting a woman killed these girls?”
“It's hardly unheard of,” Matt said.
“Plenty to choose from,” Ceri agreed. “Catherine Bernie... Joyce Ballard... How long have you got? But that's not what I meant. The killer was definitely a man, just not the man described in the FBI profile.”
Matt brought out another two bottles of rioja and turned the background music down to barely audible. He produced a jotter and pen. “Time to start earning your keep, Ceri.”
111
Ceri leaned back in her chair and swilled her wine, watching the ruby liquid cling to the glass. She spoke from memory, her folder untouched on the table. Matt made shorthand notes and Claire listened in awed silence as a girl nearly fifteen years her junior began to systematically dissect the Dunst profile.
How valid the judgments might be, only time could tell, but for now Ceri had a captive and receptive audience. Professor Large would have been proud.
“Let's begin with the prints. Do you know much about fingerprints?”
“I wrote an article on the subject for a crime mag recently.”
Claire said, “Some of us aren't so knowledgeable.”
Matt took the cue. “Well, everyone's fingerprints are unique, of course. The idea that all prints are different originated in the Far East. Some say China, although they were in use in Japan to identify pottery makers. But it was some British guy in India who first used them systematically.”
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