As Doc pulled the door open the Judge glanced up, and called to him.
‘Oh Colin.’ Doc paused, listening to the Judge’s softly barbed words. ‘Can I suggest you put some freshly ironed clothes on tomorrow? Goodnight.’
***
Leech’s pulse rate had barely changed throughout the entire Cochran episode, his breathing was calm, not a drop of extra sweat had been shed. Yet he felt the thrill, an endorphin buzz, which really started to kick in as he lay on his bed. He let the video in his head replay the scenes over and over, could feel again the sensation of his fist lifting Cochran off the steps, watching the con in free-fall as he plummeted to his death.
Leech did not even notice his cell door close. Was oblivious to his environment. He experienced a sense of freedom. Control.
Over life and death.
He was pleased with himself. On this occasion his timing was perfect. A fatal blow delivered with incredible speed and power.
Snakebite.
Bye-bye Cochran. You fuckin muppet.
Leech had reckoned Cochran would try to do him in the shower, mates in tow, that being the preferred location for disputes to be settled. Cochran and his two chicken-shit boys would have been planning to drag him to the bathroom at the end of his landing, well away from the screws and the other cons three floors below...
Leech’s six-pack rippled and twitched as he laughed at the man’s stupidity. Cochran had undoubtedly decided Leech would not dare attack him in the open, would not risk his parole. Probably thought that made Leech a passive victim, easily beaten, pummelled into submission in the showers like some sprog con.
Wanker! That’s the difference between me and the losers in here. I’m better than any of them.
And he just knew there would be no more trouble for him. His reputation would guarantee that. Or so he thought.
His door clattered unlocked, and opened.
‘Mister Dire Mud, what can I do for you?’
‘Stand up Leech for a start.’
He did, though oozing reluctance, relishing the moment, not letting the warder’s apparent power over him unsettle his sense of well-being.
Diarmud continued, ‘You think you’re such a smart-arse don’t you? You think I don’t know what you’re up to...’
The warder’s breath was foul and right in Leech’s nose as they went head to head, Diarmud’s peaked cap brushing his brow. He refused to be cowed or provoked, just waited for Diarmud to say his piece, aware that the rage stirring and building inside him could not be directed at this man right now. Especially with two warders standing in his doorway, watching. Chaperones.
‘Well, I’ve got news for you sunshine. At your parole hearing in two weeks time they need a representative from the Prison Service... Someone to put the case against you getting let out to torment the unsuspecting public.’ Diarmud’s mouth flecked with foamy spittle as he spoke, some of it landing on the convict’s face. Hatred and anger knotted inside Leech but he still did nothing as Diarmud taunted him. ‘And guess who has volunteered to present the finer points of Her Majesty’s Prisoner number B620061!’
He tried to get back in his zone, to relax, but could not. He wanted nothing more than to smash the old man’s face to pulp and toss him down the stairs. He could do it, even with the two ponces in the doorway. He considered it for a split second, but decided he had more pressing matters to contend with – outside.
He really had learnt something in those anger management classes. The thought consoled him, and he tried to replay in his mind’s eye the moment Cochran fell. It worked and the pressure dissolved. He threw back his head and laughed in Diarmud’s face.
The warder spun, his voice lashing his men as he vented his frustration on them. ‘Strip his cell. Strip him. I want his every orifice probed. For contraband.’
Diarmud stepped out the door, shoving his own men aside.
Leech tossed some words at the departing figure, weaving sarcasm into his voice. ‘Oh. I almost forgot to mention. Young Johnny Bloom wants to see me.’
Diarmud grunted a reply, ‘Don’t push your luck sonny.’
‘But Mister Diarmud, I don’t think the Governor would want young Johnny doing a Cochran now, would he sir?’
Leech waited as Diarmud turned back, his face a livid scowl.
‘What?’
‘Sorry sir, but I obviously can’t reveal who inside here is suicidal. That’s con-fidential.’ He drew out the word, winked, and added, ‘But the Governor wouldn’t be pleased to hear you were hindering a Listener from helping a disturbed young inmate, would he now?’
A wordless Diarmud retreated to the cackling laughter echoing from within Leech’s cell.
***
Today is a white day, thought Doc as he made his way to Covent Garden for his lunch appointment with Judy Finch. Some days are grey, but most are black.
As a psychiatrist he knew all about depression. He had studied it, opined on it, been involved in the treatment of convicts suffering from it. But now he really understood it.
Today he was feeling neutral, neither glad to be alive nor crawling blindly in the chasm of despair that so often consumed him these days.
A day with a mission, some objectives. Some purpose. At least that was something.
He wondered about Judy, what sort of character she was. What were her motives for joining the Parole Board? Most of all he hoped she was tough enough for the job.
He strolled into the restaurant and spotted her immediately – a petite strawberry blonde waving to him from a table tucked in the corner.
‘Hi. Colin Powers,’ he said as he reached a hand across the table to her. ‘You must be Judy.’ His rusty smile cracked into life and then slid away, as if frightened she might notice.
‘Of course! I recognised you. I attended one of your lectures at Cambridge several years ago. Criminal profiling.’ She shook his hand, a surprising strength in her grip.
‘And you remember me from then? I’m flattered.’
Judy laughed, a bubbling cascade of warmth and wit that caressed his fractured senses. Her smile radiant, drawing him in. He liked her.
‘Hardly! It was a fascinating lecture. And of course, there were larger than life posters of you everywhere. Even if I hadn’t asked you to sign a copy of your book for me I’d have recognised you.’
She beamed at him. She’s cute. Dimpled cheeks and piercing violet eyes that could cleave open and search a man’s soul.
Doc coughed into his hand, choking at the thought of what she would see in his soul should she choose to look. He glanced up, saw her still smiling, the mood not ruined except inside his own head.
‘It’s a good spot you’ve picked – discreet enough so we won’t be overhead.’
‘Mmm. I’m a regular here and they know I often have secret trysts.’ Her lopsided grin made her even more attractive in Doc’s eyes. ‘And the food’s superb. Shall we order?’
The waiter fussed over her, yet barely acknowledged Doc. She seemed to have that effect on men, Doc decided.
Drinks arrived – water for her and red wine for him – as they got down to business.
‘Doctor Powers, I hope you don’t think I’m being rude, but I’m not sure why the Judge asked you to meet me today. I know I’m pretty new to this job, but I’ve interviewed plenty of people in my various roles with the Home Office. Social outcasts, misfits, abusers... and that’s just my colleagues!’ She laughed again, the happy bubbles engulfing Doc, forcing another reluctant smile to his lips.
‘Call me Doc please Judy. Everyone else does.’ He swirled the wine in his glass and took a deep swallow. He was drinking way too much these days. The smile dissolved again at the thought. He forced himself to keep on track. ‘The Judge wanted me to talk you through things.’ Doc held up a hand as Judy pushed herself forward as if to interrupt. ‘I’m something of an old hand when it comes to interviewing felons. Dangerous criminals Judy. Not just misfits and outcasts, but predators of the worst kind. Believe me, i
t can be the hardest thing in the world.’
Almost.
Her expression hardened. ‘I’ve been trained for this. I’m ready for it. I’m strong.’ He noticed the emphasis and wondered whether she was implying he was not. She continued, as he mulled that one over. ‘And I’m sure you wouldn’t try to intimidate me right before my first parolee interview. Would you?’ Her chin jutted at him, her voice bristling with anger.
‘Whoa Judy!’ Both Doc’s hands were in the air now, palms forward, as if physically pushing her back into her seat. She was a feisty one. And sensitive too. ‘Look, I didn’t mean anything kid – ’
‘What did you say?’ Her eyes were fierce now, sparking dangerously. ‘Don’t you dare call me kid,’ she hissed. ‘How condescending is that? Now, I’ll tell you what I think Doc. I think the Judge asked you to help me,’ her fingers crooked into speech marks as she emphasised the word, ‘because he wants to help you get back in the saddle.’ She sat back, her face flushed, as the waiter delicately placed their dishes before them.
‘Bon appétit.’ The waiter glared at Doc and left.
They ate in silence for a minute as Doc gathered his thoughts. Was she right? Was this about him, his problems, rather than her inexperience? He shook his head. Regardless, he needed to help her. There was no doubting she was a tough one though.
‘I am sorry Judy.’ She peered up at him, her eyebrows in a deep vee as she popped some chicken into her mouth, and nodded for him to continue. ‘It’s true, I haven’t been around for a few months,’ ninety-eight days actually, ‘and this is my first assignment since...’
‘It’s okay Doc.’ Her frown softened. ‘I heard about your wife. I’m sorry. You really don’t need to talk to me about that. Okay?’
Her words burst something deep inside him, like a champagne cork popping, liquid spraying, out of control. He shoved his uneaten food away and swirled his drink again. ‘I suppose you heard that I killed her.’ He threw the wine into his mouth.
‘Doc, you don’t need to explain anything to me.’ Her expression was shocked, but Doc could not stop himself, he ploughed on, his voice brittle.
‘I was driving. We’d been out to dinner... We were celebrating.’ He banged his glass on the table, the stem exploding, but he barely noticed, continuing his confession, the words unstoppable now. ‘I’d been drinking. We crashed on the way home.’ His mouth twisted into an ugly grimace.
‘Really Doc – ’
‘They said it was an accident. I don’t know... It happened so fast, I couldn’t do anything.’ He shrugged, a tear in each eye shining at her as he sucked in a juddering breath. ‘She died. I lived.’ He squeezed the tears away and held her gaze, wondering why he was finally able to spill it all out, to someone. Anyone. ‘I killed her. Although I was technically under the legal limit, maybe she’d be alive today if I hadn’t had any drink.’ He lifted the glass, realised the bowl in his hand was missing its stem. Stunned, he dropped it on the table, the cloth spattered bloody red with the dregs.
‘Is everything alright Miss?’ The waiter hovered, sweeping the remnants of the glass into a silver dustpan, the miniature brush deftly cleaning the tablecloth. He eyed Doc’s hand, now a clenched fist. Doc forced himself to relax.
‘Everything’s fine Genarro. Please bring a fresh glass. That one must have had a faulty base.’ She smiled her charm at him and he tutted away.
It was several moments before Doc broke the embarrassed silence. ‘Sorry Judy... I’m so sorry. I don’t know what got into me. I’m never.... God! I’m not exactly the professional today am I? You must be mortified. Can we start over?’
She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. Electricity sparked into his fingers as she spoke. ‘I shouldn’t have said what I did. I have a bit of a short fuse I’m afraid, and I can be insensitive at times.’ She smiled ruefully as she corrected herself. ‘I was insensitive.’
‘Maybe you were right.’ Come on Doc. Professional. ‘But even so, we really ought to talk about your interview. If I sounded condescending I really didn’t mean to. I may not be all there yet,’ he tapped his temple and forced a sickly grin, ‘but I’m not completely useless.’
Genarro arrived with another glass, scowled again at Doc as if warning him not to break this one, rolled his eyes at Judy and scurried away.
‘Well, my understanding of my brief is to meet with Leech and listen to his side of things. I’ll prepare a report, he’ll sign it – if he agrees it’s a fair summary – and it will be presented at the parole hearing. Along with his prison dossier, of course.’ Judy swigged some water, thoughtful, her brow rippling. ‘I’m supposed to be an impartial ear. That’s the bit I’m struggling with. After all he’s been found guilty even though he claims he’s innocent.’
‘We aren’t expected to second guess the courts. It’s neither here nor there if he’s guilty or not.’ He watched as her expression deepened. She was obviously very bright. ‘Yes, you need to be impartial in the sense that you listen and record what he says. You don’t judge him. In a way you’re just a facilitator, there to help him put his case across to the parole board in the best light.’
‘Mmm. That makes sense. I’m sure I can do that.’ She nodded to herself, then asked, ‘Do you think he’s still dangerous?’
‘Sorry Judy, I really can’t answer that.’ She seemed confused so he continued. ‘You see, I’m part of the team scheduled for the parole hearing.’ She still looked perplexed. ‘We will decide in two weeks whether Leech represents a danger to the public. First and foremost the Parole Board is here to protect the good citizens of the UK. If we think Leech is a danger he will not be paroled. Full stop.’
‘Okay... I know my job is to act as the impartial mouthpiece, but I remember you saying psychopaths are not ill, and therefore can’t recover. They don’t change. And you called Leech a psychopath at his trial. Doesn’t that condemn him for life?’ She quizzed him with her violet eyes, clearly frustrated with herself for her lack of understanding.
‘A psychopath will always be a psychopath. True. They can, however, modify their behaviour. And that is what we hope to see in Peter Leech’s case.’
‘What? Some signs that he’s normalised after eighteen years in prison?’ She paused, then added, ‘As if!’
Doc, having re-read the case notes that morning, had his own doubts but went on, explaining, ‘Not all psychopaths are killers. It’s estimated that around one percent of the population could be classified as sub-clinical or compensated psychopaths. They are often very successful people in their chosen field – chief executives, bankers, doctors, even judges – they’re all around us. And by the same token a criminal psychopath can re-enter society and never commit another offence.’
‘One percent? That’s like, maybe, three quarters of a million people in Britain alone. You’re joking, right?’
The waiter arrived, cleared their plates, took their order for coffee and disappeared.
‘The way he keeps looking at me, maybe he’s one!’ Doc had made a feeble joke and surprised himself. It took a moment for him to get his bearings again. ‘The term Clinical Psychopath is a label for a personality disorder – an anti-social personality disorder. The most extreme individuals suffer no remorse, they have no conscience. No guilt.’ Doc paused, contemplating how his life would be if he felt no guilt. Sliding the thought from his mind he concentrated on Judy. ‘They’re ego-centric in the extreme and see other people purely as objects to be used and manipulated. Weak people are especially vulnerable. Hence the success of so many psychopaths – they have qualities that allow them to succeed in our competitive corporate society. In spades.’
‘Well, I can see that but...’
‘They’re often compulsive liars who are able to switch mid-sentence, contradicting themselves without shame or embarrassment. They don’t feel the same as you or I. Their emotions are shallow and hence they cannot empathise with the rest of us. They don’t fully understand such things as fear even.’
‘Okay. Okay. Professor! So, Leech is one of these. And a violent killer to boot. It sounds like I’m going to have a ball.’ She sucked at her top lip as she thought about it.
‘He may well seem charming.’
She muttered, ‘Now that I cannot believe!’ She gulped her coffee, checked her watch, then added, ‘I’ve got to dash Doc. It’s been... interesting. Any final words of advice for me for this afternoon?’
‘Try to keep the word impartial in your mind. Interview him and don’t let him probe you – especially about your personal life.’ Doc finished his coffee and added, ‘He may well try to manipulate you. Just don’t let him sucker you in... And remember, psychopaths love to lie.’
***
Doc hailed a cab and bundled himself in just as it started to rain. The June sky was overcast and grey.
‘Paddington station please.’ The rain drummed on the roof of the black cab as Doc watched the world go by, the images distorted and fractured by rivulets streaming down the window.
Just like my life, he decided. Distorted and fractured. But it had done him some good, finally talking about Natalie and the accident. His stomach swooped as he thought about his wife and for a few minutes he was tormented by memories. Eventually he re-surfaced and remembered to call the Judge. He flipped open his phone and hit the speed dial.
‘So how did it go Doc? She up to it?’
‘You know damn well she is.’ Doc heard the Judge chuckle. ‘Five foot nothing of pure dynamite. Like a tough little lioness. I certainly gave her a few things to think about... Don’t know if I helped much.’
‘I’m sure you did fine. It’s good to have you back Doc. See you Monday. Have a pleasant weekend.’
Doc cut the connection and decided that yes, it was good to be back. But something nibbled at his mind, fraying the sense of well being he was experiencing for the first time in months.
Judy.
Some anxiety, some primitive instinct, was eating away at the confidence he felt for her. As he sat gazing at the warped kaleidoscope of London street life through the taxi’s rain soaked window, he began to wonder if the Judge had just thrown the convict to the lion – and which one he was actually condemning.
Remorseless: A British Crime Thriller (Doc Powers & D.I. Carver Investigate #1) Page 2