Obsession

by Susan Lewis

  ‘OK, OK, have it your way,’ Winters sighed. ‘But I don’t know what I’m gonna tell my sister.’

  ‘Yeah, well maybe you’d better work out what you’re gonna tell your nephew first …’

  ‘But …’

  ‘You hired him, you fire him.’

  Cristos felt a whole lot better by the time he put the phone down. You turned in as many million dollars as he did then it was easy to get those power junkies hopping about their Black Tower. But this just better not cost him any time, ’cos time was the one commodity he could not afford. This movie had to be ready for the Cannes festival, or Bud Winters was going to have a whole lot more than a hair up his ass.

  He picked up the phone again and dialled Jeannie’s room. ‘Get yourself up here, babe,’ he said, ‘we got a lot to do tonight.’

  He was about to go find himself a towel when the phone rang. He sure as hell hoped it wasn’t either of the Goddammed faggots, he’d had about all he could take of them for one day.

  ‘Bennati,’ he barked into the receiver, then stiffened as he heard the voice at the other end. ‘Fitzpatrick! I thought I made myself clear last time …’

  ‘Cristos, just hear me out, will you?’

  ‘You got nothing to say that …’

  ‘Cristos, it was all a misunderstanding. You just got the wrong end of the stick. Now why don’t you stop by my place for a couple of drinks and we’ll talk.’

  ‘You heard what I said, Fitzpatrick. Now just get the hell …’

  ‘Cristos, I’m not asking for myself, I’m asking for someone who works at my office. She’s dying to meet you, and once you see her …’

  Cristos had already taken a breath to tell Luke to go fuck himself, when suddenly he remembered that right now he was in sore need of a location manager. If Fitzpatrick was good for nothing else he was good for a few contacts. ‘I can spare an hour tomorrow between seven and eight,’ he snapped, and rang off.

  The minute he put the phone down he winced. Cocktails, a doe-eyed dimbo, or bimbo, or whatever they called them these days, and Luke Fitzpatrick! Wasn’t he just having one hell of a time in good old London town!

  There was a knock on the door and he yelled for whoever it was to get lost. The door opened and when Cristos turned to see Jeannie’s raised eyebrows his thunderous face immediately broke into a grin.

  ‘You could at least have the decency to turn your back,’ Jeannie grumbled.

  ‘It’s nothing you didn’t see before, so quit playing coy,’ Cristos told her, grabbing a towel. ‘Well, come in, get it all out and let’s get on with it,’ he added, when she continued to hover at the door.

  Jeannie walked timidly across the room, opened the lid of her portable computer then looked at him demurely. ‘Is thith how you want me, thir?’ she said.

  At last Cristos laughed. Thank God for Jeannie, she could always make him laugh. And were it not for Richard, her husband, he might just have the hots for Jeannie – if for no other reason than sometimes she seemed the only woman alive who didn’t have the hots for him.

  ‘Ah, Corrie, there you are,’ Luke said, seeing that she had at last returned to her desk. ‘Where have you been all afternoon?’

  ‘Talking to the mother of a transsexual,’ Corrie lied, avoiding his eyes by picking up the messages piled on her desk.

  ‘Right. Well, you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve just spoken to Bennati and he’s coming to my place tomorrow night at seven. I take it you’re free?’

  ‘Yes, I’m free,’ Corrie answered, wishing she had the courage to say she wasn’t. But bad as she felt about going to see Radcliffe, she just couldn’t pass up the opportunity of meeting Cristos Bennati. Already her stomach was churning at the very thought of it, she just wished, for all sorts of reasons, that it wasn’t Luke who was doing her such an enormous favour.

  The following morning DC Archer managed to get hold of Luke at home and asked him to come in to the station. Luke’s immediate thought was that Denby had given himself up. If he had … But no, the police wouldn’t be asking him to come in if they’d interviewed Denby, they’d be banging on his door and dragging him in. Besides, Denby didn’t have the guts to give himself up, Luke would stake his life on that.

  When he arrived at the station, instead of taking him to the CID office, a WPC led him straight to an interview room. This too unnerved Luke, not that he let it show.

  ‘Luke, good to see you,’ Radcliffe said, standing up as Luke walked into the room. ‘How’s tricks?’

  ‘As ever,’ Luke answered, shaking Radcliffe’s hand and nodding at Archer.

  They all sat down, and when a few more pleasantries were out of the way, Radcliffe came to the point. ‘I believe,’ he began, ‘that you are aware of Bobby McIver’s mental state.’

  Luke raised his eyebrows, letting his surprise show. ‘Yes, I am,’ he answered.

  ‘Can I ask how you came by that knowledge?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Paul. How do you think I know? You told one of my researchers.’

  Radcliffe’s face was inscrutable. ‘In your opinion, Luke, do you think a man such as McIver could have carried out the murders?’

  Luke was visibly unsettled by the question. ‘Why are you asking me?’ he said. ‘I don’t know enough about mental illness, or to what extent McIver is retarded. Anyway, he confessed, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, he confessed all right. The trouble is, we don’t believe him.’

  ‘But I thought he gave you all the details … Those you’d been holding back.’

  ‘He did. But I think someone else told him what we wanted to know. Someone who has got to him. I don’t suppose you have any idea who that someone might be?’

  At first Luke’s eyes widened with shock, then slowly they started to narrow as he glanced several times between Radcliffe and Archer. ‘That’s a mighty peculiar question, Inspector,’ he remarked. ‘How would I know who’s been getting to McIver?’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘Look, is this some kind of joke, or …’ Luke stopped and frowned heavily as suddenly the pieces started to fall into place. ‘Oh, I get it,’ he said, suddenly starting to grin.

  Radcliffe’s silence was a clear sign that he was waiting for Luke to elaborate.

  Luke’s grin was very wide indeed by now, since he understood only too well what was going on. For some reason, Corrie, and it could only have been Corrie, had come here to tell Radcliffe that her boss knew Bobby McIver. Exactly what he had done to betray himself, Luke wasn’t sure, but he had obviously under-estimated her somewhere along the line, for she clearly wasn’t as stupid as he’d thought. Well, the situation wasn’t irretrievable by any means – at least not so far as he was concerned. As far as Corrie was concerned, well that was a different matter altogether. ‘Have you ever spurned a woman?’ he asked Radcliffe.

  ‘Not for many years.’ Radcliffe’s eyes flicked towards Archer. Their suspicions, it seemed, were about to be confirmed.

  Luke couldn’t have been more delighted by that exchange of glances. ‘Well unfortunately, in my position,’ he said, ‘I frequently find myself having to turn women down. Chiefly because I have a girlfriend who means a great deal to me. She works at TW, in fact you’ve met her, Annalise Kapsakis. But between ourselves, Inspector, I have made the mistake of sleeping with other women, one in particular, and perhaps I didn’t handle it quite as tactfully as I might.’ He waited, but when it was evident that Radcliffe wasn’t going to say anything, he added. ‘I think we both know who I’m talking about.’

  Radcliffe cleared his throat, and getting to his feet said, ‘Thank you for coming in, Luke. Miss Archer here will see you out,’ and after shaking Luke by the hand he left the room.

  On the pavement outside Chelsea Police Station Luke waved a cheery goodbye to DC Archer, and trotted off towards his car. Only now that his back was turned could he allow his face to contort with all the rage he’d managed to kee
p bottled inside. With every step he took his body jarred. He slowed down, but it was no good, the stiffness in his legs had spread to his lungs. He could barely move. The rage was now so intense it was clawing at every bone in his body.

  He all but fell into his car, coughing and spluttering, gasping urgently for air. His fury was squeezing him, gripping his throat with choking, slithering tentacles. But it would be all right. He would control it, he would make himself. He’d go see a whore, that’s what he’d do. He’d screw this frenzied rage into the ass of a woman – and all the time he’d remember. He’d let the memories haunt him, crowd in on him, torture him and all the time he’d remember. And after, when he had pumped the vile poison from his veins, he would decide what must be done about Corrie.

  The office was almost empty now, but earlier everyone had been there for the regular post-mortem of the previous night’s programme. Bob had taken the meeting, as he usually did in Luke’s absence, but when Luke still hadn’t shown by midday, Corrie was starting to feel extremely nervous.

  She’d come away from Radcliffe’s office the previous afternoon with the distinct impression that she hadn’t been taken seriously. It was that thought which had enabled her to sleep the night before, since by now she was feeling so guilty, not to mention ridiculous, about what she had done, that she just wanted to forget all about it. But as the morning wore on and there was still no sign of Luke, Corrie was fast approaching the point of panic. In the end, unable to stand the suspense, she asked Julia, Luke’s secretary, if she knew where Luke was.

  ‘He’s gone to see DI Radcliffe,’ Julia answered.

  Corrie’s heart dropped like a stone. It was the reply she had dreaded.

  ‘I thought he’d have been here by now,’ Julia said, eyeing Corrie curiously. ‘Anything I can help with?’

  ‘No. No, it can wait,’ Corrie mumbled, and returned to her desk. He probably knew by now that she had been there herself the day before. But Radcliffe had promised not to mention her name. What difference did that make though, Luke would know that it was she who had told Radcliffe about McIver, after all who else could it be? She tried to imagine how he would react once he found out, and nothing she came up with made her feel any better. If anything her nerves were becoming edged with fear.

  By the middle of the afternoon Corrie was almost beside herself. She and Annalise were sorting through some surgeon’s stills, laid out on Annalise’s desk, most of which, if screened, were guaranteed to get legs crossing in a national wince, but some, picked out by Annalise, were usable. However, Corrie simply couldn’t concentrate. She kept reminding herself that Luke’s absence was nothing unusual, he kept his own hours, and sometimes they didn’t see him for days at a time. Which meant that this mounting unease was merely paranoia, or guilty conscience more like, but every time she envisaged Luke with Radcliffe she felt almost sick with apprehension.

  ‘Look, if you’re that nervous about meeting Cristos Bennati tonight,’ Annalise laughed, when for the fifth time Corrie returned a question with a blank stare, ‘why don’t you just go home, make yourself glamorous and I’ll finish up here.’

  ‘No, no, it’s all right, I’ll stay,’ Corrie answered, spinning towards the door as it opened. It was the production manager, spouting off his grievances to a cameraman about a facility house.

  Luke had left Chelsea Police Station hours ago, Corrie knew that because she had called Radcliffe herself to find out what had happened. She had spoken to DC Archer, who had assured Corrie that they were quite satisfied with what Luke had told them, and that no, her name had never been mentioned.

  So why, Corrie kept asking herself, was she feeling like this? For sure, she was nervous about meeting Bennati that night, but that had nothing to do with the way her heart kept leaping to her throat every time there was a phone call for her.

  It wasn’t until she and Annalise were leaving the office around five, that Corrie finally admitted to herself that she was afraid. Truly afraid. She was experiencing the kind of fear that on the face of it was irrational, for the fact that Luke hadn’t turned up at the office in itself said nothing, but to Corrie it was saying everything. He was absolutely bloody furious with her for going to the police the way she had, and this was his way of letting her know. For now he was merely letting her sweat it out, but he was going to have something to say about it, Corrie was convinced of that. Just as convinced as she was that he was going to do it that night – right in front of Cristos Bennati.

  By now Annalise had dropped Corrie at her studio and Corrie was on the point of getting into the shower. However, this sudden added fear stopped her in her tracks. She could suffer just about anything for what she had done, but to be humiliated in front of Cristos Bennati was unthinkable. She couldn’t, wouldn’t let Luke do it. He could shout her off all he liked in front of anyone else, but dear God, not in front of Bennati.

  Immediately she turned to the phone and dialled Luke’s number. She didn’t know yet what excuse she was going to give, but whatever it turned out to be she wasn’t going to his place that night. She tapped her foot impatiently as the phone rang at the other end. It rang and rang, but no one picked it up – not even the answerphone.

  ‘Damn it!’ Corrie cried, slamming the receiver back in the cradle. All right then, she’d go, but she’d get there early so that they could get it over with before Bennati arrived.

  She wandered back to the shower then, feeling thoroughly miserable that this was spoiling what should have been one of the most exciting nights of her life.

  By the time Corrie arrived at Luke’s she had rehearsed so many apologies, accusations and defences that she couldn’t hold a single coherent thought in her head. On top of that she was racking her brains trying to come up with some sparkling wit or intellectual profundity with which she might entertain or enthral Cristos Bennati. But first things first, she reminded herself. Luke would want a damned good reason as to why she had gone to the police before speaking to him, so she’d just better come up with something fast or they’d still be at it when Cristos arrived.

  She was so engrossed in her panicked thoughts that she didn’t even realize that Luke had now pressed the buzzer three times to let her in through the downstairs door.

  ‘Corrie!’ he cried, when she was only half way up the stairs. ‘Thank God you’ve come early. I’ve only just realized what the time is. The place is a mess, come and give me a hand to clear up will you?’

  Corrie was caught completely off guard, and before she knew what she was doing was racing up the stairs to help. It wasn’t until she arrived at the door that she suddenly remembered that she had dressed herself in a very expensive suit – after discarding all her sexier dresses for fear of making a fool of herself – and was not in the least impressed by having to throw herself into housework.

  Luke looked comically hurt when she told him this. ‘Can’t you take pity on a poor single man just this once,’ he pleaded.

  Corrie eyed him for a moment, then tossing her head she marched past him into the flat.

  ‘You look lovely,’ he said, closing the door behind her.

  ‘It’s all right, I’ll help,’ she said, still not quite daring to believe that the showdown wasn’t going to happen. ‘What have you been doing all day, anyway? I thought you were coming into the office.’

  ‘Can I take it from that that you missed me?’ Luke grinned.

  Corrie pursed her lips and turned away. She couldn’t believe this! She was going to get away with it, he wasn’t going to say a word. Or, God bless Radcliffe, he really hadn’t given her away after all. ‘You’ve been smoking,’ she said, turning her nose up at the full ashtray on the coffee table.

  ‘I do sometimes,’ he confessed, ‘when I’ve got a lot on my mind.’

  Here it comes. He’s going to bring it up right now. But when she turned round he was stuffing a pile of newspapers into the bottom of the bookcase, so she simply picked up the ashtray and carried it into the kitchen.

  His
laundry was scattered all over the floor, and kicking it to one side, Corrie started to make her way towards the bin. Then she stopped, so abruptly that the ashtray jolted in her hand spilling its contents onto the shirt she was staring at. Her heart was slowly pounding into an unnatural rhythm, and her head began to swim.

  She took a step back, her eyes darting about the kitchen as though expecting to see more. But there was nothing, it was only the shirt … She shook her head, trying to clear it. She was over-reacting, it was nothing to be afraid of … It was just blood … OK, a lot of blood, but … She nearly leapt from her skin as she heard the door close behind her. She spun round to find Luke standing very close, so close she could feel the heat of his body. She looked into his face and for one blinding second knew abject terror.

  ‘What is it?’ Luke gasped, taking her by the arms. ‘Corrie, what’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing. No, nothing,’ Corrie mumbled. ‘It was – you just startled me, coming in like that.’

  He pulled her against him, hugging her tight.

  The fear was rapidly beginning to subside now, but she was badly confused and could feel the sweat on her body turning cold with the breeze coming in through the open window. Then something strange started to happen, and it was a while before she realized that the odd vibrations against her body were coming from Luke.

  Corrie moved away, and watched, as still laughing, Luke stooped to pick up the shirt. ‘It was this, wasn’t it?’ he said. ‘You thought it was blood.’

  Corrie raised her eyes slowly to his, trying very hard to keep her head.

  Luke threw the shirt back to the floor. ‘You think I did it, don’t you?’ he smirked. ‘You think I killed them.’

  Corrie’s heart was hammering so strenuously she couldn’t even breathe. It was as though her skin was tightening across her face, so hard that she couldn’t move her lips. She hadn’t said anything about suspecting him of murder, not to him, not to Radcliffe, not even to Paula. She’d never even said it to herself …

  ‘Oh, I know all about your little visit to the police,’ Luke said, taking her ice-cold hands in his. ‘And you think I’m angry with you, don’t you? Well you’re wrong. I was at first, I have to admit, but then I got to thinking, and reminded myself that most people over-react to things when they are close to murders – especially the first time they come into contact with one.’ He put his head to one side and looked searchingly into her eyes. ‘That there, on my shirt, Corrie, is paint.’