The Essence of Evil

by The Essence of Evil (retail) (epub)

  From there Dani headed past chugging dump trucks and cranes and booming diggers, in the midst of further redevelopment around the area known as Paradise Circus – yeah, real paradise – and onto Colmore Row, heading towards HQ. But HQ wasn’t her destination. Not yet anyway. Dani had set Easton up to track down Paul Reeve. She would have happily been involved in that herself, but there really was no need to cause a fuss so soon after returning to work by not keeping to her agreed programme of rehabilitation. So instead she would go to an appointment that she really didn’t want to have to keep, but had no choice about. Not if she wanted to continue as a DI under McNair’s watch anyway.

  The psychiatrist’s office was on Newhall Street, off Colmore Row, so was at least convenient for getting to HQ afterwards. Dr Scholz, one of countless psychiatrists Dani had seen over the last two years, was a German-born man in his fifties. He’d lived in England for nearly thirty years but his roots were still obvious in his heavily accented English. He reminded Dani of a professor-type from a bygone era, with his thin hair, round glasses and wispy moustache. He was always immaculately dressed and groomed, yet there was little warmth in Scholz, and Dani had never really opened up in their sessions in the way she was expected to.

  Which perhaps explained why she was still having to see him after some six months, even though she’d now been cleared to return to work. Her continued therapy was just one of the conditions McNair, on the advice of Scholz, had insisted upon, until it was deemed Dani was of sound enough mind to halt both the sessions and her anti-depressant medication. Dani often wondered whether she would ever reach that point.

  She arrived outside the old redbrick Victorian terrace ten minutes early for her appointment and headed inside to the reception area that was decked out in modern and largely bright white decor – was it modern or just clinical? She sat on a blue plastic chair in the small waiting area while the young receptionist filed her nails. Every so often she glanced at Dani for a few seconds as though she were trying to figure out what was wrong with this clearly deranged woman. At least that’s what Dani thought.

  Scholz poked his head around his office door bang on the hour and ushered Dani through. His office was pleasantly inviting compared to the reception area, with book-filled shelves, ornaments and various colourful paintings on the walls. As well as the two plain metal chairs in front of his desk, there were two armchairs plus the obligatory chaise longue. Dani had never taken to lying down during these sessions. Instead, at Scholz’s invitation to sit where she wanted, Dani opted for one of the seats at the desk. Would Scholz draw any conclusions as to her mental wellbeing from that simple choice alone?

  Probably yes. He wouldn’t be able to help himself.

  ‘How are you, Dani?’

  Scholz sat on his own chair – comfortable leather – put his elbows on the desk and clasped his hands together.

  ‘Fine. I’m back at work now.’

  ‘That’s good. And you’re coping ok?’

  What was she supposed to say in response to that question? That since returning to work she’d gone to bed in tears two nights in a row? That she’d needed both alcohol and pills to help her sleep and to keep her feeling close to sane? That she’d seen a mysterious shadowy figure at a window at a murder scene? That last night she’d thought she was being stalked by the same or possibly another shadowy figure that may or may not have really been there? That she’d nearly had a full-blown panic attack over that?

  Of course she wasn’t fucking ok.

  ‘Yeah. It feels good to be back,’ Dani said.

  ‘I saw you on TV the other night.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Can’t be easy being put straight back into the limelight. Especially on a murder investigation.’

  Dani shrugged. ‘That’s my job.’

  Scholz said nothing to that, just sat and studied Dani for a few moments. Their sessions together had blown hot and cold over the past few months. Sometimes Dani would remain placid, almost detached, just trying to stay calm and compliant so that she could get the session over without raising any questions in Scholz’s mind. Other sessions became more heated, with Dani defensive and up for a fight over what she felt was Scholz’s and the police’s agenda of trying to make her out to be goods damaged beyond repair.

  Today Dani was strongly hoping she could keep calm. She simply wanted to ride over this and get out in one piece, then get on with the day ahead.

  ‘Have you been taking your medication?’ Scholz asked.

  And then some, Dani thought, but she didn’t say it. ‘Just as the doctor ordered.’

  ‘That’s good. Often patients struggle a little at first when we reduce the dosages. So taking less hasn’t caused you any problems? Heightened sadness? Anxiety attacks? Anything like that?’

  Reduced dosage? Well, about that…

  ‘Believe me, not every day is a party, but I think I’m doing ok, under the circumstances.’

  After that, the conversation got down into the nitty-gritty of Dani’s life over the last few days, but particularly how she had been impacted by being back at work. The session was going quite well, Dani thought. Then Scholz raised the subject of Jason. He asked how Dani had coped with seeing her former lover for the first time in months. She clammed up from there. Jason was far from the cause of her problems, but the subject of their failed relationship was still one of the sorest, and saddest, in her mind, even if it was she who’d ended it – and it felt particularly raw after last night.

  ‘I’d really like you to try something for me, for the next phase of our therapy,’ Scholz said.

  Our therapy?

  ‘Try what?’ Dani asked, hoping they were moving on from talking about Jason.

  ‘Pardon my forwardness, but I think it’s really important that you stop closing your mind off from what’s happened to you. It’s the only way you’ll be able to properly move forwards.’

  ‘You mean you think I’m in denial?’

  ‘That would have been a more succinct way of putting it, yes.’

  He was probably right, but Dani didn’t want to agree and give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

  ‘What I’d like to see the next time we meet is that you’ve taken steps to confront some of your demons, so to speak. The worst thing for someone in your position to do is to internalise their problems.’

  ‘Are you still talking about Jason?’ Dani said, feeling frustrated that he was a subject that needed discussing at all.

  ‘In part, yes. If you were to ask me my personal opinion, I’d say that pushing away someone like Jason who cares about you is probably not helping you right now. Having a support network is very important and I’m not sure why you’re so determined to get through this alone.’

  ‘Just as well I didn’t ask for your personal opinion then,’ Dani said, and she saw Scholz squirm slightly at that. He looked at her questioningly, as though waiting for her to apologise for her abruptness.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, not really feeling it. ‘You can blame my irritability on my damaged frontal lobes. Or the meds. Take your pick.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Dani. I know you’re still struggling with the changes in your personality.’

  Did he?

  ‘Actually I do get where you’re coming from,’ Dani said.

  Scholz raised an eyebrow at Dani’s perhaps unexpected acquiescence.

  ‘Which is why I’ve arranged to go and see Ben.’

  Scholz looked shocked at that.

  ‘You said I need to confront my past,’ Dani said, when Scholz failed to say a word.

  ‘I did. I’m actually pleasantly surprised by this, Dani.’

  ‘Believe me, there’s nothing pleasant about the thought of going to see my brother.’

  ‘No, I’m sure there’s not. But I really do think that it will help you in the long run. May I ask what led you to this decision?’

  Dani let out a long sigh. She thought about Harry and Chloe. Was a part of her doing this for them, or wo
uld saying that just be a smokescreen? Until yesterday, Dani hadn’t known how on earth her visiting her murderous brother in prison was ever going to help her relate to the real world with more purpose again. What she’d thought she needed was to erase him from her life one hundred percent. Remove every single memory and every single facet of his existence from her mind. But really, didn't she need some sort of closure for herself?

  ‘I saw my niece and nephew yesterday.’

  ‘That’s good. I’m glad you’re able to spend time with them now.’

  ‘Harry brought it up. I saw the hurt and the confusion and the anger in his eyes as he talked about Ben. He doesn’t even have the option of confronting his father. Gemma won’t allow that. He’s effectively being placed in denial because of someone else’s wishes.’

  ‘I’m sure she’s looking out for her child’s best interests.’

  ‘I’m sure she is too. But wouldn’t it do him good to be able to see his dad and to ask him all the questions that a ten-year-old must have?’

  ‘Perhaps. I can’t say, as I’ve not met him.’

  Dani sniffed at the vague and unhelpful response.

  ‘On the other hand,’ she said, ‘you’re right. The only person stopping me from moving on is me. Seeing him is something I now know I have to do.’

  * * *

  Ben was still on Dani’s mind as she made her way on foot from Scholz’s office to HQ. Out in the fresh air her anger rose again as she continued to think about her brother, and she shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts of him from her mind. Yes, she would see him, but she still had a job to do in the meantime. She couldn’t let him dominate her life, nor could she let her constant irritation sour her return to the force.

  She walked down Colmore Row, past St Philip’s cathedral, the pavements busy with suited workers piling into their offices. Dani would normally arrive at HQ well before the morning rush got into full speed, and she dodged and occasionally bumped into the frustratingly slow movers as she stormed along. Just before she reached Snowhill station, Dani ducked into a Waitrose store to grab a strong black coffee that she hoped would help to calm her mood.

  She waited in line at the self-service machine. On a rack to her left she spotted a small pile of Birmingham Mail newspapers from the night before. Unsurprisingly, the picture on the front cover was of Monday night’s press conference. McNair, Fletcher and Dani sitting in a row. McNair was in mid-speech, her hands gesticulating. Fletcher looked cool and composed. Dani looked like the proverbial rabbit in headlights.

  The headline stated that the police were desperately trying to identify a murder victim, but that clearly wasn’t the whole story detailed in the fine print because Dani could also see the caption underneath the picture. Rather than giving her the plain old title of DI Stephens, the hacks had done exactly what McNair had suggested they might.

  DI Danielle Stephens, twin sister of serial killer Ben Stephens, back with Force CID following her horrific attempted murder ordeal.

  Dani cringed and shut her eyes for a few seconds. It was one thing having to deal with her problems, but having the whole world watching her… Why was she even putting herself through this?

  Maybe she should walk out of the shop, go home, pack her bags and head off to the deepest, most remote countryside and grow potatoes or something.

  When she opened her eyes again it felt as though all eyes in the store were on her. Like everyone had seen the newspaper and knew who she was. Like they were judging her, talking about her, trying to decide if she was a mental case like her brother or not.

  With the walls closing in, and Dani’s heart pummelling her ribs, she moved up to the coffee machine and pressed the button for a black americano, adding an extra shot for good measure, even though she was sure the extra caffeine was probably not what she really needed. She was shakily putting the lid onto the paper cup when she felt someone moving up behind her. Dani half-turned.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ the woman said. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Dani said, only giving the blonde woman a cursory glance. Whoever she was, Dani didn’t really want to engage.

  ‘I thought I recognised you from the paper,’ the woman said. ‘You’re Danielle Stephens, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Dani said, moving away from the woman and the machine. She needed air.

  ‘I—’

  ‘Why don’t you just buy the damn paper?’ Dani said, voice raised. ‘I’m sure that’ll tell you everything you need to know about me.’

  Dani carried on her way, not looking back to see the reaction on the woman’s face. She moved over to the self-scan tills, keeping her head down. The shop felt stifling; she needed to be outside. She swiped her card against the pad then strode for the exit, avoiding eye contact with anyone else.

  Only when she was out in the cool morning, taking deep lungfuls of autumn air, did it strike Dani that maybe she’d just blown a potential lead. The whole idea of the press conference, after all, was to obtain information related to the murder. What if the woman who’d approached her knew something? She could be another friend of the victim or a witness of some sort. And Dani had been more concerned about her own public image than bringing a murderer to justice.

  Too late now. As Dani glanced around, and back into the shop, she didn’t even know which of the many people in sight it had been. Banishing the thought that she’d messed up, Dani continued outside and turned left to head the short distance to HQ. The entrance was in sight when her phone rang. She lifted it from her pocket. Easton.

  ‘You need to get over here right away,’ he said.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Paul Reeve. He’s dead.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Grant had to admit, Francis’s Range Rover was actually damn nice. The quality of the interior was sublime. There were splashes of chrome everywhere, and anything that wasn’t shiny was draped in cream leather, edged in thick stitching that had more than likely been done by hand. Quite how many cows had been skinned to fit out the car, Grant didn’t know, but he was sure it was many. Regardless, he was impressed. And a little jealous. Perhaps it was about time he had an upgrade after all?

  ‘You work over at the university, don’t you?’ Francis said as they hurtled along the M42. The needle on the speedometer edged past ninety, though the car felt like a cocoon from the outside world and there was no sense of the speed of the machine.

  ‘I do,’ Grant said. ‘I’m a professor.’

  ‘Criminology, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So basically you’re into serial killers and things.’

  Grant looked over at Francis, who was staring straight ahead at the road.

  ‘That’s been one of my main areas of focus over the years, yes.’

  Francis shook his head. ‘Man, I don’t think I’d have the stomach for that.’

  ‘It’s not to everyone’s taste, I’ll admit,’ Grant said.

  ‘I never read your book.’

  Grant had wondered how long it would take for the conversation to steer to that. People were always so predictable.

  ‘Not many people would these days,’ Grant said. ‘That was all a long time ago.’

  ‘Essence of Evil. That was it, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘So you don’t stick by it anymore?’

  ‘Stick by it? I’m sure much of the psychoanalysis I wrote about still applies, but what happened to me, the backdrop of that book, was a long time ago. I’m a different man to who I was when I wrote that.’

  Grant felt little emotion as he talked about his dark past. He’d long come to terms with what had happened to him. Following that disturbing period had come something of an awakening for him, the writing of his book as much an exercise in catharsis as it was the research and analysis of his profession that it appeared to be to everyone else.

  ‘What do you do, anyway?’ Grant asked Francis.

  ‘Not too much the
se days. Just a bit of consulting every now and then.’

  And that was all Grant got from his neighbour, and although intrigued by the vague answer, he didn’t bother to question for more. He hadn’t wanted Francis prying into his personal affairs so why would he do the same to Francis?

  They arrived at the Belfry a good half hour before tee off. The place was buzzing with activity, as the resort included not just three golf courses but a hotel and large conference centre too. There was certainly a hell of a lot of money on display, Grant noticed – flash cars and flashier men with their outrageous golfing garb here, there and everywhere. Not many women about. Perhaps they were all in the adjoining health spa. It was the exact opposite of the type of place that Grant felt comfortable in, but he was there now and he’d do his best to enjoy it.

  After ten minutes on the practice putting green, Francis and Grant made their way to the first tee where their two playing partners were waiting.

  ‘Alright boys,’ Francis said, slapping his hand into the palms of both the men.

  ‘Greg, Eric, this is Steven Grant, my neighbour. Steven, this is Greg Wilander. He’s some big ass partner over at PwC – you know, those clowns who earn shitloads of cash for dishing out everyday advice that no one needs.’

  Wilander stepped forwards and shook Grant’s hand.

  ‘You’re only saying that because you can’t afford me,’ Wilander snorted, and Grant thought he appeared flattered by Francis’s laddish banter.