Chameleon's Shadow

by Minette Walters

  I know it’s wrong to steal off people but we’d done that kind of stuff before. It’s easy when there’s no one else around. I tucked the bag under my jacket and turned down West Street. The girl split off in the opposite direction. I don’t know if the woman screamed. The running made me sick so I wasn’t concentrating on anything else.

  I was stupid to go anywhere near Walter’s house, but he lives in a cul-de-sac off Gainsborough Road. I thought it would be a good place to check what was in the bag before I went to the drop-in centre. The only thing worth taking was a Nokia mobile. I put it in my rucksack and left the rest in the duffel bag. I needed somewhere to ditch it and Walter has a couple of flower tubs outside his door. I thought I’d squeeze the bag in behind one of them.

  He came back just as I started. I was kneeling on the ground and he hit me round the head with a carrier bag he was holding. I grabbed it off him and we had a bit of a scuffle. I told him he was senile and that made him more angry. He put his key in the door and said he was going to call the police.

  I was feeling very sick by then and I don’t remember exactly what happened next. I think it may have been me who turned the key and pushed him into the hall. We were both angry. Walter hit me with a walking stick so I swung the duffel bag at him. I was holding it by the strap. I know I missed the first time but I think I hit him twice afterwards.

  I was shocked when he fell over. I never intended to hurt Walter Tutting. I wouldn’t have tried to defend myself if he hadn’t hit me first. I believe most of my actions on Friday, 10 August, happened because I am suffering from type one diabetes. I remember leaving Walter’s house with my rucksack, the carrier bag and the duffel bag, but I don’t remember anything that happened afterwards.

  I confirm that the bag shown to me by the police was the one I stole in Harris Road and subsequently took to Walter Tutting’s house. I confirm that the carrier bag in Walter Tutting’s possession was a Londis bag.

  I do not know the real names of any of the prostitutes who took money from Walter Tutting. I do not know the name of the girl who was with me when I stole the duffel bag.

  I do not know the name of the woman in Harris Road and cannot give a more accurate description of her. I would not be able to recognize her if I saw her again.

  Signed,

  Benjamin Russell

  Twenty-nine

  JACKSON SHOOK HER HEAD when Pearson asked if she would be accompanying Ben to the juvenile court. ‘Not my area,’ she said. ‘If you or Mrs Sykes have any concerns when you get there, you’ll have to put your request through the court system. You won’t have a problem. The magistrates have been notified of Ben’s condition and they’ve agreed to push the hearing through as fast as possible.’

  Mrs Sykes’s expression was sour. ‘It shouldn’t be allowed. He’s a sick boy.’

  ‘Not as sick as Mr Tutting,’ said Jackson.

  ‘My lad was only defending himself.’

  Jackson exchanged a glance with the solicitor. ‘Look on the bright side, Mrs Sykes,’ she said cheerfully. ‘At least Ben’s agreed to be bailed to your address. If the magistrates allow it – which they certainly will because of his condition – he should be well in charge of himself by the time he comes to trial. With your help, of course.’

  The woman’s mouth became an inverted horseshoe. ‘It shouldn’t be allowed,’ she said again. But whether she was referring to her son being charged with grievous bodily harm or the fact that, as his mother, she was about to become responsible for his health and whereabouts wasn’t clear to either the doctor or the solicitor.

  *

  ‘Will you get a conviction?’ Jackson asked Jones. She’d joined him in the monitoring room, although he’d leaned forward to switch off the screen as she came in.

  ‘Unlikely. Too many “ifs”. If Walter’s competent to give evidence . . . if he’s willing to admit getting excited about teenage prostitutes . . . if his daughter allows it . . . if he has a rebuttal to Ben’s self-defence plea—’ He broke off. ‘I’m a great believer in natural justice. The kid will remember Walter every time he injects himself with insulin.’

  Jackson shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t bank on it. I read a paper the other day that said Brazilian scientists are working on a stem-cell cure for type one diabetes. If Ben’s lucky he’ll be injection-free in ten years.’

  ‘You’re a ray of sunshine, Doctor. How’s the lieutenant?’

  ‘Resigned to a long wait.’

  Jones nodded. ‘Has he told you anything that you feel you can repeat to me?’

  ‘I’m happy to repeat the entire conversation, but it won’t add anything to what you already know.’ She paused. ‘I’ve worked out why he has a phobia about being touched.’

  The superintendent eyed her thoughtfully. ‘I suspect we all have.’

  ‘I can’t see him talking about it,’ Jackson warned. ‘He’s had everything stripped away from him in the last few months. Pride is all he has left.’

  Jones shook his head. ‘My guess is his reticence is more about stalling for time than wounded feelings, Doctor. He wants to know what Jen says before he offers us anything.’

  ‘Or he feels partly responsible. Nick Beale said Charles had a row with Jen before each of those men was killed. That’s a heavy weight for anyone to carry on his conscience.’

  ‘Are you asking me to feel sorry for him?’

  Jackson gave a small shrug. ‘To recognize that none of this is easy for him, at least.’

  ‘I wish I could be that generous,’ Jones said honestly, ‘but I need Charles’s evidence. I want to know why he went after the bag when he claims he had no idea what was in it or who it belonged to.’ He smiled sympathetically at Jackson. ‘He knew what the contents were before last night, Doctor.’

  She didn’t say anything.

  ‘If Jen can put the blame on Charles she will. She’s perfectly capable of painting herself as an abused woman. He needs to understand that.’

  Jackson sighed. ‘Try narcissist with a developing cocaine aggression. It’s a potent mix. A woman who demands constant admiration . . . is preoccupied with fantasies about how special she is . . . and has a grandiose sense of her own importance. She’d react badly to anyone who rejected her. Not just Charles.’

  James Steele, the psychological profiler, had said more or less the same over the telephone earlier.

  ‘I can advise you better when I’ve had a chance to watch her, Brian, but meanwhile I suggest you focus on her apparent belief that she’s entitled to behave the way she does. I’m interested in her reaction to the female officer. Leaving the stun gun active, and attempting to slap the woman suggest a contempt for other people that isn’t normal.’

  Jones looked up at Jackson. ‘Have you ever seen Ms Morley?’ he asked her.

  ‘No.’

  He reached out to switch the screen back on. ‘She’s waiting for her solicitor,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t think butter would melt in her mouth, would you?’

  Jackson studied the delicate face with its wide-eyed stare and slightly puzzled smile. ‘Only because she has baby features,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘Big eyes appeal to the care-taking response, which is why we describe women like her as beautiful. There’s plenty of literature on the subject.’

  ‘You don’t find her attractive?’

  ‘Not particularly,’ said Jackson honestly. ‘Too damn willowy for my liking. I’d be afraid of breaking her.’ She paused to watch Jen smooth her hand over her skirt. ‘Is she alone in there?’

  ‘There’s a female officer by the door.’

  ‘But she knows there’s a camera on her?’

  Jones nodded. ‘She’s already attacked one policewoman, so she was told she’d be monitored by CCTV to prevent her doing it again. As a result, she’s behaved impeccably since she’s been in there.’

  ‘What does she look like when she’s in a temper?’

  ‘Not much different, according to Nick. There are no obvious signals to alert anyone she’
s about to lose it.’ He blanked the screen again. ‘That’s why we need Charles’s evidence, Doctor. If we know what triggers her rages, we’ll have something to work on.’

  ‘Are you asking me to persuade him?’

  ‘He’ll listen to you.’

  Jackson shook her head. ‘I doubt it. The last time the subject of Jen came up, he drove me into a bollard.’

  Thirty

  ACLAND HADN’T MOVED from his place in the corner of the bed. He sat in the same position with his disfigured profile towards the door, staring at the wall opposite and apparently oblivious to the comings and goings outside. Jackson watched him for a second or two. He had a capacity for stillness that was quite extraordinary, she thought.

  ‘Were you born with patience or did they teach it to you in the army?’ she asked.

  He turned to look at her. ‘I learned it as a child. There wasn’t much point getting worked up about sitting alone in my room when nothing I did was going to make a difference. Now it comes naturally.’

  ‘Did you know it was me at the door?’

  He nodded. ‘I recognized your footsteps.’

  She moved into the room. ‘Have you been told that Jen’s been arrested?’

  He nodded again.

  ‘They’re waiting to interview her.’ Jackson gestured towards the end of the bed. ‘May I?’ She took his silence for assent and perched on the end, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. ‘The superintendent wants to question you first. How do you feel about that? Would you like me to stall him . . . give yourself a little more time?’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘So that you can decide how quickly you’re willing to cooperate. Mr Jones needs it all, I’m afraid – every i dotted and every t crossed – and he’ll just keep going until he gets it.’ She glanced sideways. ‘We’ve all worked out why you react so violently to being touched, Charles. I doubt you’ve many secrets left.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on it.’

  ‘How many times did Jen use the stun gun on you?’

  ‘It depends whether you count repeated hits,’ he said. ‘If she zapped me every five minutes she could keep me on the ground for as long as she liked.’ The humour lines appeared around his good eye. ‘A man would have to be pretty stupid to get caught more than once, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘Is that what embarrasses you? That you think you were stupid?’

  ‘It doesn’t say much for my army training. Soldiers are supposed to be ready for surprise attacks.’

  Jackson smiled. ‘From the enemy, maybe . . . not from friends.’

  ‘I didn’t even know she had it the first time she used it. She said it was an accident and only zapped me the once. The second time, I fell asleep in a chair when we were supposed to be going out. She said it was to teach me a lesson about taking her for granted.’ He fell into a brief silence. ‘It was shortly before I went to Oman and she said she only did it because she was upset about me going . . . so I took the damn thing off her and smashed it with a hammer.’

  ‘But she bought another one while you were away?’

  Acland nodded.

  ‘They’re easy to come by, Charles. Daisy’s been offered several by touts in the back streets. You shouldn’t beat yourself up over it.’

  He didn’t say anything.

  Jackson straightened. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I told her I’d had time to think it all through in Oman and the engagement was over. She didn’t take it too well.’ He gave a small laugh. ‘I turned my back on her. Pretty naive, eh?’

  ‘How many hits?’

  Acland shook his head. ‘I gave up counting. Every time I tried to get up, she used it again. The charge does something to your head . . . makes you lose coordination. Repeated charges scramble everything.’

  ‘Which is why they’re illegal in this country. In the hands of someone like Jen they could kill you. The body can only take so many shocks.’

  ‘She thought it was funny.’

  Jackson heard the hatred in his voice. ‘How did you stop her?’

  ‘She took a phone call . . . and it lasted longer than she realized. When she came back I managed to lock on to her wrist and turn the gun on her.’ He fell into another brief silence. ‘I came damn close to killing her. I could have done it easily and she knew it.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  ‘Because I’m better than that.’

  Like your father, she thought. ‘Did Jen use anything other than the stun gun on you?’

  ‘Nothing I want to talk about.’

  Jackson shook her head. ‘Mr Jones won’t accept that. He needs to know if she hit you with the knobkerrie.’

  There was a small hesitation. ‘She didn’t have to stun me to do that. It was her favourite weapon. It started as a joke . . . a tap on the wrist if I was late. It turned nasty around July, when I told her about the month’s training in Oman. She damn near broke my arm on one occasion.’

  Jackson glanced at him again. ‘When did she first use the knobkerrie? Before or after the engagement?’

  ‘I’m not a complete idiot. After,’ he said with another wry laugh. ‘She was fine up until then.’ He paused. ‘I thought maybe I’d pushed her into something she didn’t want to do, but it made her worse when I said we didn’t have to go through with it. I made myself scarce whenever she kicked off . . . but she didn’t like that either.’

  ‘At the Crown?’

  He nodded. ‘I told the superintendent I never spoke to the taxi driver, but I think I may have done. I remember being given a card one time which I passed on to Jen. She goes everywhere in cabs.’ He lapsed into another silence.

  ‘So what makes Jen angry?’

  ‘The same thing that fires my mother up . . . not getting her own way. As long as you agree with her, she’s fine. It’s when you say no that the trouble starts.’

  ‘Some people can’t function without constant approval. Any disagreement is seen as the equivalent of rejection, and they react angrily because they feel degraded and betrayed. Does that describe Jen and your mother?’

  ‘Apart from the things you’ve left out.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘The fact that they live in fantasy worlds about how sweet-natured and beautiful they are . . . The fact that the more approval they’re given the worse they get . . . The fact that they don’t give a shit about anyone else—’ He broke off on a sigh. ‘Jen wasn’t always like that, you know. She was great at the beginning.’

  ‘And probably still is when she wants to be,’ said Jackson calmly. ‘People with personality disorders don’t lack charm. They employ it whenever they want to manipulate a situation to suit themselves . . . particularly if they think of themselves as special in some way.’

  The humour lines appeared around Acland’s eye. ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

  ‘All right,’ she agreed. ‘Your father deserves your admiration and not your scorn. From what you’ve told me, he seems to have gone to immense trouble to break the cycles of abuse within your family, both by controlling his own responses to your mother’s aggression and by shielding you from the worst of it. That’s not an easy thing to do.’

  The humour vanished. ‘It didn’t work, though, did it?’

  Jackson eyed him thoughtfully. ‘You tell me. I know of only two occasions when you retaliated against Jen – the last time you went to her flat and the day she visited you in hospital. Were there more?’

  ‘Three, if you count turning the stun gun on her.’ He squeezed one fist inside the other. ‘If I’d been more like my father, those men would still be alive. The dates all fit.’

  ‘That doesn’t make you responsible. It’s just as likely that having you helpless on the floor gave her a perverted sense of power and she re-enacted it because she enjoyed it.’ She watched his writhing hands. ‘You said I shouldn’t bet on knowing all your secrets. What else did she do to you?’

  He avoided a direct answer. ‘Jen wouldn’t have taken the knobkerri
e with her if she hadn’t meant to humiliate those men.’

  Humiliate...? ‘How?’

  His expression was bleak. ‘The same way she humiliated me,’ he said.

  *

  Jones and Beale listened to Jackson in silence. ‘He told us last night that he buggered her as punishment,’ Jones remarked when she’d finished. ‘It makes more sense now. Was that his real reason for going back to her flat? To pay her out in kind?’ ‘I suspect it was six of one and half a dozen of the other. He says he sent her a text warning her to make herself scarce, but I’m sure he knew she wouldn’t take any notice of it.’ ‘Is that why he feels responsible?’ asked Beale. ‘I imagine so,’ said Jackson with a touch of sarcasm. ‘He didn’t become a monk for religious reasons.’ She paused. ‘One way and another, he has a lot on his conscience.’ ‘The deaths of three men,’ agreed Beale drily. ‘Two,’ she corrected him. ‘His troopers . . . and that’s all in his head anyway. I don’t believe he’s remotely to blame for Peel, Britton and Atkins. He could never have predicted that Jen would take out her anger on strangers.’ ‘He still played a part,’ said Jones, ‘even if unwittingly.’ ‘You could say the same about Harold Shipman’s wife. Being in a relationship with a disturbed personality doesn’t mean you set them on the route to crime.’

  Jones acknowledged the point with a nod. ‘But something Charles did seems to have a triggered a psychotic reaction. All three murders followed a meeting with him.’ He paused. ‘Do you have an opinion on that?’

  ‘Why do you care what I think if you have a Cracker on tap?’

  ‘You’re closer to Charles than the rest of us.’

  ‘Even if that’s true, it’s Jen you need to understand, and I don’t know any more about her than you do . . . except what Charles has told me.’