Director's cut

by I K Watson

  It was a shame, but there was nothing he could do but watch him go, damaged goods leaking on to the gutted road.

  A cry came up from the Warren and Powder Pete turned from the window and the forlorn figure of Paul Knight, a hunched silhouette against the shine of the city, clambering over the top of the world, the piles of rubble and the silent diggers. He moved towards the sound of tears and found their source curled up beneath a stained duvet. He stroked a head of damp hair and said gently, “Don't be frightened. I’ll take care of you. My name is Powder Pete.”

  Chapter 20

  Two days earlier, the day before Brian Lara had met Paul Knight in Avenue Road, PC Donna Fitzgerald spent the morning with Geoff Maynard. She considered that Cole and Maynard made an unlikely alliance. Cole was direct, intense and dangerous on a number of levels

  – even the villains recognized it. He was good-looking too with a physique that would make a cheap suit look good. She couldn’t imagine him involved in household chores or relaxing in front of the TV. But just the thought of him quickened her pulse. She was in trouble and she knew it.

  Maynard, on the other hand, was relaxed and informal and the casual clothes he wore – she hadn’t yet seen him out of jeans – were well-worn, even scruffy. She could easily imagine him at her old school, teaching one of those dusty subjects she’d chosen to ignore. But there lay the paradox. For someone who took in every word and clung to every gesture no matter how slight or inconsequential, he was simply too laid-back, and although he never challenged – as a copper might have done – she just knew that it was all noted and filed for later use. It was this undercurrent that left her uncomfortable and slightly on edge.

  She was, however, fascinated by the way he worked and following him around, armed with a street map and retracing the victim’s footsteps from, in the case of Elizabeth Rayner, the leisure centre to her likely destination, she found herself shaking her head on more than one occasion.

  “Lose yourself in the surroundings,” he had said. “Ask yourself the questions: why here, why now, was he waiting, or following, where from, was an exit considered, if not, why not…”

  She hadn’t really appreciated what he was getting at until they reached the spot where Elizabeth was attacked. The only clue that an incident had taken place was a poster, under the heading of ‘Serious Assault’, appealing for witnesses and information. There, he had offered two options – were they looking for a stalker or an opportunist? The stalker would know the route and lie in wait. He would have made his plans, followed her home on a number of occasions and got to know her routine. He would then have chosen the safest place to carry out his attack. Having already found a number of more likely places further along Elizabeth’s intended path, she knew without Maynard spelling it out that they were looking for the opportunist and that the assaults on Elizabeth at least, had not been planned. Equally, assuming that Elizabeth was followed, for if not then the attacker might have been hanging around for some time waiting for a likely victim and would not have taken the chance of being recognized, then the attacker must have come from the same direction, the leisure centre and the Square.

  And after the assault which way did the assailant leave the SOC? She nodded her understanding. She was beginning to understand his reasoning and caught his glance as she worked it out. He was willing her to get there, just like her old teacher.

  “That way would be unknown territory,” she confirmed. “So unless he knew the area he’d go back the way he came. He must already have made sure there was no one behind him – the attack only took seconds – so he knows that way is clear.”

  Maynard said nothing but she knew she’d got it right. They approached the High Road. He didn’t need to ask the question that she was already working on – which way now?

  To the crowd, she proposed. In a crowd people remain anonymous. He’s heading back to the Square!

  Wouldn’t he hang around to see the ambulance and the police? Some get off on that?

  No, he couldn’t take the chance someone would approach from the other direction.

  Maynard said, “So, we’ve got the time to within seconds and we know which way he came and which way he went. Any camera along the way would have photographed not only Elizabeth once, but the attacker twice within a few minutes, front and back image.” They walked on and checked every shop and business, searching for a camera that might have picked up the passers-by. They checked the higher buildings for any CCTVs that covered the street itself. They were some two hundred yards from the SOC, just a short distance from the Square itself, when they found what they were looking for. “You’re sure it’s a him we’re after? Could it be a double act with the woman acting as a lure, maybe, or even a lookout? Maybe she was fingering the victims and giving him directions on the phone – Fred and Rose West, Brady and Myra Hindley?”

  Maynard pulled a face. It wasn’t dismissal, exactly, but it was clear he wasn’t happy with the idea that two people were involved. “You check the film,” he said. “You’re looking for a man – or a woman – wearing or carrying a dark jacket and, if it’s a man, then you might look for a woman on his heels. I’m going to concentrate on Brian’s woman. The key to all this lies…”

  “Go on?”

  “I was going to say in her handbag, but it might be under her skirt.” Maynard walked away toward the Square and left Donna staring thoughtfully after him.

  Later, Brian said, “You ain't a normal copper, are you?” He sat in the front of Maynard's car. He felt a lot more at ease without the others. It was never easy with coppers up close. They were only interested in one thing, a result. And they didn't care how they got it.

  “I'm not a policeman at all. I'm a psychologist. Does it show?” “Some things aren't hidden. Blue eyes is blue eyes.”

  “My eyes aren't blue.”

  “I know. They're brown. And they're all over me. They have been since you walked into the room.”

  “Maybe you're tired or maybe you’re on something but you're way off the mark.”

  “Think so?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please yourself.”

  “OK, I've no problem with that. What you think is your own business. Let's concentrate on finding this woman.”

  “The toms?”

  “Just the one in particular.”

  “She ain't here.”

  “You haven't looked.”

  “I'm certain, Mister. She was different. She stood out. You’ll see, when we find her.”

  “OK, we'll wait. Meanwhile you could tell me a bit about yourself.” “Yeah, like I would.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “What about?”

  “How you ended up on the streets? We could start there.” “How you do end up anywhere, you tell me? Did you end up doing what you wanted to do?”

  “No, I was going to raise pigs. My mother holds a little place in Lincolnshire and she breeds pigs. It’s a small place and the smell is a bit dodgy, particularly on a hot day. But that’s what I had in mind. So what about you?”

  Brian shrugged. He glanced up into Maynard's eyes. “Been there, done it.”

  “Pigs?”

  “Sort of.”

  They both laughed then Maynard said, “You were hurt?” “Some of them like to hurt you, you know that.”

  “Well, it wasn't serious or you wouldn't be here.”

  “Two weeks in bed, couldn't eat, pissing blood.” He glanced at Maynard again. The light caught his long eyelashes, drew you to his dark eyes. He gave the psychologist a tricky little smile.

  Maynard reached to the key. “Think you're clever?”

  The lad shrugged his bony shoulders. He said, “Where we going?” “To the supermarket.”

  “What's there?”

  “The car park, more toms, more rent boys. More people who are hurting. Your kind of place.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “I always do.”

  The youngster threw him a strange glance.

>   They drove in silence.

  Some of them like to hurt you.

  Maynard knew all about it. Some of them were tuned into violence; it was part of the routine; an attempt at self-annihilation.

  The High Road slid by full of Christmas shoppers, bulging bags, silly Santa-hats and rolls of see-through festive paper – fifteen for a quid. People weren’t feeling good and even the street dealers were feeling it. The holes in the wall were sucking in plastic like one-armed bandits but paying out less and fake Calvin Klein was snatched up by punters who fancied a tenner instead of thirty.

  Maynard parked up. Five minutes went by before the lad said, “So?” “Just watch.”

  “We could be here for hours.”

  “Got anything better to do?”

  “Anything's better than this.”

  “We'll give it half an hour. If nothing happens we'll call it a day.” “What makes you think she'll be here?”

  Maynard admitted wryly, “Just like you, I'm guessing.”

  Brian shook his head. The rebuke had claimed his tongue. “Jason was pointing out the faces but not the one we wanted. He’s streetwise and bright but he’ll never grow old.”

  Sympathy was beyond Cole and he struggled. “You can only offer to help. Nothing more. You don’t interfere in the animal kingdom, do you? You’d fuck up the food chain.”

  “You’re a cold-hearted bastard sometimes.”

  “You’re right. It goes with the job and my name isn’t Canute. No point in fighting something you can’t beat.”

  “He never believed he could stop the tide. He was making a point to the Bosham locals that there were some things a man could not do – even if he was king.”

  “Exactly. That‘s the point. There are too many Sidney Cookes and Lennie Smiths out there and too many kids who won’t listen for us to make a difference. All we can do is take one body at a time and go after the bastard who did it – taking into account, of course, at all times, the bastard’s human rights!” He made a suitable noise. Street boys and girls were easy prey and the city was full of predators. That was the reality. He shook the thought away and asked, “So what have we got, Geoff?”

  “I talked to Mike Wilson and he agrees with what Brian and some of the girls are saying. The girls gave it to the Gazette by the way, and it was just speculation, perhaps jealousy. They run a closed shop. A blonde, short spiky hair wearing a black jacket, slim, good-looking and classy. She's been around for a few days. Didn't speak, remained aloof. Although she had plenty of offers no one saw her get into a car or go off with a punter. They figure she might be pricing herself out of the market. A high-class tom on the way down. It's worrying me. The woman I've been looking for is not well-built in the stocky sense. A woman of the size Brian described would find it difficult to manhandle even another woman.”

  “Motive?”

  “Difficult one. Not control or humiliation. Something sexual, I’m guessing. Whoever it is, is obviously getting some kind of pay-back from it. The concentration on the breasts has got to mean something – jealousy or loathing.”

  “A woman with small breasts?”

  “I doubt it. Haven't you heard of silicon?”

  Cole pulled a face. “You said this isn’t about control. Does she hate other women?”

  “Hate is tricky. That’s generally associated with revenge or indoctrination. She's getting off on something bigger than the attack itself. When we find her, it will be so obvious we’ll kick ourselves for missing it.”

  “Choice of victims?”

  “Attractive women under thirty. Beyond that, nothing. If it’s random it leaves us with two categories – the opportunist or the stalker.” He recalled covering the same ground with Donna and wondered how she’d got on with the CCTV. “For the victim it's a lottery and any women who fits the bill is potential prey. Whether she happens to take the wrong road at the wrong time or is stalked is beside the point. It matters to us because it reshapes the profile. The opportunist waits; he’s patient and calculating. The other hunts; he’s restless and hungry and more likely to make a mistake.”

  “A lesbian?”

  “No reason to think so. A serial assailant, woman to woman, is not common.”

  “Once before you said find me the motive and I'll find you the killer.”

  “Nothing’s changed. And if not already then before long we’ll be looking for a killer. The level of violence will only increase. But it's the motive that's difficult. If we rule out inadequacy and jealousy, two of the same, then we can consider concealment by imitation. Apart from the real target maybe the others are just camouflage. Given that scenario the real victim knows her assailant. I’m a long way from buying into that but it’s important we’re not sidetracked by grouping them together.”

  “What about our Underground Slasher? We know he’s got a castiron alibi but he might have spoken to someone. You know what we think about coincidence.”

  “John Lawrence put someone up to it? Not a chance. I studied Lawrence and covered everything from saviour delusion to pseudocyesis – the delusion of being pregnant. There was a case of a woman who stole a baby from a neighbour’s womb. She used a knife to break in.”

  “The saviour delusion?”

  “Jesus Christ? Too late. It’ll have to be another time.”

  Anian Stanford came out of the crowd of kozzers and said abruptly, “Can I join you, or is this private?”

  Cole was caught off guard. He managed, “Anian.”

  She flashed him a nervous smile, placed a glass of red wine on the table, hooked her bag on the chair arm and slithered into the seat. She looked from Maynard to Cole. The pause became an awkward silence before she said, “Maybe this was bad idea.”

  Maynard jumped in and smiled warmly, “We were talking business, work from work, and you’re very welcome.”

  She looked at Cole and said, “Don't let me stop you.”

  As he met her gaze through a trail of smoke Cole gave nothing away. He said flatly, “Sam said the interview was a disaster?” “Sam was right. I wasn't there, obviously, but I heard every word.” Maynard put in, “During your session with Lawrence what did you discuss?”

  She flashed the therapist an uncomfortable glance. Even before their first encounter she had heard about him. Who hadn’t? People who made a living reading between the lines were always unsettling. Apprehension dried her mouth and she took another sip of wine. She held on to the glass and said, “I made out I was a neighbour – a friend

  – of Helen Harrison, had seen the painting he did for her and wanted one of me. I told him it would make an ideal present for my husband.” “I didn’t know you were married.”

  “I’m not. Is it important?”

  Maynard shrugged. “Maybe not, but most people can tell. And John Lawrence knows more about psychology than most psychologists. Don’t let him fool you. He’s as dangerous as they come. There’s only one place for people like him and it’s not on the streets.”

  Cole cut in. “I assume he was given the all clear?”

  Maynard smiled. It was a psychologist’s joke. He said, “You really don’t want to go there. A personality disorder is just about the most imprecise term in the medical dictionary. It covers everything from the obsessive-compulsive to the narcissistic to the paranoid to the schizoid. You can control it, if you’re lucky, but you can never cure it. As someone once said about X-rays, there’s no such thing as a safe dose of radiation. The same goes with the personality disorder.” He turned back to Anian. “Have you been involved in undercover work before?” She shook her head.

  Cole said sharply, "And as far as we're concerned she's not doing it again.”

  Maynard nodded. He’d hit a nerve. He said, “The fine line between eliciting an admission and entrapment.”

  “I know the difference," she said evasively. “Inspector Wooderson has already pointed it out. It’s done with now so it doesn’t matter.” Cole ground out his cigarette. “Let’s have some background, Geoff. Th
e original sheets leave a lot of holes.”

  Maynard paused for a moment while the past flooded back and once again he was looking for links to that mysterious agent that tipped a man toward insanity. He said, “An only child. Until national service his father was a local-authority driver who spent most of his time down the bookies or in the local. When he was posted away John and his mother were left sharing a council-house in South London with another, equally impoverished family. But his mother was the driving force whether his father was there or not and they formed an intense attachment. His father was posted to Cyprus and eventually they joined him there. In the military school in Nicosia Lawrence proved to be an average student, and the only thing that stood him out was his unwillingness or inability to make friends. Classmates and teachers that we traced all mentioned that he was shy and very much a loner.” Maynard smiled and for a moment came back from the past. “It’s become something of a cliche, hasn’t it? Find me the loner and I’ll show you next year’s problem.” He nodded and continued, “He went through his school life without a girlfriend. A-level results earned him a university place. But let’s go back to Cyprus. He was eight when his brother arrived. Massive complications during the pregnancy resulted in his mother coming back to the UK where she was hospitalized for some months. Even after the birth mother and baby were in and out of hospital and this is the first indication we have that the relationship between Lawrence and his mother was under pressure. With children, perceived rejection is even stronger than jealousy. In Lawrence’s case I’m pretty certain that this perceived rejection lit the fuse. Despite two major operations to correct a congenital heart condition, his brother died at the age of two. His mother never got over it. Alcohol, liver disease, premature death at thirty-nine. John was nineteen.” Maynard looked from Anian to Cole, waiting for a response. It was too equivocal for Cole. He shook his head and murmured, “What else?”