The Torment of Others

by Val McDermid

  ‘I know I’m not going to like the answer, but why did you have to go to the sex shop?’ she asked, moving round to sit next to him on the bench.

  He had honed his experience into an anecdote for her, and by the time he got to his return to the sex shop, she was giggling helplessly.

  ‘So I walked in, and the bloke behind the counter gave me a funny look. Like, I hoped I was never going to see you again. And I could tell he really didn’t believe my story. Anyway, he finally agreed to open another pack of handcuffs and set me free.’ He pulled out the offending cuffs and dangled them in front of her.

  ‘I think that’s taking method profiling a little far.’

  ‘You’re not kidding. So, you wanted to talk to me.’

  Suddenly sober, Carol got to her feet. ‘Let’s walk.’

  Tony followed her down the path that led back to the street. When Carol said nothing, he filled the silence. ‘Radio waves all around us. The air’s full of voices we don’t hear. Why does the killer hear one and not the others? What wiring in the brain makes him hear the world differently from you and me? It’s like sexual predators–we see this as a place to walk, they see it as a place to steal sex. What makes the choices?’

  Carol shivered. ‘Right this minute, I make the choices. I choose a café–I’m freezing out here. But not in Temple Fields. The place is crawling with my officers. Come on, let’s go to Starbucks in the Woolmarket.’

  Ten minutes later, they were ensconced in a quiet corner of the café, exotic coffees in front of them. ‘Remember when a coffee was just a coffee?’ Tony said wistfully. ‘I tell you, if I brought some of my patients in here, it would give them a breakdown just trying to decide what to drink.’

  ‘Brandon wants us to smoke him out with a decoy,’ Carol said abruptly.

  Tony’s mouth hung open. He’d known John Brandon a long time but would never have thought him capable of such insensitivity. ‘He wants you to send someone undercover?’ he said incredulously.

  Carol took a deep breath and exhaled. ‘Yes. He thinks Paula’s the killer’s type.’

  ‘God spare us from the brainwaves of the bosses.’

  ‘So you don’t think it’s a good idea either.’ Carol’s eyes held a plea for help.

  ‘Psychologically, it might work. But we both know what a high-risk strategy it is. And we know the price of failure–you remember the fiasco of the Wimbledon Common case? That set the cause of profiling in Britain back ten years. Rachel Nickell’s killer’s still walking the streets. Leaving aside any personal considerations, that makes me very wary about anything that smells of entrapment.’

  Carol shook her head. ‘A judge wouldn’t throw this out. We’re not talking a systematic campaign targeted at a particular suspect.’

  ‘So this sort of operation wouldn’t count as entrapment?’

  ‘You’ve been watching too many American courtroom dramas. Legally, there’s no problem. It’s the morality of it that bothers me. Knowing what I know, do I have the right to expose Paula like that?’

  Tony’s heart went out to her. He couldn’t argue against her position. But he also understood the realities. ‘Carol, if Brandon really wants this, he’s not going to be swayed by your experience or your views. It’s going to happen.’

  ‘What if you tell him it wouldn’t work?’ She toyed with her mug, not meeting his eyes.

  ‘He won’t believe me,’ Tony said starkly. ‘You know as well as I do how dispensable the views of profilers are when it comes to disagreement on operational matters.’

  Carol ran a hand through her hair. ‘Shit!’ she exploded. ‘You’d think they’d have learned from what happened to me that you can’t control the war once you take it to the enemy’s territory.’

  ‘They always think it won’t happen to their operation,’ Tony said. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance that Paula will say no?’

  ‘What do you think?’ Carol’s expression was sad, her voice resigned.

  Tony reached out and took Carol’s hands in his. ‘Then we better make sure we don’t screw up.’

  Before she could respond, Carol’s phone interrupted her. ‘Carol Jordan,’ she said impatiently.

  ‘It’s DC Chen,’ Stacey said. ‘Dr France is here. The geologist?’

  Carol rolled her eyes. ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes, Stacey. Apologize for me, would you?’ She jumped to her feet, coffee almost untouched. ‘I’ve got to get back. There’s a geologist from Sheffield waiting to see me.’

  Tony looked bemused. ‘I’ll take that as part of your female mystique,’ he said, following her. ‘Can you take me back with you? I want to talk to Brandon about this undercover idea.’

  She flashed a quick look of gratitude over her shoulder. ‘Thanks. But no pity, remember?’

  ‘No pity,’ he agreed.

  Whatever Carol had been expecting, it wasn’t Dr Jonathan France. Tall, lean and thirty-something, he was dressed in dark blue bike leathers, the top unzipped to reveal a white T-shirt that showed off an admirable set of pecs. He lounged in the visitor’s chair in Carol’s office as relaxed as if he was in his own living room. He had thick, straight dark hair cut short enough to stand erect as a shoe-brush on top of his head, and his dark blue eyes were nested with laughter lines. For the first time in months, Carol reacted to an attractive man with interest rather than wariness. She was so shocked at her response she immediately retreated behind formality. I’m Detective Chief Inspector Jordan,’ she said, extending a hand in greeting.

  The hand that engulfed hers was warm and large, long blunt fingers ending in square-cut nails. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Jonathan France,’ he said. Nice voice too, she thought, hearing what sounded like a faint trace of West Country in his accent. He glanced around, letting her see him taking in his surroundings. ‘Not quite what I expected,’ he said.

  ‘Me or the room?’ Carol said. God help me, I’m flirting, she thought, appalled.

  ‘Both,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realize you would be…’

  ‘A woman?’ she interrupted, forcing herself to sound cold.

  He smiled. ‘I was going to say, so young. Isn’t that a terrible cliché?’

  Outflanked and disarmed, Carol took refuge behind her desk. ‘I don’t know how much you’ve been told?’ she said.

  ‘Almost nothing,’ he said. ‘Only that you had a photograph you wanted me to look at to see whether I could help identify where it might have been taken.’

  Carol opened the Tim Golding file and pulled out the blown-up photograph. Before she handed it over, she said, ‘Have you ever worked with the police before?’

  He shook his head. ‘Never.’

  ‘No problem. But I have to stress that everything we discuss is confidential. Even the fact that you are working with us. This investigation is live and we don’t want to give the slightest hint to the perpetrator regarding our lines of inquiry. Whatever insight you can offer stays with us. Are you comfortable with that?’

  He frowned. ‘It’s possible I might have to consult one of my colleagues. But I can do that without going into any detail as to why I’m asking.’

  ‘That would be helpful. Of course, if we make an arrest and we get to court, you might well have to appear as a witness, with the attendant publicity that might bring. Are you comfortable with that?’

  ‘Sure.’ He gestured at his leathers. ‘I clean up well. And I’m happy to have the chance to show the world that geology isn’t boring.’

  Fat chance of them thinking you’re boring. ‘Just for the record, can you run through your qualifications?’

  ‘I took a first in Earth Sciences at Manchester, then spent a year doing postgrad work in the Carlsbad Caverns. I did my doctorate in Munich, then came back to teach at Sheffield, where I am a lecturer in geology. My area of specialization is calcite formations in limestone. That do you?’

  Carol looked up from the notes she was taking. ‘Sounds impressive.’ She picked up the photo again. ‘The boy in this picture is cal
led Tim Golding. He was kidnapped nearly four months ago. Every possible lead we had is exhausted with the exception of this. If you can help narrow down where it might have been taken, it’s possible we could make some progress in finding out what happened to him.’

  He held out a hand and took the sheet of paper. He held it up at an angle to the light and studied it. ‘This is a digital image, right?’

  ‘It was sent as an email attachment.’

  ‘And you’ve got the original electronic version?’ He spoke absently, moving the photograph closer to his face then drawing it away.

  ‘Yes, we do.’

  He looked up and smiled. ‘Good. Can you have someone send it to my mailbox? I’ve got some great software specially designed to enhance geological specimen photos. It should be able to give me something better to work with.’

  ‘You think you can help us?’ Carol had almost forgotten what hope felt like.

  He cocked his head to one side, considering. ‘It’s possible,’ he said at last. He straightened up in his chair. ‘Yes, it’s possible. Can I meet you for dinner this evening?’

  Carol was surprised. ‘You’ll have something for us that soon?’

  He laughed, a deep, warm laugh. ‘Afraid not. But even Detective Chief Inspectors have to eat sometime. What do you say? Pizza, curry, Chinese? You choose.’

  ‘Are you asking me out to dinner?’ Carol couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice.

  He spread his hands. ‘Why not? I’m young, free and single, and if you’re not, just say no.’

  She couldn’t have explained why, but there was something utterly unthreatening about Jonathan France. The idea of sitting opposite him in a restaurant didn’t freak her out. For the first time since the rape, she could almost believe it might be possible to have something approaching a normal life. ‘I don’t know what time I’ll be through here,’ she hedged, still not quite trusting herself enough.

  He fished a card from an inside pocket of his leathers. ‘No problem. I’ve got a couple of meetings later this afternoon, then I’ll just plug in my laptop and do some work till you’re ready.’ He placed the card on her desk. Text me when you’re free.’ He stood up, loose-limbed and unperturbed.

  Carol followed him out into the squadroom. ‘Thanks for your help,’ she said.

  ‘It’s a pleasure.’

  Stacey looked up from her computer screen. The Chief wants to see you in his office. Dr Hill’s with him.’

  Carol crashed back to earth. Paula. They had to figure out what to do about Paula. And how the hell was she going to explain Jonathan France to Tony?

  Tony had marched straight into John Brandon’s office, ignoring his secretary’s attempts to stop him. The Chief Constable was sitting at his desk, dictating a memo into a hand-held digital recorder. He stopped, astonished, in mid-sentence. Tony,’ he exclaimed. ‘I wasn’t expecting…’

  ‘I know you weren’t,’ Tony snapped. He’d grown increasingly angry as Carol had driven him back to headquarters, though he’d made sure she didn’t notice. In his professional life, he’d worked hard to keep his own responses battened down. But the more he thought about John Brandon’s suggestion, the more outraged he felt. He stalked across the room and leaned on the edge of Brandon’s desk, his hands fisted tightly. ‘John, what the hell were you thinking, asking Carol to commit one of her officers to an undercover operation?’

  Brandon stood up. ‘You’re well outside your remit, Tony. My operational decisions are nothing to do with you.’

  ‘Don’t hide behind protocol, John. You pay me to give you the benefit of my psychological insight. And that’s what I’m doing right now. Carol Jordan was thrown to the wolves by people who have the same masters as you do. I understand you’re under political pressure to solve these cases, but it was political pressure to get results that motivated the bastards who hung Carol out to dry in Berlin. Can’t you see that, in her eyes, that makes you just like them? You held this job out to her as a lifeline, yet here you are, asking her to put a junior officer in the very same position that nearly destroyed her.’ The words poured out of Tony in an angry torrent.

  A dark blush spread up from the pristine white collar of Brandon’s shirt, creeping up his neck and face. ‘You’re out of line, Tony.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m telling you that you are going to do serious psychological damage to one of your best officers if you force her to run this operation.’

  Brandon pounced. ‘So it’s not the operation you object to? Simply that I’m asking Carol to oversee it?’

  Tony flung up his hands in exasperation. ‘The operation’s questionable. It’ll only work if you sow the proper seeds in the media. But yes, my primary objection is the potential danger for DCI Jordan.’

  ‘You think I haven’t considered that?’ Brandon said, his voice rising. ‘Frankly, I’m already having some doubts about her self-confidence. I think it’s affecting her judgement.’

  Tony was shocked. ‘What do you mean?’

  Brandon shrugged off his question. ‘Nothing I’m prepared to discuss with you. But just how good do you think it would be for her self-esteem if I put another officer in charge of it? This is her case, Tony, and she’s desperate to prove she can still cut the mustard. She’s the SIO on these murders. If I give the undercover to someone else, she’ll think I don’t trust her to do her job. And what’s worse, her team will think the same. If we try this avenue of approach, Carol has to be in the driving seat. I’m not happy with that, but I don’t see any alternative.’

  Tony slammed his palms down on the desk. ‘So hold off on it. Give them the chance to see if they can get anywhere with conventional methods. Let me try and get some more out of Derek Tyler. He’s close to giving me something, I know he is.’

  Brandon shook his head. ‘Tyler’s been silent for two years. Why should he suddenly start to talk now?’

  ‘He spoke to me this morning,’ Tony said.

  Brandon’s head jerked back. ‘He what?’

  ‘He spoke to me.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  Tony felt cornered. He knew Brandon would dismiss the prospect of getting information out of Tyler if he told the truth. But a lie would only cause more problems in the long run. ‘He said he couldn’t talk to me until the voice said he could,’ he sighed.

  ‘Well then,’ Brandon said triumphantly. ‘It’s hardly progress, is it?’

  ‘Of course it’s progress,’ Tony said, knowing from Brandon’s expression and body language that he’d already lost. ‘It’ll take time, though.’

  ‘We don’t have that luxury. Time means more women dying. You more than anyone should know that,’ Brandon said. ‘So, what bait do I have to lay in the media?’

  Tony rubbed his hands over his face, as if trying to erase his anger and fear and replace it with professional competence. He stared down at the floor. When he spoke, his voice was cold and distant. ‘He’s a Power Assertive rapist. He prides himself on his control of the scenario. He thinks he’s covered all the bases. So you have to tell the press that this second murder has provided some valuable lines of inquiry. That the killer is not as careful as he thinks he is. That you believe you will be able to apprehend him before he can claim another victim. That way you prick his vanity, challenge him to prove you wrong. And then your decoy scenario might just work in the short term.’ He straightened up and looked Brandon in the eye. ‘And that’s what you want, isn’t it, John? A nice, quick, clean result.’

  Brandon turned away and reached for his intercom button. ‘Have DCI Jordan come up, would you?’ With his back to Tony, he said, ‘Yes, Tony. That’s what I want. A nice, quick, clean result. And I think Carol can deliver that with an undercover operation.’ ‘For her sake, I hope you’re right.’

  Merrick walked into the squadroom, balancing a sandwich on top of his polystyrene cup of tea. Late afternoon and nothing much doing. Apart from Stacey, the room was empty. He called out a greeting, earned a grunt in reply and crossed to hi
s desk. He was glad of the peace; he’d stuck his head round the door of the murder incident room, seen it was crowded and decided to write up his interview notes at his own desk. He sipped his tea, rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t sleeping well. Nothing to do with Paula’s spare bed and everything to do with the core of misery eating away at his heart. He missed his sons like a physical ache. Even though he’d often gone a few days without seeing much of them, knowing he wasn’t allowed to be with them was a completely different experience.

  He missed nothing about Lindy, and that was almost as disturbing. How could he not have noticed how the love between them had shrivelled and shrunk? It wasn’t as if there was anyone else. He hadn’t even been tempted to read between the lines of Paula’s offer of somewhere to stay. Besides, there had been nothing in her behaviour to indicate that she was interested in him as anything other than a friend, even if he had been ready to consider the possibilities of solace. For now, recognizing the death of love between him and his wife had left him feeling curiously desolate.

  Merrick sighed and roused his computer from its snooze mode. He’d just started typing in the mostly fruitless results of his interviews when Paula walked in. ‘Hi, Stacey. Hi, Don,’ she said brightly, walking over to his desk and perching on the corner of it. ‘How’s it going?’ she asked.

  He pulled a face. ‘Pretty crap, really. I spent a bit of time out on the streets this morning after I’d sent the teams out. But I might as well have stayed here and read the paper for all the progress I’ve made. I’m just writing up what I’ve got, then I’m going to plough through the rest of the reports in the incident room.’ He flipped through his notebook. ‘Oh, I did get one laugh, though. I was talking to this young lad. Rent, you know? And he goes, “I hear the girls are refusing to play bondage games with their customers. You think maybe I should do the same?” I could hardly keep my face straight. “I don’t think you’re his type, son,” I said.’