The Torment of Others

by Val McDermid

  ‘At least you got a laugh,’ Paula said. ‘I’ve just spent the last hour going through the mug shots with a kid who calls herself Honey. She used to turn twosomes with Jackie sometimes. I thought she might be able to pick out some of their punters, but no joy. It’s such a hidden world, Don, that’s the trouble. These are lives that feed on secrecy. Jan says they’re so used to turning a blind eye that in the end they just stop noticing.’

  ‘She should know, the queen of the Vice,’ Don said slightly sourly.

  ‘You don’t like her, do you?’ Paula said.

  ‘She’s a smart-arse,’ he said. ‘And you know what they say?’

  ‘Nobody loves a smart-arse,’ they chorused.

  Paula stood up. ‘Better crack on,’ she said. But before she could make a move towards her own desk, the door opened and Carol walked in with Tony. When she saw Paula, she turned to share a quick look with Tony.

  ‘Paula,’ Carol said. ‘Can you come through to the office? I’d like a word.’

  Paula raised her eyebrows at Merrick behind Carol’s retreating back then followed her and Tony into the office. Tony leaned against the wall, arms folded. Carol sat down and indicated that Paula should do the same. Paula could feel the tension in the room and wondered what was coming. She wasn’t nervous; she’d done nothing to be worried about, after all. The only secret thing in her life wasn’t something Carol Jordan would summon her to the office to discuss. Especially not in front of Tony Hill.

  Carol fiddled with a pen, avoiding Paula’s eyes. ‘Paula, the Chief Constable has had an idea he wants me to put to you.’

  Suddenly the tumblers clicked into place. Honey’s words. Carol’s unease. Tony’s presence. ‘You want me to go undercover on the streets. Be a decoy,’ Paula blurted out.

  Carol’s head came up, her expression stunned. Out of the corner of her eye, Paula registered a look of faint amusement on Tony’s face.

  ‘How did you know that? Who told you?’ Carol demanded.

  Paula shrugged. ‘Nobody told me. I worked it out for myself. One of the girls I was interviewing said I reminded her of Jackie, and I suddenly realized that, if I was on the game, I’d be his exact type. And we’re not getting anywhere with the usual routines, so when you said Mr Brandon had had an idea…it just seemed to make sense, that’s all.’

  ‘And how do you feel about the idea?’ Carol said. ‘It’s up to you, Paula. It’s a dangerous, risky operation. You don’t have to agree if you’re not comfortable with it.’

  Paula couldn’t help herself. She was grinning broadly. ‘I think it’s brilliant, chief.’ Her chance to shine, to show what she could do. Not even the look of concern she caught on Tony Hill’s face was enough to dent her enthusiasm. ‘So when do we start?’

  He’s watching the streets tonight. He’s had a hard day; it’s not easy to do what he does for a living when the place is crawling with coppers. But his customers need what he has to offer, so somehow it happens. He shifts the gear, relying on a sixth sense for avoiding trouble that’s always kept him clear so far.

  There’s something soothing about prowling his familiar pitch, now transformed by his own actions. He’d never have believed he could change the world around him, but he has. People are moving differently. He catches the nervous glances every pedestrian throws at those they pass. They don’t know if there’s a killer among them, and they’re scared.

  He almost wishes he could stand in the middle of the street and shout, ‘It’s me. I’m the one you’re all scared of.’ Just to see the looks of disbelief. Because he knows he’s not what they expect. He’s not a monster. He’s not even scary. He just looks ordinary.

  It’s what’s inside that counts. And they’ve got no idea what’s inside him. They’ve never heard the Voice. They’re the ones that are ordinary. But him, he’s become extraordinary. And this is only the beginning.

  The low rumble of the motorbike engine cut through the quiet of the suburban street. Jonathan kept the big machine steady even at low speed. As they drew level with Tony’s house, Carol unpeeled one arm from round his ribs and tapped him on the shoulder. The bike slowed to a halt and the engine died, leaving a shivering echo of itself inside her head. Carol dismounted, heart still racing, and took off the spare helmet Jonathan had given her outside the Italian restaurant where they’d eaten dinner.

  Jonathan was next to her, placing his own helmet on the padded leather saddle. ‘Not too terrifying, I hope,’ he said.

  ‘It’s years since I’ve been on a bike,’ she said, handing over her helmet. I’d forgotten how exhilarating it feels.’

  Jonathan opened the topbox on the rear of the bike and stowed the spare. There’s nothing like it,’ he said. He moved closer to her. Instinctively, she put a hand against his chest, feeling the rough tweed of his jacket under her fingers. It was as if all her senses were heightened, on full alert. She could smell the tang of winter in the air, the warm masculine scent that rose from Jonathan’s skin. He put his hands on her hips and she could feel a burn on her skin even through her clothes.

  ‘Thanks for a lovely evening,’ she said briskly. ‘I enjoyed it.’

  ‘Me too,’ he said, leaning down for the kiss.

  Carol shifted her head to one side so his lips brushed her cheek. Her pulse was hammering in her throat, her tongue dry against the roof of her mouth. The images flashing in her head were not of Jonathan France, and no matter how hard she tried to tell herself this was not a threatening situation, she couldn’t free herself from her history. She knew she wasn’t being fair; their conversation had been flirtatious and fun, but that had been in the safe environment of a well-lit, busy restaurant. Here, now, she couldn’t maintain the charade that she was like any other woman.

  He sensed her tension and drew away, a puzzled look in his eyes. ‘Was it something I said?’ he asked, his tone light and teasing.

  Carol released the breath she hadn’t been conscious of holding. ‘It’s not you,’ she mumbled, fixing her eyes on the sleeve of his jacket. She’d been surprised that he hadn’t turned up in his leathers, but he’d explained that he always travelled with a change of clothes when he was working. The boy biker look had been replaced by a faintly fogeyish tweed jacket, faded jeans and a crew-neck cotton sweater.

  ‘What’s wrong, Carol?’ he asked, his voice mild, entirely lacking in accusation.

  I’m sorry, I…’ She didn’t know what to say except the truth and she didn’t know how to say that. His hands were still on her body and it was taking all her strength not to wriggle away from what felt like an invasion.

  As if sensing her discomfort, he let her go. Her hand was still on his chest, and he gently covered her fingers with his own. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I’ll go.’ He stepped back, still holding her hand.

  Carol closed her eyes. ‘I was raped,’ she said. The words hung in the air between them. His grip didn’t alter. She opened her eyes, expecting to see shock, anger, pity, avidity.

  But all she could read on his face was concern. Their eyes met in the silence. Then, tentatively, he said, ‘Then it was pretty brave of you to come out with me tonight. Thank you for trusting me.’

  She was taken aback. His reaction was unlike anything else she’d experienced. ‘I don’t know about brave,’ she said. ‘But I don’t think it was very fair.’

  He shook his head, the streetlights catching his hair and making it seem to sparkle. ‘Don’t be hard on yourself. Is this the first time you’ve been out with someone since it happened?’

  Carol nodded. ‘With someone I didn’t know before? Yes.’ She took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Seven months ago, and it still feels more vivid than anything I did today.’

  ‘Then you should be proud of yourself. I’d never have guessed that there was anything preying on your mind other than work.’ He smiled down at her. ‘So. Probably best we call it a night.’ He let her hand go and took a step back. ‘Can I call you?’

  ‘Please,’ she said. On a sudden impu
lse, she darted forward and stretched up to kiss him. His lips were dry and cool, and he made no attempt to pull her into an embrace. They stood, slightly awkward, smiling at each other. ‘Goodnight,’ she said softly. She’d been lucky tonight. Lucky to have found herself with a man who didn’t dismiss her as damaged goods, leap to the desire to avenge her, or recoil with ill-disguised disgust. He hadn’t drowned her in pity or outrage, hadn’t asked how such a thing could happen to a woman like her. A clutch of negatives that added up to the first positive she’d encountered since the rape. It was, she imagined, how Tony would have reacted if he hadn’t been so riven with guilt.

  ‘Goodnight, Carol.’ Jonathan reached for his helmet. ‘I’ll wait till you’re inside,’ he said, straddling the powerful machine.

  She opened the gate and walked down the path, noticing for the first time that the light was on in the upstairs room that anyone else would have used as the master bedroom but which Tony had turned into a study. Her heart lurched and she hoped he hadn’t seen the small drama they’d just played out.

  Tony sat at his desk, eyes unfocused, turning over what he’d just witnessed. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, he’d have missed it. Although his observational skills were the lynch-pin of what he did for a living, he didn’t sit at his window spying on other people’s worlds. And when he was working, engrossed in his reading, writing or analysis, it would take more than the unfamiliar note of a motorbike engine to rouse him from the focus of his concentration.

  But when Jonathan France turned into his street, Tony was standing near the bay window, scanning rows of books for something he knew had to be there somewhere. That was the trouble with moving house; no matter how carefully you packed the books, they never ended up on the new shelves in quite the right place.

  So when the motorbike stopped at his front gate, he was not in his customary state of oblivion towards the outside world. Curious, he glanced out of the window in time to see Carol shake her blonde hair free of the constraints of the helmet. His first instinct was to step away, to allow her privacy. But when she reached out her hand towards the tall man who had dismounted, he found he couldn’t move. He told himself he was only watching to make sure she was safe. He knew that was a lie, but he didn’t want to acknowledge the confused emotions tumbling beneath the surface. He watched as she avoided the first kiss, watched as the man stepped away, watched as they spoke and as Carol suddenly took the initiative.

  Shamed, he made a harsh, dismissive noise and stepped back into the shadows as Carol turned towards the house. He dropped into his chair and slumped there, his face in his hands. Eventually he raised his head, blinking back tears.

  Jealous. He was so jealous he could taste it like bile in his throat. He loved her; he’d known that for a long time now. But it looked as if the rift between them had grown too wide to cross. In spite of all his efforts, it appeared that Carol had chosen her own route to salvation. And it didn’t include him.

  The atmosphere in the incident room was heady with anticipation. A low buzz of speculation filled the air as the detectives wondered why DCI Jordan had called them together. ‘I don’t care what it is as long as it gets us out of talking to hookers in the rain,’ Sam Evans confided in Kevin Matthews. ‘It’s like monkey city out there–see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.’

  ‘You never know with Jordan,’ Kevin said. ‘If anybody’s got off-the-wall tendencies, it’s her.’

  ‘But do they work?’ Evans demanded. ‘Her off-the-wall ideas?’

  Kevin picked at a bit of dried food he’d just spotted on his trousers. ‘She’s got a spooky tendency to get it right,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen her float ideas that even Tony Hill thought were out of the box. And then she’s turned out to be on the money.’

  ‘Yeah, but after what happened to her…maybe she’s lost her nerve for going out on a limb,’ Evans pointed out. His late-night trawls through the desks of his fellow officers had yielded nothing from Carol Jordan. She seemed to commit very little to paper and even less to her computer. He needed to know what she was thinking if he was to achieve his goal, but it was taking a long time to get a handle on her. So far, he’d managed to avoid an opportunity to tell her about his surveillance on Hart. He was hoping Brandon would get to her first, make her feel vulnerable and put her on the back foot. But it didn’t look as if that had happened yet.

  ‘I wouldn’t bank on it,’ Kevin muttered as a hush fell over the room. He turned to see Carol making her way to the front through the serried ranks of officers. Don Merrick followed close on her heels. Kevin thought she was looking better than she had for weeks. Her skin had a glow to it and her eyes were bright.

  Carol stopped by the murder board with its photographs of Sandie Foster and Jackie Mayall. She looked at their faces, made a silent promise to herself then turned to face the detectives. She’d been in the office since seven working on the undercover strategy, stifling her personal anxieties about the operation, and she still felt fresh and sharp. After leaving Jonathan, she’d gone straight to bed without even a nightcap. And she’d slept straight through till the alarm woke her at six. No nightmares, no restless tossing and turning. And almost no alcohol. Three glasses of wine with dinner scarcely counted, given her recent levels of consumption. She didn’t think she’d climbed a mountain, but she thought she might have turned a corner, offering a new choice of direction.

  ‘Good morning, everyone,’ she said, her voice clear and brisk. ‘First, I want to thank you for your hard work over the past few weeks. It’s not the fault of anyone in this room that we have made so little progress. We’re up against an organized and intelligent killer here, and we’ve had none of the breaks that open a case up. So it’s time for an alternative strategy.’

  There was a murmur of assent round the room. She saw nods of approval from her own team. She bit back her doubts and fears and carried on. ‘It’s a high-risk operation. It’s going to mean a hundred per cent effort from every one of you. But I believe it can bring us results we’re not going to get any other way.’

  Carol opened the folder she carried and took out photographs of Derek Tyler’s four victims. She pinned them up on the board behind her then swung back round to face the room. ‘I know there’s been a lot of speculation in the media about a connection between these two recent murders and the series of killings two years ago. At this point, there is no substantive doubt about Derek Tyler’s guilt. However, one thing is clear: whoever is responsible for these murders is using Derek Tyler’s crimes as a template. There’s no point in wondering why. At this point, it’s not going to take us any further forward. We simply have to accept that it’s the case.

  ‘What it does give us is a very clear idea of the physical type that our killer goes for. These women all have short blonde hair. They’re all slim. They’re all around the same height and build. These are his chosen victims.’ Carol straightened her shoulders. ‘With that in mind, we have decided to mount an undercover operation in an attempt to draw our killer to us.’ A sudden hubbub of reaction threatened to drown out Carol’s words and she raised her voice accordingly. ‘The first part of that strategy came last night in the Chief Constable’s press briefing. His comments were guided by advice from Dr Hill, and they were designed to goad our killer into action.’

  She glanced across to Paula and nodded. Paula stood up. ‘For those of you who don’t know her, this is DC Paula McIntyre. She’s going to act as our decoy on the streets.’

  Paula grinned at the room. Carol’s heart lurched. She remembered that gung-ho feeling, and where it had taken her. It was unbearable to think of someone else embarking on the same journey. But at least she could make sure Paula had blanket back-up, something she’d been forced to do without.

  Sensing the excitement in the room, she immediately acted to subdue the natural thrill of anticipation provoked by the idea of something that would break the investigative logjam. ‘I repeat, this is a high-risk strategy. We are going to saturate the area with under
cover officers to make sure we keep Paula safe. That is our paramount consideration. If Paula is in any danger, then we abort. I want you all to be crystal clear about that.’ She glanced at Paula. ‘The first thing is to get Paula to look the part.’

  ‘Hey, Paula, don’t get too carried away now,’ Kevin called.

  ‘All right, Sergeant Matthews, save the adolescent humour for the little boys’ room,’ Carol said wearily. ‘DS Shields, I want you to go with Paula over to one of the sex shops in Manchester, get her kitted out in the right sort of gear. We’re not going to use anywhere local, on the off chance you might be spotted. Then we’ll put Paula on the street tonight with full backup. Don, can you run us through the technical stuff?’

  Merrick stepped forward. ‘Paula will be wearing a wire, naturally. We’re also going to mount extra CCTV cameras at either end of the main drag in Temple Fields and at the bottom of Campion Boulevard, where they can’t be easily seen. We’ll have a team in the surveillance van, and there will be plainclothes units on the street. We’ll stay in close radio contact. And we’re trying to arrange it so that the wire feed will also be available in the cars so you will know what’s going down.’

  Carol spoke again. ‘Like I said, the priority here is Paula’s safety. I want you all to bear that in mind. She’s taking all the risks. She deserves to know we’re looking out for her. She deserves our best efforts. There’ll be a full briefing here at six. Some of you–mostly the statement readers and the HOLMES team–will continue with what you’ve been doing. Others of you can take the rest of the day off. DI Merrick has your assignments.’ Carol swept the room with a cool gaze. ‘This could be our best chance to take this bastard off the streets before he kills again. I’m counting on you.’

  She didn’t wait for questions or comments. Anything she needed to hear would be relayed to her by Merrick, her eyes and ears among the thirty-odd detectives on the team. She concentrated on getting out of the room before her confident façade cracked wide open.