Текст книги "Evil Games"

Автор книги: Angela Marsons

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

SEVENTEEN

Kim dismounted the Ninja and unlatched the waist-high gate. The stubby drive and snatch of lawn appeared to be contagious throughout the street. Many residents of the small clutch of council properties on the Dudley border with Netherton had taken advantage of the right-to-buy scheme and secured themselves a spacious property for a fraction of the cost. The Dunn family had been one such household.

This time there was no rush of activity, thundering of boots or loud access to the property with the enforcer. Just her and a set of keys.

She wandered through the house more slowly than the first time. The urgency had been spent. The house had been prodded, probed and stripped of anything that might help the case.

There was a sense of abandonment in the air. As though the occupants had been painted out of the picture. Reading books and toys were stored in various corners. A cereal box and bowls stood ready in the kitchen. In addition to the abuse, normal life had taken place in this house. At times they’d just been two little girls.

Eventually she reached the wooden door at the top of the stairs. Kim was struck by the fact they all described the space as a cellar. It was not. Kim had seen poky cellars in a few of her foster homes around the Midlands. The houses had been called back-to-backs and came in rows of twenty. Homes built by factory and mine owners during the industrial revolution that would house as many as six families. The cellars were tiny spaces, barely the width of a person, situated down a couple of stone steps and created for the storage of coal.

But not this one. This house had been especially remodelled to create this space buried down in the ground.

Many men hungered for a man cave; a place to call their own. A garden shed, a spare room to build models, play computer games, but Leonard Dunn had wanted a space to abuse his children. That he had spent many hours adding a basement especially for that pleasure added a sickness to his depravity that Kim could barely stomach.

The physical space was now almost empty, inoffensive since the removal of the evidence. But Kim still saw it as it was on the morning of the raid. The gym mat, the lamp, the digital camera. But more than that, the foul acts that had taken place were embedded in the fabric of the room and would never disappear.

The far corner now held only the desk. The computer and discs were at the station. The area could have belonged to an architect, an accountant, anyone wishing for a little privacy to think, concentrate or create.

She crossed the room to the wardrobe, now emptied of the costumes used for Dunn’s sickening games.

The lamp had been pushed to the far wall during the evidence collection. But she needed no reminder of where it had stood. It had been positioned behind the camera, casting a spotlight on the gym mat.

Kim’s mind automatically flashed back to the vision of Daisy standing in the centre of that mat, her small voice trembling as she asked her daddy what she should do next.

She shook her head to remove the picture from her mind. She often wished there were things that could be unseen and unheard, but there was no simple erase button on the side of her head.

Kim headed for the stairs, still unsure why she had been drawn back to this room.

She took a deep breath. ‘I wish I could have stopped it sooner, Daisy,’ she said, as her hand cast a shadow over the light switch.

Her fingers stopped dead and trembled.

Her head turned and looked at the lamp. Something wasn’t making sense.

Kim took a step back and concentrated hard as the suspicion that had gnawed finally bit.

‘Hell, no,’ she said, launching herself up the stairs.

EIGHTEEN

Kim travelled through her workplace, matching the momentum of the bike that now cooled outside.

The viewing suite was located on the third floor of the station.

There was no simple entry to this part of the building. She buzzed the access button and allowed her fingers to rest against the wall, looking up into the camera that was now searching the features of her face.

Her finger lifted to buzz again but the familiar click sounded. She pulled the door open and entered the airlock. The first door closed behind her, allowing her to keycode herself into the suite.

Four sets of two desks filled the windowless space. One noticeable difference between this and the other offices in the building was the lack of paper.

This was the room that held the people that pored over every second of CCTV evidence seized, and on a case like the Dunn investigation, Kim would not have done that job for every motorbike in Japan.

‘Hey Eddie, working late?’ she asked, approaching the only occupied desk.

He straightened and stretched a torso that had spent far too many hours hunched at the keyboard. Kim was sure she heard something crack.

‘You too, Marm?’

Kim had seen Eddie at work on numerous occasions. And everything about him was average: height, weight, complexion and photo on his desk. He was not a man that stood out.

But once his left hand commanded the keyboard and his right steered the mouse there was a meeting, a connection that was a pleasure to watch.

‘Ed, I need you to look at some of the footage from the Dunn …’

Kim was interrupted by the sound of the buzzer.

‘It’s like New Street Station in here tonight,’ Eddie said, turning to the camera.

‘It’s Bryant,’ Kim said.

Eddie glanced sideways. ‘What – you psychic now as well?’

‘Err … no, I called him on the phone.’

Eddie groaned as he pressed the access button.

Bryant was already removing his jacket. ‘Look, Guv, I know you can’t stand to be without me, but …’

‘Don’t flatter yourself. You just live nearest.’

‘Fair enough,’ he said, dropping the jacket onto one of the desks.

Eddie pushed himself away from the desk and turned his chair. He took a moment to flex the fingers on his right hand. ‘Well, lovely as it is to have a bit of company on the night shift, there’s no beer and pizza so I’m guessing this ain’t a party.’

Kim turned to Bryant. ‘See how quick he worked that out. You could learn …’

‘Cheers, Guv, now would you mind telling me why my cheese and pickle supper is back in the fridge.’

‘Eddie, can you show me the footage marked Daisy Goes Swimming?’

Eddie pulled himself back into the desk and within seconds the screen had filled with folders marked with names, dates and reference numbers.

Kim was instantly saddened by just how many folders there were.

He clicked quicker than she could keep up but suddenly the screen filled with the eight-year-old girl trembling.

‘Mute the sound,’ Kim said quickly.

Bryant looked around the office, at anything but the screen.

Her eyes travelled away from the little girl as the camera zoomed out and displayed more of the room. The video was exactly as she’d remembered it.

Her stomach churned in response.

‘Eddie, show me the photos we took on the dawn raid.’

A couple of seconds later a directory appeared. He clicked on the first photo and began to scroll through.

‘Stop,’ she said, on photograph number nine.

The photo was taken at the same angle as the video camera.

‘Can you put them side by side?’

Eddie filled the screen with two separate images: the photograph and a freeze-frame of the video.

‘What lighting did we use that morning, Bryant?’

He still hadn’t looked at the screen.

‘The spotlamp, ’cos Dawson couldn’t find the light switch.’

She nodded. ‘So it was the exact same conditions. No natural light, no movement of the lamp?’

‘Suppose so.’

‘Okay, look at this,’ she said, motioning him closer. ‘See that black mass creeping up the wardrobe?’

He nodded.

‘Where is it on the photo?’

He looked closer and glanced from one to the other.

Bryant stood back and looked at her.

‘Guv, are you saying what I think you’re saying?’

She took a deep breath before speaking.

‘Yes. Bryant, there was someone else in the room.’

NINETEEN

‘Am yer serious, boss?’ Stacey asked, quietly.

Kim nodded her head. ‘Checked the footage last night. Definitely the shadow of a figure.’ She nodded backwards towards Bryant. ‘Me and Columbo went back to the property to recreate it with the lamp placement and a video camera. It’s definitely a person.’

Dawson pushed a folder roughly across his desk.

‘Mature, Kev,’ Kim snapped.

He coloured and looked away. ‘Sorry, Guv.’

She turned back to Stacey, who was still glaring at Dawson.

‘Find out everything about Leonard Dunn’s neighbours, family members, everybody he’s ever worked with, spoken to or brushed past on the bus. I want to know if any of them are on The List.’

It was what they all called the register of sex offenders.

The initial clue to the abuse had come to them from a perceptive and attentive school teacher. But the focus of the investigation had been on Leonard alone. And when they’d got him, they’d thought the case was closed. Damn it, they were hunting for another sicko who had been involved.

‘Kev, I want you to interview everyone again, especially the neighbours. If this person was a regular visitor, then someone must have seen them. Okay?’

‘What about Wendy Dunn?’ Bryant asked.

She shook her head. Not yet but that time would come.

‘Got any suspicions, boss?’ Stacey asked.

She certainly did, but she wasn’t going to share them yet.

Kim looked to Bryant.

‘Come on, partner. We’re clearing up.’

TWENTY

Alex hit the refresh button on each of the online news outlets she’d put into her favourites. What she should have been doing right now was meeting Ruth and collecting the data that was vital to her experiment; but the stupid bitch had got herself caught within forty-eight hours.

Alex had known that the incompetent police would eventually stumble over Ruth as a suspect, but she’d miscalculated. Either a police officer with a smattering of intelligence had landed the case or Ruth had left her name and address at the crime scene with a sign saying, ‘It was me’.

What she had expected was a few days, time enough to extract the information she required. Jesus, had she needed to draw the imbecile a picture? She’d been given the motivation, method and opportunity in the visualisation. Alex had hoped that Ruth’s one contribution to the process would have been a modicum of self-preservation.

Alex hit refresh again. No change. She turned her attention to her usual morning checks. She signed into Facebook and typed in the name, ‘Sarah Lewis’. Twenty minutes later, after logging in and out of every social networking site on her list, she sighed. Sarah was still in virtual hiding, but no matter.

Having Sarah back in the cross hairs made Alex’s life complete. Oh, to have seen the reaction on her face would have been priceless. She wondered if the poky little cottage in the middle of Hicksville was on the market yet. She clicked into Rightmove.com and added it to her favourites. It wouldn’t be long.

She thanked God for this age of electronic access that prevented total anonymity. People could always be found, if one knew where to look. Dark corners didn’t exist in cyberspace.

The doorbell sounded, prompting Alex to check her watch. She’d booked no other patients. Ruth would have been her only appointment of the day.

She opened the door to a male and female standing before her. The male smiled. Alex didn’t smile back. Damn it, this was exactly what she’d hoped to avoid.

‘Doctor Thorne, my name is DS Bryant and this is DI Stone. May we come in?’

Alex’s hand tightened on the doorknob as she checked his identification card. She looked from one to the other. ‘What’s this about?’

‘We won’t take much of your time. We’d just like a word about one of your patients.’

‘Of course, come this way.’

Alex led them into her consultation room. Once inside, she appraised them both quickly. The male she guessed to be mid– to late-forties, who clearly liked to keep fit but was fighting the inevitable paunch of middle age. His chestnut hair was greying at the temples but the haircut was efficient and professional. His face was open and friendly.

The woman’s expression was moody and dark. Her hair was a short shock, the colour just this side of black. It was the eyes that almost took Alex’s breath away. A dark intensity brooded within the unsmiling face and tight demeanour. From a distance it was only just possible to see the separation between the irises and the pupils.

She forced herself to look away and focus on the male whose body language was like an open book.

‘So, Detective Bryant, how can I help you?’

‘We believe that Ruth Willis is one of your patients?’

Alex had regained her composure at the surprise visit and with it, her control.

‘I ask again, what is this about?’ she responded, without offering confirmation or denial.

‘Your patient is in police custody at the moment. She is under arrest for murder. Her parents have given us your name.’

Alex’s hand flew to her open mouth. It was a mannerism that she had practised in the mirror many times. It had taken a while to strike the balance between soap opera overkill and first year drama school, but as with every expression in her repertoire it had been observed, practised, honed and perfected.

One of her earliest lessons had been the funeral of her paternal grandmother. She was five years old and stood between her parents on a grey October afternoon.

Alex had been transfixed at the raw emotion of the mourners.

The old woman had smelled awful and had horrible, ugly spots all over her skin. Alex was pleased the old goat was gone.

Beside the grave, she had watched the mourners’ expressions. The downcast eyes, the stoic withholding of emotion, the biting of the lips and, most infuriatingly, the tears.

Alex stared and stared down at the coffin without blinking, fixing her gaze on the stem of a lily atop the casket. Sure enough, her eyes started to water. She recognised that the mourners with the most tears had trembling shoulders. She added that in and managed the two together.

She felt her father’s hand squeeze her shoulder and although she didn’t like the physical contact she had been pleased with what she’d learned and had used her new skills at every opportunity.

Now, Alex’s database told her the correct response for her current situation was shock.

She gripped the edge of the desk for support. ‘No, I’m sorry. You must be mistaken.’

‘I’m afraid not. Miss Willis has admitted to the crime.’

Of course she had, stupid bitch. ‘But … who … where?’

She noted that the male glanced at the female. A slight nod was the response, barely noticeable. The female’s expression, Alex observed, had not changed once. She would be a formidable poker player.

‘She stabbed a man named Allan Harris.’

He said no more, knowing that she would immediately recognise the name.

Alex shook her head and lowered her gaze to the floor. ‘I’m sorry, but this is quite a lot to take in.’

‘Of course, Doctor. Please take a moment.’

Alex did take a minute, to organise her thoughts. How could she turn this meeting to her advantage? To start with, she needed more information. She looked at DS Bryant imploringly, doubt etching her features. ‘Are you able to tell me what happened?’

Bryant hesitated but didn’t look to his superior before nodding. As she’d hoped, they had come to her for information and sought her co-operation.

‘Miss Willis waited for the victim, either in or close to a dark alley, and then stabbed him with a kitchen knife. The first wound was most likely fatal.’

There was more than one wound. Alex closed her eyes for a second, selecting a lighter shade of disbelief. ‘Oh my goodness, I still can’t believe it.’

Things hadn’t gone exactly according to plan, but all she needed to measure her success was a face-to-face meeting with Ruth. She pushed her hair behind one ear with slightly trembling fingers. ‘I thought we had made such progress.’ She looked from one to the other. ‘Can I see her? She must be desperate.’

‘That won’t be possible, Doctor,’ the female said definitely.

Damn, Alex thought. That would have solved all her problems. Given enough time she could probably have worked on DS Bryant, but DI Stone, clearly, was the boss. Alex would bet the BMW outside that the intense detective inspector had been responsible for the speedy apprehension of her subject.

‘If we could just ask you a couple of questions?’

Alex returned her attention to the male. ‘Please feel free to ask any questions you like, however I will only answer the ones that I feel are ethically permissible.’

She softened her words with just a hint of a smile, meant solely for him.

The detective took out his notebook. ‘Can you tell us how long Miss Willis has been a patient of yours?’

‘Ruth has been coming to me for about three months.’

The detective’s forehead wrinkled. ‘Oh, that’s quite some time after the rape. What made her seek help at that point?’

‘Court order after a suicide attempt. Quite common for victims of rape.’

‘Was she using any prescription medication?’

Alex shook her head. She preferred her subjects clean. ‘No, she had been dosed by her GP for years on different antidepressants, which, at times, numbed the feelings, but they never worked for long and we removed her from that dependency together. I find other methods to be more effective in the treatment for victims of rape.’

‘Like what?’

‘Cognitive Restructuring.’

‘And how did she react to that treatment?’

Alex shook her head. ‘I’m not going to give you specifics about my patient. That information is confidential, but I can tell you about the psychology of a rape victim, understood?’

DS Bryant nodded his acceptance. The female detective had lowered herself into the patient’s chair and crossed her long legs. She appeared either totally relaxed or bored to death.

‘You obviously know the details of this case, so you understand just how horrific this attack was. A rape victim can suffer many after-effects, primarily self-blame. A rape victim might think they deserved the attack either because their behaviour invited it or because there is something in their personality that attracted it. They may feel that they should have done something differently. A victim of rape will often blame themselves.

‘Self-blame brings with it shame about the incident. Shame is more destructive than people can possibly imagine. Rape victims sometimes isolate themselves from their previous life, friends, family members, but most destructively, shame breeds anger and aggression.’

Alex paused to give either of her visitors an opportunity to ask her any questions.

‘Shame has a special link to anger. When victims are shamed and angry they are motivated to seek revenge.’

‘Had Ruth accepted that it wasn’t her fault?’

‘Ruth was prepared to consider that it wasn’t totally her fault.’

Alex enjoyed speaking about a subject of which she was knowledgeable, but she was aware of DI Stone’s attention travelling around the room; appraising the certificates, looking at the photograph that was just within her view.

‘Can you tell me what the treatment might entail?’

‘Cognitive Restructuring involves four steps. The first step is to identify problematic cognitions, known as automatic thoughts, which are dysfunctional or negative views of one’s self, the world or the future. Next is identifying the cognitive distortions in the automatic thoughts. What follows is a rational disputation of the automatic thoughts and finally developing a rational rebuttal to the automatic thoughts.’

‘Phew, sounds complicated.’

Alex smiled, selecting charm as her weapon of choice. ‘Not really, I just threw in some big words to impress you. Simply put, it’s a method of retraining the response of the mind to destructive thoughts.’

There was no reaction from the woman but DS Bryant coloured slightly. ‘Was it helpful to her?’

It would have been if I’d actually used the technique, Alex thought. It would have helped her come to terms with the attack and move on with her life, but for Alex that would have been self-defeating.

‘I thought she was responding well to it.’

Alex’s attention was drawn to the female detective who was checking something on her mobile phone. The woman did not have the decency to listen while she was being generous with her expertise.

‘Is there anything in that method of treatment that could have had any impact on Ruth doing what she did?’

Alex shook her head. ‘The treatment focuses on the thoughts of the victim and trying to change those patterns rather than on the attack itself.’

‘Did she say anything to give you any indication of her intentions?’

Alex decided she’d given enough free information. If they wanted any more they could go and study for ten years or pay for her knowledge. ‘I’m afraid I can’t share any of the details of what was discussed in our sessions.’

‘But this is a murder enquiry.’

‘And you have a confession, therefore I’m not obstructing your investigation into the crime.’

Bryant smiled at her, acknowledging the point.

She smiled back. ‘And, one last thing. If I contacted you every time one of my patients explored a fantasy, people would begin to talk.’

Bryant cleared his throat. Yes, now she was having fun. Men were so much easier to manipulate; such simple, vain creatures.

Alex lowered her voice to little more than a whisper, as though there was only the two of them in the room. So far, this had been a one-way relationship and Alex now wanted payment for her services. ‘Can you just tell me how the poor girl is doing?’

Bryant hesitated. ‘Not too well, I’m afraid. It seems that the victim was sorry for what he’d done.’

Alex steeled herself for what was to come.

‘Oh no, that must be terrible for her.’

Bryant nodded. ‘She’s wracked by guilt. It seems she’d never considered that possibility. In her mind he was still the monster that raped her, not a man who was remorseful and sorry for what he did, and now she’s taken his life.’

Rage burned through Alex’s veins. If she’d been alone, ornaments would have flown and furniture would have travelled. The fucking stupid woman felt guilty for killing the bastard. She actually felt remorse for snuffing the life of a fucking monster who had brutally raped and beaten her and left her for dead.

Alex hid her anger behind a benign smile. Ruth had let her down badly. She’d had high hopes for that subject and she’d ended up being pathetically feeble-minded. Alex wanted her here right now so she could gladly wring her neck.

‘Doctor, we’d like to know a bit more about Ruth’s state of mind at the time of the attack.’

So here it was, the reason for the visit and for the delay on a criminal charge. The detectives were carrying out background checks in case the defence tried to plead insanity. They didn’t want a murder charge that wouldn’t stick.

‘That’s really difficult to state. I wasn’t with her on the night in question so …’

‘But would you be prepared to testify in the defence of Ruth Willis that she was not of sound mind when carrying out the attack?’

‘It would be foolish to assume that because she was seeing a psychiatrist she is insane.’

‘That didn’t quite answer the question, Doctor.’

Of course not, but she was building the tension and showing them that this was a difficult situation for her. Still the female officer had not looked her way.

‘That was the intention. You have to understand that I have known Ruth some time and have built up a rapport during our sessions. She trusts me.’

‘But we have to understand her a little better before moving forward.’

Alex understood that her next statement could change the course of Ruth’s life. If her expert opinion was that Ruth was suffering diminished responsibility or some type of temporary psychosis, there was a good chance that the CPS would consider charging Ruth with manslaughter to ensure a conviction.

Whatever she said next could make the difference between a life sentence and five to eight years.

‘No, I cannot in all good conscience testify that Ruth Willis is insane.’

Boy, she hated it when people disappointed her.

She had their attention now. Both of them. Bryant in particular became more animated.

‘Doctor, would you actually be willing to testify for the prosecution?’

Alex remained silent for a couple of minutes, appearing to torture herself between loyalty to her patient and good, honest civic duty.

She let out a long breath. ‘Only if absolutely necessary.’

There you go, Ruth. Payback’s a bitch.

Bryant shot a look at his superior before extending his hand. ‘Thank you for your time, Doctor Thorne. You’ve been a tremendous help.’

Alex nodded silently, still dealing with the internal struggle.

Bryant headed towards the door and the detective inspector followed. She stopped at the doorway and turned. The female detective spoke for only the second time. Her voice was low, smooth and confident.

‘Just one last thing, Doctor Thorne. I’m a little surprised that with your training, your years in practice and the length of time spent with your client, you couldn’t see this coming.’

Alex met the woman’s unflinching gaze and saw a coldness there that sent a frisson of excitement along her spine. Their eyes locked for a few seconds before the detective shrugged and headed out of the room.

Alex stared at the closed door. Although the anger still ran red hot through her veins it was tempered with intrigue. One thing she never shied away from was a challenge.

As a plan began to form in her head, Alex smiled. When one door closed, another one opened.