Текст книги "The Surrogate"

Автор книги: Tania Carver

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

58

Marina walked into the living room, looked round.

‘Look familiar?’ Phil was closing the door behind him, coming down the hall. He joined her in the middle of the room.

She kept looking, taking in everything about the man that he had put on show. His books she remembered from before. His CDs likewise. His small collection of DVDs. Mainly old films, Hitchcock, film noir. Despite the lack of feminine touches, it didn’t seem overly masculine, just comfortable; two sofas, and table lamps offering subdued lighting rather than one harsh overhead light. Prints on the wall showed surprising taste, she thought, for a police officer: Rothko, Hopper. But then he was a surprising man. She turned to him, smiled. ‘Just like I last saw it,’ she said.

‘Good job I tidied up this morning.’

Her smile became teasing. ‘You were expecting to bring someone back tonight?’

He opened his mouth to reply and for a second he seemed about to give a serious answer, but then a smile split his face, equally teasing as hers. ‘I’m always expecting to bring someone back.’

She laughed. ‘Oh, you’re pathetic.’ She made to sit down but her attention was drawn to a CD case on the sound system. She crossed, picked it up. Smiled. Elbow.

Phil tried to shrug. ‘Good album.’

‘Course it is, Mojo man.’ She nodded, put it down again. Sat down on the sofa, her mood suddenly changing. She sighed; her smile disappeared.

Phil looked at her, concerned. ‘You okay?’

‘Yeah,’ said automatically. Then another sigh. ‘No. Sometimes when you see what we’ve seen today . . . I just . . . Why do they do it, Phil?’

‘You’re the psychologist, you tell me.’

Her hands clasped and unclasped. ‘I said something to you once.You probably don’t remember.’

‘Try me.’

‘When we were out. That first time. You asked why I became a psychologist. I said it was to understand my father. I lied. It was to understand me. I also said that all psychologists are just looking for a way home. That’s not strictly true either. It’s not just psychologists, it’s all of us. Everyone. We’re all looking for a way home.’ She lifted her head, fixed him directly. ‘Even you.’

He didn’t contradict her. He said nothing.

She continued. ‘We all want to be safe, to find some place in the world, in our heads, our hearts, where we can be understood and that we can understand. Where we can belong.’

Phil nodded, saying nothing.

‘Then I think of what we saw today. And what we have to do to catch them. What’s their idea of home? Where’s their head and their heart at? I’ve got to understand them. That’s my job. I have to look into my head and my heart and find parallels. That’s what I have to do.’

‘And the abyss looks into you and all that; that’s the job.’

‘I know.’

He turned to her. ‘Look, Marina. You’re the best I’ve worked with.You know you are.You’ll manage.’ He looked at his hands. They were shaking. Then back to her eyes.

She smiled. ‘This isn’t doubt, Phil. It’s just . . . I can ascribe reasons for aberrant behaviour. I can examine chains of cause and effect. But we’ll never understand, will we? We’ll never truly know what makes a monster. Or what makes someone do monstrous things.’

‘You always said we create our own monsters.’

‘And we do. But . . .’ She sighed. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I suppose what I mean is, that’s all for tomorrow. Tonight I just want to be somewhere . . . safe.’

They looked at each other, eyes locking once more. Phil moved towards her. Marina seemed to be moving to him but she stopped herself.

‘You let me down, Phil. That’s why I couldn’t see you again.’

Phil stopped moving, sat back.

‘You let me down and I could have been killed.’

‘I . . .’ This was it, he thought. The chance to tell her everything he had wanted to say, to speak aloud all those speeches and conversations he had rehearsed in his head over the months. To explain where he was and why he was needed. Because Lisa King’s body had just been discovered. Because I had to track down a killer. And I couldn’t let you know because you had your phone switched off. And everything else. On and on. But he didn’t. Instead all he said was, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It wasn’t just that. It was . . . I knew. I had a choice to make. And if I chose you, then that was what it was going to be like. I might never feel safe again. And I wasn’t sure I could handle that.’

He said nothing.

‘I said I wanted to be somewhere safe tonight,’ she said. ‘So I can put myself in the mind of a monster tomorrow. And safe . . . didn’t mean home for me. It meant you. Even though you let me down. Even though . . . I was scared. What d’you think of that?’

‘It was Lisa King,’ he said. ‘The start of this case. Her body had just been discovered. I phoned you.’

‘I know.’

‘Lots of times.’

‘I know.’

He sighed. ‘I didn’t know what would happen . . . no one could know . . .’

She said nothing, looked at his face, scrutinised his eyes, reading them as if looking for any trace of a lie, an untruth, a hesitation. Found nothing but pain in his voice, his features. Sincerity and honesty.

‘I’ll never let you down again. Ever.’

She smiled. ‘You’d better not.’

They kissed.

They were hungry for each other, wanted to consume each other.

They had started on the sofa, kissing. Breathing hot, warm, wet breath into each other’s mouths. Tongues twining. Phil ran his hands over Marina’s face, neck, down over her shoulders, the tops of her breasts. Marina put her hands round Phil’s neck. Stroking, touching, experiencing the sensation of the other’s skin beneath their fingertips, reacquainting themselves, confirming that they were both real, that this was actually happening once more.

Pressure increased, bodies pressed closer together. Fingers became more confident, more probing. Passion, need became urgent. Breathing came in harder, shorter gasps. Hands roved, explored, found buttons and zips, began undoing.

‘Let’s go to bed,’ Marina said, her words gasped, whispered.

They pulled apart reluctantly, not wanting to separate but wanting to take it to the next level. Phil stood, Marina came with him. Hands, mouths still locked. They stumble-walked up the stairs.

Into the bedroom. Phil turned on the bedside light.

‘No,’ Marina said. ‘Keep it dark.’

‘I want to see you . . . look at you . . .’ His hands were on her again, finding clasps, zips. Uncovering her shoulders, his mouth tracing down her neck, kissing her bared skin. Marina gasped. His hands moved further, pushing her top from her body. She helped him, responded. Pulled out his shirt, began unbuttoning. He shrugged it off, was naked to the waist. She did likewise with her top.

Phil smiled, lifted one bra strap, then the other, easing them down her arms, unclasping it from behind. He looked at her, drank in her nakedness in the half-shadowed room.

He smiled. ‘You’re beautiful.’

She smiled in response, then began unbuckling his belt. Remaining clothes and footwear were stripped in a blur. Naked, they held each other, feeling the sensation of each other’s body through their own skin. Kissed once more, then pulled apart. Phil took Marina in once more: the shape of her breasts, the colour of her nipples, the way she had trimmed her pubic hair, her soft thighs. Her belly perhaps curved more than he remembered it. It didn’t matter. She did the same for him: his broad shoulders, lightly haired chest, strong thighs, his penis, hard for her. She smiled.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he said once more.

‘So are you.’

Time froze. It was a moment both had fervently wanted but neither had believed would ever happen again. It felt so right, so comfortable. But beyond the passion, they were both terrified. It was more than just sex. They both knew that. It was a line. Once it was crossed, neither could retreat back over it.

‘I love you.’ The words were out of Phil’s mouth before he could stop them.

‘I know. Don’t let me down.’

‘I won’t.’

The line had been crossed.

They moved to the bed.

Together.

59

Marina heard voices. Strong, opinionated voices. Her eyes jolted open and for a few seconds she didn’t know where she was. Then, as a lost piece of jigsaw completes a whole picture, she remembered. Phil’s bed. The radio alarm clock had just gone off, Radio Four’s Today waking her up. Her eyes closed again. She smiled.

They had made love another three times, eventually drifting off to sleep some time in the early hours. It had been beyond what she remembered, beyond what she had imagined: intense and sacred at times, hot and filthy at others. But always physically and emotionally satisfying. She had drifted off to sleep with Phil’s arms encircling her. She had felt safe. Coming back to Phil’s house had been the right decision.

Now she lay there, letting the voices from the radio wash over her. It was familiar, the same show she woke up to at home.

Home.

She thought about Tony. She had phoned him as they left the crime scene, telling him she wouldn’t be back, giving him an excuse about pulling an all-nighter to work on the latest murder. He had been his usual understanding, reasonable self, asked her if there was anything she wanted, anything he could do to help. She had felt guilt at those words. But not because she wanted to be with him. Just because he was so good to her. Like a father should have been. She thought of the cottage in Wivenhoe. Not warm and comforting, just hot and enclosing. Maybe it was time to leave home.

She turned over, stretched out her arm, expecting to feel Phil. Nothing. His side of the bed empty. Opening her eyes once more, she sat up, looked around. Just in time to see the door open and Phil enter carrying two mugs of coffee – freshly brewed, from the smell. He crossed to the bed, placed one on the table at her side, one on his own, took off his dressing gown and slid, naked, back under the sheets with her.

‘Thought you’d gone to work without me,’ she said, smiling.

‘As if I’d do that,’ he said. He took a mouthful of coffee.

She took a sip. Lovely. Milk, no sugar. Just as she liked it. She replaced it. ‘You remembered how I take it.’

He frowned. ‘Why should I forget?’

Warmth spread inside her at his words. He had always been a good listener. ‘Why should you?’

The smile lingered on his face as he turned and looked at her. His eyes began to travel down her body.

‘We haven’t got time,’ she said.

He gave a mock sigh. ‘I know.’

A thought struck her. ‘Should we go in to work together or separately?’

‘Nobody else’s business.’ He placed the mug on the bedside table, lay back. ‘Does it bother you, what people might say?’

‘Does it bother you?’

‘Did last time. The gossip. What people were thinking, what assumptions they were making.’

‘And now?’

He looked thoughtful. ‘Perhaps for the investigation. If anyone tries to use this as an excuse for us not getting results, it would bother me. But other than that, no, I don’t care.’

She snuggled in to him. ‘Good.’

They lay there in silence for a while, both sleep-and-sexhungover, comfortable in each other’s silence.

‘So,’ he said eventually, ‘what happens next?’

‘I’m going to leave him,’ Marina said. The words, said aloud, surprised her. Like an idea made real by speaking it. She hadn’t known that that was what she was planning until she said it.

‘For . . . for me?’

Silence once more. Then, from Marina, ‘Let’s see.’

Phil nodded. Said nothing. Eventually looked at his watch. ‘We’d better get going.’ He threw back the duvet, got out of bed. Found his dressing gown once more. ‘You want the shower first?’

‘No, I’m okay.You go.’

He started to walk to the door, turned before he reached it. ‘I . . . look. I meant what I said. Last night. I won’t let you down.’

‘Good.’

‘Right.’

And he left the bedroom.

Marina reached for her coffee, took another mouthful. Replaced it. Sighed. She heard the sound of the shower. She stroked her stomach, felt the baby moving inside her. Thought of other conversations she had to have with Phil.

She finished her coffee, then got out of bed. It would all have to wait until later.

She had a monster to catch.

60

‘Phil? Call for you.’

Phil looked up from his desk, where he was gathering notes and photos together, preparing for the morning briefing. Adrian was holding up the handset on his desk, motioning to him. Phil mouthed the words, ‘Who is it?’ Adrian mouthed back, ‘Solicitor.’

Phil picked up the receiver, transferred the call. ‘Detective Inspector Phil Brennan,’ he said.

‘Good morning, Detective Inspector,’ a female voice said. ‘You’re CIO on the dead babies inquiry?’

Phil said he was.

‘Linda Curran of Hanson, Warnock and Gallagher.’ She paused as if he should know them. He certainly did. He had dealt with them, and Linda Curran, before. Many times.

‘Hello, Linda, how can I help you?’

‘I’m representing Ryan Brotherton, Detective Inspector, and I’m informing you that my client has instructed me to sue Essex Police, and in particular your department.’

Phil’s features hardened. His grasp on the receiver tightened. ‘Is that right?’ he said.

‘Indeed it is,’ Linda Curran said. From the tone of her voice, she took no particular joy in the message; she was merely doing her job.

‘Oh come on, Linda,’ he said. ‘That’s ridiculous. What is it? Harassment? How does he work that one out? We’re charging him with attempted murder.’

There was the rustle of paper down the phone. ‘Harassment, wrongful arrest, deprived of basic human rights whilst in custody, loss of earnings and emotional distress. ’

‘Okay,’ said Phil, ‘let’s go through these. Can I do that? Or will it prejudice the case?’

‘Feel free.’

‘Okay. Harassment. Brotherton’s name came up several times in a murder inquiry. We went to see him at work, and when he attacked my DS, we brought him in for questioning. He was never arrested.’

‘He attacked your . . .? You allege he attacked your DS?’

‘Dropped a ton of metal on him. Or would have done if he hadn’t got out of the way in time. No “allege” about it. Didn’t he mention it?’

Silence. Linda Curran clearly hadn’t been informed of the circumstances. ‘And that’s the attempted murder?’

‘It is in my book. What about this basic human rights thing? When did that happen?’

‘In custody.You denied him access to a solicitor.’

‘News to me. Warnock’d been called but was unavailable. You were on your way; we were just . . . chatting till you arrived. What was the next one?’

‘Loss of earnings.’

‘Blaming me for the credit crunch now, is he? And emotional distress.’

‘Apparently his girlfriend has left him.’

‘Good for her. Let’s hope she finds someone who doesn’t want to use her for target practice. Is that it?’

Another rustle of paper. ‘Yep. That’s everything.’

‘Right,’ said Phil, a weary smile on his face. It was all just part of the game. He sighed. ‘Well, thanks again, Linda. Always nice to talk to you.’

‘You too, Phil.’

‘I wouldn’t want to do your job.’

She gave a small laugh. ‘And I wouldn’t want to do yours. Let’s catch up sometime.’ She hung up.

‘Or let’s not,’ he said to the dead line, putting the phone down. They had once gone out on a date. One of his least successful ones. And that was saying something. She must just be saying that out of politeness, he thought.

He leaned back in his chair, stretched. That was all he needed. Brotherton making trouble. He wasn’t worried, though. He could make it go away. It was just extra hassle he didn’t need, something to divert his time and energy.

He drained the last of his coffee, threw the paper cup in the bin. He had driven Marina in to work, then gone off to get takeaway coffee from a nearby sandwich shop. That way, he thought, it wouldn’t look like they were arriving together. Phil imagined, once again, all eyes on them as they entered the building. Questioning, knowing. That was one of the reasons he had gone out again. In reality, no one paid them the slightest bit of attention. Still, he couldn’t think about that now. Not with a briefing for the whole team in less than five minutes.

He gathered up his papers, made his way to the door.

‘Ben Fenwick sends his apologies,’ said Phil, sitting down

Marina fought the urge to smile smugly.

‘Over to you.’ He gestured to Marina. She nodded, looked round. Phil, Anni, the Birdies, herself. The core members of the team. Phil was trying his best to pretend he wasn’t watching her with more than professional interest. She tried not to look at him too much.

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Right. We know it’s not Brotherton. If the profile didn’t help, the last murder did. I’ve had a look at Caroline Eades’ murder and tried to fit it in with the others. And there are some interesting developments. Not to say worrying ones.’

She looked down at her notes, back to the room.

‘Serial killers usually work to a routine. And yes, we’re using the phrase serial killer now. I don’t think there’s any doubt. They usually follow a pattern. Same type of victim, some method of death, same type of location. But with this killer, there have been some striking deviations. I don’t know if they’re significant; I think they may be.’

She felt a twinge of pain in her stomach, automatically pressed her hand on it. She noticed Phil watching her.

‘Right,’ she said, ‘the first time a serial killer kills – or at least the first time we hear about it; there will have been other incidents before this – they usually kill in an area of geographical significance. It could be where they live, work, where they lost their virginity, whatever. So far, we haven’t found anything significant about the first murder.’

‘But we’re still working on it,’ said Phil. ‘Every new case that comes in, we match against it.’

‘Good. But I don’t think the location is significant in this killer’s case. There’s something more important to him than that. Each murder has presented an escalation. With Lisa King, the baby was killed too. Susie Evans, the baby was beside the body. Claire Fielding, the baby was missing. Same with Caroline Eades. But the timing is also significant with the latest one.’

‘Why?’ said Anni.

‘Because serial killers don’t just enjoy killing, they enjoy having killed. They usually take a trophy or two from the scene, take it back to their lair and . . .’ She shrugged. ‘Well, I’ll leave that to your imagination.’

Everyone’s face registered disgust.

‘But that doesn’t seem to be the case here. Which would suggest that he’s differently motivated.’

‘Bit of an understatement,’ said Adrian.

‘Indeed. But even amongst the noble brethren of serial killers, he’s different. For most serial killers, the primary motivation is usually sexual. I don’t think that’s the case here. He wants the babies. He doesn’t care how he gets them. The women are nothing.’

She turned to the whiteboard behind her, took out a marker pen. Started making notes. ‘So this is what we’ve got. Different locations, different victims. The only thing they have in common is pregnancy.’

‘And some kind of link to Brotherton,’ said Phil.

‘All except Caroline Eades,’ said Marina.

‘At the moment,’ said Anni.

‘Too many links, though,’ said Phil, ‘and I don’t believe in that many coincidences. Maybe someone’s trying to set Brotherton up? Shift the blame? Draw our attention, misdirect us, make us look at him to avoid looking at the real killer . . .’ He put his hands behind his head, frowned. ‘But that would have taken a huge amount of planning.’

‘True. Next thing, escalation. Caroline Eades’ death looked improvised. He didn’t have time to restrain her properly, so he used whatever was at hand. And used it very crudely. Which leads me to believe that the baby he took from Claire Fielding is dead. He wanted this one as a replacement.’

‘You sure about that?’ asked Anni.

‘As sure as I can be, given what I saw last night.’

‘What about this baby?’ said Phil. ‘Is it alive?’

‘I’ve spoken to Nick Lines,’ said Jane Gosling. ‘And he says that judging by the health of the mother and how far gone she was, plus looking at the way the baby was cut out – and he’s getting better at that, apparently – there’s every possibility that it is.’

‘Let’s hope so,’ said Marina. ‘So let’s assume that it is. But there’s something else, as well. A question of gender. Normally, serial killers are male.’

‘This big woman thing again,’ said Adrian. ‘But we’ve got a picture, CCTV. Millhouse has got the techies working overtime on it, but it’s still not sharp enough. And we don’t want to rush it. Might get the wrong person.’

‘It could be a woman,’ said Marina. ‘Or it could be a man and a woman working together.’

‘Or a man providing for a woman,’ said Phil.

‘Exactly,’ said Marina. ‘Now, there are usually two kinds of serial killers. Psychopathic and sociopathic. The psychopaths are wild. They prey on victims, don’t care if they get caught. Sociopaths are harder to find. They can blend into society, hold down jobs, lead normal lives. Then one day something goes. And they have to feed their desires.’

‘Will they have a job?’ asked Anni.

‘They might do,’ Marina said, ‘but it won’t be anything prestigious. They won’t be head of Microsoft or anything like that. They can use a knife. Maybe slaughter animals? Farm worker? Abattoir? Something along those lines. Also the disregard for the victim. Just another piece of meat.’

She looked round at the assembled faces. She had their total attention.

‘At first I thought our killer was the first kind, a psychopath. Which, on reflection, might be better. This person lives on the edge. Single-minded. Not interested in taunting us or leaving messages. They’re doing this for a reason. They want something. The baby. They don’t see themselves getting caught because they don’t think about getting caught. They’re clever, cunning. Like an animal. This, theoretically, should make them slightly easier to catch. However . . .’

They waited.

‘If there’s two of them, one may be the psychopath, one the sociopath . . .’ She could feel an idea coming to her. ‘If . . . if there are two of them, then one, the contained one, the sociopath, could be finding the victims . . .’

‘And the other one ripping them up?’ said Anni.

‘It’s a theory.’

‘If that’s the case, then there’s another idea,’ said Phil.

They all looked at him.

‘Split personality. Is that viable?’

‘Could be,’ said Marina. ‘Two in one. I think that’s even scarier, actually. But the same principles apply.’

‘So how do we catch them?’ asked Phil.

‘Well, I don’t think they’re based in Colchester. I think they’re coming in to do this. The geographical profiling supports that. And because they’re all over the town, I think that means he’s targeting them another way.’

‘How?’ said Phil.

‘I don’t know,’ said Marina. ‘But I think that’s the key. Find out how he’s choosing them and we’ve got him.’ She nodded at Phil. His turn.

‘Thanks, Marina. Right. I want all the individual cases re-examined today.’ He scanned the room, making sure his words registered. ‘Similarities flagged, everything. Old reports gone over, the lot. Marina, would you help with that, please? I’d like you teamed with Anni.’

‘Sure.’

‘Good. Anything that sticks out, flag it up. We can cross-reference it against Brotherton and Caroline and Graeme Eades. Look for another match. Forensics are still going through the data from the last two crime scenes. No conclusive DNA yet, but they’ll keep looking. And there’s something else. I don’t know how significant it is.’

They waited.

‘Sophie Gale has done a runner. Brotherton’s solicitor was on the phone this morning.’ He told them about the call.

‘Good luck to her,’ said Anni.

‘Let’s keep an eye out for her, though. We should still talk to her again.’ He scanned the room once more. Despite the tiredness, he could see that they were all ready to go. ‘Get pounding those files, those streets. Good old-fashioned police work. We might have lost one baby but there’s another one out there and the clock’s ticking. Let’s get going.’

They all filed out.

As Marina got up, Phil moved in to talk to her.

‘Marina,’ said Anni, ‘come on.You’re with me.’

She looked at Phil, gave an apologetic little shrug and turned away. Phil walked out alone.