The Torment of Others (27 page)

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 impulse, 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 undercover 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.

She’d barely made it back to the security of her own office, blinds drawn against the world, when there was a knock at her door.
If it’s bloody Brandon, I’ll scream.
‘Come in,’ she said resignedly.

The door opened a few inches and Jonathan France’s head appeared. ‘Have you a minute?’

Flustered and surprised, Carol stammered, ‘Yes, come in.’ He slid round the door and closed it behind him. ‘I didn’t expect to see you so soon,’ Carol gabbled. ‘Have you got something for us already?’

‘Not professionally,’ he said. ‘That’ll take a little longer.’ He pulled a plastic bag from his jacket pocket. Carol recognized the logo of a local independent bookshop. He held the bag out to her. ‘I thought this might interest you,’ he said.

Curious, Carol took it. She slipped the book from the bag.
Lucky
by Alice Sebold. She looked up, puzzled.

‘It’s a memoir of her own experience of rape,’ Jonathan said. ‘I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but it struck me you might find it helpful.’ He looked awkward, as if unsure of his ground. ‘It’s not schlocky or sensationalist or sentimental. And it’s very well written.’

‘You’ve read it?’ Carol asked. It wasn’t really the question she wanted to ask, but it filled the silence.

He looked faintly sheepish. ‘Don’t tell my rocky colleagues.’ He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans. ‘My sister is an arts bureaucrat. She’s always punting stuff my way. I like things that make me think.’

Carol turned the book over and read the jacket blurb. She looked up. ‘Thank you. I appreciate it.’

‘You’re welcome.’ He backed towards the door. ‘Look, I’ll get off. We’ve both got work to do. Give me a call, yeah?’

More touched than she could express, Carol nodded. ‘I’ll do that.’

‘I’ll be in touch about the other thing–the photograph.’ He gave her one last smile, then he was gone.

Carol stared at the door for a long time, trying to work out how she felt. His kindness was remarkable, not least because he delivered it with a grace that removed any sense of patronage. She’d enjoyed his company, found him attractive. But somehow, her heart remained untouched. Maybe she wasn’t ready. Maybe it was still too soon.

Or maybe it was simply that he wasn’t the one she wanted.

Before she could consider the matter further, another knock disturbed her. ‘Come in,’ she sighed.

Sam Evans stood in the doorway, his face giving nothing away. ‘Can I have a word?’ he said.

She gestured to the chair. ‘Take a seat.’

He arranged himself in an attitude of confident relaxation. ‘I thought I’d better come clean before Mr Brandon spoke to you,’ he said without preamble.