Harvey was still snoring contentedly. I perched on the edge of the table.
‘I devised a technique for “uninstalling” the trauma in a person’s unconscious. Allowing them to reprogram past events.’
‘So they forget it?’
‘No, but reprogramming how they perceive it. It can be like turning a key for some patients. That was what the book was about, but I never expected it to become a bestseller.’
His hard thighs straddled mine as I sat on the edge of the table. He rested his forehead against mine, his eyes intense as though he wanted to see inside my head.
‘So what’s the story you tell about yourself then, Jo? The story that builds the glass wall I can’t get past?’
The intensity of the question caught me off guard. It felt uncomfortable having my own strategy turned on me.
‘Touché.’ I tried to smile, and failed.
‘You tell the story about Pete…’ He said it softly, but a barb shot through my stomach. How dare he use the fact that I had opened up to him tonight? ‘Perhaps the strategy you use,’ he went on, ‘is to never allow anyone that close again, so you don’t get hurt?’
‘Perhaps.’ I felt the warm glow we had built all night suddenly evaporating into a coldness I couldn’t stop.
‘What’s wrong?’ He lifted his head slightly, watching me with a confused frown on his face.
My mind screamed a million things I could say, none of which he would have understood right now. I wasn’t even sure I understood them myself. I made a mental note to stay away from the booze the next time I was with him alone. If there was ever to be a next time.
‘Nothing.’ I pushed off the edge of the table, making him let me go and take a step back.
‘Nothing?’ His breath was released in exasperation. ‘You mean everything, right? Come on, Jo, what now?’
‘I’m tired, that’s all. It’s been a long day. Think it’s time we called it a night if that’s okay?’
‘No, it’s not okay.’ He ran his hand through his hair as he squared up to me. There was a row coming and I simply didn’t have the energy for it. ‘I thought we were getting somewhere, but the minute I touch near the heart of you, the shutters come down.’
My frustration suddenly boiled up to meet his. The rational part of me knew he was right. He had touched a raw nerve that I should have dealt with years ago, but it had been easier to leave it alone. He’d turned therapist on me and hit the bullseye and I didn’t like it.
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ I snapped, causing Harvey to abruptly stop snoring and lift his head to watch us both. ‘Stop playing at therapist and stick to being a policeman.’
‘Okay then, I’ll be a copper.’ He was getting angry. ‘All the evidence points to the fact that I’m trying to compete with a dead man!’
He couldn’t have winded me more if he’d punched me in the stomach.
‘What!’
‘You said that when you came here, you left Pete behind. A fresh start. So like a dumb bloke I took that as a sign we could move on from the flirting and dancing around we’ve done ever since Christmas. Which, by the way, as a night with a special woman, I rated as pretty bloody marvellous.’ He suddenly turned away from me, pacing in front of the Aga, his voice getting louder. ‘But the minute I get to that point where we can be real people and stop shadow boxing, I get the ice maiden again.’ He stopped and turned to face me, his eyes blazing. ‘Know what, Jo? I don’t think you are over Pete. Or that you’ve tried to stop telling that story about yourself. In fact, over the last twenty-two years of being his widow, it’s become who you believe you are.’
I watched with my mouth open, unable to speak as he tore his coat from the hook by the door and snapped up his car keys. ‘And until it stops being that way, I may as well wait another twenty-two years before I try again!’
‘Callum!’ I called after him, but I could already hear the car roaring to life. He hadn’t even bothered to close the door. By the time I walked into the porch, I could just make out the red tail lights disappearing down the lane.
‘Shit!’ I exclaimed to Harvey who stood beside me, curiously tipping his head in a question I didn’t even know how to begin to answer.
4 August
I swung my legs out of bed and padded naked into the bathroom. I peered at my reflection in the mirror, noting the dark rings under my eyes.
‘Stupid bitch!’ I said out loud to my reflection. ‘You need a good therapist!’
I spent my professional life telling clients they needed ‘closure’ on troubled relationships. Why couldn’t I take my own advice?
I took my temper out on my clothes and slammed down into the kitchen, even ignoring Harvey as he padded over to me for his morning hug. My mood wasn’t improved by the weather, which was wet and humid, as we walked into the meadow.
Harvey amused himself by chasing the scent of rabbits long since gone, as I followed aimlessly behind him, absorbed in my thoughts.
A familiar figure walked towards us across the bottom field, dressed in a waxed jacket and old corduroy trousers, the whole ensemble topped off with a tweed flat-cap. He raised his arm in greeting, his other arm cradling a shotgun.
‘Morning, George.’
He grinned with a huge mouthful of tombstone teeth as he rested his elbows on our adjoining fence, using his thumb to push the peak of his cap back.
‘Fine day for it, lass,’ he observed without humour, as he grimaced into the drizzle. ‘Yon dog doesn’t bother though, eh?’
I smiled despite my black mood as I watched Harvey romping around.
‘No, he’s fine as long as he’s out.’
Harvey sniffed at George’s pants and lifted his head to accept the rough patting on his ears. ‘He’s good security up at the house, though,’ I said. ‘Best burglar alarm I could have – no one would try the house with him inside.’
George nodded. ‘But let’s face it, since when did we ever get burglars round here? God almighty, most people don’t even know this lane exists. Anyways, I walk by most days and check on the place for you.’ His eyes twinkled with fun. ‘Part of my duties you might say.’
He continued to pat Harvey, who was enjoying all the fuss.
‘Am I right in thinking it would be your birthday today?’
I looked at him in surprise. ‘How did you know that?’
He smiled but it was tinged with sadness. ‘Used to walk the moors with your dad, didn’t I? He’d always make a fuss on your birthday. Whenever we were out, he would tell me about his surprises for you. I reckoned it would be about now.’
I nodded, intently focused on my Wellingtons as we trudged back to the house.
‘Miss him like hell, George.’
I was horrified to feel hot tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. George diplomatically averted his eyes, looking across the fields. A typical Yorkshireman. Full of emotion but loath to ever show it.
‘So do I, lass, so do I.’ He patted my shoulder roughly. ‘Take care.’
With a wave of his arm, he strode back out across his field, leaving me and Harvey to stare after him.
I decided work was the only thing to push the black mood away. I rang Westwood Park and arranged to see Martha as soon as she’d been assessed. I’d been thinking about her all night.
As I got into the car to drive to Fordley, I called Jen to let her know my plans.
‘By the way, Jen.’ I tried to slip the next question in diplomatically. ‘Have you spoken to someone called John? He said he’d called the practice to get my home number.’
‘No and if he had, I wouldn’t have given him your number. Why do you ask?’ I could hear the discomfort in her tone.
‘He called the farm last night.’
‘What!’ She was incredulous. ‘I hope you don’t think for a minute I’d be stupid enough–’
I cut her off. ‘Of course I don’t. He said you’d given it to him, but I knew you hadn’t.’
There was a pause and I could feel her th
oughts tumbling.
‘I’ve worked with you long enough to stick to protocol.’ She sounded upset.
‘Don’t worry about it.’
But even as she said it, I knew she wouldn’t let it go. Jen was a perfectionist and things like this would eat away at her.
As soon as I cleared down her call, my mobile rang again. The display said ‘Private number’.
‘Dr McCready,’ I answered, absently.
‘Mum?’
‘Alex!’
It was that unexpected, I nearly stopped the car in the middle of the road. ‘Where are you?’
He laughed. ‘Mumbai. The most civilised place I’ve been in weeks. Anyway, just calling to wish you happy birthday!’
A mix of emotions rolled through me all at the same time. Relief at hearing his voice and knowing he was safe. Frustration that he hadn’t stuck to the rules and called as often as he’d promised he would.
For an instant, a reprimand crossed my mind, but I bit it back before it came out of my mouth. I used my own mother as a ‘How not to parent’ manual. Habitual criticism was her stock in trade.
I could feel the heat of totally unexpected tears. ‘Oh thanks, baby. You don’t know how much I’ve missed you.’
‘Are you crying?’ He sounded incredulous and I remembered the hard-nosed reputation I’d worked so hard to develop, even with family.
I sniffed loudly, reaching for a tissue. ‘No. I have a cold. But I’ve missed you all the same.’
I heard him sigh. ‘I know. Sorry, Mum. India’s phone network might be good but they haven’t quite reached the out-of-the-way places I’ve visited lately.’
‘When will I see you?’
‘I’m planning on coming back before Christmas. I’ve got a couple of interviews lined up in London, then I can spend a few weeks with you.’
‘Great. Who’re the interviews with?’
His tone was instantly cagey. Or did I imagine that?
‘Oh, nothing special. Don’t want to jinx it. I’ll tell you when I’m back?’
‘Sure.’ I tried to inject a smile into my voice as I rubbed my nose with the tissue.
‘I’ll catch you up when I see you. Give my love to Nonna.’
‘I will. Bye, baby.’
I was quiet when I went into the office and Jen knew me well enough not to ask. I buried myself in work for the rest of the afternoon, only realising as I was leaving that we’d hardly spoken.
As I shrugged on my jacket, she barely looked up from her computer. Too used to my moods to be affected by them anymore.
‘Callum called. He said it was urgent and could you call him as soon as you finished.’
I stared at her, realising that she didn’t understand how important that might be, given last night.
‘Oh.’ Was all I could manage. ‘Anything else?’
‘Nope.’ She didn’t look at me as she flicked through the notes I’d just dropped on her. I put the digital recorder down on the desk and headed for the door.
‘If you can transcribe that first thing, please. I need it for Martha’s assessment up at Westwood. See you in the morning.’
‘Not unless you pay me double time you won’t.’ I stared at her, puzzled, until she finally turned to look at me, chewing the end of her pencil. ‘It’s Saturday tomorrow, stupid!’
‘Oh God.’ I laughed. ‘Sorry, Jen, I’m losing the plot.’
‘Hmm, well I won’t be in on Monday either – I booked it off for my granddaughter’s birthday. Family party at mine for all the brood.’ She raised her eyebrows like a parent with a hopeless child. ‘I suppose you forgot that too?’
I had.
She called after me as I went down the steps to the car. ‘Remember what all work and no play did? Don’t forget to call Callum!’
4 August
‘Everything happened at once.’ Callum’s voice came over the Bluetooth as I drove back up to the farm. ‘We got the post-mortem report back on Julie Lamont and at the same time forensics gave us a lead on the electrical flex used to tie her up. It had traces of marine oil.’
‘Marine?’ I echoed back. ‘There’s your link to the canal.’
‘Could our killer own a boat?’
He had launched into the facts as soon as I’d called. No reference to last night at all. I wasn’t sure whether I was relieved or upset.
I dragged my mind back to the matter in hand. ‘It’s possible he lives on a boat, but my original assessment still stands. You’re not looking at someone high on the socio-economic ladder. I’d say more likely he works around boats or the boating community. A labourer maybe? That fits with his physical strength and fitness.’
‘Post-mortem confirmed it’s the same weapon as Linda. They also found traces of duct tape adhesive in strands of her hair and around her mouth, which suggests she’d been gagged. That’s consistent with your theory that he held her for a while before killing her.’
I could imagine the dizzy exhilaration he would feel at finally capturing a victim and having the opportunity to act out fantasies that he’d probably played out a thousand times. Until the fantasy didn’t help him reach climax anymore and he had to take more chances. Go out and look for a victim to play with for real.
Then reality would hit home. She could identify him and there was no option but to kill her.
I’d built up a psychological profile of this faceless killer, to the point where I could almost hear the pleasure in his voice as he told Julie what he was going to do with her. He would enjoy the power he had over another human being. The power of life and death. The feeling of total authority and domination he would have in his closeted fantasy world where he made all the rules. Unlike the polar opposite of his real existence, where he was a loser and a failure – in society and in relationships.
The fear and horror she would have experienced in those hours was unimaginable. I felt a tightening in the pit of my stomach at the very thought of what she must have gone through.
‘It certainly wasn’t a quick death,’ I said, quietly, still trying to switch off the images that unfortunately went with the job.
‘She was punched in the face prior to the attack, just like Linda,’ Callum continued. ‘He broke her cheekbone when he hit her. Interestingly, there were also traces of concrete dust in some of her wounds and on her clothing,’ Callum added, obviously still reading the post-mortem report.
‘Concrete?’
‘Probably from the murder scene – when we eventually find it.’
I could hear the shuffling of paper as he consulted his notes.
‘The pathologist thinks the killer is left-handed.’ He sighed and I could almost see him raking his hands through his hair as he frowned in concentration. ‘So, together with your profile, we know just about everything there is to know about this guy except his name and address.’
‘Anything from the boating community?’
‘Some of the boats there that day have moved on, but we’re tracing as many as we can. One interesting report came in from a local fisherman. He’d packed up and was walking along the towpath by the boatyard just after six when he saw a young couple cuddling on the path. The timing means they must have seen Julie if that’s the route she took. The gap between the fisherman taking the same route and the courting couple is a minute or less, so either they saw something we need to know about, or Julie was lured off that route by the killer. Either way, we need to speak to them. We’ve put out appeals on the radio and local TV for them to come forward, but so far no luck.’
‘That’s unusual?’
‘Maybe not,’ he sighed heavily down the phone. ‘I don’t think they’re boat owners. More likely local kids. I just think it’s strange they haven’t heard the appeal. You’d have to live in a damned cave round here not to know about the murder and – oh yes, you’ll be seeing Hoyle on TV. He’s holding a press conference to appeal for information.’
‘Can’t wait,’ I said, sarcastically. ‘How did he take the fact that you used m
y profile by the way?’
Callum snorted in disgust. ‘Didn’t say anything, but he and Taylor-Caine were closeted away for a couple of hours after he saw it. I think they had some damage limitation to do to cover their arses, now that it looks as though your profile was more accurate than theirs. Hoyle might have to field some embarrassing questions regarding his choice of analyst on this one.’
He hesitated as though he wanted to say something else. I caught my breath, waiting. ‘I’ll call you when we have something.’ And with that the phone went dead.
I felt tired, strung out and miserable. I’d obviously blown it with Callum, and on top of that I was one year older and facing a weekend alone. Automatically my fingers dialled a most familiar number. It was answered on the second ring.
‘Hi, Mamma, it’s me.’
‘Josephina! Happy birthday, bambina. Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Phina, happy birthday to you!’
I gritted my teeth throughout the whole tuneless rendition.
‘Thanks, Mamma. How are you?’
‘I’m wonderful. In fact, you just caught me – I’m going bowling with the girls. If you hadn’t have called I would’ve been so angry with you! I’ve been trying to get you all week!’
‘I know, Mamma.’
I sighed, resigned to the fact by now that every conversation between me and my mother, regardless of original content, always turned into a reprimand.
‘I’ve been working with the police this week on this latest towpath killing and–’
‘Terrible…terrible,’ she interrupted me in her heavily accented English. ‘No job for a woman, dealing with killers and rapists. Why you can’t get a proper job, eh?’
‘Yes, Mamma, I know. Go work in a shop or an office?’
‘It’s good enough for other people, but you…you always have to be different, just like your papa.’ She sighed, perhaps realising after all that this was my birthday. ‘I only worry, bambina. You know it’s only that I worry about you.’
The Murder Mile Page 6
