by John Nicholl
Emily thought for a moment, considering her limited options.
‘So, what’s your answer? I can ring and cancel the table. It’s no problem at all. Just say the word and it’s done.’
She fidgeted with her cuff. ‘No, no, I’m being too sensitive. A meal would be lovely. Let’s get going. I don’t know what on earth I was thinking.’
He patted her knee gently before restarting the engine. ‘A meal it is. I’m glad we’ve got that little misunderstanding out of the way.’
‘Me too. It’s best forgotten. I’m sure we’ll have a pleasant and productive evening.’
Turner already had a large glass of red wine waiting for Emily when she returned from the ladies’, and he’d sat himself down at a table for two that was within touching distance of a smouldering log fire at the back of the room. ‘I thought a nice glass of vino would help us relax after our minor misunderstanding. It’s a good vintage. This restaurant has a surprisingly impressive wine list.’
She’d asked for mineral water, but decided to let it slide. ‘Thanks.’
‘It will only be the one glass for me, regrettably, with driving, as I explained to your father. Although, if that snow gets any heavier, we may have to consider travelling back in the morning.’
‘It’s started snowing?’
‘I believe so.’
She rose without speaking and approached a large picture window with an uninterrupted view of the ruined castle and wild estuary beyond. It was snowing lightly, but the tiny swirling flakes were melting almost immediately upon contacting the warmer ground.
‘So, how’s it looking out there?’
She returned to her seat, feeling more relaxed. ‘I don’t think we’ve got too much to worry about.’
‘Let’s hope not. The car’s handling suffers terribly on slippery roads. I think it must have been designed for sunnier climes. The last thing I’d want is an accident. Your father would never forgive me.’
Her facial muscles tightened. ‘Look, I appreciate you making the time and effort to bring me here, it’s very kind of you, but I hope I haven’t given you the wrong impression. I’ve only recently split up from a long-term relationship. I like you, I respect you, but I’m not looking for a new man in my life at the moment. I hope I’m not speaking out of turn?’
He smiled sardonically. Who the fuck did she think she was? ‘Message received and understood. Why don’t we keep a close eye on the weather, and we’ll leave immediately if it gets worse? How does that sound?’
She nodded and picked up the menu. ‘Thank you, Charles, I’m glad you understand. The last thing I’d want to do is cause offence.’
He looked across the table. ‘I’ve already ordered for us both. This establishment serves an excellent steak. Rare, of course. It’s the only way to eat it; I’m sure you’ll agree.’
‘What?’
‘Oh, dear, have I done the wrong thing again?’
She shook her head slowly. ‘I’m sorry, I really don’t like steak. I’d like to choose something else.’
The bitch, the total fucking bitch. ‘If I’ve been presumptuous, I can only apologise. I just thought, with the threatening snow, it was a good idea to expedite matters.’
She perused the menu, looking at each option in turn and making a point of taking her time. ‘I’ll have the Welsh lamb, well done, with mint sauce.’
Oh, you will, will you, you fucking ignoramus? ‘Are you sure? All the best chefs serve it rare.’
Emily stood again, approached the bar, and amended the order to her taste before returning to her seat. ‘I was asking how long you’ve been a solicitor?’
It would feel so good to shut the self -important bitch up for good. Why were all the women in his life such a fucking burden? ‘About twelve years.’
‘You’ve progressed really quickly.’
‘I’m not usually one to blow my own trumpet, but, yes, I’m good at the job. I’m a strong believer in doing things to the very best of my ability. I like to suck the juice out of life, whether it’s work-related or recreational. Make the most of your opportunities, Emily, that’s my advice. Experience everything you can of life’s rich tapestry. It passes so very quickly.’
Emily had never felt more conflicted in her life.
‘You’re very quiet, is everything okay? I haven’t said the wrong thing again, have I?’
‘Sorry, I was deep in thought. How’s the weather doing?’
Turner glanced towards the window. ‘Oh, I don’t think we need to worry about that too much. The snow seems to have stopped for the moment. It rarely settles this close to the sea.’
A part of her was relieved, but only a part. ‘Where’s that food? I’m absolutely ravenous.’
‘Another glass of wine?’
She lifted her glass to her lips and sipped before responding. ‘No, I’ll just stick with this one, thanks. I’m a lightweight when it comes to alcohol.’
‘It was good to meet your father this evening. He’s an interesting man.’
‘You hadn’t met before?’
‘I was aware of him, of course, our paths have crossed from time to time, but, no, not socially.’
‘He’s under so much pressure. It worries me sometimes. He’s not getting any younger.’
Turner nodded. ‘What do you think goes on in the head of a man like that?’
‘What, my dad?’
He laughed. ‘No, no, the killer. I was talking about the killer.’
‘Perhaps it’s best not to know.’
‘I don’t see it that way. The extremes of human behaviour fascinate me. From an academic perspective, you understand. What leads a man to abandon any semblance of a conscience, and enthusiastically embrace his dark side, as the killer so obviously has? What kind of person becomes a serial murderer? What kind of person becomes a merciless sexual predator? That’s what I ask myself. Was he born to rape and kill, or have the attentions of cruel fate led him along that shady path? What do you think?’
Emily didn't hesitate. ‘I think he’s evil, a monster. How else can you describe him?’
‘Maybe, in the right circumstances, we’re all capable of almost anything. You and me included.’
‘Not that, definitely not that.’
‘He’s killed four times in a matter of months. Do you think he feels any remorse? Or does he feel driven to do it again just as soon as he gets the opportunity? He must do, or why continue as he has? Maybe he’s devoid of conscience. Maybe he feels no regret at all.’
‘People like that bring nothing but misery into the world; nothing but death and destruction. I hope the bastard’s caught, locked up, and left to die in prison.’
Turner’s eyes shone brightly in the light of the glowing embers. ‘I guess that’s up to your father.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is. And the other officers working on the case, of course. It’s not just down to him. It’s a team effort.’
‘Yes, but your father’s the lead detective. The buck stops with him.’
She nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘That’s pressure, real pressure. I wouldn’t like to be in his place. I’m certain there are more victims to come. Don’t you agree? He’s going to keep killing again and again, right up to the time he’s forced to stop.’
‘Why would you say that?’
‘It’s just an informed impression. I suspect the killer’s enjoying himself rather too much to stop. It seems obvious. That’s how his mind works.’
‘You seem very sure?’
‘People say these sorts of crimes are all about power. And they are, to a degree. But what they’re primarily about is sex. He kills and rapes because it excites him sexually. It turns him on like nothing else can. He fantasises, he kills, and then he fantasises again. It’s something I’ve read a great deal about. I like to understand the criminal mind.’
She felt a cold shiver up and down her spine as she sat contemplating the intensity of his statement.
‘Oh, here we go, our food�
��s about to arrive.’
Emily looked up and smiled as an overweight waitress wearing a tarnished silver nose stud, which looked more like a blemish than an adornment, approached their table with plated meals in hand. ‘That all looks lovely, thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Emily nodded her acknowledgement and returned her attention to Turner, who was in the process of cutting his steak. ‘Can’t we talk about something else? It’s all rather depressing.’
He glanced around the room, from one male customer to another. ‘Think about it for a moment longer. He could be here now. It could be any of them. The grey -haired man with the stick, the business man in the pinstripe suit and purple tie, one of the young friends chatting at the bar, seemingly without a care in the world. He could be with us right now and planning his next killing – scheming, manipulating. Have you considered that possibility? Everyone has to be somewhere. Why not here?’
She shuddered. ‘Dad said much the same thing. He’s hidden in plain sight.’
‘Maybe the waitress is to his tastes. Or the barmaid with her ponytail, what about her? There are so many potential victims. So many for him to choose from.’
Emily shivered. ‘This is all getting a bit too weird. You’re starting to scare me.’
‘How would you feel about legally representing a man like that? A man who’s killed, without mercy, time and time again. What if he’d killed five, six, or even ten? It’s not beyond the bounds of possibility. The Yorkshire Ripper killed thirteen; Ted Bundy, thirty -six; the Green River Killer, at least seventy -one – despite his apparent ordinariness. They gained a level of infamy that was lost to their victims. How many people could name even one?’
‘Their families could. Their friends could. It’s a sick world.’
‘Yes, it is, Emily, but could you ignore your instinctive feelings of revulsion and disgust, and represent a man like that to the very best of your ability?’
The tension dissipated from Emily’s body. ‘Ah, I was wondering where this was going. You were beginning to freak me out for a minute there.’
He was more animated now, sweating, red in the face. ‘So, could you do it? That’s the question. Could you do it?’
She forked some garden peas into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed before replying, ‘Yes, I guess so. It wouldn’t be easy, but I’d have to. It’s not like it’s going to happen anytime soon.’
He smiled warmly. ‘Very well said. That’s the response I was looking for. Everyone’s entitled to a defence, whoever they are, whatever they’ve done. We have to put our personal feelings aside, that’s the key. It isn’t always easy, as you’ve said yourself, but there it is. Such things are sent to try us. Our cross to bear, so to speak. A good lawyer sets their personal prejudices aside.’
‘I understand that.’
‘Yes, I believe you do… Now, tell me, do the police have any clues as to the killer’s identity? Anything at all?’
‘The investigation wasn’t going particularly well, but it seems things may be looking up at last.’
Turner smiled. ‘That is good news. Anything specific?’
‘I think Dad’s waiting on DNA results. I don’t know the details. He didn’t say any more than that.’
What a bunch of fucking idiots! ‘Oh, that sounds hopeful.’
She nodded enthusiastically. ‘He seems to think so.’
‘How’s your meal?’
‘It’s excellent, thanks. The lamb’s so very tender, like butter. What about yours?’
‘Not bad at all. We should come again.’
She smiled.
‘Where do you see yourself in five years’ time, Emily? Do you have a clear view of the future? Are you someone who plans ahead, or do you live in the moment?’
‘We talked about that at my interview. You asked me the exact same questions.’
‘Ah, yes, yes, of course, I did, I remember now. You’re an ambitious young woman, and I respect you for that. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I was much the same on leaving university.’
‘Any more questions before I finish my meal? This is starting to feel a bit like being on Mastermind.’
He laughed, but his eyes portrayed his true feelings. ‘Just the one.’
‘Go on, then. Let’s hear it.’
He tilted his head and studied her for a second. ‘Have you ever considered a shorter hairstyle? Shoulder -length, with a fringe, something that frames your face?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Your hair, have you thought about cutting your hair? And perhaps opting for a different colour? Something less severe than your current shade; strawberry- blonde, or ginger possibly. I think either would suit you perfectly.’
She lifted her glass and hurriedly gulped down half its contents as he continued to stare at her. ‘I really don’t know what to say. It’s not something anyone’s ever asked me before. I’ve never thought about it.’
He reached across the table and touched her sleeve, but withdrew his hand quickly when she pulled away. ‘I’m sorry. I was thinking out loud, nothing more. I was being too personal, I didn’t mean any offence. Please forgive me.’
Emily ignored the seemingly heartfelt apology and approached the window again. She peered out and swore crudely under her breath as she witnessed the scene. It was snowing heavier now. Heavier than had been forecast. Heavier than she’d anticipated. Large snowflakes appeared to be swirling in every direction at the bidding of an east wind and, much worse than that, it was beginning to settle on the ground. The dark tarmac was slowly disappearing under a blanket of white. She cursed again, more loudly this time, as the implications sank in.
Emily returned to their table but remained standing. ‘It’s snowing again.’
He looked confused, less sure of himself. ‘Aren’t you going to sit down and finish your meal? It’s getting cold. It would be a shame to waste it.’
‘Didn’t you hear me? The weather’s taken a turn for the worse.’
Turner stood and approached the door, opened it, and walked into the freezing night, returning to the restaurant a minute or two later with melting snowflakes on his head and shoulders. ‘We’re not going anywhere in that lot. There’s a good two inches on the road in places.’
‘I hope this isn’t something you’ve planned.’
Turner laughed, head back, faultless teeth in full view. ‘Oh, come on, I’m influential but not that influential. I can’t control the weather. Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a bit?’
Emily flopped down into her seat and drained her glass. ‘Yes, I’m sorry, me and my big mouth. I sometimes think I shouldn’t drink at all. My ex -boyfriend let me down; he rather destroyed my faith in men.’
‘Another glass of wine?’
She took a slow, deep breath in through her nose, and out through her mouth before replying, ‘Oh, go on, then. Why not? If we’re stuck here we may as well, make the most of it. It may even do me some good. Things have been a little fraught lately, to say the least.’
He smiled warmly. ‘That’s the spirit. Don’t let the bastards grind you down, that’s my advice. Red or white?’
‘I’d better stick with the red, thanks. I tend to get a ghastly hangover if I mix drinks.’
‘Very sensible, best not to overdo things. I’ll bring a bottle.’
He returned to the table, refilled her glass to the brim, and poured one for himself. ‘The barmaid tells me that rain’s forecast for the early hours.’
‘Thank God for that.’
‘There’s only one room available, I’m afraid. We really should have enquired earlier in the evening. Everyone seems to have had the same idea.’
Emily shook her head. ‘We hardly know each other. I don’t feel comfortable sharing a room.’
He licked his top lip, smiled, and met her eyes. ‘I appreciate this isn’t ideal, but it’s a case of needs must. I’m told there’s a thre seater settee. You can take the bed, and I’ll sleep on the sofa. How doe
s that sound?’
‘There’s definitely no more rooms?’
’No, I asked.’
‘Then I guess it’ll have to do.’
‘I reached the same conclusion.’
‘Will you drop me off at my dad’s place in the morning? I’d like to change before work.’
‘Of course I will. No problem at all. We can talk about your caseload as we go.’
‘And you’re certain there’s a settee?’
He smiled without parting his lips. ‘That’s what the barmaid told me. One double bed and one settee. Guaranteed.’
‘As long as you’re sure.’
‘Relax, Emily, I take my duty of care as your employer seriously. You can trust me. Now, tell me a little bit more about that unreliable boyfriend who let you down so very badly.’
Emily sipped her wine and began to unwind as the familiar effects of drunkenness clouded her thinking. ‘Do you really think my hair’s too dark?’
He refilled her glass for the third time. ‘Are you sure you want me to answer that one?’
‘Yes, I want to know.’
‘Sure?’
‘I said so, didn’t I?’
He eased back in his seat and studied her for a moment with eyes that sparkled. ‘You’re beautiful as you are – of course – stunning; that goes without saying. But maybe beauty can become perfection.’
Emily laughed self -consciously and looked away, as he pictured himself placing his hands around her throat and crushing her windpipe. ‘It’s a pity my ex- boyfriend didn’t think so.’
‘The man’s a fool!’
She lowered her head. ‘He’s a right bastard, completely untrustworthy. He’ll screw anything with a pulse.’
Turner reached out and patted her arm, allowing his hand to linger for a little longer than was comfortable. ‘Come on, drink your wine. There’s plenty more where that came from. That’s it, down it goes. Oh, what the hell. Let’s throw caution to the wind. Here’s to us. I’ll order another bottle.’
11
Twenty -five- year- old Tina Spencer had never felt more anxious as she dialed her social worker’s direct office number and waited with bated breath until she eventually answered the phone. ‘Hello, Mrs Larkin, it’s Tina, Tina Spencer. I don’t want to go to court. I w- want to withdraw my statement.’
