I would never be unkind to a child. Well, not deliberately, anyway. I love children.
I’ve also dabbled with those sites where you can chat to young girls and boys. Not that I’m interested in boys; I’m not that way inclined. That is unnatural to me.
Grooming, they call it. But it’s just a way of getting to know them, isn’t it? I’ve always been cautious about carrying anything through, afraid even. Setting up meetings is something to be extremely careful about. It can be so dangerous in so many different ways.
However, internet pictures don’t satisfy me. I like to look in the flesh, not at celluloid images. I may be cautious but, thankfully, there are lots of places you can go where that is possible: playgrounds, swimming pools, beaches. Look but don’t touch. Just sit back and enjoy the innocent frolicking of little girls.
Merely thinking about it gives me an erection.
I can’t help it. It’s the way I am made. It’s not my fault. None of it is my fault.
FOUR
Vogel thought they’d done enough for the first visit. He was about to indicate to DC Saslow that they should take their leave, when he heard the front door open and close loudly, as if it had been slammed. Within a second or two the door to the sitting room burst open.
A short, stocky, pale man, with prematurely white curly hair strode into the room. He had a thick neck, burly shoulders and an ample belly, all of which contributed significantly to making him look almost as wide as he was tall. The morning was still cool and there did not seem to be any heating on in the little sitting room, but he was red-faced and sweating profusely.
‘Sarah, I got here as soon as I could,’ he said.
Then he stopped speaking. Vogel guessed this was Jim Fisher, the husband and stepfather. He could see that Fisher had suddenly taken in the expression on his wife’s face, the presence of her tearful ex-husband and two strangers.
‘Oh my God, oh no!’ he said. ‘She isn’t? She can’t be. Tell me she’s not … is she?’
He couldn’t get the words out.
He didn’t need to. Vogel knew what he meant.
‘I am afraid we have found the body of a young woman we fear might be Melanie,’ he said.
Jim Fisher sat down next to his wife. The sofa slumped slightly under his weight.
‘Oh darlin’, I’m so sorry I wasn’t with you last night,’ he said.
‘You didn’t answer your phone, Jim,’ said Sarah Fisher accusatively. ‘You always answer your phone.’
‘Sweetheart, it was the middle of the night when you called, gone two anyway. I’ve been getting these damned junk calls at all hours. I switched my phone off so I could get some sleep. You know the kind of schedule we’re on. I was knackered. Don’t forget I was driving back today anyway, after a day’s work. As soon as I picked up your message this morning, I called you and then I just got in the car. I’m so sorry.’
Sarah Fisher nodded distractedly, Vogel didn’t think any of that mattered to her any more. It might to Vogel, though, and to his investigation.
‘Mr Fisher, at what time this morning did you speak to your wife?’ he asked.
Fisher hesitated. Vogel thought he had the look of a man who was considering whether or not to risk a lie. He knew that look. He had seen it often enough over the years.
‘Uh, about six,’ he said. ‘Maybe a little later.’
Vogel nodded and looked pointedly at his watch. It was still only 9 a.m.
‘And where were you in Kent?’ he asked.
‘Just outside Deal,’ said Jim Fisher. ‘Big construction job. Two hundred houses. Everybody’s gambling on the new, high-speed rail link. I’m lucky to have got hired. Months of work. Good money too. I stay up there through the week, get home every other weekend …’
Fisher’s voice tailed off, as if he realised he was rambling.
Vogel inclined his head and assumed his most thoughtful expression, the one that made him look so much more like an old-fashioned school teacher, than a modern policeman.
‘So you got here in under three hours,’ he remarked mildly. ‘You made very good time then.’
‘Yes, I did.’ Fisher looked and sounded extremely uncomfortable. As well he might, thought Vogel. Both he and Jim Fisher knew damned well it was practically impossible to get from Deal to Bristol in under three hours at the best of times. If Fisher really had left Deal soon after six, he would have hit the southern outskirts of London and the M25 as the morning rush hour was beginning to peak.
Vogel glanced at Sarah Fisher. She was still weeping, quite silently now, consumed by her own dreadful misery. She didn’t seem to have noticed the significance of the exchange between Vogel and her husband, let alone reacted to it.
Vogel saw no reason to add to her distress. Not yet, anyway.
‘Mr Fisher, I wonder if you’d be kind enough to step outside with me,’ he said. ‘I need to ask you some more questions and I think your wife would appreciate a little peace and quiet.’
Vogel moved towards the door which led into the hall. He indicated to Dawn Saslow that she should remain with the bereaved woman and the dead girl’s father, who had finally stopped weeping and was perched awkwardly on a hard chair as far away as possible from the sofa his ex-wife and her current husband were sharing. Wordlessly, Jim Fisher stood up and followed Vogel. Sarah Fisher, even though she had been so eager to have her husband home with her, barely seemed to notice that either.
Once in the hall, Vogel confronted Fisher directly. He didn’t bother to point out the impossibility of the logistics of Fisher’s alleged journey. He was pretty sure from the other man’s uneasy demeanour that he didn’t need to.
‘So where were you last night, Mr Fisher?’ Vogel asked. ‘You sure as heck weren’t anywhere near Deal, were you? That much we both know.’
Fisher avoided the DI’s gaze. He looked down at his feet.
‘I was in Bath,’ he muttered, almost inaudibly.
‘And what were you doing in Bath?’ asked Vogel.
‘I was with a friend,’ replied Fisher, still mumbling.
‘A female friend by any chance?’ Vogel enquired.
Fisher nodded.
‘I’m afraid I need a proper answer from you,’ said Vogel. ‘I need to know exactly where you were last night, with whom and what you were doing. That includes the name of your female friend. And will you please speak up? I want to be quite clear on this.’
‘Her name’s Daisy, Daisy Wilkins,’ said Fisher, glancing anxiously towards the living room door and speaking only a little louder than before. ‘I was, well, I was visiting her. I’m working all hours on this job. I have three days off every other weekend: Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. But sometimes I manage to sneak a Friday off, so I can spend Thursday night with Daisy. Then I come back here Friday evening as usual.’
Fisher paused.
‘Look, Mr Vogel, my wife doesn’t have to know, does she? I mean, you saw the state of her. I can’t believe what’s happened. It’ll destroy her, I know it will. I don’t want her even more hurt.’
‘Perhaps you should have thought of that possibility before you spent the night with Daisy Wilkins,’ murmured Vogel. ‘Now, I assume from what you have said that Ms Wilkins is some sort of regular fixture in your life, even though your wife doesn’t know about her. Is that the case?’
‘Yes, but it’s not what it sounds like, Detective Inspector, honestly it isn’t.’
‘And what exactly does it sound like, Mr Fisher, may I ask?’
‘Well, it sounds sort of sordid, doesn’t it? You know, the usual thing. Man having bit on the side, not telling the missus. But you see, Daisy’s a lot more to me than that. Sarah and me, well, we’ve not been happy for years. We never were really, except in the beginning. I’ve been planning to leave her, to do right by Daisy, but it’s never seemed to be the right time. I thought I’d do it when the kids were a bit older, particularly our Petra, she’s only seven. Sarah, she has trouble with her nerves, you see. God knows what sh
e’s going to be like now …’
Vogel was unimpressed. He’d heard it all before.
‘Mr Fisher, it’s not my job to stand in moral judgment. The rights and wrongs of your behaviour are none of my business. What is my business, is that you were not here with your wife and family last night.You’ve admitted that, at the time we think your stepdaughter died, you were actually not at all far from where her body was found. Therefore, I want to know every detail of your exact whereabouts throughout the night.’ Vogel raised his voice slightly as he spoke.
He was aware of the other man taking a step back, eyes wide open as if in disbelief.
‘My God, you think I killed her, don’t you? That’s it, you think I bloody killed our Mel. I loved that kid like she was my own. I’d never have hurt her. You have to believe me.’ There was shock and fear in Jim Fisher’s voice. He was sweating more than ever and his face had turned vividly red.
Vogel did not reply for several seconds. He wanted Fisher to be fully aware of how serious his situation was.
‘We just want to eliminate you from our inquiries, sir,’ the DI said eventually, keeping his voice level. ‘It would help if you’d come with us to the station to be fingerprinted and have a DNA swab taken.’
‘Are you bloody arresting me?’ Jim Fisher almost screamed the question.
In the sitting room, behind the closed door, Sarah Fisher called out. Her voice quavering.
‘Jim? Jim, are you all right?’
Fisher did not respond. He lowered his head into plump, pink hands and began to rock to and fro on the spot.
Vogel assessed the other man’s reactions. Fisher’s histrionic response to his line of questioning did not influence the detective in any particular direction. Vogel, as ever, began with the assumption that Fisher was innocent and would only allow careful assimilation and evaluation of fact to govern his opinion. That was the basis of British law, was it not? Innocent until proven guilty.
‘No, sir, I am not arresting you,’ Vogel replied in the same level tone. ‘I’m asking for your cooperation in order to find your stepdaughter’s murderer and, if you have told us the truth, to eliminate you from our inquiries. I am asking you to come to the station with me to swiftly facilitate that.’
SAUL
The first reply I had that interested me was from Sonia. I liked the name. It sounded solid and old-fashioned. It even seemed to go rather well with my name. Saul and Sonia, Sonia and Saul, sounded like a couple straight away, I thought.
At once I began to fantasise about the life Sonia and Saul could have together. I’m inclined to do that. I know I should rein myself in, proceed with caution, refrain from dreaming but I can’t help it. I quickly began to believe that Sonia would prove to be the woman I’d been seeking for so long.
I read her reply over and over again.
‘Hi, Saul,’ she wrote. ‘I was a little surprised to spot your entry. Most people are not quite as direct as you. Certainly not in regard to marriage and children. Not even on this website. I like it though. If that’s what you want, why not say it? After all, it could save a great deal of time-wasting for all concerned.
‘I’m a little older than you, so I thought I should make that clear straightaway. I’m 38. I’ve never been married and I’m childless, but I would very much like to have children before it is too late. I am looking for somebody who wants that too and is prepared to be as direct as you have been about it. I no longer have unlimited time. I know women nowadays seem to have children much later in life, but I do feel that my body clock is running out.
‘I am a qualified nurse and I work in a residential care home, not far from where I live in Cheltenham. This was a natural progression for me. I looked after my mother full-time, until her death three years ago. When I was twenty-five she had a stroke which left her helpless. Perhaps it’s unusual nowadays for a daughter to do what I did. Perhaps you think it stupid, I know some people do, but I decided that I would care for her and did so for ten years. I couldn’t get out much, so there’s never really been a man in my life.
‘I am only telling you, so that you can understand why I’ve joined this site and why I would very much like to get to know you better.’
Obviously that was what I wanted too, but I wasn’t at all sure how to go about it. I liked the sound of Sonia, I really did. And if I was serious about marriage, which I really thought I was, in spite of the difficulties which would almost certainly arise, then surely the sooner I met her and her ticking body clock the better.
However, I wasn’t ready to meet her yet. Fortunately, I learned through doing a little research that there was a kind of etiquette on a site like this. It seemed that considerably more email correspondence was called for, before you actually met. This suited me well enough.
So began our internet courtship. Sonia was shy too, which helped me. It was, after all, my shyness which had somewhat conversely driven me to this most extraordinarily open way of getting to know someone.
She sent me pictures of her family. Of herself at work. Of her pet cat.
I decided I would be a cat person too. Well, it was only barely a lie. I’d always liked cats. They were lazy, indolent and fiercely independent. They did exactly what they wanted. They were probably the kind of creature I wished I was. But I was more like a dog. I wagged my tail. I sought approval. Unless I felt threatened or abused, then I’d lash out and attack, just the way dogs do. I had gone out of my way to please those around me. However, unlike most dogs, I wasn’t very successful at that either.
I sent Sonia a picture of a large, black cat I found somewhere on the web and pretended he was mine. I hoped she would forgive me that too. I said his name was Tigger. I’ve come across cats called Tigger before, named after the creature in ‘Winnie-the-Pooh’, I suppose; although I think the original Tigger looked more like a comic book tiger.
I was getting really good at Photoshop. I took a selfie of myself outside Swindon comprehensive, then amended it as I had my original Marryme.com picture, adding the facial hair, changing my hair colour and the shape of my chin.
‘Got lucky this term with six weeks at a school right on my doorstep,’ I told her.
Of course, Swindon comp was nowhere near my doorstep. I’d never taught anywhere, and had no qualifications to do so. But I started collecting stories about teaching from newspapers and off the net, changed them slightly, added a personal slant and sent them to her as anecdotes from my own daily life.
There were good stories, like the pupil I managed to motivate by encouraging him to expand on graffiti he’d scrawled all over the walls of a classroom and he’d turned out to be a natural poet. Then there were bad ones, like the girl I’d felt to be no threat to anyone, who’d suddenly launched herself at a co-pupil using a biro as a dagger. I made myself a bit of a hero, relating how I’d managed to step in before anyone was badly hurt, thus negating the need for calling the police or any other emergency services.
Sonia lapped it all up, expressing her admiration of what she called my ‘selfless courage.’
‘What happened to the girl?’ she asked.
‘She was excluded I’m afraid,’ I told her. ‘What we used to call expelled. A shame, but apparently there’d been other incidents and it was agreed our school wasn’t the place for her. She was obviously seriously disturbed and needed special treatment. I was disappointed by the outcome but couldn’t argue against it.’
Sonia took everything I said absolutely seriously and totally at face value. I found myself fantasising a little. Using more and more poetic licence about myself. Once I realised how much she liked my stories I began to embellish them quite extravagantly, far more than I’d ever intended.
But Sonia never demurred. She never questioned anything.
I knew I was reeling her in most effectively and I liked it. I very quickly became more than a little afraid of losing her.
In spite of my original good intentions to portray myself as honestly as I could, I became desperate to
seem more interesting. I built up a most unlikely scenario, surprising myself with the extent of my own inventiveness. It was as if, once I started making things up, I couldn’t stop.
‘I had an unhappy childhood and as soon as I was old enough I ran away to join the French Foreign Legion,’ I told her. ‘Actually I lied about my age. I was only 15, but either they didn’t know or didn’t care. I turned out to be a rather good soldier. I don’t know why, but I never seemed to have any fear. Once in Algeria, I ran straight into enemy fire to drag a wounded comrade to safety and escaped without a scratch. My comrades said they thought I was blessed by God. They called me Saint Saul.’
It was more than unlikely. It was errant nonsense, but Sonia didn’t seem to find it so.
‘It should have been King Saul, like your biblical namesake,’ she said.
Then she asked: ‘Are you Jewish? It’s an unusual name.’
I said that my grandfather had been Jewish. She took that at face value too.
She eulogised about my every ridiculous exploit, asking few relevant questions, except how I made the quantum leap from my adventurous life in the Legion to becoming a school teacher.
I rambled on about a desperately unhappy love affair ruined by my soldier lifestyle. How I’d decided I needed a new, more settled career, in order to become the family man I so desired to be. And how I’d studied on the net, via the Open University, until finally gaining a place at a teachers’ training college, using the savings acquired during my mercenary career to tide me over until I qualified.
I began to get to know Sonia. Every crazy tale I told her was something I was convinced she would want to hear. And I suppose that was why I eventually told her that I was falling in love with her. Sonia responded with the level of unbridled enthusiasm that I had come to expect.
Deadly Dance Page 4
