by Tania Carver
‘What have you found, Elli?’ asked Cotter.
She glanced round, her eyes gleaming with the kind of triumph only geeks knew, Phil thought. Then she turned back to what was before her. Glenn McGowan’s laptop was open, the screen glowing, columns of incomprehensible letters and numbers scrolling down before them.
‘It wasn’t easy,’ said Elli. ‘Password-protected, firewall, the lot. With that level of security I was worried that he might have left a few spikes or booby traps in place. You know, to wipe the hard drive if you didn’t give the correct command. Luckily, he hadn’t. Still, he was good. Very good. But…’ She put her hands together, pushed them out from her body, flexed her fingers back until they cracked. She smiled. ‘I’m better.’
She put her hands on the keys and the screen changed to something more recognisable. A desktop, files stacked down the left-hand side, wallpaper in place. Phil studied it.
‘Marilyn Monroe,’ he said.
A photo montage of the dead Hollywood star took up the entire screen. Smiling, laughing, pouting. Looking gorgeous.
‘Girl of his dreams,’ said Sperring.
‘Or the girl he dreamed of being,’ said Phil.
‘I’ve had a look around,’ said Elli. ‘I thought he might have hidden some stuff away. But he hasn’t. It’s all here. All you could want, and more.’
‘Let’s see, then,’ said Phil.
Her fingers moved quickly over the keys once more. ‘There’s work stuff on here, files, documents. Routine stuff. Boring stuff. But…’ She pressed more buttons, waited for another file to appear. It was marked AMANDA. ‘Here,’ she said.
‘Amanda?’ said Khan. ‘His name was Glenn. Why didn’t he call himself Glenda?’
‘Think about it,’ said Phil. ‘Would you want to be called Glenda?’
Khan sank back into silence.
Elli clicked the file open. Thumbnails of photos filled the screen. She clicked on the first one, set up a slideshow. They showed a tall, awkward person dressed as a woman. Wearing a sleeveless summer dress, arms hairy and tanned up to his T-shirt line, unsure what to do with his limbs, what position to put them in, the posture of a long-distance lorry driver in drag. Heavy, inexpertly applied make-up, unconvincing wig. And the eyes: staring into the camera like a rabbit in the headlights. Almost paralysed with fear.
‘This looks like our man,’ said Sperring.
‘It is,’ said Elli. ‘Keep watching, they tell a story.’
The first few photos were all the same. A man they took to be Glenn McGowan dressed in women’s clothes, posing uncomfortably for the camera. The next section showed him draped over a bed in a black basque, suspenders and stockings, trying to look alluring.
‘Don’t fancy yours much,’ said Khan, sniggering.
A couple of other officers joined in. Phil didn’t.
‘I’ve clicked through all this,’ said Elli. ‘He’s put some of the best ones on his Flickr account. But I think it’s worth going through them all to follow his progress.’
Glenn McGowan was beginning to display more confidence in his female persona and the photos reflected this. His make-up improved, became subtle, more feminine. More doll-like, Phil thought. He also sported a selection of wigs, different colours and lengths depending on the clothes he was wearing and the mood the photos were trying to convey. Patterns emerged: short blonde wigs and brightly coloured dresses for sunny housewife-type shots, usually taken in kitchens or gardens; long dark wigs, low-level lighting and full silk underwear for sultry boudoir bedroom ones. Short dark wigs and tight-skirted business suits for office photos. Long blonde wigs and sequinned dresses for party-girl shots that, judging by the similarly made-up and dressed people in the photos, had been taken at transvestite bars and nightclubs. Again, Phil was drawn to the eyes. There was none of the earlier fear or reticence in them now. Glenn – or Amanda – was full of confidence and what seemed like the joy of living. Or the joy of living as a woman, thought Phil.
‘Looks happy enough,’ said Sperring, echoing his thoughts.
‘He does,’ said Phil. ‘But I wonder what he felt like when he had to take the party dress off and go back to being boring old Glenn?’
‘You sound like you want to give it a try,’ said Khan, sniggering once more.
Phil stared at him. Khan quickly broke eye contact, looked away. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he mumbled. Phil turned his attention back to the photos.
‘Here we go,’ said Elli, laughing. ‘Brace yourself, boys…’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ said Sperring, eyes on the screen, unable to hide his displeasure.
‘Language, Ian,’ said Cotter.
‘Sorry, ma’am.’
From the tone of his voice, Phil doubted he was.
The next set of photos showed Amanda enjoying the intimate company of other transvestites. They had neither the carefully staged quality of the earlier pictures nor the sense of fun and abandon from the party shots. What they did have was an intense carnal quality. Amanda, head back, eyes closed, looked like she/he was lost in the moment. Borne away by pleasure.
‘Disgusting,’ said Khan, looking round at his fellow officers for support for his views. ‘I mean, ’snot right, is it? Doing that. It’s just…’ He looked again at the photos. ‘God… shouldn’t be allowed to do that. Disgusting…’
‘You know, they do say,’ said Phil, still studying the screen, ‘that those who are most violently opposed to something are the ones who secretly wish they could do it.’
It took a few seconds for Khan to realise what he had said. The laughter of fellow officers told him. He turned to face Phil, anger on his face.
Phil stared at him. Khan backed down, reluctantly returned to looking at the pictures.
‘Are there any more?’ asked Phil.
‘A few,’ said Elli. ‘Things take an interesting turn next. Those were just the warm-up shots. Hope you’ve got strong stomachs…’
The setting for the photos changed. The backgrounds became stark, more industrial. Dungeon-like. Amanda was now dressed in bondage gear. Apart from one obvious physical characteristic, Phil noticed, she was looking more feminine than ever. There seemed to be no trace of Glenn McGowan whatsoever. From the positions she was in and what was being done to her, she was totally submissive.
The first few pictures showed some fairly innocuous mild S&M activity as Amanda was tied up, spanked.
‘Fifty Shades of Grey’s got a lot to answer for,’ said Sperring.
The images soon intensified. Amanda – apparently willingly – was depicted undergoing torture. Nipples and upper body first, then legs. Then they became worse, when they reached her anus.
‘Oh Jesus,’ said Sperring, turning away. ‘Broken bottles? How can he…? Jesus…’
Phil felt like joining him, but forced himself to keep watching. He soon wished he hadn’t. Amanda’s penis was shown being tortured in varying degrees of pain. Nettles first, then barbed wire, then even razor blades.
‘I think we’ve seen enough,’ said Cotter. ‘Turn it off, Elli.’
She did so. They all turned away from the screen. No one spoke.
‘Thoughts?’ asked Cotter.
‘He must have really come to hate himself,’ said Phil. ‘Or at least hated the male part of him.’
‘I think that was quite evident from those last few photos,’ said Cotter.
‘Like he was daring himself to cut his own penis off,’ said Phil.
‘Please,’ said Sperring, disgust in his voice. ‘Do you have to?’
‘You think these are bad,’ said Elli, grimacing, ‘wait till you see the DVDs.’
21
M
arina was speechless. So many emotions rushed around inside her. She felt numb.
‘No…’ she managed to say, ‘no, I’m not.’
Again that smug smile. ‘Oh, I think you are.’
Marina made to stand up. Her legs wouldn’t support her. She slumped back down in her seat. ‘I’m not… not go
ing to do anything. I can’t even remember what happened.’
‘You were well out of it.’
‘So you took advantage of me.’ Her voice hardened, anger behind it.
‘Hardly. I couldn’t stop you. What winks and fucks like a tiger?’
She looked directly at him, confused. ‘What?’
He repeated the question.
‘I… don’t know.’
He winked at her. Then laughed. Marina felt her face reddening. Burning, in fact.
‘That’s what you said to me last night. In the taxi. Then your hands were all over me. So I hardly took advantage of you. In fact it took nearly all of my strength to hold you off until we got back to mine.’
Marina sat there, stunned. ‘I don’t believe you. You’re lying.’
He sat back. ‘I thought you’d say that. So I brought along a little bit of proof.’ He reached into his jacket pocket, took something out, laid it on the table between them.
With horror, she realised it was a pair of her panties. The ones she had worn last night. She quickly grabbed them, stuffed them into her bag.
The waitress chose that moment to arrive with their food and drinks. Marina knew she was being scrutinised and felt doubly ashamed and embarrassed.
‘You said I could keep them,’ Gwilym said with a blithe wave of his hand as the waitress set down plates, ‘but I’m not into all that. Trophies and stuff.’
The waitress hurried away, her expression saying she couldn’t wait to tell her colleagues about what she had just seen. Gwilym looked at Marina’s plate. ‘Tuck in.’
She sat staring into nothingness while he ate and drank heartily.
‘Oh, meant to say,’ Gwilym said between mouthfuls, ‘thanks for the conversation about my book last night. Really appreciate your comments.’
Marina said nothing.
‘That was something else I wanted to talk to you about. As one professional to another. You’ve taken a contrary stance to me on my theories, obviously; you made that clear last night. But I meant what I said. I really do want to talk to you about your… experiences. What you’ve been through, the things you’ve faced. I think we could have a lot in common.’
‘Really.’
‘Yeah.’ He began gesturing, warming to his theme now, his food forgotten. ‘I mean, some of the things I discovered when I was researching the new book you would not believe. The lengths people will go to. You remember what I said last night? About voluntary euthanasia?’ He didn’t wait for her to reply. ‘You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff I’ve turned up.’
‘Wouldn’t I.’ Marina just wanted to get up and leave. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She felt that if she did, something even worse would come out of Gwilym’s mouth.
‘Doubt it. Even you, chasing your serial killers and the like. There’s almost a cult of death out there. People wanting to die, encouraging their own death, wanting to participate willingly in it. They go looking for their murderers, invite them in to their lives. Invite them to kill them.’ He laughed. ‘Isn’t that incredible? And of course that throws up the most fantastic moral dilemmas. Is it really murder? Or only assisted suicide?’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sure you would be interested in that.’
Yes, she thought, I would be interested in that. If you hadn’t just told me I’d slept with you and not remembered it. She said nothing.
‘We’ll talk about it at length.’ He wiped his mouth with his napkin, reached a hand across the table for hers. She recoiled from his touch. He smiled, like it was all part of a game. ‘We will.’
‘No,’ said Marina, finding her voice. ‘We won’t.’
‘We will.’ His voice quiet but insistent.
She managed to stand up. Her coffee cup wobbled in its saucer, spilling undrunk coffee over the table. ‘We won’t. Because this is the last time I’m going to talk to you.’
‘I don’t think so.’
She grabbed her bag, fumbled, dropped it. Bent down to pick it up.
‘Sit down.’
‘No. I’m going.’
‘Sit down.’ His voice was stronger this time, more authoritative. She looked at him. His green eyes were shot through with a hard, steely cast. There was power behind them. Power that could inspire fear.
She sat down.
‘That’s better. We are going to see each other again. Because I want you to help me with my work. And also…’ His hand snaked across the table once more. It found the back of hers, began stroking. Too tired to fight, she made no attempt to remove it this time. He gave a victorious smile. ‘Also, I want to get to know you better. Much better…’
‘There you are. I… I knew you’d be here.’
Gwilym quickly withdrew his hand. Marina, startled as if out of a trance by the voice, looked up. A woman stood there, early twenties. She would have been pretty if her face wasn’t red and puffy from crying and her hair had been washed. She looked distraught, teetering on the brink of a breakdown. She was holding one bandaged wrist with her other hand.
Gwilym spoke. ‘Maddy. What are you doing here?’ He looked at Marina. ‘One of my students.’
‘I’m… I’m…’ She looked between Gwilym and Marina, obviously wanting to say something but not wanting to do so in front of a stranger.
‘It’s all right,’ said Gwilym, indicating Marina. ‘She’s a friend.’
Maddy, clearly distressed, nodded. ‘I’m… bleeding… still…’
A look of concern came over Gwilym’s face. ‘Oh dear. Are you… are you OK?’
She shook her head, hand to her face, attempting to stop the next bout of tears.
He stood up. ‘I think I’d…’ He gestured to Maddy, looked at Marina. His voice dropped. ‘She’s been in a bad way. She needs… a lot of help.’ A lascivious smile crept on to his features. ‘I’ll call you.’
‘No,’ said Marina. ‘You won’t.’
He moved in close to her, angled his body away from Maddy so she couldn’t see his face, hear his words. They were for Marina alone. ‘I will. And you’ll answer. And you’ll come and see me when I call. Because if not…’
‘What?’
‘Well, I doubt that your PC Plod hubby would want the world to know what a little slut wifey is…’
He turned back to Maddy, a kind, solicitous expression in place once more.
Marina turned and almost ran from the café.
22
‘D
VDs?’ asked Phil. He spoke with all the enthusiasm of a man contemplating root canal work. ‘Do we have to?’
‘I’ve had to suffer, I don’t see why the rest of you shouldn’t,’ said Elli.
‘Are they… are they like that?’ Sperring could barely look at the screen.
‘I just looked at a few of them,’ she said. ‘Pretty similar.’
‘We’d better go through them,’ said DCI Cotter. ‘Or someone should. Let’s work this in shifts.’
‘I think we should pay a visit to Glenn McGowan’s wife,’ said Phil. He was aware of Sperring’s instant, and not at all pleasant, attention. He turned to him. ‘Coming with me?’
‘D’you need to do that now?’ asked Cotter.
‘The photos show pretty conclusively that Glenn McGowan’s our victim. We’ll have to get his wife to do a formal identification. But I’d also like to have a talk with her first. See if she can throw some light on their relationship, what led to him leaving home, setting up here. See if there’s anything she can tell us.’
‘Right. We’ll get a car to bring her in.’
‘I think it might be better if Ian and I go,’ said Phil. ‘Talk to her where she feels comfortable, before the circus starts up around her.’
Cotter nodded. ‘Good idea. Off you go. I’ll get a family liaison officer down there first. Prepare the way for you.’
‘Appreciate it. Thanks.’ He turned to DC Khan. ‘Nadish, can you get started on the DVDs? Thanks.’ Then back to Sperring. ‘Come on.’
Sperring followed Phil out. Kh
an staring after them, looking less than happy.
‘Thought you were just trying to get out of looking at the DVDs,’ said Sperring as Phil drove down the M6, Warren Zevon issuing lightly from the speakers, singing about how life’ll kill ya, following the sat nav to the address they had been given for Julie McGowan.
‘Yeah,’ said Phil, ‘doing a death message. Always the easy option.’
‘Wonder if they shared frocks?’ Sperring laughed as he spoke. ‘Maybe he looked better in them than she did. That’s why she threw him out.’ More laughter.
Phil didn’t reply. Sperring stared at him, then turned away, gazing out of the window, lips curled like he had something bitter in his mouth.
‘Look, Ian,’ said Phil, not taking his eyes off the road, ‘I know you have a problem with me. D’you want to get it aired, here and now, when there’s just the two of us? Just so we can get on with things.’
Sperring said nothing.
‘So what’s the problem?’
Sperring gnawed his lower lip, deciding whether to answer or not. And if so, how much truth to put behind it. Phil kept at it.
‘You don’t like having me as a boss, do you?’
‘You want me to be honest, sir? No. I don’t.’
‘Right. Any particular reason? Something I’ve done?’
More lip-chewing, then, ‘You shouldn’t have been brought in in the first place. A spare DI position should have been filled from within the team.’
‘And you think you should have got it?’
‘Why not? I’ve put in the years, I’ve given good service. I put in for it but they gave it to you.’
‘And that’s why you don’t like me.’
‘One of the reasons, yeah.’
Phil found he was gripping the wheel tighter than he needed to. He also noticed his speed was creeping up. ‘Any others?’
‘We don’t trust you.’
‘We?’
‘The lads in the team. You’re… not like one of us.’
‘You mean I’m not some unimaginative Daily Mail-reading, misogynistic, homophobic twat?’
Sperring didn’t answer.
‘Well get this straight, Ian. We might not see eye to eye on things. You might not like me. You might think I’m a Guardian-reading liberal. I don’t care. But we’re on the same team. My team. And we’ve got to work together. Understand?’
