The Doll's House

by Tania Carver

  ‘He’s done it before? Tell me. Please.’ Dread in her heart as she asked. But she couldn’t stop herself, she had to know. ‘Please.’

  The reluctance to go further was visible on his face, in his posture. ‘Well… OK. Right.’ He sighed again and, mind made up, continued. ‘He’s done it before. He’s a manipulator.’

  ‘I know. Is that it?’

  ‘No, I mean… more than that. Manipulation, that’s him. That’s his… what he does, what he gets his kicks from, what he gets off on. His life’s work.’

  Maddy said nothing. Her heart was hammering. Fearing what he had to say, but waiting for him to continue.

  ‘It’s not just manipulation, it’s the psychology of manipulation. That’s what he gets off on. The total capitulation, the subjugation of another.’

  The waiter arrived with the main courses. They stopped talking while the dishes were laid out. The food smelled delicious, but Maddy didn’t feel hungry any more.

  ‘And,’ he said, once the waiter had finished up and moved away, ‘I’ve seen him do it.’

  ‘You’ve seen him?’ Her heart hammering even harder. ‘Tell me.’ She was almost shouting in her desperation.

  Again Ben seemed reluctant to speak, but eventually he found the words. ‘OK. See if this sounds right. If it rings a bell. He takes a young girl. A student, usually. This is him, what he loves to do. That girl, she… it’s probably her first time away from home. She might be a bit innocent, naïve, even.’ He saw the look on her face, gave her an apologetic smile. ‘No offence, sorry.’

  She nodded. Said nothing.

  ‘So he’ll take this young girl and…’ He looked round the restaurant, checking for eavesdroppers. Found none. ‘Corrupt her. Wilfully corrupt her.’

  Her heart flipped once more. She felt it was going to flutter away to nothing. She wanted him to continue but didn’t want to hear what he was going to say next. Like poking a wound to make it hurt.

  ‘He starts easy with them. Simply. Flirts a bit, makes them feel special. Like this guy who could have anyone he wants is taking an interest in her. At first she can’t believe it. Me? Why would he be interested in me? But he keeps going. And she starts to realise that yeah, he is interested in her. It is her he wants. And she goes along with him.’ He shrugged. ‘I mean, if someone gave you that kind of attention, why wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Right,’ said Maddy.

  ‘He’ll take them for drinks. Get them drunk, all the while talking about how wonderful they are. And then have sex with them. I’ve even heard that…’ He stopped, shook his head.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know. I can’t say for definite, but… I’ve heard that he might even drug them. Rohypnol or something. Have sex with them while they’re out of it.’

  Maddy’s hand went to her mouth. Last night. Gwilym’s house. The blackout. No…

  57

  D

  C Imani Oliver pulled her coat tight round her body. December was biting hard. Her face was chilled just from getting out of the car; the wind was numbing. And now it was raining. It had started while she and Khan had been driving down to the Southside Quarter and was now hitting so hard it was like a freezing blanket had been thrown over her.

  Khan hadn’t spoken since they left the station. At least not to her, not aloud. His lips had been working and his face twisting, but no sounds had emerged. The steering wheel had taken an occasional hit too. She knew what was wrong with him. She said nothing, letting him work it out in his own head.

  They parked opposite an ornately facaded Chinese restaurant and walked up Hurst Street. Past the queuing clubbers waiting to get into Oceania, their enthusiasm undiminished by the rain, their underdressed bodies internally heated by an evening’s worth of bar-hopped alcohol.

  The City Neighbourhood policing team were round the corner up ahead of them on Queensway, on a Code 99, police jargon for tea break. They were huddled inside a late-night fast-food café, hands wrapped round cups of tea and coffee. The presence of the three of them, uniforms bulked up by hi-vis jackets, kept anyone else out. The Middle Eastern guy behind the counter was polite and tolerant. Imani and Khan joined them, shaking off the rain as they got inside. One of them broke off from the group, turned to them. He was young, white, with short ginger hair and an easy, ready smile. Imani could see immediately that he would be good at community work.

  ‘Lovely, eh?’ he said, his accent broad and Brummie. ‘You’d think it would put people off coming out, all this. No such luck.’

  ‘Well, it is Christmas,’ said Imani, returning his smile. Infectious, she thought. ‘Imani Oliver. DC.’ She stuck out her hand.

  He shook. ‘Mike Pierce. Constable.’

  Khan introduced himself also, in as few syllables as possible. Pierce introduced the other two, Constables Dalton and Craig. Formalities concluded, he turned back to Imani.

  ‘So what’s going on, then? Where’s the fire?’

  Imani produced a stack of photocopies in a clear plastic folder from inside her coat. ‘This mark,’ she said, pointing to a blow-up of the tattoo from the DVD. ‘We’re looking for somebody with this.’

  Mike Pierce studied it. ‘Bit ornate. What is it?’

  ‘A double helix,’ she said. ‘DNA genome.’

  Mike raised his eyebrows. ‘Very highfalutin. Your boss told me it was to do with a murder?’

  ‘We think this tattoo belongs to the murderer,’ said Khan. ‘He killed a…’ he paused, bit back what he had been about to say, ‘a transvestite. We thought someone down Hurst Street might know him or have seen him.’

  ‘Right. Well, it’s possible. We could ask round.’

  ‘That’s what we’re here to do,’ said Imani. ‘Go round the bars, show the picture. What d’you think the general response will be like?’

  ‘Hard to tell. This area’s come a long way as far as we’re concerned, but it’s still pretty closed to uniforms.’ He smiled. ‘Unless, you know, it’s done for a reason.’

  Imani shared his smile. She liked the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners.

  ‘But they’ll want to turn a murderer in,’ said Khan, unsmiling. ‘Even that sort wouldn’t want a killer left on the streets.’

  Imani saw the change in Pierce’s eyes at Khan’s words. The atmosphere became suddenly chilly. ‘Probably,’ he said. ‘That sort are the same as you and me.’

  Khan gave a snort, turned away. Imani looked at Pierce, felt like she should apologise on Khan’s behalf. He didn’t give her the opportunity.

  ‘Right then,’ he said to the other two uniforms, ‘tea break’s over, lads, back on your heads.’

  They binned their cups, set out into the rain.

  Mike Pierce told them which bars to start in, who to talk to. ‘We’ll familiarise ourselves with the design and have a look around out here. You get the cushy job. You’re inside.’

  ‘Come with us,’ she said.

  ‘Maybe later,’ he replied.

  Imani and Khan set off. The rain showed no sign of letting up.

  ‘Should have brought an umbrella,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Khan, ‘then you and the ginger could have stood underneath it together.’

  She turned to him. ‘What?’

  ‘I saw the way you were looking at him. Flirting.’

  ‘I was not…’

  Khan gave another snort, resumed walking. Imani strode along until she had caught up with him.

  ‘Brennan planned all this, you know.’

  ‘What?’ she said.

  ‘This. All this. He planned it. Sending me off down here with you. Punishment. That’s what it is. Punishment. He’s such a prick.’

  She knew that all his silent conversations in the car were tumbling out now. ‘Punishment? For what?’

  ‘We don’t get on,’ said Khan. ‘Not like you two, eh?’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘You and Brennan. I saw you. Everyone saw you. Got your feet under the table with
the new boss, haven’t you? Sucking up to him. Smiling at him. Bet he doesn’t know you’ve been flirting with the ginger.’

  ‘What are you on about? That’s absolute bollocks.’

  ‘No it’s not. I saw it with my own eyes.’

  ‘The new DI seems like a decent bloke. Give him a chance.’

  Khan gave another snort. The subject, apparently, was closed.

  They reached the first bar. Music, light was spilling out on to the street. Imani opened the door. ‘After you,’ she said.

  Khan, looking like he wanted to hit her, entered.

  58

  B

  en took a sip of his drink. Maddy watched him, thinking about what Gwilym might have done to her while she was unconscious.

  ‘Like I said,’ Ben continued, ‘I don’t know for definite, but I’ve heard rumours. Lots of them. I’ve seen him do worse than that, though. As soon as you told me what had happened, about the…’

  ‘Abortion.’ Her voice small, fragile.

  ‘Right. I knew. I knew it was him up to his old tricks again. He gets the girl pregnant. Forces her to have unprotected sex with him, knowing what’s going to happen. Then, when she’s pregnant, forces her to have an abortion. Manipulation, see? Controlling not just her mind but her body. And her dead baby’s body.’

  ‘And then… and then…’ Maddy felt tears welling up inside her.

  ‘That’s not all, though. There was a girl I knew. Friend of mine at uni. Nice girl. Really nice. Lovely.’ Ben sighed, trailed off, his eyes taking on a sad cast.

  Maddy waited. Eventually he came back to the room, back to her, continued.

  ‘This girl.’ He sighed. ‘She was lovely until Gwilym got hold of her. She had to leave uni in the end.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Started off like I said. Who, me? He likes me?… all that. The drink, the sex, the drugs. Oh yeah, the drugs… He got her hooked on heroin. Proper full-blown junkie.’

  ‘But… why?’

  ‘Because he could. Because he wanted to. He takes innocent girls and corrupts them. For fun.’ He looked straight at Maddy, eyes full of honesty.

  Maddy tried hard not to let the tears fall.

  Ben reached across, took her hands. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry…’

  She shook her head. Wiped her eyes with the napkin. ‘Sorry…’

  ‘Don’t be. It’s my fault for mentioning him. I shouldn’t have.’

  ‘No, no, you should. I’ve got to… got to face it.’

  Ben nodded, sat there. His turn to say nothing, to wait.

  ‘So… when this girl, these girls… when he’s done this, then what?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Ben. ‘He drops them. Lets them go. Moves on to the next one. Cut adrift.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ve ruined the evening.’

  ‘No, it’s…’ Maddy felt something hardening inside her. Crystallising. Her sadness, her fear turning to cold, bright anger. ‘What about the university?’ she said, her voice shriller and more abrupt than she had intended. ‘Don’t they do anything? Don’t they know?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure they know.’

  ‘Well? Why don’t they do something?’

  ‘You mentioned Jimmy Savile before. Why didn’t anyone do anything about him? People knew what was going on, what he was like. But they did nothing. Why? For the same reason the university do nothing about Gwilym. He’s a cash cow, a money-spinner. A prized asset. What’s a few unhappy students compared to the good he does for them?’

  Maddy said nothing. Shaking inside. With what, she could no longer tell.

  ‘He was ready to drop you, Maddy. Cast you adrift.’ Ben smiled, gripped her hands harder. ‘You met me at just the right time, didn’t you?’

  ‘How do you… how do you know all this? About Gwilym?’

  Ben sighed, took his hands away. At first Maddy thought she had upset him, gone somewhere he was unwilling to follow, but she soon realised she had misjudged him. He was rolling up his sleeve.

  ‘The girl I told you about, the one Gwilym got hooked on heroin,’ he said. ‘She was my…’ He sighed again. ‘We used to be close.’

  ‘Where… where is she now?’

  He couldn’t meet her eyes, looked down at the cooling food. ‘She’s… gone. Dead.’ The last word whispered.

  ‘Oh God. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…’

  He shook his head. ‘Don’t be. It’s not your fault.’ He pointed to her wrist. ‘You’re not the only one. Gwilym’s victims take different forms.’

  He rolled his sleeve right the way back, showed her his inner forearm. The scar was still vivid. Red and ridged.

  ‘What… you tried to…’

  He nodded, rolled his sleeve back down, looking round once more to see if he had attracted attention. He hadn’t. ‘Like I said, his victims take different forms.’

  She said nothing. Just stared ahead, eyes glazed.

  ‘The question is,’ said Ben, ‘what d’you want to do about it?’

  Her eyes came back into focus. ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Well, it looks like we met just in time.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Revenge,’ he said.

  ‘Revenge?’ she echoed.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Don’t you think it’s time Hugo Gwilym got his comeuppance? A taste of his own medicine? Don’t you think it’s time for payback?’

  ‘Well…’

  Ben leaned in closer. ‘Don’t you think he should suffer for what he’s done? Really suffer? Not just for what he’s done to you or…’ His eyes darted to his scarred forearm. ‘But for all the other girls. All the ones who came before you. The ones who’ll come afterwards.’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t see how we can do anything… We can’t do anything.’

  ‘We can,’ he said. ‘And we will. We have to. If we don’t, we’ll be letting him get away with it. We’ll be no worse than those bastards in the university who sit and do nothing, knowing exactly what he’s about.’

  Maddy thought. She realised that her answer could be the most important thing she had ever said.

  ‘Yes,’ she said eventually. ‘Yes, you’re right, we have to do something. We have to stop him. Yes. But how?’

  Ben smiled. ‘That’s the spirit,’ he said. Then he looked at the cooling food before them. ‘Hey, you’d better eat up. You’ll need your strength for what we’ve got to do.’

  Maddy did as she was told. The food was delicious. As she ate, she suddenly realised that her appetite had returned.

  With a vengeance.

  59

  T

  he Arcadian made the black woman as police as soon as she entered the bar. The young Asian behind her was a copper also. He looked again at the Asian. He was terrified. He smiled to himself. Wanted to go up to the young copper, whisper in his ear, ‘The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference. If you hate something, and fear it, it’s because you’re secretly scared that you might love it.’ But decided against it. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

  He watched as they went up to the bar. Talked to the Irish barman. Showed him something.

  The Arcadian got up from his seat, made his way nearer to the bar, tried surreptitiously to see what was on the paper. He only caught a glimpse of it, but knew straight away what it was.

  The helix.

  Shit. I’ve got to get out of here.

  He turned away from the two coppers. Tried to make his way as quickly and unobtrusively as possible across the bar. He almost reached the door.

  ‘What’s your hurry?’

  The Arcadian stopped, turned. A tall, bearded bear of a man was in his way. Smiling.

  ‘Off to a better party?’

  The Arcadian looked back at the bar. The police were still talking.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Well, maybe.’ He smiled.

  ‘Maybe we could go and find one together,’ the be
ar said.

  The Arcadian looked back at the bar. The police had finished talking now and were making their way to the front door. Towards him.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, pressing himself up against the bear. ‘Let’s.’

  They left the bar seconds before the police officers did.

  ‘What’s your name?’ said the bear.

  The Arcadian, he was about to say, but stopped himself. ‘Are names important?’ he said instead.

  The bear shrugged. ‘Suppose not. Got anywhere in mind?’

  He turned, saw that the two officers were walking away from them.

  ‘This way,’ he said, heading in the opposite direction. The bear smiled, walked with him.

  60

  T

  he first thing that hit Imani was the heat. After the cold and the rain of the night outside, she felt like she was steam-drying.

  The music was deafening. The bar was rammed. Men crowded all around her, trying to hold conversations over the noise, buy drinks. Apart from her, there were no women in the place. The smell of aftershave, all mixtures, blends and price ranges, along with the alcohol, was pummelling her senses. That and the acrid chemical tang of something else that she couldn’t immediately place. Poppers.

  She noticed Khan had got inside the door and frozen. He stood, eyes wide, as if this was somehow his first adult experience. She felt a momentary pang of sympathy for him. But only momentary. It soon went.

  ‘Let’s go to the bar,’ she shouted, and made her way there. He followed her. ‘And let me do the talking.’

  She was aware of eyes on her the whole time. Not a pleasant scrutiny. As the only woman in the place she would have expected that. But if she had been identified as a copper, that was doubly the case.

  She reached the bar. Asked for Brendan. A short, stocky, middle-aged bald man came over to her.

  ‘I’m Brendan,’ he said. ‘And what can I do to aid our boys and girls in blue?’ His Irish accent was soft, tempered by years of living in Birmingham.