by Max Manning
Tightening the material around the hacker’s fat neck, he forced his head down slowly until one side of his face was pressed against the cold stone. His eyes were closed tight, his face contorted in pain. Blake could feel him trembling. He bent forward, placing his mouth close to Mouseman’s ear.
‘You’re going to do this thing for me because it’s the right thing to do. You’re going to do it and when you’ve done it I’m going to give you five hundred pounds. You’re going to be happy with the fee and overjoyed that you’ve helped your fellow human beings. Is that clear?’
Mouseman opened his eyes and Blake relaxed his grip a fraction to allow him to nod. ‘Good. That’s the right answer. I knew you’d see it my way in the end. Like I said before, this is important. Important to me. Life and death. Do you understand, life and death?’
Mouseman nodded again. A tiny clear droplet slid from his left eye socket, over his nose and dripped on to the bench. Blake wasn’t sure if it was sweat or a tear.
45
‘So, tell me why this was so urgent,’ Belinda Vale asked. She sat directly opposite Blake, her legs together at the knees and crossed neatly at the ankles. Her hands rested on her lap, clutching an unopened notebook.
Blake avoided the question. He looked around the consulting room as if seeing it for the first time. ‘This place must cost a fortune to rent. No wonder your fees are extortionate.’
The psychologist resisted the temptation to smile. Always best to keep things professional. She said nothing, but tilted her head, inviting Blake to keep talking.
‘Thanks for fitting me in at such short notice.’
Vale accepted the thank you with a nod and tried again. ‘Why did you need to see me so desperately?’
‘Because I’m worried. No, not worried, scared.’
‘About what? I thought you’d been feeling better.’
Blake squirmed in his seat, lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I was. I am. But stuff I’d locked away. It’s running loose now.’
Vale opened the notebook and started writing. Blake leant forward. He was curious to know what he’d said that was so interesting, but he was too far away to read it. She closed the book, lifted the pen to her mouth and tapped her bottom lip.
‘Letting all these emotions out is the first step to getting back to how you were before you were traumatised.’
Blake shook his head, hard. ‘These feelings aren’t good and they’re not going away. They keep going around in my head, getting stronger and stronger.’
‘What sort of feelings?’
‘You tell me, you’re the psychologist.’
‘Anger would be natural. The suppression of anger is bad.’
Blake gave a humourless laugh. ‘Anger’s natural? What about rage? All-consuming, blinding rage?’
Vale suspected there was more going on than the simple release of pent-up emotions. ‘I guess you’ve been following the news,’ she said. ‘The murders.’
‘It’d be hard to miss.’
Blake did his best to keep the tone of his voice casual, but he wasn’t fooling anybody.
‘It’s not a good idea to project your feelings about Iraq on to something else.’
Blake stared blankly into space, his jaw muscles twitching. ‘I know what evil looks like,’ he said.
Vale resisted the urge to argue. She started scribbling in her notebook again, but only because she needed time to think. Mixing her therapeutic work with her criminal profiling wouldn’t be a good idea, but they were drifting together and she felt powerless to stop them colliding.
‘The nature of evil, and whether it exists or not, is a complex debate. Let’s not go there. What I am concerned about is the effect this killer is having on you. I know it’s hard, but I suggest you avoid the news coverage of the investigation as much as possible and focus on accepting what happened to you in Iraq.’
Blake rubbed the back of his neck again. ‘This is like going to see a doctor, right? Or going to a priest and confessing?’
‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
‘Well, I can be sure that anything I say here is confidential, right? You can’t repeat it to anyone. The police, or anyone?’
Vale stiffened in her seat. ‘You’re worrying me now,’ she said. ‘If you tell me anything that I feel poses a real threat to another person then confidentiality goes out of the window.’
Blake shook his head and smiled. ‘It’s nothing like that. I simply want to know exactly where we stand on what gets said here. It’s not easy telling a stranger your secrets. These murders are resurrecting emotions I thought were dead and buried.’
Vale wondered whether she should admit to being the profiler on the murder hunt, but decided it would serve no purpose other than complicate the relationship between patient and therapist. ‘That is bound to be the case and it’s why you should avoid any temptation to view the images of the victims posted on social media.’
Blake winced at the mention of the photographs. ‘I think about Lauren, how I let her down, all the time.’
Vale lifted her pen, but decided against making a note. The issues surrounding Blake’s therapy and her profiling were starting to get inextricably tangled.
‘Let’s get back to this anger you talked about. I’m concerned that you may be linking the murders to what happened to your friend in Iraq,’ she said.
Blake shrugged, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘This isn’t about Iraq. That’s done with. This is about Lauren.’
Vale lifted her pen again and this time scribbled a short note. The session wasn’t going the way she expected. ‘You’re angry with Lauren?’
Blake didn’t answer. Vale tried again. ‘With yourself?’
Blake stayed silent, but looked away.
‘Guilt can manifest itself as anger.’
‘I didn’t love her enough. Not properly. I couldn’t.’
Vale nodded. ‘PTSD can do that to a person. Emotional detachment.’
‘But I didn’t want to be detached. I needed her. She was a kind, beautiful, loving person. I couldn’t give her what she wanted and she left. Now she’s dead.’
‘Do you feel responsible for her death?’
Blake turned back to face Vale and shrugged. ‘I feel guilty about not being able to love her in the way she deserved. I was too damaged to love anyone, then.’
Vale usually distrusted intuition as a therapy tool, but she had a strong feeling that there was another dimension to this guilt. ‘Is there someone else you have feelings for?’ Blake didn’t answer. He stared back at her, his silence saying more than words.
Vale closed her notebook. ‘I know you might not think it, but you are making progress. The fact that you understand what happened between you and Lauren and are able to talk about it suggests you are ready to free up your emotions, give yourself permission to feel.’
Blake shook his head. ‘The only thing I want right now is to see the monster who murdered Lauren locked up with no hope of getting out. I’m worried that if the police don’t get their act together soon the evil bastard will go to ground.’
Vale wanted to steer Blake back to his anger issues, but couldn’t help being drawn in. ‘That’s not going to happen.’
Blake swivelled slightly in his seat, and gave the psychologist a sideways look. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You’ll know something about the mind of a killer. At least your certainty about him killing again suggests you do.’
‘We shouldn’t be discussing this,’ Vale said, ‘but this killer won’t be able to stop even if he wants to. His social media following is growing and that acclaim will drive him on. He loves the attention. He won’t be able to give that up. He’s in the grip of an addiction.’
‘Shit,’ Blake said. ‘Where did that come from?’
Vale gave him a sheepish smile. ‘Sorry about that. I got a bit carried away. But, believe me, I, Killer will murder again and soon. It’s as inevitable as death.’
46
; Fenton knocked softly on his daughter’s bedroom door and popped his head in the room.
Tess was sitting on her bed propped up between two enormous fluffy pillows, her favourite book on her lap. She tore her eyes away from the page, an expression of mild irritation on her face.
Fenton gave her a thumbs-up sign. ‘Dinner’s ready,’ he said. ‘Your favourite.’
Tess wrinkled her nose and gave him a curious look. ‘You don’t know what my favourite is.’
Fenton feigned a hurt expression. ‘I bet I do. Come see.’
Tess slid off the bed, carefully placed the book on her dressing table and followed him to the kitchen. On the pine table were two pizza delivery boxes.
Fenton smiled to himself as Tess jumped on to her chair, her eyes shining in anticipation. ‘When I called the order in I asked them to cut yours into slices so you can use your fingers.’
Tess pulled back the lid. ‘Extra cheese and pepperoni,’ she squealed. She picked up a wedge and took a bite as Fenton sat down opposite her and attacked his pizza with a knife and fork. After devouring half, Tess put her slice down and eyed her dad suspiciously.
‘You don’t like people eating with their fingers,’ she said. ‘What’s going on?’
Fenton tried to smile, but the chunk of dough and cheese in his mouth made it impossible. He swallowed it quickly. ‘I thought you deserved a treat, that’s all.’
Her response was not what he’d expected. She shoved her plate away and sat back with a frown. ‘I don’t want another nanny,’ she said. ‘I don’t need one. I’m not a baby.’
Fenton put his knife and fork down. ‘It’s nothing to do with that,’ he said. ‘Come on, eat up. I’m expecting a visitor in half an hour so I want to tidy up.’
Tess’s frown deepened. She crossed her arms across her chest and her bottom lip quivered. ‘It’s a new nanny, isn’t it?’
Fenton shook his head. ‘I promise. It’s work.’
Reassured, Tess turned her attention back to devouring her pizza. She managed four slices before reluctantly admitting defeat and retreating to her bedroom. Fenton cleared the table, wrapped the leftovers in tin foil and put them in the fridge.
The sound of the doorbell startled him. He scanned the flat and realised he hadn’t got round to tidying. A pile of washed clothes sat heaped in a plastic basket on the kitchen floor waiting to be folded and put away. Scooping them up, he stuffed them back in the tumble dryer.
He hurried downstairs and opened the door. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ Leah said with a smile and stepped inside. She was dressed casually, but smartly, in tailored trousers and a sweater.
Fenton decided against offering his hand to shake, or leaning in for an exchange of continental kissing. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, stepping to one side to give her space to pass. Before following her, he glanced at the two uniforms on guard duty. Both men acknowledged him with a nod.
Upstairs Fenton gestured for Leah to make herself comfortable on the sofa and asked if she wanted a coffee. Leah shook her head. ‘I’m fine, thanks. You said you had a few questions about Lauren?’
Fenton sat in an armchair opposite her, happy that she was eager to get straight down to business. ‘If I’m going to be any use to Blake, I thought it’d be handy to fill in a few gaps. As you know, it seems your sister walked across the park with her killer. I was wondering whether that suggests she’d met him before. Was she particularly cautious about that sort of thing?’
Leah took a moment to think. ‘Lauren was a free spirit. Very open, very friendly. If someone had spoken to her, passed the time of day with her, she would have responded in a friendly manner and not thought twice about walking with them, if they happened to be going the same way. Not in a public place like Victoria Park. Having said that, she wasn’t stupid, or reckless. If she had felt there was anything dodgy going on she would have been careful. She was pretty good at reading people and sizing up situations.’
‘Did your sister ever mention anything about being watched or followed in the weeks before her murder?’
Leah frowned. ‘She never said anything to me. What are you suggesting? I thought it was simply a case of her being in the wrong place at the wrong time?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything. I’m exploring possibilities. People who do what this killer is doing are usually Grade A psychopaths. More often than not, they carefully select their victims, usually for a reason that exists only in their twisted minds, and stalk them for days, even weeks. In some cases, they make a point of getting to know their victims socially. They almost all have an uncanny ability to put people at ease. If you get to meet them several times, and you know what to look for, you can often pick up that there’s something off about them. Something not quite right.’
Leah’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back. ‘Could I have some water, please?’
Fenton darted into the kitchen and returned with a tumbler he’d filled to the top. He handed it to Leah and she took a small sip.
‘I know talking about this can’t be easy for you.’
Leah took another drink and sighed. ‘Lauren and I had a difficult relationship. In some ways, I think we were too alike and in others so different. Our parents died in a car crash in France seven years ago. After that we drifted apart. We only started to get close again after she left Blake.’
Fenton hadn’t expected Leah to bare her soul and was at a loss at how to respond. He played safe and nodded sagely at her. She took the hint and changed the subject. ‘I thought maybe I’d get to meet your daughter tonight. It must have been horrible for her, and you, of course, you know, what happened to her nanny.’
‘Tess is in her room. You know what eleven-year-old girls are like. Last time I checked, she was reading.’
‘That’s pretty impressive.’ Leah said. ‘I’d expect most children of her age to be glued to their computer screens or smart phones.’
Fenton leant back in the chair and felt his body relax. Leah was easy to talk to. ‘You know, Marta was the first nanny Tess liked. The fifth since her mother died. She gave the others such a hard time. I think she felt they were employed to replace her mum and wasn’t having any of it.’
‘What was your wife’s name?’
‘Josephine. I called her Josie.’
‘She got sick?’
‘Cancer. Once we had the diagnosis it took her quickly.’
‘That’s so sad. I’m sorry.’
Fenton smiled ruefully. This was the last thing he had expected to talk about. For the past year and a half, he’d had to be strong. For Tess. He’d done it by trying his best to pretend it had never happened. Saying the words out loud, for the first time in a long time, felt less traumatic than he’d expected. ‘Coffee?’ he asked. ‘Or I could open some wine?’
‘Coffee would be good.’
Leah followed him into the kitchen and sat at the table. Neither of them spoke while Fenton made the drinks, but it was a comfortable silence. As he handed Leah her coffee Tess walked in. She stared silently at Leah, not bothering to hide her disapproval.
‘Hi, Tess,’ Fenton said. ‘I’ve been telling Leah all about you. We’re having coffee, but I could do you a hot chocolate if you’d like?’
Tess ignored him, went to the sink and half filled a glass with water. On her way back to her room, she hesitated and looked over her shoulder.
‘If you’re a new nanny then you’re wasting your time,’ she said. ‘I’m old enough to look after myself now.’
‘No, I’m not a nanny,’ Leah said, laughing softly. ‘But it’s nice to meet you anyway.’
The girl switched her gaze to her father. ‘Is this a date or something?’
‘It’s not a date, don’t be silly,’ he said. ‘Leah and I are working together. It’s a work meeting.’ Tess gave him a weary look and walked out, closing the door behind her.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ Fenton said. ‘She’s a great girl really. She’s struggling a bit, that’s all. She hasn’t been t
o school since Marta was killed. The truth is I’m thinking about sending her to stay with my parents in Devon for a while. Just until the killer is caught.’
Leah picked up her coffee and took a drink. ‘I understand that you’re worried about her safety, but after what happened I’d be surprised if she wouldn’t rather be with her father.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said. ‘I just want to do the best thing for Tess. I know I’ve made mistakes recently. Josie was a remarkable woman. The void her death has left is impossible to fill.’
‘Being a single parent is hard. You’re doing your best, anyone can see that.’
‘What if my best is not good enough?’
Leah didn’t have an answer and Fenton decided to move the conversation back to the investigation. ‘Can I ask you a bit more about your sister?’
‘Feel free.’
‘How long was she in a relationship with Blake?’
‘Nearly a year, I think.’
‘What did she say about her relationship ending? Why did she leave him?’
Leah thought for a moment before replying. She was a bit puzzled about the way the conversation was going. ‘It was complex. She loved him. That was obvious.’
‘But she walked out on him.’
‘She did. She didn’t want to, but she felt she had no choice. Lauren saw the good in him. She wanted to help him. When it became clear he didn’t want to help himself she gave up. He was lost. Like a kid lost in the dark woods. That’s what she told me. She tried to guide him out, but got frightened about being dragged into the darkness herself.’
Leah paused, took another sip of coffee and frowned. ‘What is this all about? I’ve asked Blake to take a fresh look at Lauren’s murder and you’ve agreed to help. I don’t understand these questions.’
‘I just want to get it clear in my head why you picked Blake. There are plenty of experienced investigators for hire in the city. I could even recommend a couple of former police officers who’d do a good job for you. I know Blake was a well-regarded journalist, but it’s not the same thing.’
