Sugar & Spice (US edition)

by Saffina Desforges

  “Hey, it wasn't me!”

  “Of course not. I didn't mean... The thing is, some files were stolen, and yours was one of them.”

  McKenzie shrugged indifferently. “Ain't nothing in the files that ain’t a matter of public record.”

  “So no reason why someone would want to steal your details?”

  “They just stole my file?”

  “No, a couple of others. Jeremy thinks they probably picked up yours by mistake.”

  “Most likely. Who the fuck would want my details?”

  “So there's nothing in there likely to be of interest to anyone else?”

  McKenzie shrugged again. “All that would be in it would be the legal bull about the first rape. I had a different brief after that.”

  “So Jeremy didn't deal with all your cases?”

  “Nope. Wish he had’ve. He's a smart guy. Don't take no shit from the cops if they overstep the mark. But when I was arrested the second time he was unavailable. It was a straight guilty plea anyway, so it didn't really matter. Straight back inside.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re not, and we both know I deserved what I got, but...”

  “But?”

  “Problem with prisons like that is they just bang you up and then throw you out. That's what happened to me the first time round. Two years inside, then out on parole. I came straight through the gates, not having even seen a woman for two years, and, well... I just couldn't help it. Hey! I'm sorry. Didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

  “It's okay.” It was a lie. She felt sick. She eyed his huge biceps warily. Did she have the mace in her bag? She forced herself to continue. “What happened?”

  “Three years. But thankfully they sent me to a ChoMos’ nick.”

  “A what?”

  “Where sex offenders get sent there to be sorted. Not just short-eyes, obviously. Any sex offender. For therapy.”

  “Therapy?” Ruth Reynolds came to Claire's mind. She shuddered at the thought.

  “Therapy, therapy and more fucking therapy. Sitting in circles telling each other what we were in for and slapping each others' wrists. There I was one day, sitting next to some sick bastard who'd been doing it to his son. His own son! Well I just belted him one. Would have killed him if they hadn't pulled me off. Lost a month's remission, and nearly got ghosted.”

  “Ghosted?”

  “It’s when the wardens come in during the night, while everyone's asleep, and you just disappear.”

  Claire looked horrified. “In this country?”

  McKenzie laughed. “Just to another prison. But a real nick. No frills. It's a big deterrent, I assure you. Now in some European countries I hear they actually pay prostitutes to visit men in jail. To make sure they don't come out desperate like I did. Sounds like a good idea to me. Twice I was locked up, and twice I came out and raped again. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be telling you this.”

  “It's okay.” Another lie. “They caught you again, obviously.”

  “Third time lucky. The judge sentenced me to four years. This was just before all that three strikes and you’re out bull started, or I’d still be locked up now. But I just stood in the dock and told the judge straight. It was all just so fucking pointless. I knew I'd just rape again as soon as I came out. I wanted help, not punishment. Real help, to stop me raping again.”

  “But you've stopped now?” She paused. “Haven't you?”

  McKenzie leaned forward. “Sweetheart, don't you worry yourself none. I'm in control now. I don't hurt nobody no more. Not even someone as pretty as you.”

  “I'm relieved to hear it.”

  “Fact is, lady, I met a real doctor. He near enough cured me. Mind you, I’d never have agreed to it if I'd known what it involved.”

  “They forced you?”

  McKenzie stretched out. “Listen, lady. When you've got a choice of spending another year inside, or you can be free as a bird just by agreeing to have your sweetmeat frazzled once a week, it's not such a hard choice.”

  “Your what frazzled?”

  “Your sweetmeat, lady. Your John Thomas. Love puppet. Chopper. Screwdriver. You want me to show you?”

  Claire raised her hands . “It's okay!”

  “Well running ten thousand volts through your tackle is one sure way of reducing your love drive, I can tell you. Not that it hurt, you understand. Sort of like a cattle prod. But it was just so degrading.”

  “This was after you left prison, right?”

  “Part of my parole conditions. The judge took me seriously about wanting help, and sent me to this place in Syracuse. The Quinlan Foundation.”

  177

  Claire held her breath, thinking fast. “Never heard of it.”

  “It's a sex clinic. For sex offenders, I mean. I’d heard rumors about it when I was in stir. They say there's a museum there. A ChoMo museum. Can you believe that? Mind you, Dr Q. himself is a real cool dude. For a white man.”

  “Dr Q.?”

  “Dr Quinlan. The boss-man. In a wheelchair, poor bastard. As old as the hills. But he knows his stuff. A few sessions at the Foundation and I've never even thought about raping a woman since.”

  “Did Dr Quinlan treat you personally?”

  “Funnily enough, no. Too old to bend over, I guess. No, this woman did it. I forget her name. Irish sounding. Began with an R. What was it again? Damn, it's on the tip of my tongue.”

  “Reynolds?” It was an involuntary response. Claire looked at the floor, biting her lip.

  “How on Earth did you know that?”

  Claire racked her mind for a plausible explanation. “Irish sounding, you said. There was an Irish prime minister called Reynolds.”

  “Hey! Don't go getting political on me, lady!”

  Claire breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Yeah, Ruth Reynolds, that was her. Dr Q. said it was part of the therapy to have a woman doing it. Because rape was about men dominating women, so it sort of reversed the situation. She dominated the men. Even me, and I'm not dominated easily, I can tell you.”

  “So what did she do?”

  “Well, she stuck all these gadgets to my long john silver. It was quite embarrassing at first, this dragon of a woman handling your best bits. Hunched up old witch, a face like the back of a bus. But even so, things can happen.”

  “Things?”

  “Hey, lady! Now it's you making me feel uncomfortable. But she was a strange one, I can tell you. She hated me. Hated all men, you know?”

  “I know the type. Thinks all men are rapists. Oh, sorry...”

  McKenzie laughed. “Yeah, of course me being a real one didn't help none. Are you sure you want to hear all this?”

  Claire was going nowhere till she had. “Try me.”

  “Well, the bitch sticks this thing on your baby-maker and it kinda expands when yours does, and measures how excited you are on a computer screen. Can you believe that? I mean, she's only gotta look down to work that out. If it's standing to attention then you're excited, right?”

  Claire couldn't help but smile. “Then what?”

  “Well they fit you out with all these probes and things, then show you dirty movies. I mean real porn, not top-shelf on the newsstand rubbish. Whatever you're into, they've got it. It even made me feel dirty, some of it. So she makes you watch all these porno’s just to get your flag pole waving. One time I just couldn't get it up, no matter what. And get this! The bitch only gave me a hand job, just to get things moving! Jesus, that was so embarrassing! I tell you, lady, beneath this glossy black exterior I was as red as a beet.”

  “Did you ever meet any of the other patients at the clinic, while you were there?”

  “No way, lady. No way. Dr Q is very mindful about that. There's only one client treated at a time. It's always spic and span. Nothing ever to show anyone else has ever been there. Dr Q is a very neat and tidy man.”

  “You have a lot of respect for Dr Quinlan, don't you?”

  “Hey, he cured m
e, lady. Never raped a woman since. Honest! He's been very good to me. Still is.”

  “Still is?”

  “Okay, maybe I shouldn't be saying this, but he still helps me out. Stops me wanting to re-offend.”

  “In what way?”

  “You won't mention this to anyone? It's a private arrangement.”

  “Not a soul will know, Leroy.”

  “I have a lock-up over in Fairview, just off Route 9. Well, Dr Q., he rents it from me. Fuck knows what for, but Dr Q., he says he wants to help me. So he slips me a few bucks every week. After-care service, he says.”

  “In Fairview?

  “Rear of George Washington Lane. Lock-up number five with the green door.”

  “You've lost me, Leroy. How does that help you not re-offending?”

  McKenzie dropped his voice to a loud whisper. “So I can afford a hooker once a week, lady, how else? A guy's gotta have regular pussy, you know.”

  178

  Matt’s call came as Claire was getting in her car.

  “No sign of Ceri so far, Claire. Just waiting for Gavin to finish a lecture. Are you still at home. We’ll be late for Poughkeepsie. Sorry.”

  “I’m already here.”

  “What! For Christ's sake, Claire, I told you to wait till I got there. You're not to see him on your own.”

  “Done and dusted, Matt. I've just left him.”

  “Jesus. Did he try anything?”

  “Matt, he was a perfect gentleman. And guess what. He's a former patient at the Foundation. Things are beginning to add up.”

  “Like?”

  “I need some time to think it all through.”

  “Claire, don't go doing anything silly.”

  “I'm not a kid, Matt.”

  “Now you know how I feel, Claire.”

  “Danny?”

  Matt sounded embarrassed. “He sort of came along, for the ride.”

  Claire held back a laugh. “Give my love to Ceri when you see her, Danny.”

  “You bet!”

  179

  The row of lock-ups had seen better days, but even if McKenzie's description had not been fresh in Claire's mind, the huge chain and padlock would have drawn her to it. Number five with the green door.

  “Have you lost something, miss?”

  Claire turned to see two young boys eyeing her suspiciously. She smiled politely. “I'm just looking, but thank you anyway.”

  She made her way round to the side window. The glass had long since been vandalized, heavy mesh wire barring her view. The kids were watching her with great interest.

  Claire smiled at them. “Would you happen to know who this belongs to?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “I do. Is it a secret?”

  “Are you a cop?”

  “Do I look like a cop... Like a police officer?”

  “You sound like one, asking lots of questions.”

  “I just wondered to whom this garage might belong, that's all.”

  “Dunno. 'E don't live round ’ere.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “We know everyone round 'ere.”

  “I see.”

  “Anyway, you'd better not go near it.”

  “And why might that be?”

  “Baldy don't like it.”

  “Baldy?”

  “Yeah, that's what we call him. He ain't got no 'air, you see.”

  Claire nodded her understanding. “I guessed that might be the case. He doesn't like you going near it?”

  “Yeah, he goes crazy if he sees us.”

  “Crazy,” the second boy confirmed. “Even my mum says he's whacko. She says we're not to go near 'im. An ’specially not Megan.”

  “Megan?”

  “My sister.”

  Claire could feel the adrenaline rise. “What about your sister?”

  “He offered her a buck to pull her panties down.”

  “My God! She didn’t, did she?”

  “No fear! For a dollar? She ain't that stupid.”

  “Yeah,” said the other boy. “That's gotta be worth at least five bucks.”

  “Boys! Really! Did your parents tell the police?”

  The boys looked aghast. “No way. We don't want no cops round here.”

  “Your sister. Was she okay? He didn't try to touch her or anything?”

  “No chance. I would've kicked ’im in the balls if he had. Oops! Sorry, miss. Didn't mean to swear.”

  Claire managed a nervous smile. “When did this happen?”

  “Just after the Holidays.”

  “You're sure?”

  “Course I am.”

  “How does he get here?”

  “Bus. Then he drives off in his van.”

  “A bus?”

  “What's up with that? I s'pose you're too fancy to go on a bus.”

  “No, I didn't mean that. This bus, where does it go?”

  “City centre.”

  “And where does the bus come from, before it gets here?”

  “City centre, 'course! It’s a circular.”

  “I'm sorry, boys. I'm not from this area.”

  “We can tell that.”

  “So this man, he gets the bus here, goes off in his van, and then brings it back and gets another bus?”

  “Yeah. Don't see why he can't park outside his own house.”

  “Prob'ly coz he lives in an apartment like we do, thick bozo.”

  “Don't you call me a thick bozo, you loser.”

  Claire raised a hand to hush them.

  “This wouldn't be a white van by any chance? With no windows?”

  “Yeah, why? You gonna buy it off him?”

  “Maybe. I'd certainly like to see it.”

  “Tough. He went off in it this morning.”

  Claire felt her stomach convulse. She searched her mind for the date. January thirtieth. “Are you sure?”

  “Do we look stupid? He was ’ere just a couple of hours ago.”

  “Can you describe him for me?”

  “What, baldy? Well, he ain’t got no hair.”

  “Boys, this is important.”

  The boys considered carefully. “Well, he's bald, like I said. And big! Built like a brick shit-house. Oops, I mean...”

  “It's okay. Just tell me. It doesn't matter if you swear.”

  The boys’ eyes brightened. “Don't it? Fucking ace!”

  “Bollocks, ass-holes, shit, cunt, balls,” said the second boy quickly, just in case she changed her mind.

  “Boys, please. Just describe him to me.”

  “Bald.”

  “And big.”

  She thought of Leroy McKenzie. “He wasn't... He wasn't black by any chance?”

  “No way! We don't have then round here.”

  Claire let the remark pass. This was too important. “Anything else? How old was he?”

  “Ancient. At least twenty.”

  “Or sixty. I’m ten next month.”

  “I was ten in October.”

  “Yeah, on Halloween.”

  “Fuck off. It was in the day time.”

  “Still Halloween though. That means your mum’s a witch.”

  Claire raised a hand to hush them. “Listen to me, boys, if this man comes back, just stay well away from him, okay?”

  “Whatever.”

  180

  Professor Gavin Large eyed Danny with practiced disdain, firm in the belief that his students were mere kids and anyone below their late teens should still be in diapers. He looked to Matt for an explanation. Was there something he didn't know?

  “Gavin, meet Danny. Danny, Gavin Large. Professor Large, no less. That's what can happen of you eat all your greens and study hard. You've been warned!”

  Danny held out a hand and Large took it reluctantly.

  “Pleased to meet you, son.”

  “Ditto, dad.”

  Large looked to Matt. He had more than enough insolence off his students.

  “Danny's working with me
.”

  “On this story?”

  “It's complicated. He's not as dumb as he looks.”

  Large looked unconvinced. The kid looked pretty dumb to him.

  “No sign of Ceri yet?”

  “Nothing. Admin's spoken to her parents. They haven't heard from her either. Of course, they're worried sick now. So are her friends. No contact on facebook or twitter. Nothing.”

  “Have the police been told?”

  “Not by us. Students wander off all the time. Just one of those things. We can hardly send out a search party every time someone misses a lecture. But I admit I'm concerned, Matt. Ceri's been preoccupied with this Uncle Tom business for far too long. Her course-work was seriously suffering. The last thing she can afford is to skip lessons. So what was this message? I assume it's related somehow?”

  “We wouldn't be here otherwise,” said Danny.

  Large glared at the boy, then raised an eyebrow to Matt. “Your right-hand man, is he?”

  Matt smiled. “Ceri said she's certain the man they've got in custody, Greg Randall, is innocent. She's convinced Uncle Tom has killed twice more since Randall's arrest.”

  “And you believe her?”

  “Gavin, it was you who gave us her profile in the first place.”

  Large raised his hands defensively. “I hope she isn't leading you on a wild goose chase, Matt. This Randall character, there's a DNA match, isn't there? The way I heard it they found his semen on the last victim. That's pretty damned conclusive in my book.”

  “Mistakes have been made before.”

  “The odds are literally millions to one against a chance match, Matt. You know that. Ceri spent best part of a week pestering me about the statistics.”

  “But Ceri said...” Danny gave way under the professor's stern gaze.

  “The fact is, she got too personally involved. I should never have agreed to her going down to you and Claire. It went to her head. I don't want to be unkind, but she's just a second-rate student on one of my piss-poor courses, for God's sake. What the hell was I thinking of, sending you that profile? I’m sorry, Matt. I thought there was something in it. I was wrong. The FBI were wrong too. But at least we admit it.”

  “But Ceri...” Danny began.

  “Ceri thinks she knows it all,” Large said. “They're all the same at that age. Now I expect she's skulking in some library somewhere desperate to find some obscure fact to try breathe life back in to her discredited theory. I'm going to have to fail her, Matt. Too much imagination, too little hard work. A dead loss.”