Sugar & Spice (23 page)

107

Quinlan brought his gnarled fingers together in a pyramid beneath his chin as he
considered the query.
“We offer three basic methods of treatment, as I’ve said. Pharmacological
therapy, behavioural therapy and psychotherapy. For my part, my specialty is
pharmacology. Quite simply, the treatment of a given dysfunction by drugs. There
are a number of anti-libidinal drugs available designed to lower the sex drive.
I expect you’ve heard of the synthetic hormone Depo-Provera. Tranquilisers have
much the same effect. However, I recall from Dr Reynolds’ observations that you
in fact have an active sexual engagement with your wife, during which you
maintain the facade of normality while actually fantasising about younger girls.
Isn’t that the case?”
Randall was sure that wasn’t how he’d explained it, but he found himself nodding
compliantly, too worried about his daughters to be embarrassed.
“In which case pharmacology is probably not best suited to your needs. The
anti-libidinal drugs would repress your overall sex drive, not just the
paedophilic desires. This would, of course, be deleterious to your relationship
with your wife and family.”
“And the other methods?”
“Well, psychotherapy is very popular, and can be very effective in certain
cases, but it is a long, drawn-out process involving regular visits over a
lengthy period, which you may find difficulty in maintaining. I understand you
have problems as it is getting here without arousing suspicion. Ideally we would
envisage a counselling period for psychotherapeutic treatment over a minimum of
six months, probably onger. It can run, literally, to a period of years. Not a
very practical option if you’re to attend these sessions discretely.”
“Isn’t there something quicker?”
“There is, but it has to be said, aversion therapy is not… How can I put it?
Not pleasant. But it can be done in the space of a few visits and with no
untoward side effects.”
Randall didn’t like the sound of this. He nodded warily for Quinlan to continue.
“The principles of aversion therapy are quite simple, and applicable to a wide
range of problems. Having identified the sexual stimulus which we agree is
unacceptable, in your case prepubescent girls, what we do is simply to pair the
stimulus to an unpleasant experience and so create a conditioned aversion. The
most effective method, which we and most aversion therapists use, is controlled
electric shocks.”
Randall looked like he’d just received one. He choked the words out. “Electric
shocks?”
Quinlan smiled reassuringly. “Don’t misunderstand me, Mr Randall. It’s just
slight jolts of electricity, not ECT! Have you ever touched an electric cattle
fence? It’s that sort of level. Just enough to be unpleasant, so you won’t want
to do it again. There’s no danger, I assure you.”
“And this would work? I’d be cured?”
“Well, not cured, exactly. Paedophilia is not a disease. But yes, aversion
therapy will help suppress the paedophilic aspects of your sex drive. If at the
same time we try and encourage interest in, how shall I say, more normal sexual
activities, then yes, you would be effectively, if not clinically, cured.”
Randall was still coming to terms with the prospect of the electric chair.
Aversion therapy was the least appealing of the three options Quinlan had
outlined. The doctor hadn’t specified where exactly the electric shocks would be
applied, but he had a good idea. Even the thought of prolonged sessions with the
obnoxious Ruth Reynolds seemed a preferable alternative.
He thought again of the Dynamite Twins.
Their smiling, happy faces.
Their sweetness.
Their innocence.
He remembered the bath time session. The Twins’ confusion. His own fears.
He took a deep breath and looked Quinlan in the eye.
“When can I start?”

108

“This is Detective Inspector Pitman, Kent CID. My colleagues in the Shropshire
Constabulary have been dealing with you in regard to the stolen vehicle. That’s
right, the one the child’s body was found in.”
The junior to his left stopped work in surprise. Matt put his hand across the
receiver and whispered, “Listen and learn, son. Listen and learn.”
Into the receiver, “They were supposed to forward me some information on the
case, but there’s been a slight mix up. Probably sent to the wrong email
address. If you could just confirm the details given to hire the vehicle. Yes, I
appreciate you’ve done so already, but like I say… It would assist the
investigation considerably if you can just… Yes, that’s all I need.” Matt
jotted the details as he spoke. “And was the actual photo-licence was
produced? No, of course not. And there’s no CCTV? No, no, that’s fine. Thank you
so much for your help.”
The junior stared at him. “Kent CID?”
“Well, they say the best reporters are detectives. Just proving the point. He
dialled again. “Danny, Matt Burford. Can you be at Cafe Nero in an hour? See
you there.”
He reached for the maltesers and dialled a third number. Four minutes and three
extensions later he connected to Gavin Large.
“Matt, what can I do you for? Business or pleasure?”
“You know it’s always a pleasure doing business with you, Gavin. When I can
get hold of you. Don’t they have mobile phones in darkest Merseyside?”
“Not on campus, no. Can hardly bollock my students for bringing theirs to
class if I carry one myself. Anyhow, what are you afterthis time?”
“Not what. Who. How’s your star pupil?”
Large grunted down the phone. “My star pupil is fine, Matt, but I don’t think
you know her. She’s too busy on her studies to associate with low-lifes like
you. Perhaps you’re thinking of young Miss Ceri Jones.”
“That’s the gal!”
Large sighed into the receiver. “Star pupil she is not, Matt. Ceri’s falling
way behind. If you ask me, she needs a good boot up the jacksy.”
“Maybe she just needs a holiday.”
“Yeah, sure. A fortnight in the Caribbean does wonders for your grades. I
recommend it to all my students.”
“I was thinking more the White Cliffs Experience.”
“The what?”
“The White Cliff… Forget it. Stick to your tunnels. Gavin, a big favour.
We’d like to have Ceri come down and see us a while.”
“We?”
“Claire and I. She can stay at Claire’s place. A nice break by the sea will do
her the world of good.”
“Matt, her parents live in Rhyl. She can play on the beach any time she
likes.”
“You’ve been following events in Shropshire?”
Large snorted dismissively. “Madam talks of little else. That’s one reason I’m
on the verge of throwing her off the course.”
“You joke me.”
“Deadly serious. The girl’s got potential, Matt. Real potential. But there’s
more to this course than hunting Hannibal. I’m afraid this profiling lark has
gone to her head. My fault, of course. I should never have sent you that
essay.”
“So maybe a week down here will help her get it out of her system.”
“Matt, I can’t go sanctioning students, my students, getting involved in
criminal investigations.”
“You already did.”
“That was a mistake.”
“Gavin, trust me. There’s a few things not been made public yet, that are
causing ructions this end. The Dunst profile is sinking faster than the Herald
of Free Enterprise. We need someone down here to talk us through the jargon and
make sense of what’s going on. Ceri said all along the killer would be unknown
to the plod. Well off the record, they’ve got a print and she’s right. No
record. No previous.”
Large chuckled down the phone. “Like I said, Matt. My star pupil.”
“So you’ll let her come?”
“I doubt she’s ever been anywhere further than Birmingham.”
“Didn’t you ever travel as a student?”
“Not in the middle of term, no. I attended classes, respected my lecturer and
worked my bollocks off.”
This is important, Gavin.”
“So are Ceri’s grades. I was serious about having to fail her.”
“Just one week, Gavin. Five measly days.”
“There’s no way she’s missing lessons for a whole week.”
“A weekend, then?”
“Hmm. I’m not sure, Matt.”
“This Friday. Stick her on a train and we’ll meet her this end. Is she okay
for money?”
“Matt, she’s a student. Next silly question?”
“Slip her the fare and a ton on top. I’ll square up with you on pay-day.”
“You think I’m made of money? Have you any idea how much a lecturer earns
these days?”
“You’ll get it back at the end of the month. Scout’s honour.”
“Ceri won’t agree to this if she thinks you’re going to publish anything.”
“She has my word.”
“Yeah, but what can I say to reassure her?”
“Thanks, Gav. Email me when you’ve sorted travel times.”
“If she flunks this course…”
“She’ll do just fine. I’ll lecture her on the benefits of a good education
whilst she’s here.”
“That’s what worries me.”
Matt was grinning broadly when he put the phone down. He popped two maltesers
and put his feet up on the desk, stretching out. McIntyre appeared behind him.
“Don’t laze about on the firm’s time, Burford. I’m trying to run a paper here.
Christ, what if Proctor walked in now? What are you looking so smug about,
anyway?”
“Just pieces of the jigsaw, Mac. You don’t wt to know till I’ve got the whole
picture, remember?”
“Well at least have the bloody courtesy to look busy.”
Matt grabbed his jacket. “This look busy enough? I’m off to run up some
expenses in Cafe Nero.”
McIntyre glared after him, then spotted the junior grinning. The junior quickly
tapped at the keyboard, looking busy.

109

Danny was halfway through a Mocha when Matt arrived, settling down with his
grande skinny latte. He pushed a scrap of paper across the table. Danny stared
at it.
“Who is it?”
“Never you mind.”
“Is it to do with Uncle Tom?”
“He’s not the only villain around.”
“So it is to do with him?”
“How’s your Mum?”
“I might be able to help, you know.” It was the usual offer. Danny wanted in
on everything.
“You will be helping, by getting me the form on this guy.”
“A new suspect?”
“I wish. The cops have checked him out already.”
“So why bother then?
“Clutching at straws, Danny. Can you get it or not?”
“So why do I have to do all the hard work and you get all the glory?”
For Christ’s sake, Danny, do you think getting hardened criminals to sign your
bloody autograph book is easy?”
“I’d just like to be trusted a bit more.”
“Okay, okay.” Matt considered briefly. “It’s the driver who hired the car
that girl was found in. Or at least, the name on the licence he used.”
“Wow! You mean this could be Uncle Tom himself?”
“If only. The cops think the licence was stolen and the photo changed. Claire
and I are meeting him Monday.”
“Can I come?”
“What the hell for?”
“I’ve never met a real-life criminal before.”
“This isn’t a game, Danny. Stick to Space Invaders.”
Danny pushed the scrap of paper back across the table. “Fuck you, Matt. Get
someone else to do your dirty work.”
“Sulky bastard today, aren’t you?”
“I’m not sulking. I’m offended. I wasn’t even born when Space Invaders
were around.”
Matt sighed. “This is important, Danny.”
Danny stared into his mocha silently, then: “I read this morning the
Shrewsbury girl might not be connected with Uncle Tom after all.”
“You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the papers, Danny.”
Danny smirked. “Especially under your by-line, right?”
“Ha, ha, very funny. Danny, just get me the info, okay?”
“Do you wanna hear my theory?”
Matt looked aghast. He had enough problems without Sherlock Junior proposing the
butler did it. “Maybe another time.”
Danny looked hurt. “I’m trying to help.”
“Can’t you think of anything else but computers and crime?”
“What else is there?”
“Haven’t you got a girlfriend yet?”
Danny looked faintly embarrassed. “I’m not gay!”
“Did I say you were?”
“I just haven’t met the right person yet. So do you wanna know my theory?”
“About girls?”
“About Uncle Tom.”
“Danny, I haven’t got time for this.”
“Suit yourself. Just remember I offered.”
“I’ll bear it in mind.”

110

“Has Claire given you the grand tour yet?”
“Just the coast so far. Ramsgate, Margate and Broadstairs. Looking forward to
Canterbury tomorrow. It’s so different down here. North Wales has some beautiful
coastline too, but the white cliffs here are just marvellous. And I actually saw
France across the Channel!”
“Matt’s got a telescope in his place. He spends all summer looking at the
topless bathers on the Calais beaches.”
Matt had the decent to look just slightly guilty. “It’s not all summer. Just
occasionally.”
Over a vegetable tikka masala, his fst attempt at vegetarian cuisine, Matt
explained what Pitman had told him about the mystery print on the CD.
Ceri nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve said all along Uncle Tom’s not a convicted
sex offender.”
“That’s why you’re here! There’s something else, too. The prints were probably
those of a woman.”
Claire looked surprised. “They can tell that from a fingerprint?”
“A CD or its case would be perfect for lifting prints off,” Ceri said.
“Although even the card insert could provide a print if sprayed with some
chemical or other,” Matt added.
“Ninhydrin,” Ceri said. “Protein staining. My guess is, the print is from
Uncle Tom. The cops are just too stupid to realise what they’ve got.”
“But if it’s a woman’s prints?” Claire looked confused. “Surely you’re not
suggesting a woman killed these girls?”
“It’s hardly unheard of,” Matt said. “Myra Hindley. Rosemary West. There
must be others.”
“Plenty,” Ceri agreed. “Catherine Bernie… Joyce Ballard… How long have
you got? But that’s not what I meant. The killer was definitely a man, just not
the man described in Dunst’s profile.”
Matt brought out another two bottles of rioja and turned the background music
down to barely audible. He produced a jotter and pen. “Time to start earning
your keep, Ceri.”

111

Ceri leaned back in her chair and swilled her wine, watching the ruby liquid
cling to the glass. She spoke from memory, her folder untouched on the table.
Matt made shorthand notes and Claire listened in awed silence as a girl nearly
fifteen years her junior began to systematically dissect the Dunst profile.
How valid the judgements might be, only time could tell, but for now Ceri had a
captive and receptive audience. Professor Large would have been proud.
“Let’s begin with the prints. Do you know much about fingerprints?”
“I wrote a article on the subject for a crime mag recently.”
Claire said, “Some of us aren’t so knowledgeable.”
Matt took the cue. “Well, everyone’s fingerprints are unique, of course. The
idea that all prints are different originated in the Far East. Some say China,
although they were in use in Japan to identify pottery makers. But it was some
British guy in India who first used them systematically.”
“William Herschel, the astronomer, in 1858,” Ceri said quietly. “But the
idea had been around since the 1820s. Professor Johann Purkinje first suggested
it.”
“But wasn’t it Francis Galton, cousin to Charles Darwin, who developed the
idea?” A nod from Ceri encouraged Matt. “Then Edward Henry set up Scotland
Yard’s Central Fingerprinting Branch early last century.”
“1901,” Ceri confirmed. To Claire: “Not bad, for a journalist. But Matt’s
missed out some crucial points. You see, even the slightest contact between the
human body and another surface will leave a contact trace. But the fingers and
the palms of the hand are key, because of the patterns of ridges left by body
oils and skin debris. What’s less well known is that men generally have more
ridges than women, and that in either sex the right hand has more ridges than
the left. The exceptions are indicative. A significant proportion of women have
more ridges on the left hand than the right. It’s my bet that the prints from
the CD show this irregularity, hence the police assertion that the prints are
probably female.”
“But doesn’t that just confirm the cops’ position, that the prints are not
Uncle Tom’s?”
“Not necessarily. Years ago a Canadian university, Ontario I think, followed
up the idea that homosexuality, like any other sexual variation, can be traced
to pre-natal hormonal imbalances. Did you know that all foetuses start off as
female?”
“Gavin… Professor Large, mentioned just that,” Claire said. “That all
foetuses start out as female, but that the Y comosome develops in some and they
become males?”
“That’s right. The appearance of the Y chromosome slows down the growth of the
foetus, which is why girls are more developed than boys at birth. It may also
account for maturation rates in later years. But again, the PC brigade frown
upon this sort of research, so the findings haven’t had the serious examination
they deserve. In a similar way findings that show differences between
achievements of boys and girls at school, or between black and white kids, are
dismissed as sexist or racist without ever considering there might be sound
scientific principles at work.”
“And the fingerprints?”
Ceri stretched out in her chair. “Well the Canadians tested fingerprints of
gay and straight men and found the prints of gay men showed a trend towards high
ridge counts on the left hand consistent with that found in women generally. So
while the print lifted from the CD could be those of a female, as the police
say, they could just as easily be from a gay man.”
Matt poured more wine. “I don’t follow you, Ceri. One of the few things in the
Dunst profile that made any real sense to me was that the killer must be
heterosexual, given he only attacks girls.”
“I actually agree with him there, but for different reasons. Bear in mind
there’s been no suggestion of a knife used in any of the assaults.”
“A knife?”
“Classic Freud. The knife equates to the penis.”
“Like the old chestnut about people watching slasher movies because they’re
sexually frustrated?”
“Exactly. The knife becomes a penis and the act of stabbing is the act of
penetration. According to Kraft-Ebbing there’s a direct corollary between
intercourse and a knife attack. Stab, pierce, penetrate. I’m no Freud fanatic,
don’t get me wrong. The idea that an aeroplane or a tower-block can be seen as a
phallic symbol is just ridiculous. But there may be some credence in the phallic
symbolism of a knife attack. Knives are usually associated with heterosexual
assaults, often where the assailant is impotent or otherwise sexually
dysfunctional, but still shares the basic male sex-drive. But there’s no
evidence that Uncle Tom carried a weapon.”
Ceri paused briefly to allow Matt to catch up with his notes. Then, “Dunst
believes Uncle Tom is small in stature. That he picks on children because they
are easy targets. Because he doesn’t feel confident enough to tackle a grown
woman.”
Matt shrugged. “That seemed pretty fair to me. “If someone needs to chase
after little kids to get his rocks off, that’s surely because he’s incapable
of getting an adult woman.” He looked up at Ceri. “Isn’t it?”