Sugar & Spice (28 page)

131

He tugged his trousers over his ankles and reluctantly pulled off his boxers.
He slipped his arms through the gown, and his feet into the slippers provided. A
perfect fit.
Hesitantly he pushed open the door. It occurred to him it was the only door he’d
seen at the Foundation without a security lock.
Reynolds was waiting for him by the monitors, the fixed smile beaming.
“That’s lovely, Greg. What’s that you’re carrying?”
“A hanky.”
Her eyes danced with amusement. “You won’t need that.”
“I have a cold.”
“Oh. I thought… Never mind. Now sit here and make yourself comfortable.
Adjust the seat as necessary. You’ll be watching these screens, so select the
most relaxing position with that in mind.”
He lowered himself into the chair, a smooth, black leather recliner with high
arms, making the necessaryadjustments. “This feels fine.”
“Excellent. Now if you’ll just stand up again and undo the ties on your
gown.”
“Undo them?”
“Greg, this is not the time for modesty. In a moment I’m going to show you
various images and I need to measure your response.”
“My response?” He wished Dr Quinlan were here instead of this woman.
“It’s nothing to worry about, Greg. Just a plethysmograph.”
He stared blankly at her.
“A penile plethysmograph. It measures sexual arousal. Don’t worry, it won’t
hurt. It’s just an expandable copper ring that slips over the penis. It
registers even the slightest stimulation. Along with the measurements of your
heart-rate, pulse and brain waves we can get an accurate measure of what
sexually excites you.”
“But you know that already. That’s why I’m here.”
“It’s a standard clinical assessment tool, Greg. You see, it may be that you
don’t even realise that you’re being aroused by a given stimulus. The brain is
very subjective in sexual matters. The plethysmograph will give us a more
accurate picture.” She leaned across and picked up the device.
“This is all it is. It’s wired to register any and every change in penile
response during the treatment. Now hold still while I slip it on.”
Randall edged back nervously. “Couldn’t I do that?”
“Greg, just relax, please. Believe me you’ve got nothing I haven’t seen
before.”
You’ve not see mine before.
He clenched his fists and stared at the ceiling as she pulled the gown apart. He
felt her hands. His face reddened. It seemed to take forever.
Suddenly she was standing again, attaching electrodes to his chest with
plasters.
“These are to measure your heart rate. And this measures brain activity.”
She slipped a light wire helmet over his head. In a few seconds she had
finished.
He self-consciously pulled the gown closed.
“Don’t tie it, Greg. There needs to be room to move. Now, sit down again as
you were. Make yourself comfortable.”
He did as he was told, meekly following instructions, thinking of the Dynamite
Twins, reminding himself it was for their sake he was doing this…
She placed a board across the arm of the chair, reaching beneath it and
connecting the dangling leads to a socket.
The gown was pulled open again and he felt her hands. He held his breath.
A final adjustment and she stood again, smiling.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it? Now just relax, Greg. I want you to forget I’m
here. In a moment I’m going to turn down the lights and I want you to watch the
screen. I’ll be showing you some images and I just want you to watch and relax.
Don’t try to control your responses in any way. Just relax and let yourself
respond naturally.”
She clipped the board tightly against the arms of the chair. “On no account
try to reach beneath the board, Greg. We don’t want any manual manipulation.
That’s very important. Okay, any final questions?”
“When do the electric shocks start?”
Reynolds beamed. “Next time. All we’re doing today, Greg, is clinically
identifying your preferred stimuli. The aversion therapy cannot begin until
that’s done. Now, are you ready?”
The lights dimmed and soft music played in the background.
Tchaichovsky.
A ballet piece.
Swan Lake?
Sleeping Beauty?
It came to him suddenly.
The Nutcracker Suite.

132

“As I’ve stressed already, Colin, this is in no way a personal rebuke. No way
at all. And by maintaining the media silence there is no possibility of our
actions being interpreted otherwise by the public.” Chief Superintendent
Cedric Walker repeated his assurances for the third time as they awaited news.
“It’s a simple matter of covering our backs. The pattern is simply too much of
a coincidence to ignore. Surely you accept that?”
Weisman was nodding his agreement.
Dunst remained sullen. “I just think it’s a sorry state of affairs when senior
officers give credence to the ludicrous theories of some provincial hack who, by
your own admission, is intimately involved with the mother of one of the
victims.”
Walker sighed. “It’s not that straight-forward, Colin. We -”
The Duty Sergeant apprehensively put his head round the door. “Sir, we’ve just
had a report from Teeside. An eleven year old girl hasn’t turned up at school.
Last seen getting into an unidentified vehicle near her home. No further
details, but you asked to be informed immediately.”
“It’s not from a location on that damned list, is it?”
“No Sir. Middlesbrough. There’s also a girl unaccounted for on the Isle of
Wight, but that’s literally just this second in.”
“Thanks Tony. Keep me updated.” He turned to Weisman. “Middlesbrough? Isle
of Wight? Maybe Uncle Tom doesn’t know his alphabet properly. What say you,
Colin?”
“I’d put money on it being nothing serious.”
Weisman scowled at his guest. “Any missing child is serious, Colin. If you’ll
excuse me gentleman, I ought to be getting back. Work to do.”
He accosted Pitman in the Incident Room. “David, what’s the SP?”
“Not a lot yet, Sir. An eleven year old girl in Middlesbrough, Sahira Singh.
Friends saw her getting into an unknown person’s car. No sign of coercion. They
told a teacher and he phoned the local force as a precaution. Obviously they are
unaware of our specific concerns and locations, but Uncle Tom is on everyone’s
minds just now.”
“And the other child? On the Isle of Wight?”
“No further intelligence, Sir.”
“Nothing from Burford’s list, then?”
“All quiet so far, Sir. How’s our psycho-man taking it?”
“He’s mixing it with the Chief Super. Smarmy bastard. To think, I quite liked
him when I first met him.”
“Appearances can be deceptive, Sir.”
“I wouldn’t mind, but he’s acting all affronted because we’re following up
this lead. If it proves to be a false alarm I’ll never hear the last of it. You
could see the delight on his face when the missing girls weren’t from places
starting with U and V.”
“Maybe Uncle Tom doesn’t know his alphabet.”
“Don’t you start, David. I just had that one from the Chief Super. He’s giving
Dunst the PR routine now, about the changing face of police work, community
liaison, social integration. All that crap.”
Pitman grinned. “Crap, Sir?”
“Don’t be obtuse, David. And don’t keep calling me Sir, for God’s sake.”
“No, Sir.”

133

The screen illuminated and the first images appeared.
Women in scanty clothing, smiling, beckoning provocatively to the camera.
He found himself looking around the darkened room, trying to locate Reynolds,
but she was out of sight. The monitors displayed gyrating lines like something
out of a television hospital drama.
“Watch the screen, please, Greg.” Behind him.
The girls were stripping now. In different circumstances he might have found it
erotic, but with Reynolds hiding in the darkness watching his every move there
was no chance of that.
From the corner of his eye he saw movement on the monitors.
“That’s it, Greg. Just relax,” Reynolds’ voice soothed.
A cold bottle of Budweiser appeared beside him. He grabbed it thankfully.
The gyrating lines slowed as he drank, then became active again as he turned his
attention to the screen.
“How do you feel, Greg?”
“A bit of a pillock, sat here like this.”
“Are the images appealing?”
“Not especially. Not in these circumstances.”
“You see, Greg, the brain can be very subjective. According to our instruments
you found the images arousing.”
He tried to reach down, to challenge the assertn, but the board across the chair
arms prevented him.
He concentrated, trying to sense any sign of arousal.
Nothing.
The images faded, replaced by another. The music faded and the sound came up to
match the video, of two women stripping one another, engaging in a simulated
lesbian love session. He slowly became less aware of his surroundings. More
relaxed. Reynolds kept quiet and for a few moments he forgot she was there.
Slowly the images faded.
“That was just to help you relax, Greg. Just to get you in the mood. Next
we’re going to see a series of images on screen. There will be no further
interruptions. All I want is for you to relax and look at them. Some you may
find appealing, others not. Some you may even dislike. That’s fine. Establishing
what turns you off is just as important as what turns you on. Okay?”
The screen illuminated. A series of still photographs appeared, each on show for
a few seconds before being replaced.
He recognised some from the images he’s been shown on a previous visit and
guessed the sequence that would follow. Clothed women, then scantily clad, then
nude.
Then men, the same.
Then couples.
Then adults engaged in foreplay, then actual sex.
He studied each image, his eyes darting to the monitors to see what reaction was
being recorded, quietly relieved to note the gyrations were negligible when only
men were on the screen.
Then the images changed. Children at play.
He tensed.
This was it.
This was why he was there.
He took a deep breath. Boys and girls together.
Then just boys.
Then just girls.
Young girls in summer frocks in a play park, and suddenly he was aware of the
lively gyrations on the monitor.
The image changed.
Naked children.
The pictures he remembered Reynolds’ describing as naturist photos. Except these
were videos, not stills. Naked children playing on a beach.
The images changed again.
Nothing naturist here.
Young girls deliberately dressed and posed provocatively.
He was aware of the wild gyrations on the monitor and turned away from the
screen, acutely aware of what it meant.
He could feel the stirrings in his groin. No need for the electronic gadgetry to
explain what was happening.
“Just watch the screen, Greg, please.”
He saw Reynolds’ shadowy figure at his side, turning the monitor so he couldn’t
see the display.
“How are you feeling?”
“Uncomfortable.”
“Aroused?
“Sort of.”
“You are. Believe me. Don’t be embarrassed, Greg. That’s good.”
“Good? That I’ve got a hard-on looking at little girls?”

134

“Good that we’ve formally confirmed the stimuli.” Reynolds’ voice remained
neutral.
“Now just relax. Keep watching. It’s necessary we establish precisely where
your interests lay.”
“I thought we just had.”
“We need to know how you respond to other scenarios. To breaking the body
barrier. To actual contact with children. With young girls.”
“I’ve told you, I’m not that far gone.”
“That’s what we’re here to confirm, Greg. The plethysmograph does not lie.
Don’t be alarmed or embarrassed if you feel yourself being aroused in spite of
your better judgement. Just relax, totally. Let your body respond naturally.”
Moving images now. Some obviously amateur video, some very professional. All
involving young girls.
Early Super-8 flickering recordings were replaced by VHS quality, then crystal
clear HD.
He watched in morbid fascination as real children, little girls, some much
younger than the Twins, took part in activities he had not dared conceive of in
even his most perverted fantasies.
Despite himself he could feel the arousal below the board.
He tried to shut his eyes, to think of other thing
He tried telling himself it wasn’t enjoyable.
That these children were being abused.
Harmed.
But he kept watching.
Suddenly he felt a hand between his legs. “Just adjusting the plethysmograph.
Ignore me. Watch the screen, Greg. You’re doing fine.”
Her hands were gentle. There was no hint of condemnation in her voice. For the
first time he trusted her.
In spite of himself he relaxed back into the chair, allowing himself to savour
the images, even to relish the physical contact happening down below.
His pulse quickened, arousal total.
Despite himself he was enjoying what he was seeing.
Feeling.
For a few seconds images and reality mixed.
Reynolds was forgotten, sight and touch the only senses that mattered.
Then it happened.
There was nothing he could do.
The euphoria of the moment gave way to intense embarrassment as he felt
Reynolds’ hand on his groin, wiping him clean.
His body sagged into the chair, the screen images forgotten, grateful for the
darkness to hide in. He prayed the lights would stay off.
He could see Reynolds’ shadowy form before him, moving out of sight in
silence. He wished she would speak.
Say something.
Anything.
Tell him it hadn’t happened.
That it didn’t matter.
That he’d dreamt the whole thing.
But there was just silence.
Silence and the flickering screen.

135

Everyone was agreed that Uncle Tom had eyes only for little girls.
The two boys reported missing that day were noted with only passing concern. The
late arrival at school of the Middlesbrough girl warranted a sigh of relief
across the Station.
The eight year old missing from Godshill on the Isle of Wight remained a worry,
but as Weisman kept reminding his DI, Godshill was not on Burford’s list.
The report of the second child unaccounted for on the Isle of Wight had Pitman
and Weisman colluding in the Incident Room.
“Twelve years old. Julie Merickson, from Ventnor. A regular runaway, on the
Social Services’ At Risk Register. It’s a place beginning with V, otherwise
we’d have dismissed it as a regular truancy.”
“Who’s in charge down there?”
“DI Aspley is coordinating things from Newport.”
Weisman was put through in less than a minute. “Superintendant John Weisman.
The two missing girls. Anything new since you spoke to my DI last?”
“Not a lot, Sir. We’ve sealed off the island, of course, but both girls
could already be on the mainland. That’s presuming the worst. To be honest,
the older girl will probably turn up after lunch. That’s a favourite trick of
hers. It’s the younger child that concerns us. Needless to say the parents are
worried sick.”
“They’ve every reason to be. Keep me posted. Anything at all.”
“It could be coincidence, Sir.” Pitman sounded unconvinced, but he rehearsed
the argument anyway. “Only one of the locations could conceivably match the
list. And with this Ventnor girl being a recidivist truant…”
“That’s presuming the damn list has any relevance at all.” Weisman was
vacillating between the two competing theories. “It’s the timing that
bothers me, David. Even Dunst agreed we’re looking at some kind of monthly
cycle. I’m going to speak to him again.”
“With respect, Sir, the last thing we need is more clap-trap about kids not
being breast-fed as babies and growing up into knife-wielding maniacs.”
“That’s hardly fair, David. I admit we seem to be getting nowhere with
Colin’s profile just now, but he has a proven record in the field.”
“The problem is, when we place too much emphasis on this profiling lark the
lads start taking it too seriously. They start to shut off other avenues of
investigation because they don’t conform to the criteria.”
“At first I was inclined to compare profilers to the psychic mediums of old
days. Before your time, Sir, of course. But now… Now I actually think
they’re worse than that. Time was, a copper went to a medium as a last resort,
when all else had drawn a blank. He did it discreetly, behind the scenes. But
nowadays you only have to have two crimes on the trot with a similar MO and the
cry goes up, Serial killer, serial rapist, serial shop-lifter and in come the
experts with their university degrees in business management and voodoo
spiritualism, never having met a real criminal in their lives, and we’re
expected to dance to their every whim, looking for a suspect with a disturbed
family background, that suffered childhood trauma and grew up to wear a
double-breasted waist-coast and…” His voice trailed as he exhausted his
supply of profiling stereotypes.
Weisman managed a smile. “I trust you didn’t have anyone particular in mind
with your dig about degrees in business management?”
Pitman shuffled uncomfortably. “Sir?”
“Look, David, I know I’m inexperienced. I understand how some of the men
feel about me. But the Force is changing. We have to adapt to it. For better or
worse.”
“Just a figure of speech, Sir.”
Weisman wandered over to the whiteboard. “We’ve five murdered children here,
David. Now there’s unanimity among the men, whatever their educational
background, that four of the five were killed by the same man. For you and
Burford to be vindicated we require two more attacks in towns beginning with U
and V. I don’t think Godshill qualifies, David. Do you?”
“I’m reserving judgement, Sir.”
Weisman tutted loudly. “It’s like Dunst said. The location sequence is pure
coincidence. Face it, David, Uncle Tom is some mindless cretin who probably
can’t even spell, let alone plan abductions to order.”