Sugar & Spice (40 page)

In the kiosk Pitman’s demeanour caught her eye. The wrinkled smile was gone, the
face ashen. He was leaning against the cabinet. Desperately she tried to
decipher his silent mouth movements.
He got back into the car in silence, staring into the distance, gathering his
thoughts.
“Inspector?”
Pitman slowly turned to face her, reaching a hand out to her shoulder.
“Lord help us, Claire, but you were right all along. He’s still out there.”
“Oh my God. They’ve found another body.”
“It wasn’t a child this time.” Pitman took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,
Claire. I wish I could break this to you more gently.” A single tear rolled
down his cheek.
“Your friend, Ceri Jones. Uncle Tom found her first.”

189

The bronze plate announcing the entrance to the Quinlan Foundation was barely
visible through the thick strands of ivy that smothered the enclosing wall, a
thick carpet of polished green against the blanched winter landscape.
The car slowly negotiated the long winding drive, passenger and driver coping
with their own deep thoughts.
For Claire, the reality of Ceri’s death had yet to impact fully, for now eased
by the certain knowledge that Inspector Pitman was about to put together the
final pieces of the jigsaw.
For Pitman, the tragedy of lives lost was balanced by professional concerns.
He was only human. The thrill of the cha was still there and, if too old for
promotion, it was in the back of his mind that to wrap up the case here and now,
reducing the actual apprehension of Britain’s most wanted criminal to a
formality and clearing the name of an innocent man, would be a fine way to cap
forty years of service and justify the early retirement his wife so wanted him
to take.
“Claire, I think it would be best if you wait here. Do you mind? This is
strictly Police business now.” He pulled up his collar against the cold wind
and the strengthening snow flurries. “I’ll be as quick as I can.” As an
afterthought he added, “Keep the doors locked, Claire. Just in case.”
A shiver ran down her spine as he left her. She pushed each lock, then
instinctively checked each handle.
“Detective Inspector Pitman, Kent CID.” He held up his badge to the camera.
“I’d like to speak to Dr Quinlan.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No. It’s Police business.”
“I’m sorry. Dr Quinlan is not in residence at the moment.”
“Miss Reynolds is here, I take it?”
“Doctor Reynolds is here, yes. But I’m not sure she is free.”
“Kindly advise her I would like to speak to her as a matter of some
urgency.”
“One moment please.”
The one moment lasted a full five minutes. Pitman stamped his feet to keep warm,
his patience wearing thin. He was about to press the bell again when he heard
automatic bolts sliding. The door opened and he instantly recognised the hunched
figure of Ruth Reynolds, blinking at him through thick, tinted glasses.
“Inspector?”
“Miss Reynolds, I need to speak with Dr Quinlan as soon as possible. When is
he due back?”
“I’m sorry, but he’s away on business.”
Pitman sighed loudly. “In that case you’ll have to do.”
“You’ve picked a rather inconvenient time, Inspector. I’ve had clients back
and forth all day.”
Pitman cast a glance around the forecourt. The thin layer of snow lay
undisturbed but for his own tyre and footprints. “Using the tradesman’s
entrance, I suppose. Is there somewhere we can talk?”
Reynolds glared at him. “Come through.” She led him down past reception to
the interview lounge.
“I’ll come straight to the point, Miss Reynolds.”
“Ruth, please. It’s Ruth.” She forced the smile. “It’s David, isn’t it?”
“Miss Reynolds, a girl is dead.”
She tried to look sympathetic. “I’m very sorry to hear that, of course,
but…”
“A teenager. Nineteen years old.”
“I’m sorry, Inspector. Am I missing something here?”
“She was murdered. By Uncle Tom.”
The surprise was genuine, or Pitman was ready to hand in his badge. Reynolds
quickly recovered, her words carefully selected. “My goodness, Inspector. You
mean Greg Randall has escaped?”
“That’s not what I said, Miss Reynolds. I have good reason to believe
Randall’s arrest to be a mistake. He’s not Uncle Tom. The real killer is still
at large.”
“I’m not sure I understand, Inspector.”
“Which is why I should be talking to Dr Quinlan,” Pitman muttered beneath
his breath. “I don’t know how I can make it any clearer for you, Miss
Reynolds. I believe the real Uncle Tom is someone who attends this clinic. One
of your patients.”
“They are clients, Inspector, not patients. And I’m sorry, but I still don’t
follow.”
“I believe uncle Tom somehow gained access to your patients’ details. That he
somehow learned of Greg Randall’s interest in children, and of his appointment
at the Woolwich clinic.”
“Quite impossible, Inspector. Absolutely not. Our records are totally secure.
As for Greg Randall, I can assure you he is an extremely dangerous man. My only
regret is that I didn’t act sooner in bringing him to the attention of the
authorities.”
“Miss Reynolds, I’d like to have a look round, if I may. To view your security
arrangements. Where you keep your patients’ records, that sor of thing.”
“Out of the question, Inspector. Client confidentiality is of paramount
consideration in an establishment such as ours.”
“Even so, I’d like to see the set-up first hand.”
“As I said, Inspector. Out of the question. Were Dr Quinlan here he would say
exactly the same thing.”
“You don’t seem to understand, Miss Reynolds. This is a Police matter. A
murder inquiry.”
“I’m sorry, Inspector, but the answer is no.”
Pitman took out his pipe and began stuffing the bowl.
Reynolds looked alarmed. “Inspector, this is a no-smoking establishment.”
Pitman lit up. “Miss Reynolds, let me put it another way. You can show me what
I need to see now, quietly, just the two of us. Or I can return in an hour or so
with a warrant and a dozen officers and we can do it room by room, drawer by
drawer.”
Reynolds was unable to hide her annoyance. “Very well, Inspector, but I must
insist I accompany you at all times.”
“Believe me, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

190

Large rang just as they passed the Leatherhead junction on the M25 eastbound.
The blizzard had reduced traffic to a crawl.
“The place is swarming with fuzzies. I met them outside and took them up to
her room. Jesus, Matt, you could have warned me.”
“Sorry, Gavin. I didn’t think you’d…”
“Obviously the fuzz want to speak to you as a matter of urgency. I tried to
explain what I knew, but you can guess how that went down.”
“They need to contact Kent Police.”
“Already done, Matt. It was Pitman, wasn’t it? That’s what I told them,
anyhow.”
“ He’s with Claire now. I think they’re heading for the Foundation. I’m going
to try meet them there, if weather permits.”
“Better be quick, Matt, before they find you.”
“Jesus, they don’t think I…”
“Hell, no. But you’re the key to the mystery, Matt. You, Claire and that kid.
He still with you?”
“He’s out cold. In shock, I think. He got to Ceri before I did.”
“Christ, no. But he’s okay?”
“Just about.”
“Keep an eye on him, Matt.”
“Don’t worry. I can’t imagine Uncle Tom even knows he exists, but I can assure
you I’m not letting him out of my sight.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“What’s next your end?”
“Hard to say. The fuzz aren’t giving anything away. They’re with Student
Admin’ now, for Ceri’s next of kin. I don’t envy them that one.”
“Poor kid. She had so much going for her.”
“My star pupil, Matt. She was brilliant.”
“She was beautiful.”
“Danny? I thought you were asleep.”
“What, with you two yakking like a couple of old women?” He sounded more his
old self. “Hi, Professor.”
“Hullo, kid. You okay?”
“I guess. How about you?”
“Yeah, I’m okay too. Listen, kid, will you do me a favour?”
“What’s that, Professor?”
“Just stick close to Matt and don’t do anything stupid, understand? It’s still
not clear in my mind quite how you fit into all this, but I kinda like you. Just
take care, alright?”
“Will do, Professor.”
“Gavin, the snow’s getting worse. Keep me informed.”
“You know it. Take care.”
Matt hit the off button and flicked the indicator, taking the exit at junction
five.
Danny struggled to make the sign out through the blizzard. “What’s in
Sevenoaks?”
Matt said quietly, “Claire, Inspector Pitman. And the one recurring theme in
this whole sordid affair, slap bang in the middle of that damn circle of yours.
The Quinlan Foundation.”

191

“This really is most irregular, Inspector.”
“Murder inquiries are irregular, Miss Reynolds. What are all these rooms
for?”
“I an’t see how that can have any bearing on your investigation, Inspector.”
Pitman stopped outside a door at random. “As I said earlier, Miss Reynolds, we
can do this informally, now, or we can do it later, properly. Every room so far
has a security lock. Why is that?”
Reynolds produced a card and swiped an electronic lock in a show of annoyance.
The bolts clicked and the door swung open.
“See for yourself, Inspector. I don’t know what you think it is we’re hiding,
but you won’t find it in there.”
Pitman smiled sweetly. “I’m sure I won’t.”
As he stepped across the threshold a light clicked on automatically,
illuminating shelf upon shelf of neatly stacked magazines and rows of DVDs.
“And this is?”
“Therapeutic stimulation resources.”
“In English?”
“Pornography, Inspector. Hard core pornography. We obtain it direct from
police sources, through the Home Office.” She saw Pitman’s wince and took full
advantage. “The Foundation is licensed and personally approved by the Home
Secretary. He and Dr Quinlan are on first name terms.”
“No doubt.” Pitman picked up a magazine at random and flicked a few pages,
hurriedly returning it to the shelf with an embarrassed smile. “Very… Not
exactly top shelf in the local newsagents.”
“As I said, Inspector, direct from police sources, In order to successfully
treat offenders we first need to establish exactly what it is that stimulates
them, that drives them: Women, other men, children, animals. Whatever their
particular predilection, we can only offer treatment by first recreating that
desire in controlled conditions. It’s all very straight-forward.”
“And in the case of a paedophile, for example, you would use child
pornography?”
The two top shelves just there. Courtesy of the Paedophile Unit, Scotland Yard.
Would you like to see some?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
As he led the way from the room the door automatically locked behind them.
“All fully secure, as you can see. Now, what’s next on your little tour?”
She gestured to a row of unmarked doors. “The kitchen? The toilet
facilities?”
“Where you keep your patient records, please, Miss Reynolds.”
He followed her along one corridor and down another. “Big place, this. What on
earth do you need so many rooms for?”
Reynolds ignored the question. She led him into a windowless office. “All our
client records are kept in this one room, on disks.”
Pitman ran his eyes around the room with mild interest. Computers left him cold.
“Exactly how secure is this room?”
“Totally. No windows, as you can see. Access can only be gained by security
card.”
“And who holds these cards?”
“Myself and Dr Quinlan, of course. And Molly.”
“Molly?”
“Molly Hammett, our admin’ secretary. She’s been fully vetted, naturally.”
“No-one else?”
“No-one at all. Visitors are escorted at all times, just as you are now. An
obvious precaution given all our guests are current or former criminals. Present
company excepted, of course.”
“And these computers, could they be accessed from outside? What’s the phrase,
hacked into?”
“Out of the question, Inspector. Our internal computers are totally
independent of the on-line access in Reception. The only way anyone could access
information is by being in this room. And even then they’d need to know the
computer security codes.”
“Which are known only to the three of you?”
“No, just Dr Quinlan and I. Molly’s role is purely administrative. She has no
knowledge of the codes.”
“And there’s been no break-ins of any sort?”
“Inspector, I don’t know where you’re leading, but let me assure you right now
the Quinlan Foundation is one hundred percent secure. Perhaps you’d like to see
our security operations room next. I’m sure that will put your mind at rest.”
As they made their way to the security room Pitman said, “I’d like a list of
all you clients before I leave.”
Reynolds stopped in her tracks. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me, Miss Reynolds. All your current and past clients. Say the last
three years?”
“Quite impossible.”
“Because?”
“Client confidentiality, of course. Data protection. Privacy laws. There is no
way on Earth I could release such information.”
“Believe me, Miss Reynolds, the Foundation will cooperate. We can get a Court
order if necessary.”
“You do that, Inspector. Dr Quinlan is very well connected. He’ll soon put a
stop to your games.”
“This is no game, Miss Reynolds. As I said, this is a murder inquiry, and one
of your patients is prime suspect.”
“Yes, Greg Randall. Nothing you’ve said so far has given me any reason
whatsoever to doubt his guilt.”

192

“I understand Randall was receiving aversion therapy?”
“That’s not for me to say.”
“I’d like to see the place where this so-called therapy takes place, after
I’ve seen the security set-up. Isn’t it the case that you give your patients
electric shocks while showing them obscene videos? A rather strange way to try
and cure someone, if you ask me.”
“Nobody is asking you, Inspector. I don’t presume to make judgements about
police procedures and I’ll thank you to extend the same courtesy to our work
here at the Foundation. I’ve already said, we’re a licensed operator, authorised
by the Home Office, to conduct this type of therapy. It may not be to your
personal taste, but someone has to do it. And frankly the world is a safer place
for it.”
“Right. And I’ve got fairies at the bottom of my garden.”
“Clearly, Inspector, you have no concept whatsoever of therapeutic methods,
and I certainly have no intention of debating them with you. I really don’t
think you understand my position.”
“I understand perfectly, Miss Reynolds. I’m sure that Dr Quinlan will prove
less obstructive.”
Reynolds stopped outside an unmarked door and swiped the card. Pitman was
speechless. He’d seen high-tech security systems before, but this was impressive
by any standard. On one of the many monitors he could see himself and Reynolds
on screen. He swung round to see the camera, but saw nothing.
“Hidden lenses. All part of the Foundation’s security. The only cameras you’ll
actually see are the external ones, for deterrent purposes, but the entire
premises are covered. As I told you, Inspector, we take our security very
seriously.”
On another screen he could see the secretary, Molly, at her desk. As he watched
she got up and left the room. The monitor darkened and an adjacent screen lit
up, showing Molly in the corridor, stopping outside another door. As she swiped
a card and entered the monitor darkened and another monitor lit up to reveal
Molly in a sparkling bathroom. He saw her reach for a button on the wall and the
screen blanked. The words Privacy Requested appeared.
“Certain rooms have a privacy facility, for obvious reasons,” Reynolds
explained. “But I can over-ride it if you wish?”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Seeing Reynolds’ secretary on the john was not
high on his list of priorities.
“The audio is off at the moment, but we can hear every sound, when
required.” She hit a button and Pitman listened to Molly humming as she
flushed the toilet. Reynolds hit another button and Pitman saw himself at the
front door, shivering in the cold. He watched on fast-forward as they whizzed
through the building together. Another button and the monitors returned to
normal. Molly was making her way back to Reception.
“I’m impressed.” Pitman pointed to an electronic blueprint of the building,
with green and amber lights. “What’s that?”
“Personnel monitoring. It’s a back-up system, just in case the video
surveillance failr a lens is obscured. It registers body heat. We can tell at a
glance which rooms are occupied.”
There were two green lights on. Reception and security. “So we’re the only
people in the building,” Pitman surmised.
“Precisely, Inspector.”
“What are the amber lights?”
“Threshold monitors. They indicate whether a door is secure or not. Every door
in the building is covered. As you see, most of them are locked.”
“And the ones that are not?”
“All internal doors. We’re having some renovation done on the far side of the
building. A pet project of Dr Quinlan’s. No outside contractors, before you ask.
Dr Quinlan and his son undertake all the work themselves.”
A buzzer sounded and Reynolds picked up the receiver. Pitman could see Molly on
the screen, but only hear Reynolds’ response.
“One moment, Molly, then put him through.” She turned to Pitman.
“Inspector, I have to speak with a client, on a confidential mater. Would you
mind waiting outside? Perhaps you’d like to go on ahead and inspect the Aversion
Therapy Unit.”
“Alone?”
“No personal details or effects are there, and as I’ve made clear, none will
be made available. But if you wish to go ahead I’ll join you shortly and explain
the broad principles.”
“And how will I get in without the magic card?”
Reynolds flicked a switch and an amber light appeared on the board. “There,
it’s unlocked ready for you. Turn right out of here, left at the end, take
another left and it’s the fourth door. You can’t miss it. It’s the only one that
will be open. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
“I’ll find it.” Pitman pulled the door shut behind him. Turn right, she
said. He turned left and set off, pushing against every closed door as he went.
Reynolds watched his progress on the monitors. So predictable.
Something caught her eye on the forecourt monitor. She zoomed in on Pitman’s
car.
“Molly, I can’t take that call after all. Be and dear and put me through to
James.”