Sugar & Spice (9 page)

39

Randall lit his third cigarette as Reynolds droned.
“Let’s come back to your childhood. It’s not at all clear to me yet. Are you
quite sure you don’t remember any unpleasant experiences as a child? These
fantasies… Being tied to a tree with your trousers around your ankles?
Exposing yourself to school friends in the playground? At infants school?
They’re not the fantasies of normal childhood, Greg, let’s be fair. They must
reflect something that was happening to you at the time. It’s a well established
fact that men who are attracted to children were themselves abused in
childhood.”
“My father did not abuse me, Dr Reynolds.”
“Then your father was a very unusual man. All men abuse, Greg. It’s in their
nature to.”
Randall shook his head, unwilling even to entertain the suggestion. “No.”
“I’m not saying he hurt you. Caused you harm. Abuse can take many different
forms. But he must have bathed you as a child, surely? It might have happened
then, without you even realising it. Think about it. It’s possible, Greg, isn’t
it Did you bathe together? Did he wash your genitals? Your behind?”
Randall was shaking his head violently. “No.”
Reynolds ignored him. “Sometimes the abuse stops when the child is quite
young. It makes it more difficult to remember in later years. Or maybe it was
something more serious. Sometimes we shut off unpleasant events as a child. We
can suppress them so completely that it’s as if they never happened. We have no
conscious memory of them, but then the angst manifests itself in later years,
comes back to haunt our adult lives. As with this attraction to children for
example.”
“No. that’s not what happened.” Randall was adamant. Since his father had
died he had only fond memories. The harsh discipline was forgotten. Whatever his
faults, his father was not an abuser.
Reynolds was intense. She might have been reading his mind. “The memory can
play strange tricks, Greg. It can suppress memories. Lock them deep into your
subconscious. Have you ever heard of Recovered Memory Syndrome? It’s where we
use therapy to regress your memory back to childhood, to find out what really
happened. I guarantee you anyone who tries it will remember the abuse ffered. I
did, Greg. I only learned the truth years later, through recovered memory, but I
was abused by my father as a child. And his brother. My uncle. I just never
realised what was happening at the time. Or if I did, I shut it out so
completely it was as if it never happened.”
“My father was not an abuser, Dr Reynolds. If that’s what you think then
perhaps I should go now.” He shifted in his seat, as if to get up.
Reynolds’ tone changed in an instant. “No, no, if you feel uncomfortable we
can try a different approach. How about a drink?”
Randall gestured to the half-empty cup.
“I meant something a little stronger.” She was making her way to a drinks
cabinet. “It will help you relax. Doctor’s orders.” The smile. “ Whisky,
brandy, vodka… Or a beer? We have some cans in the chiller.”
“Please.” A cold lager would compliment his last cigarette. God how he
wished he’d bought a second packet.
With an ice-cold Budweiser in his hand Randall felt a little more sure of
himself. He noticed that Reynolds joined him with a vodka and tonic.
“I don’t usually drink in the day,” she assured him, “but I need to relate
to your state of mind, the better to understand your anxieties and assess your
needs.”
He eased himself back into the chair and listened to Reynolds as she harped on
about psychotherapy, how it could help, and how important it was that he should
be honest with her about his desires.
Then suddenly she was back with the questions.
She’d gauged correctly, the alcohol and the relaxed atmosphere combining to make
her client more cooperative.

40

“Did you have any homosexual experiences while you were growing up?”
“I’m not gay, Dr Reynolds.”
“Homosexual interaction between pubescent boys is an entirely natural part of
male development.”
He’d heard that before. That every boy had a homosexual experience as they grew
up, and that if they denied it they were liars. It was a no-win situation.
Damned if you did, damned if you didn’t. He’d never given it any serious thought
before. Now he had a vague recollection. With two other boys. The memories were
flooding back. On the way home from school, under the bridge. He shut his eyes,
trying to shut out the memory. “No, nothing like that ever happened.”
“It doesn’t mean you’re gay, Greg. Every child goes through it.”
“Did you?”
“It’s not the same for girls, Greg. I’m quite happy to talk about me, about my
experiences, if it will make you feel better, but that’s not why you came here,
is it.”
She searched his eyes. “Tell me, why did you get married, Greg?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Married. Why did you bother? Was it a cover? An attempt to deny your true
desires? To keep them a secret?”
“No… we …we fell in love.” He managed a sheepish grin. “Sounds corny,
I know, but it’s true.”
“And how old was… Bethan, isn’t it? How old was Bethan when you married
her?”
“Twenty-three.”
“And when you met her?”
“Twenty-one.”
“So you never knew her as a child?”
“No. Is this relevant?”
“I’m the therapist here, Greg, please. There’s no need to be so defensive. You
obviously have sex. Or at least, have had in the past. You are the father of
your children, I presume?”
“Of course.” It had never occurred to him otherwise and he resented the
implications.
“How would you rate your sex life? On a scale of one to ten?”
Randall shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve never thought about it like that.”
“Oh come on, Greg. All men think like that. It’s in their nature to. Is she
good? Does she satisfy you? Or doesn’t it happen anymore? Is it a thing of the
past? Is that why you turn to little girls for gratification instead, because
your wife doesn’t satisfy you?”
“No. No, we st do it. A lot. Regularly. I love Bethan very much. She and the
Twins mean everything to me. We, Bethan and I, have a very active sex life.”
Reynolds looked unconvinced. “How did you feel when the children were born?”
“Over the moon. I adore them.”
“You wanted girls, of course. Most men prefer their first born to be boys. So
they can bring up little versions of themselves and delude themselves that their
son will become the famous footballer or successful businessman they never
achieved themselves. But you, you were delighted to have girls, weren’t you,
Greg? You would have been disappointed if they’d been boys. That’s the truth,
isn’t it?”
“No. They just happened to be girls. We found out very early on what sex they
were. We call them the Dynamite Twins now, but – “
Reynolds cut across him. “I can guess exactly why you call them that. Let’s
not change the subject, Greg. They were girls. That’s what was important to you,
wasn’t it? You were thinking, even then, about yourself, weren’t you. About
having little girls in your own home, beholden to you. Available at your whim,
to satisfy your needs.”
“No.” He felt he should object more strongly, but the alcohol was in his
blood, easing the tension. He popped a second can. Let her say what she liked.
“She’s small, your wife, isn’t she, Greg? Slightly built, I mean. Small
breasts? Youthful appearance? Like a Barbie doll?”
He nodded, bewildered. “How did you..?”
“She shaves her pubic hair, doesn’t she? You asked her to, isn’t that right,
Greg?”
Randall’s mouth dropped open.
“Going Brazilian. Isn’t that what they call it? Do you fantasise about being
with younger girls when you have sex with your wife, Greg, is that it? Which do
you prefer, her breasts or her genitals?”
He shook his head in disbelief.
“Her genitals, isn’t it? Do you practice cunnilingus? Oral sex? Is that your
favourite part? Is the real sex, the intercourse, just for show? A pleasure for
her, but just a mechanical release for you? When you go down on Bethan you’re
imagining she’s just a child. That’s your fantasy, isn’t it? You can be honest
with me. Nothing you say will ever leave this room.”

41

Reynolds looked deep into his eyes.
“What is it exactly that you find appealing about children, Greg? About little
girls?”
A long silence, while he emptied the can and opened another. “I can’t explain
it. All I know is I find them attractive.”
“By attractive, you mean physically attractive?”
“Yes.”
“Sexually attractive?”
“Obviously. That’s why I’m here. But I’ve never touched them, believe me. Not
ever.”
“But you’d like to.”
He slugged back the Budweiser. Reynolds topped up her vodka in a sympathy move.
“It’s just about looking. Fantasising. Not the real thing.”
Reynolds was nodding eagerly. “Which age group attracts you, Greg? Is it
younger or older girls that arouse you?”
The alcohol in his blood, he was responding almost without embarrassment.
“Younger. Not babies. But not too old. Once they start to develop, sexually I
mean, I seem to find them less appealing. They’re still attractive. So are adult
women. But it’s the younger ones I’m drawn to. Say eight, nine. That sort of
age.”
“So puberty is a turn-off?”
“I hadn’t thought of it like that, but yes, I guess so. Is that… is that
normal?”
“Well, normal would be an inappropriate word, but it’s by no means uncommon.
You must realise, Greg, that there are thousands of men out there dealing with
similar problems. You’re not alone in this.”
“That’s hard to believe.”
“Maybe, but it’s true. It’s just not the kind of thing you can discuss with
your mates down the pub. It’s a very difficult subject.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“You’re obviously awf the legal position, Greg, but let’s talk hypothetically
for a moment. Supposing sex with children was legalised. Just supposing it was
socially acceptable. Supposing you wouldn’t be arrested and you wouldn’t be
ostracised by your friends and family if they knew. Would you want to go to bed
with a child? With an eight or a nine year old? For sex?”

42

Randall stared ahead nervously. He’d said too much already.
He thought of the Dynamite Twins.
Precious Natalie and Tamara.
He slugged back half the can.
“No. I’ve got two daughters. You know that. I bath them sometimes.” He
stared into the distance. “I can see, literally, how delicate a child’s body
is. How frail. It’s unthinkable.”
Reynolds looked unconvinced.
“I’m attracted to children. I admit it. I like them. They’re a turn on, so
help me God. But the last thing I would want to do is to hurt them in any
way.”
“But you do think about it. That’s why you’re here, after all.”
“No!” He controlled his voice. “I mean… I see young girls in the street
or in the park and I find myself staring at them. I want to be with them.”
“And you find that sexually stimulating? Just to watch?”
“To watch, yes. I don’t want to touch them. To harm them. But as time goes by
the urges becomes stronger. A few years ago I just fantasised about their
appearance. Then their physical presence. About being with them. That’s what
worries me. Not my fantasising. That’s just me. But supposing… Supposing the
urge gets out of control one day? Supposing I go too far. That I actually touch
one of them.”
He was sweating, on the edge of his seat, aware that he’d revealed his innermost
desires to someone else. Someone he’d known less than an hour.
He felt embarrassed.
Insecure.
Frightened.
Reynolds said nothing for a full minute, watching him intently, noting his hand
movements, his body positions, the emphasis he placed on different words. She
was considering whether to bring the session to a halt here. She decided to try
one more line of questioning before making a decision.
“Tell me about Natalie and Tamara? Your daughters. What are they like?”
His face broke into a smile. “Just two beautiful little girls. I wouldn’t harm
them, Dr Reynolds. Not them. Not ever.”
“It’s Ruth, Greg, please. And I believe you. But you’ve watched them grow up.
From little babies, to toddlers, to young children. You say you bathe them. Why
doesn’t your wife do that?”
“She works nights. Shifts. It’s more practical for me to bath them some
nights.”
“Do you watch them in the bath?”
“Of course. They’re only six.”
“I meant look at them, like you do with other little girls.”
“No. They’re my daughters. I don’t see them that way. They’re different.
They’re not like any other girls.”
“But they’re still little girls, Greg. Six years old now. But in a few years
time they’ll be eight. Or nine. Your favourite age group. Do you think about
that sometimes? Do you worry you might lose control one day and do something?”
“No.”
“This is strictly confidential, Greg, remember that. You can be totally honest
with me.”
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I think it’s time I was going, Dr
Reynolds. I think it would be best.”
“Of course, Greg. That’s entirely up to you.” She knocked back her vodka.
“But let me ask you just one more question before you go. Just one. It will
help my appraisal for Dr Quinlan enormously.”
Randall waited, on the edge of his seat.
“Please answer this question frankly, Greg. Honesty is of the utmost
importance. Have you ever, even once, however innocent or insignificant it may
have seemed to you at the time, touched your daughters? Their breasts? Their
genitals. In a sexual way, I mean?”
The half-empty can slipped from his hands as she finished the question, sending
him to his feet with a beer stained crotch. Amid apologies and the mopping up
operation the interview was thankfully terminated.
As the taxi departed Reynolds returned to the lounge and crossed to a mirrored
wall cabinet. She opened the door and switched off the camcorder.

43

“You wanted to see me, Sir?”
Detective Superintendent John Weisman gestured for Pitman to close the door.
“Take a seat, David. Drink?”
“No thanks, Sir. Never touch the stuff.”
“Of course, I was forgetting.”
“Something on your mind, Sir?”
Weisman poured himself a Glenmorangie and stood by the window, looking out
across the station car park, his lips pursed.
“Not much of a view, is it? I imagined an office overlooking the beach when
they said I was being transferred to Margate. And those bloody seagulls… Don’t
they keep you up at night?”
“You get used to them, Sir.”
“You might. Give me the throb of city traffic any day.” He turned and faced
Pitman. “You’ve heard the rumours, of course.”
“Sir?”
“The Dorset kid. The boy in Northumberland. Now the two Welsh girls.”
“It happens, Sir. Kids go missing all the time. Most of them turn up. It’s
the rare few that don’t that make the tabloid headlines,”
Weisman put his empty glass down. “Cut the crap, David. Please speak freely.
Is Bristow our man, or isn’t he?”
“No, Sir. I don’t believe he is.”
Weisman bit his bottom lip in concentration. “That’s not what I wanted to
hear.”
“Sorry, but it’s just not his style. I’ve said that all along.”
“The press are playing merry hell with me at the moment, David, I don’t mind
telling you. That brief of Bristow’s. Isaac, is it? He’s not helping matters.
He’s already made representations to the IPCC and is talking about formal
proceedings against the Met for assault. I mean, the sick bastard’s not even out
of hospital yet, for Christ’s sake, and his brief’s demanding heads roll.”
Pitman shrugged. “It’s understandable, Sir. Bristow was in a pretty bad way.
The coincidences were lining up thick and fast. A fail to stop, just when the
Met boys were looking for him, but no-one managed to get the licence plate? The
fingers broken on one hand, and a shattered elbow. And a signed confession, in
his pocket?”
Weisman looked genuinely surprised. “Call me naive, David, but I thought that
kind of thing went out with The Sweeney.”
“Sir?”
“Planted confessions? Kangaroo courts in police cells? I know my history,
David, but this is the twenty-first century. You can’t be serious, surely.”
“I don’t like it any more than you, Sir. But ask any villain. PACE made a
difference and no mistake, but that’s only once the suspect is logged in and
formally under Station supervision. What happens before that is anybody’s guess.
With a case like this one, where a child’s involved, emotions can run high. With
all due respect, Sir, it happens.”
“If it does, David, it should be stopped. If it’s true, we have problems. And
I do mean we, not just the Met, although Christ, they’ll pay dearly if there’s
any substance to Bristow’s story. The problem we have is my more immediate
concern.”
“Sir?”
“If Bristow isn’t Uncle Tom then who the hell is?”
“And are any of the other missing kids connected,” finished Pitman.
“I’ll level with you, David. I’m on the horns of a dilemma. If I re-open the
investigation now I’ll not only be seen to be undermining the Met’s position,
but we’re likely to have panic headlines in the tabloids tomorrow. And all
possibly for nothing. I respect your experience, but the evidence against
Bristow is compelling, you have to admit.”
“The alleged sighting of his vehicle by the canal, you mean? Someone like
Bristow makes enemiasier than friends. There’s a hundred people out there would
think nothing of making a hoax call to drop him in it. If it were genuine, why
didn’t the caller come forward sooner?”
“But officially we have the man who killed the Meadows child, who’s admitted
to killing her, in custody. There is just no way I can authorise further
investigation other than for confirmatory purposes.”
“If I may make a suggestion, Sir.”
“Please, speak freely.”