The Mermaids Singing (15 page)

‘All I wanted was to love you,’ I said quietly. ‘I didn’t want it to be like this.’ My hand strayed to the handle of the rack and caressed the smooth wood. I turned my head and gazed at Adam’s beautiful face. Slowly, infinitely slowly, I started to turn the handle. His body, already taut, tightened against the pull of the straps. His effort was wasted. The gears on the winding mechanism multiplied my small exertion till it equalled the strength of several men. Adam was no match for my machine. I could see the muscles of his arms and legs bulge, his chest heaving as he struggled for breath.

‘It’s not too late,’ I said. ‘We could still be lovers. Would you like that?’

Desperately, he moved his head. There was no mistaking it, it was a nod. I smiled. ‘That’s more like it,’ I said. ‘Now all you have to do is show me you mean it.’

I ran one hand over his damp chest, then rubbed my face against the fine dark hairs. I could smell his fear, taste it in his sweat. I buried my head in his neck, sucking and biting, nibbling his ears. His body stayed rigid, but I felt no trace of an erection beneath me. Frustrated, I pulled away. I leaned over him and, in one swift agonizing movement, I yanked the tape away from his mouth.

‘Aagh!’ he yelled as the adhesive ripped his skin, rasping on the faint stubble. He licked dry lips. ‘Please, let me go,’ he whispered.

I shook my head. ‘I can’t do that, Adam. Maybe if we were really lovers…’

‘I won’t tell anyone,’ he croaked. ‘I promise.’

‘You betrayed me once,’ I said sadly. ‘How can I trust you now?’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realize… I’m sorry.’ But there was no penitence in his eyes, only desperation and fear. I’d played this scene so many times in my head. Part of me exulted that I’d predicted the shape of it so well, that the dialogue was almost identical to the scenario I’d conjured up. Part of me felt an inexpressible sadness that he was exactly as weak and faithless as I’d feared. And yet another part of me was almost uncontrollably excited by what lay ahead, whether love or death, or both.

‘It’s too late for words,’ I said. ‘It’s time for actions. You said you wanted us to be lovers, but that’s not what your body’s saying. Maybe you’re scared. But there’s no need to be. I’m a generous person, a loving person. You could find that out for yourself. I’m going to give you one last chance to atone for your betrayal. I’m going to leave you now for a while. When I come back, I expect you to be able to control your fear and show me how you really feel about me.’

I let him go and walked over to the camcorder. I took out the tape that had been recording our encounter and replaced it with a fresh one. At the top of the stairs, I turned back. ‘Otherwise, I’ll be forced to administer punishment for your treachery.’

‘Wait!’ he howled desperately as I disappeared from sight. ‘Come back,’ I heard as I dropped the trapdoor into place. I expect he carried on yelling. But I couldn’t hear him. I went upstairs to Auntie Doris and Uncle Henry’s bedroom. I slotted the video into the player I’d set up on the chest at the end of the bed, switched on the TV and climbed between the cold cotton sheets. Even if Adam didn’t want me, I couldn’t escape my desire for him. I watched him on his rack, my hand stroking me, touching myself with all the skill and ingenuity I wanted from him, imagining his beautiful cock swelling in my mouth. Every time I reached the point of orgasm, I stopped, gripping myself tight, forcing myself not to come, to save myself for what lay ahead. After I’d gone through the video for the fourth time, I decided he’d had long enough.

I slipped out of bed and went back downstairs. I looked at him spread-eagled on the rack. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Let me go. I’ll do anything you want, but let me go. I’m begging you.’

I smiled and gently shook my head. ‘I will take you back to Bradfield, Adam. But first, it’s time to party.’

6

People begin to see that something more goes to the composition of a fine murder than two blockheads to kill and be killed — a knife — a purse — and a dark lane. Design, gentlemen, grouping, light and shade, poetry, sentiment, are now deemed to be indispensable to attempts of this nature.

Work might not solve anything, but it was a great diversionary tactic. Tony stared into the screen, scrolling down through the tabulated information he’d gleaned from the police reports. Satisfied that he’d incorporated everything useful, he switched on the printer. While it chattered and stuttered its way through the print-out, Tony opened another file and started to sketch out the conclusions he had drawn from the raw data. Anything, anything to keep her at bay.

He was so absorbed in his work he barely registered the doorbell’s first peal. When it rang out a second time, he looked up, startled, at the clock. Five past eleven. If it was Carol, she was earlier than he’d anticipated. They’d already agreed that there was little point in beginning their trip before midnight. Tony got to his feet, uncertain. Since she knew his phone number, it wouldn’t be too hard for Angelica to discover his address too. He arrived at the front door just as the bell rang for the third time. Wishing he’d installed a peephole, Tony cautiously inched the door open.

Carol grinned. ‘You look like you’re expecting Handy Andy,’ she said. When Tony said nothing, she added, ‘Sorry I’m a bit early. I did try ringing, but you were engaged.’

‘Sorry,’ Tony mumbled. ‘I must have accidentally left it off the hook from earlier. Come on in, it’s no problem.’ He found a smile from somewhere and led Carol into his study. As he reached his desk, he slid the phone back on the hook.

Carol registered that the phone’s engaged signal had been no accident. Deduction: he didn’t want to be disturbed, not even by the answering machine. Probably, like her, he couldn’t resist a ringing phone. She glanced at the sheets of paper sitting on the printer table. ‘You’ve obviously been busy,’ she said. ‘And there was me thinking you were taking your time answering the door because you’d gone for a quick zizz.’

‘Did you get some sleep?’ Tony asked, noting that she looked more clear-eyed than she had done earlier.

‘Four hours. Which is about ten too few. I’ve got a couple of bits of information for you, by the way.’ She filled him in succinctly on the results of her visit to Scargill Street, leaving out Cross’s hostility.

Tony listened carefully, making a couple of notes on his pad. ‘Interesting,’ he said. ‘I don’t think there’s a lot of point in pulling in the sex offenders again, though. If Handy Andy’s got form, it’s more likely to be juvenile offences, petty burglary, minor violence, that sort of thing. Still, I’ve been wrong before.’

‘Haven’t we all? By the way, I checked with the HOLMES room, and there’s no one there who knows anything about statistical pattern analysis, so I’ve asked my brother to see what he can do for us. Should I just give him a set of the photographs, or is there some other way of presenting the raw data?’

‘I suppose there’s less chance of a mistake if he works directly from the photographs,’ Tony said. ‘Thanks for sorting that out for me.’

‘No sweat,’ Carol said. ‘Secretly, I think he’s quite chuffed to be asked. He thinks I don’t take him seriously. You know, he writes games software, I do the real thing.’

‘And do you?’ Tony asked.

‘What? Take him seriously? You bet I do. I respect anybody that understands something as far beyond my grasp as computers. Besides, he earns about twice what I do. That has to be serious.’

‘I don’t know about that. Andrew Lloyd Webber probably earns more in a day than I do in a month, but I still don’t take him seriously.’ Toby stood up. ‘Carol, do you mind if I abandon you for ten minutes? I need a quick shower to wake me up.’

‘Fine, feel free. It’s me that’s early.’

‘Thanks. D’you want a brew while you’re waiting?’

Carol shook her head. ‘I’ll pass, thanks. It’s cold out there, and there aren’t many places a woman can have a pee in Temple Fields in the early hours.’

Almost shyly, Tony picked up the sheaf of a print-out and proffered it to Carol. ‘I’ve started the work on the victims. Maybe you’d like to take a look while I’m gone?’

Eagerly, Carol took the paper. ‘I’d love to. I’m fascinated by this whole process.’

‘This is just very preliminary,’ Tony stressed, backing towards the door. ‘I mean, I’ve not drawn any conclusions yet. I’m working on that.’

‘Relax, Tony, I’m on your side,’ Carol said as he left the room. She stared after him momentarily, wondering what it was that had unsettled him. By the time they parted in the afternoon, they had built up an easy camaraderie, she’d thought. But now, he was edgy, abstracted. Was it that he was tired, or was it that he was uncomfortable to have her sitting in his home? ‘God, does it matter?’ she muttered to herself. ‘Concentrate, Jordan. Pick the man’s brains.’ She focused on the first sheet and studied the data.

*
BODY WASHING
: No fragranced materials appear to have been used, suggesting that the offender is not using the washing process as a means of denial; rather, in line with the rest of his cautious behaviour, I suggest that this washing is intended to obliterate forensic clues, especially since the killer appears to have taken particular care with the fingernails. Scrapings on all four victims showed nothing except traces of unperfumed soap.
** LIGATURES: None were found on bodies, but postmortems reveal bruising consistent with handcuffs on wrists, slight traces of adhesive, missing hairs and bruising round ankles consonant both with parcel tape and with separate ligatures, and traces of adhesive on face around mouth. No traces of blindfolds.
A:
Adam Scott
. Dislocation of ankles, knees, hips, shoulders, elbows and several vertebrae. Consistent with being stretched on a rack. Tentative postmortem cuts to penis and testicles.
B:
Paul Gibbs
. Severe lacerations to rectum, virtual destruction of anal sphincter and partial disembowelment. Suggestive of spiked object repeatedly inserted via anus. Also some burnt tissue internally, suggesting the possibility of heat or electric shock. Face badly beaten before death; bruising, broken facial bones and teeth. Postmortem cuts to genitals, more pronounced than in A.
C:
Gareth Finnegan
. Irregular pierce wounds to hands and feet, ½″ diameter approx. Lacerations to left cheek and nose, suggestive of glass or bottle being broken across face by right-handed assailant. Shoulders dislocated.? Possible crucifixion? Postmortem wounds to genitals, virtually castrated.
D:
Damien Connolly
. Dislocations similar to A, but no major spinal trauma, ruling out the idea of a rack. Large number of small, star-shaped burns to torso. Penis severed postmortem and inserted in victim’s mouth.
Query: Were Damien Connolly’s handcuffs still in his home or police locker? Query: Why are the bodies always dumped Monday night/Tuesday morning? What happens on Monday that allows him to be free? Does he work nights and have Monday off? Is he perhaps a married man who has Monday free because his wife does things with friends, e.g., girls’ night out? Or is it that Monday isn’t a traditional ‘going out’ night and he can be more sure of finding his victims at home?

Carol was aware that Tony had returned, but she carried on reading, simply raising one hand and waving her fingers to indicate she knew he was there. When she reached the end of the report, she took a deep breath and said, ‘Well, Dr Hill, you
have
been busy.’

Tony smiled and shrugged himself away from the door-jamb he’d been leaning against. ‘I can’t believe there’s anything in there that you didn’t already have filed neatly away in your head.’

‘No, but seeing it laid out like that somehow makes it clearer.’

Tony nodded. ‘He has a very specific type.’

‘Do you want to talk about it now?’

Tony looked down at the floor. ‘I’d rather leave most of it for now. I need to let it sink in, and I need to go through all the rest of the witness statements before I can think about a profile.’

Carol couldn’t help feeling disappointed. ‘I understand,’ was all she said.

Tony smiled. ‘Were you expecting more?’

‘Not really.’

His smile broadened. ‘Not even a smidgen?’

The smile was infectious. Carol grinned back. ‘Hoping, maybe. Expecting, no. By the way, there was one thing I didn’t understand. NCP? CP? NRP? I mean, we’re not talking National Car Parks and the Communist Party here, are we?’

‘No current partner. Current partner. No recent partner. Acronymitis. It’s the disease that afflicts all of us in the soft sciences like psychology, sociology. We have to mystify the uninitiated. Sorry about that. I try to keep things as jargon-free as possible.’

‘So you don’t confuse us thick plods, eh?’ Carol teased.

‘It’s more about self-preservation. The last thing I want is to give the sceptics another big stick to hit me with. It’s hard enough getting people to accept that my reports are even worth reading without alienating them with all that unnecessary pseudo-scientific mumbo jumbo.’

‘I believe you,’ Carol said ironically. ‘Shall we go?’

‘Sure. There is one thing I would like to bounce off you now,’ Tony said, suddenly serious again. ‘The victims. Everybody’s assuming this killer is targeting gay men. Now, there are hundreds, probably thousands of openly gay men in Bradfield. We’ve got the biggest gay scene in the country outside London. Yet every one of those victims has no known history of homosexuality. What does that say to you?’

‘He’s in the closet himself and he only goes for men who are closeted too?’ Carol hazarded.

‘Maybe. But if they’re all busily passing as straight, how does he meet them?’

Carol straightened the edges of the papers to give herself a moment. ‘Contact magazines? Small ads? Multi-user phone chatlines? The Internet?’

‘OK, all possibilities. But there was no evidence of any of those interests, according to the reports of the officers who searched their houses. Not in one single case.’