The Torment of Others (15 page)

The room filled with the hubbub of conversation as officers organized themselves. Jan Shields wove through the bodies and reached Carol as she was about to enter her office. ‘What have you got in mind for us?’ Jan said conversationally, following Carol inside.

‘Kevin did a good job with Dee Smart, but I think she might have more to give us. It’s always worth trying a different approach. And I thought you might know some of the levers to pull.’

Jan leaned against the door frame. ‘Sure. We’re probably wasting our time, but you never know.’

‘It’s better than spinning our wheels.’ Carol was opening and closing her drawers, looking for the paracetamol she was sure she’d stashed there. No trace. She was going to have to manage without.

‘You really think somebody’s trying to get Derek Tyler off the hook?’ Jan asked.

Carol looked up. ‘I don’t know. But, frankly, it’s a more comfortable notion than any of the alternatives.’

Tony knocked on the open door and waited. Silence. Worth a try, he thought, unsurprised that the tactic hadn’t worked. He stuck his head round the door. Derek Tyler was sitting on his bed, knees bent, arms wrapped round his legs. ‘Can I come in?’ Tony asked.

Tyler didn’t move. ‘I’ll take that as a yes, then.’ Tony walked into the small room, keeping his eyes on Tyler. There would be plenty of time to take in the room without making the man feel his environment was under scrutiny. ‘I’ll sit down, shall I?’ Tony continued, making for the single wooden chair that was tucked into a bare table.

He pulled the chair out and turned it so he was sitting at an angle to Tyler. He deliberately chose a relaxed posture, body open and unthreatening. Tyler moved his head so Tony was out of his line of vision. Tony glimpsed a raw-boned face with deep-set pale eyes. He had the sense that Tyler was perfectly capable of connection but that he chose to avoid it. ‘My name is Tony Hill,’ he said. ‘I work here at the hospital. But I also work with the police. And that’s why I wanted to talk to you.’ He waited, taking in the bareness of the room. It was like a monastic cell. No books, no family photographs tacked to the walls, no Page Three girls. The only personal item in the room was a large framed black-and-white photograph of Temple Fields, looking down the pedestrianized street with the canal off to one side.

After a few long minutes, Tony decided it was time to get to work. His strategy was, he knew, basic. But it was the best he could come up with on short notice with a patient he’d no previous clinical engagement with. ‘I understand why you might not want to talk about it. Who could possibly comprehend what it was like to do the things you did?’

Tyler shifted slightly, but his bony face remained resolutely turned away. Tony lowered his voice, making it warm and sympathetic. ‘But that’s not the main problem, is it? The trouble is, when you start to talk, everybody just wants to talk back at you. And that way you can’t hear the voice, can you, Derek?’

Tyler jerked his head round momentarily, a flash of surprise on his face. It was over so quickly that Tony could almost have believed he’d imagined the response. ‘It’s still there, isn’t it?’ he said. Then he waited a good two minutes before speaking again. ‘You can hear it when I shut up, can’t you?’

Nothing from Tyler. But that single glance had told Tony he was moving in the right direction. ‘But the voice can only tell you stuff from before. It can’t tell you what’s happening now, outside here. You have to rely on me for that. You know why that is? You know why it’s all gone quiet? It’s because your voice is talking to somebody else now.’

Tyler’s whole body swivelled round till he was facing Tony. He was all attention now, his grey-blue eyes shrouded under his heavy brows. Tony spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. ‘I’m sorry, Derek, but that’s the way it is. You’re shut up in here, you’re no use any more. I told you I work with the police. The reason I’m here is that somebody else is doing exactly what you did, Derek. And that has to be because the voice isn’t talking to you any more. It’s talking to him.’

Anger flared in Tyler’s eyes. His hands tightened their grip on each other, the veins on his thin arms standing out like cords. Tony wondered if anyone on Aidan Hart’s team had ever provoked this tightly coiled violence in Tyler. He doubted it. If they’d seen what he was looking at now, he didn’t think Tyler would be allowed into the general population. ‘I’m not making this up, Derek,’ Tony said reasonably. ‘The voice has left you for somebody else. All you’ve got is memories.’

Abruptly, Tyler jumped up and walked past Tony to the doorway. He rang the call button on the wall and banged on the door with his fist for good measure.

Tony continued speaking as if nothing had happened. ‘I’m right, aren’t I? The voice isn’t yours any more. So you might as well talk.’

A nurse in white scrubs appeared in the corridor. Tony could see Aidan Hart hovering behind him. Tyler stood meekly by the door.

‘What’s happened?’ the nurse asked.

Tony smiled. ‘I think Derek wants to go away and think about what I’ve been saying to him, don’t you, Derek?’

‘You’re OK, are you, Doc?’

I’m fine. In good fettle and in good voice.’

The nurse looked from Tony to Tyler and back again, unable to fathom what was going on. ‘Come on then, Derek, we’ll take you down to the day room.’ The nurse reached out for Tyler’s arm.

In the doorway, Tyler turned and growled in a voice rusty from disuse, ‘You’re not the voice. You could never be the voice.’

Aidan Hart’s mouth fell open. He watched speechless as Tyler walked down the hall, head high, narrow shoulders thrown back. Tony stood up and replaced the chair. ‘Well, that’s a start,’ he said cheerfully, walking past his new boss at a brisk pace.

Stan’s Café featured in none of the tourist guides to Bradfield. Even the indie internet websites that prided themselves on offering their readers the
echt
experience normally only available to natives shuddered away from a greasy spoon frequented principally by hookers, rent boys, homeless people and drug dealers. Unlike some low-life dives that made it into alternative guides, nobody went to Stan’s for the food. The clientele frequented Stan’s because it was somewhere to go out of the cold and rain. When Temple Fields glamorized itself into the Gay Village in the nineties, the bar owners had started to become more picky about who they allowed across their thresholds, especially if they were the sort of customers who could make a half of bitter last hours. The only beneficiary of this more stringent approach was Stan’s. Fat Bobby, who owned Stan’s, didn’t care who occupied the split and sticky vinyl seats as long as they bought food and drink and fags from him.

That morning, half a dozen tables were taken. Two young Asian men were hunched over eggs on toast, a velvet jeweller’s roll of knock-off watches half-exposed between them. They were clearly brothers, sharing the same tight, sharp features, the same slack-lipped mouths stained with tomato sauce. In between mouthfuls, they argued prices and pitches. A gangling youth lounged against the fruit machine, frowning at the reels as they spun and settled in response to the coins a chunky lad with classic Black Irish looks was feeding into the machine. ‘Why d’you keep doing it when you don’t win?’ the spectator asked.

‘If I don’t do it, I won’t win, will I?’ the player grunted. ‘Fuck off, you’re bringing me bad luck.’

Dee Smart sat at a corner table near the toilets, back to the door, huddled over a cigarette. Her eyelids were puffy and heavy, her mouth downturned and tight. She stared into a grey cup of coffee, looking miserable. A gawky, slack-jawed youth emerged from the toilets and caught sight of her. He slid into the seat opposite. ‘You sad about Sandie, Dee?’ he said. He had some sort of problem with his speech which turned everything he said into a long drawl.

Dee took a drag on her cigarette and sighed. Jason Duffy was not what she needed right then. ‘Yeah, Jason, I’m sad about Sandie.’

He patted her hand awkwardly. ‘You need something to take the edge off? I got some nice skunk.’

‘Not a good idea just now, Jason. I’m waiting for the dibble,’ Dee said wearily. ‘Besides, you know I don’t buy from you.’

Jason’s face twitched with nervous anxiety and he edged quickly out of the seat, almost falling over his feet in his haste. ‘Be seeing you, then.’ He headed for the door without a backward glance.

The youth by the slot machine abandoned his post and moseyed over to the counter to order a tea. The door to the outside swung open and Jason Duffy nearly ran head first into Carol Jordan in his haste to be gone. Carol sidestepped him and walked in, her stomach rebelling at the steamy, smoke-filled atmosphere. Stale bacon fat and vinegar conspired in a foul miasma that made her regret her excesses of the previous night once more. Jan followed her, eyes dredging the room for Dee Smart. ‘Over there,’ she said, indicating Dee with her head. ‘You want a coffee?’

Carol wrinkled her nose. ‘You’re kidding, right?’

‘They don’t do mineral water,’ Jan said acidly. ‘A Coke might settle your stomach.’

Carol tried to hide her surprise. ‘Sorry?’

‘You’ve been looking off colour all morning. The morgue will do that to you.’ Jan weaved through the tables to the counter. Carol followed, checking out the room. She might as well have been invisible for the amount of eye contact she could garner. Every time she looked at someone, their eyes slid off her like water off wax. ‘Who’s who?’ she asked.

Jan’s eyes swept the room. ‘The lad playing the fruit machine is Tyrone Donelan. He nicks cars.’ As if he’d heard her, Tyrone Donelan took one glance over his shoulder and made straight for the door to the toilets.

‘The two Asians, that’s Tariq and Samir Iqbal. Snide watches, pirate DVDs–that kind of thing. Their old man’s a serious player in the counterfeit game. I think he got a tug a year or so back, did three months.’ The Iqbals suddenly lost interest in their eggs on toast, grabbed their stash of watches and hurriedly left.

‘What about the kid who nearly knocked me over when we came in?’

‘Jason Duffy. Low-level dealer. Smack and whiz mostly. He’s not the full shilling, Jason. His claim to fame is that his mother was the first person in Bradfield to be arrested for dealing crack.’ She indicated the gangling youth with a sideways jerk of the head. ‘That’s another one from the same mould: Carl Mackenzie. He mostly deals to the street girls. More of a range than Jason, but not much smarter. As far as what we’re looking for goes, there’s not one of them that would be as much use as a chocolate chip pan.’

Carol nodded. Thanks.’ She moved at a leisurely pace towards Dee and sat down opposite her. Dee raised her head and gave her a calculated stare. Carol took in the lank hennaed hair and the weary, suspicious eyes.

‘Who are you?’ she demanded.

‘Hi, Dee,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to meet you yesterday. I’m Detective Chief Inspector Jordan. Carol Jordan.’ Carol smiled and extended a hand.

Obviously taken aback, Dee shifted her cigarette from one hand to the other and accepted the shake. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘So you obviously know who I am.’

‘I’m sorry about Sandie,’ Carol said.

‘Not half as sorry as I am.’

‘Naturally. She wasn’t my friend. But I want you to know that I’ll pursue whoever killed her just as hard as if she had been.’

The sincerity in Carol’s voice seemed to penetrate Dee’s carapace of toughness. ‘That’s what the other bloke said. That you’d take it seriously.’ She sounded surprised.

Jan reached the table, a can of Coke in each hand. She dumped the drinks on the table and plonked herself down in a chair at right angles to the other two women. ‘Dee, this is…’ Carol began.

‘I know who this is,’ Dee said. Her manner had shifted back to her earlier truculence.

‘Hi, Dee. How are you doing?’ Jan asked.

‘How do you think?’ She angled herself away from Jan.

Carol popped the top of her Coke and took a mouthful. Sugar and caffeine and bubbles hit her, giving her an instant lift. ‘I know this is a hard time for you, but we do need your help.’

Dee sighed. ‘Look, like I said when you phoned. I told everything I know to that bloke last night.’