The Torment of Others (45 page)

‘Aidan Hart had sex with Sandie Foster the night she died. We traced his car and he admitted it. He had an alibi for the time of the murder so I didn’t pursue it. But Sam Evans did. And he discovered that Hart uses prostitutes two or three times a week. I didn’t think that was grounds for suspicion either. But if you’re right, and the same person has orchestrated both series of murders, the alibi is worthless and everything else becomes more significant.’

Tony shook his head, struggling to take in what Carol was saying. ‘No, that can’t be right. The man’s a buffoon. A careerist buffoon.’

‘Or maybe he’s just very good at presenting a fake front?’ Carol said.

Tony swallowed a mouthful of wine, his brow furrowed in thought. ‘It doesn’t work, Carol. It doesn’t fit with what Dee said. There’s no reason why she should know who Hart is, never mind be shit scared of him.’

‘No? What do we know about her mental-health history? A man with Hart’s power could write her up as delusional, have her sectioned, surely? Locked away forever?’

Tony looked doubtful. ‘I don’t know…’ He jumped to his feet and paced. ‘Wait a minute,’ he said triumphantly. ‘Two years ago. When Derek Tyler was active. Hart wasn’t here then. He was still at Rampton. He’s been in post here less than a year. He can’t have been the man behind Derek Tyler’s crimes. And if you concede that Derek couldn’t have conceived those murders on his own, you have to concede that the same person is behind both series. Which rules out Aidan Hart.’

Carol stared at him. ‘You’re sure about that? He couldn’t have been seconded here?’

‘I’m sure as I can be. But it won’t be hard for you to check out.’ Tony pulled a rueful face. ‘I’m sorry to rob you of a suspect. But, leaving aside the practicalities, I just don’t figure Hart for this. I just don’t think he’s got what it takes.’

She sighed, not entirely convinced but unable to find a counter-argument. ‘Fuck. Oh well, at least I don’t have to make a fool of myself with Brandon.’ She finished her drink. ‘I need to get some sleep. It’s been a shit of a day.’

‘Keep me posted, yeah?’ He walked her to the front door.

On the threshold, she turned and put a hand on his shoulder, leaning into him and kissing his cheek. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘What for?’ He was surprised.

She grinned. ‘You’re the psychologist, you work it out.’

Then she was gone, leaving him alone to continue his journey into the dark spaces of someone else’s mind.

Morning dawns sunny for a change, and I imagine those dull-witted coppers seeing it as a good omen. That’s the thing about superstitions. The morons who believe in them never seem to consider that, by their very nature, omens must be indiscriminate. They look out their bedroom window and see the perfect rainbow arcing across the landscape and decide it means good fortune for them without realizing that it means precisely the same for their next-door neighbour who is their sworn enemy. So if the sunny morning is a good omen for my enemies, it must be one for me too
.

I check out the webcam again. The refresh rate isn’t brilliant, even with broadband, but at least it lets me keep an eye on Paula in real time. Except when that fuckwit leaned on the pause button by mistake the first time he changed the videotape. At least he noticed what he’d done and put it right before he left. He won’t do that again in a hurry; I made my displeasure known and it reduced him to a pathetic jelly, desperate to win back my good graces
.

So there she is, spread out the way I like her. I start to feel aroused by the sight, but I haven’t got time to enjoy it, so I force myself to think of more practical things. I’ve never kept one this long before, and it does present certain problems. I know she can go without food for a long time, but I’m not sure how long she can manage without water. I
don’t mind her getting delirious, but I don’t want her to die. Not until I decide the time is right. And when it is, she’ll die the way I dictate, not according to her physiology. I decide to check it out on the net when I get a minute
.

Letting her drink will be a problem. If he takes the gag off, she’ll try to scream. It should be possible to drip water into her mouth through her teeth, but I’m not convinced the trained monkey can manage something so delicate. I might have to do it myself. Far from ideal. Not because there’s any danger she’ll live to tell the tale, but because if she saw me it would destroy the mystique
.

The tip of my tongue slides between my teeth as I watch her. She’s good enough to eat
.

Another fantasy to keep for later. But for now, there’s work to be done
.

Paula was oblivious to the dawn. Inside her brightly lit prison there was no day or night, just endless mute brilliance. When she closed her eyes, the light burned red through her eyelids, reminding her of the sea of blood that had made islands of Sandie Foster and Jackie Mayall. Her head hurt, a dull ache that had started at the base of her skull and crept forward like the vanguard of an enemy army till her brain felt as if it would burst.

She could no longer keep her thoughts under control. Something would pop into her mind, but before she could examine it, it would slither away or morph into something different. Memories segued and elided into each other, people turned up in places she knew they’d never been, their mouths uttering things she knew they’d never said. Lovers shape-shifted into colleagues, old school friends shimmered and reformed as relative strangers. It was unnerving.

Sometimes she could barely remember who she was and how she’d got here. Her limbs felt heavy, as if they belonged to someone much bigger and softer. But that was more bearable than the agonizing cramps that shot through her arms and legs at unpredictable intervals.

The only clear knowledge Paula still managed to hold on to was that someone would come for her. She no longer knew who it would be; but she knew that, sooner or later, one way or another, it would end.

Tony closed the front door behind him and stood for a moment, savouring the sun on his face. He’d slept better than he’d expected but didn’t want to think about why that might be. The sudden image of Paula McIntyre’s face flashed into his mind and all at once, his pleasure in the morning evaporated. He hoped desperately that he was right, that she was still alive. He got into the car and turned the key in the ignition. It coughed, wheezed like an emphysemic octogenarian and died. He frowned and tried again. A click, then nothing. He looked around as if there might be an answer inside the car. There was, of course. After Carol had returned to the office, he’d gone out for a Chinese takeaway. And he’d left the lights on. ‘Bugger,’ he sighed. Even if he could have laid hands on his roadside assistance membership card, he didn’t have time to wait for the patrolman to turn up and jump-start him. And Carol had already left. He’d have bet serious money on her having a set of jump leads tucked away in her boot. Grumpy now, he got out of the car and set off for the bus stop. He knew there was a bus that went near Bradfield Moor, but knew too from the complaints of visitors that the bus stop was a mile from the hospital gates.

Forty minutes later, a bus pulled up in the middle of nowhere and Tony got out. He stood for a moment, trying to figure out exactly where he was, then set off up a nearby lane. Freed from the clammy fug of the bus and its uneasy assortment of passengers, he let his mind run free over its problem.

‘Two kinds of people are drawn to power: those who have it and those who don’t,’ he mused as he trudged on. ‘That’s where we have to start from.

‘Those who don’t have it usually don’t have it for a good reason. Maybe they’re not very bright or not very motivated or not very organized. Doesn’t sound like you, does it?’

He was silent for a while, mulling it over. ‘So we should probably assume that you have access to some degree of power. Which would work, if you’re a cop–only Carol thinks I’m completely off the page on that one. The thing about having power is that those who have it always want more. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. And you like corruption, don’t you? You like the taste and the smell of it. If you’re a cop, you’re a bent cop.’ He stopped for a moment, digesting the implications of that thought.

‘And that’s why Dee’s so scared of you. Because she already knows you don’t play by the rules.’ He was startled out of his reverie by a vast black all-terrain vehicle pulling up alongside him. The tinted window on the passenger side slid down and Tony found himself looking into the smug face of Aidan Hart. Given what he had learned from Carol about Hart’s sexual proclivities, it was hard to resist the knowing remark that would wipe the smile from his mouth forever.

‘Are you walking for pleasure or would you like a lift?’ his boss asked.

Tony grinned. ‘All things considered,’ he said, ‘I think I’d rather walk.’

‘This is getting to be a bit of a habit,’ Carol said, walking into her office with Kevin at her heels. ‘People will talk.’

Kevin gave a tired smile. ‘I don’t think so. They all know I’m too cheap to send expensive bunches of flowers.’

‘Kevin,’ she said, her voice a dark warning.

‘Sorry, guv,’ he said ruefully.

‘So, where are we up to?’

‘Sanders never went home last night. After he left here, he disappeared into thin air. Siveright says Sanders told him he was going to visit friends in Bradfield and then he set off on foot. We’ve got Sanders withdrawing cash from the ATM in the Woolmarket about ten minutes after he left here. We’ve spoken to his colleagues at the park and I’ve alerted ports and airports but nothing’s come up.’

‘Shit,’ Carol said. ‘We need to put out an urgent press release with a photo. I want him caught, Kevin. I don’t want him disappearing into some underground paedophile support network. He’ll have contacts. People who will hide him. People who will give him transport, money, shelter.’

Before Kevin could speak, there was a knock at the door. ‘Come in,’ Carol said impatiently.

Stacey hovered on the threshold. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but I just came up with something on Nick Sanders I thought you might both want to hear.’

Carol waved her in. ‘Please tell me you know where he is,’ she said with a half-smile.

Stacey frowned, as if uncertain whether Carol was serious. ‘No. But I do have something that strengthens our case against him. You know he sent us his log from July with that report of the alleged flasher?’

‘When he was being so “helpful”,’ Kevin said, his hands making speech marks in the air.

‘Well, I dug a bit deeper. Guess what? That log was altered within an hour of the first news reports of a body being found in Swindale. He made up that log entry to divert attention away from himself.’ Stacey looked pleased with herself.

‘Thanks, Stacey, that’s really useful. Well done,’ Carol said. As she spoke, Don Merrick stuck his head round the door.

‘Can I come in?’ he asked. Carol nodded. ‘I was looking for Kevin, actually,’ he said. He consulted a sheet of paper. ‘We’ve had an anonymous call from a punter claiming to be a former friend of Nick Sanders. The friendship ended because he caught Sanders taking pictures of his young son in the bath. He kept quiet at the time because he didn’t want his kid being put through the ordeal of an investigation, but when a mate who works for the Peak Park told him Sanders was a suspect and that he’d legged it, he decided to come forward. Anyway, he reckoned Sanders would head for open country. He’s got the skills to live off the land. Apparently there’s a place in Sutherland, in the north-west of Scotland–Achmelvich Bay,’ he said, stumbling over the unfamiliar name. ‘Sanders was the warden at the Youth Hostel there years ago. We checked that out, by the way. It’s on the CV he submitted to the Ranger Service. Anyway, according to our caller, Sanders spoke about something called the Hermit’s Castle. He couldn’t remember much about it except that some guy from London built it right out on the headland. Like a concrete pillbox, only smaller. Lived in it for a year, wouldn’t speak to a soul. The caller said Sanders might head for there. I think we should check it out,’ Merrick concluded eagerly.

‘It’s a pretty long shot,’ Carol said.

Kevin made a noncommittal gesture. ‘We could ask the local boys to keep an eye out.’

‘If he worked up there, he probably knows the local boys,’ Merrick pointed out. ‘I think Kevin should go. There’s a flight to Inverness at noon.’

Carol considered for a moment, then shook her head. ‘It’s too insubstantial. Kevin, speak to the local lads, ask them to check it out. But discreetly, yes? If there’s any trace of Sanders, we’ll follow it up. In the meantime, we concentrate on getting an appeal out nationally. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a briefing to prepare.’

There was pitifully little to impart at the morning briefing. And they all knew it. The determination of the morning before was tinged with desperation. They all knew that with every passing hour the chances of finding Paula alive diminished dramatically.

‘We’ll continue to follow up on the council-tax data,’ Carol said, trying to keep the energy in her voice high. ‘I want us to speak to every landlord and tenant within the search area on the map here. I know it’s a scattergun approach, but until we have something to narrow it down, we will do whatever it takes to find Paula. Inspector Merrick has the full list of assignments for today. In addition, I want you to ask in every interview whether the subject has ever heard anyone referred to as the Creeper.’ She was conscious of a dubious stirring in the room.