Authors: Tania Carver
‘W
here is he now?’ Phil was back by the double doors, watching people enter and leave the main hall. Looking for anyone who didn’t look like they belonged there.
Apart from himself.
‘He’s…’ Nadish’s voice. ‘Yeah, I got him.’
‘Where?’ Phil, still scanning the area.
‘The bar.’ There was a pause. ‘He made me. Shit. I’ve been spotted.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Phil. ‘He knows we’re here.’
‘Right,’ said Nadish. ‘He’s queuing for a drink. Bit of a scrum. He’s not going anywhere for a while.’
‘Good. Stay on him.’ Phil hadn’t found anyone who looked out of place. But then he didn’t really know who he was looking for. He doubted the Lawgiver would turn up in his work clothes.
Nadish seemed to be having similar thoughts, although he was expressing them differently. ‘Like that bit in
Batman
, innit,
The Dark Knight
?’
‘What d’you mean?’ asked Imani.
‘When there’s that swanky party and the Joker turns up. Starts killing people. Just like that.’
‘Just concentrate on what you’re doing, Nadish,’ said Phil.
‘Yeah, boss.’ Resignation in Nadish’s voice.
Silence in Phil’s ear. All he could hear was his own breathing.
‘He’s… hold on…’ Nadish’s voice.
‘What?’ asked Phil, panic beginning to rise. ‘Where is he?’
‘He’s – he was here, he…’
‘Nadish?’ Phil worked to quell the panic, remember his training.
‘Jesus, I just looked away and he’s… Shit.’
‘What?’ Phil’s panic was rising even sharper. ‘Nadish, what?’
‘Just saw a glimpse of blue overall. Wait a minute, I’ll…’
‘Nadish… Nadish.’ Phil heard heavy breathing in his ear.
‘I’m – he’s moving towards the lifts…’
Phil scanned the room once more. Was this it? Was it the Lawgiver? ‘Have you got a definite identification? Nadish? Nadish?’
Phil’s heart was hammering. One word, that was all. One word and the whole team would be mobilised.
‘Nadish…’
‘Yeah.’ He was out of breath. ‘Not him, boss. Definitely not him. ‘One of the cleaning staff. She’s just going off duty.’
‘
She
?’
‘Yeah. Sorry, boss. Bit jumpy.’
‘Don’t worry. Where’s Looker?’ He had almost forgotten about the target for a few seconds.
‘I’ve got him.’ Imani’s voice.
Phil breathed out a huge sigh of relief. ‘Good. Thank you, Imani. Where is he?’
‘Just moved away from the bar. Stopped to chat to someone.’
‘Man or woman?’ asked Phil.
‘Woman,’ Imani replied. ‘IC1 female. At least I think so. Lots of fake tan.’
‘Do we know her?’
‘Can’t see her face, just her back. I can see his face, though. He’s smiling.’
‘What’s she like?’ asked Phil.
‘Shapely,’ said Imani. ‘And she seems very interested in him.’
Phil breathed a qualified sigh of relief. ‘Well, let’s hope she stays with him a while. I doubt our friend would try anything if Looker was with someone else.’
‘Right,’ said Imani. ‘They’re moving. Towards you, Nadish. You back in position?’
‘Yeah,’ said Nadish. ‘Got him.’
‘Can you get a good look at her?’ asked Phil.
‘Nah, too many people. And she’s walking in front of him. He’s got his hand on her arse as well. And he’s still smiling. He seems happy.’
Glad someone is, thought Phil.
‘Bit of a looker, if her back’s anything to go by,’ said Nadish. ‘Got a good shape. Plenty of curves.’ He laughed. ‘Hey, maybe she’s a 1664.’
Phil frowned. ‘Sorry?’
‘1664. You know, from behind she looks sixteen, but when she turns round —’
‘Shut up, Nadish,’ said Imani.
‘I get the point,’ said Phil. ‘Just keep on him. Concentrate on what he’s doing.’
‘I am,’ said Nadish, slightly hurt. ‘They’ve sat down now. Her hair’s down, covering her face. Can’t get a good look. But they both seem to be laughing. I reckon neither of them are going anywhere any time soon.’
‘Hope you’re right,’ said Phil, and resumed scanning the room.
‘I
suppose you must be curious as to why I allowed myself to be caught?’ Fiona Welch said.
Again, Mickey bit back his response.
‘No? Well, even if you’re not saying anything, I’m sure you are. Those boys in Colchester, the students? Aren’t you even curious about them?’
‘Save it for the station,’ said Mickey.
‘He speaks! At last! Oh, if I could clap my hands together, I would. Joy.’ She leaned forward once more. ‘So you are, then? Curious?’
Mickey mentally chastised himself for even those few words. Technically, he told himself, they didn’t constitute a conversation. Technically. He sat silently, trying to listen to the radio, thinking of the warm bath and the cold beer.
‘I’ll take your silence as a yes. They were easy. Those boys. Testing a theory, nothing more. An empirical experiment. I wanted to be sure that my theories were correct so the best way to do that is to put them into practice. Which I did. I deliberately sought out those boys, worked on them, found out what they liked, and more importantly who they liked. Who their fantasy women were. And then I consciously set out to become their fantasy. Well, they couldn’t believe their luck. I mean, who could? There I was, everything they had ever wanted in human form, willing to do everything and anything they had ever wanted. They said the same thing, bless them. It was like someone had opened their heads up and read their minds.’ She laughed. ‘Simple souls, really. Of course, that was exactly what I had done.’
Mickey, saying nothing, was fascinated despite himself.
‘Looked into their minds. It wasn’t hard. They were so obvious, really. So typical. Clichéd even. But still, I was testing my hypothesis and it was what I wanted so I went along with them. But that wasn’t enough. I had to take it to the next level. Initiate phase two.’
Mickey kept his eyes straight ahead. Darkness was all around him, no overhead lighting, the only illumination from the occasional oncoming car on the other side of the road. It was like he had the radio on, telling a horror story in the most intimate way. He leaned forward, turned the classical music down slightly so he could hear her better.
‘Aha,’ Fiona Welch said, ‘so you are listening. Good. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. The boys. The second phase. Obvious, really. No point getting them where I wanted them if I wasn’t going to do something with them. And I wanted them to do the ultimate. Kill for me.’ She laughed. ‘You know, you’d be surprised how easy it was. I’d shown them their fantasies, the real them, then I threatened to cut them off from that. No more sex. No more anything. And they did exactly as I wanted. Men always do what you want them to do. Even when they think they aren’t doing so.’
Another laugh. Mickey said nothing.
‘So they killed their girlfriends. Because I told them to.’ She leaned forward again. ‘You should writing this down, you know. Or record it, or something. This is the only confession you’re going to get from me.’
Again, Mickey bit back his response.
‘Oh well, your loss. So yes. The boys killed their girlfriends for me. And had very little remorse about it. In fact, the only remorse they showed was when I wanted nothing to do with them afterwards, when I told them it was over with them. That was the only thing they were bothered about. Don’t you think that’s strange? Don’t you?’
Mickey didn’t reply.
‘I’ll take that as a yes. Because I think so. But it proved my hypothesis. Those boys didn’t care about anyone but themselves, ultimately. I showed them their inner fantasies, became their fantasies, manifestly. Became a part of them. And to preserve that part of them they were willing to kill. That was more important to them than their girlfriends, their relationships. Themselves.’ She sat back. ‘So there you have it. Conclusive proof that people, particularly men, when confronted with their true beings only think about themselves. Only care about themselves. Anyone else is unimportant. My thesis laid bare.’
Mickey fought the urge to talk to her, counter her argument, get her to open up more. But it wasn’t his job. She could recant all this at a later date. Instead, he filed it all away, ready to be used in the formal interview room in a couple of hours.
‘But I hadn’t killed them myself. And of course I’m a dead woman. So no one knew what to do with me. So off to Finnister I went. But that’s the end of another chapter. Shall I tell you what happens next?’
Mickey was finding the urge to talk to her stronger and stronger.
He didn’t know how long he’d be able to fight it.
‘W
hat’s he up to now?’ Phil was still scanning the room. No one suspicious so far. Or as far as he could tell.
‘Still chatting to that bird,’ said Nadish, before correcting himself. ‘Sorry, woman.’
‘Okay, good,’ said Phil. ‘Keep him in sight. With any luck she’ll stay with him all night. Although I use the word
luck
advisedly.’
‘Might be a bit of trouble with that,’ said Sperring. ‘Best we can hope for is they get a hotel room, don’t go back to his. Or hers. That way we can keep an eye on them.’
‘True,’ said Phil. ‘But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. He hasn’t had much success so far tonight.’
‘Think his luck’s about to change,’ said Nadish. ‘She’s playing with her hair. They’re sitting very close.’
‘Lucky her,’ said Imani.
‘Wait,’ said Nadish, ‘he’s stood up. Gone to the bar. Asked the barmaid something. She’s pointing to her right. He’s thanking her, walking off.’
‘Toilets?’ said Phil.
‘Looks like it.’
‘Stay on him,’ said Phil. ‘Follow him. This could be just the opportunity our friend needs to get to him.’
‘On my way.’
‘Imani, get over to where they were sitting. Keep an eye on that woman.’
‘Will do.’
Silence in Phil’s ear.
‘She’s gone,’ said Imani.
‘What?’ Phil felt panic rise again. ‘You sure?’
‘Yeah,’ said Imani. ‘Must have taken my eye off her for a second. Just a second…’
‘Maybe she’s followed him to the toilet or gone to book a room, or something. You know what she looks like. Find her.’
‘On it.’
‘Nadish, you still got him in sight?’
‘Yeah, right in front of me. No wait. He’s gone for the stairs.’
‘Up or down?’
‘Down.’
‘Keep on him,’ said Phil.
Phil checked the room once more. He had a decision to make: join his team or stay in the room, wait for Looker to return. He made the call. Went to join his team.
‘Talk to me, Nadish,’ he said, walking towards the exit.
‘He’s going down the stairs. Coming to you, Ian.’
‘Cheers,’ said Sperring, ‘I’m waiting.’
‘You got him?’ asked Phil.
‘He’s here,’ said Sperring. ‘Just smiled at me. I’m smiling back, little shit, doesn’t know what I’m saying… He’s looking for the toilets on this floor, I think.’
‘Stick with him,’ said Phil. ‘Ian, he doesn’t go in there alone. Imani, where’s the woman?’
‘Lost her. She’s disappeared.’
‘Shit.’ Phil felt panic rising once again. He tamped it down, remained professional. ‘Keep looking. What’s happening with you, Ian?’
‘Be embarrassing if she’s in there with him,’ said Nadish, out of breath from running down the stairs, ‘noshing him off in the cubicle.’
‘Keep out of it, Nadish,’ said Phil. ‘Ian, what’s happening?’
No reply.
‘Ian? Ian?’
Nothing.
Phil abandoned all pretence of working from the shadows and ran for the stairs.
‘I
’m going to be famous,’ said Fiona Welch. ‘That’s what I’m doing it for. Fame and fortune. And to show the world how brilliant I am, of course.’
Fiona Welch was becoming tiresome, Mickey thought. He felt she had told him everything he wanted to hear – or needed to hear – regarding her crimes, and now she was grandstanding. And there was nothing worse than hearing a bore sound off, serial killer or no serial killer.
‘And for other reasons. Which will…’ She laughed. ‘Oh, let’s just say, which will become known in the fullness of time. God, I hate clichés.’ She shrugged, or tried to. ‘But still…’
Mickey checked his watch. It seemed like time had stood still for the duration of the trip. She had volunteered some good information but there were gaps that needed filling. Something to work on, though. He just hoped it wouldn’t be him. However, since he was the one to bring her in and most conversant with the case, he was sure it probably would be. The bath and the beer were looking more distant the closer he got to home.
The screen of his mobile lit up on the seat next to him. He glanced down at it. Anni.
I’m just leaving. See you soon. Xxx.
He smiled at that.
Fiona Welch was still talking. ‘I’m sure I won’t have trouble finding a publisher. Not if it’s me. And then they’ll see for themselves how clever I am. And how valid my theories are. I won’t be shunned, if that’s what you’re thinking. No. There’ll be a radical reappraisal of both me and my work. I’ll be seen for what I am. A trailblazer. A radical. Someone who didn’t just theorise, postulate. No, someone who went out there, saw for themselves. Then came back, wrote it up.’ She leaned forward once more. ‘Someone who knew the truth.’
Mental, thought Mickey. Completely mental. That was something she had in common with the real Fiona Welch, then.
‘I might have to do the talk shows,’ she said, laughing. ‘Or even
Big Brother
. The celebrity version, of course. I’m sure the great British public would find me fascinating. I mean, they’re all narcissists and psychopaths who go on that anyway. I’d just be more honest than most.’
Mickey had to stop himself from speaking once more, this time to agree with her.
‘Who won that last one? A comedian whose act is racist and homophobic with a history of alcoholism and wife beating. What have I done in comparison?’ Another giggle. ‘I should imagine it’s very similar to where I’ve just been, really. Except with better-looking people, of course. Well, slightly better looking.’
Mickey checked his watch again. No time at all had passed.
‘I would win, of course. I mean, I would. It’s not arrogance saying that. I know I would win. Wouldn’t I?’
Mickey felt like agreeing with her just to shut her up.
‘You know how I know I would win? Do you?’ She leaned forward, her voice dropping to just above a whisper. Mickey had to strain to hear her. ‘Because I’m very good at manipulating people.
Very
good. Even when they don’t realise they’re being manipulated.’ She laughed. ‘Especially when they don’t realise they’re being manipulated. Wouldn’t you say so, Mickey the thicky?’
She sat back and laughed.
It was one of the most disconcerting sounds Mickey had ever heard.