A little after 4.30, Friday morning, and Hadley was suddenly wide awake. Two weeks, almost, since the discovery of Anthony Winter’s body and how much closer were they to finding the identity of his killer?
Not wishing to wake Rachel, she turned carefully on to her side and slid out from the bed as quietly as she could. Slipping on her dressing gown, she went to the bathroom, careful to step over the floorboard that always squeaked, and from there on down to the kitchen.
First vestiges of light above the rooftops opposite.
Birdsong.
Foxes scavenging amongst the bins.
She could still see Elder’s face when he’d been asked if that was his daughter about to enter Winter’s studio on the night of the murder. A twitching of the face muscles, almost imperceptible. The slightest of hesitations before his denial.
That song, Hadley thought, the one from the movie where the woman’s body’s found in her flat in Wood Green. Or was it Finsbury Park? Not so very far from where Alice lived now. Reggae, wasn’t it? Lovers rock? Louisa Marks: ‘Caught You in a Lie’.
Elder as uncertain as she was herself, the image obstinate, unfocused. But what did that prove? Other than the presence of doubt. It could be Katherine or it could be, she thought, one of the women it was becoming clear from Winter’s phone records and computer data, he was prone, every once in a while, to pay for sex. Mark Foster, she knew, was working on it, doing his best to make connections between those websites Winter had accessed offering specialised services, photographs of known sex workers, and a jumble of mobile numbers that were largely untraceable.
A young sex worker with dark hair wearing a grey hoodie and jeans.
How difficult was that going to be?
Standing by the stove another song came to mind, older, one her mother used to sing when she was clattering pans in the kitchen. ‘Needle in a Haystack’.
Just as the kettle was coming to the boil, she heard a footstep on the stair.
‘Mint or jasmine?’ Rachel asked.
‘Fresh mint’s all gone.’
‘Jasmine, then. Enough for two?’
‘Always.’
Rachel brushed the collar of Hadley’s dressing gown aside and gently kissed her neck. Not once but twice.
‘Careful. I’ve got boiling water here.’
Rachel laughed, nuzzled Hadley’s neck a moment longer, then went over and sat at the kitchen table. ‘I imagine this was more than just needing to pee? Up at this hour and not coming back to bed?’
Hadley grunted agreement.
‘Bad dreams?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Work, then?’
Hadley brought the mugs over to the table and sat down. ‘It’s this girl, young woman, Katherine …’
‘The one Winter was knobbing.’
‘Knobbing? Charming. Technical term, is it? Something you psychotherapists bandy about at conferences?’
Rachel shook her head, smiling. ‘What’s the problem?’ she asked.
‘It’s Katherine. I just don’t understand her.’
‘Ah, well, understanding. That’d be more my province, I imagine. With you it’s more a matter of guilty or not guilty.’
‘That’s bollocks, Rach, and you know it.’
‘Okay, okay. But what is it you don’t understand?’
‘The sex thing, I suppose. That mainly.’
A fresh smile appeared on Rachel’s face. ‘Isn’t it always?’
‘I mean, he dumps her so abruptly, so devastatingly, she slashes her wrists, and not much more than a month or so later she’s jumping into bed with him again.’
‘Oh, come on, Alex. That’s not so difficult to understand, surely?’
‘Maybe, maybe not. But it’s not just any old sex, is it?’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘Handcuffs. Chains. All that S and M stuff. I’m sorry, I just don’t get it.’
Rachel grinned. ‘Nobody’s perfect.’
Hadley punched the table with her fist. ‘Don’t. Don’t do that.’
‘What?’
‘Make everything into a joke.’
‘I know. I know. And I shouldn’t trivialise, I’m sorry.’
Hadley rested her face for a long moment in her hands; sat up and sipped some tea. ‘When she was sixteen, Katherine, she was abducted by a pair of brutal deviants. Tied up, tortured, raped. You can never get over something like that. Never. It’s impossible.’
Rachel nodded agreement.
‘And yet, not so many years later, she becomes involved with an older man who gets his kicks from tying her up, handcuffing her to the bed, inflicting God knows what punishment and pain. Can you understand that? Because I certainly can’t.’
‘Specifically, no. Not without knowing a great deal more, and certainly not without having talked to the woman myself. Anything else would just be generalisations and so not particularly useful.’
Hadley smiled. ‘Believe me, anything at this stage would be useful.’
Rachel eased her chair away from the table. ‘The best I can do, based on what you’ve told me, is make one or two observations. When these dreadful things happened to her, her sexual experience may not have been very great. It might not have been much more than the occasional fumble in the bus shelter. She could still have been a virgin, we don’t know. But from what we do know, what you’ve told me, it might be reasonable to assume that what happened to her would have linked sex strongly in her mind with abuse and pain. With being made powerless, perhaps; held prisoner. It could even be that it’s only through reliving some kind of rape fantasy that she can reach orgasm.’
Listening, Hadley was shaking her head slowly from side to side.
‘Remember,’ Rachel said, ‘I don’t know how far what I’ve said matches the truth, the truth of her situation. But, if you’re looking for an explanation, well …’ She smiled. ‘What it doesn’t do, of course, is do anything to help you with your other problem.’
‘Which is?’
‘Is she capable of murder?’