Chapter 9

Tim had accompanied Derry Hacker to New Scotland Yard. All around him people were busy moving stuff, but he’d been allocated a temporary office which was relatively peaceful, and a detective constable, DC Nancy Chappell, to help him. He hadn’t hit it off with DC Chappell from the word go. She was the most alternative policewoman he’d ever met, and he found her ‘otherness’ disconcerting. Petite and wiry, she had jet black hair cut in a Goth style and sported a row of studs in each of her ears. In the lobes of one of them had been affixed an inch-long object resembling a paper clip. Her eyelids were dusted with some kind of plum-coloured powder and her lipstick was blackish. She was dressed completely in black; neatly enough, it was true, but her feet were shod in oxblood-coloured Doc Martens. Her fingernails were best described as talons, painted silver. She spoke with an ugly London drawl. Quite frankly, he was astonished that Derry rated her so highly.

DC Chappell patently didn’t think much of Tim, either. She spoke to him abruptly and with scant respect. She made it quite clear that she had plenty of work to do without being side-tracked by the importunate training requirements of a copper up from the provinces.

“DI Hacker’s downloaded all the files on to this computer,” she said to Tim. “There’s the four cases we’ve worked on, and a couple from the States and Canada that we asked for. Derry told you about them, did ’e?”

“Yes,” said Tim. “Thank you.” He met her eye, tried to provoke a smile. She looked away quickly. Tim’s own smile sickened and died on his lips. He was beginning to feel queasy again.

“You all right?” She scrutinised him suspiciously.

“Yes, I think so. It’s a bit warm in here, isn’t it?”

“’Aven’t noticed, myself, but I can turn up the air-con.” She rose and twiddled the switch on the wall. “Yer’ll ’ave to turn it dahn again when it’s cool enough. Otherwise you’ll freeze to death!”

She was smiling now, evidently pleased by the thought of his stiffening corpse.

“You need me for anyfing? If not, I’ll be getting on.”

“I’d hoped you’d stay awhile, if you’ve got time. Talk me through some of these cases, tell me if you’ve seen any similarities between them.”

“Well, there’s one obvious ‘similarity’, isn’t there? All done by blokes to young girls and all of the blokes ’eartless bastards.”

“DI Hacker told me that sometimes the victims could be young men, and sometimes female perpetrators were also involved.”

“Yes, well, he’s getting too PC for words, i’n’t he? Tell you what,” she said more brightly, “you have a read of these, write down any questions you ’ave, and I’ll go fru them with you later. ’ow does that sound? Better use of bofe our time, I fink.”

“That sounds great,” said Tim, relieved that she’d suggested a solution to spare both from the passive hostility they’d already managed to create.

“OK, I’ll come back in a couple of ahrs, then. There’s a water cooler by the door, if you ain’t feeling too good. And don’t forget about the air con. It’s vicious if you overdo it.”

“Thanks,” said Tim, forcing another smile. He received a measured one in return, before DC Chappell exited as silently and lithely as a cat, despite her clumpy boots.

Tim took her advice and poured himself a plastic cup of water. He was sipping it slowly as he clicked on the computer screen to open the first file. Suddenly the screen exploded into colour. Instead of opening the Word document that he’d selected, he was confronted with a nightmarish frame of reds, oranges and yellows all bleeding into each other. His eyes were transfixed by the small square window that now opened in the middle of the frame. At first the outline was fuzzy, almost nondescript, but second by second it grew clearer until he could be in no doubt about what the blackening shadow depicted: it was the outline of a woman swinging from a gibbet.

Tim felt the bile rise in his throat. Just in time, he seized the waste paper bin and vomited into it copiously, his stomach heaving and retching for long minutes after it had emptied. He took a long draught from the cup of water and forced himself to look at the screen again. The Word document was sitting there, pristine in its dullness. Tim splashed some water on his face and smoothed his hair with his hands. He’d found the episodes he’d experienced yesterday unnerving. Now he was frankly scared.

His mobile rang. Taking it out of its pouch, he saw that the caller was Juliet. He pressed the green button with alacrity.

“Juliet! Am I glad to talk to you!”

“Hello, Tim. Why do you say that?”

Tim thought for a few seconds. How could he explain to her what he thought he’d just seen?

“No reason. It’s just that things are a little strange here. Out of my comfort zone, I suppose. But they’re being very helpful. I think I’m making progress. What about you?”

“I’ve just come back from interviewing Mrs Verma. She told me a couple of things I need to check with you. First of all, did you know that Ayesha Verma has a student railcard? It was probably in her purse when she disappeared.”

“No. And when I asked her father if there was anything she could have with her that might help her to get away, he said only the cash, and he didn’t think she could have very much.”

“That’s interesting. Mrs Verma also said that she didn’t have much money with her. I must admit that she was a bit shifty when she mentioned the railcard. Perhaps the father didn’t know about it.”

“I think that’s highly likely, don’t you? Because if we can prove that she used the railcard, it doesn’t rule out the possibility that she’s been murdered, but it does make it less likely.”

“That’s what I thought. I’m not sure how to raise it with Bahir Verma without making him annoyed with his wife, if she gave Ayesha the railcard without telling him.”

“I’ll leave it to you to ponder that. You’re better at tact than I am.”

Juliet laughed. She might have felt flattered if the statement had not been incontestable.

“What was the other thing you wanted to mention?”

“What? Oh, yes. Mrs Verma told me that you’d taken Ayesha’s hairbrush for DNA testing. There’s no record of that in your report. Did you really take it? And if so, where is it?”

“Oh God,” said Tim.

“Tim? Are you all right?”

“Yes, I think so. But I did take the hairbrush, and I’ve forgotten to have it processed. It’s still in the top drawer of my desk. Would you mind having it sent to the lab for me?”

“Of course not,” said Juliet. “I’ll do it straight away.” Her voice was taut with disapproval. Tim wasn’t surprised.

“Thanks. I’d better get on now. I’ve got a load of files to read before DC Chappell comes back.”

“Who?”

“The DC I’m working with. Don’t worry, she wouldn’t interest you. A very difficult woman.”

“Goodbye, then. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Thanks. Goodbye, Juliet.”

Tim put down the phone. The call hadn’t been at all satisfactory. First he’d annoyed Freya, then Katrin, and now Juliet. Not to mention assorted taxi drivers, residents of Ilford and DC Chappell. What was wrong with him?

He glanced down at the waste paper basket. Perhaps he was suffering from a virus. The next task he had to negotiate was how to dispose discreetly of a waste basket full of vomit. He sighed, and recoiled at the smell of his own breath.