case I changed my mind. “Two of them are rape murders of women that are definitely connected, but the third was a stabbing of a man. I think there's a link between all three. The police don't. I need to know if there's any forensic evidence that relates them.”
I rushed on, listing the names before he had a chance to refuse. When I'd finished I held my breath, tense, waiting. It seemed to take him a long time to speak again.
“May I ask what makes you think I might be able to help?” His voice sounded cold over the phone line. It wasn't quite the response I'd been hoping for.
The tension snapped. “Of course you could help – if you wanted to!” I cried. “How long were you a consultant at Lancaster hospital for heaven's sake – ten years? You should know everyone there, or didn't you ever speak to the pathology department?”
He chose not to answer that one, asking instead, “Don't you think the police are perfectly capable of handling something like this without your somewhat amateur interference?”
“Probably,” I snapped. “In the meantime someone's beaten me up, trashed my flat, and threatened to cut my throat. I'm sorry if that doesn't mean anything to you!” I gave a laugh, more of a half-hysterical yelp. “Of course, how silly of me, I was probably asking for it, wasn't I?”
I slammed the phone down, staring at the pattern of the fabric on the sofa for a few moments, determined not to cry.
He'd never been like other fathers, but I should be used to that by now. As a teenager I'd always been quite proud of the fact that he hadn't embarrassed me with public shows of emotion like the other kids' dads. That he hadn't tried dancing at the school disco. Hadn't make a fool of himself on sports day.
I shook my head to clear my vision of the tears that had been threatening dangerously to spill over. I grabbed my helmet again and moved to the door. I didn't care about the filthy weather. I just needed to get out there and ride. To give the bike some pain, get it out of my system.
Most of all, I needed to get away from the silent telephone. To escape from the fact that I'd just dropped an emotional bombshell on my father. And it didn't seem to have gone off.
Nineteen
Dave was standing in front of me with both his hands clasped round my throat and, in my opinion, he was putting a bit too much gusto into pretending to strangle me.
“I can only show you roughly the sort of things I normally teach,” I told him. “Most of my students won't be as physically strong as their opponent. They have to be a bit more scientific because half the time brute force just won't cut it. See?”
I demonstrated by tugging at his wrists. All I succeeded in doing was making him tighten his grip round my windpipe. Throwing him a sideways glance I said, “This will be the shortest set of lessons in history if you choke me to death on the first day.”
He slackened off slightly with an apologetic half-smile, but was obviously happy that he'd proved his point. That the only reason I wasn't getting hurt was because he was being gentle, not through any level of skill on my part. Typical macho bullshit.
We were alone in the ballroom at Shelseley Lodge. I hadn't particularly wanted to teach Dave at the flat, and he claimed his own place was so small that swung cats left with a blinding headache.
The Lodge had seemed a logical compromise, and Ailsa had put forward no objections. The police had finished combing their way through the gardens, she told me, although the area where Joy had fallen was still fenced off with fluttering yellow incident tape.
I'd spent a little time with Ailsa before Dave had shown up, seeing if she could think of any possible suspects. There were plenty of women who'd passed through Ailsa's care with violent and unpredictable men in their lives, but no one specific sprang to mind.
“Besides, the police already asked me all this, love,” she said, giving me a tired smile. “I had some hawk-like Superintendent round yesterday, asking endless questions.”
I didn't like to press her further. She had enough problems of her own to worry about. When I'd arrived there were a couple of cars in the driveway being loaded with possessions, as more of the Lodge's residents moved out.
The day had been lit by thin pale sunshine and now the light level was falling fast. I had to flick on the overhead lights before Dave and I could continue.
Now, I re-focused with an effort. “OK,” I told him, “your priority here is to get away very quickly. It takes remarkably little time to be strangled. You can't afford to waste it.”
I suppose I cheated a bit, really. I'd left my hands on his wrists and as I spoke I went for two pressure points on the back of his right hand. A quick twist and I'd not only broken his grip, but I'd put a solid lock onto his wrist and started taking him down with it.
Dave could have stayed upright, if he'd been really determined, but it would have hurt him to do so. The only way to escape the pain was to roll with it. When I let go he favoured me with a rueful smile and climbed to his feet again.
“Nice one,” he allowed grudgingly. “Can I try that on you this time?”
I nodded and put my hands round his throat. He was wearing another of those dreadful nylon jackets, but today it was over a lime green polo-necked jumper with a designer label stitched into the collar. I remembered the bruising from his altercation with Marc and tried not to clutch him too tightly.
I'd found Marc's hands much more careful when they were touching my body. And dextrous.
I brought myself back on track with some difficulty and explained the technique to Dave. Finding the right pressure points isn't easy. Most people require practice to get it right, but Dave picked them up more or less straight away.
Next thing I knew I was hitting the crashmat in a half-roll. As I came back to my feet, I found him watching me with a crafty grin on his face.
“You've done this before,” I said accusingly.
He looked suddenly innocent. “I've just always been a quick learner.”
Before I could answer there was a tentative knock on the already open door to the ballroom. I turned to see Nina hovering from one foot to the other on the threshold.
“Hi,” I said, giving her an encouraging smile. “Come on in.”
“Oh.” After some hesitation, she advanced further. She was wearing a long knitted skirt and ugly shoes that seemed to be the zenith of current fashion. I would have broken both my ankles the first time I tried to walk down a flight of stairs in them. “I don't want to disturb you,” she said. “I just came to say goodbye, that's all.”
“You're leaving?” I tried to sound surprised, but I don't think I could really raise it.
She nodded, not quite meeting my eyes. She flicked a nervous glance in Dave's direction. He caught it, and casually wandered off to one of the French windows in apparent contemplation of the rapidly darkening garden. I watched some of the tension seep out of Nina's body as he moved away, and was grateful for his unexpected sensitivity.
“I wanted to say thank you as well,” she said.
“What for?”
“Well, for the other night.” Edgy, she checked that Dave was far enough away not to be obviously listening in. “You went out to see if you could find him – you know, th-the man I saw.” She was wearing a Celtic design silver ring on one hand, and was twisting it round and round until I thought she'd screw the end of her finger off.
“I didn't know, you see, not until Ailsa told me – what h-happened to you,” she said quickly, when I still looked nonplussed. “But you went out anyway, into the dark. I-I don't know how you could bear to do it.” She shrugged, almost helplessly. “I hope one day I'll be able to do that, too.”
“You will,” I said, and meant it. “If you want to, you will.”
She seemed about to say more, but a middle-aged couple appeared in the entrance to the ballroom and made throat-clearing noises. They were too well-dressed, too well-fed, to ever look comfortable in their present surroundings, and by the looks of it they hadn't tried too hard.
“Nina,” the woman said, “we need to go, darling, if we're going to miss the worst of the traffic.” There was a
