says no kid can enjoy it, it’s not physically possible, they’re too young to understand. And I said: If they’re too young to understand, what’s the big deal? ’
‘And what did he say to that?’
‘That paedos come from defective genes. That they should be banned from breeding.’
‘He say that about anyone else?’
‘Everyone else. Murderers. Rapists. Jews. Arabs. Blacks.’
‘They should all be-’
‘Bred out.’
‘That’s what he said, is it? Those are his words. “ Bred out ”.’
She nods, enjoying herself. ‘For the good of the human race.’
‘Backtrack a bit,’ he says. ‘This argument. Where did it take place?’
‘In the front seat of his car.’
‘Exactly how angry did he get? Angry enough to hit you?’
‘No.’
‘Did you feel in any danger?’
She gives him a faint, patronizing smile. ‘A man attacks you,’ she says, ‘you go for his eyes and his bollocks. I don’t care how strong he is. Eyes and balls. They’re a man’s weakness. In every way.’ She squeezes her breasts, does the Marilyn pout.
‘Why were you in the car?’
‘Because we were on the way to this self-help group. The infertile couples thing.’
‘Okay,’ says Luther. ‘When did he take you there?’
‘This is like a year after the social workers idea. He said that wasn’t going to work. He couldn’t get the kind of baby he wanted that way. He was really pissed off.’
‘What did he mean, “the kind of baby”?’
‘He wanted a good one.’
‘A good one?’
She smiles and nods, as delighted as Luther is horrified.
‘So he took you to an infertility support group?’
‘Yes.’
‘And that didn’t seem weird to you?’
‘Not really. He had his eye on this one couple-’
‘The Lamberts?’
‘That’s them. He said they were going to the support group even though she was pregnant. He was really excited. He said it was the best way to get to know them.’
‘Backtrack again. “He had his eye on this one couple”. What does that mean?’
‘It means, he had like a shortlist of people he wanted to take a baby from. A newborn baby.’
‘What shortlist?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘How many people were on it?’
‘I don’t know. I wasn’t interested. I didn’t ask. But I do know the Lamberts were his favourites. He like, loved them.’
‘He loved them? He was in love with Sarah Lambert? With Tom Lambert?’
‘With them. Together. He said they were perfect. He showed me a tape of them fucking. I think it was them. It was difficult to see in the dark. But he said it was them.’
Luther has a feeling in his gut. ‘He had a tape of the Lamberts.. being intimate.’
She nods, delighted.
‘Taken without their knowledge?’
‘Lots of them. Yes. Tapes of her on the loo, tapes of him shaving. Tapes of them watching TV. Tapes of them screwing.’
Luther’s hand is shaking. He sets down the pen.
‘He had lots of tapes,’ Sweet Jane says. ‘Lots of families.’
‘What families?’
‘Fucked if I know. He just wanted to show them rutting each other. He thought if I saw normal people having normal sex the way normal people do, he’d make me normal.’
‘Is that the word he used? “Normal”?’
‘It was his favourite word. Everyone’s got their thing, right? Everyone’s got something that turns them on. His was being normal. He just wanted to be normal.’
‘How many couples did he show you?’
‘I don’t know. Ten? Twelve? It did nothing for me. Except this one couple… the wife was a tiny little thing. Shaved snatch. No tits to speak of. Nipples like threepenny coins. She was a bit of yum.’
‘And these weren’t films downloaded from the internet?’
‘No. He’d taken them himself.’
‘Without the couples’ knowledge.’
‘Apparently.’
‘How did he get these films?’
‘His son helped him.’
‘His what?’
‘Son.’
‘What son? You didn’t mention a son.’
‘I think I just did.’
‘How old is the son now?’
‘I don’t know. Twenty?’
‘Did you meet the son?’
‘Once or twice. Henry would drop him off while we were on the way to the hospital.’
‘Drop him off where?’
‘Nowhere in particular. Just places.’
‘What’s the son’s name?’
‘Patrick.’
‘What does Patrick look like?’
‘I don’t know. Normal.’
The amused, pewter light in her eyes is dimming. She’s getting bored. He knows he’s coming to the end of it now.
‘And after these meetings of the IVF group,’ he says, ‘he’d just sit and — what? Just watch Tom and Sarah Lambert. What happened then?’
‘He tried to make friends with them.’
‘Did he succeed?’
‘Did he fuck. They thought he was creepy.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because he was. He was all creepy and hand-wringy like a little toad. He made her flesh crawl. I think the man wanted to fuck me, though. He had that look. He couldn’t stop looking at me.’
Luther can’t stop looking at her either.
Ten minutes later, Sweet Jane Carr is removed to her cell.
Luther signs out and is led through the echoing maze, bleak with night. He steps outside, into the glow of prison lights. Drizzle dances in their gaunt radiance.
Outside the gates, two police cars are waiting.
Rose Teller is there. Arms crossed, head bowed.
He strides up to her.
‘He called himself Henry Grady,’ he says, too quickly for her to get a word in. ‘I’ve got a good description. He’s got a son, Patrick. And he’s got some kind of database, a list of people he’s watching — the way he watched
