I do not know the real names of any of the prostitutes who took money from Walter Tutting. I do not know the name of the girl who was with me when I stole the duffel bag.
I do not know the name of the woman in Harris Road and cannot give a more accurate description of her. I would not be able to recognize her if I saw her again.
Signed,
Twenty-nine
JACKSON SHOOK HER HEAD when Pearson asked if she would be accompanying Ben to the juvenile court. ‘Not my area,’ she said. ‘If you or Mrs Sykes have any concerns when you get there, you’ll have to put your request through the court system. You won’t have a problem. The magistrates have been notified of Ben’s condition and they’ve agreed to push the hearing through as fast as possible.’
Mrs Sykes’s expression was sour. ‘It shouldn’t be allowed. He’s a sick boy.’
‘Not as sick as Mr Tutting,’ said Jackson.
‘My lad was only defending himself.’
Jackson exchanged a glance with the solicitor. ‘Look on the bright side, Mrs Sykes,’ she said cheerfully. ‘At least Ben’s agreed to be bailed to your address. If the magistrates allow it – which they certainly will because of his condition – he should be well in charge of himself by the time he comes to trial. With your help, of course.’
The woman’s mouth became an inverted horseshoe. ‘It shouldn’t be allowed,’ she said again. But whether she was referring to her son being charged with grievous bodily harm or the fact that, as his mother, she was about to become responsible for his health and whereabouts wasn’t clear to either the doctor or the solicitor.
*
‘Will you get a conviction?’ Jackson asked Jones. She’d joined him in the monitoring room, although he’d leaned forward to switch off the screen as she came in.
‘Unlikely. Too many “ifs”. If Walter’s competent to give evidence . . . if he’s willing to admit getting excited about teenage prostitutes . . . if his daughter allows it . . . if he has a rebuttal to Ben’s self-defence plea—’ He broke off. ‘I’m a great believer in natural justice. The kid will remember Walter every time he injects himself with insulin.’
Jackson shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t bank on it. I read a paper the other day that said Brazilian scientists are working on a stem-cell cure for type one diabetes. If Ben’s lucky he’ll be injection-free in ten years.’
‘You’re a ray of sunshine, Doctor. How’s the lieutenant?’
‘Resigned to a long wait.’
Jones nodded. ‘Has he told you anything that you feel you can repeat to me?’
‘I’m happy to repeat the entire conversation, but it won’t add anything to what you already know.’ She paused. ‘I’ve worked out why he has a phobia about being touched.’
The superintendent eyed her thoughtfully. ‘I suspect we all have.’
‘I can’t see him talking about it,’ Jackson warned. ‘He’s had everything stripped away from him in the last few months. Pride is all he has left.’
Jones shook his head. ‘My guess is his reticence is more about stalling for time than wounded feelings, Doctor. He wants to know what Jen says before he offers us anything.’
‘Or he feels partly responsible. Nick Beale said Charles had a row with Jen before each of those men was killed. That’s a heavy weight for anyone to carry on his conscience.’
‘Are you asking me to feel sorry for him?’
Jackson gave a small shrug. ‘To recognize that none of this is easy for him, at least.’
‘I wish I could be that generous,’ Jones said honestly, ‘but I need Charles’s evidence. I want to know why he went after the bag when he claims he had no idea what was in it or who it belonged to.’ He smiled sympathetically at Jackson. ‘He knew what the contents were before last night, Doctor.’
She didn’t say anything.
‘If Jen can put the blame on Charles she will. She’s perfectly capable of painting herself as an abused woman. He needs to understand that.’
Jackson sighed. ‘Try narcissist with a developing cocaine aggression. It’s a potent mix. A woman who demands constant admiration . . . is preoccupied with fantasies about how special she is . . . and has a grandiose sense of her own importance. She’d react badly to anyone who rejected her. Not just Charles.’
James Steele, the psychological profiler, had said more or less the same over the telephone earlier.
‘I can advise you better when I’ve had a chance to watch her, Brian, but meanwhile I suggest you focus on her apparent belief that she’s entitled to behave the way she does. I’m interested in her reaction to the female officer. Leaving the stun gun active, and attempting to slap the woman suggest a contempt for other people that isn’t normal.’
Jones looked up at Jackson. ‘Have you ever seen Ms Morley?’ he asked her.
‘No.’
He reached out to switch the screen back on. ‘She’s waiting for her solicitor,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t think butter would melt in her mouth, would you?’
Jackson studied the delicate face with its wide-eyed stare and slightly puzzled smile. ‘Only because she has baby features,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘Big eyes appeal to the care-taking response, which is why we describe women like her as beautiful. There’s plenty of literature on the subject.’
