was lounging against her car when she returned. ‘You look like shit,’ she said severely, abandoning her earlier attempts to persuade him to talk about Jen. ‘It doesn’t do my image any good to drag an unshaven gorilla around with me.’
He stroked his stubble. ‘I’d have frightened Daisy if I’d appeared looking like this.’
‘She says you’re acting like a stalker.’
‘I know. I heard you arguing in the kitchen yesterday morning. That’s why I thought you needed some time to yourselves.’
He had an answer for everything. ‘You shouldn’t have listened.’
‘I didn’t have much choice,’ he said mildly. ‘Daisy’s voice goes into overdrive when she’s angry.’
‘This isn’t easy for her.’
‘Only because the boot’s on the other foot for once.’
Jackson frowned at him. ‘Meaning?’
‘I’m spending too much time with you, and that’s not the way it’s supposed to be. She’s jealous.’
Jackson gave a surprised laugh. ‘Of you? Give me a break! She’s been jealous of the odd woman in the past . . . but it wouldn’t cross her mind to be jealous of a man.’
Acland came close to a smile. ‘It’s nothing to do with sex . . . it’s about being the centre of attention. The only interest you’re supposed to attract is fear when she calls on you to act as a bouncer. She’d see off a dog if it wagged its tail too vigorously every time you came home.’
‘So now you’re a psychiatrist.’
He shrugged. ‘I’m happy to stare at her tits all day if it’ll make your life easier. It’s what every other bloke in the bar is expected to do.’
‘She doesn’t do it for fun,’ said Jackson, irritably popping the locks and dumping her medical case in the boot. ‘It’s good for business.’
‘End of discussion, then.’ In what appeared to be deliberate provocation, Acland opened the driver’s door. ‘I’ll jog back to the pub and join the fan club.’
Jackson glared at him as she eased herself behind the wheel. ‘Get in,’ she said crossly, jerking her head towards the passenger seat. ‘I’d rather have you attached to my hip than scaring the life out of Daisy by ogling her breasts.’ She waited while he walked round the bonnet and climbed in beside her. ‘What’s the deal on this? What’s she done to make you dislike her?’
‘Nothing. It’s the other way round.
‘You’re as bad as each other,’ said Jackson with a frustrated sigh, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.
Acland gave another shrug. ‘If you want the truth, she scares the shit out of me. I don’t feel comfortable with the way she dresses . . . I don’t feel comfortable when she plays with her hair . . . and I sure as hell can’t stand the way she puts her hands on people.’
Jackson turned to look at him. ‘Would you do anything to hurt her?’
‘I might if she tried to touch me,’ he said truthfully, buckling his seat belt. ‘That’s why I’m avoiding her.’
*
DI Beale tapped on the glass panel in Ben Russell’s door to attract the superintendent’s attention, then waited outside for Jones to appear. He caught a glimpse of one of his uniformed colleagues
taking notes by the window, and a full view of his boss’s irritable expression as the door closed behind him. ‘The kid’s giving yes or no answers and the bloody solicitor’s protecting him at every turn. He threatens to pull the plug every time the miserable little wretch yawns.’ He moved away from the door. ‘Tell me some good news.’
‘You were right about prostitutes. If the daughter’s to be believed, Walter’s been entertaining most of the working girls in south London over the last six months. She’s short on detail – doesn’t know names and can’t describe any particular girls because she’s never seen any of them – but she’s adamant that half a dozen see her father as an easy touch.’
‘How did she come up with a number if she’s never seen them?’
‘Walter let it slip when she told him he was a fool to think a drug-addicted tart would give a damn about him. He said it wasn’t just one, it was more like six.’
‘Why didn’t she tell us this before?’
‘The usual,’ said Beale, flicking the pages of his notebook. ‘We didn’t ask . . . she didn’t think it was important . . . she thought her father had said it was a man who’d attacked him.’ He isolated an entry. ‘I mentioned that none of the fingerprints in Walter’s house matched anything we had – and I said it was odd because I didn’t believe her father had picked on the only six prostitutes in London who didn’t have convictions – and her answer was, “I told him I wouldn’t come back if he didn’t clean up after himself.”’
‘So where’s the evidence of prostitution? You said, “if the daughter’s to be believed”. Are guesses all you’ve got?’
‘He’s been paying them. According to Ms Tutting, he’s so senile he coughs up two or three times for a single session. She says the girls use him as a free banking service every time they need a fix. She even thinks he’s given his PIN to one or two of them.’
‘Anything else?’
‘A list of examples of how disgusting Walter’s been.’ Beale kept his voice deliberately matter of fact. ‘Semen in mugs . . . dirty underpants . . . the smell of cheap perfume round his trouser fly . . . fag ends in the sink. Apparently, he masturbates in front of Ms Tutting when he forgets who she is.’
