Beneath The Skin

“Later, maybe,” he said, in between cursing other vehicles. “We’re seeing a woman who knows about psycho stuff like this.”

“What did you think of the drawing?”

“Some people, eh?”

But it wasn’t clear whether he was talking about the artist or an old woman crossing the road very slowly. I didn’t follow it up.

After almost an hour we drove along a residential street and arrived at what looked like a school but had a sign outside identifying it as the Welbeck Clinic. A female officer was sitting in reception reading a file. When she saw us she snapped it shut and came forward. She handed it to Aldham.

“You stay here,” he said to me. “Officer Burnett will stay with you.”

“Lynne,” she said to me with a reassuring smile. She had a purple birthmark on her cheek and big eyes. On another day, I would have liked the look of her.

I started to light another cigarette but this really was verboten, so Lynne and I stood out on the step and she had one of my cigarettes as well, like a good girl. She didn’t seem very used to it and kept coughing and spluttering. I think she did it to keep me company. And she didn’t speak, which was a relief. It was just ten minutes before Aldham emerged. With him was a tall woman in a long gray coat. She had blond hair tied up on her head casually. She was carrying a leather briefcase and a khaki canvas shoulder bag. She didn’t look all that much older than me. Early thirties maybe.

“Miss Haratounian, this is Dr. Schilling,” Aldham said.

We shook hands. She looked at me with narrowed eyes, as if I were an unusual specimen that had been brought in for examination.

“I’m really sorry,” she said. “I’m already late for a meeting, but I wanted a quick word.”

I suddenly felt crushed. I’d been driven across London to talk to a woman as she accelerated past me on the steps of a clinic.

“So what do you think?”

“I think this should be taken seriously.” She gave a sharp look across at Aldham. “Maybe it should have been taken seriously a bit more quickly.”

“But it could be a joke, couldn’t it?”

“It is a joke,” she said, and looked troubled.

“But he hasn’t done anything. I mean, he hasn’t done anything to hurt me physically.” In the face of her grave attention, I wanted to turn the whole thing back into a stupid prank.

“Exactly,” said Aldham, a bit too enthusiastically.

“The problem with that argument,” Schilling said, more to Aldham than to me, “is that…” She paused and collected herself. What had she been going to say? She swallowed. “It’s not much protection for Miss Haratounian.”

“Call me Zoe,” I said. “It’s less of a mouthful.”

“Zoe,” she said. “I want us to have a proper meeting on Monday morning to go over this in considerable detail. I’d like to see you here at nine o’clock.”

“I’ve got a job.”

“This is your job,” she said. “For the moment. I’ve got to go now but… That drawing, that really is your bedroom?”

“I’ve already said that.”

Dr. Schilling was fidgeting, moving from one foot to the other. If she had been a child in my class, I would have sent her to the lavatory.

“You’ve got a boyfriend, right?” she asked.

“Yes, Fred.”

“Do you live together?”

I forced a half smile. “He doesn’t spend the night.”

“What, never?”

“No.”

“This is a sexual relationship?”

“Yeah, we’ve gone all the way to ten or whatever it is, if that’s what you mean.”

She looked at Aldham.

“Talk to him.”

“If you’re thinking it might be Fred,” I said, “you can stop right now. Apart from the fact that it can’t be him, because, oh well, just because, you know.” She nodded, kind but quite unconvinced. “Well, he was away the night it must have happened. He was in the Dales, digging a garden with several other people. He didn’t come back till the following evening. I think you’ll find he’s even caught on camera by Yorkshire TV to prove it.”

“You’re quite sure?”

“Yeah. One hundred percent.”

“Talk to him anyway,” she said to Aldham. Then to me: “I’ll see you on Monday, Zoe. I don’t want to panic you and it may well be nothing. But I think it would be a good idea if you didn’t spend the night alone at your flat for a while. Doug”-that must be Aldham-“look at her locks, all right? Bye, see you Monday.”

Aldham and I walked back to his car.

“That was… er, quick,” I said.

“Don’t worry about her,” Aldham said. “She’s ten percent bullshit and ninety percent covering her arse.”

“She said you should talk to Fred. You don’t want to do that, do you?”

“We’ve got to start somewhere.”

“Now?”

“Do you know where he is?”

“He’s working on a garden.”

“In a garden, you mean.”

“No, Fred says he’s working on a garden. I think it’s meant to sound more artistic. Where are we now?”

“Hampstead.”

“I think he’s fairly nearby. He said north London.”

“Good. Do you know the address?”

“I could ring him on his mobile. But can’t it wait?”

“Please,” said Aldham, offering me his phone.

I found the number in my appointment book and started to dial.

“If you go and see him, can I talk to him first?”

Aldham looked disconcerted.

“What for?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Out of politeness maybe.”

I saw Fred before he saw me. He was at the far end of the long back garden of an amazingly grand house. He was moving sideways along a border with a trimmer that was suspended from his shoulders by straps. He was wearing a baseball cap with the peak backward, torn jeans, a white T-shirt, heavy work boots. He also had an eye visor and ear protectors, so that the only way I could make myself known to him was to tap him on the shoulder. He started slightly, even though I had rung ahead to warn him I was coming. He switched off the machine and unclipped the straps. He pulled off the visor and the ear protectors. He seemed dazed by the noise, even though it had stopped, and by the bright light. We were standing in bright sunshine by a border of lilies. Fred was soaked in sweat.

He stood back and stared at me in surprise and even anger. He’s one of those people, I thought, who like to keep everything in their separate compartments: Work and relationships were absolutely separate, like sex and sleep were. I’d leaked over. He wasn’t pleased.

“Hello,” he said, making the greeting into a question.

“Hello,” I said, kissing him, touching his wet cheek. “Sorry. They said they wanted to talk to you. I told them it wasn’t necessary.”