Hazel Mills gave the ghost of a smile. ‘Occupational therapists. Speech and language therapists. Every job has its jargon.’
Anni returned the smile. ‘Don’t I know it. So, would Suzanne and Zoe have worked with Julie Miller?’
‘They might have done. We’re a multi-disciplinary team. We use standardised assessments for our referrals. SALTs can overlap with OTs, psychologists, any AHP.’
Anni raised her eyebrow.
‘Allied health professionals.’
‘Jargon.’ She made another note. ‘What kind of work did Suzanne and Zoe do here, Ms Mills?’
‘In what way?’
‘Therapy-wise. What kind of people did they work with?’
‘Anyone who needed it,’ Hazel Mills said. ‘Some therapists specialise but Suzanne and Zoe hadn’t been here long enough to do that. They were still starting out.’ There was a catch in her voice. ‘Starting out.’
‘Give me a for instance.’ Anni, keeping her on track.
‘Well, children, adults-’
‘What kind of adults?’
‘All stripes. Whoever was referred to us. Stroke victims. Cancer patients needing reconstructive surgery and learning how to communicate again. Paralysis cases. And with the garrison being nearby, a fair few soldiers suffering PTSD.’
‘Post-traumatic stress disorder?’
Hazel Mills nodded. ‘But, as I say, that would all overlap. ’
‘Could you get me a list of patients that Suzanne and Zoe saw, please?’
Hazel Mills’ face darkened. She glanced quickly round the room as if being watched. ‘I don’t know…’
Anni nodded, kept her voice calm and reasonable. Hazel Mills didn’t strike her as the kind of person to respond to threats. And Anni wasn’t going to make them. At least not yet.
‘I know,’ Anni said, ‘patient confidentiality. Data protection, all that. This is a murder inquiry, Ms Mills. And Suzanne’s missing.’
She said nothing.
‘There was a body found yesterday,’ said Anni. ‘Just outside Julie Miller’s flat.’
Hazel Mills’ hand went to her throat. ‘Is it…’
‘We don’t know. But it answers her description. And now Suzanne’s missing…’
Hazel Mills nodded. She looked even paler. ‘I’ll go and get the files.’
She stood up, composed herself and left the room.
Anni waited.
Impatiently.
40
‘And you can see the lightship, just down there…’
Phil pointed through the window of Julie Miller’s flat. Fiona Welch followed his directions, looked down. She was thoughtful for a few seconds then nodded to herself, a slight smile troubling her lips, as if this confirmed something she had been thinking. She started making notes on her BlackBerry.
She was already irritating Phil. He couldn’t make her out. On first impression she seemed small and timid, almost afraid to speak up for herself, content to keep her opinions safely hidden behind her glasses. But when she had spoken he felt that, behind her passive/aggressive manner, was a steely resolve. An arrogance even, in the belief that her theories were correct, no matter how unsubstantiated. And that everyone else would eventually come round to see things her way.
The lightship was still cordoned off with CSIs combing the area once again for clues. They would be there, Phil knew from experience, for days.
‘So what d’you think?’ he said, turning into the room and leaning back against the window, studying Fiona, not the murder scene. ‘Any ideas you want to share?’
If she noticed the low-level sarcasm in his voice she didn’t acknowledge it. ‘It’s obviously sexual.’ Nodding as she said it, confirming in her own mind. ‘A sexually motivated killing.’
‘Obviously.’
‘The placing of the body with her legs apart on the deck, the tower of the lightship between them… he’s sending us a clear, unambiguous message that he is a sexual predator.’
‘Not to mention the mutilated genitals and the fact that he’d carved the word “whore” into her body.’
Again, she made no acknowledgement of his tone of voice. She nodded. ‘Quite.’
‘If this is Julie Miller, which is increasingly likely, would you say it’s significant that he placed her body on the lightship in view of her flat?’
Fiona seemed about to rush into saying something but stopped herself. She glanced at Phil before continuing. ‘I think so.’ She smiled. ‘You could also argue that the tower of the lightship is pointing towards Julie Miller’s flat. Like it’s accusing her in some way…’
‘Of what?’
Another shy smile. ‘I don’t know. We’ll see, won’t we?’ She shrugged. ‘Or perhaps we won’t…’
Phil felt anger rising inside him. He shouldn’t have to work with someone like her, some eager little upstart trying to make a name for herself, not on a case as important as this. He wanted a profiler whose opinions he could respect, whose reasoning was sound and conclusions were reached by clear and tested empirical thinking. He wanted-
Marina.
He sighed.
‘Are you OK?’
Fiona Welch was right in front of him, her hand hovering in front of his face, as if about to touch him but unsure what the reaction would be. She stared into his eyes, concerned.
‘I’m… I’m fine,’ he said and caught her eyes. Yes, there was concern there. But was there something more? Or was he imagining it?
He stepped away from her, aware that her eyes were still following him.
‘You sure?’ Her voice sounded lower, huskier.
‘Yeah.’ He turned, looked out of the window once more. ‘I’m sure.’
She was still looking at him, he could feel it.
‘You look tired.’ She moved next to him. He could feel the warmth from her skin, her bare arm against his jacket. She snaked out a hand. It rested on his. ‘Are you?’
‘Let’s look at the rest of the flat,’ he said, moving away from the window and crossing into the centre of the room. He knew she was still watching him, risked a glance at her.
Fiona Welch’s head was down. She quickly looked up, saw he was looking at her, then cast her eyes downwards once more.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her voice small once more. ‘I was just… we didn’t get off on the right foot. I was… trying to help.’
Phil looked at her standing against the window, seemingly unaware of the light streaming round her, how it turned her thin summer dress translucent, obscuring her features but heightening her shape; the swell of her hips, her small breasts, the pinch of her waist…
She sighed and moved forward towards him, her walk fluid, flowing. She reached him. He looked at her. She looked at her watch.
‘I’d better have a look around,’ she said, dropping her wrist, her eyes back on him. ‘See if there’s anything that stands out. Anything that’ll help with my report.’ She moved away from him. ‘This is her bedroom, through here, yes?’
‘Yeah, through there…’
She walked away. He watched her go. Wondered what had just happened there. Had she been concerned for
