The voice was familiar. He looked round. There, ahead of him, standing on the edge of the lamp’s beam, was Fiona Welch. She was smiling. It wasn’t pleasant.
‘Hello, Phil. Fancy meeting you here.’ She held out a piece of paper in her hand. ‘I’ve got my invoice. Do I give it to you or send it to accounts?’
Phil said nothing. Just stared at her.
She laughed, crumpled it up, threw it over the side. It took a long time to reach the bottom. Made only the slightest of sounds when it did.
‘Ooh,’ she said. ‘Long way down.’ She crossed towards him, crouched down beside him. Stretched out her hand, touched his cheek. ‘Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you now, would we?’
Phil tried not to flinch, to pull away from her touch. He just about managed it. She kept her hand where it was, kept stroking.
‘Let it go, Fiona.’ He kept his voice calm, reasonable. It wasn’t easy. ‘Let it end now before you get into more trouble.’
She just smiled at him. It wasn’t a smile connected to sanity.
‘And let Suzanne go. She’s done nothing wrong.’ No response. ‘Please, Fiona. Let her go.’
She kept stroking, moved in closer to him. When she spoke, he felt her warm breath on his cheek.
‘How does it feel, Phil? Hmm? How does it feel to lose?’ Her eyes looking directly into his, fingers playing along his cheekbone. Her smiled widened, showing him her teeth. White and sharp and wet.
Phil tried not to look at her. He looked away, into the shadows she had come from. And saw something.
Or someone.
A hulking presence, a shadow against shadows. Breathing raggedly, deeply. Waiting.
Phil guessed who that was.
He turned his attention back to Fiona Welch. ‘Is that what you think, Fiona? That I’ve lost?’
‘Of course you have, darling.’ In close to him, whispering, her breath on his ear, tickling. ‘I’m not the one chained up and…
He could feel an involuntary erection coming on. Hated his body, himself, for allowing it, fought to keep it down.
He pulled his head away, looked at her face. Steel in his eyes. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You might not be. But there’s a nationwide manhunt going on for you. Your description is in the papers, on TV, the internet, everywhere. You can’t get away. They’ll find you.’
She smiled.
‘Maybe they will.’
She laughed, moved her body in close to his.
‘But not just yet…’
96
Marina sat back, waiting to see what Mark Turner would say next, waiting to see where Mickey’s questions would guide him.
He was good, she thought. Getting the information out of him in his own way at his own pace. He was surprising her. She had thought on first meeting him that he was just a typical copper: boorish, macho, problems with women, especially those with authority over him, the usual. But he was proving himself to be different. There was a slight glitch when she saw his response to Turner’s goading of him, calling him thick, throwing quotes at him he didn’t know, but he handled himself well, recovered quickly.
Her eyes caught her mobile on the desk. She had put it on silent when the interrogation started. She checked the screen: two messages. One from Phil, one from Nick Lines. She looked back at Mickey, thought he could handle himself for a few minutes, took out her earpiece and hit voicemail.
Her eyes widening as she listened.
‘So who was this person?’ said Mickey. ‘The one you got to do things for you?’
Turner shrugged. ‘Nobody. A real nobody. Even less important than our targets.’
‘Really? I’d have thought it would be someone quite important if you wanted to get them to do all that for you.’
Turner shook his head. ‘Well you’d be wrong. As you have been about everything else, thick copper.’
Mickey said nothing. Waited.
‘He was just a squaddie. Some damaged, war-traumatised squaddie. Completely mind-fucked. Piss easy to manipulate.’
‘Why?’
‘He’d killed this translator. Woman in Afghanistan that he got obsessed over. Big cover-up about it. Threatened with a court martial, everything. But instead they invalided him out, on the quiet.’ He laughed. ‘Didn’t want the embarrassment. ’
‘Can’t blame them,’ said Mickey. ‘Already in enough trouble over there.’
Turner nodded, back to being mates in a pub, then checked himself. Remembered where he was, who he was supposed to be. Worked the arrogance back into his features once more. ‘He burnt this woman to death. Raped her then killed her. Burnt himself pretty badly in the process too.’
‘So how did you come across him?’
‘Fiona did. At the hospital. He’d been sent for therapy.’
‘What kind?’
Turner shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Speech, psychology, occupational, all sorts, I suppose. Whatever he needed.’
‘And he met Fiona Welch.’
Turner nodded. ‘She said he so easy to manipulate it was laughable. She could tell him anything she wanted, anything at all. And he’d believe it. Didn’t matter what kind of stupid, twisted shit she said, he believed it. She used to come home telling me what she’d said and how he’d believed it.’ He smiled, shaking his head. ‘We used to laugh about that…’
Mickey was about to speak when he heard Marina’s voice in his ear. Fast urgent. ‘Can you talk?’
‘Give me a minute, Mark.’
Without waiting, Mickey stood up, exited the interview room.
Marina was waiting for him in the corridor outside. ‘I wouldn’t have interrupted you unless it was something important,’ she said. ‘I’ve had a couple of phone calls. There’s something I’ve got to tell you.’
She told him.
When Mickey went back into the room he could barely keep the smile off his face.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘Where were we? Oh yes. You were telling me about your squaddie.’
‘The Creeper, we called him.’
‘Why?’
He shrugged. ‘Because he’s a creep.’
‘And Fiona chose him because he was easy to manipulate? ’
Turner nodded. ‘Like a retarded little kid.’
‘No other reason?’
‘No.’ He saw the half-smile on Mickey’s face. Doubt crept into his features. ‘Why? What d’you mean?’
‘She didn’t choose him for another reason?’
‘Like what?’ Very uneasy now.
‘Like, the fact he was Adele Harrison’s brother?’
Turner’s mouth fell open.
Stayed open.
Mickey kept his smile controlled.
