Phil flinched, hoped she didn’t see it. But Sophie was back in her story.
‘He took it and… he…’ Her voice dropped away. ‘Cut his own cock off.’
74
Phil said nothing. Her words had hit him almost physically. He felt light-headed, his legs shaking, his breathing difficult. He hadn’t been expecting that. Nothing as bad as that.
‘Oh my God…’ He couldn’t help it. The words just slipped out.
Sophie nodded, as if agreeing with him. ‘Cut his cock off,’ she said in a hushed, almost reverent tone. ‘Wanted to be a woman. Wanted to be loved…’
‘Did he… survive?’
Sophie nodded. ‘Lost a lot of blood. Nearly died. Our father found him, helped him.’
‘Took him to the hospital?’
She shook her head, gave a bitter laugh. ‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘What did he do?’
‘Cauterised it.’
‘With what?’
She shrugged. ‘Something hot. Metal. Some tool.’ Her voice matter-of-fact.
Phil still felt short of breath. He didn’t know what to ask next. Thankfully, Sophie kept talking.
‘After he was well again, I helped him. On the quiet. Said if he wanted to live like a woman I would make him one. Found people to do stuff.You know, procedures.’
‘What kind of people?’
‘Extreme body modifiers.’
‘How did you find them?’
She shrugged again. ‘Few contacts from work.’
‘And what did they do?’
‘Made him a woman. Changed his body. As much as they could.’ Sophie frowned, thinking. ‘But I think something happened to him. To his mind.’
‘What, he lost it?’
‘He was never the same again. In any way.’ She took another mouthful of tea.
‘So did he move out then? Or stay with your father in the house in Wrabness?’
‘Stayed with him in Wrabness.’ She stopped talking, looked at him. ‘How did you know that? I didn’t tell you that.’
She sat back from the table, angry. Phil kept looking at her, his gaze level, his voice steady. He knew Anni would be trawling through documents right now.
‘You told me yourself.’
‘No I didn’t.’
‘Maybe not in so many words. But you told me.’
She still looked angry. He shrugged.
‘There’s no point in being mad at me, Sophie. It’s all going to come out, so you may as well tell me. What’s your surname?Your real surname.’
The anger dissipated, to be replaced by a cunning smile once more. ‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘I’m telling you about my brother.’
‘Okay.You keep telling me about him, then. He was living in Wrabness.’
She nodded.
‘With your father, still?’
She opened her mouth to answer, stopped herself. Smiled once more. ‘No. He’s gone.’
‘Gone where?’
She shrugged. ‘Just gone. And Heston’s not Heston any more. He’s Hester. My sister.’
‘Right. Hester. And he – your sister, she lives alone?’
Again that crooked, sick smile. ‘No, she’s not alone. She’s got a husband now.’ She laughed.
Phil was confused. ‘Why is that funny?’
Another shrug. ‘Just is.’
‘And he’s there with her?’
Another laugh. ‘Always.’
‘Right.’ Phil had to move on. ‘So… Hester wanted a baby, is that right? And you went and got one for her… for them?’
Sophie looked at her fingernails. They were painted, but broken and chipped. She sighed. ‘Yeah.’
He sensed he was losing her. He had listened to her story and he was sure she felt better for putting it on to him. With that done, she could revert to type. But he was not going to let that happen. It was time for him to ramp things up, he thought, get the answers he wanted.
‘So tell me if I’m right. Hester and her husband want kids. But they can’t have them. So they ask you to find pregnant women so that they can rip the babies out of them and claim them as their own?’
Sophie kept her eyes on her nails. ‘Yeah. That’s it.Yeah.’
‘Ones that were nearly full term. Ones you knew.’
Another nod. ‘Yeah.’
‘So.You made Ryan Brotherton the scapegoat. Shifted the blame on to him, deflected attention away from yourself.’
Sophie yawned. ‘Right.’
Phil was starting to get angry now. He tried to keep it down, work with it. Channel it. It was a struggle. ‘What about Clayton? Why him? Why kill Clayton?’
She shrugged. ‘He was useful. Then he wasn’t.’
Phil leaned in closer, his voice rising. ‘Because he got too close? Because he knew what was going on?’
‘Yeah, something like that.’ She picked up the mug, put it to her lips, grimaced. ‘This tea’s cold. Can I have some more?’
Phil slapped the mug from her fingers, snapping off one of her nails in the process. The mug went flying across the room, hitting the wall and breaking, leaving a wet brown explosive patch where it had hit.
‘Fuck the tea!’ he shouted. ‘Talk to me!’
Sophie looked up at him in shock. She flinched, pulled her hands away from him, curled up into herself. Phil kept on at her.
‘You fucking listen to me! You fucking murderer! Wrabness. Hester is in Wrabness, yes?’
Sophie nodded hurriedly.
‘Where? Which house?’
She kept whimpering.
‘Where?’
She jumped at the sound of his voice. ‘There’s a… house off the main road…’
‘Name? Number?’
She curled herself further into a foetal ball. ‘Please don’t hit me…’
‘Name of the house. Number.’
‘It’s… Hillfield.’
‘Right. And your real surname?’
She whimpered once more, subsiding into tears. Phil didn’t care. ‘Now!’
‘Croft, it’s Croft. Please, don’t hit me…’
Phil stood up, his head spinning. He didn’t know how that display would stand up in court against PACE procedures, but he didn’t much care. He could deal with that later. Right now, he had a solid lead to go on.
He looked at Sophie sitting curled in the chair. He should have felt pity and knew that once his anger subsided he might do. But not at the moment. His eyes fell on the photo on the table. And he was hit by a sudden
