Imago (9 page)

He didn’t elaborate. Kate walked on in silence for a moment, picturing Jerry; trying to reconcile the abrupt, overweight, grey-haired, uptight policeman she knew with a Cambridge university student. The stereotypical image of one, at least: black-gowned, floppy hair, upper-class accent.

“Is this you?”

Kate realised they has stopped outside her garden gate. She looked up at her house, at the dark windows, the lack of light within. Then she looked at Anderton.

“See, this is why I don’t drink.”

“What do you mean?”

“I do stupid things.”

They were standing very close to one another. Kate could feel his breath on her face, beer-scented.

“Is that what you call it?” Anderton said. He wasn’t looking in her eyes, he was looking at her mouth.

Kate could feel the precipice beneath her feet. Down there was – what? Damnation? Or salvation?

“I don’t know what else you’d call this,” she said, and she stepped forward into his arms.

J’s diary

After Brighton, I felt invincible. It had gone even better than I’d hoped. I’d spent a few days walking around the town, disguised as myself, disguised as a tourist. I stayed in a hotel, an anonymous chain hotel, because I wanted as low a profile as possible, particularly when it came to the actual night of the killing. I was pleasant to any of the fellow guests who spoke to me, although few did, as my usual disguise is such a boring, uninteresting one. I am totally forgettable. This is both a blessing and a curse.

I would find a nice restaurant and eat my evening meal there, companioned only by my book. I would have a modest glass of wine, eat my dinner and then go back to the hotel, murmuring a ‘good night’ to the receptionists behind the desk. I prepared myself in my room, excitement mounting with every minute that ticked by, fortifying myself with whisky and checking and rechecking that I had the knife tucked safely inside my jacket pocket. Then I would creep out, through the back entrance that I’d discovered on my first night there. Even if there were CCTV cameras about, my hat, scarf and glasses would provide enough camouflage.

It was on the third night that I found the perfect one: small, slim and dark-haired. I saw her emerge from a car at the side of the street that I’d already noted as a likely hunting ground. This is where the tarts worked, strutting for custom, taking their punters into the darkened wasteland that stood behind an abandoned factory. I watched from my vantage point and chose the right moment. She was looking about her as I came up to her and presented my request in a low voice. She was drunk or stoned or something; she was swaying on her feet, pupils dilated even further than they should be, even in the darkness surrounding us. There was no one else around.

She stumbled over the rough ground as we walked into the wasteland. I didn’t touch her. She led me around a corner, where a breezeblock wall stood, and leant up against it. She almost fell against it. She pulled up her skirt in a bored manner, but by that time, I was trembling with excitement, and the knife was in my hand.

She didn’t make a sound other than a small grunt as the blade sank in. It was me who made the noise: a groan muffled against the skin of her neck as the world swam away from me.

Chapter Nine

Something was wrong. Kate closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them again. She would normally open her eyes and find herself regarding her bedroom door. But, this morning, the spare bedside table was the first sight that met her eyes. Kate blinked. She had a few seconds of blissful ignorance, and then memory rushed back in to fill the gap. At the same moment, she became aware of Anderton’s warm leg lying against hers beneath the covers. Kate shut her eyes tightly, cringing. 
Oh God
. She’d ended up in bed with her boss. 
Oh, 
God.

She badly needed to pee, but she didn’t want to wake him up. What the hell was she going to do?

After a few moments, she stealthily got up and crept from the room, bending double as if to hide her nakedness from the world.

In the bathroom, she took care of the pressing need of her bladder before checking her reflection. Tousled hair, flushed cheeks, the remnants of last night’s make-up smeared under her eyes. Quickly, she swiped a flannel over her face and swished some mouthwash through her teeth.

“Morning,” said the buried shape of Anderton as she got back into bed, wrapped in her dressing gown.

“Morning,” said Kate, trying for casualness.

There was movement under the duvet, and then he turned to face her, smiling. Kate had a moment of disconnect: the surreal reality that was Anderton in her bed.

“What have you got that on for?” he asked, tugging at the dressing gown cord.

Kate mumbled something, a feeble protest that was rapidly lost as Anderton worked the cord loose and slid his hand underneath, pulling Kate towards him.

They were rapidly reaching a crucial point in the proceedings when a phone began to ring. For a few moments, they carried on until it became clear that the phone was going to keep ringing until someone answered it. Anderton cursed, rolled off Kate and snatched it up.

“Anderton,” said Anderton, the gasp not quite gone from his voice. There was a moment when the voice on the other end spoke, and Kate saw his shoulders stiffen. She sat up in bed slowly, pulling the covers up and tucking them under her arms, suddenly self-conscious. Anderton still hadn’t spoken.

“Where?” he asked eventually. Then nothing until the voice paused, and he said “I’ll be right down. Just get everyone that you can down there and try and hold off the press.”

He pressed a button to terminate the call and placed his phone very slowly and precisely back on Kate’s bedside table, still facing away from her.

“What is it?” said Kate, already knowing and yet still dreading the answer.

Anderton didn’t turn around for a moment. Then he rolled back on the pillow and looked at her, his face very serious.

“It’s another girl, isn’t it,” said Kate. A statement, not a question.

Anderton nodded. He put out an arm as if he were about to draw her down next to him and then something stopped the movement. Kate hadn’t taken her eyes from his face.

“Is it the same—”

Anderton nodded.

“Same weapon. At least it looks that way. Same type, small and dark-haired.”

“Oh, God.” Kate wanted to get up but she felt shy about revealing her nakedness, absurdly. The whole tempo of their connection had suddenly changed – from passionate and romantic to grimly purposeful. It felt wrong to be in bed with him, suddenly, as it hadn’t done a moment before the phone call.

“Where was the body—”

Kate didn’t seem to be able to finish a full sentence. Anderton understood her anyway.

“The same place. The warehouses, the rough ground.”

Kate’s eyes widened.

“But that’s—“

“He’s taking the 
piss
!” said Anderton, cutting across her. He rolled violently out of bed and began to yank on his scattered clothes.

Kate watched, wanting to say something but not sure what, biting her lip. After he was dressed, Anderton looked as if he was about to head out of the bedroom door without even a goodbye. At the doorway, he stopped and then swung around and came back to the bed. He tipped Kate’s chin up and kissed her, rather bruisingly.

“I need you there, Kate. Will you come?”

“Ye-yes,” stuttered Kate, shaken a little by the violence of his kiss. Then she got a hold of herself.

“I’ll come with you, shall I?”

Anderton shook his head.

“No, just get there when you can. Best we don’t arrive together, eh?”

He gave her a rueful smile.

“Of course,” said Kate bravely, to hide the quake in the pit of her stomach. Was he saying he regretted what had happened?

“Good. See you soon.”

He was out the bedroom door without another word. Kate waited until she heard the slam of the front door. Then she pushed back the covers and slowly swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

Under the streaming waters of the shower, she hung her head forward, letting the water roll over her face and closed eyes. There were too many emotions swirling around her head for Kate to even feel vaguely in control of herself. She made an effort, straightening up and trying to untangle how she felt.

Guilt. That was the main one. Guilt for having what could well turn out to be a one-night stand. She didn’t 
do
 that sort of thing. No matter that she didn’t
want
it to be a one-night stand. Sleeping with her boss – that was about the biggest no-no of them all. Okay, so she knew he was separated from his wife, but was he actually divorced? What about his children? Did he want a relationship with her, Kate, or was it going to be one of those dreadfully awkward working relationships where the fact that you’d once shagged meant you spent the rest of your career avoiding the subject with one another?

There was another, sharper layer of guilt too. Guilt that she’d been so distracted and so full of her own selfish inclinations that she’d not paid the attention to the case as she should have. And now another woman was dead. If Kate had been better at her job, worked harder, paid more attention – did that mean that they could have caught the man who was responsible already, caught him before he could kill again?

A small, reprehensible part of her wanted to relive the events of last night in detail, go over and over what had happened with a shiver of delight. And the juxtaposition of that feeling with the scene she now had to attend to was somehow the worst of all. What should have been a luxurious, sensual memory was now tainted.

For fuck’s sake, Kate. Grow up and get a hold of yourself. You’ve got a job to do.

Kate dressed, pulling on sober clothes and brushing her hair back into its customary ponytail. The ache in unfamiliar places, the slight soreness when she moved was a constant reminder of what had happened last night.

There were other niggles as well, little jolts of uneasiness as memories surfaced. Kate hadn’t had any condoms in the house – of course she hadn’t, she hadn’t had sex since 1995, or so it felt like – but Anderton had pulled a fresh packet from his jacket pocket. Why was he carrying them around? Of course, Kate knew there was only one reason that men carried condoms around. They were going to use them. And yes, she knew that it was the responsible thing to do but…but… He clearly wasn’t celibate. Who was he seeing? One woman or many? Was he still sleeping with his wife? Oh 
God
… Kate realised she was standing in the kitchen staring blankly at the hook on which her car keys hung. She shook herself back to reality and unhooked the keys.

As she started the car, her thoughts returned obsessively to Anderton’s condom packet. Had he bought them at the pub before he walked her home? Did he plan to seduce her? Well, if he had, she’d made it pretty bloody easy for him, hadn’t she? Where did she stand now, with him?

And why the bloody hell are you even worrying about this when you’re about to visit a 
murder
 scene?
 She asked herself the question fiercely, gunning the accelerator.

It was a grey, nothing-y sort of morning, warm, humid and still. Kate parked the car a street away from the warehouses, wishing she’d eaten something or drunk a cup of coffee. She found a boiled sweet in her bag – where the hell had that come from? – and crunched it up. Blah, disgusting. What was wrong with her? Casual sex, drinking (albeit a fairly pathetic three glasses of champagne and half a glass of wine) and not bothering to eat breakfast? At least she was washed and dressed appropriately.

Kate dropped her head back against the back of the car seat for a moment. It was eight thirty eight in the morning and she was already exhausted. Then again, she hadn’t exactly gotten much sleep last night. The thought provoked a guilty, half-gleeful smile, and she had to remind herself, yet again, that she was about to view a murder scene.

She was walking towards the waste ground when she realised she would be seeing Jerry for the first time since drenching him with wine. Her steps faltered before she remembered that he’d gone to Brighton for the day to check up on that similar case. Well, that was one thing to be thankful for. She could see the white plastic tent in the distance, the crime-scene tape girdling the scene, the various uniforms and plainclothes officers standing about. The flap of the tent was flung back and Anderton emerged, grim-faced. Kate’s stomach flipped. She mentally shook herself. 
There cannot be the slightest hint of what went on last night.
 She took a deep breath and joined Olbeck and Jane and Rav where they were standing by the entrance to the tent.

“Morning.”

Olbeck looked surprised to see her. He was opening his mouth to say something when Anderton shouted over.

“Kate! Over here, please.”

“Talk to you in a sec,” said Kate in an aside to Olbeck, not displeased at having to put off the inevitable questions. She walked over to where Anderton stood by the tent’s entrance, trying to keep a blank face, trying not to smile inappropriately.

Anderton wasn’t smiling. He nodded towards what lay inside the tent, and Kate, saying nothing, ducked inside.

The tent was close and hot already. Kate looked at the body on the floor, and any thought of smiling left her. She felt the shock of it as if she’d swallowed a pint of ice-water.

The dead woman was Claudia Smith.

Chapter Ten

Kate ducked back out into the open air. Despite the warmth of the day, her face felt cold and stiff.

“It’s Claudia Smith,” she said to Anderton, as if he wouldn’t already know.

He nodded and indicated for her to walk ahead of him, towards the others.

They stood in a group, looking at one another. Kate could see her emotions reflected in the others’ faces: anger, guilt, bewilderment.

“Well,” said Anderton. “This takes things to a new level, as I’m sure you can imagine.”