Beneath the Bleeding (45 page)

‘I knew he was planning ahead. But this is gob-smacking. Is he talking?’ Tony asked.

‘Doh,’ said Chris through a red-stained cloth she was holding to her nose. ‘Dot a word.’

‘He doesn’t want a lawyer, refuses to speak. He won’t even admit to being Anderson.’ Carol slumped into a chair and turned to Tony. ‘We found a pessary and a bottle of anti-retroviral drugs in his jacket. We’ve got
witnesses that can put him alongside the victims and we’ve got access to the poison garden. But I would like a confession. Any bright ideas?’

‘Let me talk to him.’

‘You know that’s not how it works,’ Carol said.

‘We’ve done it before.’

‘But not with the eyes of the world on us the way they will be for Robbie Bishop’s killer.’

‘He’s not talking, Carol. What have you got to lose?’

She looked away, struggling with her need to do this by the book versus her need to get a confession. She knew her team was watching her, willing her to do what was necessary to get this boxed off and put away. They needed a proper result, not a partial one. ‘OK,’ she sighed. ‘But only if we do it under caution and he agrees to have the tapes running.’

‘Deal,’ Tony said.

He pushed himself on to his crutches and began to move towards the door. ‘Where is Paula?’ Carol said. ‘And Sam? I could do with them out at Kirkby Pannal with the forensics crew searching Anderson’s cottage.’

Stacey and Tony exchanged a look. They both knew answering Carol’s question might well demolish Tony’s chances of getting to talk to Jack Anderson. ‘Off on some lead about Aziz,’ Stacey said.

Tony hid his amazement. Stacey didn’t dig people out of holes. Then he remembered who was out on the street with Paula and it began to make a kind of sense. He gave her a quick nod when Carol’s eyes were elsewhere, then headed for the custody suite.

News of a major arrest always spreads fast in a police station. By the time Tony and Carol emerged from
the MIT squad room, people were standing in doorways, calling out congratulations, applauding as they passed. Even the doorway to the CTC’s base was crowded with men in black offering taciturn support. As they waited in the hallway, the lift disgorged David and Johnny. ‘Nice one,’ David said, passing Tony and Carol on their way into the lift.

‘I hear he’s not talking, though,’ Johnny added. ‘Let’s hope the lads in the white suits come up with something solid for you.’

The doors closed before Carol could answer. Tony said, ‘You’ll be glad to get them out of your hair.’

Carol snorted. ‘That’s not going to happen any time soon.’

‘Ah. Well, the thing is-’ The lift stopped and two civilian staff got on. Not the time to tell her about Rachel Diamond.

Walking from the lift to the custody suite didn’t offer much of an opportunity either, given how much concentration it took. And besides, he wanted to get his head straight before he confronted Stalky at last. Sufficient unto the day, he thought. At the custody desk, a technician fitted the tiny earpiece that would allow Carol to communicate with him, then they were off again down the hallway.

Carol stopped before one of the interview room doors. ‘As soon as I hear anything from the CSIs searching his cottage I’ll let you know. Good luck.’ She held the door open for him.

The time it took to get across the room gave Tony the opportunity to take a look at Jack Anderson. Seated, it was hard to gauge his height, but judging by his frame, Tony thought he was probably a little
under six feet. He was twenty-six, the same age as Robbie Bishop, and he looked in good shape. Designer stubble, well barbered, no visible tattoos, a single diamond stud earring. He was wearing the jacket to his suit over his bare chest. On him, it looked like a fashion statement. And he was handsome, even with the swollen lump on his jaw where Malory had felled him. He looked good on his photograph, but in the flesh he was even more attractive. It was easy to see that he’d had no trouble attracting girls. The young Robert Redford, only with dark hair and better skin, Tony thought. And cool as Paul Newman at any age.

Anderson’s face didn’t show a flicker of expression as Tony struggled across the room and into a chair. ‘I’m Tony Hill,’ he said as soon as he was settled. ‘I work with the police. I’m a profiler.’

One corner of his mouth twitched in a crooked smile. ‘Like
Cracker,
only skinny.’

Tony suppressed a smile. Once the silence was broken, it was that much harder to go back there. ‘No problems with drink or gambling either,’ Tony said cheerfully. ‘You’ve been advised of your rights?’ Anderson nodded. ‘You don’t want a lawyer?’ He shook his head. ‘And you know that this interview is being recorded?’

‘It makes no odds, since I don’t plan to say anything of consequence.’ Anderson leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. To embarrass myself by quoting Billy Joel, “I am an innocent man.”’

Tony nodded. ‘I think at one level you genuinely believe that. But I also think you know that’s going to be hard to sustain in practical terms. The police already have some evidence, and there’s going to be
a lot more. However justified you believe your killings may have been, the hard truth is that in a day or two you’re going to be charged with three murders. And that would be because you killed three men.’

Anderson said nothing. His face had returned to its former immobility.

‘I’m going to call you Jack,’ Tony said. ‘I know that whatever happened three years ago makes you feel Jack is dead, but he’s the one I know most about, so Jack it’s going to be. I think of that boy Jack, and my heart goes out to him. Lots of kids grow up without dads. I’m one of them, so I understand a bit about what that means. But my dad wasn’t killed. I always had the possibility of him coming back into my life, no matter how remote a chance that was. But you didn’t, did you? Your dad was gone for ever. No hope to hang on to for you. And worse than that, he died a hero. A soldier’s death, dying for queen and country. That’s far too much for a teenager to live up to.

‘And then there’s all the things he lost, dying when he did. All the things he never saw, never did. The internet. iPods. Digital cameras. Cheap air fares. Google. You growing up. I suppose that’s why you got so greedy for experience. Women. Drink. Drugs. Men. Snorting, shooting up, shagging, getting shit-faced. All of it, there to be grabbed-’

‘What do you mean, men? I’m not a poof.’ His arms had unfolded, his hands gripping the side of his chair.

Bingo. The anti-retrovirals had been the clue, but even so, Tony hadn’t expected a crack in the armour so early. ‘I never said you were.’ Tony’s voice remained calm and relaxed. Hypnotic, almost. ‘I was talking
about the desire for experience. I thought you wanted to experience everything? To feel it for yourself. Fearless and receptive to everything, every sensation. To take everything the world had to offer and grab it, to miss out on nothing. Am I wrong, then?’

‘Your words, not mine, Doctor.’ Anderson was doing his best to be the tough guy, but Tony could sense the anger and anguish underneath. All that pain, and nowhere to put it.

‘But I’m right. We both know that,’ he said. ‘I’m not a poof either, if that helps. It doesn’t mean I’ve not thought about what it would be like. I mean, when you’ve gone through every other experience, you do have to wonder. Would it be more of the same or would it be different?’ Time for a shift of tempo. ‘Then when your mum died-that was one experience you didn’t want to have. Didn’t want her to kill herself, didn’t want to know about that kind of despair. Didn’t want her to die, did you? How hard it must have been for her, hanging on till she thought you were sorted, and then going for it. For that one experience that nobody gets to share. She did what she could and then she clocked off. Left you to it. I’d guess if there was anything you’d missed out on before that, you went for it after she took herself off.’

Anderson shifted in his seat. ‘Have I got to listen to this amateur psychology all day?’ he burst out.

‘Nothing amateur about it, Jack. I get paid for this. So, what else was on the list? Play premiership football. Buy a house on Dunelm Drive. Make a million by the time you hit thirty. Drive a Ferrari.’ Tony could see it working. Every sentence provoked a tiny flutter
of reaction. Time to step up the pressure. ‘How am I doing, Jack? How many more on the list? How many more were you planning to poison? Poison their lives like he poisoned yours?’

He drew in a ragged breath. ‘You’re talking bollocks. What does that mean? Poisoned lives? You think whoever killed these guys was using murder as a metaphor? How can you trivialize death like that? You’re sicker than the killers you’re supposed to be hunting.’

Tony shrugged. ‘You’re not the first to suggest that. But the bottom line is that I’m not a killer. You are. And the only reason you interest me or anybody else right now is because we want to know why. I think I know why, but it would be good to hear I’m right.’

‘You’re so full of shit,’ Anderson said. ‘People like you, thinking you know what drives people-you don’t have a clue.’

‘Smokescreen, Jack. It might put some people off, but not me. I’m not interested in your attempts to set up a diversion. Let’s get back to what this is really about. Your attempts to extract revenge for having your dreams stolen from you by the man who poisoned your life.’

‘I am not a poof,’ Anderson said, more loudly this time.

‘Who said anything about a poof?’ Tony said, all innocence, hands spread. ‘I was asking about your little list. About what else was on it. Three down. How many more to go? I know there’s at least one. Kevin, the Ferrari guy. Did you really think they’d sit back and let you take another one of theirs? You got Tom Cross, because we weren’t looking in the
right place.’ Tony leaned forward, getting in his face, still calm but inescapable. ‘But no way were you getting Kevin Matthews.’

For the first time, Anderson looked shaken, his face startled and alert. ‘I do a bit of freelance journalism. I was interviewing him.’

‘How long did it take you to find a journalist with the right initials? Or was it seeing the real Justin Adams’s by-line that gave you the idea of how to get to Kevin?’ Tony cocked his head and appraised Anderson. ‘I’m curious, you know. Are you relieved that we’ve stopped you? Or are you pissed off because you didn’t get to finish what you started? Just out of curiosity, what was your endgame? Were you going to do the list and then stop? Live out whatever life you’ve got left? Or were you going to bottle it like your mother did?’

A muscle bunched in Anderson’s jaw. ‘I told you. It was an interview. I do some freelance journalism, OK? Then he started to freak out. I have no idea why. You should be asking where he was before he arrived at my place. Whatever he took, he must have taken it there. I don’t know what you’re on about. Poison, gay sex? That’s not my world.’

Tony was about to speak, but Carol’s voice in his ear made him pause. ‘Tony, I’ve just had a message from the CSIs. They’ve found his list, taped underneath the keyboard of his computer. The two you don’t have are, “Make a chart CD” and “Date a top model”. You got that?’

He nodded. ‘Oh yes it is, Jack. Kevin and his Ferrari. Also on your little list. So who was going to be next? Which of Bradfield’s charting artistes were you going
to take down? Or were you going for the guy with the model girlfriend? Let me think, who do we have from Bradfield who’s got a top catwalk chick? That would have to be Deepak, wouldn’t it? Our homegrown fashion designer. Was he on the list too?’

Anderson’s eyebrows had drawn closer, creating a shallow vertical crease between them. Anxiety, that’s what Tony was going for now. Make him anxious. Make him uneasy. Shift the ground beneath his feet. And then offer him comfort.

‘They’re very upset about Kevin, you know? He’s popular around here. What was it going to be this time? Monksbane? Foxglove? Strychnine? I tell you, you hit on an elegant idea there. Poison. Poison their lives the way he poisoned yours.’ And suddenly, he knew. The repetition, designed to unsettle Anderson, had opened the door for Tony. It was a leap, he knew. But it was a leap that made perfect sense.

He folded his hands together on the table and let the pity he felt flow out. ‘Just one time. That’s all it took. You wanted to taste everything, wanted to know everything. But it wasn’t like all the other times when you pushed the boundaries and had fun, was it? You hated it. Because you’re right. You’re not a poof. You thought it would be OK, but you hated it. Hated it so much it made you hate yourself. That’s when you stopped being Jack, wasn’t it? Jack was ruined, fucked up. So you left Jack behind. You knew that being dead meant saying goodbye to the past, so you did. Jack became John and sometimes Jake. You still had your dreams, though. Still had the list. Still believed you could make the climb.’

Anderson gripped his chair more tightly, his
shoulder muscles bunched and taut. He shook his head violently, as if he were trying to shake off something sticky and disgusting.

Tony spoke softly now. ‘And then you found out. Just one time, that’s all it took. That infection in the blood, poisoning you. Killing you. It doesn’t matter that these days you can take the drugs and live longer. Who wants to live longer without their dreams? What’s the point in existing? You had the world at your feet, you were going to be somebody. And one bad night took it all away.’

The silence between them stretched out, tight and dramatic. Anderson looked as if something was going to snap inside him. Tony decided to try and make it.

His tone was silky, sweet. ‘So you decided if you couldn’t have your dreams, then the men who had walked the same path as you weren’t going to have them either. You could have been them, but you weren’t, so they weren’t going to be allowed to be them either.’ Then his voice changed abruptly. Harsh and loud, Tony said, ‘Well, here’s the news, Jack. You don’t get to take away anybody else’s dreams. You’re going to jail, where they’ll take good care of you and make sure every day you have left is filled with misery. You’re going to live long and prosper behind bars. Where everybody else inside with you will know all the juicy details from your trial.’