Deadlight (31 page)

‘Tell me.’

‘He refused to say a word.’

‘That’s because he can’t.’

‘No, you don’t understand. I was there. I was translating. Nick put the questions, I signed them for J-J. But whatever Nick said, whichever way he put it, J-J didn’t want to know. Blanked him. Just shook his head. More than that, he was outraged, took it really personally.’

‘Because he had no information?’

‘Because he thought the whole thing was wrong. They were taking advantage. Both of me and him. That’s a moral judgement. I still don’t know whether he knew this kid but that’s not the point. J-J had made up his mind. He
knew
what to do. He’d made a decision. That’s rare and you know something else? I was proud of him. Not just proud, but envious.’

‘Maybe he gets it from his dad. You ever thought of that?’

‘Never.’ Faraday lay back on the sofa, aware of her physical presence beside him, letting his eyes close at last.

‘You want to stay?’

He thought about the question, his eyes still closed. At length, he felt for her hand.

‘I’ve no idea.’ He smiled to himself. ‘Muddle’s a very good word.’

Winter used Dawn’s key to let himself into the house. Past midnight, the street was deserted, curtains drawn. Closing the door behind him, he lingered for a moment in the hall. The place still stank of petrol and last night’s fire. It reminded him of squats he’d checked out in his uniformed days, places where dossers kipped at night, foul air and little piles of charred wood.

He closed the door without securing the chain and made his way upstairs. He’d brought a small overnight bag but he’d already decided to sleep in his clothes. Dawn, listening to this little plan of his, had been less than happy but the best part of a bottle of Bacardi had blunted her better judgement and by the time he’d left she was tucked up in the spare bedroom at the back of the bungalow, dead to the world.

Dawn’s bedroom was at the front of the house. The floor was still dotted with little piles of discarded clothes and the bed had been stripped where she’d carted the top sheet and the duvet downstairs. There were a couple of blankets and a spare duvet in the airing cupboard outside the bathroom. Winter hauled them back along the landing, kicked off his shoes, and made himself as comfortable as he could. The ache in his arm and ribs had eased during the day but now he seemed to be hurting all over. Dawn’s pack of Nurofen was still on the floor beside the bed. He swallowed three.

Sleep came slowly. Lying with his head on Dawn’s pillow, he could smell her, an extraordinarily intimate experience for which he’d made no allowances. It wasn’t that he kidded himself he’d ever be in with a chance. It wasn’t even that he especially fancied her. It was simply the thought that he was this close to her, and that she was that vulnerable.

Vulnerability was the key to it, he thought. Vulnerability, that need for other people, for touch, for company, was the kind of temptation that certain blokes just
couldn’t resist. He’d seen it time and again on the job. He knew where it could lead. But never had he come across it this close to home.

Policemen, of course, were famously violent in their private lives. The job had its fair share of frustrations and he’d known a number of blokes who’d taken it out on their partners, or their wives. But this kind of lashing out, too many late nights, too much booze, was instinctive, just happened – bam – while this story of Dawn’s was in a different class altogether.

The way she’d told it last night, he’d been pushed to believe her. At first she’d been reluctant to even talk about it but Winter was world class in situations like these and the more he probed the more he realised how cleverly she’d been manipulated. The things the guy had done were pretty bizarre, pretty disgusting, but the really clever trick was the way she’d ended up blaming herself.

‘It’s my fault, Paul,’ she’d said. ‘My bloody fault entirely.’

Wrong, he thought. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

A car whined past and he stiffened for a moment, wondering whether you’d do a little drive-by recce first to make sure the coast was clear. This whole thing was a punt, of course, and he was already half resigned to a sleepless night and fuck all to show for it, but there was another small voice in his head that told him he’d got it exactly right. Spend an entire career poking around the insides of other people’s heads, and you learned a thing or two about the way they behaved, the way they circled and circled, always returning to that one still point. There was no chance Dawn could have brought all this on herself, he thought. In the words of the rape manuals, she was simply a target of opportunity.

It felt like minutes later when Winter awoke. He lay in the darkness for a moment, trying to work out what the noise had been. Then it happened again, footsteps in the hall below. He held up his wrist, peering at his watch.
02.49. Just about right, he thought, reaching into the space below the bed and fumbling for the on/off switch before pulling the duvet over his head.

The footsteps were closer now, easing up the stairs. At the top, they paused. He’d left the door open a crack and he could hear the sound of someone breathing hard. Not physical exhaustion, it couldn’t be that. Far more likely to be something much nastier. Like excitement.

There was movement again, and the long pull of a zip. Then came a series of other noises, moist little slapping sounds that Winter couldn’t place. Lying in the hot darkness under the duvet he tried to imagine what might be happening. Had Dawn gone through this? Was this the trailer before the big movie?

At length, he heard the creak of a door opening. There was a stir of air in the room and then he sensed the presence of someone standing over the bed. He shifted his weight a little under the bulky duvet, gladdened by this little trap of his, then rolled over entirely, his face still hidden. Live bait, he thought.

‘Dawn?’ He felt a hand giving him a gentle shake. ‘You awake?’

Winter resumed his position, breathing regularly, feigning sleep. The voice again, a voice he recognised.

‘Dawn? It’s going to be all right this time, I promise, love. Look. Look at me.’

Winter threw back the duvet, a theatrical gesture that he immediately regretted. In the spill of light from the street, there was no mistaking the tall frame of Andy Corbett, looming over the bed. He was wearing his motorcycle leathers, unzipped from neck to groin. He was naked underneath and an uncertain erection was already beginning to flag. Winter thought he recognised the faint scent of body lotion.

Corbett, for a moment, was struck dumb. Then he took a tiny step backwards and reached down for the zip.

‘What the fuck … ?’

Winter reached across for the bedside light.

‘Disappointed?’

Corbett, at first, didn’t answer. He zipped himself up, then extended a bony finger, inches from Winter’s face.

‘You’re weird. Seriously fucking weird.’

‘And you?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Winter plumped a pillow and did his best to make himself comfortable.

‘How about we start with the cable ties?’ he said peaceably. ‘You want to have a little chat about those? Or shall we go straight on to the truncheon? Your dad’s, wasn’t it? I know psychiatrists who could write whole books about you.’

‘I don’t have to listen to this shit. Especially from a sad old git like you.’ Corbett was heading for the bedroom door.

‘You do, son. You have to listen very hard. And you know why? Because sad old gits like me could make life very difficult for you. I’m not Dawn’s only mate. And the others are much younger.’

Corbett stopped and turned round. ‘Is that some kind of threat?’

‘Of course it is. But I notice you’re not leaving so why don’t you sit down?’

Winter nodded at the end of the bed. Corbett remained on his feet.

‘Suit yourself.’ Winter shrugged. ‘First off, let’s get down to the facts. A couple of nights ago, you stayed here, right? You weren’t quite yourself. Things hadn’t been going quite your way. You felt you needed a little TLC. And guess who was silly enough to believe you?’

‘I was feeling shit. You don’t make that kind of stuff up.’

‘We all feel shit, son. It goes with the turf. What we don’t do is cop a moody like that to get someone like Dawn into bed.’

‘It was her idea.’

‘Of course it was her idea. She’s just that kind of girl. She’s naïve, and she’s kind, too, and she meant it. God knows what she’s doing in a job like ours. Anyway, she’s taken pity on you. She gets you something to drink. You talk for a while. You tell her how unfair the world is, how you’re not getting a fair crack of the whip, and sweet, generous guy that you are, you let her take you to bed. The way Dawn’s seeing it, that’s a definite result. Number one, she’s fancied you for weeks. Number two, she’s playing the Christian. Fellow cop in dire need. Help yourself, she says, it’ll make you feel so much better. But it didn’t, did it? And why not? Because you couldn’t get it up. Or that’s the way it looked, anyway. So how does Dawn feel about this? My friend, she feels exactly the way you want her to feel. She feels totally fucking useless. Literally. There she is, stark naked, fresh from the shower, and the todger doesn’t want to know. She thinks she’s ugly. She thinks she doesn’t turn you on. She thinks she’s failed. So somehow she’s got to do better.’ Winter eased his arm, working a finger under the plaster for a scratch. ‘Am I getting warm?’

Corbett didn’t say a word. His face was pale, his mouth compressed. Under his left eye, a tiny muscle was beginning to flutter.

‘So …’ Winter beamed up at him. ‘You unpack the goodies you’ve brought along. You’ve got these cable ties, just by chance. You think it might help if she lets you tie each of her wrists to this bedhead here, these little knobs along the top. Now Dawn’s not sure about that, she really isn’t, but you’re in some distress, some need, and after all it was her idea to begin with, and so she says yes, doesn’t she? She says yes, and you get right down to it, big black cable tie round each wrist.’ He paused a moment. ‘Did you bring the pliers tonight, as a matter of interest? Or are you through with the ties?’

Once again, no answer. Just the dead eyes, staring down.

‘No? Don’t you want to help me out here?’ Winter pressed on. ‘OK, so there she is, lashed to the bedhead, but you haven’t quite finished yet because – surprise, surprise – you just happened to have found two more ties, this time for her ankles. By now, Dawn’s having serious second thoughts. What seemed like a great idea, you stepping in through the door and changing her life, has turned into some kind of porn movie. The wheels have come off, Andy, big-time. And there she is, kippered, totally fucking laid out for you, and she can’t help wondering what treat you’re planning next.’

‘I tried to fuck her.’

‘You did, Andy, you did. And I suppose that might have been acceptable, just. But again, it didn’t work, did it? Either because you really have got a problem or because you didn’t want it to work.’

‘You’re telling me that’s my fault?’ he said hotly. ‘You think I didn’t
want
to fuck her?’

‘I haven’t got a clue, mate, but I tell you what I do think. I think you’re one sick bastard. I think you knew exactly what you wanted when you knocked on her door that night, and the shame of it is you got it. Where are the kicks in that kind of stuff, do you mind telling me? How do you get off on raping women with a bottle of wine? Then with a truncheon? Is it a control thing? Is that your bag? Or is it just plain old aggravated rape? Only I’m just a bit confused.’

‘It wasn’t rape.’

‘You want to tell a court that? Only Dawn might.’

‘It was’ … he bent low over the bed … ‘just a thing between us. You wouldn’t understand that. You wouldn’t begin to understand. I came over to apologise. If you really want to know.’

‘Sure. And you turn up here in the middle of night with
your knob hanging out. That’s hardly an apology, is it? Or am I missing something here?’

Winter let the thought sink in, then he nodded at the door.

‘I haven’t a clue why you really came round tonight but I’m fucking glad it wasn’t Dawn in this bed. I might be a year or two older than you but I’ll tell you something for free, son. If you come anywhere near this place again, or so much as lift the phone to Dawn, I’ll make fucking sure you’re on the next train back to London. You understand me?’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Then let me spell it out. You leave Dawn alone. You forget all about her. If you really can’t control that truncheon of yours, I’ll give you a list of phone numbers. There are women in this city who’ll sort you out. It’ll cost a bit but you never know your luck. Bloke like you might score a discount for being so pathetic. OK? That clear enough?’

For a moment, Winter thought he’d thrown one insult too many. Corbett had the look of a man about to do something very silly indeed. Then he visibly straightened, trying to turn all that boiling anger into contempt.

‘You know my big mistake?’ he said softly.

‘No, son. Tell me.’

‘Coming round your place and telling you what a daft old cunt you are. I should have left it, shouldn’t I? I should have kept my mouth shut and waited till the next time.’

‘Next time?’

‘Yeah.’ He drew the zip up to his neck. ‘Because next time you’ll probably kill the poor bloody woman.’

Winter gazed up at him, lost for words. Finally he nodded.

‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Big fucking mistake coming round to my place. You know something, son? You want to learn to control yourself.’

Corbett dismissed him with a cold smile, some tiny shred of dignity reclaimed, then turned on his heel and left the room. Winter heard the stamp of his boots on the stairs and the slam of the front door as he headed back to the street. Faintly, minutes later, came the roar of a big motorbike. Must have parked a couple of streets away, Winter thought. Sly bastard.

He turned from the window and made his way downstairs. The girl on the all-night shift at Aqua promised him a cab as soon as she could. Only when he’d got his shoes on, waiting downstairs, did he remember the little Sony under Dawn’s bed. The cassette was still recording, at least a couple of minutes left.