Die of Shame (25 page)

Extremely positive results from hot-seat session designed to illuminate H&N process. Group successfully drawn into self-reflective loop with only limited resistance. A few outbursts of temper and accusation but ultimately revelatory. Real progress.
 

Robin confronted issues with control and trust (surprising that Heather is person he trusts least). Diana admitted need for reassurance and validation after prompting from Heather. Drinking allied to self-worth. Caroline revealed desire for stability – view of Robin as father figure. Diana as mother substitute? Heather unhappy at being made to adopt peacekeeping role. Adamant that nobody in group knows her well, but Chris probably closest. Predictable dread of self-disclosure from Chris, eventually persuaded to participate in shame exercise.
 

Chris’s story confirmed long-held suspicions about sexual abuse, but survivor guilt/blame even more deep-seated than I had thought. Extremely unhappy at end of session. Anger aimed primarily at Heather.
 

As per standard protocol after hot-seat, group advised not to participate in usual post-session PM.
 

Key Line
: ‘It’s never nice watching people tear each other to pieces.’
 

Tony closes the file on his computer, pulls on his jacket and walks quietly out of his office. He stops on the first floor landing and listens to the house. Emma is out, so it is quiet above him, and the sound of the television from the floor below tells him that Nina is in the living room.

He walks slowly down the final flight of stairs, still listening as the sound gets louder. Some American drama everyone is talking about. He suspects that Nina is watching, not because she loves it, but because she doesn’t want to get found out next time it comes up in conversation at a party or an awards ceremony.

He stops at the bottom of the stairs and stands in the hallway.

He is still buzzing.

His job is relatively unusual, he supposes, but it’s the same as any other in many ways. When it’s a slog, he can’t wait to put a day – or evening – behind him; to wind down and lose himself in music or a book. There are other times though, when things go the way they did tonight, when it’s hard to switch off. It was an incredible session. Electric. Sometimes it’s like wading through treacle, when he’s no better than a referee or merely there as a facilitator; laying down the rules, setting the agenda. Sessions like tonight’s, though, help Tony remember what he loves about the job. The rush that comes when he really feels he is helping. He hopes that the members of the group are feeling the same buzz as he is. They’ve certainly earned it.

Moving silently towards the living room door, he thinks about the notes he’s just typed up. Sometimes it’s impossible to curb a simple human curiosity at the revelations. Often things are said out of spite or a desire for revenge and he’s learned that they should be taken with more than a pinch of salt. Tonight though, it felt as though there was a good deal of honesty in what people were saying to each other, certainly more than he might normally expect from a group of recovering addicts. Truth itself had been a major theme of the session. Why Chris isn’t telling it, why Robin is so obsessed by it. He can’t help but wonder what Heather has done to make Robin so mistrustful of her, what exactly is happening between Caroline and Diana…

He leans close to the living room door. A lot of swearing, something being broken. Nina will have plenty to talk about.

He steps away and moves quickly through to the back of the house. He quietly opens the door out into the garden and, without turning any lights on, he walks around the side of the conservatory to where there is a designer fire pit and seating area; an enormous cream umbrella and a table and chair set that cost an arm and a leg.

He sits down and takes out his phone.

‘It’s Tony,’ he says, when the phone is answered. He knows that she has his number programmed in, will know who is calling, but still it might have felt a little odd to say, ‘It’s me’.

Heather says, ‘Hi.’ Surprised but clearly pleased.

‘Everything OK?’

‘Yeah. Hang on, let me go somewhere a bit quieter.’

Tony can hear music and chatter. He can hear Heather clearing her throat as she walks.

‘That’s better.’

‘Didn’t listen to me about the pub, then?’

‘Caroline wanted to come,’ Heather says. ‘I’m just keeping her company really. We’re not talking about the session, I promise.’

‘I didn’t mean to get heavy about it.’

‘It’s fine. You know what’s best for us.’

‘Anyway…’ Tony glances back into the house through the conservatory windows. If Nina were to come out she wouldn’t see him from the kitchen. They haven’t really said a lot to each other since the scene in Emma’s bedroom. Just the necessary domestic dialogue. Shopping lists, school runs, bills. ‘I just called to see if you knew how Chris was doing. If you’d spoken to him.’

‘Oh. Did you not try calling him?’

‘It went straight to his answerphone.’ Tony is surprised and a little excited at how easily the lie comes. He smiles, imagining how outraged Robin would be. ‘I thought you might have talked to him.’

‘I was going to call him when I get home,’ Heather says.

‘OK, not to worry.’

‘Shall I tell him you were trying to get hold of him?’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll try him again tomorrow.’

‘I could always call you later,’ Heather says. ‘If I get to talk to him.’

‘No, it’s fine.’ Tony glances towards the kitchen again. He says, ‘You were great tonight.’

There’s a pause. Distant music and laughter. ‘Was I?’

‘What you said to Diana about neediness. That was very perceptive. Very helpful.’

‘It just seemed obvious.’

‘Not to everyone. She really opened up after that.’

‘Yeah, it was good, wasn’t it?’

‘It was better than good,’ Tony says. ‘You should be really proud of yourself.’

In the pause that follows, Tony imagines her leaning against the wall in some corner of the pub, one hand in the pocket of her suede jacket. He can picture that smile on her face.

‘You know that a fair few ex-addicts go on to make good therapists, don’t you?’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. Well… me, for a start.’

Heather laughs. ‘Yeah, obviously.’

‘I’ve always thought the best therapists need to have gone through this stuff themselves. If they want to have real empathy.’

‘It makes sense.’

‘You might want to think about it.’

‘You serious?’

‘Why not? You’d just need to do the training and I’d be happy to help… if it was something you fancied having a crack at. Like I said, have a think about it.’

‘I will, yeah. Definitely.’

‘You’ve certainly got the right instincts and that’s all you need to begin with.’

‘I’ve got a great teacher,’ Heather says.

Tony presses the phone harder against his ear. Now he can imagine that smile broadening, the tip of her tongue just visible. He casts one more look back into the house.

He says, ‘Maybe we could meet up during the week and talk about it…’

When Heather gets back to the table, Caroline is already into her second bag of crisps. Heather sits down. She lays her phone on the table in front of her; nudges it once, twice, until it is perfectly straight.

Caroline wipes salt from her fingers and reaches for her glass. She says, ‘Bloody hell, somebody looks pleased with herself.’

‘Not got your partner in crime with you today?’ De Silva asked.

Tanner followed him into the kitchen, having gratefully accepted his offer of coffee. She put her handbag down on the central island and watched De Silva pop an espresso capsule into the gleaming machine. ‘We don’t always travel in pairs,’ she said.

‘No?’

‘You’re thinking of Mormons.’

‘Isn’t it a safety thing?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Presumably you don’t think I’m particularly dangerous.’

Tanner watched De Silva move the small cups across, empty the used pods into a small brown recycling bucket, take a plate down and lay out a few biscuits. His movements were precise yet oddly graceful. He was wearing jeans and a plain black T-shirt, loafers without socks.

‘I’ve got mace in my bag,’ she said.

They took their coffee through into the conservatory and sat down on chairs every bit as comfortable as Tanner remembered. She glanced out of the window, but today there were no squirrels scampering around the water feature. Just grey skies, and trees waving slowly through a curtain of drizzle.

‘It was my daughter playing the piano,’ De Silva said.

‘Sorry?’

‘Last time you were here. You asked.’

‘Oh.’ Tanner remembered the man’s knowing smile, but was no wiser as to the reason for it. ‘Not here today, then?’

‘She’s at school.’

Tanner looked towards the ceiling and summoned a knowing smile of her own. ‘But the smell’s still there. I mean… I presume she’s the smoker.’

De Silva nodded.

‘Smelled it the first time,’ Tanner said. ‘You can’t miss it, to be honest.’

‘You bothered?’

Tanner shrugged and shook her head. It was not something she would be concerned about anyway, least of all when she was investigating a murder, but it hadn’t hurt to mention it. To put the therapist on the back foot. ‘So, I’ve talked to everyone in the group,’ she said. ‘Managed to track them all down.’

No thanks to you.
 

‘Right.’

‘I had to talk to some of them more than once, in fact. Let’s just say there were a few things they decided not to tell us, for one reason or another.’

De Silva said nothing.

Tanner took out her notebook and began to leaf through it. ‘I’m not sure how much you’re aware of what’s been going on between them. Outside your sessions.’

‘Only what they’ve chosen to tell me,’ De Silva said.

‘Did you know Robin was being blackmailed by someone in the group?’

De Silva looked genuinely shocked. ‘No, I didn’t.’ He took a few seconds longer to process the information. ‘It explains one or two things that have happened in our sessions, though. Do you know… who?’

‘Robin still isn’t sure,’ Tanner said. ‘He thought it was Chris at first, but then he thought it was Heather.’

‘Really?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I’d be… surprised,’ De Silva said.

‘You know she was gambling again. Before she was killed.’

De Silva looked more disappointed than anything, though Tanner could not tell if it was simply professional pride that was wounded. ‘That’s a shame.’

‘And it’s fair to say that Chris has been a little… unstable.’

De Silva nodded. ‘I’d been concerned for a while, but it became very obvious at that last session.’ He saw the look on Tanner’s face and smiled. ‘I’m only confirming something you already know, so I’m not betraying client confidentiality.’

‘Yes… that last session.’ Tanner looked at De Silva. ‘
Heather’s
last session. Nobody has been willing to go into any details about that.’

‘They wouldn’t.’

‘And you still won’t.’

‘Well, not unless I’m genuinely convinced that it has a bearing on what happened. If so, as I’ve said, I have an ethical obligation to reveal the details, but not until then.’

‘I have reason to believe that it does,’ Tanner said.

‘Reason to believe is not enough, I’m afraid. Have you got evidence?’ De Silva nodded, Tanner’s silence enough to confirm his suspicions. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t reveal confidential information about five clients based on a hunch.’

‘One of them is dead,’ Tanner said. ‘The one that was murdered, remember? I’m not sure she’d care a great deal.’

‘Even if it was just one client. I know you think I’m being difficult.’

‘You’re being professional,’ Tanner said. ‘I get that.’

‘Good.’

‘Do you keep notes of the sessions?’

‘Of course.’

‘Could I see them?’

‘How is that any different?’

‘I thought perhaps you might feel less ethically… compromised.’ Tanner watched De Silva shake his head and stifle a smile that looked somewhat patronising as he reached for his coffee. She said, ‘It’s easy enough to apply for a court order and seize the notes. It wouldn’t take long.’

De Silva shrugged and looked away. He took a fast slurp of coffee, as though he were sitting at some Milanese pavement café.

Tanner put down her notebook.

‘What exactly is it you do, Mr De Silva? Sorry, is it mister or doctor?’

‘I’m not a doctor.’ He smiled. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

‘Well, I can’t get specifics, in terms of what goes on in these group sessions… not yet, anyway. So, I’m just trying to get a better idea generally, that’s all.’

‘You want to know what a therapist does?’

‘What
you
do.’

De Silva nodded and sat back. ‘I lead the group,’ he said. ‘It’s my job to establish an environment that’s healthy and functional. I provide a structure. Limits and goals, you know? In some ways a group’s like a laboratory, to investigate and explore interpersonal relationships.’

‘You make it sound scientific.’

‘In a lot of ways it is. I suppose I’m as much an engineer as anything.’

‘So what makes a good therapist?’

‘Someone who’s empathetic,’ De Silva said quickly. ‘That’s probably the most important thing.’ He crossed his legs, stretched his arms out, nice and comfortable. ‘It’s what makes us different from other animals, you know that? Getting a sense of what someone else is thinking or feeling. Being able to get inside a fellow human being’s head. Not that everyone can do it, not even those who literally get inside people’s heads… some of Robin Joffe’s mates at the hospital.’

‘But you can do it.’

‘I certainly do my best. Yeah… I think I’m pretty good. I listen to what’s being said and what’s not being said, and that means verbally
and
non-verbally. I look at the process of the group. Who chooses to sit where. Which people are sitting together and which of them sit as far apart as possible. Who’s deliberately sitting close to me and who tries their best to sit as far away as they can. I explain, I clarify, I provide emotional stimulation… but most importantly, whatever is said, whatever is confessed or revealed, I don’t judge.’

‘There must be some interesting things… confessed,’ Tanner said.

‘Oh yeah.’

‘Tricky though, I would have thought… working with addicts?’

De Silva cocked his head, gave a so-so shrug. ‘Addicts are defensive by nature,’ he said. ‘That’s the challenge.’

‘Of course.’

‘They deny. It’s what they do, what they’ve always done. If it’s run properly, group therapy can break through that defence system.’

‘You think it’s a disease?’

De Silva looked at her.

‘I mean, some people might say it isn’t, because the person’s made a choice and it’s clearly something that gives them pleasure.’

‘Well, I’m not altogether sure how any of this is helping with your investigation, but by that definition syphilis wouldn’t be a disease either.’

Tanner nodded. ‘I’ve heard people say it, that’s all.’

‘People say all sorts of rubbish.’

‘Some programme I saw about alcoholics.’ She picked at a spot of lint on the collar of her jacket. ‘Just wondered what you thought.’

‘I think we need to ask ourselves questions. Like why people recovering after operations, being pumped full of morphine for a week or whatever, which is way stronger than street heroin… don’t come out of hospital as hopeless addicts.’

‘Never thought about it,’ Tanner said.

‘Because most of the time they’re surrounded by caring staff, by friends and family who love them. It’s lack of connection, that’s the problem. That’s why people become drug addicts, alcoholics. One reason, anyway.’

‘That’s interesting…’

De Silva said nothing for a while. Then he sat slowly forward. ‘Are you married, Inspector?’

Tanner hesitated, but only for a second. ‘No.’

‘Boyfriend?’

‘No.’

Tanner could feel the skin tighten around her mouth. If the therapist had asked about a girlfriend, she would have answered him honestly, but he did not. She could not help thinking that he already had the answer he was looking for.

He looked… satisfied.

‘Alcoholism is a disease, pure and simple.’ De Silva spoke slowly, his voice softer suddenly, his eyes fixed on hers. ‘Once you have it, it can’t be cured, it can’t be controlled, and the only treatment is abstinence, whatever anyone says.’ He raised a finger. ‘Whatever anyone tells you.’

Tanner was aware of the colour in her face as she gathered her handbag and stood up, and, as she thanked De Silva for his time, she turned to look out at the curtain of rain, now a little heavier.

He told her he was happy to help.

Walking back into the kitchen, Tanner said, ‘Oh, there’s one more thing…’

De Silva smiled. ‘Columbo.’

‘Yes… it was just that you were going to talk to your wife or have a look at her diary, remember? To check if you were alone at home after the session on March the twenty-second. The night that Heather Finlay was killed.’

De Silva’s smile evaporated. ‘Yes, I checked,’ he said. ‘My wife was out that evening.’

‘Do you happen to know what time she came home?’

‘It was very late.’

Tanner nodded and thanked him again. She stopped at the door and mustered the considerable effort necessary to turn on some charm. ‘Last chance to let me take a quick look at those notes. I wouldn’t even need to take them away. Save me a whole lot of messing about.’

‘Get your court order,’ De Silva said.