Exhibit (16 page)

“Not like that”, Rebecca went on. “He knows about the murders.”

“So does anyone with a fucking TV. This case has been plastered all over every single news channel for the last three months. Get him out of there.”

“Sir.”

“And don't fucking call me Sir, unless you're wanking me off and being ironic.”

“Yes, Detective Marsh”, Rebecca said, reddening a little at the thought.

“Aye. Now get that bamstick out of there.”

Marsh folded his arms and watched Rebecca enter the room, whisper something quietly into Detective Matt Brown's ear, then both of them turn to look at Marsh through the window - Rebecca winking, and Brown resigned, before getting up to leave.

Brown came over and stood next to Marsh, but didn't have the courage to interrupt him. Rebecca stood the other side, so the three of them watched the accused through the two way mirror. Prensall pushed a dirty nailed finger into his ear, moved it around inside, looked at what he'd dragged out and then rubbed it on his jeans. He pushed his glasses up his nose, smoothed a hand rapidly through gray hair and then put it back around the cup as though if he wasn't holding onto something, it could be out of his control.

“Did he do it?” Marsh said, without taking his eyes of Prensall.

“That's what he says.”

“What do you think you dim witted twat?”

“I don't know sir”, Brown said. He looked like a boy next to Marsh, and even though almost a foot taller, seemed to shrink into the background around him, like a shadow disappearing into the darkness of color, when stood next to him.

“Aye. Well go and tell that to the chief super. Fucking brilliant detective work. Go on, fuck off.”

Brown didn't delay in getting back to duties with much less responsibility.

“Why the fuck didn't they give it to Carter or Jenson, or even that Welsh girl Jones?”

“Any cunt can take a statement”, Rebecca said, “if you know what I mean.”

“Aye, I do”, Marsh said. “Well come on then.”

“Sir? Marsh”, Rebecca said, correcting herself.

“Come and learn how the fuck it's done. And if you call me sir once more, I'm going to do something you might not like.”

Marsh moved to let Rebecca pass him, offering her entrance to the interview room first, and when she did, he spanked her on the ass. Rebecca was about to reprimand him, but she knew it would do her no good. It would only turn him on more. As they settled into the two chairs opposite Phillip Prensall, she noticed two things. She could smell something disgusting, something similar to the smell of rotting flesh, and that sat next to Devizes Marsh, her leg brushing against his under the small table, she felt horny.

Devizes had brought her into the room for two reasons. One of his reasons always involved fucking, - that was a base instinct for Marsh that would never go away. There were very few times he would do anything for a woman, unless he knew there was a possibility it would help in his attempt to fuck her. The second reason he brought her in, was to see how Phillip Prensall reacted around women.

“Fucking hell”, Detective Marsh said, as he noticed the smell. “When was the last time you had a bath?”

Prensall ticked - a  quick tilt of the head to the left hand side, a repositioning of the glasses further up his nose, and a comb of his greasy hair with dirty fingers.

“That's not a very nice thing to say, Detective.”

“I'm not a very nice person. When did you last wash your cock?”

“When did you?”

“This fucking morning. I smell like fucking roses. You smell like fucking shit. Have you shit yourself? Is that what this is? Have you shit yourself because you're going to go to jail and get fucked up the ass every day for the rest of your life. Have somebody punch your teeth out so you can suck their cock without biting them. You know what they call someone who everyone uses to fuck? A bum boy, that's what they call them. A fucking wee bum boy. Did you wash it after you fucked them then? After you killed them?”

Prensall ticked again. “Where has the other detective gone?”

“He's gone to run you a bath”, Marsh said, and Rebecca had to hold back a snigger.

“I want to talk with the other detective again. He was nice to me.”

“He's gone on his lunch break. You'll have to put up with me and Sergeant-.”

“Rebecca Tan”, Rebecca said.

“Rebecca's much nicer than I am. You'll like her”, Marsh said.

Rebecca tried to smile at Phillip Prensall but she couldn't bring herself to do it. The smell coming off him was enough to corrode metal. She looked at his hands and all she could see was dirt, his hair and all she could see was grease, his clothes and all she could see were cum stains.

“Why did you do it?” Marsh said.

Prensall looked from Rebecca to Marsh and back to Rebecca.

“I've already told the other detective why I did it”, he said, and licked his lips as though he'd just had a sugary treat and wanted another.

Marsh knew this role play like the back of his hand. Whether he wanted to tell them why, had nothing to do with whether he did it or not, but often these kind of people wanted you to beg, to make the telling of the story more exciting for them. Anyone who walked into a police station to confess to a series of murders, whether they did it or not, was someone who was desperate to have someone listen to their story.

Marsh knew Prensall would not be able to hold himself back for very long. He also expected there to be enough variation in the details of the story he would tell him, and the story he told Inspector Brown earlier that day, to make it quite clear the whole thing was a fabrication. He expected only details that had been released to the press, he expected hesitations, contradictions and cloudiness, and he expected Prensall, eventually, to back himself into a corner he had no chance of getting out of.

“I would love to hear it from you”, Marsh said, and it was those key words that lit a visible spark of passion in Prensall's eyes. He ticked again, three times this time, removed his glasses, cleaned them, put them back on, prepared himself.

“I wanted to see them die”, he said.

“And what was that like?” Marsh said without skipping a beat, his tone lowered in mock reverence.

“Like nothing you can imagine”, Prensall said.

“Can you tell me how you do it?”

Prensall licked his lips. He twisted the mug around.

“Do you want to know, Sergeant Tan?” Prensall said, turning to her for the first time, and looking at her over the top of his glasses, like a librarian might to someone who has returned a book late.

“Yes”, she said. “Yes, I do.”

Prensall looked from Marsh to Tan and back again. He giggled. A horrific little expulsion of breath that sounded like the distant motor of a decades old moped.

“I know you”, he said to Detective Marsh, and then ticked violently.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I know who you are. I watched you.”

“Watched me do what? Enter the fucking room and sit down?”

Prensall licked his lips, like a lizard sitting on a rock in the sun would. Rebecca couldn't take her eyes off the tide mark that the rucked up skin looked like. Too much salt in his diet, too little water.

“They liked you”, Prensall continued. “Hazel, no, although you nearly killed her yourself so I suppose she had reason, but the rest yes.”

Rebecca looked at Marsh. Marsh looked straight ahead at Prensall, as though he wanted to kill him.

“I saw the marks you left on her neck. The leather belt. Good work detective. Good work!”

Prensall hardly had time to finish his pathetic little cackle before Marsh was up. The chair flew out from beneath him and clattered against the ground, while his fist flew forward towards Prensall's face at a velocity so rapid, Rebecca wondered whether she had seen it at all. Blood was pouring out of Prensall's nose, as he lay like a logged tree on the other side of the table, before Rebecca could do anything to stop the mad detective.

While Prensall began to blub, Marsh stopped the interview tape, rewound it half a minute, and pressed record again.

“Interruption due to Philip Prensall falling from his chair”, Marsh said.

Prensall pulled himself back up, and Rebecca handed him a tissue.

“What was your relationship with the woman?” Marsh asked, as calm as if nothing had happened at all.

“The same as yours, Detective”, he said, but he didn't giggle this time, and his hands were shaking.

“Tell us how you did it”, Marsh said.

Again Prensall's eyes glowed.

“It was always after you'd been with them, Detective. Did you know that? Did you know they always used to come to me after you? Do you know why? So I could look after them. So I could protect them from the big bad Detective.'

He dabbed at the blood still dripping from his nose.

“Jessica was the first. You remember her, Detective, don't you? Big brown eyes like almonds. Same color as her nipples. Oh I could even smell you on her. I didn't mean to do it that night, but I couldn't resist. She was crying while I stroked her hair, and then she was crying even more when I stabbed her in the back. Stab, stab, stab stab, stab, the stupid whore. Stab, stab, stab, stab, stab.” Prensall accompanied every stab word with the action. When he was done, he began to wheeze with the effort, and coughed up a lump of brown goo into the bloody tissue.

“Then there was Rachel. She loved you did Rachel. She loved you more than she loved me. She hated poor old Philip, but she couldn't resist coming back for more of me. I cut her throat and let her bleed to death in my bath. I had her in there for two days while I took care of Hazel. Poor old Hazel. She was only eighteen. Did you know? Did you know that when you were fucking her up the ass? Did you know that when you wrapped that belt so tightly around her neck that it left an imprint for weeks. Did you know that she was pregnant when they found her?”

“Fuck off”, Marsh said, but his voice lacked conviction. It sounded, for the first time in a very long time, hesitant.

“Three weeks. About the size of a grain of rice, but pregnant all the same. It could have been yours, or mine, or any one of the six other people she fucked on a weekly basis. What do you think about that, Detective?”

“How did you kill Hazel?” Rebecca Tan said, attempting to calm her irate superior by refocusing the conversation.

Prensall kept his eyes on the detective. “In the way that the detective couldn't do. I strangled her with a leather belt, while I fucked her up the ass.”

Prensall broke down into a fit of laughing that turned into violent coughing and a series of ticks.

“What about Mary?” Rebecca asked.

“Oh, Mary”, Prensall continued. “How could I forget. Detective had a soft spot for Mary. Even gave her some money to start an evening class. She spent that on crack, did you know, Detective? I loved Mary. Did you love her, Detective?”

Marsh didn't answer. He felt extremely uncomfortable.

“Well she didn't love you, I'm afraid. She talked about her alcoholic sugar daddy quite often, but never positively. She showed me the scars you left on her, and the lame way you fucked.”

Marsh was about to get up again, but as quick as a flash Rebecca put her hand on his arm and squeezed. They looked at each other for a moment, before Marsh politely removed it, got up and directed a tight fisted punch at Prensall's face, that knocked him off his chair again. After a moment, Prensall pulled himself back up.

“Is that all that you have to say, Detective?”

“I think we are done here”, Marsh said. “Rebecca will take a full statement. You can go into as much detail as you want on it. Tell her everything you know, and everything you did. Don't hold back.”

“Oh I won't, Detective.”

Marsh loosened an already loose collar even further. “I liked those girls. Every single one of them. If you did kill them, I'll make sure you pay for it.”

“Oh, you and I aren't so different, Detective”, Prensall said. “I've just done what you couldn't.”

Marsh got up to leave. Prensall had rattled him and he needed a drink.

“Aren't you going to ask me why I'm here?” Prensall said. “Why I've turned myself in instead of carrying on?”

“Go on.”

“Ask yourself who is left, Detective.”

“What the fuck do you mean?”

Prensall giggled again, like a child who's just realized he can fart.

Suddenly it dawns on Devizes. “Elisa. Oh you fucking dirty cunt.”

“You have forty eight hours to find her detective. Any time after that will be too late.”

“You're fucking bluffing.”

“Do you think I'd be here if I was bluffing? You don't think I did it at all, because you didn't bring me in. You hadn't a clue before I gave myself up. The great Detective Marsh couldn't find the killer of his favourite prostitutes.

“He couldn't crack the case. I had to come to you, Detective. You had nothing! I've seen the reports in the news. Investigations continue, while every month a new dead girl turns up. The rope man, what a load of bullshit. You had a Portuguese waiter as your main suspect. You've spent six months with your head up your own ass, and still refuse to believe that the man sat in front of you now is responsible for the crimes you've been investigating, or trying to investigate. You're a shit detective, Detective. I've been watching you for months and you haven't fucking realized. Sat there at home wanking and drinking whiskey. You're pathetic. You're lucky I didn't kill your fucking wife and daughter as well. I would have done if you cared about them.”

Marsh was up again, and for a third time Prensall was on his back, holding his hand to his face and tucked up in a protective ball. Marsh began to kick him, laying in to him with everything he had. Prensall began to whimper like a scolded dog.

“Marsh. MARSH”, Rebecca shouted. “DETECTIVE.”

Finally Marsh stopped. He threw the chair against the far wall and went to the door.

“Get everything from him. Don't stop until he's practically fucking dead. I'll be back to find out what he's done to that girl.”

“Detective. Oh, Detective”, Prensall said from his position on the floor. “Forty eight hours otherwise she's dead. Oh, just so you know, the press know about your relationships with the other girls. I expect your superiors will do by the afternoon too.”