Perfect Intentions: Sometimes justice is above the law (5 page)

“Well, no, of course not.” Henson’s argument was starting to wane.

Holt, sensing his young colleague floundering, stepped in.

“But Dr. Armstrong—Loretta—could you sleep at night, knowing you could be concealing a possible suspect?”

“Compelling argument, DI Holt, and I appreciate what you’re saying. Still, without any firm evidence or even a possible suspect, I don’t see how I could assist you. Now, if one of my patients were to come in tomorrow and confess to the murders, you can rest assured you would be the first people I’d call. However—”

“You can’t see that happening.” Holt looked deflated, and Loretta felt for him. He seemed a genuinely nice man, albeit one who was lost. Catching his eye, she smiled softly at him.

“What I can do if you’re interested is set about working a profile about the psychological make-up of the type of person you’re looking for. This would take a little time though, if you’d like to come back and see me another day.”

“Ok, well, thank you for your time.” Holt and Henson were moving toward the door.

“No problem. Oh, and before you go, DC Henson, going back to you what you said earlier, I very much doubt I’ll be the next victim.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

“If it is in fact a serial killer in operation, they tend to stick to the same gender, and this one seems to have decided on the male of the species. Good evening, gentlemen.”

Loretta closed the door behind them.

“What do you think, sir, is she going to be of any use?”

“Maybe. Let’s get back to the station—who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky and some witnesses have turned up. Or, failing that, a lead on the first victim.”

As Loretta picked up the phone to dial, she wondered if her decision to do so would come back to haunt her. Ever since DI Holt had come to her office to ask for assistance, she had felt guilty about the way she had handled the situation. She had already decided that they were going to put her in an awkward situation and she’d jumped down their throats before she’d even had chance to offer them a coffee. She had felt particularly annoyed with herself at her treatment of DI Holt; he looked like a kindly man, and she had used her profession to cause him unnecessary discomfiture. In short, she felt that she’d behaved like a child. She had known, however, why she’d done it: people always came to see her for her help, but they didn’t usually have badges. Badges made her like most—nervous; they were a symbol of authority. But as DI Holt had informed her straight away, they were there off the record, not in an official capacity. Had there not been so much media attention surrounding the cases, maybe she wouldn’t have felt so intimidated by the two police officials standing in her office. Since the first body had been discovered, both detectives had been on the TV each night trying to answer increasingly demanding questions. Seeing Holt struggling she had felt genuine pity for him. But that young wannabe he’d been lumbered with for the case had really gotten to Loretta, trying to be Dick Tracey and Kojak rolled into one, with his glistening insights into the type of guy they were looking for.

It made him sound like he was auditioning for
NYPD Blue
.

When the two detectives had turned up together, Loretta had found herself in a quandary. One of the detectives she could imagine herself liking, and the other was someone she’d like to beat with a blunt object. Finally she’d settled on antagonism.

Now she had to make amends. She wanted to help DI Holt with his enquiries; from what had been said earlier, she knew that he needed her.

Dialling the number, she waited nervously for an answer; she didn’t have to wait long.

“Oh, hello, would it be possible to speak to DI Holt, please?” As Loretta held the line, waiting for the officer to locate Holt, she started to bite her fingernails, a nervous gesture she had not been prone to since childhood.

“Hello, DI Holt, it’s
Dr. Armstrong here. I just wanted to apologise for earlier and offer any assistance you might need. I appreciate you’re a busy man, but if you’d like to have a proper talk about the matter, we can.”

Holt was in his office on the other side of town with the phone tucked under his chin, sorting through paperwork. He started rubbing at his brow, an unconscious movement that let anyone who knew him know that he was under stress. He didn’t want to go back to her office; aside from the fact the last meeting there had been a disaster, he didn’t like the overall feel of the place. With its sage walls and leafy plants, it was like the whole building was trying to be something it wasn’t.

“That would be appreciated, Dr. Armstrong, and in relation to earlier, I fear Detective Constable Henson and myself were equally to blame. Although to be honest, I’d prefer it if we could meet elsewhere to discuss matters. I’d rather it didn’t get back to the press that we’re consulting an outsider.”

“That’s understandable. You’re welcome to nominate a more suitable place.”

“Well, it can’t really be a public place, I’m afraid.”

“Well, I could suggest my apartment, or would that not be allowed? It’s just that it’s quiet there and I live alone, so there’s no chance of someone walking in and overhearing something they shouldn’t.”

Holt wondered briefly if his anxiety was somehow communicating itself to her through the line, then, trying to keep his voice as relaxed as possible, he spoke.

“Well, that would be perfect, as long as you wouldn’t find it too much of an intrusion.”

“Not at all, but I must make one insistence.”

“Yes?”

“Could you come alone, please? That young DC really gets my back up.”

Holt had to laugh out loud at that.

“You’re certainly not the first person to say that. He can be a little, how should I say, overbearing at times.”

"When do you want to come round?”

“Whenever it’s most convenient for you. You’re the one helping us, remember?” He was smiling now.

Well, you can come round tonight if you’re not busy.”

“That would be great, as long as you’re sure.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Shall we say seven?”

“Great, and I promise I’ll make sure DC Henson’s safely back home first.”

“Thank you. See you at seven, then. Bye.”

"Bye." Holt broke the connection and then stared into the receiver. If someone had told him that this would be the outcome of the afternoon, he’d have laughed in his or her face.

Clare had just gotten in from work, and after putting the kettle on, she wandered through into the lounge and slumped down on the sofa.

Clare’s phone rung to life, and when she answered it, she was met by a familiar voice.

“Hey gorgeous, we still on for later?”

“Yeah, of course, be here around seven.”

“Will do. Anyway, how’s your day been?”

Clare rolled her eyes. Dean was a lovely guy, but he was becoming a little suffocating; this was the third phone call today. They’d gone on several dates since the first and each date resulted in him becoming
more clingy. Every time they went out seemed to result in more phone calls the following day. And if she were being honest with herself, she didn’t want him becoming too attached, something which was already apparent.

“Fine, thanks. Nothing much has happened in the last two hours since I spoke to you.”

“All right, all right, sorry.”

Clare reddened.

“No, I’m sorry. I’ve had a shit day work-wise, that’s all.”

“Well, I guess you’ve got stuff to do, so I’ll see you later.”

“See you later.”

As he rang off, Clare threw her phone down. Simultaneously, the doorbell rang. Opening the front door, she found a flustered-looking Hannah weighed down with shopping bags. Passing some of the bags to Clare, Hannah strode straight through and turned the TV on.

“And hello to you, too.” Struggling with bags, Clare managed to close the door and followed Hannah into the living room.

Hannah had the news on and was watching intensely.

“Hannah, what’s this all about?”

“Be quiet a minute and watch.”

Clare watched as the news report recanted its main story: two bodies found in Manning’s Town. They both watched in silence, and as the report finished, Clare turned to Hannah.

“Yeah Hannah, I heard about it on the news this morning. Have you only just heard?”

“No, I knew they’d been another body, what I didn’t know though is that I knew him.”

“What?”

Clare watched Hannah for a moment; she seemed lost in thought.

“Hannah what’s wrong?”

Hannah looked at Clare, her eyes welling up.

“Clare, the second body was Matt’s.”

“Oh my God. Hannah, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. I mean
, it’s just that I don’t know how to feel about it. It’s weird, but a small part of me feels relieved. That sounds awful, doesn’t it?”

Clare was well aware of Matt; Hannah had started seeing him five years ago, before Clare had known her. He had been a very jealous and insecure man, and he’d spent months running her down emotionally. He had repeatedly cheated on her, and eventually he’d started to physically abuse her. Luckily for Hannah, she had had a strong network of family and friends around her and she had managed to get away from him after the first time he’d hit her. Though his next partner hadn’t been so lucky; after one particularly savage attack, she’d been knocked unconscious. The girl’s parents had picked her up from the hospital and taken her away. Matt had been given the opportunity to get professional help to deal with his anger management issues. He had accepted the help, and of late Hannah had heard he had been doing quite well—he had a partner, she was pregnant, and there had been no ugly episodes. Although Hannah hadn’t really believed he had been capable of change, she had hoped he was, if just for the sake of his latest partner.

“No, honey, it doesn’t sound weird. Is that what’s upsetting you? You feel guilty because of that? Just because you wasted enough tears on him when he was alive doesn’t mean he deserves your tears now.”

Hannah was wiping her tears away and nodding.

“Look, Hannah, I’ve got to go to an appointment, but feel free to stay here; there’s some wine in the fridge, and when I get back we can get wrecked and have a proper chat if you feel you need it.”

Hannah was picking up her bags again.

“No, doll, I’ll be OK anyway; I’ve got frozen stuff in here. I might bell you later, if that’s all right?”

“Yeah, course.”

Clare opened the door for Hannah once more and watched her leave. Closing the door behind her, Clare turned and slumped against her front door briefly before heading back in the direction of the kitchen.

She had twenty minutes to kill before she had to leave for Loretta’s office—just long enough for some tea and toast.

She really appreciated the encouragement Loretta had been giving her since she’d started her course. Clare smiled to herself as she thought of all the people who would have cut off their right arm to have someone of Loretta’s calibre mentoring them. Although, if she were being honest with herself, she wasn’t spending as much time on her studies as she should. Unfortunately, with work, Hannah, and Dean all making demands on her time, the studying was coming along slower than she’d hoped.

Finishing her tea, she grabbed her bag and headed back out the door again.

As Clare pulled into the car park outside Loretta’s office, she checked her watch: it was a quarter past one. Loretta was going to be pissed; she was fifteen minutes late. As she grabbed her bag from the passenger seat, she pulled her keys from the ignition and practically ran to the door, taking the steps two at a time as she went. Ignoring the peevish looking secretary, she strolled straight through and gingerly knocked on the door of Loretta’s office. Upon hearing the command to enter, she walked in and sat down opposite Loretta.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s fine. I had some paperwork that I had to catch up on, anyway.” Putting the paperwork away Loretta looked up at Clare.

“Clare, is there something bothering you?”

“Actually yes, yes there is. I’m assuming you’ve heard they’ve found another body?”

“I don’t think there’s anyone that hasn’t heard.”

“Hannah knew him, she went out with him for a bit. He was awful to her, but now she knows he’s dead, she’s really upset about it.” 

“That’s understandable, she did have an emotional connection to him. And you’re good friends with Hannah, I’m surprised it hasn’t affected you.”

"Oh, I have no sympathy for him, he had it coming, but Hannah, well, I guess I didn’t think it’d affect her so much.” Clare had started biting her fingernails.

“Clare, what do you know about Matt?”

“I know he set about trying to control Hannah’s life, and when that failed, he moved on to his next victim.”

“Victim? Clare, you didn’t tell me about anyone else.”

“No. I didn’t want you to become too involved; you’ve helped me enough as it is. And as for Matt’s next victim, he left her with a permanent reminder of him: he convinced her to try suicide with a rusty blade. She spent weeks in hospital recovering from that and blood poisoning.”

Loretta’s eyes darkened.

“Don’t worry, though, he got help—anger management classes. Can you believe that? He systematically sets about destroying people and he’s the one who gets help. People like him are incapable of change.”

“Everybody’s capable of change, Clare, remember that. Matt’s paid for whatever sins he may have committed in this life, so I think now it’s probably best left alone.”

Clare was staring at the floor.

“Clare, do you hear me? Walk away.”

“What, before someone gets hurt? I think it’s too late for that.”