Approaching Zero (10 page)

“And what about the solicitor?”

“She was always going to get it,” he smiled. “She should either support him like she’s paid to do or refuse to represent him. People like her need to get shouted at occasionally.”

“I wonder how I’ll ever know when you’re being genuine,” Kathy said distractedly, reading her notes as she spoke, not really realising just how flirty it sounded.

“I would think someone like you would always know,” Spinoza said and when silence fell, Kathy looked up and saw that he was looking at her seriously.

“Someone like me?”

“Why don’t we cut the bullshit, Kathy?”

“Are you trying to scare
me
now?”

“No, I’m asking you to level with me professional to professional. We’re both on the same side.”

“Absolutely, and I want to help any way I can.”

“Excellent.” Spinoza dropped his elbows on the table as he had when he was interviewing Spooner and eyed her intensely. “So what can you tell me?”

“Well,” Kathy cleared her throat and consulted her notes. “There isn’t much, I’m afraid, with the absence of interview content, so let’s start with the crying. This tells us many things about Spooner’s state of mind which we might be able to exploit during further interviews.”

Spinoza’s shoulders sank as he forced his palms onto the table in front of him and said, “And that’s what you were writing in your pad? Crying 101? Do you think that’s why I had you sit in?”

Kathy was momentarily offended by his lack of interest in her insights but had to push it aside to protect her secrets. “I can tell you about his body language, but I really wish you had told me it was going to be a ‘no comment.’ There’s really not much I can add.”

“Maybe I’ll just read through your notes.”

“No!” Kathy snatched the pad from the table and held it to her chest.

“No? Okay, but this is going to get tired pretty quickly, Kathy. We both want the same result—to find out what happened to those poor kids—so why are you standing in my way?”

“I’m not.”

“I
know
, Kathy,” he said, leaning in closer to make sure that she understood exactly what he was saying.

“Whatever you think you know–”

“That you’re psychic? That you got to the top of your profession by hearing your client’s thoughts? Does any of that sound familiar?”

Kathy opened her mouth but no sound came out. And then the whole room seemed to switch colour, or the light changed, or something whipped up the atmosphere so that she felt different, as if she were Spooner but she had run out of ‘no comments,’ as if something had crumbled and she was more exposed in that moment that she would have been if she took all of her clothes off.

“There’s no need to look like that, Kathy. As I said, we’re on the same side. I just want to know what you know.”

Kathy relinquished the pad and sat back in her chair. “How did you know? Actually–” she suddenly sprung forward again, “why would you even believe that? The police have no time for psychics. I’ve read all about people coming forward with visions and being turned away as nut jobs. But you got me in here to help you, Spinoza. That’s a strange thing for a copper to do.”

“What can I say? I’m progressive. I have wizards doing my paperwork, and I’m interviewing a pixie next week about some PA work.”

“Very funny.”

“I think you underestimate people, Kathy. Actually my dad was psychic.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. It was nothing grand, but he could see illness as if it were on the outside of the body.”

“It sounds pretty grand.”

“Well, being able to see illness is only really useful if you can find a way to cure it.”

Kathy let out a revealing sigh and then seemed to pull herself into a different mood. She looked down at her notes again, this time deciding what to share and what to hold back for her own records.

“I want to hear it all,” Spinoza told her.

“Hang on, so you’re happy to use a psychic, but what? Worried your mates will laugh at you if word gets out? Is that why my name wasn’t at the door and I was a ghost in the interview?”

“Is that really relevant at the moment?”

Kathy could see how solemn and genuine this man was as he refused to take his steely gaze from her. “I suppose not,” she answered.

“Good, now, I want to get inside that psycho’s head,” Spinoza said softly, “and you’re going to take me there.” 

Chapter 9

Kathy took a deep breath and returned to the first page of her notes.

“Just take your time,” Spinoza said softly. “I know this is hard for you.”

“Hard? Are you joking? Anything that gets this scum closer to a twenty-stretch is pure pleasure.”

“I know, Kathy, but it can’t be easy, you know, seeing things. I saw your reaction throughout the interview. You turned white at one point.”

“You misunderstand. I’ve been doing this for years. I can cope with what I see. It’s what I didn’t see that’s worrying me this time.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll come to that, but let’s start at the beginning.” Kathy found herself speaking in a way that she thought she had permanently left behind—professional, in control, authoritative even—and far from upsetting her, as she imagined it would when she returned to any kind of working environment, it felt like coming home. More than that, she was talking honestly for the first time about what she was actually seeing and how she was seeing it. If she were always able to reveal this hidden side of herself she probably wouldn’t have had so many problems in the past.

“The initial questions you asked were actually really helpful,” she continued. “The address and DOB questions gave me a chance to get a feel for his natural processes, unstressed by the questions that followed.”

“And?”

“Well, apart from being hungry and needing the toilet, he was genuinely as scared as he appeared. He wasn’t acting remorseful; he was genuinely remorseful. But it doesn’t change the fact that he did it. Scum.” Kathy couldn’t disguise the disgust she felt this time.

“So it was definitely him?” Spinoza shuffled excitedly, moving closer to her across the table.

“You then asked where he was on July the first. His mind immediately took him back there, to July. The fear and remorse are still there, but he is being driven by something much stronger—something festering inside of him—the filthy lust that destroys everything it touches.” Kathy’s eyes were fixed in front of her as she spoke as if in a trance and then she seemed to snap out of it to say, “But there was something else there. This sounds weird, but it’s as if he thinks he’s got some kind of free pass—there’s no sense of responsibility there. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“So what happened?”

“He spent the day preparing, taping plastic sheets to the living room of his flat and stopping to masturbate. He’s almost drunk on expectation at this point and then he leaves the flat. Brixton is sitting on the kerb, his bike on its side beside him. It’s not clear whether he has fallen off or if he’s just sitting there as little boys do, but he clearly knows Spooner. They talk and then Spooner is looking down at a little hand in his as they walk back to his flat.”

“Do you need some water?” Spinoza asked.

Kathy had no idea why he would ask this. She was doing fine. At least she thought she was doing fine, but her voice was catching on every word she said. “No, I’m fine, thanks,” she answered. “What follows is more difficult to describe because he remembered it in feelings rather than pictures. Throughout the interview it was as strong as the remorse—it was almost a colour, this debauched release that he experienced as he subjected the boy to a torturous ordeal. It comes back to him in movements and colours—the curve of the boy’s leg, the pain on his face, screams that he has silenced in his mind. And finally his hands around his throat, watching the bulbous red eyes all but exploding out of a face turning blue. And then nothing.”

“So he did kill him,” Spinoza said sadly.

Kathy nodded slowly, closed her eyes and felt Spinoza’s hand on her own. Her eyes quickly flicked open to see the compassion in Spinoza’s. She couldn’t help but feel touched by his concern, but it was misplaced. She really was fine. She cleared her throat again and said, “This is where it gets a bit more complicated.”

“Just take your time, Kathy.”

She ignored him. “Whenever you asked anything about the body, it’s like I’m being blocked.”

“How do you mean? Do you think he was working with someone else? Maybe he left that part to someone else completely. What exactly are you seeing?”

“Well, I’m seeing a skull, but it’s got a hole cut in the top and there’s a daisy sitting in it. One of those big daisies; it’s a kind of a skull vase. I don’t…” she gazed into the distance again as if forcing her powers back into action. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. Everything you asked him, anything about the body, that’s what I saw.”

“But what does it mean?” Spinoza was animated again. “It has to be a clue, hasn’t it?”

“I don’t see how. It’s like it’s not connected to him. I can always feel the emotions and there just aren’t any here. He isn’t seeing it, I don’t think. It’s just there.”

“Where? Where is it?”

“It’s nowhere. I mean, all I can see is the daisy skull. I’m not even sure if it exists or if it’s just an image of some kind. I’ve never seen anything like it before. And after it got there, it wouldn’t go, not until you asked him about the other children.”

“And?”

“And he had nothing to do with the other children, which is pretty weird. If nine children go missing from the same area, with the same MO, you’d think it would be the same perp.”

Now it was Spinoza’s turn to gaze into the distance. When he found nothing there to help with the conundrum, he said, “So was there anything else?”

“Not really, but the idea of working with someone else might explain the feeling I picked up, like he had some kind of free pass. As if he were only doing it because he was certain he could get away with it. Which would explain why the change in his profile from a catalogue of abuse and porn to murder—I don’t know.”

“No, me neither. I just wish we could use any of what you’re saying as evidence and put him away.”

“You’ve got blood in his flat, haven’t you?”

“Hmmm, it puts the boy there and injured. Without a confession or a body, or any kind of evidence, he’s going to slip through the net.”

“You’re joking!” Kathy didn’t mean to shriek.

“But we’ll get him. Don’t worry about that. We may not be able to put you on the stand, but I just know you’re going to come up with something we can use. If you think of anything, you need to ring me.”

Neither said anything for a few moments, letting the magnitude of the task ahead wash over them. And then Kathy said, “How did you find him anyway?”

“A witness came forward—a little girl—who saw him being led away by Spooner. She was too scared to come forward at first but then she told a teacher at school who contacted us.”

“Thank God she did. Did she give you anything else?”

“Not really. You’ve just given us more to be honest, but as I said, we can’t do much with that.” Spinoza rubbed his eyes firmly and shuffled again in that way he had of declaring a conversation over.

“Just one more thing, Spinoza.”

“Yup.”

“My file. I know you’re suspicious after my bike accident, but you know what I do now and I need the file to continue my research.”

Spinoza shifted himself back into his interview position. “And how do I know you’re not going to go around mowing down the pervert population of the Midlands?”

“Why would you care if I did?”

Spinoza made a face of disbelief.

“What I mean to say is that if I were some kind of psychic vigilante I wouldn’t need a file to do it. When I say you know what I am, I’m talking about my professional position and I need my file to continue my research. My sabbatical will be over soon and I need to be able to present my findings.”

Spinoza looked deeply into her eyes, trying his best detective scan to see if there was a trace of dishonesty in what she was saying. The only conclusion he came to was that it would be of benefit to him and the case to keep her onside. “You can take it, Kathy, but if I have to visit you in hospital again your next stop will be a police cell. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Kathy answered and the excitement was bubbling up in her. Everything felt better when the list was closer. In fact, if she could condense her whole life into a list and carry it around with her it would be so much easier to cope with. Her mother, her mother’s boyfriend, Brady, Spinoza, exes, the past, the present, the future—if she could throw them all out and reintroduce them as items on a list that she could organise and control, life would be just about perfect.

“Right, I’ll go and grab it and then I’ll show you out.”

“Through the back door?” Kathy smiled.

“What do you expect?” His palms were flat on the table again.

“I’m just playing, Spinoza. I understand. Really I do.” She gave a grin and said, “I’m your dirty little secret.” She could see from the expression on Spinoza’s face that he didn’t have the first idea how to react to what she was saying. He couldn’t tell if she was playing or flirting or stark raving bonkers. As far as Kathy was concerned, this was ideal. She had given far more of herself during the course of the interview than she had ever planned and if there was the slightest possibility of retaining some mystique, she would take it.

Chapter 10

The common daisy, ‘Pretty Everlasting’ from the Latin
Bellis Perennis,
but what was one doing sitting in a hollowed skull? Kathy scrolled down the screen to see if she could find the answer. She had been home only minutes before she was sat in front of the laptop embarking on this new mission. Of course the daisy wasn’t real; it existed only in Kathy’s own skull, but it wasn’t a simple thought either. It had appeared at a very specific point in the interview and just wouldn’t go until the subject was dropped. What did you do with the body? Where’s Brixton O’Neal now? A daisy skull was no answer.