Val McDermid 3-Book Thriller Collection: The Mermaids Singing, The Wire in the Blood, The Last Temptation

‘When we look at a crime, we look for physical clues, leads, things that point us to who we might want to talk to or where we might want to look. When he looks at a crime, he’s not interested in all that stuff. He wants to know why the physical clues happened the way they did so he can work out who did it. It’s as if we use information to move us forward and he uses it to move him backwards. Does that make sense?’

Kevin frowned. ‘I think so. You think he’s got what it takes?’

Carol shrugged. ‘It’s early days yet. But yeah, on first impressions, I’d say he’s got something to offer.’

Kevin grinned. ‘Something to offer the investigation or something to offer you?’

‘Piss off, Kevin,’ Carol said, tired of the innuendo that followed her round the job. ‘Unlike some, I never shit on my own doorstep.’

Kevin looked momentarily uneasy. ‘Only joking, Carol, honest.’

‘Jokes are supposed to be funny.’

‘OK, OK, sorry. What’s he like to work with, though? Nice bloke, or what?’

Carol spoke slowly, measuring her words. ‘Considering he spends his working life getting inside the minds of psychopaths, he seems pretty normal. There’s something quite … closed off about him. He keeps his distance. Doesn’t give much away. But he treats me like an equal, not like some thick plod. He’s on our side, Kevin, and that’s the main thing. I’d guess he’s one of those workaholics who’s more interested in getting the job done than anything else. And speaking of getting the job done, Popeye says you’ve turned something up on PC Connolly?’

Kevin sighed. ‘For what it’s worth. One of the neighbours came home from work at ten to six. She knows the time because the shipping forecast had just started on the car radio. Connolly was on his drive, closing the bonnet of his car. He had overalls on. The neighbour says he must have been working on the car, he was always at it. By the time the neighbour got out of her car and into the house, Damien was reversing his car into the garage. The same neighbour came out about an hour later on her way to a game of squash, and she noticed Connolly’s car parked on the street. She was a bit surprised, because he never left the car sitting out, especially after dark. She also noticed that the light was on in Connolly’s garage. And that’s about the size of it.’

‘Is it an integral garage?’ Carol asked.

‘No, but it’s attached to the house, and there’s a door from the garage leads into the kitchen.’

‘So it looks like he was snatched from the house?’

Kevin shrugged. ‘Who knows? There’s no sign of a struggle. I spoke to one of the SOCOs who turned the place over, and he said not to hold our breath.’

‘Sounds just like the first two.’

‘That’s what Bob says.’ Kevin pushed his chair back. ‘I better get weaving. We’re going out on the town tonight.’

‘I might bump into you later,’ Carol said. ‘Dr Hill wants a tour of the crime scenes at the sort of time when the bodies were dumped.’

Kevin got to his feet. ‘Just don’t let him talk to any strange men.’

Tony took the plastic container of lasagne out of the microwave and sat down at the breakfast bar in his kitchen. He’d input all the data that he could find on the four victims, then he’d transferred the files to a floppy disk so he could work on it at home while he waited for Carol to arrive. As soon as he’d reached the tram stop, he’d realized he was ravenous. Then he remembered he’d eaten nothing since his breakfast cereal. He’d been working with such concentration, he hadn’t even noticed. He found the hunger curiously satisfactory. It meant he was too involved in what he was doing to be conscious of himself. He knew from long experience that his best work came when he lost self-consciousness, when he could immerse himself in the patterns of another human being, locked into that other’s idiosyncratic logic, in tune with a different set of emotions.

He attacked the food with gusto, shovelling it down as quickly as possible so he could get to his computer and carry on with his victim profiles. There were still a couple of forkfuls left in the dish when the phone rang. With no pause for thought, Tony snatched up the phone. ‘Hello?’ he said cheerfully.

‘Anthony,’ the voice said. Tony dropped the fork, tipping the pasta out on the worktop.

‘Angelica,’ he said. He was back in his own world, anchored within his own head at the sound of her voice.

‘Feeling more sociable today?’ the sweet huskiness asked.

‘I wasn’t feeling anti-social yesterday. I just had things to do I couldn’t ignore. And you distract me,’ Tony said, wondering why he bothered to justify himself to her.

‘That’s the general plan,’ she said. ‘But I missed you, Anthony. I was so horny for you, and when you discarded me like an old sock, all my pleasure in the day was over.’

‘Why do you do this with me?’ he demanded. It was a question he’d asked before, but she had always deflected him.

‘Because you deserve me,’ the voice said. ‘Because I want you more than anyone in the world. And because you don’t have anyone else in your life to make you happy.’

It was the same old story. Cut off the question with some flannel. But tonight, Tony wanted answers, not flattery. ‘What makes you think that?’ he asked.

The voice chuckled softly. ‘I know more about you than you can possibly dream. Anthony, you don’t have to be alone any more.’

‘What if I like being alone? Isn’t it fair to assume that I’m alone because I want to be?’

‘You don’t look like a happy boy to me. Some days, you look like you need a hug more than anything in the world. Some days, you look like you haven’t slept for more than a couple of hours. Anthony, I can bring you peace. Women have hurt you before, we both know that. But I won’t. I can stop it hurting. I can make you sleep like a baby, you know that. All I want is to make you happy.’ The voice was soothing, gentle.

Tony sighed. If only … ‘I find that hard to believe,’ he stalled. Right from the start of these conversations, part of him had wanted to slam the phone down on this exquisite torture. But the scientist in him wanted to hear what she had to say. And the damaged man inside had enough self-awareness to know he needed to be cured, and that this might just be the way. He reminded himself of his earlier resolve not to let her get under his skin, so that when the time came, he could walk away without pain.

‘But you let me try.’ The voice was so self-assured. She was confident of her power over him.

‘I listen, don’t I? I join in. I haven’t put the phone down yet,’ he said, forcing artificial warmth into his voice.

‘Why don’t you do just that? Why don’t you put down this phone and go upstairs to your bedroom and pick up the extension there? So we can be comfortable?’

A cold stab of fear hit Tony in the chest. He struggled to frame the question professionally. Not, ‘How do you know that?’, but, ‘What makes you think I’ve got a phone in the bedroom?’

There was a pause, so brief that Tony couldn’t be certain he wasn’t imagining it. ‘Just guessing,’ she said. ‘I’ve got you sussed. You’re the kind of man who has a phone by the bed.’

‘Well guessed,’ Tony said. ‘OK. I’m going to put the phone down and I’ll pick up in the bedroom.’ He replaced the receiver and hurried through to his study, where he switched the answering machine over to ‘record’ mode. Then he picked up the phone again. ‘Hello? I’m back,’ he said.

‘Are we sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.’ Again that low, sexy chuckle. ‘We are going to have some real fun tonight. Wait till you hear what I’ve got lined up for you tonight. Oh, Anthony,’ she said, her voice dropping almost to a whisper. ‘I’ve been dreaming about you. Imagining your hands on my body, running your fingers over my skin.’

‘What are you wearing?’ Tony asked. It was, he knew, the standard question.

‘What would you like me to be wearing? I have an extensive wardrobe.’

Tony bit back the crazy urge to say, ‘Fishermen’s waders, a tutu and a rainmate.’ He swallowed hard and said, ‘Silk. You know how I like the feel of silk.’

‘That’s why you love my skin. I take a lot of trouble to keep myself in perfect condition. But just for you, I’ve covered some of my skin with silk. I’m wearing a pair of black silk French knickers and a sheer black silk camisole. Oh, I love the feeling of silk against my body. Oh, Anthony,’ she groaned. ‘The silk’s rubbing against my nipples, gently, like your fingers would. Oh, my nipples are hard as rocks, sticking up, inflamed with you.’

In spite of himself, Tony began to feel the stirrings of interest. She was good, no two ways about it. Most of the women he’d heard on the chatlines had sounded stale and bored, their responses predictable and stereotypical. Nothing in their conversations had aroused anything other than scientific interest in him. But Angelica was different. For one thing, she sounded like she meant it.

She moaned softly. ‘God, I’m wet,’ she breathed. ‘But you can’t touch me yet, you’ve got to wait. Just lie back, that’s a good boy. Oh, I love to undress you. I’ve got my hands under your shirt, my fingers are running over your chest, stroking you, touching you, feeling your nipples under my fingers. God, you’re wonderful,’ she sighed.

‘That’s nice,’ Tony said, enjoying the caress of her voice.

‘That’s just the beginning. Now I’m straddling you, unbuttoning your shirt. I’m leaning over you, my nipples inside the silk brushing against your chest. Oh, Anthony!’ her voice exclaimed in pleasure. ‘You really are pleased to see me, aren’t you? You’re hard as a rock underneath me. Oh, I can’t wait to get you inside me.’

Her words froze Tony. The erection he’d felt hardening inside his trousers died like a snowflake in a puddle. They were there again. ‘I think I’m going to disappoint you,’ he said, his voice cracking.

That sexy chuckle again. ‘No way. You’re already more than I dreamed. Oh, Anthony, touch me. Tell me what you want to do to me.’

Tony could find no words.