I sat for a long time in the cold darkness waiting for Alan Kover. His flat, not the one in which he'd committed the infamous rape, was stark in its minimalism. There was only one chair in the cramped little sitting room. It faced a cheap portable TV which had a small cactus plant on it, the only decoration of any kind in the whole room. I sat with my back to the door, watching the blank screen. Watching and waiting and thinking. Kover was the last key in the mystery surrounding Coleman House and its inhabitants. From the wound on Carla's throat, and the way she'd been attacked from behind, I felt sure that he had also been the man who'd murdered Miriam Fox. But such a scenario still threw up far more questions than answers. Presumably, Kover and Carla had been involved together in Miriam's killing. There was no other way she could have known the details of it. But how the hell had two such disparate personalities come together, and what on earth did they kill Miriam for? And what, if anything, did her death have to do with the disappearances? Kover and me, it seemed, had a lot to talk about.
I wanted to smoke. Badly. But I couldn't risk doing it in his flat so I opened my third can of Coke of the day and took a sip. What depressed me about this place was that there was nothing remotely homely, or even human, about it. It was like a bad attempt at a show home created by some very lazy people. I'd checked it over thoroughly, just to see if there were any clues as to what had been going on, but had found nothing. Nothing at all. Just kitchen cupboards with pots and pans in them, a wardrobe with some clothes, a bathroom with a toothbrush and soap. Not a thing that could tell you anything about his personality. For a few minutes I'd even thought I'd got the wrong address, but then I'd felt about under the bed and had pulled out a load of crumpled, dried-out tissues, and I knew then that this was where Kover resided. They'd said he had an unusually high sex drive, but he was sensible enough, having been on the receiving end of police attention, not to leave anything about that could get him into trouble. There were some unlabelled tapes piled up on the video recorder beneath the telly but I doubted if they contained anything incriminating.
I looked at my watch for the hundredth time since breaking in: 8.20 p.m. This time eleven days ago I'd been sitting outside the Traveller's Rest in the pouring rain with a man who was almost certainly now dead. I'd tried Danny's mobile three more times since the attempt on my life, and he still hadn't answered. The message kept saying that the phone I was trying to call was probably switched off and that I should try again later, but I knew there was no point. He would have answered by now. Even in Jamaica.
Behind me, I heard a key turn in the lock. Slipping out of the chair, I moved through the darkness until I was standing behind it as it slowly opened. A large figure emerged carrying a shopping bag and, though I couldn't make him out properly, I could tell it was Kover. The cosh came silently out of my pocket and, as he shut the door and turned to switch on the light, I cracked him hard over the back of the head.
He went down on his knees without a sound and stayed in that position for a second, so I hit him again. This time he toppled over on his side, and I knew he was out cold.
I worked fast. Grabbing him under the arms, I pulled him over to the chair I'd been sitting in, and flung him in it. He was already moaning and turning his head so I knew he wouldn't be under for long. I picked up the length of chain I'd brought with me and wrapped it three times round his upper body, securing it tightly to the back of the chair before padlocking it and chucking the key into my pocket. Next I produced some masking tape from my coat and used it to secure his legs and gag him.
By this time his eyes were fluttering and he was coming round. I lit a cigarette, savouring the first taste, and went round switching on all the lights before filling up the kettle and switching it on to boil. There was a four-pack of cheap lager among his shopping so I pulled off one of the cans and opened it, putting the rest in his sparsely populated fridge. I took a long drink – my first alcohol of the day – and stood watching him.
It took him a minute or two to realize where he was. He saw me, and his eyes widened. I smiled at him. He attempted to move, realizing then that he was helpless. I put my fingers to my lips to indicate that he should be quiet, then removed the tape from his mouth.
'What's going on?' he demanded. His voice was surprisingly high-pitched for a big guy and, though it sounded confident on the surface, there was a hint of nervousness which, under the circumstances, was no great surprise. 'I'm not saying nothing without my lawyer here.'
This was an interesting statement. It meant he knew exactly who I was. Maybe Carla had told him. I laughed and took a drag on the cigarette, stepping backwards. I had a perverse feeling that I was going to enjoy extracting information from him.
'You tried to kill me last night,' I said.
'I don't know what you're talking about.' He struggled against his bonds. 'Now let me out of all this stuff. I could sue you for this.'
I pulled the tape back over his mouth and stubbed the cigarette out on his carpet. 'You know who I am, don't you?' I said. 'You know I'm a copper.' I paced slowly round the chair. 'Unfortunately, what you don't know is that I've left the Force. And what you also don't know is that I'm a killer, and that I've killed people who've deserved it a lot less than a piece of shit paedophile like you. So what I'm saying is this: I'm not like anyone who's ever questioned you before. I'm not here to put you behind bars. I'm not here to try to find out why you do the things you do. I'm here to find out some answers, and if you don't give me those answers I'm going to blow your fucking brains all over this shitty wall, and that's after I've kneecapped you.' I stopped in front of him and pulled the Browning from my pocket, placing the barrel hard against his forehead. His eyes widened. 'OK? First question: why did you kill Carla Graham?' Once again, I removed the tape from his mouth.
'I don't know what you're talking about,' he blustered, looking down at his hands. 'Honestly.'
I pushed the tape back, then turned and walked into the kitchen, picking up the freshly boiled kettle.
He knew what was coming when he saw me emerge with it, but there was nothing he could do. Desperately, he struggled in the seat as I stopped in front of him, stood there for a moment, then ever so gently tilted it until the boiling water dribbled slowly out and onto his upper left thigh. I increased the flow a little, moving to his other leg, watching as his face stretched tight and red with pain and his eyes bugged out of his head. I stopped, paused for maybe three seconds, then repeated the procedure, this time chucking a little on his groin for good measure. His wriggling became hysterical and a surprisingly loud moan came from behind the tape as he tried to cry out. His face was now beginning to go purple.
I stood back and watched him for a little while, a serene smile on my face. I felt that I was performing a worthwhile task, probably the most worthwhile task I'd performed in my whole career.
Without warning, I chucked a load more over his groin, waited while the pain racked through him in great agonizing bursts, then put the kettle down and took a drink from the beer.
'Right. I hope we understand each other now. There's no limit to the pain I'll inflict on you if you don't answer my questions truthfully, so it's in your interests to just get it over with. And in case you think about crying out…' I reached down beside the chair to where the small jerry-can of petrol sat and poured its contents all over his body and head. 'If you thought hot water was painful, then nothing will prepare you for this.'
I put the can down and removed the tape. This time I crumpled it up and chucked it on the floor. I was confident I wouldn't need it again. He'd answer my questions now all right. Kover gritted his teeth, still fighting against the effects of the scalding, and turned uncomfortably in his seat.
'Now, let's start again. Carla Graham was involved in the murder of Miriam Fox. I know that for a fact. And I suspect you were too. What I'm missing is the reason. Whatever it was, you and her fell out about it, and you responded by butchering her on her own bed. Now, let me tell you something. There's no point in you not telling me the whole truth or protecting anyone else who may be involved or whatever, because if I get one word of a contradiction in your answers, then you'll burn. It's as simple as that. And I know you know that I'm serious.'
'Look, I didn't even know her! She was just-'
I pulled a lighter from my pocket and stepped forward, igniting the flame so it was only inches from his petrol-soaked face. Instinctively, he turned his head, but I followed it with the lighter and the flame remained right in his field of vision. He let out a fearful moan.
'You know, Kover, you're a very slow learner. I know you knew her. There's no way you got through the security door into her building without being let in, and there was no forced entry to her flat because I was there just after you, remember? You knew her and, for whatever reason, I think she was expecting you. So, I'm going to ask again: why did you and Carla murder Miriam Fox, and why did you then kill Carla?'
There was a long pause. The moment of truth. It was like opening a door, although even in my darkest nightmares I could never have been prepared for what I heard that night.
'I killed her. The one last night. But I didn't know her, I swear it.'
'Then what did you kill her for?'
He sighed, his face still reflecting the pain he must have been in. 'Because I was told to.'
'By who?' He didn't say anything. 'By who, Kover? There's no point protecting anybody here, you know. Not in the position you're in.'
'This bloke who worked with her. He was the one who told me to do it.'
'What's his name?'
'Dr Roberts.'
'Dr Roberts, the child psychologist? The guy from Coleman House?'
'Yeah, him. That's how I got in the flat. He had keys. I think he took duplicates.'
I was confused. 'What did he want her dead for?'
'She was on to him for something.'
'And what was that?'
'Look, it's all a bit complicated.'
'I don't care how complicated it is. Start talking.' I flicked on the lighter again, just to remind him that I wasn't fucking about. It had the desired effect.
'She knew he'd had something to do with the murder of the whore. The one you lot found last week down by the canal.'
'Miriam Fox?'
He nodded.
'You killed her, didn't you? Miriam Fox.'
'Yeah, I killed her,' he said eventually.
'So, Carla Graham had nothing to do with the murder?'
'No.'
I felt an overwhelming gloom then. Guilt sank slowly down onto my shoulders. Guilt that I had seen only the worst in her. That I'd misjudged her, and that her anger at my false accusation had been genuine. And that, in the end, I'd done nothing to save her.
'How did Carla find out about Roberts's involvement?'
'I don't know for sure, but I think he told her something only the killer could have known, and for some reason she picked him up on it yesterday.'
So that was how she'd known the manner of Miriam's death. Roberts must have let it slip while talking to her. I felt another terrible pang as it became clear that, by confronting her in the Gallan, I'd effectively signed her death warrant.
'And so he called you to sort it out?'
He nodded again, not looking at me. 'Yeah, that's right.'
'So how did a respectable child psychologist know a convicted lowlife paedophile like you? How did he know you so intimately that he could call upon your help to commit murder? Twice.'
'He just knew me, all right?'
'No, it's not fucking all right. I'd tell me if I were you. And while you're about it, I'd also tell me why the two of you murdered Miriam Fox.'
'She was blackmailing Dr Roberts,' he said eventually.
'What about?'
'He was interested in little kids.' Was. That was interesting. I'd pick him up on that later. 'She found out about it.'
'How? I'd have thought she was a little bit old for a child molester.'
'She was. But he was diddling one of her mates from the home. Her mate must have told her about it and she started putting the squeeze on. Told Dr Roberts he'd have to pay her to keep quiet.'
'So she had to die?'
He nodded, looking away. I took a drink from my beer and watched him closely.
Roberts's number must have appeared on Miriam's phone records too, but in my shock at seeing Carla's name there I'd overlooked it. Perhaps if I'd been concentrating harder I could have wrapped this whole thing up a lot sooner. And Carla would still have been alive.
'And that's it, then?'
He looked up at me, his face asking to be believed. 'That's it. That's how it was. You know, I didn't mean to get involved. I wish I hadn't. I really do. I just want to be left alone now; you know, to get on with my life.'
I sighed. 'Two people dead just because some crack-addicted street girl threatens to make accusations.'
'That's how it was,' he said, an irritatingly earnest look on his face. 'I honestly wish I'd never got involved.'
'I bet you do.' I lit another cigarette. 'That Miriam Fox must have been some blackmailer.'
'She was. She really knew how to turn the screws.'
I sighed, then walked over to Kover. I leaned down close to his face and lit the flame on the lighter. He cowered back in the seat again. 'You're lying,' I told him. 'It was more than just a case of a doctor abusing his patient, wasn't it? Tell me the truth. What was going on between you and Roberts, and why did Miriam have to die?'
I kept the flame inches from his petrol-soaked face, determined that I would get the whole truth out of him. It wasn't that his story wasn't plausible, although it still didn't explain his relationship with Roberts; it was more that he was too keen to get me to swallow it. I've seen that sort of behaviour before from criminals. They want you to believe a certain series of events, even if it incriminates them. The reason's simple: they're usually hiding something worse.
'I'm telling you the truth,' he spluttered desperately. 'I swear it.'
I took a punt. 'What about those girls who went missing from Coleman House, Kover? What about them?'
'Look, I don't know-'
'You've got ten seconds to start talking. Otherwise you burn.'
'Look, please-'
'Ten, nine, eight, sev-'
'All right, all right, I'll tell you!'
I flicked off the lighter and stood up. 'It had better be the truth this time. Because otherwise I start the counting again at seven. Maybe even five. I'm tired of being fucked around.'
'All right, all right.' He paused for a moment to compose himself, then opened his mouth to say something. Then stopped. I think I knew then that it was going to be very bad. 'Me and Dr Roberts… we had a little business going.'
'What kind of business?'
'Girls. Young girls.'
I dragged hard on my cigarette, feeling full of dread. 'Tell me how this business worked.'
There was another pause while he thought about answering. In the end, though, he knew, like I knew, that he had no choice. 'I had a client, a bloke who wanted young girls. Except, the thing was… he wanted them permanently.'
'What do you mean?'
'He wanted girls who weren't going to be missed.'
'Why? What was he doing with them?'
'Well, you know…'
'No, I don't know. Tell me.'
'I think he was killing them.'
'Why? For kicks?'
'I think so, yeah.'
In my time as a copper, I'd come across cases where paedophiles had murdered their victims. Sometimes to make sure they couldn't tell anyone what had happened, but more often than not because the act of murder served to heighten the pleasure of the sexual act. Killing while coming. There are some people in this world for whom that's the ultimate thrill.
'Jesus.' I shook my head, trying to take it all in. 'So how did it work?'
'Dr Roberts would pick the girls, the ones he thought could disappear without it getting noticed, ones he was treating. He'd give me the rundown on their movements, tell me the best time and place to snatch them, then I'd do the rest.'
I stared at him, feeling sick. 'And how many times did you do this? How many girls disappeared?'
'We didn't do it much.'
'How many?'
'Four altogether.'
I dragged hard on the cigarette. 'Over how long a period?'
He thought about it for a moment. 'I don't know, about eighteen months. Something like that. The girl – the whore – she got a sniff of what was going on. Dr Roberts chose one of her mates for taking, and somehow she rumbled it. That's when she started blackmailing him, saying she'd expose him to the cops unless he paid her.'
'Did you know the name of Fox's friend? The girl Roberts… picked?' I found the last word difficult to say.
He shook his head. 'No, no. I never knew their names.'
'It was Molly Hagger.' He looked back at me blankly. 'Her name was Molly Hagger, and she was thirteen.' He looked down at his hands again, not saying anything. 'And Miriam Fox had to go because she was threatening to go to the cops?'
'Yeah. I picked her up pretending to be a punter. Then I did her.'
'I know. I saw the body.'
I stood there for a long moment, trying to digest what I'd heard, wanting at the same time to throw my guts up until there was nothing left. I have never felt so sick and depressed, so weary of it all, as I did standing there in that cramped little room with this fucking monster.
'And who was the last one you took? Was it a girl with black hair about the same age?'
'No. That girl, Fox's mate…'
'Molly. Her name was Molly.'
'She was the last one. The client didn't like us doing it too often. Otherwise it raised suspicions.'
Which left another mystery. What had happened to Anne Taylor? Although that one at least would have to wait for another day.
'And this client of yours, what's his name?'
Kover looked me right in the eye.
'Keen,' he said. 'Raymond Keen.'