‘I think the lieutenant’s saying there were two different agendas operating. His and Ms Morley’s. For whatever reason, he was willing to pay for a sex act . . . and, for whatever reason, she thought she could pocket the money without obliging him. I’m guessing, because of the relationship they’d had, she believed she knew him well enough to assume he wouldn’t demand his rights as a client.’
‘Is that correct, Charles?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘Why did she think she could get away with it?’
‘She thought she knew me.’
The superintendent’s frown deepened. ‘What were you doing in her flat that day? Was your only intention to have sex?’
‘No. I went to collect my stuff before I went to Iraq. She wasn’t supposed to be there. I still had a key.’
‘So she broke her word twice?’
‘Three times. There was nothing to collect. She’d destroyed most of it.’
‘And that made you angry?’
‘Everything about her made me angry. I hated her . . . she repulsed me.’ Acland spoke with real loathing. ‘I didn’t even want to touch her. I sure as hell didn’t want her touching me.’
Jones was less perplexed by the ambiguity behind this statement than some of the others Acland had made. The line between love and hate was a thin one. ‘So you decided to punish her instead . . . and paid for the right to do it?’
‘Only to show her how it feels to be treated like a laboratory rat.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘If you press the right button you get a reward . . . if you press the wrong one you get an electric shock.’
*
Jackson stooped to pull the duffel bag upright. It was softer than it looked, made of hemp rather than canvas, and the contents were heavier than she was expecting. If there was a bottle inside, it was full. She untied the strings at the top and pulled the opening wide to disclose a plastic carrier bag loosely wrapped around a rigid object about twelve inches long. With belated caution, she swivelled the hemp bag to allow the object to lean against the back of the driver’s seat in order to retrieve some medical gloves from her case, but as she let go of the opening, the hemp fabric, unsupported, fell in folds over further objects at the bottom, at least one of which was visible. At first glance, she thought it was a mobile telephone, until she noticed the two strips of embossed metal at the top and knew she was looking at a stun gun.
*
Beale felt instinctively that his boss had taken the wrong route when Jones chose to ask Acland how Jen had rewarded him. There was a slight relaxation of the lieutenant’s stiff posture when the
superintendent homed in on sex as a currency within the relationship. ‘Did you have to negotiate for intimacy? Did Jen only sleep with you when you behaved the way she wanted?’
‘More or less.’
‘Most men would find that demeaning.’ He watched Acland for a moment. ‘More so if she had to get high just to go through the motions.’
No response.
‘We saw her outside the pub earlier. She had a client waiting in a taxi and we think she was on her way back from her dealer.’ Jones pulled what passed for a sympathetic smile. ‘It’s not easy to get excited about sex when you’re only doing it to feed a habit, Charles. You shouldn’t have taken Jen’s lack of enthusiasm to heart.’
It was a deliberate needle but Acland met his gaze unflinchingly. ‘I didn’t. I got out.’
‘You punished her.’
‘Not as much as I wanted to. You asked me the other day why I travelled so light . . . well, that’s why. There was nothing left after she slashed my clothes and trashed the rest. I had a new laptop. It was in pieces on the floor.’
DI Beale stepped in when his boss didn’t say anything. ‘What did she use to smash it, Lieutenant?’
There was a slight hesitation. ‘Probably a hammer. I kept a tool box at her flat.’
Beale nodded as if the matter were of little importance. ‘She obviously has a violent streak,’ he said idly. ‘Did she use ever the hammer against you?’
Acland’s expression closed abruptly. ‘No.’
‘Are you sure? You called yourself a laboratory rat earlier . . . talked about pressing the wrong buttons. Did you discover too late that you’d signed up to a coke-addicted bunny-boiler instead of an Uma Thurman fantasy?’
*
Jackson stared down at the exposed wooden club. She was no expert in African artefacts but the polished rounded head and stock reminded her of a picture she’d seen of a Zulu knobkerrie. There was no reason for her to place any particular significance on it – the police hadn’t shared their forensic findings with her – but the hairs on the back of her neck bristled anyway. She’d read enough of the newspaper coverage to know that the three victims of the ‘gay killer’ had been beaten to death.
Of rather more weight in her decision to step away, leave everything as it was and call the police to come to her were the two mobiles lying beside the stun gun, one of which had a strip of Dynotape stuck to its front.... . . saying ‘Harry Peel’.
*
Jones uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. ‘I think it was you who was the abuser, Charles. You’ve got a real temper on you when you’re angry, and we all know how undignified it is having to beg for sex.’ Acland moved his palms to gain a better purchase against the wall. ‘You obviously know more about that than I do.’ Jones smiled slightly. ‘I’ve never been reduced to raping a woman because I couldn’t get it any other way. And I don’t go looking at Holocaust exhibitions to wallow in misery over my own behaviour either. Did that make you feel better . . . salve your conscience . . . because the Nazis had done worse to the Jews?’ Acland took a shallow breath and put his head back. ‘That’s not how it was.’ ‘Oh, yes, I forgot. You and Ms Morley had a business deal . . . compensation for a broken laptop. That’s some revenge from a man who claims not to care about possessions.’ ‘You don’t know the first thing about it.’ ‘I know this much, you don’t behave like a man who’s at peace with himself. What are you ashamed of? That you regularly beat her . . . or that you allowed her to do it to you?’
Silence.
‘I’m guessing you came in here to drown your sorrows . . . to think about things.’ He put a cynical stress on the words. ‘Did you target Harry Peel because he annoyed you? You wouldn’t be the first pussy-whipped man to take out his frustrations on a complete stranger.’
Beale made another move to intervene. Jones’s relentless belittling provocation was driving the lieutenant deep into the corner. His pallor was catastrophic. Even his lips were bloodless. ‘You have to stop, Brian. This is too much. He needs a doctor.’
With an irritated sigh, Jones stood up and shoved his chair in front of Acland. ‘For God’s sake, sit down before you fall over. What makes you think a trained soldier is any better equipped to deal with a violent woman than the rest of us? If we fight back, we give her the opportunity to paint herself as a victim . . . If we don’t, we’re in danger of taking a knife between the ribs. Why would you want to defend her?’
Acland ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth to generate some saliva but, even so, his voice sounded brittle when he spoke. ‘I’m defending myself.’
‘Against what?’
‘Whatever your next accusation’s going to be.’ His tongue rasped against his dry palate. ‘Last time it was Mr Tutting . . . This time you started with a taxi driver who was murdered . . . then a civil servant . . . Now it’s rape and humiliation.’
Jones pointed to the chair. ‘Sit down,’ he ordered peremptorily. ‘I’m damned if I’ll end up in another fight because I have to force you.’ He watched Beale pour a glass of water, then perched on the side of the bed as Acland lowered himself on to the chair. ‘I want to know why you came back to Bermondsey and why you’re involved in this investigation.’