“Less than five minutes,” said Stefan.
“Sir?” One of the SOCOs approached them, torch shining into a corner.
“What is it?” Banks asked.
“A plastic bag of some sort,” Stefan said. He took some photographs, the flash blinding them all momentarily in the confined space, then carefully picked up the bag with his gloved hands and opened it. “Voilà,” he said, showing the contents to Banks. “Clothes. Condoms. Hairbrush. Cloth. Bottle of water.”
“It’s his kit,” said Banks. “Templeton was right. The bastard liked it so much he was planning on doing it again.”
“Or he’d been planning it for some time,” Stefan added. “Possibly both.”
“I don’t think you should assume that,” said a pale Ms. Melchior, who was clearly by now in duty-solicitor mode again, just trying to do her job against all the mounting horror of her client’s guilt that she must have been feeling.
“We’ll see what the lab has to say,” said Banks. “Good work, Stefan, lads. Come on, let’s get back to the interview room. We don’t want to keep Mr. Murdoch waiting too much longer, do we?”
After lunch with Ginger, Annie went back to the police station to see if anything had come in. She was hoping for more good news from forensics but had learned over the years that she had to be patient. In the meantime, she busied herself locating Dr. Laura Henderson who, as it turned out, was still practicing in Bath. After a few engaged signals, Annie finally got through and introduced herself. Dr. Henderson was naturally suspicious and insisted on taking down Annie’s extension number and ringing back through the automated station switchboard.
“Sorry about that,” Dr. Henderson said when they finally got connected again, “but you can’t be too careful in my business.”
“Mine, too,” said Annie. “No problem.”
“Anyway, what can I help you with?”
“Do you remember a patient called Kirsten Farrow? This would be around 1988, perhaps early 1989. I know it’s a long time ago.”
“Of course I remember Kirsten,” said Dr. Henderson. “There are some patients you never forget. Why? Has anything happened to her?”
“Not that I know of,” said Annie. “In fact, that’s the problem. Nobody’s seen hide nor hair of her in about eighteen years. Has she been in touch with you at all?”
“No, she hasn’t.”
“When did you last see her?”
“Could you hang on a moment? I’ll dig out the file. I’m afraid anything from that long ago isn’t on the computer.” Annie waited, tapping her pencil on the desk. A few moments later, Dr. Henderson came back on. “Our last session was on the ninth of January, 1989,” she said. “I haven’t seen Kirsten since then.”
“Why did she stop coming to see you?”
There was a long pause at the other end. “I’m not sure I should be discussing this with you,” said Dr. Henderson.
“I’m trying to locate her,” Annie said. “Anything you could tell me might help. I wouldn’t expect you to breach confidentiality.”
“Why are you looking for her?”
“She might know something about a case I’m working on.”
“What case?”
Annie felt like saying she couldn’t divulge that information, but that would be playing the same silly game. Give a little, maybe get a little in return. “A woman has been killed in the same location Kirsten used to visit,” she said. “We were thinking—”
“Oh my God!” said Dr. Henderson. “You think he’s back, don’t you? The killer.”
It wasn’t what Annie was about to say at all, but she recognized a good opening when she heard one. “It’s a possibility,” she said. “They never did catch him.”
“But I still don’t see how I can help you.”
“Why did Kirsten stop seeing you?”
There was another pause, and Annie could almost hear the argument raging in Dr. Henderson’s mind. Finally, the pros seemed to win out over the cons. “The reason she gave me was that our sessions were becoming too painful for her,” she said.
“In what way?”
“You have to realize that Kirsten had blocked out what happened to her on the night she was attacked, and that was causing her all kinds of problems: depression, nightmares, anxiety attacks. Along with her other problems—”
“The inability to have sex or children?”
“You know about that?” Dr. Henderson sounded surprised.
“I know a little,” Annie said.
“Well, yes… along with all those other problems, she was in… well, you probably also know, then, that she did attempt suicide. I’m sure it’s in the police files.”
“Yes,” Annie lied. No point in letting Dr. Henderson think she’d given too much away. She would only clam up.
“I suggested a course of hypnotherapy, and Kirsten agreed.”
“The aim of which was?”
“Healing, of course. Sometimes you have to confront your demons to vanquish them, and you can’t do that if your memory is blocking them out.”
Annie felt she knew a thing or two about that. “And did she?”
“No. As I said, I think it was becoming too painful for her. She was getting too close. At first, progress was very slow, then she started remembering too much too fast. I think she felt she was losing control, and she started to panic.”
“What about confronting the demons?”
“It takes time,” said Dr. Henderson. “Sometimes you need a lot of preparation. You need to be ready. I don’t think Kirsten was. It would have felt like driving down a busy motorway before she’d learned to drive.”
“How far did she get?” Annie asked. “Did she remember anything significant about her attacker?”
“That wasn’t the point of the treatment.”
“I realize that, Doctor, but perhaps as a by-product?”
“I’m not sure,” Dr. Henderson said.
“What do you mean, you’re not sure?”
“That last session, Kirsten’s voice was difficult to hear, her words hard to catch. Afterward, when she came out of it, she seemed shocked, stunned at what she remembered. Even more so than usual.”
“But what was it?”
“I don’t know. Don’t you understand what I’m telling you? I don’t know. She left in a hurry, and she didn’t come back, except to let my secretary know that she wouldn’t be coming anymore.”
“But what do you think it was? What do you think shook her so much?”
Dr. Henderson paused again, then Annie heard her say in a voice barely above a whisper, “I think she remembered what he looked like.”
“Where’ve you been?” said Murdoch. “I’m getting fed up of this. I want to go home.”
“Not just yet, Jamie,” said Banks. “A few more questions first. Let’s start at the top. Maybe we can keep this short. Did you rape and kill Hayley Daniels?”
“No! How could I? You’d have seen me. There’s no way out of the pub without being on CCTV.”
Banks glanced over at Ms. Melchior, who appeared uncomfortable. She said nothing. Banks leaned forward and linked his hands on the table. “Let me tell you what I think happened, Jamie, and you can tell me if I’m wrong. Okay?”
Jamie nodded, still not looking up.
“You’d had a bad day. Been having a bad life lately, if truth be told. That miserable pub, always by yourself, the landlord sunning himself in Florida. Even Jill kept calling in sick. And she wasn’t just a help behind the bar, she was easy on the eye, too, wasn’t she? But she didn’t want anything to do with you, did she? None of them did. I think maybe you entertained the fantasy of getting Jill alone in the Maze. You knew she used it as a shortcut. Maybe that’s what you had planned for Saturday night. Finally plucked up the courage. But Jill called in sick, didn’t she, and that spoiled your little plan. Until Hayley Daniels arrived. You’d seen her around for years, even asked her out when you were at college, before you failed half your first-year courses and dropped out. Isn’t that right, Jamie?”