No one.
‘I wonder,’ Debbie said ruminatively, ‘I wonder – is that a message to us? Could be. Or to Lorne? Or a statement to the killer himself? Let’s think carefully about that wording: “no one”. Does that mean Lorne is no one to him? A nothing? Worthless? Or is it something else? Does it mean that he’s a no one? That no one cares. No one understands me. I’m inclined to think it’s something like that – which would mean we have someone here with very low self-esteem. He could be the type to form unnaturally intense relationships with people – the type to become jealous or aggrieved easily. Now that he’s killed Lorne he could enter a period of self-recrimination. There may be a suicide attempt. There may already have been a suicide attempt, so I’d suggest that would be something you could check on – suicides and admissions since the time of her death.’ Debbie turned back to the board. She was enjoying this. Like a reception teacher with a class full of bright-faced children gazing up at her raptly. ‘Let’s move on to the next sentence. He’s written something on her thigh that looks like “all like her”. Any ideas on that?’ She scratched her head, a subtle suggestion to the team that they were thinking with her, that she wasn’t just cramming her theories down their throats. ‘Any thoughts?’
The men shrugged, waiting for her to provide the answer.
‘OK.’ She linked her hands round her knees and tipped her head shyly. ‘Let me be a bit bold. Let me take you by the hand and lead you out on a limb. Let me say that, in my opinion, Lorne knew her killer.’
There was a ripple of attention. People murmuring among themselves. Zoë glanced at Ben to see his reaction. His head was lowered and he was busily scribbling notes to himself on his customary yellow legal pad, probably to stop himself laughing out loud, she thought.
Debbie held up her hand to quieten the muttering. ‘I know – a leap of faith, but let me just work with it for a moment. What do we know about Lorne?’
‘That she was popular,’ said the intelligence cell sergeant. ‘Had lots of friends, lots of male admirers. So that sentence could be “they all like her”.’
‘Exactly,’ Debbie said triumphantly, beaming at him. ‘Exactly. This is a direct comment about Lorne. And, in case you think I’m grasping at straws to support a flimsy theory, let me say something else. I’ve analysed Lorne’s tragic injuries, and those just confirm my conclusions about who attacked her that night. He definitely approached her from the front. The pathologist said it was a single blow that incapacitated her, and caused the bleeding to the nose. There are no signs she tried to run – no screams heard. Her attacker had got really close to her, really close, and she’d allowed it. Now, would she have done that if she didn’t know him? No, is the answer. She wouldn’t. In fact …’ she did a little mime of a tightrope walker – arms out, trying to keep her balance ‘… now I’m out on my limb – whoa! – I may as well go all the way and say I wouldn’t rule out that the offender may have had, or at least believed he was having, a relationship with Lorne. I also think he could be quite near Lorne’s age. Maybe a year or two older – and probably the same ethnic and socio-political background. Could even be a member of her peer group.’
The superintendent held up his hand. ‘A question.’
Oh, please, Zoë thought, ask her why she’s talking such crap. Go on, ask her.
‘You say he’s about her age?’
‘Within a year or so, yes.’
‘And what makes you think he’s known to her?’
‘She had a blow to the face. That’s a classic sign. Depersonalization, we call it. But before I go any further …’ Debbie gave them a million-dollar smile, with the expensive dentistry on show ‘… I’m going to come back off my limb. See? I’m nice and safe in the tree now, and I want to make one thing very, very clear. OK?’
‘OK,’ one or two voices said.
‘I want it clear that my thoughts are only for guidance. Only for guidance and only my opinion. You’re all adults, and I don’t want to be patronizing, but you should always keep an open mind. Please.’ She sighed as if this was the one drawback in her job – the way everyone took her word as gospel. ‘I reiterate: you must keep an open mind.’
‘Christ Christ Christ.’ After the meeting Zoë swung into Ben’s office without knocking. She was the only one in the building allowed to do that. She dropped into a chair and folded her arms, her legs pushed out, heels dug into the carpet. ‘Can you fucking believe it? The superintendent is being led by his dick. Known to her killer? The same age? All this from her injuries? “This blow to her face is a classic sign of depersonalization”? I mean, shit, Ben, it’s the same injury you see in about eighty per cent of the muggings we go to and most of those victims had never met their attacker before. Don’t you remember those photos of depersonalization they showed us on that course – that was de-bloody-personalization. Eyeballs out. Things carved into the forehead. Noses cut off. Twenty-seven wounds to the face. But Debbie “not the Debbie” Harry is saying a single blow to the …’ She trailed off. Ben wasn’t shaking his head ruefully, regretting the appalling situation. Instead he was sitting in silence. Watching her without expression.
‘What?’ she said. ‘What’s that look for? You don’t agree with her, do you?’
‘Of course not – she treated us like two-year-olds.’
‘But?’
‘What she said about the wording wasn’t totally off piste. Some of it kind of had merit.’
‘Kind of had merit?’ Zoë stared at him open-mouthed. She couldn’t believe this, just couldn’t believe it. ‘No. You’re just getting your own back because of whatever I said last night that you didn’t like.’
‘I’m saying it because it sounds feasible.’
‘Feasible? Try irresponsible. Have you thought how dangerous it is, screwing down our target to someone in his teens? All those Neanderthals in the incident room with their tongues on the floor at the sight of a girl in tight trousers who can use big words are going to set off with such narrow parameters that the killer could walk straight past them, and if he’s not the white middle-class public-school boy Debbie said he should be they’ll let him go. It’s wrong on so many different levels. And it doesn’t even feel right. It doesn’t feel like someone that young would have the confidence to do what Lorne’s killer did.’
‘I disagree.’
‘It’s a free world, Ben. And it’s good we disagree. As long as you remember to keep an open mind. Even Tracey Sunshine said that.’
‘Of course. Of course I will.’ He pushed back his immaculate cuff and checked his watch. ‘So, nine o’clock now. What’re you going to take?’
‘Well, I’m not going to be interviewing schoolboys, I can promise you that. I might do something really radical – like try to establish an investigation based on the evidence. You know – like we were trained? I might try to find out which barge that tarp came from.’ She pushed her chair back, got to her feet. ‘Or, even better, I’ll meet up with the liaison officer. Go and speak to the Wood family. You?’
‘Alice Morecombe, the friend on the phone. I’ve got to find out about that last conversation. And then …’
She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘And then?’
‘I’ll take some of MCIU up to Faulkener’s. Speak to all the boys in Lorne’s year – and everyone in the year above her too.’
She shook her head resignedly. ‘Does this mean we’re at war?’
‘Don’t be silly. We’re grown-ups. Aren’t we?’
She held his eyes. ‘I hope so, Ben. I really do.’ She looked at him for a bit longer, then checked her watch. ‘A drink tonight? Depending on how the day pans out?’