“Well, he would. It’s on his way to the High Street.”
“You seem to be taking his side.”
“I’m trying to hold onto the truth. In my work as a therapist that’s essential.” I resisted the urge to point out that policemen should have a care for the truth as well.
“Are those his case notes on your desk?” Morgan said.
“Yes.”
“Any record of violence?”
“You heard him. He’s a softie.”
“Soft in the head. The murders seem to have been random and without motive. A sweet old couple who never caused anyone any grief. In a case like this we examine all the options, but I’d stake my reputation this was done by a nutter.”
“That’s not a term I use, Inspector.”
“Call him what you like, we both know what I mean. A sane man doesn’t go round cutting people’s throats for no obvious reason. Nothing was taken. They had valuable antiques in the house and over two hundred pounds in cash.”
“Would that have made it more acceptable in your eyes, murder in the course of theft?”
“I’d know where he was coming from, wouldn’t I?”
“What about the crime scene? Doesn’t that give you any information?”
“It’s a bloody mess, that’s for sure. All the forensic tests are being carried out. The best hope is that the killer picked up some blood that matches the old couple’s DNA. He couldn’t avoid getting some on him. If we had the clothes Nathan was wearing that afternoon, we’d know for sure. He seems to have destroyed everything. He’s not so daft as he makes out.”
“The suit he borrowed?”
“Went out with the rubbish collection, he says. It didn’t fit, so it was useless to him, and the old man didn’t want it back.”
“Makes sense.”
“Certainly does. We’re assuming the killer stripped and took a shower at the house after the murders and then bundled his own clothes into a plastic sack and put on a suit from the old man’s wardrobe. Very likely helped himself to some clean shoes as well.”
“I’m no forensic expert, but if he did all that, surely he must have left some DNA traces about the house?”
“We hope so. Then we’ll have him, and I look forward to telling you about it.”
“What about the other suspect?”
There was a stunned silence. Morgan folded his arms and glared at me, as if I was deliberately provoking him.
“Just in case,” I said, “you may find it helpful to watch the video of an interview I did later this morning with a man called Jon.”
I knew Jon from many hours of psychotherapy. He sat hunched, as always, hands clasped, eyes downturned, a deeply repressed, passive personality.
“Jon,” my unseen voice said, “how long have you lived in that flat at the end of Steven Street?”
He sighed. “Three years. Maybe longer.”
“That must be about right. I’ve been seeing you for more than two years. And you still live alone?”
A nod.
“You manage pretty well, shopping and cooking, and so on. It’s an achievement just surviving in this modern world. But I expect there’s some time left over. What do you enjoy doing most?”
“Don’t know.”
“Watching television?”
“Not really.”
“You don’t have a computer?”
He shook his head.
“Do you get out of the house, apart from shopping and coming here?”
“I suppose.”
“You go for walks?”
He frowned as if straining to hear some distant sound.
“Just to get fresh air and exercise,” I said. “You live in a nice area. The gardens are full of flowers in spring and summer. I think you do get out quite a bit.”
“If you say so.”
“Then I dare say you’ve met some of your neighbours, the people along Steven Street, when they’re outside cleaning their cars, doing gardening or walking the dog. Did you ever speak to the old couple at number twenty-nine?”
He started swaying back and forth in the chair. “I might have.”
“They have a little toy dog, a Chihuahua. They’re very attached to it, I understand.”
“Don’t like them,” Jon said, still swaying.
“Why’s that? Something they did?”
“Don’t know.”
“I think you do. Maybe they remind you of some people you knew once.”
He was silent, but the rocking became more agitated. Momentarily his chin lifted from his chest and his face was visible. Fear was written large there.
“Could this old couple have brought to mind those foster parents you told me about in a previous session, when we discussed your childhood, the people who locked you in the cupboard under the stairs?”
He moaned a little.
“They had a small dog, didn’t they?”
He covered his eyes and said, “Don’t.”
“All right,” I said. “We’ll talk about something else.”
“You’ll get thrown out of the union, showing me that,” Morgan said. “Isn’t there such a thing as patient confidentiality?”
“In the first place, I don’t belong to a union,” I said, “and in the second I’m trying to act in the best interests of all concerned.”
“Thinking he could kill again, are you?”
“Who are we talking about here?” I asked.
“The second man. Jon. He seems to have a thing about old people. He’s obviously very depressed.”
“That’s his usual state. It doesn’t make him a killer. I wanted you to look at the interview before you jump to a conclusion about Nathan, the other man.”
“Nathan isn’t depressed, that’s for sure.”
“Agreed. He has a more buoyant personality than Jon. Did you notice the body language? Nathan sits forward, makes eye contact, while Jon looks down all the time. You don’t see much of his face.”
“That stuff about the foster parents locking him in the cupboard. Is that true?”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure of it. I’d be confident of anything Jon tells me. He doesn’t give out much, but you can rely on him. With Nathan I’m never sure. He has a fertile imagination and he wants to communicate. He’s trying all the time to make his experiences interesting.”
“Falling into the pond, you mean? Did you believe that?”
“It’s not impossible. It would explain the change of clothes.”
“I was sure he was talking bollocks but now that you’ve shown me this other man I’m less confident. I’d like to question Jon myself.”
“That won’t be possible,” I said.
He reddened. “It’s a bit bloody late to put up the shutters. I’ve got my job to do and no one’s going to stand in my way.”
“Before you get heavy with me, inspector, let me run a section of the second interview again. I’m going to turn off the sound and I want you to look closely at Jon. There’s a moment when he sways back and the light catches his face.”
I rewound the tape and let it play again, fast forwarding until I found the piece I wanted, the moment I’d mentioned the old couple and Jon had started his swaying, a sure indicator of stress. “There.” I used the freeze-frame function.
Jon’s face was not quite in focus but there was enough to make him recognizable.
“Christ Almighty,” Morgan said. “It’s the same guy. It’s Nathan.”
I let the discovery sink in.
“Am I right?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Then what the hell is going on?”
“This may be hard for you to accept. Nathan and Jon are two distinct identities contained in the same individual, a condition we know as Dissociative Identity Disorder. It used to be known as Multiple Personality Disorder, but we’ve moved on in our understanding. These so-called personalities are fragments of the same identity rather than self-contained characters. Jon is the primary identity, passive and repressed. Nathan is an alter ego, extrovert, cheerful and inventive.”