‘Korsakov,’ she reminded him. ‘I managed to track down one of the original investigating officers, which was interesting enough, but he couldn’t tell me much more than Method Index had. The intelligence record at Richmond was a bit thin, no photographs either.
‘If you have no objections, I thought I’d have Korsakov’s prints compared to any recovered from the scene. You never know your luck.’
‘Be my guest,’ Sean told her. ‘The identification officer dealing is IDO Collins. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go home before my kids forget what I look like. You should go home too. Get some sleep.’
‘I will,’ she said, then hesitated. ‘If he’s guilty, we’ll get him sooner or later. It’ll only be a matter of time before we can prove it.’
‘Of course we will,’ Sean assured her. ‘We always do, in the end. By the way, speaking of Hellier, did you show your man the photograph?’
‘I did.’
‘And?’
‘Meant nothing to him. Sorry.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Sean said. ‘It was a long shot anyway.’
Jarratt sat at home with his wife and daughters. An article on the local evening news programme caught his eye. Somebody had been arrested for the murder of Daniel Graydon. That was the name DS Jones had mentioned. The name of the murder victim.
The reporter standing outside Peckham police station had used the term, ‘helping police with their inquiries’. Jarratt knew that meant he’d been arrested.
It was only a small item on the news. The death of a prostitute caused little stir in London these days. He listened to the reporter’s closing statement.
‘Although the police have so far refused to comment, it is believed that the man helping with their inquiries is one James Hellier, a renowned accountant and partner with the respected firm of Butler and Mason, whose offices are in the exclusive Knightsbridge area of central London.
‘The solicitor representing the man believed to be Mr Hellier claimed his client had nothing to hide and was happy to assist the police in every way possible, although he declined to confirm the man was indeed James Hellier.’
This was disastrous. Everything he feared most was becoming reality. Jarratt’s chest was close to exploding. He excused himself and went to the kitchen. He poured too much whisky into the first glass he saw. His hands shook as he took large sips. He needed to calm down, get control of himself and the situation. He thought he might be about to have a heart attack. He knew what was coming next.
Sean sat quietly staring at the television without really watching it. He’d chosen to sit on a chair instead of next to Kate on the sofa. She could feel his tension.
‘Sean,’ she called across to him. Nothing. She called again. ‘Sean.’ He rolled his head to face her. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ she asked.
Sean puffed his lips and exhaled. ‘Not really.’
‘It might help to talk,’ she persevered.
‘It’s nothing,’ he lied. ‘I thought I had our prime suspect today, but he wormed off the hook.’
‘You’ll get him. Remember what you always tell me: it’s only a matter of time, no matter how difficult it may look at first.’
‘Yeah, but this one bothers me. Every time I think I’ve got him cornered, he worms his way out. At first I thought he was just thinking on his feet, coming up with answers to fit the evidence against him as and when he had to, but now I’m not so sure. I think he has a strategy. The moment he knew we were on to him, he invented a story to lead us into a blind alley – and it’s my fault. I showed my hand too soon. I should never have let him know he was a suspect. I should never have gone to his office in the first place. I should have watched him. Watched and waited for him to lead us to the evidence. Now I have to play the game with him, and from what I’ve seen so far he’s a bloody good player. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was even enjoying it.’
Sean sprang from his chair and made for the kitchen. He grabbed a glass and filled it with water. Kate followed him. She’d seen him like this before, usually during difficult cases, but not always. It was better to get him to talk than allow him to dwell on matters. She wouldn’t let him slip away into the dark places his past could take him. ‘Don’t let it get on top of you,’ she warned. To anyone else it would have been an innocent enough comment, but not to Sean.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he asked.
Kate realized her mistake. ‘Nothing. I only meant don’t let this case get too personal.’
‘It’s always personal,’ Sean told her. ‘For me, it’s always personal. It’s how I stop them.’
‘I know, but you need to be careful. Don’t try and do everything alone.’
‘Why?’ Sean asked. ‘Afraid I’ll lose it?’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘Isn’t it?’ he said, his voice calm.
She knew his past, about his childhood, his father. The beatings and abuse. Everything. Sean had always been honest with her about that. She understood that the rage and hate from his childhood was still inside him somewhere. How could it not be? But she knew he was nothing like his father, like the people he hunted. If she’d had any doubts, no matter how small, she would never have married him, let alone had his children. This was just Sean venting his frustrations. She’d dealt with it before and she knew she’d have to deal with it again.
‘Don’t do this, Sean,’ she pleaded. ‘I don’t deserve this.’
It was enough to make Sean pause. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. He sipped his water. ‘Do you ever think about it though? Aren’t you ever a little afraid I may become like him?’
Kate knew he was talking about his father. ‘No. Never. You realized you had this thing inside of you, and you wanted to stop it, stop it before anyone got hurt, and you did.’
‘With a lot of help,’ he reminded her.
‘None of it would have worked if you hadn’t wanted it to.’
‘Christ,’ Sean said, before taking another swig of water, ‘sometimes I feel like such a fucking stereotype: boy is abused by his father, the boy grows into a man only to become an abuser himself. From victim to offender. It’s all too fucking predictable.’
‘But you didn’t,’ she reminded him. ‘You grew up to be a cop. You use your past to help people, not to hurt them.’ A silence fell between them. Kate moved towards him and held his face in her hands. ‘Your past is a curse, but it has left you with a gift. You can think like these people. You can recognize them when others see nothing. You can predict them.’
‘Not this one,’ Sean told her. ‘I can’t see through his eyes yet. I don’t know why, but I can’t. Whenever I try, it’s like someone pulling a screen across, blocking me.’
‘It’ll come,’ she assured him. ‘Give it time and it will come.’
There was a silence, then Sean spoke again. ‘Do you know what it’s like, being able to think like them?’
‘No,’ Kate answered. ‘I look at you when you’re like this and I thank God I can’t. Who would want that burden?’
‘I can feel what they feel,’ he said. ‘I can sense their excitement, their relief. Pain. Confusion.’
Kate stroked his hair, the way a mother would a child. ‘And you use it to stop them. To stop them hurting people.’
‘Sometimes I feel like I’m too close. So close that I could slip into darkness any second.’