De Vakey refilled her glass. ‘A disgruntled cop, certainly. You’ve read my profile of the unsub. Could any of it apply to Davis?’
Stevie looked at her glass. The bubbles rose like strings of pearls. She said softly, ‘Well, he didn’t have any sexual hangups, although he did sometimes want me to pose for his camera.’ Bubbles caught in her throat. ‘I never did, of course.’ She made herself look directly at De Vakey. ‘The posing of the victims, you don’t think...’
He gave her a reassuring smile. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
Relief washed over her as the load lifted. ‘And he came from a stable family background. Never once owned a German shepherd.’
The absurdity made her smile. Surely that nervous giggle wasn’t hers? It must have been—he smiled that irresistible crinkling smile again.
She tried to pull herself together. ‘The only thing that fits is the cop bit. Greed was the motive behind his shonky dealings. Looking back on it, I think that’s why he was interested in me. We’d just come into some family money.’
‘Don’t underestimate yourself, Stevie. You’re a beautiful woman, despite your efforts to hide it.’
It wasn’t the words, it was the way he said them. A wave of heat surged through her, from her toes to the lobes of her ears, a feeling she hadn’t had for a very long time.
It was time to go.
She rose to her feet, pretending she hadn’t heard him. Keeping her tone businesslike and her hand on the table for support, she said, ‘Just one more thing before I go. In the car you said you needed to say something you couldn’t say in front of Monty. Are you suspicious about someone in Central? I reckon Monty is, but he won’t say. Tell me, what’s on your mind?’
He paused to consider his answer and she took a swallow from her glass.
‘You,’ he said.
She nearly choked; bubbles came out of her nose, forcing her to lunge for the handkerchief on the bedside table. From the corner of her watering eye she saw his face light up with a grin. For God’s sake, he was laughing at her.
A small tide of champagne snowballed over the edge of the glass as she slammed it down. ‘You got me here under false pretences—I’m going,’ she said, storming over to the chair where she’d left her jacket and bag.
‘Stevie, please, listen to me.’ De Vakey stopped her with a touch on her arm.
When she shook off his grip, his hand moved to her other arm. She whirled around to meet his eyes, sure she’d see their familiar irritating gleam, his patronising way of telling her to lighten up and take herself less seriously. Instead she saw loneliness and need, another hint of the vulnerability she’d glimpsed in him at the abduction site—or was it merely the reflection of her own weakness?
She saw her failed relationships falling like rose petals at her feet.
The pressure of his fingers increased. ‘Stay. Please,’ he said in a voice soft as cotton. He sought the band holding her ponytail and released her hair, running his fingers through the silky smoothness as it cascaded around her shoulders like water.
She continued to cling to her jacket and bag, a half-hearted signal that this fleeting moment would soon be ending. Emotionally he meant nothing to her. Christ, she barely even liked him. But if that was the case, why did her body refuse to respond to her brain’s command to leave?
She took a breath. ‘You are a master at seduction, Mr De Vakey.’
‘I’m a master of everything I do.’
‘Humble, too,’ she smiled. ‘Arrogant bloody prick.’
When he laughed, her decision was made.
She allowed him to take her by the hand to the bed. As he leaned over to cover her mouth with his, the mattress sighed underneath them.
Right or wrong, she began to lose herself in him, to savour the almost forgotten thrill of her own arousal. She deserved this, didn’t she? God, it had been such a long time.
But fate decreed it hadn’t been long enough.
What the hell was that noise? It took a few seconds of confusion before she realised the nightmarish rhythm was coming from her bag at the side of the bed. De Vakey said to leave it, but she couldn’t.
She dived for her phone, shutting off the thumping beat of AC/DC’s ‘Highway to Hell’. For Christ’s sake, Barry had sabotaged her ring tone again.
‘Hooper.’ Breathless, she was all too aware of the hand creeping up her leg, kneading her inner thigh like a cat.
‘Stevie, I’ve just had a thought.’ Monty, oh God. She pushed De Vakey’s hand away and edged further down the bed.
‘Do you know if anything of significance was discovered at Michelle’s apartment?’ Monty asked.
‘I don’t think so. They dusted it for prints and only found Michelle’s and her cleaning lady’s. No sign that anyone else had been there in a long time.’
The silence stretched from Monty’s end of the phone. He said, ‘Are you okay? You sound out of breath.’
‘I’ve just been wrestling with Izzy.’ The lie scraped her throat like dry toast.
‘And you always telling me not to stir her up before bedtime.’
‘Yes, well...’
‘Shall I say goodnight to her?’
‘She’s just run off to the bathroom.’
After a beat Monty said, ‘I gather they didn’t find the safe.’
She stood up and turned her back on De Vakey. ‘Safe, what safe?’
‘It’s in the cavity of the dividing wall between the front entrance and the living area,’ Monty said.
‘That’s the first I’ve heard of any safe.’
‘I’d be interested to know what’s in it. Could you go and have a look? The combination’s 270568.’
Her eyes scanned the room in a panic. ‘Pen?’ she mouthed to De Vakey, wincing at the sound as he climbed off the bed.
‘The combination’s her birthday. I put the safe in for her myself a few years ago.’ She took the pen from De Vakey and repeated the number as she wrote it on her hand, then read the address back to him to make sure she’d got it right.
‘Is Dot staying over?’ Monty asked.
She hesitated, glanced at De Vakey. ‘Yes.’
‘Good. You could check on that safe now, then. You’ll have to call in at Central for the key and security doo-hickeys. The place is like Fort Knox. Ring me back even if you don’t find anything important, I don’t mind if you wake me. And give Izzy a hug from me, okay?’
She said she would, then clicked the off button.
‘I have to go,’ she said.
She couldn’t look at De Vakey as she scraped her hair back into its ponytail and rearranged her clothes. When she’d finished he took his phone from his pocket, showing her that it had been switched off.
‘Turn yours off next time,’ he said with a glint in his eye.
If only it was that simple.
16
Research has shown that serial killers have a tendency towards low arousal levels, meaning that they need more stimulation than the average person to obtain any degree of satisfaction. This leads to impulsive and thrill-seeking behaviour that is further exacerbated by an inhibition of the moral voice of reason.