Jones shrugged. ‘History’s littered with perverts who return to the scenes of their crimes. It gives them a thrill to see how important they’ve become.’ He glanced at the screen again. ‘I’m more interested in why female doctors seem to be falling over themselves to offer support. Why does he need it? What’s wrong with him?’ He stood up. ‘Did you say Dr Campbell’s still here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then let’s have another chat with her.’
*
But Susan couldn’t, or wouldn’t, answer questions about Acland’s psychiatric or medical conditions. ‘He’s not my patient. I’m just a friend.’ The superintendent nodded. ‘I appreciate that, Dr Campbell, but all we need to know is whether, in your judgement as a friend, he’s competent to answer questions. It’s not in his interests or ours to compromise the information he gives us.’ She shrugged. ‘All right . . . I’d say he’s perfectly competent.’ ‘You told my sergeant he has migraines.’ ‘On and off. He had a bad one last night, so I doubt he’ll have another in the short term. You’ll know to back off if he does. He goes white as a sheet and starts vomiting.’
‘Was it a migraine that prompted the assault last night?’
‘I’ve no idea. I wasn’t there and I haven’t asked him about it.’
‘Does Dr Jackson know? Is that why she offered him a bed . . . to stop him attacking people when he has migraines?’
Susan gave a surprised laugh. ‘Good Lord! That’s an outrageous conclusion to draw, Superintendent. For the record, I know of no occasion when Charles has lashed out during a migraine. If you ask him – or indeed Dr Jackson, who witnessed the episode last night – I’m sure they’ll both say he’s too incapacitated to move when the pain’s bad enough to make him retch.’
‘What about the lead-up to a migraine? How many times has he lashed out then?’
‘From personal experience, never. Charles has always behaved entirely appropriately in my company.’
‘But you know about the incident last night.’
‘Only that it happened. I’ve no idea what caused it. Have you asked the other man? It usually takes two to make a fight.’
Jones subjected her to a long scrutiny. ‘Why are you so protective of Lieutenant Acland? Do you see yourself as a mother figure in his life?’
‘What makes you think I’m protecting him?’
‘Because you’re still here, Dr Campbell. Aren’t you confident that he can look after himself?’
‘Perfectly confident . . . but I’ve never had a friend arrested in front of me before. I expect it happens to you all the time –’ her eyes gleamed ironically – ‘but I’m entirely ignorant of the etiquette in these circumstances. I fear it wouldn’t be good form to leave without saying goodbye.’
‘Would you like Inspector Beale to ask Charles if he wants you to stay?’
She shook her head. ‘It’ll be a waste of time. He’ll certainly say no.’
‘And you wouldn’t leave anyway?’
‘No.’
‘Then I’m curious, Dr Campbell. He’s not your patient . . .
you’re not related to him . . . there’s a considerable age gap between the two of you . . . you don’t regard yourself as a mother figure . . . he doesn’t need your protection . . . yet you refuse to leave. What’s the basis of this friendship?’
Susan allowed her amusement to show. ‘Are you wondering if Charles and I have an intimate relationship, Superintendent?’
‘The possibility did occur to me.’
‘I’m flattered that you think he might be interested,’ she said in a lightly mocking tone, ‘but I have enough trouble showing enthusiasm for sex with men of my own age. I couldn’t possibly cope with an active twenty-six-year-old. If you must make leaps of imagination, try admiration instead. Do you have a son?’
‘Yes.’
‘How old?’
‘Twenty-two.’
‘So just four years younger than Charles, who’s trying to come to terms with the death of his crew, the loss of his career, partial blindness, low-level tinnitus, migraines and disfigurement . . . and all in the service of his country. How well would you have dealt with that at twenty-six? How well will your son if a similar tragedy happens to him?’
*
‘He’d expect me to keep him in idleness, and his mother to wait on him hand and foot, the same as he’s doing now,’ said Jones acidly as he and Inspector Beale returned to the viewing room. ‘He’s got a degree in business studies – paid for by yours truly – and he sits on his bloody arse all day playing computer games. I threatened to throw him out if he doesn’t get a job, and the wife started bleating about unconditional love. What’s that supposed to mean, eh?’ ‘It’s American for putting up with crap from your children,’ said Nick Beale with a smile. ‘We have to embrace them whatever they do because it’s our fault they’ve gone off the rails. We haven’t given them enough love.’
‘Too much, more likely.’ He lifted an enquiring eyebrow at Ahmed Khan. ‘Any joy?’
The detective constable nodded. ‘According to Sharon Carter, Charles Acland had returned to his flat by eleven-thirty. She was watching This Morning on the television and they had a row because he lit a bonfire in the garden. She said her window was open and she noticed the smoke while the fashion segment was on . . . and that’s always after eleven-thirty apparently. I’ll double-check with the TV company, but Sharon’s confident about the time.’
‘What was he burning?’
‘Old files. Sharon said the ashes are still out there, with charred pieces of paper and cardboard. Lieutenant Acland trod on the fire when she threatened to call the police.’
‘Does she know when he left again?’
Khan gave another nod. ‘She watched him get into a cab at three-thirty. He put his kitbag in first, then she said he gave her two fingers behind his back before climbing in after it. She knows it was three-thirty because the Ricki Lake Show was just starting on ITV2.’
‘Could he have gone out between either of those times without her seeing him?’
Khan looked amused. ‘I doubt it. I had chapter and verse of everything he’s done in the last month. This is one very bored woman, sir. She seems to keep one eye on Acland and the other on her television set.’
‘Does she fancy him?’
‘Not any more. She said he was rude to her when she tried to be neighbourly, but she’s carrying one heck of a grudge over it. I suspect she made a pass at him and was comprehensively rejected. She referred to him several times as a closet gay.’ He paused. ‘I’m not sure we should place too much reliance on this, but she also told me she thought he was the gay killer. She said he’s a complete weirdo. He goes running most days and shouts in his sleep at night.’
Jones glanced at the monitor, which showed Acland back in his chair and staring fixedly at the wall in front of him. ‘Perhaps we’re barking up the wrong tree,’ he said slowly. ‘Perhaps the attack on Walter isn’t part of the series.’
Eleven
DESPITE KITTEN’S BAD-TEMPERED support for his story, the police were in no hurry to release Acland. It would be several more hours before his clothes, boots and kitbag were returned to him. During that time, most of which he spent in silent contemplation of his hands, he gave minimal details of his army service, refused the offer of a solicitor and granted permission for a search of his property.
His clothes were meticulously examined for bloodstains, his flat was turned upside down, and the bonfire ashes retrieved from the garden to sift for anything other than paper and cardboard. Sharon ‘Kitten’ Carter was reinterviewed in person and repeated her vitriol about Acland’s ‘weirdness’, while the elderly next-door neighbour corroborated her timings before offering some vitriol of his own against her.