Fiona glared at Duvall. “Some of these people are my friends. I live with one of them. If you’re not going to warn them, then I certainly am.”
Duvall’s narrow nostrils flared. She turned to Steve. “I thought you said she understood confidentiality?”
Steve put a hand on Fiona’s arm. She shrugged it off impatiently. “DCI Duvall’s right,” Steve said gently. “We don’t know anything for sure yet and it could seriously damage our chances of putting a stop to this man if we panic prematurely. You know that, Fi. If this didn’t touch Kit, you’d be the first to say we should avoid giving this killer the oxygen of publicity.”
“Yes, Steve, I probably would,” Fiona said angrily. “But it does touch Kit, and I owe him far more than I owe the City of London Police.”
There was a dangerous silence. Then Duvall said, “By all means warn your lover to be on his guard. But I must insist that you keep it to yourselves.”
Fiona snorted derisively. “These aren’t idiots you’re talking about here. These are intelligent men and women who live by the power of their imagination. Since Drew Shand died, the Scottish crime writers have formed a phone tree so they can check on each other daily. I’ve already had one of them on to me looking for reassurance. A lot of them know what I do for a living. If you do find Georgia in pieces in Smithfield, my phone is going to be red-hot. I’m not going to tell these people there’s no cause for alarm.”
“Fi, you know there’s a big difference between suggesting they should be on their guard and telling them there’s a serial killer on the loose who might be targeting them. And you also know that’s a line you’re perfectly capable of walking,” Steve said.
Fiona pushed herself out of her chair. “You might have forgotten Lesley, Steve. But I never will. And I’m going to deal with this as I see fit, not as you think best.”
Steve watched her stride out of the café, hair flowing with the speed of her passage. “Oh fuck,” he groaned.
“I’d appreciate knowing what the hell that was all about,” Duvall said. “Sir,” she added more as calculated insult than an afterthought.
Steve crushed his cigar out impatiently. “She’s right, I wasn’t thinking about Lesley,” he said, half to himself. He straightened up in his chair. “Lesley was Fiona’s sister. She was murdered by a serial rapist when she was a student. They never made an arrest. It’s why Fiona became a criminal psychologist. She always believed that if the university had given their female students proper warning, Lesley would have been safe. She’s probably wrong, but survivors have to find someone to blame. Otherwise they end up blaming the victim, and that’s even less healthy.”
Duvall nodded, understanding dawning. “No wonder she’s worried about the boyfriend.”
“I’m worried about him too, Sarah. He’s my best mate.” Steve’s face was stern.
“You’d better go after her, calm her down. I don’t want her running around like a loose cannon in the middle of my investigation. However helpful she’s been.”
Steve, who liked being told what to do about as much as Duvall herself, gave her a hard stare.
Duvall held up one hand in a placatory gesture. “And when I get back to Wood Street, I’m going straight to my guvnor to get a full murder squad working the case. I’ll be working on my search warrant application this afternoon. You can tell her that to reassure her.”
“I will, Sarah. I’m glad you’re taking this seriously. Because if anything were to happen to Kit Martin, Fiona wouldn’t be the only one baying for blood.”
THIRTY-FIVE
What she wanted to do was to jump in the first passing taxi and go straight home to Kit. But Fiona had always struggled against putting desire before duty, so she swept through the streets back to her office, oblivious to everyone and everything, her head buzzing with chaos, her gut knotting with fear. There was no particular reason why Kit should be the next name on the list, but equally, no strong reason why he should not be. She had to find a way to make him take her seriously without leaving him as scared as she was.
She was walking into her office when she heard someone call her name. She turned to find Steve running down the corridor towards her, a fine sheen of sweat on his face. “Wait, Fi,” he shouted as she turned on her heel and slammed her door behind her.
She hadn’t even got her jacket off when he was in the room beside her. One sleeve in and one sleeve half out, she had no way of resisting when he pulled her into his arms and hugged her close. “I know you’re scared,” Steve said.
“Fuck scared,” Fiona snarled. “I’m furious. People are at risk, and you won’t protect them.” She pulled away and dragged her jacket off, throwing it on the sofa. “You wouldn’t be keeping this under wraps if somebody was murdering police officers, Steve. Why don’t Kit and his friends merit the same consideration?”
“Apples and oranges, Fi. Police officers know how to keep the lid on things. But if we start issuing blanket warnings to crime writers, it’ll be a madhouse. We can’t offer them protection, we don’t have the bodies. So some of them will run screaming to the media about how crap the police are and the papers will whip it all up into mass hysteria. And then the cranks will start. And the stalkers. And the hoax phone calls. And then it’ll be the vigilantes taking the law into their own hands, protecting their heroes. And before you know it, somebody will get hurt who is nothing to do with this whole mess.” Steve paced as he spoke, his tension evident in every movement.
“It stinks, Steve, and you know it. If Georgia has been killed and believe me, I am praying that Sarah Duvall’s team don’t find anything in Smithfield apart from animal carcasses then I think it’s inescapable that there’s a serial killer out there. And I won’t let my lover and his friends be the stalking horses while you guys fuck around failing to catch the right person.” Fiona slammed open her desk drawer and pulled out a plastic folder, throwing it towards him. “There’re the letters. Kit’s, Georgia’s and the other four. You get them to Sarah Duvall.”
Steve’s face tightened. “Fine. Just promise me one thing. Promise you’ll do what you have to do in a responsible manner.”
Fiona looked as if she was about to burst into tears of rage. “Oh Steve, you should know me better than that.” Her voice was a reproach that cut like a whip.
Steve flinched, as she had intended. “I’m sorry, Fi. But you’ve got to see my point. We can’t afford to start a media witch hunt. Look, I’m scared too. If anything happened to Kit, I’d never, ever forgive myself.”
“So do something to make sure it doesn’t.”
Steve threw the folder of letters on to a chair in frustration. “Don’t you see? I can’t. It’s none of my professional business. The City force are totally separate from us and I can’t interfere in their case.”
“Well, there’s nothing more to say, is there?” Fiona’s voice seemed to come from a long way off.
Before Steve could respond, the phone rang. She reached for it automatically, saying, “You’ll have to excuse me. I have work to do.” Fiona deliberately turned her back on him. “Hello, Fiona Cameron.”
Steve watched her shoulders slump as she registered who was calling. “Just give me a minute, Major,” she said, covering the mouthpiece with her hand. She glanced over her shoulder. “Goodbye, Steve.” She waited until he had picked up the letters and was walking through the door, then moved to the chair behind her desk.
Stifling a sigh, she spoke into the phone. “Sorry about that, there was someone just leaving.”