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  Callie cleared her throat guiltily, took a bite of her hummus and salad sandwich and tried not to look pleased, but she didn’t feel quite able to admit to Jayne that she had already done a bit of investigating.

  “What about the internet dating site?” she asked instead.

  “Not being very cooperative at the moment. As you can imagine, they really don’t want any sort of rumour starting that a serial killer is working his way through their clientele.”

  “Then they should cooperate. If I’m wrong, they can prove it; if I’m right, swift action is their only hope. No chance of forcing their hand with a warrant, I don’t suppose?”

  Jayne shook her head.

  “Insufficient grounds, apparently.”

  “I take it the identification has been confirmed?” Callie asked.

  “Yes. The body is definitely Teresa Hardwick.” Jayne sighed. “Not sure how she would feel about the way her husband described her though.”

  Callie raised an eyebrow questioningly and waited as Jayne finished her mouthful of bacon and egg roll and glanced round to make sure no one could hear what she was about to say. But even the serving lady had disappeared out to the back room where they could hear her washing up the dishes piled there earlier.

  “Mr Hardwick knew his wife looked elsewhere to supplement the sex she had at home. He used words to describe her like ‘very physical and active’, ‘high sex drive’ and even admitted that he had suggested she should seek treatment for sex addiction.”

  “So, she’s another who might have used the website.”

  “I know. It’s frustrating isn’t it?”

  * * *

  As she hurried back to the surgery after her lunch, Callie gave more thought to the meeting and how useful her burgeoning friendship with Jayne could be. Useful for Steve Miller because she could give him her ideas and any medical input and explanations he needed, useful for Jayne because she had a hotline to her boss’s ear and it could further her career, and useful for Callie because she had a way of getting news of how the investigation was going and a way of helping where she could, without getting herself into danger and without having to meet up with Sergeant Jeffries and hear his sexist or inappropriate comments. It had indeed been a clever move of Steve’s to send his ambitious new sergeant to her. Callie was surprised to find that she felt just a little disappointed that it also meant that she had no need to contact him directly anymore.

  Chapter 16

  “They’ve only gone and questioned Mark again,” Helen was telling Callie on the telephone.

  “What?” Callie was astounded. “But they know he couldn’t have done it. He was in custody, for goodness’ sake.”

  “At least this time they questioned him at his house rather than the station. Honestly, I think the boy’s going to have a complete breakdown.”

  “Do you know why they questioned him?” Callie was cautious about letting Helen know she already knew about the fingerprints, in case she felt she ought to have warned the social worker, and Mark.

  “Apparently they found another can with his prints on.”

  “I can see why they wanted to talk to him then, I mean, the killer has to be someone Mark knows well enough that they can get hold of his discarded cans to leave at the scene.”

  “Quite, but they could have done it more gently and not make him feel he’s stupid or lying when he says he doesn’t know who it is.” Helen hesitated. “Look, I suggested he come and see you, and he wasn’t averse to the idea.”

  “I thought he was going to change doctors?” Callie queried.

  “I think I convinced him that you weren’t really anything to do with the police thinking he was a suspect. Besides, he wouldn’t have a clue how to do that, poor lamb, so you’re still his GP.”

  “Has he been to see his psychologist again?” Callie couldn’t even trust herself to mention Adrian Lambourne’s name after his insinuations.

  “He was supposed to see him last week, but the doctor kept Mark waiting so long that he walked out. Please, Callie, he needs all the support he can get. At least give him a call, just so he knows you don’t hold anything against him, if nothing else.”

  “Okay, I’ll do that tonight, and I’ll offer him an appointment tomorrow morning as it’s my turn to do a Saturday. But it depends on him agreeing to see me, and on the police not picking him up again,” she added.

  “I wouldn’t put it past them,” Helen agreed.

  Once Callie had hung up, she took a deep breath. What on earth was Miller thinking? Why was he still hounding Mark? He couldn’t possibly still think that he had anything to do with it. Callie wondered if she should mention to Lambourne her worries that the boy might have been abused at some point, but decided that now probably wasn’t the time to tackle that particular hang-up. It could wait until he’d recovered from all the police attention.

  She was so angry, she had to wait a while to calm down before ringing Mark and leaving a message on the answer machine saying she would hold an appointment at the end of morning surgery for him the next day. It would have been better to have spoken to him, but he was probably too anxious to answer the phone, and who could blame him? She just hoped he listened to her message and felt able to come and see her tomorrow, or she would have to find time to visit him at home again.

  * * *

  It was a Friday evening and the pubs in the main town were surprisingly packed with people celebrating the end of another working week and the prospect of two days of rest. Even with the persistent rain, groups had spilled out of the bars, huddling under the limited cover, smoking, shouting and laughing. Most of them were already so drunk that Callie suspected they wouldn’t remember much of the night at all, unless friends helpfully reminded them with photos of their most embarrassing antics.

  She was interested that women were still socialising, seemingly unworried that there was a serial killer around, something they were unlikely to forget given that a number of journalists were making the rounds and asking people if they felt frightened. But even they were growing tired of the endless stream of people saying that yes they were frightened but no they weren’t about to change their habits and stay home – that would be, like, letting him win, wouldn’t it? Callie wondered if the pubs would be as busy tomorrow night, or would these diehard, fun-loving women take the risk even on a Saturday?

  Kate was just locking up her office, juggling keys and umbrella, as Callie arrived to meet her. They too were going for a drink but they would stay together, and then they were going home. Early. Perhaps Callie misjudged the giggling women in the bars around her, perhaps they had also made plans to stick together and make sure they all got home safely and were tucked up in bed nice and early.

  “Ugh.” Kate looked round and the scenes around them. “Let’s hurry over to the civilisation of the Old Town, quick.”

  “I thought you liked the bars round here?” Callie queried. “You said they were a happy hunting ground, as I remember.”

  “Well, yes,” Kate said, unabashed, “it rather depends on what you are hunting though, and right now I want relaxation, good beer and intelligent conversation. None of which are likely to be found in a sports bar.”

  Callie had to agree, the noise level in most of the places was such that you couldn’t hear yourself speak, let alone what anyone else was saying. Not being a beer drinker, she couldn’t comment on their standards, of course, but she had found that most places stocked a decent enough Pinot Grigio these days.

  Once they were settled in the warmth of The Stag, drinks and crisps in front of them, they both certainly felt more relaxed.

  “Well?” Kate asked, almost beside herself with curiosity, “have you heard from any of them?”

  Callie fished Kate’s cheap mobile phone out of her bag.

  “Four, so far.” Callie told her and Kate leant closer to see as they scrolled through the various instant messages that Callie had been sent from the responders from SusSEXtra.

  “Ooh, he’s
a charmer.” Kate was reading the short conversation she had had with Lee, and the many, many further messages he had sent trying to persuade her to meet him. Kate was being sarcastic. At least, Callie hoped she was being sarcastic.

  “And a dick pic from this one! What a surprise.”

  Callie grabbed the phone back.

  “This one sounds nicer.” Callie showed her a message she had had from someone who called himself Lance and took a little while to understand why Kate was sniggering.

  “Honestly, I do wish people would just use their real names,” she said crossly.

  “What? Like Calliope?” Kate responded.

  “No! Look, I would never use that name, but Callie, or whatever, something normal, all these names with innuendos are just so, puerile.”

  They sifted through the various messages.

  “Which one was this Lance then?” Kate asked.

  “He was the one who said he had a beard although his picture was clean shaven.”

  “I think you should try and draw him out a bit then. See if it could be Gerry.”

  Callie sighed.

  “I’m not sure this will work.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, I don’t know how I could tell if it was him. I mean, it was fairly clear that Lee wasn’t Gerry. He was virtually illiterate.”

  “Pretty imaginative though,” Kate said with a smile.

  “Behave!” Callie threw a cushion at her.

  “No, seriously, though. I do know what you mean, Callie. And even if we do recognise him, it isn’t evidence that he is the killer, is it?”

  “I’d be pretty convinced.”

  “But would Miller be?”

  “Maybe we would do better to pretend to be a bloke and see if we could find the victims, that way we’d have some hard evidence to take to Miller.”

  “Right. I suggest you try and draw Lance out, see if he says anything that makes you think he might be Gerry. And I’ll register as a man and see if I can find any of the victims. Okay?”

  “Okay.” They chinked glasses. “We have a plan.”

  “Not necessarily a good plan,” Kate qualified. “But still a plan.”

  Chapter 17

  Saturday morning surgeries usually ended at twelve thirty and Mark was late for his appointment. Very late. Callie was just getting ready to go home having decided he wasn’t going to come at all, when the receptionist rang through to say that he had arrived, hinting that Callie should refuse to see him. Callie wouldn’t. He was anxious enough without her adding to his problems, so she turned her computer back on and went out to the waiting room to collect him, bumping into the practice nurse who had finished her clinic as she did so. The practice nurse took one look at Mark still waiting to be seen and nipped out of the surgery door before Callie could ask her to stay and help.

  The receptionist was looking disapproving as well and Callie, knowing the woman was probably keen to get back to her family, offered to let her go home.

  “I’ll make sure everything’s closed up, don’t worry.”

  The receptionist didn’t look in the least bit worried as she grabbed her coat and hurried out. If Callie was mad enough to see patients on her own after the surgery should have closed, then it was her own look out.

  Callie smiled at Mark as she let him back into her clinic room and gave him a little time to get settled, hoping he would speak when he was ready. She hoped she hadn’t made a mistake seeing him in an empty surgery. She had a panic button but it only rang at reception and there was no one there to come running if she needed help. She had to admit he didn’t look aggressive, he just looked tired and worried, with blue smudges under his eyes. He was wearing torn jeans and a grubby, misshapen T-shirt revealing his full arm tattoos. He must have been cold walking around without even a jumper, Callie thought.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked when she realised they would be there all day if she waited for him to speak.

  He shrugged and examined his cuticles.

  “It’s been a difficult couple of weeks, hasn’t it?” she encouraged him.

  He nodded.

  “But the police know that the fires weren’t anything to do with you, don’t they?” she persisted. Mark still didn’t answer, just plucked at imaginary bits of fluff on his trousers.

  “Are you managing to sleep at all?”

  He plucked harder at his jeans.

  “I didn’t do nothing,” he suddenly blurted out, and once he started there was no stopping him. “They keep on and on about who knew about my past, where I’ve been, and that. It’s doing my fucking head in. On and on, they go. What do I drink, where did I drink it. I can’t think anymore. I just can’t fucking think!” He banged the desk as he finished and then looked guilty.

  “Sorry,” he said, straightening the pen holder that had fallen over.

  “That’s all right. I can imagine how frustrating it all must be.”

  He nodded.

  “They ask the same stuff, over and over, and, like, I don’t know the answer. I can’t remember and I can’t even remember what I said before.”

  “That’s OK. That’s normal. None of us remembers everything, not when we have no reason to think it’s important at the time.”

  “I wish I could. But, like, the more they ask, the more I dunno, I mean, I feel like maybe I should, like, make it up, get them off my back–”

  “No!” Callie interrupted quickly, then continued in a more even, reassuring tone. “That wouldn’t be a good idea.” She paused, she didn’t want to say anything that might alarm him further, like he could get in trouble if he lied. “It could stop them finding whoever is doing this, and that’s the most important thing. They will leave you alone once they have this guy.”

  Mark looked at her, unsure.

  “They don’t fucking believe me, but I just, like, don’t remember stuff. Sorry.”

  Callie was surprised that he was apologising for swearing and it reinforced her opinion that despite the clothes, the terrible home life and the tattoos, Mark was a good lad at heart.

  “I can talk to them, if you like, Mark. Make sure they understand?”

  Mark nodded.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled.

  “Now.” Callie was back to being briskly business like. “How are you coping? Have you had any more panic attacks?”

  Mark shook his head.

  “I hear there were some problems with Dr Lambourne running late for your last appointment. Have you made another one?”

  Mark nodded.

  “He sent one in the post, but I don’t see the point. He don’t do no good. The man’s a prick, and I didn’t believe what he said about you.”

  Mark looked out from under his floppy fringe, checking that Callie believed him.

  “I am sure he was doing what he thought was for the best.” Callie was determined to remain professional and not let Mark know just how much she agreed with him. “And I think it would be a good idea if you continued to see him, see if he can help. After all, Helen seemed to think he was doing some good before. Okay?”

  “’kay,” Mark said.

  “I don’t want to change your pills if you are not having any more attacks and you are going back to see Dr Lambourne.”

  Mark nodded.

  “I’m alright really, Doc. Now I know they aren’t going to lock me up again.”

  “Good, that’s settled then. Now, don’t forget, you can call if you need to see me or the duty doctor, anytime.” Callie showed him out and watched him walk down the street, jeans hung so low she could see the make of his underwear. Once he was out of sight, she heaved a sigh of relief, knowing that seeing Mark in an empty surgery could have so easily gone horribly wrong.

  As she pulled out of the car park, and drove down the High Street towards home, Callie saw Gerry Brown signalling to turn into the street and presumably, park his car in the surgery space. Callie was tempted to stop and run back and confront him, to ask him what he did every Saturday night,
but an impatient toot from the car behind reminded her that she was blocking the road and she drove on, thinking about the fact that today was a Saturday, and wondering if there would be another murder that night.

  She was almost home when her phone rang. She pulled into the side of the road and was relieved to see it was the police station. One of her regulars had been picked up and needed attention. Dani was probably in his thirties and was originally from an Eastern European country, but no one was quite sure which, any more than they knew how long he had been in Britain. He said he came to find work, but whether he had ever found any was unclear. He had lived on the streets of Hastings, begging, and drinking, for many years now and was regularly picked up for being drunk and disorderly. He was considered a nuisance more than a threat but, despite offers, he resisted all attempts to help him dry out or to re-house him, claiming he needed his freedom, not a roof.

  Today, he had apparently relieved himself in George Street, in full view of a number of tourists, and unfortunately splashing a basket of lavender bags on display outside a craft shop as he did so. Once arrested, he fell asleep in the van taking him to the police station and they had difficulty rousing him, hence the call to Callie. Having checked that Dani really was just drunk and had no signs of injury or illness warranting transfer to hospital, Callie left him to sleep it off and persuaded the desk sergeant to take her through the locked door to CID where she made her own way up to the incident room. She had been unsure whether speaking to Miller about Mark would actually do any good, but being called in to see Dani had made the decision to try easier.

  The incident room was quieter than she expected. She hoped that meant that everyone was out following up leads, warning any women who hadn’t got the message yet and doing their best to find the killer. The only person she knew in the room was Nigel, who looked up from his computer and quickly shut down the page he had been looking at but not before Callie had seen the distinctive logo of SusSEXtra.