Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
The twisted staircases belonged in a fairytale or some dark academia romance rather than an old Georgian building at the edge of the city centre, inside a building that’d been used for several TV and film sets.
It was a building where I’d spent five years of my life, three as an undergrad, studying criminology and then two as a master’s student, working part time as Dr Daniel Fletcher’s assistant.
That was why I knew he’d already be in his office, even though it wasn’t quite six in the morning.
I headed through the wide corridor, the original tiles maintained just about well enough to make them look safe to walk over rather than treasure of the past. Dark wood panelling graced the walls, the windows through doors and looking into seminar rooms and offices mainly the originals, some with stained glass, others coated with plastic peeling in the corners, an attempt at privacy for some don who wanted a quick nip of whisky during office hours.
The stairs wound round like some old museum, floor to ceiling windows at the approach of each floor, more stained glass. Portraits adorned the walls, all of white, middle-aged men until I reached the second floor which celebrated the beginnings of society viewing women as starting to have a voice.
Daniel’s office was on the third floor, one of the larger ones, and next to the library, which was more of a collection of first and rare editions related to psychology now.
His door was ajar, the early morning light petering through, spotlighting dances of dust in a line of pale yellow.
I paused before knocking; it’d been months since I’d last been here, spare time being scarce and it never making the top of my priority list on a rare free day.
The smell didn’t change. It had been the same scent of old books and late nights that I’d noticed on my first day as a fresher, a cologne I’d never thought I’d be special enough to share, university not for kids who’d been in care and had a mother who’d been an addict and an inmate.
I’d defied the odds all along though because there was something in me that didn’t give up, genetics I seemed to share with other blood family members.
The pity was that not all of us used our powers for good.
“Mia McAllister, I can hear your brain working from in here. Come in and pray you have decent coffee.”
The building almost shook with the depth of his baritone. Deep, melodic, the sort of voice that woke memories from seven lives ago.
“It’s still the same.” I stepped into Daniel’s office, his antique gentlemen’s desk neatly piled with papers, as well as the more modern equivalent of two screens and a tablet.
“It’s been the same for hundred years and I fully expect it’ll be the same the century following my death, whenever that event occurs.
More interestingly than a building that doesn’t change, how are you, my dear?
” He stood up and switched on the elaborate coffee machine which was a new addition since I’d last been there.
“Good. Busy. The usual.” I sat down without waiting for an invitation. “New toy?”
“My new assistant isn’t as efficient with the coffee as you were. But I did notice you were emptied handed. That’s unlike you.” A blast of grinding punctuated his sentence.
I stretched out my legs then sat up straighter.
My chosen seat was the antique sofa, a traditional psychiatrist’s couch that I’d spent a lot of time sat on while under Daniel’s tutelage, always a pupil, or on a few occasions, a patient.
“I’m not your assistant anymore. It’s not in my job description. ”
He chuckled. “I’m assuming the deaths of these two women are part of your current job description, and that might be the reason for your visit.”
I nodded, accepting the coffee which was, as expected, a little on the strong side. “I wondered if you’d mind me bouncing some ideas off you, unofficially.”
He finished his own drink first and then sat back down behind his desk, shifting a pile of print outs so they were blocking his being able to make eye contact. “Happy to help, but I’d be happier if your team brought me into consult again. Officially.” This wasn’t the first time he’d said this.
“Budget cuts.” I gave the same response. It wasn’t just that; Wrigley couldn’t stand my old professor and had said a few choice words about him, which was rather un-Wrigley like.
Daniel shrugged. “Cheaper for them to solve it as quickly as possible though, but maybe they don’t have that sort of logical thinking, or maybe it’s me who doesn’t understand it. So, these two women. What can you tell me?”
“Actually, it’s more about the background of the potential killer.
” I kept to the singular. “Whether he could be part of an incel community, but I know the usual profile isn’t for someone with that ideology to act on their hatred.
” Which was the part that wasn’t sitting right with me.
“Incel’s hate women; they perceive themselves to have been rejected, as women won’t be interested in them because they’re not attractive enough, then blaming women for having that choice and wanting more than they think they’re entitled to. ”
“That’s the basics,” Daniel sat back, nursing his coffee.
“Like-minded people finding an echo chamber online. Other men who have low self-esteem, social anxiety and likely poor mental health such as depression, meaning them feeling isolated and invisible. Maybe not working and lack a social group, so they spend too much time in their head, or online seeking social connections. The masculine norms of yesteryear are no longer acceptable, so they don’t know how to fit in.
Misogynistic attribution bias, blaming women for this change in societal roles.
But it takes guts to be a murderer, which you know. ”
“Or psychopathy.”
“And being a psychopath or a narcissist and having an ideology of a so-called incel aren’t mutually exclusive, Mia.” He stood up, putting his coffee cup down. “Or you have a killer who’s using that ideology as an excuse.”
“A reason to justify what he’s doing?”
Daniel nodded and sat down next to me, a good foot distance. To my left was open fire, still in working order and swept twice a year because the study was cool even in summer, if Manchester chose to have a summer.
“How are things other than work? How’s the housemate?” The last time I’d seen him, he’d been encouraging me to buy my own place, put roots down and accept where I was as being the right place.
I was allowed to stop running.
“It’s mainly work. We finish one case, or we run into a brick wall, and another one pops up straightaway.
It’s hard.” My words filled the room, a room which knew all of my secrets, wrapped in the fine lines of the wallpaper and panelling, hidden in cracks with all the other whispers they’d heard over the years.
Ashcombe House had begun life as a family home, commission by some lord, who’d wanted a residence close to Manchester.
His wife had become ill, with a ‘malady of the brain’ and was treated here, the building being abandoned by her husband and children and making its way briefly into being an early psychiatric hospice for women.
That’d lasted ten years, and then it had been bought by the university, the doctors who’d treated those women studying and teaching the science of it.
How many women had spilled their fear and desires, and fears about their desires here?
I knew I’d been one of many.
“And the case will take a slice of you. You have no penance to pay, Mia. Your father’s choices weren’t yours.”
Words he’d said to me first right at the end of my first year when I’d nearly dropped out, not thinking I deserved to be there. Daniel had persuaded me to stay, stopped me from leaving to get a job, because the money that was funding my studies wasn’t the gift it should’ve been.
Things had changed in my second year. I met one of my half-brothers, one of many half siblings I knew I had. My father spent a lot of the time when he wasn’t in prison in a woman, and had some form of gift at getting them pregnant, a one-man mission to ensure the next generation kept him living on.
“I know. I don’t blame myself anymore.”
“But you’re in the police because you know it annoys him. Your boss has arrested him more than once, and at some point, you could arrest him too. When’s he due out?” Daniel’s tone was calm, just like we were having a conversation.
“Two and a half years. He had parole turned down, so I heard.” He’d always avoided being sent down for anything big, like murder, mainly because my father never got his hands dirty. He had minions to do that, a gang of them and some more left over.
He was currently doing time for tax evasion, probably making some good contacts while he was there. I’d ignored his last three requests to visit.
“And I might’ve joined the police to spite him, but he’s not the reason I’m still there. It’s more complicated than that.” I sounded defensive, maybe petulant.
“How is more complicated. Explain it to me.”
“I have a family there. I have routine and belonging. I’m good at my job and valued there.
No one feels sorry for me; I don’t get special treatment because I was a looked after child.
I have an identity within that group, and I just saw what you made me do.
” I lifted my head and allowed myself to make contact with him.
“The need that’s being met through identifying with a group is possibly how our killer is working.
Maybe the murders are to prove his worth, show how he’s better. ”
“So who are you looking for?” He made no further comment about my past or my present.
“A man who’s been rejected, more likely he’s been sacked or didn’t get a job he applied for, so his identity has suffered a knock; maybe the person who sacked or interviewed him was a woman.
Probably suffered adverse childhood experiences, although we can’t use that to predetermine his class status.
Unlikely to be married or in a committed relationship.
Spends time online. So we possibly want someone who’s become very active recently online, championing the incel agenda.
” I ran through a to do list in my head.
“He’ll live within seven miles of the city centre, or have lived within that limit. ”
“And there’s likely to be a prior offence. Were the victims raped?”
I shook my head. That would be common knowledge in a few hours anyway. “No. The first was stripped naked. The second was fully clothed.”
“The second – Brooke O’Hara, wasn’t it? – that might not have gone as planned. He could be attempting rape but couldn’t get an erection. Do you suspect the women have been chosen at random?”
I heard footsteps come up the stairs, the carpet not enough to absorb the sound, as it never had been.
“That’ll be my assistant. She’s a curious one, so best if she doesn’t overhear us, and Jesus, is that the time?”
I looked at the clock on the mantelpiece, another antique, the pendulum swinging to count each second.
It was nearly seven o’clock.
“This place absorbs time quicker than Vinny absorbs a pint.” I shot Daniel a smile. He’d heard plenty about Vinny in the past.
“How is dear Vinny? Have you realised you’re in love with each other yet?”
I laughed; another line he’d said many times. “He’s the brother I’d never have chosen.”
“He isn’t your brother, which you know. And if you’re still not accepting of the fact that you’d make a perfect pairing, you wouldn’t mind introducing him to Justine.” He nodded at the incredibly pretty woman who entered the room.
She was graceful in a way that made me suspect she’d been a dancer, and had the sort of cheekbones people added in their profile pictures.
Her chestnut hair looked natural, her nose and cheeks dotted with freckles that made her look younger than she probably was.
She had a dressing on her hand, which she seemed to be conscious of.
“Justine, this is Mia, one of my previous assistants. Mia, Justine would like a date with your colleague. He’s very handsome, Justine.”
Justine gave a shy smile and a laugh that suggested she didn’t quite know what to say. “I’ll go and reboot the router – I think the internet’s down again. It was nice to meet you, Mia.”
“You too.” I stood up. “I have to fly – we have a briefing at seven.”
“Of course. I have a paper to review and an article to finalise before I’m meeting one of my doctorate students. I’ll be here over the Easter break if you need any more unpaid consultancy undertaking, my dear.”
“Or unpaid therapy.” Although I didn’t feel like I’d just had therapy. Usually after a chat with Daniel I came away feeling clearer.
This time I was coming away feeling raw.