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FORTY-NINE

While Helen knelt next to the bath to make sure Alfie was washing himself properly and that he didn’t drown, Thorne sat on the bathroom floor, his back against the radiator.

‘You think I was a bit harsh with Dave?’ he asked.

‘Telling him he’s in the wrong job, you mean?’ Helen leaned down with a sponge, but Alfie snatched it from her and said that he could do it himself, that he wasn’t a baby. ‘Yes, probably.’

‘I didn’t say that, exactly.’

‘Maybe you’re the one who thinks you’re in the wrong job.’

‘What?’ Thorne laughed. ‘I think I’d know by now.’

‘You sure about that? Because it took me long enough.’ She watched her son, who – even though he wasn’t a baby any more – was doing as much playing as washing.

She told him to hurry up before the water went cold, then couldn’t help but grin when he gave himself a bubble-beard.

‘It’s called projection,’ she said. ‘We had a seminar about it at work, because someone decided it would help us deal with some of our clients better. Actually, it was pretty interesting.’

‘Did you have to sit on beanbags?’ Thorne had suffered through plenty of less than interesting seminars himself over the years. Community Impact Awareness , Improving People-Facing Communication Skills , and a particularly wanky ‘de-escalation’ workshop that still gave him nightmares.

‘It’s when feelings about yourself are diverted on to somebody else,’ Helen said. ‘It’s a defence mechanism.’

‘I know what projection is,’ Thorne said.

‘Yeah, but knowing what it is doesn’t always mean you can recognise when you’re doing it yourself. They said that in the seminar.’

‘Did they?’

Helen turned back to Alfie, splashing him and laughing, then ducking away when he splashed her back. ‘They’re always looking to take on more people at Citizens Advice,’ she said.

‘Remind me why we’re talking about this?’

‘Just saying.’

‘Because of what I said to Dave?’

‘Maybe all those times you’ve been asking me if I’m happy that I quit the Job, if I miss it or whatever, it’s because you’re trying to work out how it would feel if you did. Projection again.’

‘I promise you that’s not what’s going on,’ Thorne said. ‘Maybe I was a bit chopsy with Dave, but it’s just this case. Whenever you think it can’t get any more . . . disgusting, it—’

He stopped when Helen turned to give him a meaningful look. They’d discussed the latest developments when Thorne had got in, and while she was happy to carry on talking about it later, Helen certainly didn’t want him going into any more detail in front of Alfie.

She stood up and reached for a towel. ‘Right, let’s get this little bugger out before he starts to go all wrinkly.’

Helen came down half an hour later, once Alfie was in bed. She made tea for them both and joined Thorne on the sofa.

‘Who does something like this?’ Thorne asked.

‘Someone who gets off on power.’ Helen said it like it was obvious, cradling her mug. ‘Rape isn’t about sex, it’s about power.’

Thorne knew she was right. At one of the more useful seminars he’d attended, he’d sat and listened to a group of sexual assault survivors and each one of them had talked about being made to feel powerless, about their attacker’s obvious need to be in control.

‘So, this is the ultimate power trip.’

Thorne nodded. ‘He facilitates it. He gets his kicks from watching his boys at work, then protecting them afterwards.’ Then another shocking thought occurred to him. ‘Christ, he might even have selected the victims.’

‘Your average rapist is just a pathetic loser who thinks he’s powerful,’ Helen said. ‘A rapist who’s also a police officer must think he’s fucking superhuman.’

‘They might just as well have been,’ Thorne said. ‘Because whoever’s making all this happen was able to keep them invisible.’

Helen leaned into him. ‘Not any more, though,’ she said. ‘Now they’re very visible, because thankfully they’re dead, and he won’t stay hidden for long, either.’

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

‘Knowles and Tully and Callaghan,’ Thorne said. ‘They were all uniform, low status . . . you know; in the scheme of things. They didn’t have the access or the clout. They didn’t have the capability to make criminal charges go away or interfere with forensic tests.’

‘Sounds to me like the man you’re after’s a more senior officer.’

Thorne said nothing, because she wasn’t telling him anything he hadn’t already figured out.

‘What was it Russell said to you?’ She looked at him, waiting for him to look back. ‘Go steady.’

Pippa picked up the remote and turned off the television. Holland sat up, as though the absence of sound had woken him somehow, even though he hadn’t been asleep.

‘I was watching that,’ he said.

‘No you weren’t.’ As soon as he opened his mouth again, she said, ‘So, tell me what was happening, then. Or even the name of the programme.’

Holland sighed and fell back on to the sofa. ‘Fine. I was just thinking about stuff, that’s all.’

‘Stuff?’

He sighed again and slapped the arm of the sofa, a little of the frustration and helplessness he’d felt earlier resurfacing. ‘What am I supposed to tell Karen Sadler?’

‘Look, I know it’s not going to be easy,’ Pippa said. ‘But your boss was right, it’s got to be done.’

He stared at her. ‘Tom Thorne is not my boss.’

‘Sorry, no . . . course he’s not.’

‘We’re both DIs, even if he sometimes acts like I’m not.’ He thought for a few moments, remembering a time, years before, when the pecking order had been different; when, perhaps, things had been a little more comfortable. ‘He used to be my boss.’

‘Either way, you know he’s right, so you need to call her.’

‘Obviously he’s right, he’s always bloody right.’ Holland was content to continue grumbling for a little while longer, happy to put off thinking about his conversation with Daniel Sadler’s widow. ‘Even when he’s wrong he’s usually right—’

‘Just tell her the truth,’ Pippa said, exasperated. ‘You owe her that and chances are she’ll thank you for it later on.’

‘You think? After she finds out what her husband was arrested for? What they had on him?’

‘You can’t worry about that.’

‘I definitely can.’

‘The truth’s always going to be the best option.’

Holland sat and wondered just how little of the truth he could get away with, while Pippa reached for the paper and began flicking through it.

‘If I died . . . ’

Pippa lowered the paper. ‘I don’t think she’s going to react that badly.’

‘I mean it. If I died and afterwards you found out something really bad about me . . . some very dark secret, what would you think?’

‘Something you’re not telling me, Dave?’

‘Seriously, what would you think?’

‘Bloody hell, I don’t know.’

‘What would you tell the kids? You know, if we were to . . . have any.’

‘Well, if it was something really bad, I wouldn’t tell the kids anything. If it was just, I don’t know . . . you having a secret family nobody knew about or something, I reckon I’d get over it.’

‘Really?’

‘Just to be clear, I will still get your police pension, right?’

‘Come on, Pip, I’d like to know.’

Pippa dropped the paper and turned to him. ‘OK, if it was genuinely something horrible, I think . . . I hope I’d try to understand.’

‘Not much to understand about kiddie-porn, is there?’

‘No . . . that might be the only thing.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I think so, anyway.’

Holland nodded, seemingly satisfied. ‘Why don’t you put the telly back on? We can catch up with . . . whatever it was we were watching before and you can fill me in on everything I missed.’

Pippa reached for the remote and flicked the TV on again. While Holland immediately began to ask questions, who was who and what they were up to, she stared at the screen, as though suddenly she was the one who had stuff to think about.

She said, ‘I mean, everyone’s got secrets, haven’t they?’