The Doll's House

100

The woman entered the dirty bathroom. She locked the door, then began to undress. Soon she was naked. Standing in front of the cracked cabinet mirror, she regarded herself. Leaning in, she turned this way and that as if searching for imperfections. Then tiring of this self-examination, she climbed into the bath. Pulling the clear plastic shower curtain round, she turned on the shower. A begrudgingly small jet of water squeezed out of the showerhead, running over her face, neck and body.

Helen stopped the tape. The young woman on the tape was Ruby. And the whole scene had been watched from on high, from a God-like vantage point.

‘Are there cameras in all the smoke detectors? Or just in the bathrooms and bedrooms?’ Helen asked him, her voice neutral despite her contempt.

Andrew Simpson, flanked by his lawyer, said nothing.

‘We have a full list here of your properties. If you want us to go round and check we will. I’m sure your tenants would be very interested to learn that you’re spying on th-’

‘Just the bedrooms and bathrooms.’

‘How many properties?’

Another pause, then:

‘Twenty.’

Helen shook her head. She wanted Simpson to know what she thought of him, hoped she might rile him. But he just stared at her with those dead eyes. Sanderson had always questioned why ninety per cent of Simpson’s tenants were female. Now it all made sense.

‘How long has this been going on? And before you think of lying to me,’ Helen continued quickly, ‘I have a team of officers at your lock-up on Valmont Road. So be under no illusions – we know the extent of your “activities”.’

Simpson stared at his hands – Helen was intrigued to see they were covered in small cuts – then looked up.

‘Over ten years now.’

‘How many tapes do you have?’

‘Hundreds.’

‘Why do you do it, Andrew?’

Simpson paused and looked at his brief, who gave him a gentle nod.

‘Because I like to look at them,’ he said quietly.

‘How do you feel when you watch these tapes?’

‘How do you think?’

‘Do you masturbate when you watch them?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Why does it arouse you? Is it their bodies? The fact they don’t know you’re watching? Or is it the power you have over them?’

Simpson held her gaze for a second.

‘No comment.’

‘Oh you’re going to have to do a bit better than that, Andrew,’ Sanderson said, taking up the baton. ‘I’ve seen the inside of your lock-up. I know what obsession looks like. Why do you do it?’

‘My client has declined to comment, so I suggest we move on,’ his lawyer interjected. He was a man of nearly sixty, overweight and overbearing – a telling testimony to Simpson’s casual misogyny. He liked to look at women but clearly would never have one as his lawyer. Sanderson looked at her notes and changed tack.

‘When we first questioned you about Ruby Sprackling, why did you direct us towards Nathan Price?’

‘I answered your questions. You asked me about him, I told you the truth. He had the keys to Ruby’s flat -’

‘You didn’t have an extra set cut? Just in case you needed to pop in and check the fire sensors were working?’

‘No,’ Simpson replied, refusing to rise to her sarcasm.

‘We won’t find any extra sets at your house, in your possessions?’

‘No, I’ve told you.’

Sanderson sat back and looked at him, disbelief writ large on her face.

‘Where were you on Friday night?’

‘I was at home.’

‘Do you live alone?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you were alone all night?’

‘Correct.’

‘Did you take your car out at any point?’

‘No.’

‘Do you own any other vehicles?’

‘No.’

But he looked twitchy when he said it. Helen looked at Sanderson, who wrote a brief note in her notebook.

‘We’ve also found footage of Roisin Murphy, Pippa Briers and Isobel Lansley in your collection. The three dead women from Carsholt beach. Ever been there?’

‘Don’t like beaches,’ Simpson shot back.

‘We’ll see. The sand there has a very specific mineral content. If we find any samples in your house or car, we’ll be able to tell where it’s from. How many hours of tape do you have of Ruby?’

Simpson looked surprised by Helen’s sudden change of tack.

‘You can be honest with me, Andrew.’

Simpson’s face twitched slightly at the sound of his name. Perhaps he didn’t like women calling him by his first name? Or perhaps he didn’t like his name? Was there something deeper going on here? Helen made a mental note to get to the bottom of this.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Is it a lot? A little? Somewhere in between?’

‘A lot.’

‘Did you like her more than the others?’

Andrew looked away.

‘You know she has a mother and father, a sister and a brother, who are missing her, right? People who love her.’

Helen let the words hang in the air.

‘I know you coveted her, Andrew. I know you took her. But I’m asking you now to let her go. Show that you’re a bigger man than people say. Show that you can be merciful.’

Simpson looked at Helen, as if trying to read her. Helen hated to be supplicatory to a man like Simpson, but if he liked his women subservient then so be it.

‘I have no idea where she is. I don’t know anything about these girls.’

‘Oh, I’d say you do,’ Helen replied. ‘I’d say you know an awful lot about them. What they look like naked, what they look like when they use the toilet. What they look like when they make love, when they masturbate. You know all these things, Andrew. And more.’

Simpson stared at his hands once more, to avoid Helen’s fierce gaze. Was that a flicker of shame she saw?

‘And guess what? Pretty soon the whole world is going to know too. When they put you in the witness box, they won’t let up, Andrew. They’ll ask you about the home movies, about the underwear and jewellery you stole, about what you did when you thought about these girls. Imagine for a second what that will be like. The judge, the jurors, the press, the public gallery all looking at you, as they force you to talk about what you liked to do -’

‘Inspector, please don’t bully my client,’ said the lawyer, attempting to intervene.

‘But I can help you, Andrew,’ Helen continued, unabashed. ‘I can save you all that scrutiny. All that humiliation.’

Still Andrew Simpson didn’t look up.

‘But I need you to help me. I need you to tell me where I can find Ruby. If she’s still alive, then there is a deal to be done here. Set her free, accept a guilty plea and those details will never leave this room. They will be our secret.’

Finally, Simpson looked up at Helen. She was unnerved to see defiance in his eyes.

‘I don’t know where she is.’

‘Is that the best you can do?’

‘You’ve got nothing on me,’ he spat back sharply.

‘These women were all your tenants. You stalked them, spied on them – you knew everything about them. Their routines, their habits, their vulnerabilities. They went missing from your properties – no struggle, no break-ins – because you had the keys. You took them, kept them and when you tired of them, you killed them.’

‘You know nothing.’

‘I know that you’re a dirty little pervert. Your mum’s still alive, isn’t she, Andrew? How do you think she’ll feel when all this comes out?’

‘Fuck you.’

‘I don’t have time for this. Neither does Ruby. So I’m going to ask you again – where is she?’

‘I’ve said all I’m going to say to you. And if you threaten me again you stupid bitch -’

‘WHERE IS SHE?’

Helen was halfway across the table, her hand grabbing Simpson by the collar. But Sanderson was on her feet quickly, hauling Helen off Simpson, who had instinctively raised his fist to retaliate.

‘I think we’ll leave it there for now,’ Sanderson said quickly, heading Simpson’s irate lawyer off at the pass. ‘In the meantime, I’d advise your client to think very carefully about cooperating.’

Sanderson flicked off the tape, but paused as she followed Helen out the door.

‘It’s the only play he’s got left.’