The Doll's House

107

Helen could feel Sanderson’s eyes crawling all over her, searching for any hint of instability or violence. They were sitting opposite Andrew Simpson once more and, although nothing had been said out loud, Helen knew her junior officer was alive to the danger of another explosion from Helen. She didn’t blame Sanderson for this. After a sleepless night, Helen looked even more exhausted and on edge than she had the night before. No wonder her colleague looked nervous.

Simpson was impassive as usual, though he appeared much more strained than before. He kept rubbing his face with his hand and massaging his temples: he appeared stressed, unhappy – he looked like he was in pain.

‘So do you want the good news or the bad news, Andrew?’

Simpson looked at Helen warily, unsure what game she had elected to play this morning.

‘The good news for you is that our POLSA teams have searched every inch of your properties and found no sign of Ruby Sprackling. The bad news is they have found enough evidence of illegal surveillance and pornographic file-sharing to make the CPS very excited indeed.’

Did Helen see the lawyer’s grim smile wobble a little? She hoped so.

‘So the bottom line is that they will begin drawing up charges this afternoon, unless I can give them a compelling reason not to do so.’

‘Meaning?’ Finally the lawyer spoke.

‘Meaning cooperation. I want to go over every file, every video, every detail of these girls’ lives with you. I want chapter and verse on their activities, as well as yours. Obviously you don’t have to decide right this minute. You’ll need to confer with your legal tea-’

‘Ok.’ It was said quietly but firmly.

‘Louder, please, Mr Simpson. For the tape.’

‘Ok, I’ll cooperate,’ he said, wearily. Helen was pleased to see his defiance ebbing away. Perhaps a night in the cells had had the desired effect after all. She turned to Sanderson and gave her the nod to begin. Her junior had also had a sleepless night but had spent it more profitably, poring over the details of Simpson’s decade of snooping and stalking.

‘Do you like novelty, Mr Simpson? Or are you a creature of habit?’

Simpson looked at Sanderson quizzically, before finally replying:

‘Both I suppose.’

‘But when it comes to the girls?’

‘Novelty I suppose.’

‘Why?’

‘I get bored.’

‘Of seeing the same girls?’

He shrugged, but didn’t deny it.

‘So you have varied viewing habits. And always plenty of tenants moving out and new ones moving in.’

‘Sure.’

‘Do you have a type, Andrew?’

It was offered casually, but Helen could tell that Sanderson was 100 per cent focused on his answer – as was she.

‘There are all sorts of girls on your tapes. Large, small, white, black, dark hair, blondes. Do you favour any particular type of girl?’

‘I’m not fussy… but probably blondes. Especially if it’s dyed, so the rest of their hair is, well…’

He petered out, suddenly aware of the two women looking at him. For the first time in all their dealings, he blushed.

Helen rose.

‘For the purposes of the tape, DI Grace is leaving the room. DC Sanderson will continue and remember the pact we’ve made, Mr Simpson. Chapter and verse.’

She stared at him intently and he met her gaze, nodding gently. Sanderson resumed the questioning before Helen had even quitted the room, but Helen’s mind was already elsewhere. Sanderson’s burning of the midnight oil had thrown up one unpleasant but undeniable truth – Simpson didn’t have a type. The killer they were hunting was compelled to abduct women with black hair and blue eyes, but Simpson by contrast seemed to crave novelty, rather than specific body shapes, eye colour or hair type. It was almost as if the look of his subjects wasn’t important to him – just the fact that he could watch them undetected. Which meant that her nagging fears were probably true – Andrew Simpson was innocent of the beach murders. And of Ruby Sprackling’s abduction.