love
her, of course. I love her. Love.
Love."
Furth leaned over and turned off the tape, then
he sat back and crossed his arms.
"Well?"
I pushed my chair back and stood up. The
room felt too small. I crossed over and
looked out of the window at the wall opposite, the
thin trickle of water coming from the leaking gutter.
If I craned my head, I could almost see a
line of heaving gray sky.
"I'd like to talk to WPC Dawes."
"Come on, Kit, for Chrissakes. This
isn't a big deal. We just want your
professional opinion, based on his background,
the impression he made on you, his taped
confession. What kind of man Doll is in you
considered opinion, blah blah, you know the kind of
thing. You've heard him. He did it. He as good
as confessed he killed the girl and now he's
getting off on it, wanking in his squalid bedsit
night after night, looking at his dirty 89
pictures and thinking about it. He's a pervert, a
murderer. Not someone you want to be anywhere near.
You of all people know that. You know what he's capable
of. Just write a few paragraphs on what you
thought of him."
"Just a word with Colette Dawes. Then
I'll write up your report. All right?"
He frowned. He sighed heavily. He
jammed his hands in his pockets. "I'll see
what I can do," he said.
----
A woman carrying a clipboard and a bundle
of envelopes came through the door. I could see
immediately how Doll would have trusted her. She had
yellow hair and a smooth, softly contoured face
that seemed to have no edges to it, no bones. She had
pale skin with a permanent blush about it. And she
looked very young. We shook hands.
"Did Furth tell you about me?"
"Not really," she said. "You're a doctor or
something."
"Yes. Furth wanted some advice about
Michael Doll. I've seen the file. I've
listened to a bit of the tape."
She lifted her bundle, holding it with both
arms against her chest, like a shield. "Yes?"
"I wanted a quick word."
"Yes. DI Furth said. I haven't got
much time. I'm emptying filing cabinets."
"Fifteen minutes. No more. Shall we go for a
walk?"
She looked wary but pushed her bundle across the
desk and murmured something I couldn't make out to the
duty officer. We went in silent single file
down the stairs, and walked outside. Stretton
Green police station is on a quiet
back-street but a minute's walk brought us
to Stretton Green Road. There is a
health-food shop with a few tables that serves
coffee during the day and we sat in the corner. I
walked across and ordered two black coffees from a
young woman who was sitting reading the paper by the
till.
"Ten," I said, as the woman left us with our
mugs.
"What?" said WPC Dawes.
"Piercings," I said. "Three in one ear,
four in the other, two in the nose and one through her
bottom lip. And who knows what else?"
She took a sip from her coffee but 91
didn't reply.
"Colette. Is it all right if I call you
Colette?"
"Sure."
"Well, Colette, it was remarkable what you
got out of Doll," I said. She gave a
shrug. "Was it difficult?" Another shrug.
"Where did the conversations take place?"
"Different places."
"I mean the one in which he describes the
murder in detail."
"We were in his flat."
"Did you like him?"
She looked up sharply and then looked away.
Crimson patches had appeared through her pale
skin. "Course not."
"Or did you feel some sympathy?"
She shook her head. "No, no, Doctor
..."
"Kit."
"Kit. Look." She was angry, or making
herself get angry. "Didn't you see the
pathologist's report?" she continued.
"No, that's not my remit. I'm just concerned with
Michael Doll."
"He's a dangerous man, you don't know."
"Oh, yes, I do."
"What do you want, then? Do you want to wait
until there's another murder and maybe we can
catch him then? Or maybe the next victim will
fight back and catch him for us--is that what you're
waiting for?"
I sat back in my chair. I didn't
reply and she continued.
"This is a piece of good old-fashioned
police
her, of course. I love her. Love.
Love."
Furth leaned over and turned off the tape, then
he sat back and crossed his arms.
"Well?"
I pushed my chair back and stood up. The
room felt too small. I crossed over and
looked out of the window at the wall opposite, the
thin trickle of water coming from the leaking gutter.
If I craned my head, I could almost see a
line of heaving gray sky.
"I'd like to talk to WPC Dawes."
"Come on, Kit, for Chrissakes. This
isn't a big deal. We just want your
professional opinion, based on his background,
the impression he made on you, his taped
confession. What kind of man Doll is in you
considered opinion, blah blah, you know the kind of
thing. You've heard him. He did it. He as good
as confessed he killed the girl and now he's
getting off on it, wanking in his squalid bedsit
night after night, looking at his dirty 89
pictures and thinking about it. He's a pervert, a
murderer. Not someone you want to be anywhere near.
You of all people know that. You know what he's capable
of. Just write a few paragraphs on what you
thought of him."
"Just a word with Colette Dawes. Then
I'll write up your report. All right?"
He frowned. He sighed heavily. He
jammed his hands in his pockets. "I'll see
what I can do," he said.
----
A woman carrying a clipboard and a bundle
of envelopes came through the door. I could see
immediately how Doll would have trusted her. She had
yellow hair and a smooth, softly contoured face
that seemed to have no edges to it, no bones. She had
pale skin with a permanent blush about it. And she
looked very young. We shook hands.
"Did Furth tell you about me?"
"Not really," she said. "You're a doctor or
something."
"Yes. Furth wanted some advice about
Michael Doll. I've seen the file. I've
listened to a bit of the tape."
She lifted her bundle, holding it with both
arms against her chest, like a shield. "Yes?"
"I wanted a quick word."
"Yes. DI Furth said. I haven't got
much time. I'm emptying filing cabinets."
"Fifteen minutes. No more. Shall we go for a
walk?"
She looked wary but pushed her bundle across the
desk and murmured something I couldn't make out to the
duty officer. We went in silent single file
down the stairs, and walked outside. Stretton
Green police station is on a quiet
back-street but a minute's walk brought us
to Stretton Green Road. There is a
health-food shop with a few tables that serves
coffee during the day and we sat in the corner. I
walked across and ordered two black coffees from a
young woman who was sitting reading the paper by the
till.
"Ten," I said, as the woman left us with our
mugs.
"What?" said WPC Dawes.
"Piercings," I said. "Three in one ear,
four in the other, two in the nose and one through her
bottom lip. And who knows what else?"
She took a sip from her coffee but 91
didn't reply.
"Colette. Is it all right if I call you
Colette?"
"Sure."
"Well, Colette, it was remarkable what you
got out of Doll," I said. She gave a
shrug. "Was it difficult?" Another shrug.
"Where did the conversations take place?"
"Different places."
"I mean the one in which he describes the
murder in detail."
"We were in his flat."
"Did you like him?"
She looked up sharply and then looked away.
Crimson patches had appeared through her pale
skin. "Course not."
"Or did you feel some sympathy?"
She shook her head. "No, no, Doctor
..."
"Kit."
"Kit. Look." She was angry, or making
herself get angry. "Didn't you see the
pathologist's report?" she continued.
"No, that's not my remit. I'm just concerned with
Michael Doll."
"He's a dangerous man, you don't know."
"Oh, yes, I do."
"What do you want, then? Do you want to wait
until there's another murder and maybe we can
catch him then? Or maybe the next victim will
fight back and catch him for us--is that what you're
waiting for?"
I sat back in my chair. I didn't
reply and she continued.
"This is a piece of good old-fashioned
police
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