Like This, for Ever

agreed. ‘What could I possibly know about serial killers?’
    ‘And there was I, thinking the police and the medical profession had black humour all sewn up.’
    ‘You want to spend some time in a high-security prison.’
    ‘If DI Tulloch has her way, I probably will.’
    Across the room something fell and shattered. There was a scurry of movement, a muttering of recrimination. Sound always seemed much louder in here, shrill and grating, and when someone yelled, Lacey could almost feel the vibrations spinning round in her eardrums.
    ‘I take it diplomatic relations have not been resumed?’
    ‘She’s had me into the station three times,’ Lacey said. ‘She clearly doesn’t believe I know nothing more about the discovery of Tyler King’s body than I’ve already told them.’
    ‘She’s a cow. But in fairness to her, you do.’
    ‘Hardly. Without any evidence of where that text came from, all I have is a hunch I can’t prove. And yet she has someone watching my flat every Tuesday and Thursday. I’m sure she’d have it searched if she could get a warrant.’
    ‘She’s jealous.’
    ‘Of what, exactly? My meteoric career? Dazzling social life?’
    ‘She’s jealous because he loves you.’
    Lacey told herself not to grin like a halfwit, that it really made no difference whether he did or he didn’t. Except, wasn’t the belief that he did, in spite of everything, the reason she was able to go on?
    ‘She’s gay,’ Lacey said.
    Hazel-blue eyes twinkled. ‘Maybe she’s jealous because you love him.’
    ‘I’m not going to dignify that—’
    ‘Yeah, yeah, so are you still seeing the shrink?’
    ‘Don’t have a choice on that one if I want to keep my job.’
    Eyebrows twitched. Eyelids narrowed. ‘You haven’t resigned then?’
    Lacey braced herself for an argument. Or an I-told-you-so moment. ‘I haven’t changed my mind. I’m just not prepared to leave under a cloud.’
    ‘That’s my girl. Does seem a bit of a waste, though, when you can get all the therapy you need here for free.’
    ‘And believe me, you do me much more good.’
    The prisoner leaned forward an inch or so and tipped her head first one way and then the other. Then she sat back and stared for several long seconds without speaking. ‘Hmm,’ she said eventually. ‘You sure?’
    Half-amused, Lacey waited the silence out. As if she was going to fall for the steely-eyed stare. Hadn’t she taught it to this girl in the first place? Sure enough, fewer than ten seconds had gone by before boredom set in.
    ‘So, what’s the latest on Peter Sweep?’
    ‘What do you know about Peter Sweep? You can’t be allowed to use Facebook?’
    ‘Not officially. But we can access the internet under supervision. And nobody pays too much notice. Why would they? All the porn channels are blocked. So, go on, Peter Sweep?’
    ‘The official line is that he was a time-waster,’ said Lacey. ‘Some nut milking the case for his own twisted ends. He wanted attention, to be the centre of a massive media storm, and got rather more than he’d bargained for. The reaction to his kidnapping of Oliver put the wind up him and he’s lying low.’
    ‘As, coincidentally, is the killer.’
    ‘Peter Sweep isn’t the killer, the MIT have been very clear about that.’
    ‘And of course they’re never wrong. Now, when are you going to tell me what’s up with you?’
    Somehow they never stayed on safe ground for very long. Lacey shook her head. ‘I’m OK. I’m struggling with that business in Cambridge, but I’m coping.’
    Silence. She was getting the steely-eyed treatment again. Well, that was OK, she just had to sit it out.
    Seconds ticked by. At least six, maybe she even made it to seven.
    ‘I’ve done something really stupid,’ she said, and could feel the tears smarting behind her eyes.
    The other woman was marble still. ‘I doubt that, but I’m listening.’
    Lacey tried to smile, didn’t quite make it. Then she tugged the sleeve of her sweater up over her wrist. She untied the knot and started to unravel the bandage. The girl reached out and stopped her.
    ‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘I know what you did.’
    ‘It’s like scratching an itch,’ said Lacey, as though pleading to be understood. ‘Once you think about it, you can’t not do it.’
    ‘Does it help?’
    ‘Yes. It really does. It’s like a drug. Like Valium. The scream that’s been building up inside me just melts away.’
    ‘Until the next time?’
    Really no