Free The Red Room by Nicci French Page A

"Don't
mind me," he said. "I was just looking in."
"No tea for me," I said, easing myself into an
orange plastic chair and putting my report,
in its blank white envelope, in front of me.
"You asked me to deliver this in person. Here it
is."
"Nice one," Furth said, with a look across at
Oban. Then he winked at me. "She looks
gentle, but you've got to watch yourself."
I slid my finger under the sealed flap and tore
it open. "Do you want this?"
"Before you start, you might like to know that we've
brought Doll in."
"What?"
"Apart from your report, things are moving ahead.
There are divers in the canal as we speak. His
own testimony places him in the area, there's his
suspicious behavior before and after, and his own taped
confession, of course. It's all bubbling away
nicely. Everything done to the letter, don't worry.
Legal aid, of course. John Coates.
He's on his way now. You must know him."
I'd met him once in here with Francis.
Nice, smiled a lot. You'd want him for your
bank manager rather than your lawyer. I looked
at Jasmine Drake, but she was doodling on her
notebook and wouldn't look up. I glanced across
at Oban and was disconcerted to find his pale,
unblinking eyes on me. I pulled out the single
sheet of paper and placed it on the table in front
of me.
"Is that it?" said Furth.
"Summarize it for us, please, Dr.
Quinn." The voice was Oban's.
"Let him go."
The room filled up with silence. I could hear
my heartbeat. It was quite steady. I felt better
with it out, now that I had crossed the line.
"What?"
"Unless there's other evidence you haven't told
me about, I don't see a case. As yet."
Furth's face flushed. That was the worst
moment. I was meant to be on his side but now it
seemed that I wasn't. "You don't know what
you're talking about," he said, not looking me in the
eye.
I took a deep breath. "Then you 103
shouldn't have asked me for my report."
"It's your report I'm bloody talking
about," said Furth, with a sudden angry hilarity, as
if this were something that could be laughed away. "You were just
asked to assess Doll. That's all. A
simple brief. He's a pervert. Isn't
he? That's all you have to say. Anthony Michael
Doll's a pervert."
"He's a disturbed young man with violent and
lurid fantasies."
"So what--was
"Fantasies. There's a difference between the
fantasy and the act."
"He's confessed and he will confess again. You'll
see."
"No. He fantasized during sexual acts
with WPC Dawes." I looked around. That had
done it. There was silence. "Did you know? Did you
know that when she encouraged--her word for it--him
to talk, she was jerking him off, allowing him
to fondle her? Did you encourage it, without
actually spelling it out? Interests would be best
served, that sort of thing. Wasn't she getting good
enough material at first? Anyway, it doesn't
matter. It's not a confession, it's a piece of
pornography."
"Listen, Kit." His face was flushed. "I
should never have brought you in. That was my mistake.
I should have realized that after your accident your
judgement might be impaired. You're actually
identifying with Michael Doll, protecting him
in some strange way. It's like people falling in love
with their kidnappers." He stole a glance at
Oban, then turned his concerned face back to me.
"We thought we were helping you, but now I see we
were wrong. It was all too early. So maybe we
should just say thank you for your time, and we'll
reimburse you."
I said, as mildly as I could manage, "You
told Colette Dawes to solicit a confession
from Michael Doll. Did she know what she was
dealing with? Did she get carried away?"
"He's a murderer," Furth said, openly
scornful. "We know he is and you bloody well
ought to know he is. We just need to prove it before a
jury. WPC Dawes did a fine job in
difficult conditions."
I looked him in the eyes. "Was this your
idea?"
Furth made an obvious attempt 105
to speak calmly. "We've got a murderer