him?’
‘All the time.’
‘Divorce can do that to some women.’
‘Well, I feel sorry for her daughter.’
‘She’s dead!’
‘But apart from that, you know.’
5
Milo is surrounded by people who want to shake his hand, pose for photographs or ask him questions.
‘That was quite a performance,’ I say.
‘I just tell it as I see it,’ replies Milo, smiling for another camera. He turns and recognises me. ‘Professor O’Loughlin! Long time no see.’
‘Hello, Milo.’
My left arm trembles.
‘So how’s it shaking?’ he asks.
‘Rattling and rolling.’
‘Good to hear. You caught the show?’
‘I thought it was a public meeting.’
‘Whatever.’
Harper’s two girlfriends pass nearby and Milo seems to drink in their curves as though committing every detail to memory.
‘So what brings you to Clevedon?’ he asks.
‘Same thing as you.’
‘I thought you’d retired.’
‘Not yet.’
Milo signs an autograph for a middle-aged woman whose daughter is waiting at the door. ‘We really appreciate what you’re doing,’ she says. ‘You’re an angel.’
He bows. ‘You give me far too much credit.’
‘They treat you like a rock star,’ I say, when the woman has gone.
‘Just doing my bit,’ Milo replies. ‘I have my own business now.’ He hands me a black, gilt-edged business card with the word
MINDHUNTER
written in cursive script. On the next line is his name, followed by several initials, most of which mean nothing. The smaller print details his services:
Criminal profiler, police consultant, employee vetting and psychological testing.
‘How’s business?’
‘Booming! Crime is a growth industry. You were really on to something with this profiling gig.’
‘It’s not a gig,’ I say, trying to hide the harshness in my tone.
Milo hears it anyway. ‘You’re right. It doesn’t pay very well, but the publicity is priceless. I’m thinking books, maybe my own crime TV show. I could look at cold cases or reinvestigate old crimes.’
‘Like a modern-day Sherlock Holmes.’
‘Yeah,’ he replies, ignoring my sarcasm.
‘You used my name,’ I say.
He shrugs. ‘I told people that I studied under you.’
‘I want you to stop.’
‘Why? You’re getting some of the credit. You taught me everything I know.’
‘I taught you nothing.’
He sighs. ‘Listen, Professor – can I call you Joe?’
‘No.’
Amusement sparks in his eyes. ‘OK, Professor, I hope you don’t feel as though I’m muscling in on your territory. I mean, it’s not as if you have a monopoly on this business. Murder is the second oldest profession – or is that politics? – I can never remember. Anyway, there’s plenty of room for healthy competition.’
‘I’m not competing with you.’
‘Exactly. I’m a forensic psychologist. You’re a clinical psychologist. You stick to treating phobias and OCD and I’ll handle the sharp end.’
‘You have no idea what you’re doing.’
‘Sure I do. I’m making money out of something you couldn’t. I’m a professional profiler. You’re an amateur. Have you ever been paid for profiling?’
‘That’s not the point.’
‘I think it is. I think you’re jealous. I also think you’re old. Go home. Take a pill. Leave this to me.’
I should ignore him, I should walk away, but stiff-upper-lip stoicism and turning the other cheek won’t put Milo back in his box. He is dangerous and delusional and he has jeopardised a murder hunt by treating it like some sort of intellectual parlour game or Agatha Christie puzzle. In the same breath I realise that Milo won’t listen to reason or be convinced of his failings because he doesn’t admit to any. And he can’t be motivated to moderate his behaviour or tone down his message because such subtleties are lost on him. Where does this leave me?
‘Hey, Milo, remember that term we studied personality disorders and you chose to write your assignment on narcissism?’
He nods.
‘That was the
‘All the time.’
‘Divorce can do that to some women.’
‘Well, I feel sorry for her daughter.’
‘She’s dead!’
‘But apart from that, you know.’
5
Milo is surrounded by people who want to shake his hand, pose for photographs or ask him questions.
‘That was quite a performance,’ I say.
‘I just tell it as I see it,’ replies Milo, smiling for another camera. He turns and recognises me. ‘Professor O’Loughlin! Long time no see.’
‘Hello, Milo.’
My left arm trembles.
‘So how’s it shaking?’ he asks.
‘Rattling and rolling.’
‘Good to hear. You caught the show?’
‘I thought it was a public meeting.’
‘Whatever.’
Harper’s two girlfriends pass nearby and Milo seems to drink in their curves as though committing every detail to memory.
‘So what brings you to Clevedon?’ he asks.
‘Same thing as you.’
‘I thought you’d retired.’
‘Not yet.’
Milo signs an autograph for a middle-aged woman whose daughter is waiting at the door. ‘We really appreciate what you’re doing,’ she says. ‘You’re an angel.’
He bows. ‘You give me far too much credit.’
‘They treat you like a rock star,’ I say, when the woman has gone.
‘Just doing my bit,’ Milo replies. ‘I have my own business now.’ He hands me a black, gilt-edged business card with the word
MINDHUNTER
written in cursive script. On the next line is his name, followed by several initials, most of which mean nothing. The smaller print details his services:
Criminal profiler, police consultant, employee vetting and psychological testing.
‘How’s business?’
‘Booming! Crime is a growth industry. You were really on to something with this profiling gig.’
‘It’s not a gig,’ I say, trying to hide the harshness in my tone.
Milo hears it anyway. ‘You’re right. It doesn’t pay very well, but the publicity is priceless. I’m thinking books, maybe my own crime TV show. I could look at cold cases or reinvestigate old crimes.’
‘Like a modern-day Sherlock Holmes.’
‘Yeah,’ he replies, ignoring my sarcasm.
‘You used my name,’ I say.
He shrugs. ‘I told people that I studied under you.’
‘I want you to stop.’
‘Why? You’re getting some of the credit. You taught me everything I know.’
‘I taught you nothing.’
He sighs. ‘Listen, Professor – can I call you Joe?’
‘No.’
Amusement sparks in his eyes. ‘OK, Professor, I hope you don’t feel as though I’m muscling in on your territory. I mean, it’s not as if you have a monopoly on this business. Murder is the second oldest profession – or is that politics? – I can never remember. Anyway, there’s plenty of room for healthy competition.’
‘I’m not competing with you.’
‘Exactly. I’m a forensic psychologist. You’re a clinical psychologist. You stick to treating phobias and OCD and I’ll handle the sharp end.’
‘You have no idea what you’re doing.’
‘Sure I do. I’m making money out of something you couldn’t. I’m a professional profiler. You’re an amateur. Have you ever been paid for profiling?’
‘That’s not the point.’
‘I think it is. I think you’re jealous. I also think you’re old. Go home. Take a pill. Leave this to me.’
I should ignore him, I should walk away, but stiff-upper-lip stoicism and turning the other cheek won’t put Milo back in his box. He is dangerous and delusional and he has jeopardised a murder hunt by treating it like some sort of intellectual parlour game or Agatha Christie puzzle. In the same breath I realise that Milo won’t listen to reason or be convinced of his failings because he doesn’t admit to any. And he can’t be motivated to moderate his behaviour or tone down his message because such subtleties are lost on him. Where does this leave me?
‘Hey, Milo, remember that term we studied personality disorders and you chose to write your assignment on narcissism?’
He nods.
‘That was the
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