without pretending that it was all a ridiculous and hilarious joke.
‘Don’t take him back,’ Newson added.
‘What do you mean? Of course I’m not going to take him back.’
‘I mean it. He’s done you the biggest favour by being the one to do the dumping. He’s the guilty party, you’re the injured one. He’s forfeited his rights over you. You have the moral high ground. Keep it. Don’t let him back.’
‘Look, of course I won’t, and anyway he’s not going to ask.’
‘He will, he will ask. He’ll realize what he’s lost. He’ll come back and say he was sorry, and because you’re easily exploited you’ll let him in. Don’t do it.’
‘Easily exploited? I am not easily exploited. What makes you say that?’
‘Because you are.
‘I’m not.’
‘You are. You’ve got a generous, open nature. Blokes like Lance feed on that.’
‘Don’t try and be nice now.’
‘I’m not trying to be nice.’ But Newson knew that in many ways he was trying to be nice. He was only telling half the truth. Yes, Natasha was generous and open, but she was also weak, at least as far as Lance was concerned. What was it that kept otherwise level-headed girls like Natasha locked in destructive relationships? Fear, Newson presumed. Fear of being alone.
Newson lived alone. It wasn’t so bad. He wanted to tell her that. He wanted to take her hand and persuade her to be strong. He wanted to assure her that living alone was fine, it was more than survivable, it could even be good sometimes. No rows about the top on the toothpaste, first slice of toast out of the toaster every time. And, of course, no Lance.
‘Don’t take him back, that’s all.’
‘Look, he’s dumped me, Ed. He’s not coming back. That’s it. Now shut up about it.’
‘He’ll be back.’
‘I said shut up.’
‘I guarantee it. He needs you. He’ll be back.’
‘He won’t . Now shut up.’
At that point the chief superintendent’s secretary invited them into the main office.
Newson had not been expecting a pat on the back, and he had been right not to.
‘So, let’s get this straight,’ the chief said, reviewing the case notes in front of him. ‘A man is tortured for half a day and a night in a quiet street. He’s…stabbed how many times?’
‘Three hundred and forty-seven, sir,’ Newson replied.
‘Three hundred and forty-seven times with a small skewer. The victim screams his head off, there’s a complete bloodbath, the assailant has previously entered the house in broad daylight and physically restrained the ‘maid, the wife turns up, he restrains her, he fancies a bit of music and makes free with the entertainment centre, yet he leaves not a single clue and you two don’t have an idea between you.’
‘I had an idea it might be a serial thing,’ Newson said.
‘What? One murder? How can one murder be a serial thing?’
‘Nothing’s emerged so far to suggest any opportunity or critical motive within the victim’s own circle of influence. That suggests to me that the answer is out there in the broader community.’
‘On the other hand, it could suggest that you simply haven’t found anything yet.’
‘That’s clearly also a possibility, sir, although we’ve looked.’
‘You might find it pays to try looking a bit harder before getting carried away with abstract theories. You’re a copper, not a journalist, you have to be able to prove things.’
‘Yes, sir. I understand that.’
‘Yes, well, don’t bloody forget it. I don’t care what they might have taught you at law school. The majority of police work has got nothing to do with sitting around pontificating. It’s about getting out there, getting your hands dirty and bloody well getting on with it.’
Ward, like many of Newson’s colleagues, was uncomfortable with Newson, seeing him as a fast-tracked university arriviste. The chief had come up through the ranks and although he could see that Newson was clever he felt that such a young man
‘Don’t take him back,’ Newson added.
‘What do you mean? Of course I’m not going to take him back.’
‘I mean it. He’s done you the biggest favour by being the one to do the dumping. He’s the guilty party, you’re the injured one. He’s forfeited his rights over you. You have the moral high ground. Keep it. Don’t let him back.’
‘Look, of course I won’t, and anyway he’s not going to ask.’
‘He will, he will ask. He’ll realize what he’s lost. He’ll come back and say he was sorry, and because you’re easily exploited you’ll let him in. Don’t do it.’
‘Easily exploited? I am not easily exploited. What makes you say that?’
‘Because you are.
‘I’m not.’
‘You are. You’ve got a generous, open nature. Blokes like Lance feed on that.’
‘Don’t try and be nice now.’
‘I’m not trying to be nice.’ But Newson knew that in many ways he was trying to be nice. He was only telling half the truth. Yes, Natasha was generous and open, but she was also weak, at least as far as Lance was concerned. What was it that kept otherwise level-headed girls like Natasha locked in destructive relationships? Fear, Newson presumed. Fear of being alone.
Newson lived alone. It wasn’t so bad. He wanted to tell her that. He wanted to take her hand and persuade her to be strong. He wanted to assure her that living alone was fine, it was more than survivable, it could even be good sometimes. No rows about the top on the toothpaste, first slice of toast out of the toaster every time. And, of course, no Lance.
‘Don’t take him back, that’s all.’
‘Look, he’s dumped me, Ed. He’s not coming back. That’s it. Now shut up about it.’
‘He’ll be back.’
‘I said shut up.’
‘I guarantee it. He needs you. He’ll be back.’
‘He won’t . Now shut up.’
At that point the chief superintendent’s secretary invited them into the main office.
Newson had not been expecting a pat on the back, and he had been right not to.
‘So, let’s get this straight,’ the chief said, reviewing the case notes in front of him. ‘A man is tortured for half a day and a night in a quiet street. He’s…stabbed how many times?’
‘Three hundred and forty-seven, sir,’ Newson replied.
‘Three hundred and forty-seven times with a small skewer. The victim screams his head off, there’s a complete bloodbath, the assailant has previously entered the house in broad daylight and physically restrained the ‘maid, the wife turns up, he restrains her, he fancies a bit of music and makes free with the entertainment centre, yet he leaves not a single clue and you two don’t have an idea between you.’
‘I had an idea it might be a serial thing,’ Newson said.
‘What? One murder? How can one murder be a serial thing?’
‘Nothing’s emerged so far to suggest any opportunity or critical motive within the victim’s own circle of influence. That suggests to me that the answer is out there in the broader community.’
‘On the other hand, it could suggest that you simply haven’t found anything yet.’
‘That’s clearly also a possibility, sir, although we’ve looked.’
‘You might find it pays to try looking a bit harder before getting carried away with abstract theories. You’re a copper, not a journalist, you have to be able to prove things.’
‘Yes, sir. I understand that.’
‘Yes, well, don’t bloody forget it. I don’t care what they might have taught you at law school. The majority of police work has got nothing to do with sitting around pontificating. It’s about getting out there, getting your hands dirty and bloody well getting on with it.’
Ward, like many of Newson’s colleagues, was uncomfortable with Newson, seeing him as a fast-tracked university arriviste. The chief had come up through the ranks and although he could see that Newson was clever he felt that such a young man
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