The Game Changer Page 2

  Turning off the light, she listened to his car pull away from the kerb, the rest of the quiet Ranelagh suburb long since fast asleep. She thought about the other partners of police officers out there, especially those with families. What a different life it was from any other.

  A few moments later, when she heard the low whimper, she thought it was a stray cat outside, but as it got louder, she sat up again: it was coming from Charlie’s bedroom. She bounded down the hallway and opened his door, her voice gentle as she entered. He was still half asleep. ‘It’s okay, honey. Mum’s here.’

  She didn’t switch on his light, hoping he would settle. Even in the darkness she could make out his small shape, his knees raised to his chest. He was wearing his favourite Spider-Man pyjamas.

  ‘Shush, honey.’ Her right hand touched his hot cheek. The other rubbed his shoulder in the familiar motion she used to lull him back to sleep. ‘It’s okay, sweetheart, you were only dreaming.’

  She climbed into his bed, her words seeming to ease whatever had frightened him. His face became less troubled, turning into her, the way children do. All she could think of was him as a baby, round and soft, with wisps of hair, and that intoxicating baby smell, the one that grabbed you like no other and never let you go. Examining the contours of his face, his small hands, the fingers clenched in sleep, she felt as if she was reliving every day of the last seven years – she’d never known she could love anyone so much.

  Within the stillness, she also knew she would stay awake now, listening out for Adam coming home. At first, she’d been hesitant about him moving in, apprehensive about taking that next step. They had agreed to try it one day at a time. Four months in, she wondered where the time had gone. It had started with him staying over only at weekends, then towards the end of the summer, with Charlie taking it so well, it had made sense to create a more permanent living arrangement. So far it had worked out, and even Declan, Charlie’s father, had accepted that she and Adam were now on a more permanent footing.

  She also thought about her decision to take a step back from work, partly wanting to spend more time with Charlie. It had been one of the best choices she had made. She’d known she would enjoy being at home, even for a short while, but another part of her was surprised by it. Ocean House, where she operated her psychology practice, understood her reducing her hours, although it hadn’t been her work there that had put her life at risk. That had been down to Adam, and the Special Detective Unit. Kate had spent three years profiling killers for the police, which had opened up a world that previously she couldn’t have imagined. The scars of the last case were still there, and the biggest one, how close she had come to losing her life and leaving Charlie without a mother, still played on her mind. Adam had encouraged her decision to step back, both of them knowing she needed this time.

  The main players at Harcourt Street were fine about it too, and with Adam working there, she was still in touch with things, even if it was at arm’s length. The officers who had finished their profiling training were doing well – at least, as far as she had heard from Adam. She was suspicious that he was telling her what she wanted to hear, but for now, she was happy to go with the flow.

  She stroked Charlie’s hair, the only sound in the bedroom the ticking of his Mickey Mouse alarm clock. Not working with Adam, she thought, had probably made it easier for their relationship to move forward. But it was good that they both understood the pressure of two or three critical investigations landing on your desk at once. She looked at the clock: 3 a.m. Hopefully, Adam would be back soon and able to grab some sleep.

  The last few months had been hectic for him too, and the long nights hadn’t helped his erratic relationship with his estranged teenage son. He had the same first name as his father, initially confusing when he and Charlie were first introduced. But young Adam didn’t show the same hostility towards Charlie that he displayed towards his father, instead telling Charlie to call him Addy, like his friends did.

  Adam was so different from her ex-husband, Declan, and even though some of her friends thought Declan was more in tune with his emotions, and that Adam was like the proverbial bull in a china shop, Kate knew otherwise. After all, it was Adam who had supported her decision to take things easier. Declan’s reaction had surprised her, until she understood that, the more time she spent with their son, the more Declan fretted that his relationship with Charlie would lessen, especially with him working permanently in Birmingham.

  Sometimes she felt as if she was constantly trying to manage others: Declan’s anxieties, Adam’s failure to make things work with Addy, or Charlie coping with his world being turned upside down. Life was messy, and her running away from things in the past hadn’t served her well. Everything felt less hectic now. Small things that she hadn’t had time for before, like chatting with the neighbours, going to the park with Charlie or catching up with old acquaintances, brought a new normality. She was especially glad to connect with Malcolm again. He had been so close to her father, but also to her. When she’d met up with him at the Dyadic Developmental Psychotherapy lecture earlier that year, it was only then that she fully realised the important role he had played in her younger life. He had been like the older brother she’d never had, and she took it as another warning sign that she had allowed important parts of her life to slip, failing to link up with him during the ten years since her father’s death. The fact that they both worked in the area of psychology added to their revived mutual bond. In some ways, Malcolm’s work had influenced her choice to study it: he helped others to function in this world, and she wanted to do the same. Somewhere along the way though, she had lost sight of her own mental well-being, working long hours and not spending enough time with Charlie. It was certainly good to have someone else in her life that she could trust.

  The Game Changer

  THE WALL TEMPERATURE CONTROL UNIT DISPLAYED seventeen degrees, an optimum level for communication. The room wasn’t a large one, no more than sixteen metres square, with brilliant white walls and off-white parquet flooring. Matching venetian blinds covered the two windows opposite the office-type white door. There were eight chrome down-lighters in the white ceiling, should any light, other than daylight, be required. The area was devoid of excess furnishings or anything deemed unnecessary for a successful self-enlightenment session. There were no candles, soft music, muted lightings or fragrant burners. Two thin white plastic chairs, with curved seats to support the inner thighs and angled to optimise blood flow to the lower leg, were positioned opposite each other. To the side, there was a white-granite plastic folding table, narrow but appropriate for the various sheets and handouts. In the corner, to the right of the door as a person entered, the black video camera was positioned on an aluminium tripod.

  Lisa Redmond had booked the 7 a.m. self-enlightenment session. Webcam sex with her clients, or camers, as she liked to call them, was particularly slack at that time of the morning. She was in her mid-twenties, medium height, slim, attractive and ambitious. Wearing a classic charcoal figure-hugging suit, with a pencil skirt finishing above the knee, a sheer white cotton blouse, and Manolo Blahnik ankle-strap maroon sandals, she felt composed and looked forward to making further progress within the self-enlightenment programme. Placing her designer olive patent handbag on the floor beside her, she sat in the white chair opposite the door, the camera ready to record their conversation.

  ‘Good morning, Lisa.’

  ‘Morning.’

  ‘Can you hold on for a second while I switch on the camera? Are you feeling relaxed?’

  ‘Yes.’ She flicked back her shoulder-length honey-brown hair. ‘Good. What would you like to talk about today?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about this current step from the programme.’

  ‘The one called “Finding a New Way”, Lisa. That is the step you’re currently on?’

  ‘Yes.’ She crossed her long, tanned legs, resting both hands on her knees, her fingers intertwined, her nails French-polished.

/>   ‘Are you having some difficulty with it, Lisa?’

  ‘Being part of the programme, and my sessions at the Centre of Lightness, has helped me a great deal. I mean, I spend most of my life talking to the camers. That’s what I call my clients, the ones who watch me on camera.’ She trailed off.

  ‘Lisa, it’s good to talk about any difficulties you might be having. Why don’t you pretend I’m not here, and that you’re simply thinking out loud to the camera?’

  ‘I’ve decided I’m not going to humiliate my clients any more, no matter how much they want me to. Some of them love that. They enjoy being sexually degraded.’ Her face showed strain: disgusted by her clients’ desires.

  ‘Carry on.’

  ‘They beg me to call them horrible names. It frees up their sexual inhibitions, you see. That’s why they want me to do it.’

  ‘And why, Lisa, are you going to discontinue this? Especially if it’s something they want from you.’

  ‘I realise I need to apply boundaries, work out the lines I’m not prepared to cross. Doing things I don’t like, well, it doesn’t make me feel good about myself.’

  ‘Feeling good about yourself is important, Lisa. How long have you been turning those camers away?’

  ‘Only a few days – I’ve still been busy, though. There are always others to take their place.’

  ‘Because, Lisa, you’re in demand. You’ve managed to build up a successful business and a large amount of money over the last few years. You must be proud of yourself.’

  ‘The money isn’t important to me, not any more.’

  ‘No? That’s interesting. What is important to you, Lisa?’

  ‘Being happy is important, and I’m going to stop doing things I don’t want to do, especially when I don’t need to.’

  ‘That’s very commendable, Lisa, but if you say the money is no longer of any importance to you, why do you need so much of it?’

  ‘I don’t.’ She stood up, walking closer to the camera. ‘I have a plan for the money.’

  ‘Planning is good, Lisa. It puts you back in the driving seat.’

  ‘I only need half of it, and I probably don’t even need that. I’ve decided I’m only going to hold on to fifty thousand euros. The rest can be put to better use.’

  ‘Do you feel that parting with some of the money will help you, Lisa?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ She kept looking at the camera, as if she was talking to herself. ‘I realise it doesn’t matter how much money I have. Whether it’s ninety-five thousand or nine hundred and fifty thousand, I’m still trapped by it. It doesn’t mean anything, not really.’

  ‘Lisa, you are more important than the money. You understand that too, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m beginning to, but it can be daunting finding a new way.’

  ‘I know that, which is why you must take one step at a time. When you are ready for the next step, you will know.’

  Turning from the camera, she sat down again on the chair, lifting her handbag on to her lap, taking out a chequebook. Everything about her body and the expression on her face reflected determination. She believed she was the one in control. Folding the cheque, she got up and placed it on the narrow wall table, then returned to her chair.

  ‘Now,’ she said, sounding confident, ‘I’m ready for the next step.’

  ‘You’ll like it, Lisa. It’s called “Continuous Self-motivation”. You can pick up a package at the desk outside before you leave. There are motivational discs in it for you to listen to. Try to play them at least three times a day, in the car or if you’re relaxing at home in the evening. Make sure to give yourself time. You owe it to yourself now that you have reached Step Eight.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Terrific, Lisa, you’ve done very well.’

  Kate

  HEARING ADAM’S KEY TURN IN THE DOOR, KATE looked at the Mickey Mouse alarm clock – 7.30 a.m. In the hallway, she immediately saw the tiredness in his eyes.

  ‘Is the little man okay?’ he whispered.

  ‘He’s fine. He was unsettled after you left. I think it was a bad dream.’ Stretching and yawning, she asked, ‘How did it go in Harcourt Street?’

  Putting his arms around her waist, he brought her closer to him. ‘Did I ever tell you how sexy you look in the morning?’

  ‘Once or twice.’ She kissed him on the lips. ‘You look like you’ve had a tough night.’

  ‘I’m okay.’

  ‘So, what happened to the chief superintendent’s brother-in-law?’

  ‘Carbon-monoxide poisoning.’

  ‘Intentional or accidental?’

  ‘It’s not looking like an accident.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘A few things.’

  ‘Let’s go into the bedroom,’ she said. ‘I’ll need to wake Charlie for school in a little while.’

  They sat at the end of the bed and he kicked off his shoes, letting out a loud ‘Argh’, then flopped backwards. She lay down beside him. ‘So, why not an accident?’

  ‘The guy locked the garage door for one thing. He put the key on a workbench, and placed padding in the areas that might have allowed in leaks of air. At least, at this point we’re assuming it was him.’

  ‘Do you think someone else was involved?’

  ‘Hard to know. His car was still running when his wife found him.’ He turned to her. ‘More than likely, he didn’t suffer.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Some people call it the beautiful death. According to the pathologist, the body prefers carbon monoxide to oxygen. Apparently, it sucks it in willingly.’

  ‘I didn’t realise. Is Morrison on this one?’

  ‘Nothing but the best for a relation of the chief super.’

  ‘Anything else important?’

  ‘Are you sure you want to hear all this crap?’

  She punched his shoulder. ‘Of course I do. I take an active interest in your work.’ She didn’t attempt to hide the sarcasm.

  ‘Right, you asked for it.’ He propped himself on his elbow. ‘The skin typically turns cherry red or pink with carbon-monoxide poisoning. As I said, it may be a relatively painless death, but it’s not always pretty. A victim can go into convulsions. We’ll know more once Morrison has done the full autopsy, but there’s a lot about the case I don’t like.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘It feels too neat, and you know how I hate neatness. Plus, no one has found a suicide note.’

  ‘People don’t always …’

  ‘I know that, but the guy was a teacher, or at least a retired one. Before that, he lectured on social policy at Trinity.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘You’d imagine he’d want to leave a few words.’

  ‘Not if he was suicidal – that changes everything.’

  ‘I didn’t like the position of the body either.’

  ‘Where was it?’

  ‘On the floor of the garage – that wouldn’t be a problem if the body had convulsed. It could have caused the movement, but I don’t know. The thing feels staged to me. Either way, Morrison says he would have died quickly.’

  She rested a hand on his chest. ‘Adam?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I knew someone who died that way. It was a long time ago.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I don’t know. I guess it always kind of stayed with me. He was a neighbour. The family hadn’t been living in the area long when it happened.’ She let out a low laugh. ‘I remember having a crush on him.’

  ‘You have my interest now.’ He sounded more upbeat than he had earlier.

  ‘I was twelve. He was fourteen. He seemed very grown-up at the time. It was stupid, really.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘A plastic bag went up the chimney. My father was full of information about it, telling me how the bag had blocked out the supply of oxygen, and a load of other scientific stuff I didn’t care about. Dad always liked to sound knowledgeable when it came to these things. None
of it mattered. What mattered was that a fourteen-year-old boy had died.’ She put her fingers through her hair, staring at the ceiling. ‘I used to imagine the way they found him, lying on the floor in the front sitting room, perhaps with earphones on, listening to music.’

  ‘It’s no wonder you developed an active interest in the cheerful side of life.’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘What was his name, this guy?’

  ‘Kevin. I think my infatuation grew when he was gone. He became the ultimate unattainable love.’

  ‘And now you’re stuck with me.’

  ‘I like being stuck with you.’

  He leaned in to kiss her, but she held his shoulders, keeping him at arm’s length. ‘What was the guy’s name – the brother-in-law of the chief super?’

  ‘It’s time to stop the questions. I need sleep.’

  ‘Humour me.’

  ‘Michael O’Neill.’ He lay down. ‘Apparently, he couldn’t come to terms with being retired.’

  ‘Strange.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘That was Kevin’s surname too, or at least the name of the family he was living with. I think he was fostered.’

  ‘O’Neill?’

  ‘Yeah – I suppose it’s a common enough name. Did the O’Neills have any children?’

  ‘Not unless you include the ones he watched in the schoolyard.’

  ‘Was he …?’

  ‘I’m told by the chief super it was nothing like that. Apparently, he simply couldn’t cope with not being there, but it made some of the parents uneasy.’

  ‘I’m sure the school wasn’t happy about it either.’ She frowned.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine, but it must be difficult for his wife, now that’s she on her own.’

  ‘I know, and here’s the thing, Kate. A guy spends his whole life teaching, helping others, and when it’s his turn to live a little, he ends it all.’

  ‘These things can be hard to understand.’