I’ll deal with my dark thoughts in the usual way, in the company of Jim Beam and Sam Adams.

16

Alfonse munches on a slice of toast as I inform him of my progress. The traces of raspberry jelly sticking to the moustache of his goatee give him a comical look I can’t forego taunting him for.

‘And one of them actually called you?’

‘Of course. I expect them all to call me.’

‘You’ve got some cojones…’ He breaks off at the ringing of my second cell.

Fighting to remove the smile from my voice, I answer it and reach for a pen and paper. Questions are asked and answered once again, although I am grateful this particular caller retains his composure.

I make a few subtle changes to my questions and listen not just to the answers but also to the pauses between them. I also pay close attention to the caller’s tone as he speaks.

Almost a whisper, his voice tells me he is worried about his involvement with Kira becoming public knowledge. I suspect he is calling from home and his wife or girlfriend is also in the house.

I listen as he gives his answers and offers me fifty grand if I find Kira’s killer before the police come to his door.

The extra payday is unexpected and unwelcome. His money is tainted with a sordid momentary guilt. If he really feels so bad about what he got up to with Kira, he shouldn’t have kept a regular appointment with her.

I am about to refuse his money when a better idea comes into my head. The fifty grand can be given to a charity supporting ex-hookers and their offspring.

Finishing the call, I use my pen to strike a line through his name and toss the cell to Alfonse.

‘I’ve an appointment I need to keep.’ There is no way I’m telling Alfonse I am going to see Dr Edwards unless I learn something useful when I’m there. After all the times I’ve decried shrinks of all forms, his mocking will be relentless. ‘You’ll have to answer the pervert hotline.’

‘Where you going?’

‘I’ve half an idea I want to run down.’

‘Do tell.’ I can see my evasiveness is intriguing him.

‘Never mind that. How did your date go?’

‘Five minutes in, I was reminded in stark detail exactly why I broke up with her last time.’ He gives a mock shudder. ‘That screeching laugh of hers goes through me quicker than an express train.’

‘I’m so glad I got you two back together.’

He flips me the bird. ‘She wants to see me tomorrow night and I couldn’t think of a reasonable excuse for saying no without us losing her help.’

I know I’d better change the subject before his anger becomes genuine, so I tell him of an idea I’ve had and ask him to look into it.

17

I arrive ten minutes early for my appointment with Dr Edwards. My intention is to allow myself time to get a feel for the environment and prepare myself for this step into the unknown.

When I walk into the building, I’m greeted by a pretty blonde receptionist in possession of the highest cheekbones I’ve ever had the good fortune to see.

All thoughts of preparation leave my head when I give an instinctive look at her left hand and see a bare ring finger. Her eyes see where mine go so I take her smile as a sign of encouragement.

Thickening my Scottish accent to the point where it melts the heart of most American girls, I give her my name and ask hers.

She looks for my name on her computer as she gives me hers. We flirt for a couple of minutes until a sobbing woman emerges from Dr Edwards’ office.

As she walks across to comfort the woman, she passes me an appointment card with a time, venue and date on it. I flash her a smile and a nod of agreement as I walk towards Dr Edwards’ office.

‘Come on in, Mr Boulder.’ He points at a huge leather couch. ‘Take a seat, or lie down if you prefer.’

I sit. Looking around, I see his office is all neutral calming tones. No hot reds or cold blues in here. Just soft beiges and creams, although I’m sure his interior designer described the darker colours as mushroom or honeyed teak.

Dr Edwards is similar in his dress sense. Flannel pants with light flecks and a cream shirt adorn his slim body.

‘Thank you for seeing me, Doctor. I’m afraid I’m not your usual type of patient.’

‘And what is my usual type of patient? If you know, please tell me – I thought us shrinks aren’t supposed to categorise people. I may have to discharge a few stereotypes to create a better balance.’

I give him a small nod. ‘Touché.’

I’d expected him to be sharp witted but I’m not prepared for caustic humour. If it wasn’t for the twinkle in his eye and his relaxed stance, I’d think he was having a genuine pop at me.

‘What I mean is that I’m not here for you to see me. I need to talk to you about a friend of mine.’ As soon as I finish speaking, I realise how lame my words sound.

‘Ah yes… your friend.’

‘No, it’s not like that.’

‘Like what?’

‘Let me explain, Doctor, and you’ll see what I mean.’ He waves permission. ‘I trust I’d be insulting you if I asked if this conversation will be kept private?’

‘You would.’ He gives a half shrug accompanied by a small grin. ‘But every new client I’ve taken on for the last thirty years has used the same insult.’

Give Edwards his due, he sits in silence, jotting the odd note as I tell him the basic facts of Kira’s secret life and my occasional times with her.

When I finish speaking he lowers his pen and looks at me. ‘What is it you want to know from me?’

‘I’d like you to make some suggestions as to why she was hooking. What her motivations might have been.’

His lips purse. ‘Are you familiar with the term quid pro quo?’

‘Of course.’ I feel the smile fade from my lips. ‘Are you suggesting you’re Hannibal Lecter?’

‘No. I’m suggesting that before I answer your questions, you must answer some of mine.’

I almost stand to leave but I need his take on Kira. ‘Why do you want to know about me?’

‘To help your mother. I’m not breaking any confidences by telling you she worries about you. That she thinks your lack of a wife and children is due to the fact your father left for work one morning without a goodbye and never returned.’

It was a familiar statement and the cause of many arguments in the Boulder family. Mother always nagged me about finding a wife and giving her some grandchildren to spoil.

When my sister got married I’d thought the pestering would end, but Sharon had been unable to carry a baby to term. After her fourth miscarriage, Sharon and her husband stopped trying and bought a pair of chocolate Labradors.

Bracing myself for his questions, I gesture for him to start.

‘What are your thoughts on your father leaving?’

‘I have very little memory of him. He was this figure who used to come home exhausted every night and climb into the bath after tea. At weekends he would play games with me and Sharon until the pubs opened and then he’d be off.’ I ignore the scratching of his pen and put forward a question of my own. ‘What do you reckon Kira’s motive was?’

‘There are a number of possibilities. The first being she had self-esteem issues and wanted the adulation she’d engender fulfilling men’s basest fantasies. What’s your last memory of your father?’

‘Making sure I was in bed before he came home from the pub. Next possibility?’

‘That Kira resented her father in some way for something and hooked as a way to get back at him.’ He lifts a hand to forestall my interruption. ‘That doesn’t explain why she kept it secret, unless she’d told her family about it and only kept it secret from the rest of the world. What do you remember after your father left?’