A Taste for Malice Read Online Free PDF Page A

reading.’ I curse myself. Now she’s going to think I’m some kind of pervert.
    She smiles and writes something down.
    ‘Sorry,’ I offer. ‘In my head, that sounded funnier.’
    Her answering smile is non-committal. ‘Humour is good.’ She sets those eyes on me. ‘Is that how you deal with things, humour?’
    ‘It beats flagellation.’ What’s with the sexual undertones, McBain? One syllable answers only from now on. You don’t want this beautiful woman to think you are a sicko.
    She scratches her pen across the paper on her lap.
    ‘Tell me why you are here.’ She lifts her eyes from the paper. ‘Please forgive me if I appear distracted. If I didn’t write while you spoke I would forget too much.’ She smiles and I can refuse her nothing.
    ‘Tell you why I’m here? Because the high-heid-yins want me to talk about my recent trauma.’
    ‘Is that how you would describe it? Trauma?’
    ‘Wouldn’t you?’
    ‘Your employers have included in their report what happened. But, no offence, the language your bosses use would cure an insomniac. Why don’t you give me the detail?’
    ‘Careful, Ms Gibson. That could be classed as an opinion.’
    She smiled. ‘It would more accurately be described as a weak attempt to get you onside by being disrespectful to your employers.’
    ‘True. And if I respond you get the bonus of getting me used to doing all of the talking.’
    ‘Does talking represent a challenge to you?’
    ‘Not if it includes a good wine and a well-chosen menu.’
    ‘Has alcohol been a problem in the past?’
    ‘No more than food.’
    ‘You turned to drink when things initially started to go wrong. Why do you think that is?’
    ‘There were too many celebrities doing daft stuff on TV.’
    ‘Tell you what.’ She closes her folder, puts it on the table and places her pen on top of that. ‘Why don’t we stop the verbal tennis and you just give me the highlights.’
    ‘Don’t you mean the lowlights?’
    She raises her eyebrows in a question. Feeling like an idiot, again, I do as she asks.
    I give her the facts in a monotone. When I stop speaking she just sits there and watches me. I’m aware of this technique, in which her aim is to get me to fill in the silence with just a little more detail. In my experience that last piece of added detail can be more telling than everything that has previously been uttered. Most people hate silence and rush to fill it with the first thing they think of and often, with the kind of stress they are feeling, it’s the last thing they want to say.
    The silence stretches between us. I cross my arms. She crosses hers. I cross my legs at the ankles. She does the same. This is a technique called mirroring and is meant to show the interviewee that on a subliminal level, the other person is on the same wavelength. The trick for the interviewer is to wait until your subject then begins to mirror your body language, because then you have them, they are on-side and you are in charge. She puts her hands on her lap. I keep mine where they are. I ain’t that easy.
    ‘What was the worst part of it all?’ she asks.
    Interesting question, I think.
    ‘What was the worst part?’ I search the ceiling for answers and decide I should give her something, then she’ll feel she has done a good job. ‘The worst part was the loss of control.’
    ‘Loss of control.’ She purses her lips and nods. This pursing of the lips thing is very attractive on her. Maybe I should give her more to think about.
    ‘I’ve been a policeman for a long time. I’ve been in many dangerous positions. Normally I have the power.’ I swallow. My throat feels tight. ‘Here I was under the control of a psycho.’ Whoa, McBain.
    That was maybe a bit too much. The palms of my hands are suddenly slick with sweat. My mind filled with the vision of Leonard’s face. A fleck of saliva at the corner of his mouth.
    I wipe my hands slowly on my trousers while I speak, trying to disguise my actions. Ms