‘Thanks for seeing me so quickly,’ I replied. ‘I know how busy you are.’
Callum nodded and scanned the form I’d completed. The address was John Rolfe’s. All my other details were factually correct. Awkward seconds passed, during which I wondered whether I should take a seat in one of the ancient armchairs facing each other.
‘You knew Harry Parr,’ he said, looking up from the clipboard.
‘We lived in the same building. What happened was terrible.’
No reaction. I might well have passed a comment as to how much it had been raining recently. Callum studied the form a while longer.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Sit down and I’ll be with you in a moment.’
I occupied an armchair and absorbed the room more completely. There were a couple of framed certificates on the wall and a corkboard with several documents pinned to it. The sash windows had been covered with Perspex frames to keep the heat in. An optimistic spider had constructed a web in the gap between.
The logo on Callum’s MacBook shone like a beacon of wealth through the murk of general penury. He tapped away on its keyboard for twenty seconds or so before lowering the lid. He came round from his desk and took the seat opposite mine.
‘Usually we start with a few questions. You’ve put down that you have issues with alcohol. How much do you drink on a weekly basis?’
‘A bottle of Scotch a day, sometimes more.’
‘How long have you been consuming to that degree?’
‘About five years.’
‘Any street drugs?’
‘I like a smoke now and again.’
‘Marijuana?’ I nodded. ‘What effect does all this have on your life?’
‘Physically I’m at a low ebb and it doesn’t do a hell of a lot for my self-esteem. Not to mention I’ve alienated most of the people who care about me.’
Callum’s eyes were intense and unblinking. If this was standard body language then it must unsettle a few of his nervier clients. Maybe it was deliberate. Made them understand that it was tough love from there on in.
‘And work?’ he asked.
‘I live on a private income,’ I said, adding, ‘It isn’t a huge amount’, in case he was wondering why I didn’t look like your average trustafarian.
‘Have you consulted a doctor?’
‘She prescribed Atriliac to help with my depression. I haven’t taken it yet.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I want to confront my problems directly. Harry said you could help.’
Callum raised his hands and clapped slowly and deliberately. ‘Very impressive.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Your performance.’
‘Erm, I’m afraid you’ve lost me, Callum.’
‘The truth is that you’re a private detective working for Frank Parr. So why not do us both a favour and drop the act?’
A driver in the street blew a gear change. The synchromesh screamed before catching again. My lack of a response to Callum’s accusation was response enough.
‘If you want to keep your secrets, don’t give people your name, email address and date of birth,’ he said, holding the clipboard up. ‘It took five minutes online to find out what you do for a living. The rest wasn’t hard to guess.’
‘Sorry to have wasted your time,’ I said, getting up from my chair.
Callum waved me back down. ‘Presumably you’re aware of my and Frank’s history?’ he asked.
‘Most of it.’
‘Is that why you lied to me?’
‘I didn’t think you’d be keen to talk.’
‘Do you know the fable of the scorpion and the frog, Mr Gabriel?’
‘Don’t think I’ve heard that one.’
‘A frog and a scorpion meet on a riverbank. The scorpion asks the frog to carry him across on his back. Understandably the frog has misgivings and asks how he can be sure the scorpion won’t sting him. “Because that would mean I would drown,” the scorpion replies, and the frog is satisfied. However, when they are halfway across the river, the scorpion does indeed sting the frog. The pair of them begin to sink beneath the water. “Why?” the frog asks with his final breath. “Because it is in my nature,” the scorpion replies with his.’
‘I take it Frank’s the scorpion and you’re the frog in that example,’ I said.
‘To a point.’
‘Only neither of you died.’
‘The point of the story is that some people have no control over their actions. I can’t hold Frank Parr responsible for squeezing me out of the company any more than the frog could blame the scorpion for stinging him.’
‘To understand all is to forgive all?’ I asked.
Callum treated me to a wintry smile. ‘Perhaps not that, exactly,’ he said. ‘But a degree of understanding means that one can stop blaming other people and take responsibility for one’s own actions.’
‘Which is what you encourage people to do at Plan B?’
‘If and when they are capable of it.’ Callum examined the back of his hand for a few moments. ‘I’m curious to know how you connected me to Harry,’ he said.
‘There was a copy of your book in her flat. The inscription suggested you were more than just acquaintances. Was that the case?’
‘Are you asking if we were involved sexually?’
‘Not really. But now you mention it . . .’
Callum removed his glasses and laid them on the arm of the chair. ‘Harry was gay, as you probably know,’ he said. ‘She introduced herself at a book signing and asked if we could meet up at a later date for lunch. It transpired that she wanted to talk about my and Frank’s relationship.’
‘Why did that interest her?’
‘Anything to do with Frank fascinated Harry. Like most psychopaths, he’s difficult to get to know.’
I laughed. Callum didn’t.
‘Empathy comes in two types, the social and the cognitive,’ he continued. ‘Psychopaths have neither. Those with psychopathic tendencies recognise that people feel a certain way, but don’t understand why. They’re often ruthless, charismatic and wildly successful. Does that sound like Frank Parr to you?’
It did. Specifically what was occupying my mind, though, was the memory of Frank standing next to a blood-spattered Eddie Jenkins while clutching a pair of pliers.
‘Assuming that Frank is . . . in that category,’ I said. ‘Would there ever be any danger he could tip over the edge?’
Callum pursed his lips and looked at the ceiling. ‘Impulse control can be a problem. Although people with personality disorders usually evolve strategies to deal with their anger.’
‘And use pills?’
‘Frank may well have been taking medication. According to Harry, he displayed the classic symptoms of psychopathy.’
‘She said that over lunch?’
‘We met several times. Harry was a troubled young woman.’
‘Did you help her professionally?’
‘I suggested she see a specialist, which I believe she did.’
‘D’you know who?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
There came a knock at the door. The receptionist poked her head around it.
‘Sorry to interrupt, Cal, but it’s mad downstairs. D’you want me to start telling people to come back tomorrow?’
Callum consulted his watch. ‘What time does Janice leave, Truda?’ he asked.