Profile k, p.32
Profile K, page 32
‘And how much did Necto pay for your severance and scapegoat package?’ Midnight asked.
Vickson shoved her hands deep into her pockets and raised her eyebrows. ‘Three million. If you’d been smarter, earlier, you could have had the same without the pain.’
Midnight shook her head. ‘That’s the thing,’ she said. ‘Unlike you, I wasn’t for sale.’
The injury to Midnight’s jaw had taken months to heal, and the scarring would be life-long, but her face was easier to live with than the nightmares.
She bought a house in the country that allowed them to have both a cat and a dog, both elderly and from rescue centres. Benjamin Hoffman’s parents would have approved, had they ever crossed paths. Midnight thought the change for Doris would be hardest of all, a life-long Londoner who loved the busy streets and constant noise, but their replacement grandmother filled their days with laughter, companionship, and outrageously bright outfits that were completely at odds with the surroundings, and which nevertheless seemed to fit right in. They looked after one another, gave each other space, and packed their cottage full of love, colourful quilts and takeaways every Friday evening. Some habits were harder to break than others.
Midnight sat in her home office, looking out into the back garden. Necto had paid for all of it, from the tiny orchard with its apple, pear and plum trees, to the goat pens featuring John-Boy and Mary Ellen, characters from one of Doris’s favourite old television shows. Midnight had no idea what it was, but saying goodnight to each goat made Doris laugh, and that was all that mattered. Granny Apples would have loved it. She’d have loved Doris too. All in all, they’d ended up in a better place with a bigger family. If Midnight had to find a silver lining in what they’d been through, then that was it.
The payment had been compensation for all Midnight, Dawn and Doris had been through, preventable as it was, plus a hefty sum for the loss of her job. All in all, it had turned out all right, if you excluded the horrors that lived on in their memories. Amber had made contact only once. It was a voicemail. An apology, and a plea for Midnight to call her back. That one thing, Midnight had been unable to do. She hadn’t wanted to punish Amber, she just hadn’t felt ready. It seemed possible that there might come a day when she could reach out, but it would need more time. Richard Baxter had told her that Amber was still employed at Necto, another promotion under her belt. After all, Amber had stayed quiet, and at Necto that was currency.
Her laptop beeped. Midnight had been expecting the call. She hit a couple of keys and the screen lit up with a picture of a woman in a white shirt, sleeves rolled up, chewing a pen.
‘Hi, this is Midnight.’
‘Midnight Jones, looks like you had an adventure,’ Connie Woolwine said. ‘How you doing?’
‘I have a scar on my jaw,’ she turned to the side to show it, ‘where a man tried to bite through my face. I’ll never trust another corporation again. And it turns out that Renfield syndrome is very real indeed. His college did an incredibly good job of conditioning him out of his natural tendencies, then Necto got him to snap again, which was what they were trying to do. They just didn’t expect to make quite such a good job of it.’
‘I should have seen the biting thing coming. It’s a feral animal thing, and in this case I’d say it sprang directly from his blood obsession. Violent offenders almost always ramp up the damage they do each time they kill. To go from tasting blood to drinking it, then on to biting, was a foreseeable path. I’m sorry you had to go through so much, Midnight.’
‘Well, on the upside, I have a mortgage-free house in the Dorset countryside, with a menagerie of animals.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘My sister is happier than I’ve ever known her, and we’ve adopted a septuagenarian called Doris, who we love. How about you?’
‘We got kidnapped in a Venezuelan jungle, had to be rescued by some very dodgy private hire soldiers, then got arrested during an attempted coup. Now I’m back at my family home in Martha’s Vineyard. Sounds like you and I should meet for a coffee when we’re on the same continent.’
‘You should visit us here,’ Midnight said. ‘My friend Jessica comes down for weekends. Her baking is the best thing since sliced bread, excuse the pun, and we have fresh eggs. I’d like to talk to you about what happened.’
‘Then I’ll come,’ Connie said. ‘Baarda has to head home to see his kids anyway, and I have clients in the UK. How are you sleeping?’
Midnight sighed.
‘Yeah, thought so. I can help with that too, if you’ll let me. It’s a big thing coming face to face with what most people hesitate to call evil. Syndrome or not, psychiatric illness or not, sometimes it helps to acknowledge what you’ve dealt with and allow yourself to know that the fear you felt was grounded and justified.’
‘Uh-huh,’ Midnight said. She couldn’t trust herself to speak. Tears were already splashing the desk her elbows were leaning on.
‘I’ll be with you in a week,’ Connie said. ‘Hang on in there, Midnight. And while I’m visiting, I’d like to talk some more about the job offer I made you. I think it might be exactly what you need.’
Midnight dashed an arm across her eyes.
‘I’m so flattered, but I really can’t leave my sister. We’ve just settled here, and after everything that’s happened …’
‘I know. Baarda and I are getting busy. We travel a lot, and I have more work than I can cope with. I need someone running a base for me, remotely, I mean. Someone I can always call, day or night, who can check things out, analyse data, do research for me when I’m in the field and pressed for time. Does that sound like something you could do from where you are?’
‘Yes!’ She had to stop herself from standing up and yelling it. ‘I mean, sure. Absolutely. And I’d love it, really. Thank you, Dr Woolwine.’
‘Call me Connie,’ she said. ‘And you should know from the get-go something that Necto will never understand. You can tick boxes and set flowcharts, have a computer system with symptom recognition that takes physiological measurements, but so much of profiling is about gut instinct. It’s also about persistence, often to the point of annoying people, and calling out BS when you come up against it. Everything I’ve heard about how you took on the Hawthorne case makes me think you’ll be the perfect team member with Baarda and me. It’s not always easy, though. You sure you haven’t had enough of the darker side of human nature already?’
Midnight thought about it.
‘I think, awful as it was, that I persisted not just because I was worried about more women getting hurt, but also because it seemed to me that finding Teddy Hawthorne was a solvable problem.’
‘More to the point, Midnight, is the fact that faced with the worst the world had to offer, you fought and prevailed. There’s no category for those qualities on a standard CV. That’s what I’m looking for. Someone who doesn’t fit the mould.’
‘Then I’m your candidate. Thank you, Connie.’
‘No problem. I can’t wait to meet you in person.’
Midnight ended the call and stared at the photo of their parents she’d put up on the wall. They’d managed to make a twenty-minute video call the previous evening. It was fine. They asked all the right questions, made sure both she and Dawn were okay, then said how well they were coping and that it didn’t seem like there was any point them rushing back to visit. That was okay with Midnight. Dawn had smiled and waved at them, but she didn’t get upset or emotional. Her needs were being met in a way that didn’t require their parents to be present. Midnight decided it was time to let them go. Not to end contact with them, just to put their relationship into the box it deserved – distant relatives.
She had more important matters to expend her mental energy on. So many people had suffered to get her the home she’d always wanted, and the job opportunity she’d dreamed of. She rubbed the scar on her jaw. The best way she could honour the dead was by making sure fewer victims followed in their wake. Teddy Hawthorne was deceased, but there were others like him who needed to be found and stopped, and a life lived without risk was no life at all. It was time to start a job that really mattered.
Midnight switched off her laptop and wandered out into the garden to join Dawn and Doris. There was just time to enjoy the end of the afternoon sun.
If you enjoyed Profile K, then why not show Helen Fields some love and leave a review here.
Acknowledgements
Several years ago, my husband and I made a film for a global medical research company about the future of drug production. Our research and client visits were astonishing. It opened up a whole new world unlike any other industry we’d worked in. That experience stayed with me, and what I learned was that most of the products we believe are futuristic are already being investigated somewhere by someone. When I began researching the existing technology for this novel, it became clear that everything I was picturing had already been developed. Just – as far as I know – not misused in the way I’ve written it. Working with my husband on that and years of other projects gave me a new lease on life, and I’m grateful every day for the inspiration David brought, not to mention the laughter, marketing assistance, and cups of tea.
This book, perhaps more than all the others, was a journey. The people who got me to the end of it are superstars. So thank you, one and all, to Helen Huthwaite my brilliant editor and soother of nerves, Elisha Lundin on desk editing, Sammy Luton on sales, Claire Ward on design, Emily Chan on production, Maddie Dunne-Kirby and Ella Young on marketing, Gabriella Drinkald on publicity (no one works a room like Gaby), Georgina Ugen on digital sales, Molly Robinson on audio, Rhian McKay for the copy edit, Amanda Percival for all things international, Emily Gerbner, Jean Marie Kelly and Sophia Wilhelm who are my 360 team in the USA, and Peter Borcsok who is head of sales for HarperCollins in Canada. This isn’t just a list of names. Books only succeed through the team’s blood, sweat and tears. Launching a book is more technical than it looks, more precarious than anyone realises and more demanding than these people are given credit for. So if you enjoyed this book, lovely reader, and I hope you did, then spend a minute with me thanking the people who put it out into the world.
I wouldn’t be functioning at all without my agent team, from the unstoppable Caroline Hardman to her trusty partner in crime Joanna Swainson, my foreign rights wizard Hana Murrell, and the lovely Aaminah Badat. And, as ever, to Gabe for the TikTok videos, Sollie for the pep talks and Evangeline for the hugs. You are the reason I keep writing.
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About the Author
Helen Fields is the author of the twelve novels that have sold more than a million copies internationally. Her books have been translated into more than twenty languages. Her Scottish set crime series featuring D.I. Luc Callanach has captivated audiences globally. Her books have been long listed for the McIlvanney Prize and the Ian Fleming steel dagger award. Helen is a former criminal and family law barrister. She splits her time between West Sussex and Edinburgh.
For more information visit Helen’s website http://helenfields.com or find her on X (formerly twitter) @Helen_Fields.
By the same author:
Perfect Remains
Perfect Prey
Perfect Death
Perfect Silence
Perfect Crime
Perfect Kill
The Shadow Man
One for Sorrow
The Last Girl to Die
The Institution
About the Publisher
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Helen Fields, Profile K
