Time of Death

by Mark Billingham

  Because he doesn’t know.

  Instead, he said, ‘I’m amazed you haven’t had the press on at you. Ex-copper running the killer’s local, bang up their street.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, I have,’ Hare said. ‘And I told them where they could stick their blood money an’ all.’ He walked towards the bar, spoke over his shoulder. ‘I never liked them when I was on the job . . . ’

  Thorne turned his attention back to the game.

  He ordered a cheese sandwich and chips at half time and had barely finished eating it when Spurs went two down five minutes after the restart. He swore and pushed his plate away. It wasn’t hard to imagine what a passionate Arsenal fan would have to say.

  He didn’t have to.

  ‘Only ever been one decent team in London, mate.’

  Thorne looked up to see Phil Hendricks grinning at him.

  ‘Whichever one of us supports a shit team gets the drinks in,’ Hendricks said. ‘Oh, wait, that’s you.’

  ‘What . . . ?’

  ‘Spit it out.’

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘Nice.’ Hendricks seemed delighted to see his friend so lost for words. He told Thorne to shove up and squeezed in next to him. ‘You’re not the only one who needs a holiday, you know.’

  ‘Yeah, but . . . work?’

  ‘I just got my squashy banker out of the way, switched things around with a couple of colleagues and jumped in the car. I’m pretty senior, you know, I can do that sort of stuff.’

  ‘But you hate the countryside as much as I do,’ Thorne said.

  ‘Just one more in a long line of sacrifices I’ve made for you.’ The smile faltered a little; the space between them suddenly charged by the memory of what had happened on Bardsey Island. Hendricks made the necessary effort to lift the mood. ‘Listen, you don’t have to say how pleased you are to see me, you know. I mean you’re welcome to shed a tear if you want, I shan’t be embarrassed.’

  ‘Course I am. Just a bit gobsmacked at you showing up.’

  ‘You said you wanted my help.’

  ‘An email would have done it.’

  ‘I work better on the ground, mate.’ Hendricks smacked his lips theatrically. ‘Actually, I work a damn sight better with a drink in front of me, but as your wallet’s obviously welded shut, same as always, I’d better go and get them in.’ He slid out and on to his feet.

  ‘Where are you staying?’ Thorne asked.

  ‘Ah . . . haven’t quite thought that far ahead.’

  ‘How well do you work after a night on a park bench?’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll think of something.’

  Thorne told Hendricks that he’d call Helen, see if her friend Paula was able to squeeze another guest in. ‘Obviously, I’m not bothered either way, but Helen will be pleased to see you,’ Thorne said. ‘She’s not been herself.’

  Hendricks took off his jacket, tossed it at Thorne. ‘Yeah, you said.’

  ‘She’s starting to get on my tits, frankly.’

  ‘I thought that was my job.’

  As Thorne took out his phone and dialled, he watched Hendricks find a space at the bar and immediately begin talking to a man with slicked back hair and a leather jacket. Hendricks turned to look at Thorne over the man’s shoulder and widened his eyes. Thorne shook his head.

  Mouthed: Slag.

  Helen did sound pleased to hear that Hendricks had shown up out of the blue, but didn’t say much beyond that. She told Thorne she would talk to Paula and volunteered to collect them both from the pub later on. ‘I know you’ll be making a night of it,’ she said.

  Hendricks laid drinks and crisps on the table and sat down. ‘Might not need that bed at Helen’s mate’s after all,’ he said. He slurped the foam from his pint. ‘Is Leather Boy looking?’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Thorne asked. ‘Everybody’s looking.’

  Hendricks’ haircut was as brutal as usual. His scalp was the one part of his body (as far as Thorne was aware) that the pathologist had yet to tattoo, but it would certainly have been visible through the stubble. He was wearing a T-shirt with a diagram of human ribs on the front; cap-sleeved to emphasise the extravagant patterns of ink on his arms and tight enough to show the outlines of the nipple rings. There was plenty of other metal on show, through ears, nose and lips.

  Thorne would not want to be stuck behind Hendricks in the queue at airport security, but, as always, he enjoyed the reaction to his friend’s appearance.

  ‘They don’t like your sort round ’ere,’ he whispered.

  Hendricks was staring towards the bar. ‘I think some of them do,’ he said.

  They watched the match for another ten minutes, but City seemed content to sit on their lead and Spurs seemed happy to let them.

  ‘So, who burns half a body?’ Hendricks asked. He might just as well have been asking Thorne to pass the cheese and onion.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘That’s the only interesting bit in what you told me. The rest of it’s not actually that exciting.’

  ‘Exciting enough for you to come all the way here.’

  ‘I’ve got a very dull life.’

  ‘The body wasn’t there long enough,’ Thorne said. ‘I think that’s pretty bloody interesting.’

  ‘Long enough for what? And don’t give me all that crap about dogs again. It could have been there a few days, surely.’

  ‘I seriously doubt it.’

  ‘That’s long enough for it to have been Bates who buried it.’

  Thorne shook his head. ‘The body was weeks old.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean Bates didn’t kill her.’ Hendricks looked round, suddenly aware that a couple on the next table were leaning a little closer. He lowered his voice. ‘He kills her pretty soon after he’s snatched her, then buries her much later. No big mystery.’

  ‘Where’s the body in the meantime?’

  Hendricks shrugged. ‘Maybe he liked having it around.’

  ‘Right, because that’s normal.’

  ‘Nilsen did. Said he killed young men for company.’

  ‘Yeah, but he didn’t just sit there and watch them rot in his front room, did he? He chopped them up and flushed them down the drain.’

  Hendricks nodded, conceding the point. ‘Yeah, much more civilised.’

  On screen, the post-match analysts were pulling every aspect of Spurs’ performance apart. The young waitress came across to collect Thorne’s plate and after chatting to her for a few minutes, Hendricks lifted up his shirt to show her his piercings. The pair on the next table were drinking in silence, as though waiting for Thorne and Hendricks to pick up their conversation again.

  ‘The only way your worries would make any sense is if that body wasn’t quite as old as it seemed.’ Hendricks leaned to get a better view of the bar.

  Thorne looked at him. ‘Yeah?’ He waited. ‘Phil . . . ?’

  Hendricks straightened up and sighed. The man he’d been talking to at the bar earlier was nowhere to be seen. ‘I tell you what, my gaydar’s well off these days.’

  ‘How do you mean, not as old?’

  Hendricks grinned and held up his empty glass. The price of his further expertise. ‘What I said before. Who the hell burns half a body?’

  FORTY-TWO

  ‘What did he have to come here for?’ Danny asked.

  ‘He’s our dad. He’s got a right to be worried.’

  ‘Shouting and swearing though.’

  ‘He’d had a drink,’ Charli said.

  ‘He’s always had a drink.’ Danny was shouting himself, now; kicking out at the end of the bed. ‘Mum’s always had a drink. Why is our family so fucked up?’

  Their dad had not stayed long, but Charli had been pleased to see him, and hated herself for it. All the usual hugs and kisses, like he couldn’t
bear to be parted from them, and crap about how much she and Danny had grown, how much he missed them both, but what did she expect? She wasn’t under any illusions about him. She knew that her mum was better off without him, that she was happier with Steve.

  Now her mum would have to get used to being without Steve. Something else Charli wasn’t under any illusions about. She wondered how she would feel if Steve wasn’t around. It would be different to when her dad had walked out. However much of a loser he was, however much he’d let them all down, he’d always be her dad. There would be feelings she could never get rid of, however deep she tried to bury them. Blood, or whatever. That was the difference.

  Stupid really, but nothing you could do about it.

  ‘I want to go into school,’ Danny said. ‘Pick up some stuff.’

  ‘What stuff?’

  ‘Books and shit. Might as well do some work if we’re stuck here.’

  Charli stared at her brother and tried not to laugh. He was hardly a model student and more than once he’d been pulled up for writing essays that he’d lifted wholesale off the internet.

  He held out his arms, inviting her to say something sarcastic. ‘What?’

  He was bored, she knew that. They all were. ‘They won’t let you.’

  ‘Can’t stop me,’ Danny said. ‘What do you think would happen if I just went downstairs right now and walked straight out of the front door?’

  ‘You’d get your picture in the paper.’

  ‘That’d be all right.’

  ‘Yeah. Mum would go mental, ground you anyway and take away your computer for a week.’

  ‘What computer?’ Danny walked across the bedroom and slapped his hand on top of the PC they’d been given by the police officers. ‘I’m not counting this piece of crap.’

  ‘Better than nothing.’

  ‘When are we going to get our own computers back anyway? They must have finished with them by now.’

  Charli thought that was probably true, but wondered how much longer they’d be working on Steve’s. What they’d found already. ‘So, what did they find on yours?’ she asked. She grinned, but Danny wasn’t looking at her. ‘Stupid messages to your sad mates? Pictures of fit girls?’

  Now he turned. ‘Yeah, well what’s on yours? Shit that’s way more embarrassing, I bet.’

  Charli couldn’t bear to think of police officers looking at what was on her laptop; the photos, the conversations on Facebook and Instant Messenger. She felt a knot tighten in her stomach, remembering the last round of online chat between her and her best friend, Gabby. They’d fallen out over a party Charli had gone to. A boy Gabby had got with, who had subsequently bragged about it to everyone, had been there, so Gabby had refused to even think about it. She had accused Charli of wanting to get with the boy herself and being a terrible friend for going.

  The knot got that bit tighter.

  thght we were mates

  come on gabz just a party

  friendship=over

  It wouldn’t take much for Gabby and a whole lot of other girls to drop her now, Charli thought. Parties and misunderstood messages were nothing compared to this. Jessica Toms and Steve . . .

  There was a soft knock at the door and her mum walked in. She carried her glass of wine across to the bed and sat down.

  ‘You all right?’ Charli sat down next to her and leaned in.

  Linda nodded and smiled. ‘Was it nice to see your dad?’ She turned to see what Danny had to say. He was sitting at the desk, carefully studying one of the magazines that the cops had brought over. Something with a guitar on the front.

  ‘Not sure it was nice,’ Charli said. ‘He was only here five minutes.’

  ‘Good that he wanted to see you though.’

  ‘Good?’

  ‘You know.’

  ‘What kind of dad wouldn’t want to see his kids?’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ Linda said. ‘He’s a dick.’ She grinned, giggly with the wine. ‘Is that the right word? That what you two say? Dick?’ She looked across at Danny again. ‘Douchebag?’

  Charli leaned away from her. ‘We heard what he said, you know? When he was downstairs.’

  Linda blinked slowly. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘We’re not stupid, you know.’ Danny tossed the magazine on the floor. Charli and her mother both turned to look at him. ‘We know Steve’s probably not coming back, right?’

  ‘We don’t know that,’ Linda said.

  ‘I said probably not, all right?’ He stood up, thrust his hands into the pocket of his tracksuit bottoms. ‘I mean obviously I’m hoping he will, right, but whether Steve comes back or not, I want you to swear that he’s not coming back, not ever. I mean it, Mum. I want you to swear it, OK?’

  ‘He’s your dad.’

  Danny’s eyes were wet, hands balled into fists inside his pockets.

  ‘Swear.’

  FORTY-THREE

  The TV in the corner of the bar had thankfully been turned off, not that Thorne could have seen it anyway. There was standing room only, now that many of those who had been out searching for Poppy Johnston had returned from fields and woods and wasteland. They huddled together in small groups, warming up; keen to put a couple away before closing time and compare stories.

  Thorne caught snippets here and there as he carefully carried drinks across to the table. Nothing much to tell, sadly, but the conversations were enough reason for Thorne and Hendricks to keep their own even more discreet than it had been.

  ‘I mean, burning gets rid of DNA, obviously,’ Hendricks said. He leaned forward and whispered, as though it were the punchline to a dirty joke. ‘Incriminating fluids.’

  ‘Presuming there were any.’

  ‘Even if there weren’t, there’s stray hairs, fibres, whatever. His fingerprints on her skin.’

  ‘So, he knows what he’s doing,’ Thorne said.

  ‘Bates?’

  ‘Whoever.’

  ‘Yeah, I reckon so.’

  ‘But somehow he still manages to drop a cigarette butt in there when he’s burying her.’

  ‘We all make mistakes.’

  ‘I’m not sure it was a mistake.’

  Hendricks nodded, but it was clear he was thinking about something else. ‘Still a bit strange though, don’t you reckon, only doing half the job? So, maybe we should be asking ourselves . . . is that the only reason?’

  Thorne waited.

  ‘For setting fire to the body.’

  Thorne waited a little longer. ‘So go on then, what’s the other reason?’

  ‘Well, I’m working on it . . . ’

  Hendricks was into his fourth pint of Guinness without having eaten anything and was becoming a little vague. Still, Thorne knew he was sharper than most people, even when he was three parts pissed.

  ‘You must have some idea.’

  Hendricks grimaced and closed his eyes for a few seconds, fumbling to line up whatever his thoughts were in the right order. ‘It’s just weird, that’s all I’m saying. You set fire to your body, pour on the petrol, whatever, out with the Swan Vestas . . . and up she goes.’ He threw up his hands. ‘Then you rush over and put the fire out before the body’s completely burned.’ He cocked his head one way, then another. ‘I don’t know . . . maybe I’m going nowhere with this and he just couldn’t bear to see her completely burned. Maybe she was . . . precious.’

  ‘An hour ago you were saying he sat there watching her decompose.’

  Hendricks nodded his head slowly, then shook it. He took a mouthful of beer and held it in his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing it. ‘He burns the body just enough to destroy any forensics, but not enough to destroy her. See what I’m saying?’

  ‘Not really.’ Thorne was starting to think his friend didn’t actually have anything to say that made any sense.

 
‘Just enough for something else.’

  ‘Such as?’

  After a few seconds’ frozen concentration, Hendricks sat back and shook his head. Whatever had been threatening to emerge into the light had drifted back into the murk; thick and black as the Guinness he was busily putting away. ‘So, what do you think’s going on with Helen, then?’

  ‘Wish I bloody knew,’ Thorne said.

  Hendricks nodded, knowingly. ‘Why do you think I prefer blokes?’

  ‘Because they’ve got cocks?’

  ‘Because they’re much simpler creatures.’

  ‘She was fine until we got here.’

  ‘It was her idea to come, right?’

  ‘Yeah, I tried to talk her out of it.’

  ‘Like I said, it’s strange, going home. Memories, whatever.’

  ‘Nothing bad as far as I know.’ Thorne stared at his glass. ‘I mean, her mum died here, but I don’t think it’s anything to do with that.’

  ‘Any people from her past she might not have wanted to see?’

  ‘One ex-boyfriend so far,’ Thorne said.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry I missed that.’

  ‘In here, the first night.’

  ‘Place is probably crawling with them,’ Hendricks said. He gestured at Thorne with his glass. ‘I mean she clearly has pretty low standards.’

  ‘How long did you say you were staying?’ But Thorne was smiling in spite of himself and, as far as his own relationship with Helen went, he thought that Hendricks probably had a point.

  He was definitely punching above his weight.

  Thorne checked his phone to see if there were any messages from Helen, and, when he looked up again, Trevor Hare was standing at their table, with a drink of his own in his hand.

  ‘Rushed off my bloody feet in here tonight,’ he said.

  Not so busy that he couldn’t find time to wander across and check out the new face, Thorne thought. To enjoy a swift half. ‘This is Trevor,’ he told Hendricks. ‘The governor.’

  Hendricks stuck out a hand and introduced himself.

  ‘You in a band or something?’ Hare asked.

  Hendricks laughed, put him right.