With No One As Witness

by Elizabeth George

He told them frankly that he knew Kimmo and had known him from the time of Kimmo’s assignment to Colossus. He, after all, was the organisation’s receptionist. Everyone who came, who went, and who remained was someone he quickly got to know. He made it his business to know, he emphasised. It was, he told them, part of his job to know.

  Why was this? Lynley asked.

  Because, Veness said, you never knew, did you?

  Knew what, exactly? Havers put in.

  What you were dealing with.

  “That lot.” With this, Veness indicated the young people smoking outside in the carpark. “They come from everything, don’t they? The streets, care, Youth Offenders, drug rehab, gangs, turning tricks, running weapons, selling drugs. Doesn’t make sense to trust them till they give me a reason to trust them. So I keep an eye out.”

  “Did this apply to Kimmo as well?” Lynley asked.

  “Applies to everyone,” Veness said. “Winners and losers alike.”

  Havers took up the ball at that remark. She said, “How’s that apply to Kimmo? He get on your bad side some way?”

  “Not mine,” he said.

  “Someone else’s then?”

  Veness contemplatively fingered his sausage roll.

  “If there’s something we should know,” Lynley began.

  “He was a tosser,” Veness said. “A loser. Look, it happens, sometimes. Kid’s got something here. All’s that’s needed is climbing aboard. But sometimes they just stop coming—even Kimmo, who’s supposed to show up or he’ll be back in borstal in a wink—and I can’t get my brain round that, see. You’d think he’d grab on to anything that’d help him out of that one. But he didn’t, did he? He just stopped showing up.”

  “When did he stop?”

  Jack Veness thought for a moment. He took a spiral book from the middle drawer of his desk and examined the signatures that crawled down a dozen or more pages. It was, Lynley saw, a signing-in register, and when Veness replied to Lynley’s question, the date he gave for Kimmo’s final appearance at Colossus matched up with his murder, within forty-eight hours.

  “Dumb fuck,” Veness said, shoving the signing-in book to one side. “Didn’t know when he was well off. Trouble is, kids can’t wait for the payoff, can they? Some kids, mind you, not all of them. They want the result but not the process that leads to the result. I expect he’s quit. Like I said, that happens.”

  “He was murdered, actually,” Lynley said. “That’s why he stopped coming.”

  “But you’d worked that out, hadn’t you?” Havers added. “Else why would you be talking about him in the past tense from the start? And why else would the rozzers be dropping in on you? And twice in one day because one of that lot”—as Veness himself had done, she indicated the group who were gathered outside—“must’ve told someone in here that I stopped by earlier, before you opened up.”

  Veness shook his head vehemently. “I didn’t…No. No. I didn’t know.” He shot his gaze over to a doorway and a corridor off which brightly lit rooms opened. He appeared to think something over for a moment before he said, “That kid over in St. Pancras? In the gardens?”

  “Bingo,” Havers said. “You’re definitely no dummy when you’re breathing, Jack.”

  “That was Kimmo Thorne,” Lynley added. “His is one of five deaths we’re investigating.”

  “Five? Hey now. Wait. You can’t be thinking Colossus—”

  “We’re not drawing any conclusions,” Lynley said.

  “Hell. Sorry, then. About what I said. Tosser and loser. Hell.” Veness picked up his sausage roll, then put it back down. He wrapped it up and returned it to its take-away bag. He said, “Some kids just drop out, see. They have a chance, but they still walk away. They go for what looks like the easy route. It’s frustrating as hell to watch.” He blew out a breath. “But damn. I’m sorry. Was it in the papers? I don’t read ’em much and—”

  “Not his name at first,” Lynley said. “Just the fact of his body being found in St. George’s Gardens.” He didn’t add that chances were good to excellent that the papers were going to become full of the serial killings now: names, places, and dates as well. A young white victim had piqued the tabloids’ interest; this morning’s young black victim gave them the opportunity they needed to cover their own backsides. Mixed race, cheap news of little interest, they’d decided about the earlier killings. All that had changed with Kimmo Thorne. And now with the black boy…The tabloids were going to grab on to the opportunity to make up for lost time and overlooked responsibility.

  “The death of a boy associated with Colossus brings up a number of questions,” Lynley pointed out to Jack Veness, “as you can no doubt imagine. And we’ve identified another boy who might be associated with Colossus as well. Jared Salvatore. Sound familiar?”

  “Salvatore. Salvatore.” Veness mumbled the name. “No. I don’t think so. I’d remember.”

  “Then we’ll need to speak to your director—”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Veness surged to his feet. “You’ll want to talk to Ulrike. She runs the whole operation. Hang on, then. I’ll see…” That said, he shot off through the doorway that led to the interior of the building. He turned a corner and quickly disappeared.

  Lynley looked at Havers. “Now that was interesting.”

  She agreed. “We don’t even have to look for still waters in that bloke.”

  “I got that impression as well.”

  “So I s’pose the question is how deep’re things really running with him?” Havers asked.

  Lynley reached across the desk and snagged the signing-in book that Jack had been using. He handed it to Havers.

  “Salvatore?” she said.

  “It’s a thought,” he replied.

  CHAPTER TEN

  IN VERY SHORT ORDER, LYNLEY AND HAVERS DISCOVERED that not only was the director of Colossus also in the dark about Kimmo Thorne’s death but additionally, for some reason, Jack Veness had not put her in the picture with regard to the matter when he went to find her. Evidently, he had told her only that two cops from New Scotland Yard wanted to see her. It was an intriguing omission.

  Ulrike Ellis turned out to be a pleasant-looking young woman in the vicinity of thirty, with sandy cornrow plaits gathered back from her face and enough brass bangles on her wrists to qualify her as the prisoner of Zenda. She wore a heavy black turtleneck, blue jeans, and boots, and she came to reception herself to fetch Lynley and Havers to her office. As Jack Veness resumed his place behind the reception desk, Ulrike led the way down a corridor on the walls of which bulletin boards held neighbourhood announcements, photographs of young people, classes on offer, and schedules of Colossus events. Once in her office, she scooped a small stack of the Big Issue off a chair in front of her desk and shoved the magazines onto a space on a bookshelf crowded with volumes and with files needing replacement in a cabinet. This, standing near her desk, already overflowed with other files.

  She said, “I keep buying these,” in reference to copies of the Big Issue, “and then I never get a chance to read them. Take a few if you like. Or do you buy them yourselves?” She glanced over her shoulder and added, “Ah. Well, everyone ought, you know. Oh, I know what people think: If I buy one, this unwashed sod’ll go off and spend the profit on drugs or booze, won’t he, and how will that be of help to him? But what I say is that people might want to stop assuming the worst and start pitching in to make a difference in this country.” She looked round the office as if seeking other employment and said, “Well, that didn’t much help, did it. One of you still has to stand. Or shall we all stand? Is that better? Tell me this: Is TO31 finally going to take notice of us?”

  Actually, Lynley told her as Barbara Havers wandered to the bookshelf to have a look at Ulrike Ellis’s many volumes, he and DC Havers were not there representing Community Affairs. Rather, they’d come to talk to the director of Colossus about Kimmo Thorne. Did Ms. Ellis know the boy?

  Ulrike sat behind her desk. Lynley took the chair. Have
rs remained at the volumes, reaching for one of several framed photographs that stood among them. Ulrike said, “Has Kimmo done something? See here, we’re not responsible for the kids’ staying out of trouble. We don’t even claim to be able to do that. Colossus is about showing them alternatives, but sometimes they still choose the wrong ones.”

  “Kimmo’s dead,” Lynley said. “You may have read about the body that was found in St. George’s Gardens, up in St. Pancras. He’s been identified in the press by now.”

  Ulrike said nothing in reply at first. She merely stared at Lynley for a good five seconds before her glance went to Havers, still in possession of one of her photographs. She said, “Put that down, please,” in the calmest possible voice. She loosed her plaits from their binding and refastened them tightly before she said more. Then it was merely, “I phoned…I did phone the moment I was told.”

  “So you knew he was dead?” Havers put the photograph back in place but facing outward so Lynley could see it: a very young Ulrike, an older man in minister’s garb who might have been her father, and between them the brightly clad figure of Nelson Mandela.

  Ulrike said, “No. No. I didn’t mean…When Kimmo failed to come to day five of his assessment course, Griff Strong reported him, as he was meant to do. I phoned Kimmo’s probation officer straightaway. That’s how we do it if one of our kids is ordered here by the magistrate or by Social Services.”

  “Griff Strong is…?”

  “A social worker. Trained as a social worker, I mean. We’re not social workers per se at Colossus. Griff leads one of our assessment courses. He does extremely well with the kids. Very few of them drop out once they’ve had Griff.”

  Lynley saw Havers take down this information. He said, “Is Griff Strong here as well today? If he knew Kimmo, we’re going to want to speak to him.”

  “To Griff?” Ulrike looked at her phone for some reason, as if this would give her the answer. “No. No, he’s not in. He’s bringing in a delivery…” She seemed to feel the need to toss her plaits into a more comfortable position. “He said he’d be late today, so we’re not expecting him until…You see, he does our T-shirts and sweatshirts. A sideline of his. You may have seen them outside reception. In the glass case. He’s an excellent social worker. We’re very lucky to have him.”

  Lynley felt Havers looking his way. He knew what she was thinking: more depths to plumb here.

  He said, “We’ve another dead boy as well. Jared Salvatore. Was he also one of yours?”

  “Another…”

  “There are five deaths we’re investigating in all, Ms. Ellis.”

  Havers added, “Do you read the newspapers, by any chance? Does anyone round here, if it comes to that?”

  Ulrike looked at her. “I hardly think that question’s fair.”

  “Which one?” Havers said, but she didn’t wait for an answer. “This is a serial killer we’re talking about. He’s going after boys round the age of those you’ve got standing in your carpark smoking fags. One of them could be next, so pardon my manners, but I don’t care what you think is fair.”

  In other circumstances, Lynley would have reined the constable in at this point. But he could see that Havers’ demonstration of impatience had had a positive effect. Ulrike got to her feet and went over to the filing cabinet. She squatted and jerked out one of the crammed drawers, which she fingered through rapidly. She said, “Of course I read…I look at the Guardian. Every day. Or as often as I can.”

  “But not recently, right?” Havers said. “Why is that?”

  Ulrike didn’t reply. She continued going through her files. She finally slammed the drawer closed and rose, empty handed. She said, “There is no Salvatore among our kids. I hope that satisfies you. And now let me ask you something in turn: Who sent you to Colossus in the first place?”

  “Who?” Lynley asked. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, come on. We have enemies. Any organisation like this…trying to make the slightest degree of change in this bloody backward country…Do you honestly think there aren’t people out there who want us to fail? Who put you on to Colossus?”

  “Police work put us on to Colossus,” Lynley said.

  “The Borough High Street station, to be specific,” Havers added.

  “You actually want me to believe…You’ve come here because you think Kimmo’s death has something to do with Colossus, haven’t you? Well, you wouldn’t even be thinking that if it hadn’t been suggested by someone outside these walls, be that someone from Borough High Street station or someone from Kimmo’s life.”

  Like Blinker, Lynley thought. Except Kimmo’s stud-faced mate hadn’t once mentioned Colossus, if he even had known about it. He said, “Tell us what happens in the assessment course.”

  Ulrike went back to her desk. For a moment, she stood there looking down at her phone, as if waiting for a prearranged deliverance. Beyond her, Havers had moved to a wall of degrees, certificates, and commendations, where she’d been jotting down salient details from the objects on display. Ulrike watched her. She said quietly, “We care about these kids. We want to make a difference for them. We believe that the only way to do that is through connection: one life to one life.”

  “Is that the assessment, then?” Lynley asked. “The attempt to connect with the young people who come here?”

  It was that and far more than that, she told them. It was the young people’s first experience with Colossus: a fortnight in which they met daily in a group of ten other young people with an assessment leader: Griffin Strong, in Kimmo’s case. The object was to engage their interest, to prove to them that they could achieve success in one area or another, to establish in them a sense of trust, and to encourage them to commit to taking part in the Colossus programme. They began with developing a personal code of conduct for the group, and each day they assessed what had gone on—and been learned—the day before.

  “Ice-breaking games at first,” Ulrike said. “Then trust activities. Then a personal challenge, like climbing the rock wall out the back. Then a trip which they plan and take together. Somewhere into the countryside or to the sea. Hiking in the Pennines. Something like that. At the end, we invite them back for classes. Computers. Cookery. Single living. Health. From learning to earning.”

  “Jobs, you mean?” Havers asked.

  “They aren’t ready for jobs. Not when they first get here. Most of them are monosyllabic if not completely nonverbal. They’re beaten down. What we try to do is show them there’s another way from what they’ve been doing in the streets. There’s returning to school, learning to read, completing college, walking away from drugs. There’s having a belief in their future. There’s managing their feelings. There’s having feelings in the first place. There’s developing a sense of self-esteem.” She looked sharply at them both, as if trying to read them. “Oh, I know what you’re thinking. Such touchy-feely crap. The ultimate in psychobabble. But the truth is that if behaviour is going to change, it’s going to do it from the inside out. No one chooses a different path till he feels differently about himself.”

  “That was the plan for Kimmo?” Lynley asked. “From what we’ve learned, he seemed to feel fairly good about himself already, despite the choices he made.”

  “No one making Kimmo’s choices feels good about himself at heart, Superintendent.”

  “So you expected him to change through time and exposure to Colossus?”

  “We have,” she said, “a high level of success. Despite what you’re obviously thinking about us. Despite our not knowing Kimmo was murdered. We did what we were meant to do when he failed to show up.”

  “As you said,” Lynley agreed. “And what do you do about the others?”

  “The others?”

  “Does everyone come to you via Youth Offenders?”

  “Not at all. Most of them come because they’ve heard about us in another way entirely. Through church or school, through someone already involved in the programme. If they stay, it’s becaus
e they begin to trust us and they start to believe in themselves.”

  “What happens with those who don’t?” Havers asked.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Start to believe in themselves?”

  “Obviously, this programme doesn’t work for them all. How can it? We’re up against everything in their backgrounds, from abuse to xenophobia. Sometimes, a kid can’t cope here any better than he can cope anywhere else. So he dips in and then out and that’s how it is. We don’t force anyone to stay who isn’t required to by a court order. As for the rest, as long as they obey the rules, we don’t force them to leave either. They can be here for years, if they like.”

  “And are they?”

  “Occasionally, yes.”

  “Like who?”

  “I’m afraid that’s confidential.”

  “Ulrike?” It was Jack Veness. He’d come to the doorway of Ulrike’s office, quiet as the fog. “Phone. I tried to tell him you were busy, but he wasn’t having it. Sorry. What d’you want me…?” He raised his shoulders as a way of completing the question.

  “Who is it, then?”

  “Reverend Savidge. He’s in a state. Says Sean Lavery’s gone missing. Says he didn’t turn up at home last night when he was due back from the computer course. Should I—”

  “No!” Ulrike said. “Put him through, Jack.”

  Jack left her office. She closed her fingers into a fist. She didn’t look up as she waited for the phone to ring.

  “There was another body this morning, Ms. Ellis,” Lynley said.

  “Then I’ll put him on the speakerphone,” she replied. “Please God this has nothing to do with us.” While she waited for the phone call to ring through, she told them that the caller was the foster parent of one of the boys in their programme: He was called Sean Lavery, and he was black. She looked at Lynley, the question hanging unasked between them. He merely nodded, confirming her unspoken fears about the body found that morning in the Shand Street tunnel.

  When the phone rang, Ulrike punched the button for the speaker. Reverend Savidge’s voice came through, deep and anxious. Where was Sean? he wanted to know. Why hadn’t Sean returned from Colossus last night?