‘That’s illegal, Arthur. Let’s try and keep our noses clean this week, eh?’
But Bryant was taken with the idea. ‘Actually, I know someone who would do it. Old Albert Purberry—he’s legitimate now, almost, and he’d be cheap.’
‘What do you mean, almost?’
‘He had some problems a couple of years back; it was nothing. A trick that went wrong, that’s all.’
‘What happened?’
‘He was booked for a stag night and hypnotised the groom-to-be, told him he would fall in love with the first person he saw on his wedding day. Unfortunately the first person he saw the next day wasn’t his wife.’
‘Who was it?’
‘Barry Manilow. On the television. The groom drove to Birmingham, where Manilow was performing, broke into his dressing room and proposed, but Manilow turned him down. Then Manilow had to get a restraining order, and the wedding was called off and the fiancée’s mother burned Albert’s house down. But he’s better now. I’ll give him a call.’
‘I’d hold off for a day or two,’ May cautioned. ‘If we don’t find a link between the deaths tomorrow, we investigate them separately. Do we have a deal?’
‘Do I have a choice?’ complained Bryant.
Janice Longbright was on all fours under her desk. There was something wrong with the electric socket on the floor that Dave and Dave, the two builders, had connected. It was crackling and popping, but as Bryant had blown up the other circuit, she needed it to work. She was tired and wanted to go home, but staying in the office stopped her from thinking about Liberty DuCaine.
‘Need any help?’ asked Renfield, bending low.
‘There’s some kind of intermittent fault, the power keeps shorting out.’ She refused his offer of a hand and clambered up. ‘Don’t worry, I can fix it.’
Renfield folded his thick arms and sternly regarded her. ‘You don’t always have to be so independent, you know.’
‘It comes naturally to me.’ She dusted herself down. ‘Was there something you wanted?’
‘I’m sorry about DuCaine.’ He looked awkward. ‘I know you and he got—close.’
‘We slept together once, Jack. There’s no need to be coy about it. I’d be sorry for anyone I knew who got killed in the line of duty. So I’m sorry he died, nothing more.’
‘Bit of a harsh way of looking at it.’
‘Well, small cruelties are what get us through.’
Renfield looked uncomfortable. ‘I was going to say that I’m here if you get fed up, or need to talk to someone.’
‘Thanks for the offer, but I’ve been around the block, it’s happened before, if I think too hard about it I won’t come in tomorrow morning. So let’s just draw a line under the matter.’
‘Okay. I just wanted to say—you know—’
‘Can we talk about this some other time? Go home and get some rest.’ Renfield looked dejected. She touched his arm. ‘But it’s good of you to think of me.’
She dropped back into her chair and pinned a stray auburn curl behind her ear. Releasing a long, slow breath, she looked around the room. This is it, she thought, the other end of my rat run. It starts at my empty flat in Highgate, and descends to a derelict warehouse in King’s Cross. There and back. My life in the service of the public. I wanted to be a burlesque dancer. Instead, I ended up being a copper like my ma.
Liberty DuCaine had given her a glimpse of the outside world. Most men seemed to smile on her in the way that they might admire an old Land Army poster, for its vigour and colouring. Liberty had found more within her, and liked the very qualities other men found unappealing. She had no desire to change. She was big-boned, strong-willed, blunt, outspoken, womanly, as glamorous as a lipstick lesbian and as kind as a man’s memory of his mother. In the catalogue of desirable female attributes, it felt as though she had managed to tick all the wrong boxes.
She caught sight of herself in a huge gilt mirror that stood propped against the opposite wall and knew this was who she would always be, a Diana Dors look-alike who wore a corset under her uniform and made weak men afraid. To hell with them, she thought with sharp finality. If they can’t handle me, that’s their problem, not mine. I’m not going to change who I am now. Tomorrow I’m going to bleach the hell out of my hair and go back to being big, blond and buxom. I reined it in for you, Liberty, because I wanted you to want me. I won’t do that again for anyone.
She stayed in the office for want of something better to do. Paperwork smothered her desk; there were dozens of King’s Cross passenger statements still to sort through. With any luck, it would keep her busy for the rest of the night. She could sleep on Bryant’s moth-eaten sofa and start again first thing in the morning.
SEVENTEEN
In Plain Sight
At 11:47 A.M. on Tuesday, John May received a phone call from Cassie Field. ‘You said to call if I saw any of the stickers,’ she explained. ‘Well, I saw some last night.’
‘In the bar?’
‘Yeah, on the backpacks of that group I told you about, the ones who spend all evening on their PDAs. They came in just after Theo left. I got talking to one of them, and got his mobile number for you.’
‘Thanks, I’ve been trying the house phone, but nobody answers. That was thoughtful of you.’
‘Not really. I fancied one of his mates and was trying to pick him up. He wasn’t interested, so I thought I’d turn them all over to the police. Have you got a pen?’
‘Fire away.’
‘His name’s Nikos Nicolau. He’s taking some kind of pharmaceutical course at UCL. He started to tell me about it but he’s got a bit of a speech impediment, and the music was too loud for me to hear him properly, plus he was boring. I asked him about the stickers but he was evasive. He’s kind of creepy. I thought I’d better call you.’ She gave him Nicolau’s phone number.
‘I’m on it,’ said May, thanking her. He rang off and called Nicolau, who sounded uncomfortable about being contacted by a police officer. May arranged an appointment for two P.M. at the college and was heading out of the room when he collided with Bryant coming in.
‘You will not believe this,’ said Arthur, out of breath. ‘He doesn’t exist!’
The two Daves, who had been attempting to fit an inadequate piece of hardboard across the hole in the detectives’ office, stopped work and turned their attention to Bryant. He seemed to fascinate them.
‘Who doesn’t exist?’
‘My blithering, blasted, bloody witness. Inattentional blindness, the oldest trick in the book.’
‘Arthur, I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘He’s playing psychological games with me. Do you remember there was this perception experiment, conducted in the 1990s?’
‘Strangely enough, no.’
‘A researcher pretended to be lost and stopped people on the street to ask for directions. Each time he did so, two workmen carrying a door barged between them. One of the workmen switched places with the researcher. Over half the subjects failed to notice they were now talking to someone else, because they were concentrating on the problem at hand, not on the researcher’s face.’
‘Who are we talking about?’ May threw up his hands helplessly. ‘I’m lost.’
‘I’m sorry, I forgot you exist in an alternate universe where everything has to be slowly explained to you. The man who was on my walking tour, the one who saw Mr Fox attacking the addict? We got his ID from the tour company, but he’s not the man I remember meeting.’
‘Maybe I’m being dense—’
‘You most certainly are and it’s very simple. I did a head-count when we set off—I always do, to make sure we don’t lose anyone. Sometimes when I get too interesting they try to slip away. We had the same number at the end as we had at the start. Mr Fox followed his victim, forcing him into a dead-end tunnel. After stabbing him, he knew he couldn’t get out of the other end, so he had to double back. It meant having to pass through my group, so rather than draw attentio
n to himself, he dismissed the person who most looked like him and replaced him. Obvious, really. Just what I would have done.’
‘What do you mean? How do you “dismiss” someone?’
‘Who knows? Maybe he gave him money or just threatened to rough him up. Took his jacket, changed his hair, I don’t know exactly how he does it, but he does. To be honest, he could have switched with almost any of the invisibles in my group because I barely notice them.’
‘Invisibles?’
‘It doesn’t matter. Then he drew my attention to the attack, which allowed him to manipulate the situation and slip away.’
‘What are you going to do now?’
‘I think I have a vague idea of what he looks like at the moment. He’s shortened his hair and smartened up. He’s been to a tanning salon and done something to his face that makes it look different, but I can’t put my finger on it. I can get out a basic description.’
‘He’ll change his appearance again, you know that. Keeping one step ahead is a matter of pride with him.’
‘But he’s tied to the area, John. I don’t know what keeps him here, but that’s how we’re going to get him.’
‘So what have we actually got? Fox doesn’t mind being seen because he’s never the same person for long. He absorbs others and uses their knowledge until it’s time to change once more. The danger is knowing something about him in return. What did the victim know that placed him at risk? Get Janice to dig into the boy’s background; we might get lucky and turn up something. Has anyone spoken to UCH this morning?’
‘He’s alive and stabilised, but not conscious. Janice is talking to his doctor right now.’
‘The Taylor case gets priority treatment. You know how this goes, Arthur; a junkie’s death matters less than a young mother shoved down the stairs, because if it turns out she’s done nothing wrong and was pushed by a stranger, everyone is at risk, and then it’s a matter of public safety—’
‘—and a case for the PCU,’ concluded Bryant impatiently. ‘Yes, I appreciate that. But if we keep a watch on the tube station, we can tackle both problems at once.’
‘It’s a big place; I don’t see how we can cover it with only a handful of staff. Dan, wait.’ May collared Banbury as he passed the doorway. ‘I heard you applied for a priority DNA check—anything from the contact lens case in the apartment?’
‘Nothing from the eyelash,’ said Dan. ‘The saline had corrupted it. But there were fingerprints on the exterior of the case, and they match Janice’s ID of the victim lying in UCH.’
‘She’s got an ID? Why didn’t I know this?’
‘Only just happened. Tony McCarthy, aka “Mac,” small-time crook, recovering heroin addict, a known face in the dodgier King’s Cross pubs. McCarthy’s got an impressive string of convictions. He pulled down a couple of years in Pentonville for dealing.’
‘Looks like Mr Fox slipped up,’ said May.
‘It’s not like him,’ Bryant insisted. ‘He’s too careful for that.’
‘If he’s addicted to changing his appearance, he probably wears coloured contacts. And Mac was a junkie. If Mr Fox invited him over and left him alone for even a minute, it’s likely Mac would go through his host’s bathroom cabinet looking for something to steal or swallow. He picked up the lens case, checked it out, put it back somewhere different, and Mr Fox failed to wipe it clean.’
‘Okay, we’ve been handed McCarthy, but if there’s something in his past that connects the pair of them, Mr Fox must know we’ll find it. He’s daring me to try to stop him. Wouldn’t you want to measure your opponent’s strength? See how close he’s likely to get?’
‘What kind of man thinks like that?’ asked Longbright.
‘It’s about power, Janice. Some men use everything as an opportunity to prove their superiority. For them, life is a perpetual dare. This is his work. Rather than shift from his location, our Fox will hide in plain sight until one of us is forced to make a move.’
‘Killing people is not normal work, Arthur,’ May pointed out gently. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to act as if you admire him.’
‘Of course I don’t.’ Bryant’s watery blue eyes rolled behind his bifocals. ‘I think he’s horrible. But if something wriggles under a rock, don’t you want to pick the rock up and take a look? I wouldn’t be much of a criminologist if I wasn’t intrigued.’
‘Then I shall leave you to your intrigues.’ May searched around for his coat. The two Daves were standing by with screwdrivers raised, listening with undisguised interest. ‘I’m going to try and throw some light on why an innocent woman died. Perhaps you’ll give us the benefit of your intelligence by doing the same.’
‘I have my suspicions about her death,’ Bryant told his partner’s retreating back, ‘but you’re not going to like it. You never do.’
‘You’re not going to win this one by ploughing through a bunch of old books, Arthur,’ May called back serenely. ‘It’ll come down to modern detection techniques. I’m willing to put money on it.’
‘So am I,’ said one of the Daves. ‘Twenty quid says he proves the old codger wrong.’
‘Make it fifty,’ said the other, ‘and you’ve got yourself a bet.’
EIGHTEEN
Lunacy
Rain was tumbling through the office ceiling. Everyone looked up as a piece of plaster divorced itself and fell into a bucket with a plonk. They dragged their attention back to the acting head of the Unit.
‘Words fail me,’ Raymond Land continued, despite the fact that they clearly did no such thing. ‘What more am I supposed to do, for God’s sake? You get your old jobs back, we might finally be allocated a decent budget thanks to Giles Kershaw’s old-school network, our enemies at the Home Office have heard the news and are wandering around with faces like slapped arses, we even get a case that fits the Unit’s mission statement and what happens? I ask you, what happens?’
Ask he might, but there was no response. The assembled staff of the PCU looked at one another in puzzlement. Outside the door, one of the Daves was hitting a pipe with the desultory air of a Victorian nanny beating a child. Land squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the workman to finish.
‘Exactly. Nothing. Twenty-four hours is a bloody long time in this area, and the trail has wiped itself clean. I walk around the offices—if that’s what you can call this doss-house—hoping to see someone in the throes of a revelation, or at least bothering to fill in their paperwork, and what do I see?’
‘Is this going to take very long, sir?’ asked Meera.
‘You’ll stay here until I’ve finished, young lady.’ Land tried to take his eyes from her and failed. ‘What … what is all that stuff on your face?’
‘Lip gloss and blusher, sir. Janice gave me some makeup tips. I had a makeover.’
‘During your duty hours? What the hell is going on here?’
‘Not here, at Selfridges, in the cosmetics department where Gloria Taylor worked. I got more out of her colleagues that way, catching them while they were working. Taylor took the same train home every night. She was in perfectly normal spirits when she left, looking forward to seeing her daughter because she was going to take her to the cinema for the first time, to see an old Disney film they just re-issued at the Imax, The Lion King. She’d bought the kid a stuffed lion from the Disney Store, but hadn’t taken it home with her. It was still in her locker. I filed my report and emailed it to you.’
‘Oh. Well. I suppose that’s all right. But the rest of you …’ His attention fell upon Colin Bimsley, who was reading a cookery book. ‘I assume that’s not a police manual in your hand?’
‘No, sir, it’s aubergine and mozzarella parcels. I’m thinking of taking a course in Italian cuisine.’ He had found the book in one of the trash bins while he was staking out Mr Fox’s apartment, and had decided it was about time to learn a new skill. John May encouraged them all to do so whenever they were inundated with paperwork, to keep their brains sharp. Besides, Longbright
had tipped him off that Meera liked Italian food.
‘What about the requisition forms I asked you to handle? You can’t have finished those already.’
‘They’ve all gone off. John created online spreadsheets for us, so we wouldn’t have to print hard copies anymore. But I printed out some sets for you and Mr Bryant because I knew you’d prefer paper. They’re on your desk.’
Land wasn’t keen about being yoked with Bryant. ‘I know how to open a spreadsheet, thank you; I can do that. I do know about computers, Bimsley. You don’t have to patronise me.’
‘Good, because I didn’t fix your printer utilities, so I guess I can leave you to upgrade the file manager for—’
‘Fine, fine, whatever, and I suppose the rest of you have completed your duties for the day.’
‘No, sir,’ answered Banbury, ‘obviously, we won’t have done that until we find out who was standing behind Gloria Taylor. I’ve been through every second of the CCTV footage covering the escalator, but we have no clear shots of her falling. The movement is just too fast. I’ve sent some frame grabs out for enhancement. I’m just waiting for them to come back.’
Land was starting to suspect that he had been set up. ‘Then where has John got to? I’m supposed to be informed whenever anyone goes out.’
‘John is interviewing a student at UCL,’ Longbright told him, ‘following up a lead on Taylor.’
‘Well, somebody should have told me.’ Land turned to Bryant in desperation. ‘What about you?’ he pleaded. ‘What do you expect to find in that huge filthy-looking book?’ He pointed at the leather-bound volume wedged under the arm of London’s most senior detective.
‘This? Glad you asked. It’s a copy of the asylum records from Bedlam, after it moved to St George’s Fields, Southwark,’ said Bryant, happily holding the book up for Land’s perusal.
‘You can’t tell me that this has something to do with the case.’
Christopher Fowler Page 11
