by P. D. Viner
“We won’t give up, we’ll find them, Karan. Have faith,” he had said to her on the third day and she had wept in his arms. That memory, after her children’s bodies had been discovered, had made her physically sick.
He was arrested and pleaded guilty. He said he had invited them in for a cold drink and put on a film, a film of men having sex with teenage girls. When they tried to leave he stopped them. The police searched the house and discovered an entire cupboard filled with films and photographs of children being abused. There were photographs of Emma and Tamsin. He was convicted of their murders. Karan’s marriage had lasted just a few months after the girls went missing. By the time their bodies were found, their father was remarried, living in France with a four-year-old son. About a year after the neighbor was convicted, Karan Noble set up the charity Lost Souls. Its agenda was the campaign for stiffer penalties for endangering, harming and killing children, no matter the circumstance. As a secondary goal, it tried to fight for state funding to provide counseling for grieving parents, their extended family and friends.
Karan had passion for her cause, but no real knowledge of how that message could be put across to politicians and the press. Then she met Patty about six months after Dani was killed. In many ways they were made for each other. Patty was both a journalist and activist. She knew how to get stories in the papers and who to harangue. Oh, she could harangue. Karan was someone who could organize and structure. Patty was never someone who was going to build a charity from the ground up, but she could help to shape someone else’s cause. So Karan took on Patty as a kind of manager, to shape policy. Under Patty, Lost Souls became a lobbying group, a powerful mouthpiece for anyone who had lost a loved one to violent crime. And of course it was Patty who became the public face of Lost Souls. When children went missing or were murdered, she was one of the first to be called by the press or TV for comment. Jim had hated that; he hadn’t liked the friendship that had developed between Patty and Karan. To him it didn’t seem based in support for each other but in a shared spite and pain. It hadn’t surprised him at all when Patty had confided in him, about a year after joining the charity, that Karan regularly paid money to see that the man who killed her children was beaten and abused in prison.
Jim walks without pausing until he reaches the South Bank, directly opposite St. Paul’s Cathedral, snow scattered over its dome like icing sugar. There he stops and leans on the railings. The beauty of it makes his heart soar.
“It’s lovely.”
He turns to see his daughter. He smiles, pleased to see her.
“Do you rem—” he starts.
“I remember you boring me witless talking about Wren and the dome and the flying buttresses.”
He laughs.
“Happy days.” She grins.
Silently the two of them stand by the river and watch London, a thousand years reflected in the shimmer of water.
“Shall we go?” Jim says as the cold sneaks into his fingers.
They push on, cold breath billowing from his mouth like steam. They walk past the National Theatre, toward Big Ben and Parliament. Then over the Thames, as the snow begins to fall once more, hard and heavy as the afternoon light dies.
They stand before the slate-gray building on the edge of Dryden Street and look up at its darkened windows. There might be a faint glow coming from the very top floor, it’s hard to tell. He looks at the run of intercom buttons down the right side of the door; the top two are for Lost Souls. He pushes them both, one after the other. There is a long wait before a weirdly crackling and rather irritated voice asks, “The office is closed. Who is it?”
“It’s Jim Lancing. You might remem—”
The intercom buzzes and the door pops open slightly. He pushes it forward, holding it wide as he turns back to Dani.
“I think it best if you stay down here.”
“Good, I’ll window shop.” She sounds quite excited.
“Okay. I don’t suppose I’ll be that long—an hour at most.”
“Rendezvous back here at seventeen hundred hours?” she asks.
“Fine.”
Dani smiles and turns away to walk toward the heart of Covent Garden.
He climbs three flights of a very steep circular staircase to get to the Lost Souls office. Theater posters adorn the walls of the first two flights. The second floor seems to be home to theatrical agents, though judging by the posters they seem to represent only second-rate ventriloquists, mesmerists, the runner-up in some ancient talent show and a fizzy blonde dance troupe that have had ten years airbrushed off them.
The top floor opens out onto an area that resembles a private dentist’s waiting room. There’s no one there, but there is a sign, propped on a small table. It reads: PLEASE TAKE A SEAT.
There’s an old leather sofa and three less comfortable-looking chairs. At the far end is a small receptionist’s desk. He chooses the sofa and sinks comfortably into it. There’s a coffee table, but all it contains are the glossy flyers and annual reports of Lost Souls. He doesn’t pick one up. He’s seen them many times before and knows that on page four there is a picture of a stricken Patty holding up a photograph of Dani. He’d argued against its inclusion but Patty insisted. “Jim, the charity needs a public face. You need to poke people and show them the reality: loss and grief. Loss and grief sells.”
“Charities aren’t selling anything.”
“What century are you in?” She laughed. “Charities need to sell harder than anyone.”
Of course, deep down, Jim knew Patty was right. But he deeply resented their grief being used like that.
It takes Karan Noble about ten minutes, but finally she appears from a small door Jim hadn’t noticed. She’s a tall, slim woman, somewhere in her late sixties. Her hair is up, which gives her a sense of elegance. This is further enhanced by her plain silver jewelry, which highlights the silver in her hair. Jim has met her twice before. Both times he had felt she didn’t like him, didn’t trust him. Her eyes told him that he was judged. Now he sees something new in her eyes. She’s wary and looks a little afraid. He wonders what’s changed. She walks to the desk and stands behind it, as if it affords some protection to her.
“Mr. Lancing.”
“Mrs. Noble. I was hoping you might—”
“I really can’t help you. I don’t have any information I could share with you. Even if I had, I wouldn’t.”
Jim looks surprised. “I … it’s Patty.”
“Patty has made her own choice. She needed to act and she has done so.”
“What, hang on, what choice?” Jim stands and Karan Noble steps back. “I just want to know about Patty. I’ve tried to call and can’t reach her. I thought you might know something.”
She pauses. Karan Noble knows, she knows everything. She had watched Patty lose hope over the years, watched her anger die. She had even thought it a blessing; no one could live with that much rage. Then suddenly the fire burned again. Patty said nothing but Karan knew only one thing could make the anger return: the chance to catch him. The chance to kill him. She would never betray her friend.
“I don’t. I know nothing, Mr. Lancing.”
“A mobile number, an e-mail she might check.”
She pulls her arms tight around her defensively. “Nothing.”
“Please. Somewhere she might be?”
“I can’t. I would like you to leave.”
“I’m worried about Patty. I’m sure—”
Karan’s face clouds over. “My understanding is that Patty hasn’t seen you for years. That doesn’t sound like a man who cares.”
“That’s not right. I mean, it is years, but … I just …” He feels a headache begin. “This will sound crazy. Out of the blue I suddenly started thinking about her and I’ve been worrying about her ever since. I can’t get her out of my mind.”
Karan snorts a little and starts to shake her head.
Jim continues. “Something is happening and … and I think you know what it might be.�
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She raises her eyebrow and then a wry smile creeps across her face. “My husband, ex-husband, had a heart attack two months ago. Not fatal, but serious.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, it’s more than thirty years since he meant anything to me. I mention it because there was a time when I thought that if anything happened to him—anything at all—that I would know, some intuition or something. But …”
“But everything changes when a partner moves on,” says Jim softly and Karan meets his gaze properly for the first time. She nods.
“I can’t help you, Mr. Lancing.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
She smiles. “Can’t, won’t—they’re the same thing. Now, please leave.”
Jim feels the blood pound at his temples. He opens his mouth to argue with her but at that second there is the slam of metal and brick from somewhere close by. A car alarm immediately sounds and various voices begin to shout. Jim and Karan both move to the window, three or four figures can be seen scurrying around the corner, heading to something. Jim looks down. Dani is in the middle of the road waving manically. From that distance he can’t really see her expression, it’s more like a smudge, but he knows something is very wrong.
He turns to Karan Noble “I have—” He doesn’t finish, but rushes out of the room.
“What the hell?” Karan Noble shouts after him but he’s gone.
He takes the stairs two at a time, bouncing off the walls of the narrow staircase until he hits the bottom. He tumbles out into the cold evening air. Dani runs to him, so panicked she runs through a parked car.
“Dad!” She looks scared, so pale—even for a ghost.
“What? What’s happened?”
“Dad, this way …”
She turns and runs into the road; Jim follows.
“Watch it!” the driver screams, as Jim swerves at the last moment to avoid being hit by the only car on the street. Dani runs around the corner. As he gets into Drury Lane, Jim sees a group gathered around a man lying in the middle of the road. A car has crashed into a wall to the left of them—the driver has got out of the car and is swaying slightly—he looks both dazed and angry. Jim slows and comes to a halt next to Dani, who watches the group.
“I should help.”
“No need, he’s dead,” she tells him in a small voice.
“How …?”
“I saw it.” She turns to Jim. “He collapsed right in front of me, but …”
“What?”
“He … his body fell but another part of him stayed up, standing there. Like his flesh just fell away and his spirit was still upright. He looked right at me—could see me. He looked shocked, confused … he looked down and saw his body and then …”
She screws her face up, the memory cutting into her.
“Then he just seemed to freeze. The spirit part of him that was standing opened its mouth. I think he was going to say something to me. Ask what had happened, but he just suddenly seemed to shake—like a huge current was running through him and he lit up like the sun—and then …” She struggles to express it. “He turned to steam, or something like smoke, and was gone.”
She closes her eyes, replaying in her mind what she’d seen.
“I don’t understand, Dani,” Jim tells her.
“He was gone, Dad. Gone.”
“What?”
“Not like I can—he was gone. Nowhere. His spirit just went.”
“Dani …”
“Then the car came—the driver saw the body in the road at the last second and steered away, hit the wall. Lucky he was moving so slowly.”
“Oh” is all Jim can say.
They stand silent while the wail of the ambulance builds around them. It trundles through the still treacherous streets. As soon as it arrives two paramedics jump out. Dani finally lifts up her face to meet her father’s gaze. Her eyes seem to dance with a firelight Jim has never seen before.
“I don’t remember it, Dad. I don’t remember my death. I don’t know why I’m here. Why didn’t I go like he just did? What …?” She can’t complete the sentence. Instead she turns and starts to walk away.
“Dani,” Jim calls to her. “Please don’t go.” But she fades from sight.
He waits for a while, hoping she will come back, but after half an hour his fingers and feet are frozen. Full of questions he trudges back to the Lost Souls building. Now it looks totally dark. He knows Karan Noble would never let him back in. But she had confirmed something was going on—“Patty has made her own choice. She needed to act and she has done so”—that was what she’d said, but what did it mean?
He sighs heavily. He’s no closer to finding Patty, and is even more worried than he was that morning. With a heavy heart, Jim heads slowly up Dryden Street toward home.
Patty suddenly sits up like a marionette, her strings jerked—ready to perform. She has no idea where she is for a second, the sound and images so alien—then it all rushes back: the knife, the blood, the drive through the snow, handing the sample over, the end to her long, long wait.
On the table the superskinnysoymoccacinolatte is cold, a film formed over the top. Her hand reaches up to her lip and she feels drool. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a packet of tissues to mop her lips. She looks at her watch—11:30. The four hours are almost up. It’s time to go back to the lab.
She feels like she’s moving through mud; the air is sodden with the weight of loss: lost laughter, lost moments, lost … She moves slowly through the streets, almost like a bride moving down the aisle, she feels like she is about to shed her old life and become someone new.
She climbs the stairs to the lab. She asks for Roberta, again trying to smile and affect the cheery Home Counties voice.
Roberta enters. She is all frowns, but as she sees Patty she smiles.
“It is good news, I think.”
Patty imagines the blade in her hand, sees herself slide it into him, spit in his face. She cries her tears that splash down upon him as his life slimes away. The blood and tears mingle, bloodred pain and crystal joy. Both will free her.
Roberta, still smiling, tells her the result. Her lips move but the sound is distorted. Patty starts to sway; she looks down at her hand covered in his gore. Blood spews onto the floor like broken waters as a baby squirms in the dirt, fighting for breath. She tumbles forward. All is black for Patricia Lancing.
INTERMISSION FOUR
Monday, February 8, 1999
She stands on the threshold. The train station behind her, looking down the path that winds into the middle of town. She’s made this walk so often—dozens of times over the last ten years—but today her legs feel like jelly. She has come to despise this city and its occupants, maybe not all but certainly the young ones, with their long limbs, super-white teeth and clear skin. They strut around like they own the place—she hates it—the arrogance of the young and privileged. Even the student selling the Socialist Worker sounds like a refugee from the House of Lords.
She pushes herself forward and starts to trundle down the path. It’s five months since she was last here, then it was the start of the new university year. She had quizzed the staff for the thousandth time—nothing. Very few remain from Dani’s day, a couple of secretaries, two senior masters and no students; they have masters and PhDs now and are scattered all over the planet. The police gave up on Dani long ago, even Tom has moved on. And Jim … Patty suddenly stops and grabs hold of the metal rail. Behind her a Japanese student with a large trundling suitcase has to make an emergency stop.
“Excuse me.”
Patty takes no notice. The path ahead swims, she sits down—feeling damp from the ground seep into her jeans. The diminutive Japanese student swears under her breath as she manhandles the enormous suitcase around the madwoman sitting in everyone’s way. There is no way forward—that is the only thought in Patty’s head. Ten years. There are no leads, no evidence, no chance. She feels sick. Tired and sick. She hates Durham. Before Dani
came here Patty knew nothing about the city. No, that isn’t quite true—she had known one girl from Durham, a prostitute who worked out of a slum in King’s Cross. Tina. Tina? When Patty first met her she was still pretty, only twenty, slight but not addict thin. She’d arrived from Durham a few weeks before—running from someone or something. Running to the big smoke where the streets were paved with gold. Stupid girl. She had a son who was in care—she swore she’d get him back. She begged Patty to help. What a fucking joke, he was better off without her. Fucking Durham.
Patty sits on the step and lets the day slide away from her. At some point her stomach grumbles so loudly that she gets up and walks down the path to find something to eat. In a greasy spoon she orders a cheese sandwich and glass of milk. There’s a phone box outside and she considers calling Karan. She wants someone who might understand. Might appreciate what ten years of death feels like … but she doesn’t ring her. Truth is there is no one who can know what she has gone through, feel the frustration of her failure to find Dani’s killer, know the guilt she feels about those first few days when she was drugged up to the eyeballs and no help. She feels the shame nuzzle her heart even now, gnaw at her: “You fell apart when you were most needed. Ninety percent of all crimes are solved in the first twenty-four hours and you were no use—you might as well have killed her.” That is what her head tells her. The milk seems to curdle in her mouth. She takes one bite of the sandwich but can’t force it down. She spits it into a napkin. Why did she come here? She envies Karan Noble. She lost her daughters but at least she knows who to blame, who to hate. She has the pleasure of knowing his life is being made a hell in prison—that she pays for him to be beaten and worse every week. That is something. Something.
“Really. Would that make you happy, Patty? To have a man raped and beaten for your pleasure?” Jim-in-her-head asks.
“Yes.”
“Are you so lost?”
“You have no idea who I am these days.”
“I am so sorry for you.”
