‘No. No, it’s okay. The man, Daniel. Who was the man?’
‘I don’t know. He was wearing a hoodie, and the light isn’t very good by the lifts. I came home from the day centre and I saw him hitting you with a stick, and I shouted at him because you’re not supposed to hit people, and then he ran away. I didn’t see his face.’
One of the gang of lads, she thought. Most probably the one who called himself Phil, proving his manhood to his pals by showing how he wasn’t going to stand for being humiliated by a police officer, especially a female one.
‘Then I need to thank you, Daniel. You saved me.’
He looked at the floor, embarrassed. ‘It’s okay.’
‘No, really. You did a wonderful thing. Was it difficult getting me into the lift?’
He furrowed his eyebrows. ‘I didn’t use the lift. I don’t trust it.’
‘I don’t understand. How did you get me up here?’
‘I carried you.’
She stared at him. ‘What? You carried me? Up twelve floors?’
He nodded, as if it was no big thing.
‘Wow,’ she said. ‘That’s impressive.’
‘Thanks,’ he said. And then, ‘What does impressive mean?’
‘It means I wish there were more people in the world like you, Daniel. You’re one of the good guys.’
He dropped his gaze to the floor again.
Hannah touched the lump on her forehead and winced, then the bigger lump on the back of her head and winced even more. She tried again to sit up, and cried out as pain fanned out across her upper body.
‘You should rest,’ Daniel advised again. ‘You can sleep there if you want. I can get a blanket and cover you up. My dad did that the other day, and it really helped.’
‘No, that’s okay. I can’t stay here.’ She looked around. ‘My things. I had a bag and some other stuff.’
Daniel held up a finger. ‘Oh. Wait. Here.’ He went to the dining table and brought back her bag and clipboard. She marvelled even more at the thought that he had somehow managed to carry both her and her belongings.
‘Thank you.’ She opened the bag and rummaged around inside for her phone, but then remembered that she’d had it in her hand when she was attacked.
‘My phone. Did you pick up a phone downstairs?’
‘No. I’m sorry. I didn’t see it. It was a bit dark.’
‘That’s okay.’ An easy thing to miss, she thought. It might have ended up in the lift or in a shadowy corner. Either that or her mugger had run off with it.
‘Do you have a phone?’ she asked.
Daniel frowned and turned on the spot. ‘Somewhere,’ he said. He scratched his head. ‘Wait.’ He went out to the hall, then returned, brandishing his mobile. He handed it to her.
It was a primitive device, designed for simplicity of use. Huge buttons rather than a touchscreen. The display was spider-webbed with cracks, and when Hannah tried depressing keys, nothing happened.
‘This is broken, Daniel.’
He looked crestfallen. ‘I know. My mum says I’m too rough with it. The answer button still works, so she can call me, but I can’t call her.’ He suddenly brightened. ‘But I think I might be getting a new one next week for my birthday. I heard my mum and dad talking about it.’
‘Do you have a landline?’
‘What’s a landline?’
‘A separate phone for the flat.’
‘No. We don’t have one of those. I’ve seen them on telly, but Mum says we don’t need one because we’ve got mobiles.’
Hannah thought about Marcel, presumably still working his way through the flats below, oblivious to his superior officer’s predicament.
‘You couldn’t do me a favour, could you? My colleague is downstairs somewhere. Probably still on the ground floor. Do you think you’d be able to go and find him for me?’
It was clear from the way Daniel began rubbing his face that he was agonising over the request.
‘I’m not supposed to do that,’ he said. ‘I’m not supposed to leave the flat after I get home. And Mum and Dad don’t like me talking to strangers.’
‘I’m a stranger.’
‘I know. But you needed help. It’s a good thing to help people. That’s what I think, anyway.’
She smiled at him and nodded. ‘Yes. Yes it is a good thing. Perhaps your next-door neighbour has a phone?’
‘They don’t talk to us. My dad fell out with them when they said I was an idiot. I got the flats mixed up when we first moved here, and I broke my key in their lock when I tried to get in.’
No other choice, Hannah thought. She took a deep breath, hauled herself to her feet. Crashed back onto the sofa again when her balance went out of kilter and nausea hit her.
‘Oh, God,’ she moaned. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’
This alarmed Daniel. ‘Do you need a bucket? We’ve got a bucket. A black plastic one from B&Q. Should I get it for you?’
Hannah waved a hand. ‘No. I’ll be okay. I just need to sit here for a while. Could I have some water?’
‘Yes. Of course. We have lots of that.’
Daniel walked over to the kitchen area, filled a glass with tap water, then brought it back.
‘Thank you. That helps. Where are your parents, Daniel?’
‘They should be home soon. My mum went shopping, but then she’s meeting my dad at work and he’s bringing her home. We’re having pizza tonight. Would you like to stay for tea?’
‘No. I’d better not. Thank you for the offer, though.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Impeccable manners, she thought. The parents have brought him up well.
‘What’s your name?’ Daniel asked.
‘It’s Hannah.’
‘Hannah. That’s a nice name.’
‘Thank you. I like Daniel, too.’
‘Thank you. And what do you do, Hannah?’
‘I work for the police. I’m a detective.’
Daniel’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, wow! A detective? Like Columbo?’
‘Well, I like to think I’m a bit better dressed than that. Maybe more like Inspector Morse.’
‘He’s good too. He’s very clever. Do you always have to be clever to be a detective?’
‘Well, it helps.’
‘I couldn’t be a detective. I’m a sandwich short of a picnic.’
Hannah spluttered while sipping her water. ‘Who told you that?’
‘Laurence. At the day centre. He’s funny.’
‘Well, you can tell Laurence that I think you’d make an excellent police officer. You’re brave and you’re strong and you do what’s right.’
Daniel drew himself up to his full height. Which was considerable.
‘Do you stop criminals?’ he asked.
‘I try to.’
‘Adam-9 stops criminals. Do you know Adam-9?’
Something pinged in Hannah’s chest. Adam-9. The comics. The television programmes. Tilly had loved them. Hannah was never sure why, but it was one of the few things that had really been capable of holding her daughter’s attention, and was therefore in her armoury of rewards for good behaviour.
And then it came back to her. Tilly. In the lift earlier.
Why?
What had she been doing there? And why then? Had she appeared as a warning, to let her mother know that she was about to be attacked?
Stop that, Hannah told herself. Tilly was never there. It was a figment of your imagination.
And yet she had seemed so real, so solid. Not a vague, fuzzy image built from corruptible memory, but there in every wonderful tiny detail, living and breathing and staring deep into her mother’s eyes.
Hannah cleared her throat. ‘I’m sorry, Daniel. What was that?’
‘I was talking about Adam-9. He’s my favourite. Do you like him?’
‘He’s . . . My daughter really likes him.’
She caught herself using the present tense, but she didn’t care. After seeing Tilly up
close like that, it didn’t feel wrong.
‘What’s your daughter’s name?’
‘Tilly. Her name’s Tilly.’
‘That’s also a nice name. Did you know there was a Tilly on Adam-9 once?’
‘No, I didn’t know that.’
‘She was a little girl. Adam helped her. A nasty man took her away from her family, but Adam rescued her.’
This was a revelation to Hannah. She wondered if it was the reason Tilly had been so fascinated by the stories. She wanted to tell Daniel that her own Tilly had been snatched away too, and that she wished Adam-9 could bring her back to her family, but then she decided it would be too much for him to handle.
‘Adam’s a hero, all right.’
‘He is. I’ve got lots of his comics, and we record all the programmes. Would you like to watch one?’
‘I—’ She was going to make an excuse, and then she thought, What the hell? This young man has just saved me. Why not indulge him?
‘I’d love to,’ she said.
And so Daniel put the programme on, and then he sat in his chair, his elbows on his knees and his chin in his cupped hands, staring transfixed at the screen and apparently oblivious to everything else around him.
Just as Tilly had once done.
20
A normal day.
Scott hadn’t dared to think it would happen. Following the events of the weekend, he’d found himself constantly worrying about seismic aftershocks, or at least ripples of disturbance.
But no. A mundane working day. A grey Monday just like any other. From start to finish, business as usual. And now here he was, nearly home, Gemma at his side. About to see his amazing son again. They would have a meal together, watch some television. He might open a couple of bottles of beer.
It would get easier, day by day. The images, the horrors – they would fade. Eventually he would find himself wondering if they had even taken place. The mind is good at self-repair like that. It protects itself, just as Scott had protected his son.
But then he unlocked the door and wandered in and saw the smartly dressed woman sitting on the sofa, exactly where he’d put Joseph Cobb, and he saw the lumps and discoloration on her head and forearms, saw Daniel looming over her, and he thought, No, no, please God, no, not again, what has my son done, what in God’s name has he done now? And then he heard the intake of breath from Gemma as she followed him into the room, but nothing more, as if she was equally as stunned.
‘Hello,’ he said, because he didn’t know what else to say, didn’t know how to make sense of this.
‘Mr Timpson,’ the woman said, and she put out her hand, and Scott could see that she was wincing as she did so. He took it very gently, for fear of breaking her.
‘I’m sorry,’ Scott said. ‘I don’t—’
‘Dad! Dad! I rescued her. I saved her. A man attacked her, and I saved her.’
Scott stared at Daniel, and then back at the woman. Could this be true? Or had something gone wrong again? Had Daniel caused this somehow? Could they be that unlucky?
‘You have a wonderful son,’ the woman said. ‘If he hadn’t turned up when he did, I could be dead by now.’
‘Who . . . who did it? Who attacked you?’
‘I don’t know. There was a gang of lads down there earlier . . .’
Scott nodded. ‘They’re a menace. Always hanging about the building. I’ve told the police about them lots of times.’
The woman went to say something, but was interrupted by stifled giggles from Daniel.
‘She is the police, Dad! Her name’s Hannah, and she’s a real detective!’
Scott felt suddenly faint, as though his brain was squeezing the blood out of itself in preparation for flight. The police? This couldn’t be coincidence, surely. They know something, he thought. What has Daniel told them?
Behind him, Gemma said, ‘I’ll put the shopping away,’ and he knew she needed to avoid showing her fear. As she sped away with her carrier bags, Scott forced an approximation of cheerfulness onto his features.
‘A detective, eh? We like detectives, don’t we, Daniel?’
‘We do. She’s not like Columbo, though. More like Inspector Morse.’
Scott forced out a laugh. ‘Are you okay? I mean, do you need an ambulance or anything?’
‘No. I’m starting to feel much better. Daniel has been taking good care of me.’
Scott looked at his son again. Daniel was beaming, but Scott still wondered if he’d said something he shouldn’t.
‘Are you here on official business, or . . .’
‘Actually, yes. I was just about to start canvassing the building before I was attacked.’
‘Canvassing?’
‘Yes. We’re hoping that somebody here will be able to supply us with some information.’
Scott watched as Hannah picked up a clipboard from the cushion next to her. He licked his lips, his mouth dry. He had a good idea of what was coming.
Hannah unclipped an envelope. Went to open the flap.
She’s going to pull out a photo, he thought. She’s going to show us a picture of Joseph Cobb and tell us that he’s been murdered. And then Daniel, our honest Daniel, will confess everything.
‘Er . . .’ Scott said. ‘If you don’t mind . . .’
Hannah stopped what she was doing. Looked inquiringly at him.
‘If this is about a crime, we try to keep Daniel out of things like that. Columbo and Morse are one thing, but when it’s real . . .’
Hannah smiled. ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’
Scott turned to his son. ‘Daniel, would you mind going to your room, please?’
Daniel looked devastated. ‘Oh, but, Dad!’
‘No buts. We need to talk about something.’
‘But it’s not fair. I’m the one who—’
‘Daniel! Please.’
Daniel lowered his chin to his chest. Sloped off to his bedroom with heavy feet.
‘Sorry about that,’ Scott said. ‘He may not look it, but he’s quite sensitive.’
‘That’s all right. I understand. Now if I could just ask you to take a look at a photograph for me?’
Scott shrugged. ‘Sure.’
I don’t want to see this, he thought. I don’t want to look at that man’s face again. How has he come back to haunt me so quickly? How did the police find us?
Hannah slipped out the photograph and handed it over. Scott took it and tried to look without seeing. Tried to regard the image in front of him as a collection of printed dots that collectively meant nothing.
‘Have you ever seen that man?’ Hannah asked.
Scott shook his head, but the eyes on the sheet of paper were starting to make their presence felt, starting to burn into his skull. He looked away, focused on Hannah instead.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Can’t say I have. Who is he?’
‘His name’s Joseph Cobb. He’s a murder victim.’
‘Murder? God. Did he live in this building?’
‘No, but he visited someone here on Saturday afternoon, not long before he was killed. Are you sure you didn’t see him?’
‘Certain. I took Daniel to the cinema on Saturday afternoon, and when we got back we came straight up here and didn’t go out again. I don’t remember seeing anyone else in the building that day, not even the lads you saw earlier.’
He handed the photograph back. That was okay, he thought. I was convincing. I know I was.
But then Hannah looked past him towards the kitchen area.
‘Mrs Timpson? Would you mind taking a look at this, please?’
Scott watched Gemma’s unsteady progress across the room. She looked pale, on the verge of vomiting.
Keep it together, Gem. Don’t go to pieces on me now.
When his wife took the photograph, Scott noticed that her hand was shaking.
‘Does he look familiar to you at all?’ Hannah asked.
She pulled a face, shook her head. ‘Never seen him in my life.’
&nbs
p; ‘And neither of you were aware of any commotion in the building over the weekend? Nobody acting suspicious?’
Scott forced out a laugh. ‘This place is full of suspicious-looking people. Sorry we can’t help you, though.’
Hannah put the photograph away. ‘No problem. I can’t expect to strike lucky with the first people I ask.’ She winced again. ‘Probably the last ones I ask today as well, the way I’m feeling. You mind if I borrow your phone? I need to call my colleague.’
‘Of course not.’ Scott dug his mobile out of his pocket, unlocked it and handed it over. As the detective typed in a number, he exchanged glances with his wife. Gemma looked terrified.
‘Hi, Marcel,’ Hannah was saying. ‘You mind coming up to get me when you’re done there? There’s been a bit of an incident . . . I was assaulted. Feeling a bit worse for wear . . . No, I’ll be fine. Stop worrying . . . I’ll tell you all about it when I see you, okay? Get up here when you can. I’m being well looked after in flat . . .’ Forgetting the number Daniel had given her earlier, she looked to Scott, who told her. ‘. . . Flat 1204. Okay, see you in a few minutes.’
She ended the call and returned the phone to Scott. ‘Thank you. I’ll be out of your hair soon.’
Scott was desperate for her to leave, but at the same time he had a million unanswered questions.
‘That man,’ he ventured, ‘the one in the photograph. You said he didn’t live here. But was he killed here, in the building? I don’t feel very safe here at the best of times, but if I thought—’
‘We don’t know yet. We know he visited someone, but it’s quite possible he left the building before he was murdered. Please don’t get too worked up about it. I know that a death on one’s doorstep can be alarming, but don’t be afraid to carry on with your normal lives. I’m convinced we’ll catch whoever did this.’
‘That’s . . . that’s good to hear. Thank you for the reassurance.’
Hannah looked out towards the hall. ‘You can let your son out now. He’s probably desperate to rejoin the party.’
Scott waved the suggestion away. It was the last thing he wanted. ‘He’ll be fine. He’s got a short attention span. He’ll have his head buried in a comic or something.’
‘Adam-9?’
Scott remembered that Daniel had been watching it when he came through the door. ‘You noticed.’
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