‘And you want the minister to …’
‘Provide some decent books, of course. Even if they’re only secondhand. I’ve only been here a couple of months and I’ve read everything in the library already. Ten years down the line I’ll be able to recite them. Imagine it, Lacey, ten years reading the same thirty-seven books. What? What’s the matter?’
Lacey had reached across the table, taken hold of the other woman’s hands. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry you’re in here. It’s all my—’
The prisoner was looking round, alarmed. If they made a scene, Lacey might be asked to leave early. Then she leaned forward. ‘No, listen to me,’ she said. ‘I’ve been in prison since I was fifteen years old. A worse prison than this, by a long shot. Here, it’s warm and clean. There’s food and company. I can plan for the future. By the way, are you involved in the vampire murders?’
Even here, there was no respite from the evil that was following her around. Even here? What was she thinking? Here was where the evil of humanity was concentrated. Even if it never felt that way.
‘They’re calling them that already?’ said Lacey.
The prisoner nodded. ‘Since that bloke was on the telly this morning. The twenty-four-hour news channels have been full of it. The girls here have been talking about it all day. Funny how uptight they get about kids being murdered. So is the Lewisham team dealing with it?’
‘They are. But I was never part of that team. I was just drafted in to help out with – well, you know, last autumn.’
‘But you told me you’d been asked to join them.’
Lacey nodded. A couple of months ago, Dana Tulloch had told her she had a place on the Lewisham Major Investigation Team if she wanted it. She’d been seriously considering the idea. Then she’d been sent to Cambridge.
‘I’m not sure it’s for me, after all,’ she said, thinking that most people would assume she was talking about a specific posting. On the other hand, the woman across the table wasn’t most people.
‘What? Lewisham specifically or the Met in general?’
Lacey’s eyes fell to the table-top.
‘What else will you do?’
Lacey looked up. ‘I’ll think of something. Private security, maybe.’
‘This isn’t you.’
‘We all have our tipping points.’
‘I could help.’
‘What with? Career advice?’
‘If you want, but I meant the case.’
‘Well, first up, I’m not part of the investigating team, and I know nothing more than what I’ve heard on the news. Second, how can you possibly help with the abduction and murder of four young boys?’
The woman shook her head. ‘Oh, typical police two-dimensional thinking. Do you have any idea of the criminal knowledge in this room alone?’
Lacey looked round. As usual, most of the visitors were men and children. Some older women, who looked like they might be prisoners’ mothers. The prisoners themselves all sat facing the same direction, the north wall, all dressed alike in royal-blue overalls. Women of varying ages, the oldest in her sixties, the youngest barely out of her teens. None appeared to be anything out of the ordinary. They were the sort of women you’d see on a bus, in the super market, waiting for their children outside school. Perfectly ordinary-looking women, who’d been convicted of some of the most serious crimes in British history.
‘I can get a focus group together,’ the ordinary woman across the table was saying. ‘Brainstorm a few ideas. Try and come up with the motivation. We could build you a profile of the killer. I’m sure we’d do a pretty good job. There are some very twisted people in here, you know.’
‘You don’t say.’
‘Seriously, we’ve been talking about little else all morning. What do you think about this clinical vampirism business?’
‘I haven’t really given it much thought,’ said Lacey.
‘Oh, come off it. I know you, you’ll be poring over every single detail you can get your hands on. The consensus here is we’re not sure. A lot of the women in here cut themselves, you know. My roommate does it. I asked her about it once. She said it’s like tension builds up inside you and it gets to the point when you just can’t keep it in any longer. Like a really nasty festering sore that you know you have to burst. You know it’s going to hurt like hell when you do, but afterwards it’ll feel so much better.’
It was actually a pretty good analogy. Like the inside of your body was festering.
‘Still with me?’
‘Of course,’ said Lacey, blinking herself back.
‘So we get the idea of blood-letting to release tension, but nobody had ever heard of doing it to someone else. And as for drinking blood, that’s just gross.’
The bell rang to signal the end of visiting time. The two women had established a pattern. They never lingered, that just made it harder. They stood up, kissed, held each other for a second, and then Lacey walked away without looking back. This time, though, the brief second didn’t feel nearly long enough. Lacey held on to the young woman’s slim, strong body, felt her soft cheek against her own.
‘You’re really OK, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘It’s not just a brave face you’re putting on.’
Fingers stroked the underside of her chin. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘You’re the one we need to worry about.’
Lacey pulled away and made for the door. Noise levels in the room always picked up at this point. Chairs were scraped along the floor, people invariably raised their voices to say goodbye.
‘You have to go back to work, Lacey,’ called the voice across the room. ‘You can’t do anything else!’
27
‘OH, MY LIFE, when did you get so big and ugly?’
Turquoise eyes blinked at her. ‘That’s no way to talk to my dad.’
At the door of Dana’s small office on the first floor of Lewisham nick, the older of the two Joesburys gave a muffled laugh, the younger kept a dead-pan face.
Dana felt her first smile in days pushing at the corners of her mouth. ‘If hugs are on the agenda, I’m willing,’ she said, getting to her feet.
‘If I must,’ grumbled Huck, who was already halfway across the room. They smelled of the outdoors, these two men, of dry mud and damp sports clothes, of petrol fumes and, God, how had she never realized how strong and warm and solid young boys’ bodies were? Huck’s hair smelled of apples, his skin was the softest thing she’d ever touched.
‘OK, you’re being weird now.’
She looked up, over Huck’s head, to see Mark with that crease between his brows that meant he was worried about her. She let Huck go, stepped back and tilted his chin up. ‘You’re right,’ she said, ‘you’re much better looking than your dad.’
‘He got his mother’s looks and my brains,’ said Joesbury. ‘I never tire of telling him how lucky he is.’
‘But my natural athleticism is all my own,’ said Huck, pulling back the sleeve of his rugby shirt. The bicep muscle looked as if someone had pushed a ping-pong ball under his skin.
‘Nearly ready?’ Mark asked Dana.
‘Yep,’ she said. ‘I’ve got my phone if they need me. Do you want to take a look downstairs first?’
‘Back in a sec,’ he told Huck. ‘You two decide where you want to eat.’
‘Are you going to the incident room?’ asked his son.
‘No, I’m going to ask the desk sergeant who he fancies in the 4.15 at Haydock.’
‘Can I come?’
The two squared up to each other. ‘Since when have you been interested in horse racing?’ asked the bigger of the two.
‘I mean to the incident room.’
Mark pulled the door open. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Your mother said to be sure I showed you lots of photographs of dismembered corpses.’
‘Mark!’
Quick as a rat, Huck had one foot in the corridor. ‘Cool, can I?’
‘No,’ said Dana firmly.
‘No,’ r
epeated Mark, ‘because I am not going to the incident room and the desk sergeant doesn’t approve of children gambling.’
Huck waited for the sound of his father’s footsteps to fade. He looked at Dana, then back at the door, then at Dana again. She waited.
‘While my dad’s in the incident room, can I ask you something?’ he said eventually, his bright-blue eyes wide and staring.
Dana sat down again. ‘Of course.’
Huck leaned against the back of the chair facing her. ‘Actually, three things. First, is it true that you’re looking for a vampire?’
‘No. And where on earth did you hear that rubbish?’
Huck started swinging the chair round in the usual manner of boys who can’t keep still for a second. ‘On the radio on the way over,’ he said. ‘The bloke said that in view of latest developments – I think that’s what he said – the investigation team would be bringing in Van Helsing to act as an advisor. My dad called him a Ducking Bat and switched the radio off.’
‘A Ducking Bat?’
Huck grinned. ‘No, he didn’t say that, just something that sounds a lot like it. He’s not supposed to swear in front of me, but I don’t tell on him because I know more swear words than anyone else in my class.’
‘You must be very proud.’
Huck’s eyes narrowed. ‘I know who Van Helsing is, though.’
‘Do you?’
‘He’s the black guy in Young Dracula. The one with the stupid hat who’s always trying to catch the vampires but never manages it. I don’t know why you’d want him on your team, he’s a twit with a different vowel sound.’
‘A what?’
‘Twit with a different vowel sound. You know, twit, twot, tw—’
Dana held up her hand. ‘Yeah, I get it. Well, there are no such things as vampires. I’m looking for an evil, but otherwise very ordinary, man or woman, and I will not be hiring anyone called Van Helsing. Now, what was your second question?’
Huck spun the chair right round and sat in it, then looked down at the desk and arranged the pencils into a square shape. His mouth twisted into a lopsided pout.
‘Auntie Dana,’ he began, without looking up.
He hardly ever called her that.
‘Yes, Huckleberry?’
He looked up, down, up again. ‘Are you still gay?’ he asked her.
Oh God, the last thing she’d expected. He’d been teased at school. This child, probably the closest she’d ever come to having one of her own, was embarrassed by her.
‘Yes, Huck,’ she said, watching his little face fall. Kids could never really hide what they were feeling. ‘Why, has someone said—’
‘No, I thought you probably would be. It’s just …’
She really didn’t want to be having this conversation right now. Except when these conversations arrived, there was no avoiding them. ‘Just what?’
His eyes were on his feet, his trainers kicking the leg of her desk, his hands tucked in his pockets. Then he looked up again.
‘I really think my dad needs a girlfriend,’ he said.
‘Oh? Why?’
‘Even Mum’s starting to say he does. He’s just in such a bad mood all the time. Always grumpy.’
The little face in front of her looked so sad.
‘Is he grumpy with you?’ she asked.
Huck shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘With little things. You know, when the traffic lights change at the last minute, or he spills some coffee on the worktop. Or if he forgets something. If you’re happy, you don’t get cross with little things, do you?’
‘No, I guess you don’t.’
Footsteps outside. The two of them exchanged a glance that was half guilt, half intrigue. ‘We’ll talk about this some more,’ said Dana. ‘In the meantime, what’s the third thing you want to ask me?’
‘Are you going to make us eat vegetarian muck again?’ said Huck as the door opened and his dad reappeared.
‘Matey, will you get me some water?’ he asked Huck, holding the door open. ‘Water fountain at the end of the corridor.’
‘OK,’ said Huck, getting up and sauntering out.
‘What?’ said Mark, when his son had gone.
‘Nothing. Anything strike you downstairs?’
‘Just the blood, for the moment. Lot of it to get rid of. It’s going to make a hell of a mess in a house. So, either he lives alone, in which case it doesn’t matter how much mess he makes …’
‘We’re pretty certain he doesn’t though,’ interrupted Dana. ‘Circumstances allow him a certain amount of freedom in the late afternoons, early evenings. Then he’s expected to be home.’
‘So he has somewhere else to work. An outbuilding, a lock-up, even a garden shed. Which tend not to be connected to the sewer system.’
‘I’m not following.’
Mark lowered himself into the chair Huck had just left, only he sat on it with the chair-back facing his chest. ‘If the blood is being poured down a domestic sink, it’ll go straight into the foul-water drain and join the municipal sewerage system. In this city, with hundreds of thousands of litres of sewerage being processed every day, it’ll soon get lost.’
‘Right.’
‘On the other hand, if it’s not getting into the sewerage system, it most likely is going into a storm drain.’
‘When did you become an expert on sewerage?’
‘Not sewerage, water pollution. You forget Adam and I spent most of our weekends when we were kids driving up and down the river with Granddad.’
She nodded. Mark’s maternal grandfather had worked for the marine policing unit. His uncle still did.
‘One of the things we’d get involved with was river-pollution incidents,’ Mark continued. ‘Strictly, it’s not the responsibility of the Marine Unit, but typically it’s their patrol boats that spot problems. And one thing I did learn was that if an unauthorized substance enters the river via a storm drain, it leaves some trace behind. I’ve watched these blokes from the Environment Agency find traces of oil, or chemicals, or raw sewerage at the points where the storm drains meet the river, then track it back up through the drains, right to the point of origin.’
‘So, if they spot blood, then they can—’
‘Track it back to where it was spilt in the first place.’
Dana pushed her chair back from her desk. ‘I had no idea,’ she said.
‘It’s a long-shot, sweetheart. A typical pollution incident is a lot bigger than a few litres of blood, but it’s worth a go. Talk to the Marine Unit, they’ll put you in touch with the Environment Agency, you can pinpoint the storm drains along the stretch of the South Bank between Tower Bridge and Deptford and then you can send a team out. Take a couple of days at most.’
‘I’ll get on to it tomorrow,’ said Dana, glancing at her watch. ‘Huck’s been a long time.’
‘Speak of the Devil,’ said Mark, as the small boy pushed open the door. ‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Having a word with David,’ said Huck. ‘On the next floor up.’
Mark raised one eyebrow at Dana.
‘David Weaver, the Detective Superintendent,’ explained Dana. ‘How was he?’
‘Good,’ said Huck. ‘Worried about the vampire. He didn’t mention it, but he had a copy of that book on his desk, the one that’s just gone into the top 50 on Amazon.’
‘So now even the Super is reading Bram Stoker,’ said Dana.
‘Did you give him my water?’ said Mark.
Huck gave his dad a withering look. ‘You didn’t want water,’ he said. ‘You wanted me out of the way so you could tell Dana what you thought of in the incident room.’
‘You see,’ Mark said to Dana. ‘Kid got my brains.’
28
LACEY’S TRAIN GOT into King’s Cross just before eight o’clock. As she left the station she saw the late edition of the Evening Standard and stopped to take a copy. The masthead had caught her attention. VAMPIRE AT LARGE IN LONDON.
The world had go
ne nuts.
It was a thirty-minute Underground trip home. The front page of the paper showed artist’s sketches of the four young boys who had died and the one still missing. Each looked paler and thinner than the photographs Lacey remembered seeing. Dwarfing all of them in size was a colour photograph of the psychologist who’d been in the news all day: Bartholomew Hunt, an attention-grabbing pillock, if ever she’d seen one.
Hunt was miffed at not being taken seriously and was happily accusing the Metropolitan Police of being narrow-minded and bigoted in their thinking. A spokesman for the MIT had told the paper that they were taking all new information seriously and were currently pursuing a number of lines of inquiry.
Lacey folded the paper on her lap. The team hadn’t a clue. Pursuing a number of lines of inquiry was as good as saying they had no idea where to turn next. She pulled out her iPhone and pressed the Twitter app. During the day, some wag had christened the murderer the Twilight Killer and #TwilightKiller had been attracting new posts at the rate of several a second. As was the Missing Boys Facebook page. Lacey had also followed comment streams on MySpace and Mumsnet. Several wanted to know of any shops that hadn’t sold out of garlic. There were rumours of holy water and crucifixes being stolen from churches and Bram Stoker’s Dracula was predicted to hit the bestseller chart for the first time since its publication. It seemed safe to say hysteria was building.
At Stockwell, Lacey climbed up to street level realizing that old habits died hard. She’d wanted to know nothing about this investigation and here it was, churning around in her head as if she’d been right in amongst it from the start. Even the country’s incarcerated wanted in on the action. A focus group of some of the world’s most notorious female criminals, working directly for the Met and using her as their main channel of communication? It was almost funny.
Except, was it actually such a bad idea? Who better to get inside the head of a cold and calculating killer than several more of them with time on their hands?
Yep, the world had gone nuts.
29
BARNEY LOOKED ALONG the embankment, and then down to the map. They were some distance from the nearest street lamp and he had to use his torch. ‘This is it,’ he said. ‘This is where they found Noah.’
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