Like This, for Ever

by Sharon Bolton

  ‘Barney’s right,’ said Jorge. ‘There’s no reason for anyone to connect a bunch of kids in the yard with the body.’

  ‘Is it definitely Tyler?’ asked Hatty.

  ‘They haven’t said for certain yet,’ said Barney. ‘They need to do the post-mortem first, but everyone’s assuming it is.’

  ‘I still think we should say something,’ said Sam. ‘What do you call it? Withholding evidence?’

  ‘We’re not withholding anything,’ said Jorge. ‘We saw the body and we reported it. What else could we tell them?’

  ‘We could tell them it leaped out of the water. That Harvey saw somebody swimming,’ said Sam.

  ‘Oh, like they’re going to believe that,’ said Barney. ‘If we start talking about people swimming in the river at night, and dead bodies moving around by themselves, they’re going to assume we’re lying and we know more than we do.’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Jorge. ‘They can arrest kids our age, you know, keep us all locked up for days. I don’t like it much either, but I think Barney’s right. We say nothing.’

  ‘What about that bloke on Barney’s boat? He could have been the murderer.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ snapped Barney. ‘Tyler was killed weeks ago.’

  ‘He could have been keeping the body on the boat, and gone there on Saturday to dump him.’

  Why had Barney never realized before how stupid Sam could be?

  ‘That body had been in the river for weeks,’ said Jorge. ‘The bloke on the boat was probably just some tramp who fancied a dry bed for the night. Next time you go down there, Barney, suggest to your dad that you might need to change the locks again.’

  ‘I will,’ said Barney.

  Shouts from the spectators near by distracted them for a second. Three of the players had gone for the ball at the same time and fallen into a ruck, with each player trying to kick the ball away.

  ‘He’s gouging, dirty bastard!’

  ‘Come on, ref! Sin bin!’

  One player scrambled up, then the other two. Huck’s dad had possession.

  ‘Guys, did anyone check Facebook this morning?’ said Harvey. ‘Dead freaky. That Peter Sweep bloke was on at midnight, while the police were probably still there, saying Tyler had been found. How would he know that if he isn’t the killer?’

  ‘Knowing the body had been found doesn’t make him the killer,’ said Barney. ‘There’s no reason why the killer would have been anywhere near the Creek last night.’

  ‘Peter Sweep must have been there, though.’

  ‘Probably just got contacts in the police, or the morgue,’ said Jorge.

  ‘Morning, lads.’

  ‘Since when am I a lad, Sir?’

  ‘I beg your pardon, Hatty. Good morning to you, too.’

  Mr Green, the games teacher, wearing the blue and white hooped strip of Lambeth Lions, had approached without their noticing. They really had to be more careful. He could have heard anything.

  ‘You not playing, Sir?’ asked Harvey.

  ‘I’m going on at half-time.’ Mr Green looked from one pale face to the next. ‘You lot look a bit bleary-eyed. Bit of a late night, was it?’

  ‘Study sleepover, Sir,’ said Jorge. ‘We were up quite late discussing War and Peace.’

  Mr Green raised his right foot behind him, grasped it and pulled upwards, stretching the muscles in his right thigh. ‘Yeah, and I’d call your bluff on that one if I’d ever read it myself,’ he replied, with a wobble and a grin. ‘Will I see you older ones at football on Tuesday night?’

  ‘Not me, Sir, because I’m a girl,’ said Hatty.

  ‘Girls play football,’ said Sam.

  ‘Only butch ones,’ Hatty told him.

  ‘You alright, Barney?’ Mr Green was looking at him oddly. He realized the conversation had been going on without him. He’d been staring at the ground like a dork.

  Barney made himself look back steadily. ‘War and Peace, Sir,’ he said. ‘It’s a very thought-provoking book.’

  ‘See you, then.’ Mr Green nodded at the group and jogged off along the touchline.

  ‘Shit, she’s here!’ Harvey dodged behind his elder brother, as if trying not to be seen.

  Panic hit the group.

  ‘Who is?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Don’t look, idiot! The policewoman. The one we sent the text to.’

  Barney fixed his gaze on the match and then let his eyes wander to the left. Harvey was right. Lacey Flint was walking towards them along the path from the car park. Her hair, which she normally kept tied back, was flying around her head. She looked like a mermaid. Or a siren.

  ‘Crap, she is too,’ said Lloyd. ‘She’s coming towards us.’

  ‘For God’s sake, calm down,’ said Jorge. ‘And don’t look at her. She doesn’t know a thing.’

  ‘She must do.’

  ‘She can’t prove it,’ said Barney, before raising his voice. ‘Chiswick are having a go at goal.’

  ‘I’m getting out of here.’

  ‘Don’t move,’ said Jorge. ‘If we leave, it will look suspicious. She’s probably not in the slightest bit interested in us.’

  ‘So why’s she here?’

  ‘She knows Huck Joesbury’s dad,’ said Barney. ‘She’s probably come to watch him play.’

  ‘Which is Huck’s dad?’

  ‘Number 7, open side flanker. Now will you watch the frigging game?’

  The kids on the touchline were watching her approach. Lacey studied each in turn. The smaller boy was edgy and nervous. The girl was bold-faced and defiant, just like she’d been at that age, but scared underneath it. The young were so bad at hiding their feelings. All except Barney, who, she had to admit, was a pretty cool customer. He’d turned back to watch the match again, she’d almost be convinced if it weren’t for the angle of his head. He was watching her. Then the taller of the boys followed his lead, turning his back on Lacey, slinging an arm round Barney’s shoulders, saying something a little louder than necessary. Then he laughed. Barney laughed too, as though the two of them had just shared something hilarious.

  As Lacey drew close, the girl looked her up and down, sizing up everything she was wearing, and then turned her back, as though she wasn’t worth any more interest. Little minx. The younger boys couldn’t take their eyes off her. They were like small mammals when a snake gets ready to strike.

  Lacey was tempted to make them sweat for a while, but she really needed to talk to Barney this morning, away from his father, and if she wasn’t careful, this lot would scarper.

  ‘Lacey!’

  She jumped, and turned to see the tall, blonde woman with brown puppy-dog eyes and the skinny, dark-haired child. Detective Chief Superintendent Helen Rowley of the Tayside Police, Dana Tulloch’s long-term partner. And not necessarily someone she could count on as a friend any more.

  If Helen was aware of the spat of the night before, though, she seemed determined to ignore it. She came up close, put a hand on Lacey’s shoulder and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘And have you met this little fella?’ she asked, looking down at the boy whose head just reached her elbow.

  Inexplicably, Lacey felt the same pang of nerves she always experienced when the bigger Joesbury male was close. ‘Hello, Huck,’ she said. ‘I’m Lacey.’

  Turquoise eyes met Lacey’s for a second. He looked away, shyly. Then he seemed to think of something and looked back up again. It was quite astonishing, their eyes were exactly the same.

  ‘Lacey Flint?’ he said.

  She nodded, intrigued.

  ‘You’re number one in Favourites on my dad’s phone,’ he informed her.

  ‘I’m honoured,’ said Lacey, as Helen suppressed a giggle behind Huck’s back.

  ‘So am I,’ said a voice behind her. ‘Did you see me poleaxe that guy?’

  The few visible parts of Joesbury Senior that weren’t covered in mud were bathed in sweat.

  ‘I saw you flaying around like an upturned turtle, try
ing to get back on your feet,’ replied Lacey. ‘Very impressive.’

  ‘Is Lacey your girlfriend?’ Huck asked his dad.

  ‘Only in my dreams,’ Joesbury replied, without looking at his son.

  ‘Huck, I think we need bacon butties,’ said Helen. ‘Why don’t you and I go and join the queue?’

  Helen and an obviously reluctant Huck moved away towards the clubhouse. The child glanced back several times as they went. Then they were lost in the rush of people. Conscious of his eyes upon her, Lacey turned to see Joesbury watching her.

  ‘You look different,’ he told her. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Different good or different bad?’

  ‘Good, I think, although it’s hard to know for certain with you.’

  ‘I slept,’ said Lacey. ‘Which I don’t normally – not well, anyway. There’s something about being accused of multiple murder that seems to relax me.’

  Slept? It was almost an understatement. She’d wound a thin, clean tea-towel around the cut on her wrist and fallen into bed. The next thing she knew it had been nine-thirty in the morning. She hadn’t slept like that in years.

  ‘Dana’s having a hard time of it right now,’ said Joesbury. ‘There’s stuff you don’t know about. She took it out on you, which she shouldn’t have done, but we’re none of us perfect.’

  Except you, she thought. You look close to perfect to me right now. And that adorable child of yours. Two perfect men, who could be mine, if only …

  ‘And you do seem to have a knack of attracting trouble.’

  Possibly the two saddest words in the English language: if only.

  ‘Is she at the post-mortem?’ asked Lacey.

  Joesbury nodded. ‘Just to warn you, she’ll be wanting to talk to you again. She can’t believe you have no idea who sent that text.’

  ‘She’s right. I know exactly who sent it.’

  Joesbury looked like she’d slapped him.

  ‘Don’t you start as well. I can’t prove anything,’ she told him.

  ‘Chat in two minutes, Mark,’ a large, older bloke who looked like a coach called to him as he jogged past. Joesbury nodded briefly. ‘For God’s sake, Lacey, don’t get yourself involved in anything …’

  ‘I need to handle it myself first. It’s about trust. And not scaring people. If you tell her I told you, I’ll deny it.’

  Joesbury looked exasperated. ‘What is this? A test? You’re trying to find out where my loyalties lie?’

  ‘How devious. I never thought of that. But I guess we will, won’t we?’

  He shook his head. ‘I didn’t have you down as manipulative.’

  ‘Liar, I bet there isn’t a negative adjective in the English language you haven’t applied to me at some point.’

  ‘Dad, do you want a bite of mine? Lacey, we got you one of your own.’

  Lacey looked at the ketchup-smeared, soft bread-roll, crammed with bacon, and realized she was genuinely hungry. Another first in a long time. Huck was holding it up to her expectantly, as though he couldn’t imagine anyone turning down a bacon sandwich. His own was more than half eaten. He had ketchup smears around his mouth and a dollop like clown’s make-up on his nose. Lacey reached out and wiped the ketchup from his nose with her index finger.

  ‘Huck,’ she said, ‘if your dad were even half as cute as you, I would definitely be his girlfriend.’

  Without thinking, she raised her ketchup-smeared finger to her lips. She was about to open her mouth when she remembered. The sight, the taste, the smell of fresh blood. Nausea washed over her. She had no right to be here, with these people, who were normal.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Joesbury. ‘I need to go and break a few bones.’

  ‘Hi, Barney, enjoying the game?’

  Barney turned and looked at Lacey. He saw immediately that she was different. Her face was harder, her eyes colder. She knew. They both did. So this is what it’s like, he thought, to have an enemy. ‘Yes, thanks,’ he replied. ‘Are you?’

  Her lips stretched sideways. If a snake could smile, that’s what it would look like. ‘Oh, I’ve always been a big rugby fan,’ she said. ‘Where I come from it’s impossible not to be.’

  The wind was messing up her hair. It stretched out in his direction, he could almost imagine it wrapping itself around him, pulling him closer, holding on tight.

  ‘Where do you come from?’ he asked her, noticing that the others were sidling further away down the touchline. Only Jorge was close enough to be in earshot.

  She seemed to think about that for a second, then, ‘I was brought up in Shropshire,’ she said. ‘Very close to the Welsh border. We knew a lot of Welsh people. The Welsh live and breathe rugby.’

  ‘My dad likes it,’ he said, fixing his attention on the game. ‘A few of my mates’ dads play. And one of our teachers from school.’

  Seemingly tired of hair in her face, Lacey pushed it back behind her head, then twisted it round at the back of her neck into a knot. She stuffed the loose end into the collar of her coat. He’d never seen a woman do that before. ‘I got your text,’ she said. ‘The one you sent me last night.’

  Careful now. Barney saw Jorge stiffening. He’d heard her, too. He just had to hope Jorge had the sense to keep quiet.

  ‘I was at a mate’s house last night,’ said Barney. ‘I sent a couple of texts to my dad. Did I send one to you by mistake? Sorry.’

  ‘No, I mean the one about Deptford Creek. About what you saw down there.’

  Barney looked Lacey full in the face. He was a good liar, he took after his dad, this would be easy. The hair she’d imprisoned was starting to break free and fly in the wind again, like ribbons, like weed in a rough sea.

  ‘I didn’t send any about Deptford Creek,’ he replied. ‘Maybe it was someone with a similar number.’ He pulled his phone out of his pocket, reeled off his number. ‘Anything like that?’ he asked her.

  ‘I can’t check right now,’ she said. ‘The police have my phone. It may take them a few days, but they will trace who texted me last night. It will be better to own up now.’

  She was bluffing, she had to be. It was a pay-as-you-go phone, it couldn’t be traced.

  ‘Barney, I heard you all come home. It was obvious something had happened. Ten minutes later, the text arrived. Whatever you were doing down there, however much you think you might be in trouble, I promise you, the police won’t be interested. All they care about is making sure they have as much information as possible about what happened there last night.’

  Exactly, thought Barney. If they find out we were there, they’ll find out Dad was. Hatty will describe that sweatshirt and then that will be it.

  ‘Barney, this is a murder inquiry. A multiple-murder inquiry. I’ll come with you, but you have to talk to the police.’

  No, he was not going to tell the police that his dad had been at the boat. There would be a perfectly good reason, there had to be.

  ‘I’m sorry, Lacey, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  41

  Monday 18 February

  ‘SUSAN, IT’S DANA Tulloch.’

  ‘Hi Dana, anything new?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. I’ve just had a report back from the lab and it’s interesting.’

  ‘Hang on, let me grab a pen.’

  Dana waited. She’d never been in Susan Richmond’s office, could not picture the room where the psychologist was right now. She looked down at the notepad on her desk. She’d written the name PETER SWEEP in a large circle and was drawing faint pencil lines from one letter to another, in the time-honoured way of solving anagrams. So far she’d come up with Peeper Stew, Peep Wester and Weeper Step.

  ‘OK, fire away,’ said Richmond.

  ‘The clothes that Jason and Joshua Barlow were found in were sent away, which is perfectly normal procedure,’ Dana told her. ‘Their father had confirmed they were the clothes the boys were wearing when they went missing, so potentially what we found on them could be important.’

>   ‘I guess you’re always hoping for the killer’s DNA.’

  ‘Goes without saying. There were quite a lot of hairs and fibres on both boys’ clothing, but that’s perfectly normal for children of this age who’ve spent the day at school.’

  ‘Makes sense.’

  ‘There was a lot of blood around the necks of the boys’ sweaters, but again that’s exactly what we would have expected.’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘There was also blood, or what appeared to be blood, on Jason’s trousers. Left leg, just below the knee. When we had the initial report, we assumed it was just spatter.’

  She paused, giving the other woman a chance to catch up with her notes. ‘And now you know it’s not?’ Richmond asked after a second.

  ‘It’s not even blood,’ said Dana. ‘Or rather, not real blood.’

  ‘What other kinds of blood are there?’

  ‘It’s fake blood,’ said Dana, looking at the picture she’d found on the internet. ‘The sort you buy in bottles in joke shops. Or theatrical make-up suppliers. You even see it in supermarkets around Hallowe’en. It’s actually pretty realistic. Sort of gloopy and shiny and just the right dark-crimson colour.’

  ‘Fake blood?’

  ‘Which the boys didn’t have, according to their parents. And which the school tell me would definitely not be allowed on school premises.’

  ‘So you’re thinking it came from the killer?’

  ‘Do you remember Sergeant Anderson suggesting our killer might be doing a Ted Bundy? He may have been closer than he knew. Ted Bundy pretended to have a broken arm. What if our guy appears to be badly hurt? What if he’s clutching a bleeding wound, maybe asks the child to phone for help for him.’

  Silence, whilst Richmond thought about it. ‘A lot of children would find that scenario very frightening in itself. A strange man, dripping with blood.’

  ‘Yes, they would,’ agreed Dana. But if it were a woman who appeared badly hurt?

  ‘Do you think there could be a woman out there called Pet Sweeper?’ she went on.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Oh, nothing. It just occurred to me Peter Sweep might be an anagram of the killer’s real name. Not working though, too many Es.’

  ‘Your mystery woman on the beach still a mystery?’