Like This, for Ever

by Sharon Bolton

  ‘Thank you.’ Dana addressed the mother directly. ‘Now it will really help if you can tell us exactly what Oliver’s movements were this evening.’

  ‘We’ve already told that first lot you sent round,’ said Kennedy Senior. ‘Get your information from them. We need to go and look for Oliver. Come on, Caz.’

  As the father made for the door, the mother looked uncertain.

  ‘I’m afraid I need to speak to you both before you go anywhere,’ said Dana. ‘It’s in Oliver’s best interests, I promise you.’

  ‘The TV are organizing a search party. That doctor bloke is coming down himself. At least they’re doing something.’

  ‘Sir, I cannot let you go just—’

  ‘If it was a ruddy Paki kid, you’d be out looking for him, wouldn’t you, you heartless bitch!’

  An audible gasp from Susan, then silence in the room.

  Dana took a step closer to the man. ‘Mr Kennedy, if we don’t find Oliver safe and sound, my failure to bring him home to you will haunt me for the rest of my life. I swear to you that’s the truth.’

  He glared back. For a second, she could have sworn he was about to spit at her. She was almost flinching. Then his eyes closed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘I know,’ Dana said. ‘Now, I have thirty uniformed officers conducting a house-to-house search both in Lambeth and in Deptford Creek, another place we’re interested in. They will make sure the volunteers who arrive to take part in the search are properly directed. In a little while, if you still want to, you can go out and join them, although one of you will need to stay here in case Oliver gets in touch. Now, please can we all sit down?’

  He nodded. Dana made herself sit on the nearest sofa. One by one, the others followed her lead. She looked at the teenager. ‘You’re Oliver’s older brother, is that right?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I’d like you to go upstairs with the constable here and look through Oliver’s room. Touch as little as you can, and the constable will help you, but you’re looking for anything out of the ordinary. Any notes, bus tickets, anything that strikes you as a bit unusual. Can you do that?’

  The boy nodded. ‘I know the passwords for his computer,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to check that, too?’

  ‘Yes, please. Look through his recent emails, any posts he’s made on Facebook or Twitter or anything. The constable will be watching everything you do, not because we don’t trust you, but because if you find anything, it needs to be properly recorded.’

  When the two of them had left the room, Dana turned back to Oliver’s parents. They were sitting side by side, holding on to each other.

  ‘I need you to tell me where Oliver was this evening. Starting from when he got home from school.’

  Mrs Kennedy spoke, her husband holding on to her hands, giving her little pats and squeezes whenever she threatened to break down. Oliver had arrived home from school on time. He came home by bus, travelling with several other kids from his class. There were always several parents on the bus, too, so his mother never worried about his safety. She left work at 3.30pm and walked to the bus stop to meet him before they walked home together.

  He’d had a snack, a glass of squash and a packet of crisps, changed out of his school uniform, then gone out to play tennis at some local courts. He walked there and back with a mate, Joe Walsh.

  At six-forty, by which time Oliver would normally have returned home, she’d gone out with her older son to look for him. Seeing nothing of either Oliver or Joe, they’d gone to Joe’s house to find him already home.

  ‘Joe told us he’d left something at the clubhouse,’ she said. ‘They’d just got into the recreation ground when he remembered. He jogged back, leaving Oliver waiting for him at the entrance to the park. He wasn’t out of sight for more than a couple of minutes, he said, but when he got back Oliver was gone. He shouted for him a couple of times, then got freaked out and ran home. Oliver’s mum was just about to phone me when we got there.’

  Dana nodded. There had been practically no time at all for Oliver to disappear.

  ‘Why did Joe go back, did he tell you?’

  ‘He realized his phone wasn’t in his pocket,’ Mrs Kennedy replied. ‘The kids always hang their coats up in the clubhouse while they’re playing. Joe got to the park and realized his phone was missing.’

  ‘Did he find it?’ asked Dana.

  The woman nodded. ‘It was in the clubhouse, he said. Must have fallen out of his pocket.’ She turned to her husband. ‘Except it couldn’t have fallen out, could it?’ she went on. ‘Remember, Joe said he found it on the worktop by the sink.’

  ‘Someone could have picked it up off the floor,’ said Barrett, who was pulling his own phone out of his pocket.

  ‘Or someone could have taken it out, in the hope of separating the two boys,’ said Dana. ‘If you can let us know who’s in charge of the club, we can talk to everyone who was there this evening. We’ll also talk to Joe again. If Oliver’s abductor went to the tennis club this evening, someone will have seen him.’

  ‘Talk to you in the hall, Ma’am?’ said Barrett.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Oliver’s mother, like a hound with a scent.

  ‘Our guv’nor just needs a quick word with DI Tulloch,’ said Barrett. ‘You too, Susan.’

  ‘I’ll be right back,’ Dana told Oliver’s parents, before following Barrett and Richmond into the hallway.

  ‘That was Gayle on the phone,’ said Barrett, when the door had closed behind them. ‘Another Facebook post, give me a sec.’

  The two women waited, while Barrett found the right app on his phone and opened the page.

  ‘Can we rule the parents out of having anything to do with it?’ asked Dana.

  The profiler nodded. ‘I think so,’ she said. ‘They’re falling apart. They’ve no idea where he is.’

  ‘Here we go,’ said Barrett. Richmond, standing closer, saw it first.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘We can’t show them this.’

  Dana took the phone being offered to her. A photograph had been posted on the Missing Boys page by Peter Sweep. It showed a small boy tied up and blindfolded. From the position of his mouth, he looked to be whimpering.

  ‘We have to,’ said Dana. ‘They need to identify him.’

  ‘Well, we know Peter Sweep’s for real,’ said Barrett.

  A thudding noise upstairs. ‘Mum! Dad!’ Oliver’s brother appeared at the top of the stairs and came hurtling down. Dana stepped forward to stop him at the bottom.

  ‘Have you been on Facebook?’ she asked the scared boy.

  ‘It’s Oliver, there’s a picture!’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘Come on, we’ll tell them together.’

  Lacey took a second to get her breath back. What had happened to her police instincts? She’d had no idea anyone had been close. Had it been a real attack, and not just a careless jogger falling over her bike, she’d have been helpless.

  The jogger in question was bent over in the road, rubbing his ankle and scraping the sole of his shoe against the kerb at the same time. Quelling an instinct to apologize, she reminded herself that the pavement was nearly two yards wide and there was absolutely no way that either she or her bike had been blocking it. So if this guy was going to get lippy, good, she was in the mood. He looked up. Early forties, sallow skin, rather good-looking. His face was damp with sweat. He was wearing jogging bottoms and a black fleece sweater, a woollen hat pulled down over his ears and a fleece scarf around his neck. She’d seen him before.

  ‘Christ, dog shit.’ More scraping and rubbing of lower limbs.

  Lacey leaned back against the embankment wall and folded her arms. He was going to pick up her bike, and he was going to express the hope that he hadn’t damaged it. He looked up again.

  ‘I’m not seriously hurt, if you were wondering,’ he snapped.

  ‘I wasn’t,’ said Lacey. ‘I was thinking about my bike.’

  ‘I bloody well fell over it.’ />
  ‘There was bloody well no need to. The path here’s wide enough for half a dozen bikes. And it’s perfectly well lit. I can hardly be held responsible for your clumsiness. Unless you’re planning on blaming me for the dog shit as well.’

  He glared for a second longer, then his face relaxed.

  ‘Sor-ry,’ he drawled at her. ‘Although actually, it was trying to avoid getting too close to you that was the problem. Most women get the jitters when they see a man running towards them at night. I went too close to the kerb and slipped in dog shit.’

  He bent down, picked up her bike and leaned it back against the railing. ‘Looks alright,’ he said, giving it the once-over.

  ‘How’s your leg?’

  He looked down. ‘Looks alright,’ he said again. ‘You were at the rugby on Sunday, weren’t you?’

  She knew she’d seen him before.

  ‘I saw you talking to Barney Roberts,’ he said, before she could answer him. ‘I’m his games teacher, Dan Green.’ He held out a gloved hand for her to shake.

  ‘Lacey Flint,’ she said, taking it. ‘Barney’s next-door neighbour.’

  Politeness in his eyes became genuine interest. ‘Not the detective? He’s mentioned you.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, you might have a new recruit there in a few years’ time. Got a very investigative mind.’

  ‘And this is often apparent in games lessons, is it?’

  He gave the easy, relaxed laugh of someone who laughs often. ‘No, my wife is his form teacher. He’s a bit of a pet of hers. I can see why, he’s a nice lad. Bit odd, but a good kid.’

  A nice lad who just might be concealing evidence in a murder inquiry.

  Green put his hands behind his head, stretched his arms back and did a little jog on the spot.

  ‘How’s the injury?’ asked Lacey.

  ‘Not nearly serious enough to stop me running home, unfortunately,’ he replied. ‘Why is it always harder to start again once you’ve stopped?’

  Knowing exactly what he meant, Lacey couldn’t help smiling.

  ‘I tell you what, there’s some heavy police presence out tonight,’ said Green. ‘All along the embankment. Anything to do with you?’

  ‘I imagine it’s something to do with the murdered boys,’ said Lacey, ‘but I’m not working at the moment, so I’m only guessing.’

  Green nodded. ‘Well, I’m only putting off the inevitable. Nice meeting you, Lacey.’

  He gave her one last nod and set off. In spite of his fall, he ran fast and well, a natural athlete. As the river turned a bend, he looked back, saw her watching and waved. Then he was gone.

  The Theatre Arm at Deptford Creek was still and silent when Barney arrived. Police tape cordoned off the area where they’d found the body, but otherwise, there was no trace of what had happened on Saturday evening.

  What had happened on Saturday evening? It was all very well to be blasé when the others were around, talking about freak waves and animals; it was a different thing entirely now that he was here again, alone, with an extremely vivid memory in his head of a dead child leaping out of the water. Of blind eyes that, for a second, had looked directly at him.

  No wave could have done that. And it hadn’t been an animal they’d heard in the water. It had been something much bigger. Harvey had sworn he’d seen an arm, large protruding eyes in a pale face. He hadn’t been lying. Mistaken, possibly, but not lying, he’d been too scared. So had his older brother. Barney had never seen Jorge lose his cool before.

  A flock of birds was flying towards him, low in the sky, following the course of the Creek as though it marked some ancient, avian pathway. As they passed overhead, Barney looked up and, for a second, their sleek graceful shapes changed before his eyes, becoming shorter and squatter. Their flight was no longer straight and smooth through the air but undulating and sensuous. Beaks shrank and eyes grew bigger and brighter. For a second the birds became bats. Then the moment passed and they flew on.

  Telling himself to get a grip, Barney took a step closer to the water. What he was dealing with was bad enough without any supernatural rubbish thrown in. Christ, if the police managed to prove a blood-sucking creature of fiction was responsible for the murders, he, for one, would be hugely relieved. He was the last person in London to be scared of vampires. Keeping his eyes away from the patch of concrete where the remains of Tyler King had lain, he stepped from the yard on to the first of the boats.

  If the theory he still didn’t want to give words to, even in his head, were true, someone would be on the boat. His dad was supposed to be working late, giving lectures and meeting students at the university. If he wasn’t, if he was here – well, he’d think about that when he had to.

  He was much closer to the water now. The river was full and fast and the tide probably at its highest. Could there be a better way of getting rid of blood than in a fast-flowing river when the tide was on its way out? Especially one that fed into one of the largest rivers in the world? Blood, even the blood from a whole body, would disappear without trace in this river. As always when he thought about blood, Barney started to feel a bit light-headed.

  He could think about that later. First he had to know if anyone was on board. Remembering how Hatty had climbed on to the boat on Saturday and knowing he had to create no noise or movement, he swung first one leg over and then the other. Then paused for a moment. What would his dad do, if he caught him here? If he had to choose between his son and his freedom, which would he pick?

  He hadn’t come all this way to go home with no answers. Dropping low, Barney crawled along the deck to the nearest window, the one that looked out from the main saloon on the starboard side. The curtains were drawn but there might be a gap.

  The first two boys to be killed had been found at Deptford Creek. That probably meant they’d been killed here. When a third body needed to be disposed of, the killer had found a new dumping ground. He hadn’t wanted to draw too much attention to the Creek. He hadn’t wanted the police to find the place where he kept and killed them.

  The curtain on the first window was fully drawn and Barney could see no light behind it.

  His dad had had new keys cut for the boat over Christmas and, ever since, had been unusually secretive about where he kept them. He could have invented the missing keys, to make sure that no one but he could access the boat. And the damp the locksmith had reported? Could that have been the result of someone trying to wash the boat down?

  Barney carried on crawling.

  His dad had been on the boat on Saturday night, when Tyler King’s body had appeared from the water. Barney had seen him, so had Hatty, she just hadn’t recognized the sweater. Yet he’d lied, claiming to be home all night. He’d even lied to the detective. No one lied to the police unless they had something big to hide.

  Impossible to see through any of the windows. Barney crawled along the cabin roof and slid his fingers under the hatch. This time it didn’t move. It was going to be impossible to see inside, but if he lay still and listened, he’d hear anything that happened below. He let his head fall silently against the wood of the hatch.

  He’d been in position for only two minutes when he heard movement below. A bump. A low moan. Then a laugh. His dad’s laugh.

  ‘Good evening, Barney,’ said a voice above him.

  43

  LACEY STAYED WHERE she was on the bank. The last thing she needed right now was to get into a scuffle with a kid around deep water. It was the right call. Barney, after a last glance at the hatch of the boat, began making his way towards her. Once off the yellow boat he moved quickly, as though eager to reach her. She almost told him to take it easy.

  ‘I’m not trespassing,’ he announced, when he’d joined her on the wall. ‘That’s my granddad’s boat.’

  ‘And is Granddad at home?’ Lacey asked him, looking back at the yellow-painted yacht with the green trim and wooden deck. It looked old, but cared for. A well-loved classic.

  ‘He’s de
ad,’ said Barney. ‘The boat’s empty. No one goes there now.’

  The child stood next to her, looking awkward and uncomfortable. Lacey took a step back, further from the river, hoping he’d follow her. He did.

  ‘So you’re back again,’ said Lacey. ‘What keeps bringing you to Deptford Creek at this time of night?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  She nodded towards the boat she’d found him on. ‘Is your dad with you?’

  ‘No!’

  Extraordinary reaction. She mentioned his father, he looked terrified. Why would the kid be scared of his dad?

  ‘Does he know you’re here?’

  Shake of the head. ‘He’s working. Miles from here. Are you going to tell him?’

  Definitely afraid of something. ‘Not necessarily,’ she said. ‘But I need you to come back with me now. It’s not safe for you to be here on your own this late.’

  Barney didn’t argue. If anything he seemed eager to get out of the yard. They collected their bikes and wheeled them back towards the main road.

  ‘What were you doing there?’ Lacey tried again, after a few seconds.

  Nothing for a while. Then, ‘I got curious,’ said Barney. ‘I saw on the news about how they’d found a body here and I just wanted to see the place for myself.’

  She watched him, waiting for him to make eye contact. When he did, he looked at her steadily, without flinching. Young as he was, he was pretty unflappable.

  ‘I saw on Facebook that another boy has gone missing,’ said Barney, after they’d walked in silence for some minutes. ‘Is it true?’

  Everywhere she went, people were determined to drag her into that case. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘If it is, it’ll be on the news when we get back.’

  They walked on, the only sound being that of the bike wheels on the wet road.

  ‘Why does he do it?’ said Barney, in a small voice. ‘Why does he kill kids?’