Like This, for Ever (28 page)

‘Dana, I just don’t think it’s him,’ said Richmond.

Dana watched Anderson stop pacing the room and turn on the spot to face the profiler. ‘What the hell do you mean?’ he demanded. ‘He’s got a picture of the kid. Scroll it back, Gayle. Let’s all have another look at the poor little bastard, shall we?’

Richmond sighed and ran her hands through her hair. ‘I know that and I know what I’m saying will sound like it’s making no sense, but everything is telling me that this is not your man.’

The room was empty but for the four of them: Dana, Anderson, Richmond and Mizon. The rest of the team were out looking for
Oliver Kennedy. Anderson had made no secret of his desire to join them out in the field.

‘Go on,’ said Dana.

‘Boss, with respect, I think I can be more use out on the streets. At least I can knock on doors, ask questions. Sitting here is doing my head in.’ Anderson had walked to the door now, practically had hold of the handle.

‘I know that, but I need you here, Neil. Somebody has to do the thinking.’

‘Not my forte, Boss. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll leave that to the women.’

‘Sit down, please, Sergeant Anderson, Susan has something she wants to tell us.’

Anderson, red-faced and hard-eyed, sank clumsily into the nearest seat and glared at Richmond.

‘I won’t say our killer is the most controlled I’ve ever come across because that would mean relatively little,’ said Susan. ‘The chance to work with serial killers doesn’t come along very often.’

‘Well, excuse us for not providing job satisfaction,’ began Anderson.

‘Stop it!’ snapped Dana. ‘I’m sorry, Neil, but we’re all on edge here. Just try and hold it together, will you?’

Anderson gave a heavy sigh and shook his head.

‘But those of us who do this line of work keep 100 per cent up to date with what’s going on elsewhere,’ Richmond continued. ‘Every time a new serial killer raises his head, whether it’s here or overseas, most commonly the US, we hoover up every bit of information we can find. Every big case has reams written about it and we read everything.’

‘OK, we get you’re well informed, what’s the point?’

‘The point, Sergeant, is that this is one of the most controlled killers
anyone
has come across. Highly intelligent, exceptionally organized, no hint of anger of any sort. He made one mistake, right at the start, when he didn’t leave Tyler’s body where you’d be bound to find it, but since then, nothing. He plans what he’s going to do, he stalks his victims for days, maybe for weeks, gets his snatch absolutely right. There is nothing sexual or angry about what he
does to them. He keeps his cool throughout, then he leaves them for us to find. He is ice man, or woman.’

Dana found herself, once again, thinking about Lacey Flint. Ten minutes ago, from the privacy of her office, she’d asked local uniform to check whether Lacey was in her flat.

‘But suddenly, tonight, that’s all changed. Suddenly he’s like a kid who’s had too many blue Smarties. He boasts in advance about what he’s going to do, he names his victim within minutes of having got him, now he’s giving us a blow-by-blow account of what he’s supposedly doing to the poor kid. There’s a malicious, impish glee about it all and it’s completely out of character.’

‘Another one,’ said Mizon from her desk. ‘This is starting to turn my stomach.’

‘What is it this time?’ asked Anderson. ‘More blood-lust bollocks?’

Mizon nodded. ‘You know what? I think it is him,’ she said, ‘but something has made him go a bit mental. Maybe it’s all this talk about vampires.’

‘No,’ said Richmond. ‘He’s enjoying the vampire angle. We’ve had – what – three references to blood-drinking in the past hour? But all pretty samey and unimaginative. He keeps talking about the warm, nourishing taste of blood, it’s stuff straight out of a cheap vampire thriller.’

‘I get that,’ said Dana. ‘I really do, but isn’t this just the sort of escalation we see with serial offenders? Isn’t it possible that his need for greater public attention this time is just part of the escalation?’

‘If he were showing any sign of reckless behaviour, I might agree with you,’ said Susan. ‘But he isn’t.’

‘You don’t think telling the world what he’s doing is reckless in itself ?’ suggested Mizon. ‘Suddenly he’s the most hated man on the planet. If ever there were a candidate for public lynching, he’s it.’

‘Another reason why I don’t think it’s him. I don’t think our killer wants to be hated. I think he wants to be understood.’

Anderson gave a short, guttural cough, beneath which the word ‘bollocks’ could be plainly heard.

Richmond stared Anderson straight in the face. He looked away
first. ‘We have to concentrate on what he’s doing to these boys,’ she went on. ‘He’s draining the blood out of them. Now, we have no idea why he’s doing that, and I certainly don’t believe he’s drinking it, but he will have a reason. It’s part of some ritual that is very important to him and I know he does it calmly and in a controlled fashion. He will want to be alone, to give it his full attention. He won’t want interruptions and he won’t want to break off every few minutes to give an update on Facebook. Killing is an intensely personal, private experience and he will not want to share it.’

Dana’s desk phone rang. She listened for a few moments, then replaced the receiver. Lacey Flint’s whereabouts were unknown.

‘Deep down, I don’t think he wants to hurt these boys. I think he can’t help himself. He may even be deeply ashamed of what he’s doing. This freak-show going on right now feels completely wrong.’

Up on the large screen, another post appeared.

Oops! I think that last one was a bit deep. Oliver isn’t moving any more.

‘Oh, God help us,’ muttered Anderson, dropping his head into his hands.

‘
Oops?
’ snapped Richmond. ‘Now seriously, did you ever hear of a vicious killer using the word “oops” before? This pillock is playing with us! He’s getting off on making us sick to our stomachs, but he isn’t killing Oliver at the same time.’

Anderson glared at her. ‘You have no idea how much I hope you’re right.’

‘I think she could be,’ said Dana. ‘He’s never killed a child the same night he abducted him before.’

‘Ladies, I would be with you a hundred per cent, were it not for the small matter of Oliver Kennedy being missing and a picture of him tied up and screaming being on the ruddy internet.’

‘Is it possible the photo isn’t Oliver?’ asked Susan. ‘Just some other kid who looks like him? I know his parents identified him, but they were under a lot of stress.’

‘He’s still bloody missing.’

‘This is getting us nowhere,’ said Dana. ‘OK, I’m going back to
talk to his parents. Neil, can you check on how the searches are going? Gayle, you OK to—’

‘Keep watching Facebook? Yes, Ma’am.’

‘LACEY, CAN I
tell you something else?’

They were home. Once they’d left the café, Barney had been anxious to get back so they’d ridden fast. Lacey had insisted Barney stay in front and wait for her at each junction. More than once, passers-by had glared at her, no doubt thinking her highly irresponsible to have a child out on his bike so late. Now they were both out of breath, warm despite the cold wind and drizzling rain. Lacey leaned her bike against the railings above her flat.

‘Of course,’ she said, wondering what on earth was coming now.

‘I think there’s something wrong with my brain.’

She honestly never knew what this child was going to say next. ‘Barney, you’re the most intelligent child I know.’ No need to tell him he was practically the only child she knew. ‘I really doubt there’s anything wrong with your brain.’

He looked pleased, then doubtful, finally uncertain.

‘Why do you think there’s something wrong?’ she asked, removing her helmet. Her hair, damp with rain and sweat, clung to her head.

‘I have episodes,’ he said, after a moment.

‘Episodes?’

‘It’s the right word. I looked it up.’

‘What sort of episodes?’

His eyes fell to the rain-streaked pavement. ‘I lose time,’ he said.
‘I just don’t remember anything. Hours can go by and I haven’t a clue what I’ve done.’

‘And when do these episodes happen?’

‘Usually when I’m alone,’ he said. ‘At home, or out skating. But it happened in class once. The bell rang and I realized I hadn’t a clue what I’d been doing for about half the class, since Mrs Green told us to work through our maths books. I’d done the work, I just couldn’t remember doing it.’

‘Sounds like a daydream to me. I had them a lot when I was your age.’

She had, too. It had been her way of dealing with a pretty awful life. ‘You say hours can go by?’ she asked him. That had been an exaggeration, surely. Daydreams lasted minutes at most.

‘This one time, I was sitting at my computer and I realized I’d no idea what I’d done all evening. I couldn’t even remember getting home from school. I thought I’d been out, because my coat was wet, but I just didn’t know.’

He was getting upset again. The skin around his eyes was turning pink, the contours of his mouth stiffening. He was shivering too, his smaller body had chilled down quickly. He needed to be indoors with a hot bath and hot chocolate, to be looked after properly. Oh, she was so out of her depth with this. ‘Have you told your dad?’

He shook his head. ‘They seem to happen when he’s out. I don’t want him feeling guilty.’

Well, it was about bloody time he felt guilty. An eleven-year-old kid suffering blackouts and his dad was leaving him on his own? ‘Is your dad out at the moment?’ she asked him.

He nodded, but couldn’t look at her again. ‘I think so.’

‘When does he get back?’

‘I’m not sure. I’m usually asleep.’

‘Do you want me to come in and wait with you?’

‘No. Don’t tell him I told you. Please. Or about Mum. Or about me being at the boat tonight. Please.’

What was he so afraid of?

‘OK, listen to me, Barney. A few years ago, when I was a bit older than you are now, but still quite young, I had episodes too. Periods
of time that I had no memory of. It was like someone had taken a whiteboard rubber and just wiped away my memory.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That’s what it’s like.’

She made herself smile at him, even though she felt like crying.

‘It was a very difficult time for me,’ she said. ‘And I think the periods of memory loss were caused by sadness and worry. I think there were times when I was just so unhappy my mind couldn’t cope, so it sort of went to sleep. Does that make sense?’

He nodded.

‘I think something similar could be happening to you. I think your anxiety over your mum could be the main cause of it. The important thing to remember is that for me it didn’t last, and I don’t think it will for you either.’

‘Really?’

‘Really. Now, it’s late and you need to be in bed. I’m going to think hard about everything you’ve told me and we’ll talk again. Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?’

He shook his head, but he looked a bit happier. At that age, having a grown-up take charge was always going to be a relief.

‘You’ve got my number?’ she said. ‘I’m just next door.’

He smiled at her again. She watched him unlock the door and disappear. When she heard the sound of the deadlock being turned on the inside, she went down to her own flat.

Lacey found Barney’s mother in a little over an hour. She double-checked her facts and then got up and walked out into the garden. Somehow, it was always easier to think out here. Sometimes, if she closed her eyes and zoned out the roar of the traffic, she could almost imagine she could hear the river.

From the shed door she could see directly into the window that she’d always assumed must be Barney’s because she often saw him just behind it, working at the computer. The room was in darkness and the curtains drawn.

She really needed to talk to someone. Someone who was a parent. Someone whose judgement she trusted. Shit, was there really no one else?

The handset of the landline phone was in her pocket, because
she’d already decided she was going to call him. Maybe she’d even been glad of the excuse.
You’re number one in Favourites,
that funny cute kid had told her. She, on the other hand, had no need to save his number as anything: she’d known it off by heart for months.

‘Hi,’ said the familiar voice a second later.

‘It’s me,’ she said, unnecessarily. He’d have caller ID, he’d have known exactly who it was.

‘If this is a booty call, you’re about to make me a very happy man.’

‘Are you in the middle of something? And it isn’t, by the way.’

‘I’m on the Embankment, heading home. Something up?’

‘Sort of. I need advice.’

‘Blimey, I’d have been less surprised if you’d wanted sex.’

No, she couldn’t do it, she couldn’t be in the same room as him, especially not this late, not feeling like this. ‘It’s quite late,’ she said, backtracking. ‘It can wait till the morning.’

‘I’ll be with you in ten, Flint. Put the kettle on.’

Barney closed the front door and saw the pizza box where he’d left it before fleeing the house earlier. Not really wanting to touch it, he knew he couldn’t leave it there. He’d never sleep. Still with his gloves on, he carried it through to the kitchen. About to put it in the bin, he had a sudden thought and opened the box.

The pizza was American Hot: chilli beef, spicy pepperoni and jalapeno peppers. His favourite. The sort he always ordered. It hadn’t been a mistake, it had been meant for him.

For a second, he toyed with the idea that he might have ordered it himself, during one of his ‘episodes’. But how could he have paid for it? He didn’t have a credit card.

Some time later, Barney realized he was sitting on the hard tiles of the kitchen floor. He had no idea how long he’d been out of it. His dad had been on the boat. Oliver Kennedy – or more likely, by now, Oliver Kennedy’s body – was on the boat and his dad was the killer. Even if he said nothing – and how could he send his own dad to prison? – even if he kept quiet, the police would find him. They always did and then he’d be completely on his own. But maybe
Lacey would find his mum. Maybe she’d find her in time. He dragged himself upright and climbed the stairs.