‘We’ve only got half a team. Tactical can go door-to-door as and when. It’s not as though there’ll be a rush on the front desk tomorrow morning, is it? I’m pushing off.’ He walked past me, whistling a tune. The sound echoed through the lobby.
I carried on up, past several uniformed officers. They were visibly uncomfortable with my being there, and I thought they might even try to block my path. When I reached the third floor I saw Karen Stromer, the pathologist, descending the stairs. Stromer was an impressive woman with a reputation for withering criticism and sharp instincts. It was the first time I’d seen her since rejoining the night shift, and I got the feeling that I’d fallen in her estimation. She valued serious officers, professionals, and the look on her face said she didn’t consider me one. She was wearing a pristine, plastic CSI cover-all. She stopped when she saw me and drew down her hood, revealing a narrow, bone-white face and a frown. She had short, black hair, gleaming dark marbles for eyes and an almost invisible little paper-cut for a mouth.
‘Detective Constable Waits,’ she said, still standing a few stairs above me. ‘May I ask what you’re doing here?’
‘We were responding to a reported break-in …’ I started.
She cut me off with a subliminal smile and spoke with a quiet, steady voice. ‘I hadn’t quite realized you were back on active duty.’
‘I managed to keep a foot in the door.’
‘And a foot in something else, if I recall correctly. You were arrested. You were stealing drugs from evidence …’
My voice sounded thick. ‘They dropped the charges.’
She nodded, stared down at the space between us and smiled to herself. ‘I think I’ll ask you to return to the lobby, if that’s OK. I don’t want my crime scene contaminated.’
I started to back away. ‘Is there anything you can tell us at this stage?’
‘Time of death somewhere between 11.30 p.m. and 12.30 a.m. Never ideal because one doesn’t know which date to record it as. No identification on his person. And it looks as though the labels have been cut out of his clothes.’
‘Cut out?’
‘I’ll be making a full report to your superior officer. Detective Inspector Sutcliffe, I believe?’
I nodded and started for the stairs. ‘I keep trying to believe it myself.’
‘There was one thing, Detective Constable.’ I turned to see the smile, still playing on her thin lips. ‘I wonder if you spotted the thread in the dead man’s trouser leg?’ She read the look on my face. ‘Of course you did. The stitching’s from the inside …’
‘What does it mean?’
‘It means that something’s been sewn into his trousers. Something he obviously wanted to keep safe …’ When I didn’t say anything she went on. ‘If I find drugs, I’m afraid I’ll feel compelled to report your attempted access of the crime scene. Given your history.’ She started to climb the stairs again, clearly unwilling to leave the body alone while I was in the building.
‘You won’t find any,’ I said to her back.
She stopped but didn’t turn. ‘And what makes you so certain of that, Detective Constable?’
‘It’s something else.’
‘Well,’ she said. ‘I suppose you’d know.’
She climbed the stairs out of sight.
Standing alone on the landing I realized I was out of breath.
* * *
The boy reached out for the woman’s hand but she pulled away.
He was in the chaos of an outdoor market, between the stalls, surrounded by adults twice his size. The people were all moving in different directions and all he could see were their hands trailing by him at eye level. He reached out for the woman again but she shook him off and disappeared. The boy stopped, panting, being jostled all the while by the movements of people around him. He reached out for another familiar hand. Dark blue veins, long fingernails and silver jewellery. He held on tight this time and didn’t let go, even when the woman pulled him out into a clearing. He reached his other hand up and hung on, until she was dragging him along the floor.
She stopped, gave a final tug and then crouched to look at him.
‘What are you doing?’ she said. The boy let go and saw that, her hands aside, she wasn’t much like his mother. This woman was younger. She smelt like fresh flowers, and when she frowned it was compassionate, curious. He opened his mouth, wondering what he was about to say, when the light changed. Something blocked out the sun and a strong hand clasped his shoulder.
‘Wally, Jesus, mate. Don’t run off like that, yeah? Scared me to death.’
The boy watched the woman’s face change. She moved dark hair out of her eyes then stood, squinting at the large man who’d joined them. The boy twisted round to look up at him. Against the sunlight he was just a silhouette. That superhero square jawline with the shoulders to match.
‘He’s yours?’ asked the woman, tilting her head.
‘For my sins,’ said the man, with a rogue’s grin. ‘I’ll never tell you what I did, though. I’m Bateman, by the by.’ He held out a hand and she took it.
‘Holly,’ she said. ‘That’s a funny name he’s got …’ She was prolonging the conversation unnaturally. The boy often noticed women doing that around Bateman.
‘Wanna know where it comes from?’ Holly wrinkled her nose, nodded. ‘Well, Wally’s not his full name. It’s actually short for wallet.’ He reached behind the boy’s ear and produced a coin, dropping it into his outstretched hand. ‘Kid’s a gold mine.’ Holly started to laugh. When she did, the boy saw that she was more like a girl than a woman. Bateman took a step closer, offered her a cigarette. ‘You live around here, Holl?’ Her face changed again, and she shifted her weight from one leg to another.
It was dark by the time Bateman got back to the car.
Holly said her parents were out for the night, and Bateman had gone to look at her house. When he got back to the car he smelt like her, like fresh flowers. He sniffed his fingers and then searched his pockets for a cigarette, lighting up and chuckling to himself. He’d smoked it halfway down to the filter before he looked over at Wally. He reached behind the boy’s ear as if to produce another coin, but this time took a fistful of his hair. He held him tight with one hand, edging the tip of the cigarette towards him with the other.
‘Not a word to your mother, understood?’ Wally nodded, eyes locked on to the flame. Bateman grunted and let him go. ‘Let’s see how you did at the market.’ Wally opened the glove compartment and pulled out some jewellery. Some of the rings from women he’d held hands with and three wallets he’d taken from passing men. Bateman went through the wallets, stripping them of cash and cards before dumping them out the window. He put the rings in his pocket and started the engine. He looked at the boy again before he pulled out into the road.
‘Fucking gold mine,’ he said.
* * *
II
Red Eyes
1
I woke up confused by my surroundings, like I’d been moved in my sleep. The phone was ringing and I climbed out of bed to answer it.
‘Hello,’ I said, surprised at the gravel in my voice. There was no answer. Shafts of bright, warming sun beamed through the windows into my eyes, and everything was quiet and still. I leaned into the wall, happy to bask in the daylight I saw so little of. ‘Anyone?’ A moment passed. I thought I heard breathing down the line before it went dead.