Like This, for Ever (26 page)

‘Oh, Jesus!’

Sudden pain winded her. There was a clatter of metal against concrete and someone hit her hard.

Barney stared at the screen. Peter Sweep had posted four minutes earlier. Short and very much to the point. Oliver Kennedy? Who was Oliver Kennedy? People on Facebook were asking the same question. Comments popped up one after another like pop tarts from a toaster. Someone thought he might go to the same school as his younger sister. Another said there was someone called Kennedy in his cub pack, but he thought his first name was Jacob. Nothing else from Peter, but that was his way. He didn’t join in the conversations. Then a comment that looked genuine.

I played tennis with Oliver tonight. He left with Joe Walsh. Has someone phoned his house?

Barney flicked screens to the news channels, but there was nothing there. Not that he would have expected it this soon. Back to Facebook. The comment thread was growing but most of it looked speculative and alarmist. People were enjoying the drama. Barney felt sick. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d been hoping the pizza man had been the killer.

Barney sat up and leaned towards the screen, as though physical proximity might make him understand more. Peter had posted again.

Take care, he said, take care how you cut yourself. It is more dangerous than you think in this country. First cut is the deepest. Hold still, little Olly.

‘Why didn’t you warn us?’ Tom Kennedy demanded. ‘That’s what I want to know. You knew someone called Oliver Kennedy was going to be taken. Why wasn’t it on the news when we could have done something?’

Oliver Kennedy’s father hadn’t stopped moving since Dana, Susan Richmond, Tom Barrett and a uniformed constable had arrived at the Kennedys’ home in Lambeth.

‘We didn’t know that,’ said Dana, in the gentlest voice she could manage. ‘Oliver wasn’t mentioned by name until this Peter Sweep claimed he already had him.’

‘But you knew he was going to take a kid tonight. If we’d been told that, we’d never have let him out.’

For the love of God,
thought Dana.
Five boys have been killed in the past six weeks in this part of London and that wasn’t enough for you?

‘I understand how you feel, Sir, but I promise you, we are doing everything we can to find—’

‘Do you? Do you have any idea what it’s like to hear on the friggin’ television that a maniac has hold of your son? Do you have kids?’

‘This isn’t helping!’ came a wail from across the room.

Oliver’s mother had barely moved from the sofa since Dana and the others had arrived. She clutched the neck of her oversized pink sweatshirt, her face a waxy shade of green. At her side sat a teenage boy, similar enough to his father for Dana to be sure he was Oliver’s older brother.

‘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.