River of Souls (31 page)

His hand closed around my wrist. ‘Forget about the photo. It doesn’t mean anything to me now.’

‘You look at her every day, Jake. Her face is your screensaver.’

I leant down to kiss him goodbye, and his grip tightened as I pulled away. I felt a pang of sympathy, but knew there was no point in meeting again. I’d always be wondering if it was me he was looking at or his ex-wife’s shadow. When I got outside I considered walking the half-mile home, but Burns’s warning about staying safe rang in my ears. I gazed across the river and waited until a cab’s hire sign flashed gold in the dark. Maybe the killer was alone on the foreshore, looking for relics. Locating him by the riverside would be miraculous even if the search team was a thousand strong – the waterway meandered through the city’s twisted heart for dozens of miles.

43

The man’s heart beats too fast as he steps onto the escalator at Wapping Station, the night-time faces surrounding him pale and distorted. All he can hear is the muffled sound of his own breathing. If he lingers here too long, someone might see through his disguise. When he reaches the turnstile, he pulls down the brim of his hat, shielding himself from the cameras overhead.

The river’s whisper begins when he steps outside and a surge of relief overwhelms him. Recently its voice has grown weaker; he only hears it when he shuts his eyes. But for now the river is guiding him, its murmur louder with each footstep. He presses his back against the wall of an old warehouse, hiding in its shadow. The wide expanse of the river lies directly ahead, reflected streetlights breaking across its surface like glass shattering. His nostrils fill with the odours of brine and pollution.

From here he can see the film crew at work. He wants to laugh out loud at their mistakes. An actor stands in the dark water, holding a young black girl in his arms, but she’s nowhere near beautiful enough. Their attempts to mimic him are pathetic. When the filming ends he watches the camera crew carry their equipment back to their van. One man walks past so close that the vapour of his soul trails across his face, leaving behind a peppery taste. Maybe his journey has been wasted. None of the detectives are here, only three men in uniform climbing back into their squad car as the film crew departs. He watches them drive away with a sense of disappointment until a woman emerges at the top of King Henry’s Stair: tall and slender, black hair eclipsing her eyes. Her soul is breathtaking, dark and glittering like a skein of silk.

He follows her in silence, pulling on his gloves as she turns down a narrow side street. When he seizes her shoulder he can tell she’s different from the rest. Her blue eyes fill with panic but she doesn’t scream.

‘Give me your phone and your car keys,’ he says. When she tries to pull away he slaps her hard across the face. ‘Don’t waste my time.’

‘My daughter’s waiting. You can’t do this.’ She fumbles in her pocket and pulls out her phone.

The man hurls it down the stairway into the river. ‘Now the keys.’

Her hands stay in her pockets. ‘Too late. I pressed the panic button. If you fuck off now you’ve still got a chance.’

His punch sends her sprawling across the car’s bonnet, then he hunts through her pockets. She’s still unconscious as he folds her body into the boot, knees pressed tight against her chest. Now he lets himself relax. The city breathes itself into his lungs, sulphurous and filthy, with an aftertaste of sweetness. For the first time in days, the river is singing his name.

44

My mother was waiting for me in the Neurology Department at Bart’s Hospital on Tuesday morning. From a distance she looked stronger, sitting upright in her chair. The bruise on her forehead was a rainbow of different shades, and her left hand fluttered violently in her lap, but she greeted me with a calm smile.

‘You look better, Mum.’

‘I am, darling. You shouldn’t have come; I’ll probably have to wait ages.’

‘It’s fine, honestly. How’s Elise doing?’

‘Efficient but dull,’ she said, grimacing. ‘The woman’s got no conversation whatsoever.’

‘You employ her to shop and clean, she probably thinks you’ll be angry if she wastes time chatting.’

She gave a snort of disapproval. ‘Monosyllables are all she can offer. She only managed a grunt for the stair-lift people.’

‘Did they finish installing it?’

‘They’ll be done tomorrow. It’s a dreadful waste of money.’

I gritted my teeth. ‘Not if it stops you falling.’

Fortunately the receptionist called her name before the discussion turned sour. It took my mother a long time to cover the short distance to the consulting room. She insisted on walking unaided, refusing to take my arm. The consultant Dr Kumar looked close to retirement age, his wizened face wearing a gentle smile. My mother relaxed visibly when she realised he was a senior consultant. He listened intently while she described her symptoms, then flicked on a light-box to study her brain scan. He asked her to perform gait and coordination tasks, observing her shuffling walk and poor balance. Afterwards Dr Kumar leant forwards to observe my mother’s face.

‘You’ll have to stop fighting, Mrs Quentin. That’s the hardest part. I can tell you’re a strong person, and that will help, but you mustn’t tire yourself. Parkinson’s progresses faster when you’re exhausted. If your tremor worsens, we can talk about surgical options. In the meantime, I’ll prescribe stronger medication and keep a close eye on you.’

My mother simpered with gratitude, and even her walk seemed lighter as we left. ‘What a relief to see someone who knows what they’re talking about.’

Dr Kumar had given us remarkably little information, but I’d learned a lesson in bedside manner. Maybe I could copy his brand of serene professional certainty when I returned to my consultancy.

‘Ready for a coffee?’ I asked when we got back downstairs.

‘Please, darling, if you’ve got time.’

We ended up in an Italian café by Smithfield Market, waiters racing past in crisp white aprons. I could see that she was tiring, her gaze blurring out of focus.

‘Have you spoken to your brother?’ she asked.

‘Not since last week. Did you ring him?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know why he made such a fuss.’

‘It’s his illness, Mum. You know he has mood swings.’ There was no point in reminding her that their relationship had always been volatile, two huge personalities battling for supremacy.

‘Would you like a lift?’

‘There’s no need. I’m going to the Tate Modern to see the Paula Rego show before it finishes.’

My mother’s only concession to her illness was to lean on a railing as she waited for a taxi. I felt a surge of admiration as her cab pulled away. No matter how irritating she might be, she deserved credit for recovering from so many knockout punches.

I was heading back to my car when I spotted a maternity shop and remembered Lola stranded on her chaise longue. A tiny red jumper caught my eye, not much bigger than the width of my hand, perfect for a boy or a girl. I couldn’t resist ducking inside. My phone rang just as I was tucking the parcel into my handbag. The voice at the end of the line was a low Scottish grumble, words racing much too fast.

‘Slow down, Don, I missed half of that.’

‘Tania’s missing. She never went home last night.’

‘And you’ve checked all the logical places?’

‘Of course we bloody have,’ he snapped. ‘There’s no sign of her.’

‘Where are you now?’

‘I’m going to see her family.’

The facts still hadn’t sunk in when I met him at Limehouse Basin. Tania couldn’t be in danger. She was glossy and invincible, the kind of person who sensed danger from miles away. But reassurance would have been pointless. We both knew that she would never vanish without telling anyone, her daughter was always top of her concerns. He sat on the edge of a bench, his huge shoulders hunched.

‘Tell me what happened, Don.’

‘I left her with the
Crimewatch
boys. They finished around eleven thirty and the uniforms buggered off home. The wankers didn’t even walk her back to her car.’ His face contorted with rage. I wanted to tell him to save his energy for the chase, but he and Tania had been friends for twenty years. This time the search would be one hundred per cent personal. ‘Her sister Louise called at one a.m. She’d been looking after Sinead. We traced Tania’s phone signal to Wapping, but it hasn’t been found.’

‘What about her car?’

‘Missing.’ His eyes were so dark, no light reflected there.

‘What makes you think she’s been taken? All the other victims had a direct relationship with the Shelleys.’

‘So does she. We’re protecting them, aren’t we? Our team’s hunting him down.’

Louise Goddard was waiting on the grass outside Tania’s apartment building. She was performing an odd dance-like movement, shifting her weight from foot to foot to keep warm or displace her anxiety. She stared up at Burns’s face through eyes glittering with shock.

‘Have you found her?’

‘Not yet. I need a few more details, Louise.’

Her hands shook as she fumbled with her keys. She was a smaller, rounder version of her sister, with the same sea-blue eyes. I put the kettle on while Burns took her into the lounge, noticing a row of photos stuck to the fridge with bright red magnets. Tania looked different from the hard-as-nails taskmaster she pretended to be at work, so slick and professional that no criticism ever scratched her surface. She was clowning for the camera, relaxed enough to pull faces. There were snaps of her daughter too. In a few years’ time, Sinead would be as gorgeous as her mum, with the same willowy figure and sleek black hair. Reality suddenly hit me so hard that I almost dropped the kettle. Tania was missing, and we had hours, not days, to find her. So far every victim had died within forty-eight hours of being taken.

When I opened the door, Louise was sobbing into one of Burns’s large white hankies, his hand on her shoulder. The furniture in Tania’s lounge looked like second-hand IKEA, a battered sound system standing beside an ancient TV. Burns had told me that Tania was going through a bitter divorce, her ex wrangling over custody of Sinead. Her legal bills must have eaten up her salary, leaving nothing for home comforts.

‘Talk me through it one more time,’ Burns said quietly.

Louise’s hands balled in her lap as if she was planning to punch someone. ‘She was too tired to cook, so we ordered pizzas. I stayed over because she had to go out again. When I called her around midnight, there was no reply. That’s when I rang you.’

‘What have you told Sinead?’

‘Nothing. The kid’s got enough to worry about. I said Tan had left for work early then packed her off to school.’

‘It’ll be on the next news bulletin; you don’t want her hearing it from a stranger,’ Burns said.

The expression on her face soured. ‘Don’t tell me what I want. This is your fault for leaving her alone. Go and tell Sinead that a fucking madman’s got her mum. How do you think she’ll take it?’

Louise flew at him suddenly, hands flailing, but I didn’t intervene. She was half Burns’s size, so she was never going to leave a mark. He restrained her gently, holding her arms until she collapsed, sobbing, on his shoulder. I waited in silence for her tears to subside. Burns was still comforting her when the family liaison officer arrived. That raised my anxiety even higher. If Burns genuinely believed Tania would come home safe and sound, he would never have summoned Millie Evans. She was a pretty, middle-aged woman, brown curls swept into an untidy bun. Her mild expression hid the fact that her job exposed her to every variety of human suffering. Normally she exuded calm, but today she looked tense. The team at St Pancras Way must have heard already that their second-in-command was missing. Burns instructed her to stay put until he’d collected Sinead from school.

His face was two shades paler when we got outside, his walk shambling, as if he’d downed half a litre of Scotch.

‘Are you okay to drive?’ I asked.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

He shook his head firmly. ‘She needs to hear it from me, and no one else. I’ve known her all her life.’

Burns’s machismo seemed to be the only thing holding him together as his car sped away. I didn’t envy him having to tell a twelve-year-old girl that her mother was missing without putting the fear of God into her. The challenge facing us was growing bigger every minute. If we didn’t act fast, Tania’s body would be cast into the river, just like the rest.