Scaredy Cat (13 page)

'Tom...'

The curtains moved again and Dave Hol and appeared. Thorne let go of Anne's hand. 'My taxi's here...'

Anne stood up and moved towards the curtain. Before she turned, Thorne saw her smile at Hol and and put her hand on his arm. What the hel was that about? Look after the poor old bugger?

'Give me a ring, Tom.'

She left and Thorne stared hard at Hol and. He looked for the smirk but didn't see it. He couldn't see a notebook either. His vision obviously wasn't back to normal yet.

As they walked towards the car Thorne could feel the chil in the air. August had final y thrown in the towel and now there would be bad weather coming. He preferred it that way if he was honest. He wa happier in an overcoat. A security blanket that covered a multitude of sins. The warm night when he'd stepped out of that taxi, pissed and singing, seemed a long way away. If it hadn't been for the wine he'd guzzled while he and Anne had flirted and talked about Jimi Hendrix and failed marriages, he knew that the whole, hideous thing would be over by now. He might even

122 MARK BILLINGHAM

have been what's laughably cal ed a hero. If he hadn't beer pissed he might have seen it coming. He might have turne round a second earlier and he'd have had him. He might, a the very least, have avoided the blow. But the man in th balaclava with the iron bar and the needle had had a dis. tinct advantage, of course.

He'd known Thorne was pissed, hadn't he?

Hol and held the car door open but Thorne didn't resent it. They pul ed out on to Highgate Hil .

'Have you got any food in? I had a quick look and couldn't see much.'

'Are you inviting yourself round for a meal, Hol and?'

'Do you want to stop somewhere? There's a Budgens on the way, isn't there?'

'You can get me a sandwich when we get to the office.' 'Sir?'

Hol and looked across at Thorne whose head lay against the car window, his eyes half shut. He'd been wrong about the Weeble. He looked distinctly wobbly.

'There's not much happening at the moment, to be

honest. The DCI said it would be best

'Office.'

Hol and put his foot down.

He'd stood at a bus stop and watched as Thorne and the young DC had climbed into the car and driven away. Thorne had been in hospital less than thirty-six hours. He was impressed.

So, now what?

Things would pick up a bit, wouldn't they? Thorne would be on the warpath for sure. They'd al have taken it personal y, he knew that. That was the copper's way.

Once you involve one of their own, watch out! Like a piss-poor bunch of Masonic East-Enders. Thorne wasn't one of their own, though, was he? He'd hate that idea. He was getting to know the man, little by little, but he knew that for sure. He just needed to get him riled up a little, that was al .

The bus came, and he stood back and watched as people with no place to go hopped on and off, al of them pale and in pain. He turned away in disgust and started to walk down towards the underground station at Archway.

They'd probably see what he'd done to Thorne as a warning. Let them. Thorne would know it was something.., other than that. He'd know a chal enge when he saw one. When he felt one.

He'd been personal y involved since the first time he'd laid those big brown eyes on Alison. The sentimental idiot had felt sorry for her, hadn't he? He couldn't see beyond the machines.

He couldn't smel the freedom. And he real y cared about the dead ones. Oh, he real y minded about those.

Al in al it had worked out quite wel and the business with Anne was a lovely bonus.

He stopped to look through the window of a bathroom shop. Mock antique mixer taps and other such shit. Baths

with seats in and handles for the old and infirm.

Stupid.

He thought about Thorne's tiny flat. There was the home of a lonely man for sure. No, not a home. Neat and tidy, though, he'd give him that - apart from the empty wine bottles. He knew he'd have the edge on him that night on the doorstep. If Thorne had been sober he wouldn't have fancied his chances.

124 MARK BILLINGHAM

It was starting to get cold. He pul ed down his hat and moved towards the entrance to the tube. Now he wanted some progress. He'd shaken things up for sure and they had to have come up with something. And let the profilers or whatever those over-qualified ponces cal ed themselves, talk about a 'cry for help' or a 'desire to be stopped', if that's what paid their mortgages. Not that Thorne would have any time for psychobabble, he was pretty sure of that. And now that he knew what it felt like, now he knew how those women had felt before he'd laid hands on them, he'd be committed.

He'd known kids like Thorne at school. They just needed to be provoked and there'd be no containing them. Mad kids who would throw a desk out of the window or kil squirrels in the playground if you pushed them a bit if you punched the right buttons. Thorne was no different. And now he'd kicked him in the shins. He'd rabbit punched him. Now Thorne wouldn't stop.

A tal skinny woman with a pushchair beat him to the ticket machine. He stared at the back of her slender neck as she fumbled for change in her cheap plastic purse and stared at the station names as if they were printed in Chinese. Single mother, probably. The poor cow wrung out and desperate for a little comfort. Forty fags a day and a couple of Valium to numb the pain and get her through the afternoons.

He thought about any woman he saw now. He considered them al . He could see what each of them needed. Every one was.., feasible.

'Good to have you back, Tom.'

Tughan's thin lips arranged themselves into what might

SLEEPYHEAD 125

pass as a smile. Thorne thought he looked like a gargoyle. Hol and made himself scarce and Thorne settled into a chair opposite his fel ow DI. The comments of other officers were acknowledged with a nod and a lighthearted comment, and some of the smiles were undoubtedly sincere, but there were other faces he was less pleased to see again.

'How's the head, Tommy? Now you know how it feels,

mate. , .

His calendar girls.

Yes, he knew what it felt like to have the power over your own body taken away. He'd been out of control so many times that it was almost familiar, but that loss went hand in hand with a warm, sleepy feeling that the booze threw in for good measure. The wine came with a little something special to ease the pain of smashed furniture or grazed knuckles. But the drug had taken him to places he never wanted to see again.

"He took away everything we had, Tommy...' 'I wanted to struggle...' 'We al did...'

'... to fight for my life, Tommy:

Tughan's mouth was moving but the sound was coming from a long way away.

Christine. Susan. Madeleine. And Helen. Drugged into oblivion and confronted by a monster. He'd confronted nothing but ghosts. The memories of ghosts. He thought about Alison. He needed to see her. He was stil around and he wanted her to know that. He was stil around only because that had been what the fucker wanted. He'd realised that straight away and hated the fucker for having the power to spare him. He'd chosen to give him his life.

126 MARK BILLIN GtIAM

He had made a mistake.

'He should have hil ed me:

'Don't say that, Tommy. Who would we have left to talk to?'

'Tom? Are you feeling al right? You shouldn't have come in.'

Thorne turned his eyes from the wal . He stood up and walked around the desk, catching Hol and's eye as he put his hand on Nick Tughan's shoulder. 'Not caught him yet, then, Nick?'

Tughan laughed. Nails on a blackboard. Tl leave that

to you, Tom. You're the one with the instincts, aren't you?' Thorne stiffened. 'The one with experience.' He spoke the word as if he were naming a child molester. 'We're just getting on with the job, fol owing leads. One or two of

them yours, as a matter of fact.'

'Tom .... '

Keable was speaking from the doorway of his office. Thorne looked up and he retreated, the invitation to join him unmistakable.

'I'l catch up with you later, Nick. Why don't you email

me what you've got?'

Thorne walked across to Keable's office. He could hear Hol and and one of the other DCs laughing as he went. Business as usual. But not for him.

Anne wanted to talk to Alison. Her workload meant that it was becoming increasingly difficult to spend a significant amount of time with her every day and they had stuff to catch up on.

He joined her a second or two after she stepped into the

lift.

'David.'

SLEEPYHEAD 127

'On the way up to see your locked-in case, I suppose.

Any developments?'

'Do you care?'

He pressed the button and the doors started to close. There real y wasn't a great deal to look at as a tactic to avoid what was sure to be an unpleasant encounter. She wondered instead if it was possible to escape from a lift using a trap-door in the roof as she had seen people do so often in films.

'I was sorry to hear about the attack on your policeman friend.'

They'd certainly done it in The Towering Inferno.

'Just after your cosy dinner trois with Jeremy, wasn't

it?'

And Hannibal Lecter did it in Silence of the Lambs. Just

after he'd cut that man's face off. Hmm.

'Anne?'

'Yes, it was, and no, you're not sorry, you're just a twat.' The lift reached the second floor and Anne stepped out the moment the doors opened. Higgins stood preventing them from closing. 'Hanging around with police officers is obviously doing marvels for your vocabulary, Anne.'

'You're awful y wel informed about what I'm up to, David. Using our daughter as a spy is rather pathetic, though.'

'Oh, I thought you two had no secrets?'

Not usual y, but maybe it was time that changed. She'd need to talk to Rachel. He was now wearing that hideous smirk she remembered him reserving for tiny triumphs or the expectation of dutiful sex. She smiled at him, feeling nothing but pity.

128 MARK BILLINGHAM

'Why are you here, David?'

'Just because we're divorcing doesn't mean that I'm not interested in your life. I am.'

She stepped towards him. Did she see him actual y flinch? 'There was an Oprah or a Ricki Lake recently about divorcing couples, did you catch it? This woman said that it was only when she was divorcing Duane or Marion or whoever, that she realised how much she loved him. It's weird, because al it's making me realise is how much I wanted to divorce you in the first place.'

The smirk had gone and she could see that the quiff

was beginning to wilt slightly, but she could stil feel the sharp tingle of the slap in a parked car, and picture the look in his eye after he'd spat at her in an Italian restaurant. Now he tried hard to look world-weary, but just looked old.

'You've become bitter, Anne.'

'And your hair is utterly ridiculous. I'm busy, David.' The lift doors moved to close again, and Higgins was finding it hard to retain his balance. 'Aren't you at al interested in my life, Anne?

What I'm doing?'

He was getting rusty - dol ying up the bal like that. She couldn't wait to smash it home. 'OK, David. Are you stil fucking that radiotherapist?'

She heard the doors closing as she walked away up the corridor. She knew that he'd never be certain if she'd heard his pathetic parting 'Give my love to Jeremy,' but it didn't matter either way.

She couldn't wait to tel Alison.

'Sit down, Tom.'

Thorne moved to take the uncomfortable brown plastic

SLEEPYHEAD 129

seat so generously offered. 'Fuck, this sounds a bit serious. Am I going to get a bol ocking for being whacked over the head and pumped ful of shit?'

'Why are you here, Tom? Do you think we can't

manage without you?'

'No, sir.'

'Stop pissing about, Tom.' Keable passed a hand across his face. He was probably trying to appear thoughtful, thought Thorne, or maybe he was just tired. Al he had succeeded in doing was roughing up his voluminous eyebrows and making himself look like a bald wolfman. Keable puffed out his cheeks. 'Do you feel rough?'

'What are these leads that Tughan's talking about?' 'There was a note, Tom.'

Thorne was out of his chair in a second. 'At the flat? Show me...'

Keable opened a drawer and produced a dog-eared photocopied sheet of A4. He handed it to Thorne. 'The original's stil at Lambeth.'

Thorne nodded. The Forensic Science Services

Laboratory. 'Waste of time.. ,'

'I know.'

Thorne sat down and read. Typed as before. The same smug familiarity in every sentence. The same enjoyment and belief in a unique and wonderful y detached sense of humour. The same sickening self-love...

TOM. I'M NOT A VIOLENT MAN. (HE PAUSES FOR HOLLOW LAUGHTER AND TO LET THE DETECTIVE INSPECTOR TOUCH HIS SORE HEAD.) DID YOU NEED ST1TCHES

I'M SORRY. I HOPE THE HEEBIE-JEEBIES WEREN'T TOO INTENSE. BOOZE AND BENZOS AREN'T THE MOST

130 MARK BILLINGHAM

HARMONIOUS OF BEDFELLOWS. SADLY I DIDN'T STAY TO WATCH. I SIMPLY WANTED YOU TO FEEL SOMETHING OF WHAT IT'S LIKE TO SURRENDER YOURSELF. I KNOW IT WASN'T A SURRENDER IN THE TRUEST SENSE OF THE WORD BUT WHO'S GOT TIME TO BE PEDANTIC? YOU'VE GOT MURDERERS TO CATCH AFTER ALL. A LITTLE PAIN WAS NECESSARY TO BRING YOU UP TO SPEED. AND THE GIRLS FELT NOTHING. REMEMBER THAT. I MUST APOLOGISE FOR HELEN BUT SHE REALLY

DIDN'T WANT TO LIVE. ALISON WAS THE ONLY ONE WITH ENOUGH FIGHT TO MAKE IT. WHAT WAS THAT OLD ADVERTISEMENT? IT'S THE FISH JOHN WEST REJECTS . .

.' THAT'S RATHER PAT BUT I'M SURE YOU'LL GET MY POINT. I KNOW YOU'RE ANGRY, TOM, BUT DON'T LET IT EAT YOU UP. USE YOUR ANGER FOR GOOD AS I HAVE AND

THERE'S NOTHING YOU CAN'T ACHIEVE. THERE, I HAVE THROWN DOWN A GAUNTLET . . . OR AT THE VERY LEAST A SURGICAL GLOVE [!

SPEAK SOON.

P.S. I HAVE A PERFECTLY HEALTHY SEX DRIVE AND I WASN'T LOCKED IN A CELLAR AS A SMALL CHILD, SO DON'T WASTE VALUABLE MONEY OR RESOURCES ON

CHAR LATANS.

Thorne felt sick. He took a deep breath and slid the piece of paper back across the desk. Frank Keablc raised his head and Thorne looked him straight in the eye. 'It's Bishop.'