Scaredy Cat (27 page)

Now al that's got to stop until I'm a bit stronger. Until I'm

better.

Yeah, wel , when you're like this, better is a relative term.

The blackboard's gone from the end of the bed. I am so fucking frustrated.

To be honest, I say the communication was going wel and it was compared to a few weeks ago but it didn't make things any easier with 7m. Al the things I'd planned to say went out of the window once we got down to it.

He just stood there with the pointer in his hand, looking lost. Even if you can spel the most complicated words in the world as fast as anything, they're just words, aren't they? You can't spel out feelings with an eyelid and a pointer. I couldn't real y make him understand.

In the end al I could do zoas spel out the one word and say

it over and over again. G.O.O.D.B.Y.E.

Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye...

FIFTEEN

'I shal be glad to have you around, Tom, but having said that...'

Keable was behind his desk making a speech. Tughan leaned against the wal , greasy-haired and gimlet-eyed. Ostensibly Keable was welcoming Thorne back to Operation Backhand, albeit in an unorthodox and somewhat undefined role, but in reality he was laying down ground rules. What those rules were, Thorne would need to clarify later. Now he had one eye on his old friend the Exmoor stag.

He saw new things in this dreary piece of ersatz West Country dross each time he looked at it. Today he glanced up from his chair and was drawn by something in the set of the animal's jaw that seemed overtly aggressive. It was probably just fear, or the readiness to charge the photographer at any moment, but Thorne was mental y adding a thought bubble to the side of the stag's head which read, 'We don't like your sort round here.' It was only a matter of days now until the stunning view that encapsulated October would be unveiled. He was sure that Keable looked forward to this moment every month. What riveting image might Thorne find himself staring at next week? 'Badger At Dusk', perhaps. He wondered if he'd be here long enough to see it.

260 MARK BILLINGHAM

Keable had finished. 'Wel ?'

Thorne gave Keable his ful attention. The DCI's expression seemed open and amenable. So far this had gone a lot better than might have been expected.

'We should make it clear,' chipped in Tughan, 'that nobody's asking if you're interested in accepting this offer, because it isn't real y an offer. You don't have any choice.'

Thorne knew he was hooked and landed, but he stil wanted to struggle a little. He ignored Tughan and spoke directly to Keabte. 'I appreciate you keeping the disciplinary side of recent events low-key, Frank, but I'm stil a bit confused as to exactly what you want me to do in return.' Because I wasn't real y listening. Sorry. 'Consultant... secret weapon.., supersub, whatever you choose to cal it, I'l stil be the one DI too many. Brewer's stil around, I don't think Nick's planning on going an.vwhere...'

He smiled at Tughan. The Irishman smiled back, his

face blank.

'... so what am I actual y going to be doing day to day, Frank?'

Keable took a few seconds to formulate a response. When it came it was spoken gently but the steel was barely hidden. 'It was you who wanted out in the first place, Thorne, and you got what you wanted. You made a bloody mess of it and here you are again. You're not in any position to be questioning anything.'

Thorne nodded. He needed to be careful. 'Yes, sir.' He glanced across at Tughan. This time the bastard's smile was genuine.

Keable stood and walked round his desk. There was a

smal mirror on top of the filing cabinet in the corner and

he crouched to catch his reflection and adjust his tie. 'I

SLEEPYHEAD 261

want you as an unofficial part of this operation. I know that you're anything but stupid and you realise that while you're here the kil er knows where to find you.'

He'd know where to find me wherever I was. He's watching. 'This seems important to him and what's important to him is important to me. There's not a great deal we're sure of, as far as this case goes, but the kil er has some.., affinity with you, which I intend to take ful advantage of. If you're unhappy about that, tough.' Keable stood up. His fie was perfect. 'Are you?'

Thorne shook his head. He was anything but unhappy about it. Not that he intended to sit about and wait for the kil er to pop by and say hel o. The initiative, which he'd had at one point, had slipped away. He'd al owed it to slip away. He wanted it back.

Keable was moving past Tughan, back towards his chair. 'Plus, if you're here, we know where to find you as wel .'

Thorne almost smiled. 'One question, sir...'

'Go ahead.'

'Jeremy Bishop. Off limits?'

Thorne Saw the look pass between Keable and Tughan. He could almost have sworn that he heard the temperature drop.

'I was getting to that. Dr Bishop is quite aware that you turning up at his house a fortnight ago was a charade of some sort. Be thankful he doesn't know that you were il egal y gathering carpet fibres from the boot of his car.'

He stil hadn't spoken to Phil Hendricks. He'd cal him later.

'They got stuck to my briefcase, which he offered to put in the boot.'

262 MARK BILLINGHAM

'Of course they did,' scoffed Tughan.

'Do they match?'

Keable's mouth actual y dropped open.

Tughan pushed himself away from the wal . 'I think people are right, Thorne. I think you've fucking lost it. Yes, they match, but so would fibres taken from any Volvo of that colour and mode made since 1994. Do you not think we checked those things? Have you any idea how many cars that is?'

Thorne hadn't and didn't much care.

Keable picked up the baton. 'Dr Bishop has rung several times to complain about anonymous phone cal s. He's making accusations.'

Thorne met his gaze, unblinking. Keabte was the first to look away.

'These cal s are becoming more and more frequent.' How many times had he cal ed Bishop since the funeral? He could barely remember. They seemed like things he was doing in his sleep.

'Dr Bishop is predictably angry and upset, as is his son, who has been in to complain, and now his daughter is jumping on the bandwagon. She rang yesterday to ask what was being done.'

The daughter ral ying to the cause. That was interesting.

'If I ever get confirmation that you know more about this than you're saying, Tom, I won't be able to save you. I won't want to save you.'

Thorne tried to look suitably chastened. Then a smile. Needing to lighten it. 'You've stil not answered the question, Frank. Is he off limits or not?'

Things got no lighter.

SLEEPYHEAD 263

'Detective Inspector Thorne, are you in any doubt that the person who kil ed Margaret Byrne is also responsible for the deaths of Helen Doyle, Leonie Holden and the others?'

Thorne thought for a second or two. 'I'm in no doubt that the person who kil ed Leonie, Helen and the others was responsible for the death of Margaret Byrne.'

Keable stared at him. His thick, unruly eyebrows knotted in confusion. Then he saw the subtle difference. His face reddened in an instant and his voice dropped to a threatening whisper.

'Don't play fucking sil y games with me, Thorne.'

'I'm not playing games...'

'I don't want to listen to this rubbish again. Psychopaths do not hire hitmen.'

Jeremy Bishop was no ordinary psychopath, but deep down Thorne knew that Keable was right. The alibi had to be flawed. Else?

He didn't know what else.

'So I'm not even al owed to mention his name?' 'You're being childish. If you want to waste your time you can think what you like, but don't waste mine, or this operation's. Tom...' Thorne looked up. Keable was leaning forward and staring deep into his eyes. 'It's been four weeks since Helen Doyle was kil ed, two months since he attacked Alison Wil etts, six-months or more since Christine Owen was kil ed, and Christ knows when he

began planning the whole, sick bloody thing.'

len he stole the drugs. Something about Bishop stealing the Midazolam stil bothered Thorne. It floated about at the back of his head, but he couldn't grasp it. Like a tune he couldn't place.

264 MARK BILLINGHAM

Keable got to his point. 'Despite the blather in the papers and the earnest faces at the press conferences, we've got nothing, Tom.'

Tughan looked at the floor. Was that the merest glimpse

of guilt? Thorne looked back to Keable.

'I just can't understand your refusal to look at this with

an open mind. There are no other suspects. So far, this operation has achieved nothing.'

Tughan wasn't having it. 'Every officer on this operation

has been working his bal s off, Thorne. We've done everything we should have, everything. We found a very credible . witness in Margaret Byrne--'

Thorne cut him off. 'And got her kil ed.'

The words struck Tughan like hot fat in his face. He marched across the room shouting, the spittle flying on to Thorne's mouth. 'Jeremy Bishop has got nothing to do with it. Nothing.

While you've been in Cloud fucking Cuckoo Land we've been doing our jobs. Bishop is not a suspect. The only courtroom he's ever going to see the inside of is the one trying the lawsuit for harassment, which he'l be bringing against you.'

Thorne was out of his chair in a second. He casual y

took hold of Tughan's wrist and began to squeeze. The blood fled from the Irishman's face. Keable got to his feet and Thorne released his grip.. Tughan stepped quickly back towards the wal , breathing heavily.

Thorne wearily raised an arm and made a lazy, swatting motion at something unseen by anybody else in the room. He lifted his jacket from the back of the chair and slowly pul ed it on murmuring, 'No other suspects, Frank...' He took a step towards the door.

Keable screamed, 'Then get me some!'

SLEEPYHEAD 265

Even Tughan, rubbing his wrist in the corner, looked shocked.

Detective Chief Inspector Frank Keable was trying to look hard, but Thorne met his eyes and saw only desperation.

Hol and was working at a computer, unaware that anyone was behind him until he heard the voice.

'It's a nice day, isn't it? I thought I might take a bit of a trip.'

Hol and didn't turn round. 'Anywhere in particular?' 'Bristol's nice.'

Hol and carried on typing. 'Traffic's a nightmare on the M4 on a Friday.'

'I quite fancied the train anyway. Hour and a half each way. Get the papers, patronise the buffet...'

'Sounds good. I'l buy a copy of Loaded if you buy the tea.' 'You should probably lie about where you're going...'

Hol and shut down the computer. 'I'm getting quite good at lying.'

Thorne smiled. Hol and was closing the gap.

He glanced inside the newsagent and one headline in particular caught his eye. 'Champagne Charlie', it cal ed him. A day or two after the Margaret Byrne kil ing the papers had got hold of the whole thin.

The multiple kil ings.

At first he'd been upset and angry. He was no multiple kil er. But he saw that it made sense. Obviously the ful story was being held back - the truth of it. He guessed that the police had only agreed to co-operate if the press left out some of the key details to avoid hoax confessions or copycats.

266 MARK BILLINGHAM

They needn't be worried. When he chose to get in touch again, they'd know it was him.

He was enjoying his daily dose of tabloid speculation

and chest-beating. The lack of progress on this 'horrific' case was now a matter of national concern. Making the police look stupid had never been what he wanted, far from it, but the hol ow-sounding assurances of assorted commissioners and commanders, in papers and at pofaced press conferences, amused him greatly.

Champagne Charlie. Unimaginative but predictable,

and ironic, considering he wouldn't be using the stuff any more. With Leonie, the grab and the jab had done the job nicely. Plus the knife to the throat, of course, to ensure silence while they waited. It was al over very quickly. The champagne had always provided forty minutes or so of smal -talk. He'd missed that: it had made what came later that much more interesting.

But with the needle, the difference in the speed of everything was fantastic. The adrenaline had fast-tracked the drug through the girl's body so rapidly that she was in the car on the way back to his place within a few minutes of getting off the bus. He hadn't even heard her voice properly.

She'd only said the one word, whispered it real y.

Please...

And then he'd failed again. The distraction of the Margaret Byrne kil ing only a few hours earlier, was a convenient excuse but he was beginning to realise that the odds were against him. He had elected to perform a horrendously difficult procedure. He accepted that. The success rate would be smal . He'd known that al along. Stil , failure was deeply upsetting.

But the results when he got it right made it al worth it.

SLEEPYHEAD 267

He had enjoyed kil ing Margaret Byrne immensely. It had been a jolt of unadulterated shame admitting that to himself, but there was little point in self-delusion.

He had imagined being her. He had imagined feeling the cold blade singing on his skin. Holding his breath for the split second between that sweet song finishing and the blood beginning to flow.

It was a feeling he had once known and loved, and had almost forgotten.

The kil ing had none of the lingering beauty, none of the grace of his normal work. There was some skil needed, of course, but a pale, stiffening cadaver could not compare to what he had achieved with Alison. That was something truly elevated. Something unique.

Al the same, the success rate was incomparable.

His work was ground-breaking, of that he was certain, but he had only succeeded once and now doubts were beginning to creep into his mind and squat there like bloated black spiders. Might not the quick kil be the next best thing? Would not this euthanasia be a service in itself?. There was no bright, breathing, painless future like the one he'd given to Alison, but it was.., an ending.