The Tunnel Rats (15 page)

'Shit,' said Reid.

'What?' said Wright.

'I'm not wearing my black suit.' He grinned, expecting to get a smile out of Wright, but Wright wasn't amused.

'Newton's right, you know. Sometimes you're not funny.'

There was a single red rose on the polished pine coffin, and it vibrated as the wooden casket slid along the metal rollers and through two green velvet curtains. Recorded organ music oozed out of black plastic speakers mounted on shelves close to the ceiling. The vicar closed his leather-bound Bible as if impatient to get on with his next function, be it a wedding, a christening or a funeral. Wright wondered if the young vicar, who was still in his twenties, showed a similar lack of enthusiasm for weddings as he'd shown for the funeral service. It had taken a little more than ten minutes and he'd hardly looked up from the Bible, as if embarrassed by the handful of mourners who'd gathered to say farewell to Max Eckhardt. There were eight in all, including Reid and Wright, who stood together in the pew furthest from the vicar and his lectern, their hands clasped across their groins like footballers in a defensive wall.

May Eckhardt stood alone in the front pew, wearing black leather gloves and a lightweight black coat that reached almost to her ankles. Her hair was loose and she kept her head down throughout the service so that it fell across her face, shielding her features like a curtain. The rest of the mourners were Eckhardt's co-workers: Steve Reynolds, Martin Staines and Sam Greene were there, along with two young women who looked like secretaries.

'Not much of a turnout,' whispered Reid.

'She said he didn't have many relatives,' said Wright.

'None by the look of it. No friends of the family, either. Just colleagues.' The curtain slid over the rear of the coffin and the organ music stopped abruptly. The vicar looked at his watch.

Wright wondered how many mourners there would be at his funeral if he were to die tomorrow. His mother was in a nursing home in the West Country and he only visited her two or three times a year. He had a brother in Australia, but they hadn't spoken 106 STEPHEN LEATHER for more than five years. He looked across at Reid. His partner would be there, Wright was certain of that, probably wearing the same brown raincoat and carrying the same tweed hat. And Reid would probably twist a few arms to get some of his colleagues to attend. Superintendent Newton would be there, but out of duty rather than friendship. Would Janie attend? Probably, with Sean at her side. Wright could picture her in black, a comforting hand on their son's shoulder, telling him not to worry because Sean had another daddy who loved him just as much as his real daddy did. Wright shivered.

May Eckhardt was walking down the centre aisle, the vicar at her side. The top of her head barely reached the vicar's shoulder and he had to stoop to talk to her as they walked. She saw Wright and gave him the smallest of smiles. For a brief moment their eyes locked and Wright felt something tug at his stomach. Wright smiled back at her but she looked down as if the contact had frightened her.

The mourners filed out of their pews and followed May and the vicar out of the church. The vicar stood at the doorway with May and together they thanked each person for attending. Wright and Reid were the last to leave. Wright nodded at the vicar, but had no interest in talking to him. The service had been perfunctory and the man appeared to have been operating on auto-pilot throughout. Wright felt that May had deserved better.

'Thanks for coming, Sergeant Wright,' said May, and she held out a slim gloved hand.

He shook it. Her hand felt like a child's in his. 'How are you?' he asked.

She withdrew her hand. 'I don't know,' she said. 'How are people usually? After . . .' She faltered and put her hand to her head.

'I'm sorry,' said Wright quickly. 'Stupid question, really.' The news agency staff stood together on the pavement as if unsure what to do next. 'Is there a reception?' Wright asked.

May shook her head. 'No, I just wanted a service. In fact, I didn't really want that. Max wasn't one for religion. He always said that the Apaches had the best idea: lay the body on a rock and let the birds eat it.' She forced a tight smile. 'I didn't think Westminster Council would look too kindly on that. Besides, Steve Reynolds called me and said some of the people in the office wanted to say goodbye . . .' Her voice faltered again. She brushed away a tear.

Wright wanted to step forward and comfort her. She tensed as if she'd read his thoughts. 'What are your plans now?' he asked.

'I'm going to go back home. Then I... I don't know. I've been taking it one day at a time. His clothes are still on the chair in the bedroom . . .' She mumbled incoherently, then shook her head as if clearing her thoughts. 'I'll be fine, Sergeant Wright.'

'Nick. Call me Nick.'

She looked at him for several seconds until he began to feel that he was lost in her soft brown eyes, as if she was pulling his soul towards hers. He blinked and the spell was broken.

'Nick,' she said. 'Thank you for coming.' She thanked the vicar and then walked away.

The church was only half a mile from her flat so Wright assumed that she was going to walk, but then he noticed her VW Golf parked at the roadside. He watched as she unlocked the door and climbed in. She put on her seatbelt and started the engine. At the last moment she turned and looked at him. She flashed him a quick smile and gave him a half wave, then drove away.

Reid finished talking to the vicar and came up behind Wright. 'Okay?' he asked.

'Yeah. I guess.'

Wright turned and looked up at the outside of the church. It was a modern building, all brick, the windows shielded from vandals by wire mesh screens. It looked more like a fortress than a place of worship, bordered by roads on three sides. A poster on a noticeboard by the door advertised the services of the Samaritans and next to it was a handwritten notice asking for donations of clothing to send to a church project in Africa. The young vicar disappeared inside and closed the door.

'He didn't even know her,' said Wright. 'There was nothing personal in the service.'

'That's the way it goes these days. People don't go to church, but they want weddings and funerals. I asked the vicar and he said he'd never seen the Eckhardts, didn't even know where they lived other than that they were local.'

'What happens to the coffin?' asked Wright. There was no graveyard attached to the church.

'It gets taken to the crematorium,' said Reid. 'Then she takes delivery of the ashes.'

'I wonder what she'll do with them?'

'Bury them maybe. There's a place at the crematorium. Or maybe he wanted them scattered somewhere.'

'Yeah? What would you want doing with your ashes?'

Reid rubbed his hands together. 'I'm going to have them thrown into my ex-wife's face,' he said. 'By a nineteen-year-old blonde with big tits.'

'You old romantic, you,' laughed Wright. They watched the AFP staff hail two taxis and climb into them. 'Not much to show for a life, is it?' asked Wright. 'Haifa dozen mourners, a handful of ashes, then nothing.' He shivered, though it wasn't a cold day.

They walked together to Reid's Honda Civic. 'Can you do me a favour?' asked Wright.

'Depends on what you want,' said Reid, cautiously.

'I want to go and look at the tunnel,' said Wright.

Reid looked puzzled. 'What's the story?'

'No story. I just want to get a feel for what happened.' It was clear from Reid's face that he didn't understand. 'I thought it might help me get inside the killer's head.'

Reid looked even more confused but didn't say anything.

Wright felt that he had to justify his request, but words failed him. 'I can't explain it,' he said. 'I just feel that I have to go and have a look.'

Reid raised his eyebrows. 'Okay, if that's what you want, we'll go.'

'Alone,' said Wright. 'I want to go alone. Can I borrow the car?'

Reid rubbed the back of his neck. For a moment it looked as if he was about to argue, but then he handed the car keys to Wright. 'I'll get a cab,' he said.

'Thanks, Tommy. I'll see you in the office in a couple of hours.'

'Just be careful,' said Reid. 'With the car.' He walked away, but after a few steps he hesitated, then turned and shouted to Wright that there was a flashlight in the boot.

Wright got into the car and drove south to Battersea. He pulled THE TUNNEL RATS 109 up at the side of the road that ran parallel to the disused rail line. He retrie\jed the flashlight from the boot, and stood for a while staring down the overgrown embankment. A cold wind blew from his left, tugging at his hair and whispering through the grass and nettles that hadn't been trampled down by the investigation team. The sky above was pale blue and clear, but there was a chill in the air. Wright shivered inside his raincoat. He went down the embankment, his hands out at his sides for balance, skidding the last few steps and coming to halt next to the rusting rails.

The cutting sheltered Wright from the wind, and there was a stillness around him as if time had stopped. Wright headed towards the mouth of the tunnel. As it came into view, he saw that a wooden framework had been constructed across the opening. Yellow tape with the words 'Crime Scene - Do Not Enter' had been threaded through the wire and the message was repeated on a large metal sign. Wright cursed himself for not realising that the tunnel would have been sealed off. He walked up to the wire and peered through it into the blackness of the tunnel. He heard a noise, a scuffling sound, and turned his head to the side, trying to focus on whatever it was, but the noise wasn't repeated. He remembered the rats and what they'd done to the body of Max Eckhardt.

Wright stood back and examined the barrier. It had been well put together and bolted into the stone of the bridge. He walked across the mouth of the tunnel, stepping over the tracks and running his left hand over the mesh so that it rattled and shook. He realised a doorway had been constructed in the barrier, a wooden frame with a double thickness of mesh, three hinges on one side, a bolt with a padlock through it on the other. Wright stared at the padlock. It was hanging open. He reached for it and unhooked it from the bolt. It didn't appear to have been forced. He put it in his coat pocket, then slid open the bolt. The door creaked on its hinges and Wright opened it just enough so that he could slide through the gap. His coat snagged on a piece of wire and he felt it rip. He reached behind his back and pulled hirnself free, then slipped inside.

The darkness was almost an impenetrable wall, a finite boundary that he hesitated to cross. He switched on the flashlight and a yellow 110 STEPHEN LEATHER oval of light appeared on the ground, illuminating one of the rails. He held the flashlight out in front of him but the darkness seemed to swallow up the beam. Wright felt his heart pound and he realised he was breathing faster than normal. He took slow deep breaths and tried to quell the feeling of unease that was growing stronger by the second. He closed his eyes. His fingers tensed around the body of the flashlight until it was the only thing he could feel.

He flashed back in his mind to another time when he'd faced darkness, to a time when he'd been eleven years old. It wasn't the mouth of a tunnel he faced then, it was an open door, a door that led down to the basement. The eleven-year-old Nick Wright took a step forward, then another, until he was standing on the threshold. The darkness was absolute as if the basement had been filled with tar, a darkness so thick and black that the eleven-year-old Nick was sure he would drown in it. More than twenty years later, the adult Nick struggled to remember where the light switch was, or even if there was one, but he could vividly recall the terror he felt as he dipped his right foot into the darkness and felt for the first step. He was alone in the house, of that he was certain. Alone except for what lurked in the basement, waiting for him. He put his weight on his right foot and probed with his left, both hands gripping the wooden rails as if they were a lifeline to the light behind him. He took a second step, and a third, and then the blackness swallowed him up.