A Taste for Death (60 page)

Even getting the message to Darren had been easier than

he had dared to hope. The school was a two storey building of grimy Victorian brick set behind railings. He had loitered close but not directly outside, anxious not to attract the attention of the little group of waiting mothers, and hadn't moved up to the gate until he heard the first squeals of the released children. He had chosen a boy as his messenger. A girl, he felt, might be more curious, more noticing, more likely to question Darren about the mess age. He picked on one of the younger boys and asked: 'Do you know Darren Wilkes?' 'Yeah. He's over there.'

'Give him this, will you? It's from his mum. It's im-portant.'

He handed over the envelope with a fifty-pence piece. The boy had taken it with hardly a glance at him, snatch-ing the coin as if afraid that he would change his mind. He had run across the playground to where a boy wa:; kicking a football against the wall. Swayne had watched until he saw the envelope change hands and then ha(t turned and walked quickly away.

He had chosen the meeting place with care; a tangle, hawthorn growing close to the canal in whose shelter he could stand and watch the long stretch of path to his right and the forty yards which led to the mouth of the tunnel to his left. Behind him, a few yards to the right, was one the iron gates to the canal path. His brief exploration had shown that it led to a narrow road bounded by lock-up garages, padlocked yams, the blank faces of anonymous industrial buildings. It wasn't a road to tempt the canal walker on a dark autumn afternoon, and it would give him an escape route from the towpath in case of need. But he wasn't seriously worried. He had been standing here for over twenty minutes and had seen no one.

And the boy, too, was early. Just before ten to tbur the small figure came into sight, loitering along the canal bank. He looked unnaturally tidy in his obviousi'. jeans topped with a brown and white zipped :..ket. Swayne stepped a little back against the bark ofa t watched his approach through a shield of leaves. St

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he wasn't there and Swayne felt a WiJd apprehension unfit he saw that the boy had climbed down into the ditch and was now reappearing, his hands stretched round the rim of an old cycle wheel. He began bowling it along the towpath. The wheel lurched and bounded. Swayne stepped out of his hiding place and caught it. The boy, no more than twelve yards away, stopped short, looked at him, wary as an animal, seemed about to turn and run. At once Swayne smiled and bowled the wheel back. The boy caught it, still fixing on him his steady, unsmiling gaze. Then he swung it round, clumsily twirling, staggered and let it go. It rose out over the water, then fell with a splash which seemed to Swayne so loud that he half-expected the canal path to be suddenly alive with people. But there was no one, no calling voices, no running feet.

The ripples widened, then died. He strolled up to the boy and said easily:

'It made a good splash. Do you find many of those in the ditch?'

The boy shifted his glance. Looking out over the canal, he sa/d:

'One or two. Depends.'

'You're Darren Wilkes, aren't you? Miss Wharton told me I'd find you here. I was looking for you. I'm an In-spector of Special Branch. Do you know what that means?'

He took out his wallet with its credit cards and his Old university identity card. How lucky that he'd never g/yen that in after his first and last disastrous

his photograph and he flashed semester. It bore

him a chance to see more. it at the boy, not givin

'Where is she then, Miss Wharton?'

The question was carefully casual. He didn't want to betray } is need, if he had a need. But he had bothered to COme. l-it was here.

$w%':.e said:

'She can't come. She told me to say that she's sorry but

she isn't feeling very well. Did you bring the note she sent You?'

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'What's wrong with 'er then?'

'Only a cold. It's nothing to worry about. Did you bring the note, Darren?'

'Yeah. I've got it.'

He thrust a small fist into his jeans pocket and brought it out. Swayne took the crumpled page, glanced at it, then tore it deliberately into small pieces. The boy watched silently as he threw them into the water. They lay on the surface like frail spring petals, then moved sluggishly,

darkened, and were lost.

He said:

'Better take no chances. You see I had to be certai that you really are Darren Wilkes. That's why the nc:c

was so important. We have to have a talk.' 'What about?' 'The murder.'

'I don't know nothin' about the murder. I've talked the cops.'

'The ordinary police, yes I know. But they're a bit of their depth. There's more to this than they understa!. Much more.3

They were moving together slowly upstream towards entrance to the tunnel. The bushes were thicker here, in one place so thick that even with their summer greenness drop-ping away they still provided a safe screen from the path. He drew the boy with him into the semi-darkness and said:

'I'm going to trust you, Darren. That's because I need your help. You see, we in the Special Branch think this wasn't an ordinary murder. Sir Paul was killed b' a gang, a terrorist gang. You know what I mean by Special Branch, don't you?'

'Yeah. Somethin' to do with spying.'

'That's right. It's our job to catch the enemies (if state. It's called special because that's what it is. Spc,:ial and secret. Can you keep secrets?'

'Yeah. I keep plenty.'

The small body seemed to swagger. He looked ,

Swayne, the face so like an intelligent monkey, s

sharp and knowing.

'Is that why you was there then? Watching 'ira?'

The shock was like a physical punch on the chest, painful, disabling. When he could speak Swayne was surprised how calm his voice sounded.

'What makes you think I was there?'

'Them fancy buttons on yet jacket. I found one.'

His heart leaped, then for a second seemed to stop, a dead thing in his chest, dragging him down. But then he felt again its regular thudding, pulsing back warmth and life and confidence. He knew now why he was here, why both of them were here. He said:

'Where, Darren? Where did you find it?'

'On the path by the church. I picked it up. Miss Wharton thought I were picking a flower. She never seed me. She give me ten pee for a candle, see, same as always. I always have ten pee for the BVM,'

For a moment Swayne's fiaind seemed to whirl out of control. The boy's words no longer made sense. He saw the peaked face, a sickly green in the gloom of the bush, look up at him with something like contempt.

'The BVM. The statue of the lady in blue. Miss Wharton always give me ten pee for the box. Then ! lit a candle, see? For the BVM. Only this time I kept the ten pee and I never 'ad time to light the candle 'cos she called me.'

'And what did you do with the button, Darren?'

He had to clench his fists to keep his hands from tho boy's neck.

ut it in the box, didn't I? Only she never knowed. I never tell 'er.'

'And you've told no one else?'

'No one arsed me.'

He looked up again, suddenly sly:

'I don't reckon Miss Wharton would like it.'

%'0. Nor would the police - the ordinary police. They'd call it stealing, taking the money for your own use. You know wlat they do to boys who steal, don't you? They're trying to get you put away, Darren. They want an excuse to put you in a home. You know that too, don't you? You

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could be in real trouble. But you keep my secret and I'll

keep yours. We'll both swear on my gun.'

'You got a gun then?'

For all the childish assumption of nonchalance he couldn't keep the excitement out of his voice.

'Of course. The Special Branch always go armed.'

He drew the Smith and Wesson out of his shoulder bag and held it out in his palm. The boy's eyes fastened or, it fascinated. Swayne said:

'Put your hand on it and swear to tell no one about the button, about me, about this meeting.'

The small hand was stretched out eagerly.

watched as it was laid on the barrel. The boy said:

'I swear.'

Swayne put his own hand over Darren's and pressel it down. It felt small and very soft and curiously detaci'd from the boy's body as if it had a separate life like a yo:g animal.

He said solemnly:

'And I swear not to reveal anything that passes bet':

US?

He was aware of thc boy's longing. Hc said: 'Would you like to hold it?' 'Is it loaded?'

'No. I'm carrying thc bullets but it isn't loaded'

The boy took it and began to point it, first at the canal, then with a grin at Swayne, then again over the canal. He held it as he must have seen it held by cops on the tele-vision, straight out, grasping it with both hands. Swayne said:

'You've got the right idea. We could do with you in the Branch when you're older.'

Suddenl they were aware of the swish of bicycle wheels. Both drewacl instinctively into the deeper shelter of th.e bushes. They had a brief glimpse of a middle-aged man

loth ca slowlv pedalling against the squelch of the a c... P ,- a' .o w,ath They stood motion!ess]

muct, nls eyes nxeu u, ,, ,,, t- � -

hardly breathing, until he had disappeared. But ne reminded Swayne that there wasn't very much time. The

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canal path would become busier. There could be people taking a short cut home. He must do what he had to do quickly and silently. He said:

'You want to be careful, playing by the canal. Can you swim?'

The boy shrugged.

'Didn't they teach you how to swim at school?'

'Naw. I ain't been to school that much.'

It was almost too easy. He fought back a sudden impulse to laugh aloud. He wanted to lie back there on the mushy earth and gaze upwards through the knotted boughs and shout his triumph. He was invincible, out of their reach, protected by luck and cleverness, and something which' had nothing to do with either, but which was now part of him for ever. The police couldn't have found the button; if they had they would have confronted him with it, would have taken back the jacket with its tell-tale tag of knotted cotton ou the hemline. They must have seen that tag, must have known the spare button was missing when they examined the jacket. But a serious-faced young constable had returned it without comment, and he had worn it almost daily since, feeling superstitiously ill at ease without it. Getting the button wouldn't be difficult. He would first deal with the boy, then go at once to the church. No, not at once. He'd need a chisel to break open the offertory box. He could fetch one from Campden Hill Square, or better, buy one from the nearest Woolworth's. One pur-chase among so many wouldn't be noticed. And he wouldn't buy the chisel only. It would be safer to collect a number )f small items before queuing at the cash point, that wa the cashier would be less likely to remember the chisel. Aad breaking open the offertory box would look like a ;imple burglary. It was always happening. He doubted whether anyone would bother to inform the police, ad if they did why should anyone connect it with the murder? And then it struck him that the box might have been emptied. The thought sobered his triumph, but for a moment only. If it had, the button would either have been given to the police or thrown away as useless. And it

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couldn't have been given to the police, they would have produced it. And even if by ill-chance it was still in someone's possession, only the boy knew where it had been found. And the boy would be dead, accidentally drowned, one more child unwisely playing on the canal bank.

He moved out of the shelter of the bushes and the boy followed. On either side the path stretched in empty desolation, the canal sliding thick and brown as sludge between the fretted banks. He shivered. For a second he had been seized with the illusion that'no one was coming because there was no one left to come, that he and Darren were the last survivors of a dead, deserted world. Even h silence was eerie, and it struck him that since arriving the path he hadn't heard the rustle of a single animal, the note of a bird.

He was aware that Darren had moved from his side d was squatting beside the water. Pausing beside hi,n, Swayne saw that there was a dead rat caught in the crook of a broken twig; the sleek body, elongated, rippled surface, its snout pointing like a prow. He squatted beside the boy and they contemplated it in silence. The rat, he thought, looked curiously human in death with its gla,'d eye and the small paws raised as if in a last despaiig supplication. He said 'Lucky rat', and then it struck how senseless was that casual statement. The rat, no rat, was neither lucky nor unlucky. It didn't exist. No sttte-ment about it had any meaning.

He watched while the boy grasped the end of the and began moving the body under the water. Then he lifted it. Small eddies broke over its head, and it rose glisten-ing, hump-backed from the suck of the stinking water. He said sharply:

'Don't do that, Darren.'

The boy let go of the twig and the rat plopped back and began drifting sluggishly downstream.

They walked on. And then suddenly his heart lurched. Darren darted from his side, and with a high shout ran leaping into the tunnel mouth. For one appalled second Swayne thought that his victim must have divicd his

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purpose and was dashing to escape. He rushed after him in the semi-darkness; and then he breathed easily again. Darren, whooping and hollering, was running his hands along the tunnel wall, then leaping, arms outflung, in a vain attempt to touch the roof. In his reliefSwayne almost leaped with him.

And this, of course, was the place, none better. He would need only a minute, perhaps only seconds. It would have to be swift and sure. Nothing must be left to chance; he would have to do more than merely throw him in. He would need to kneel and hold the head under the water. The boy might struggle, but it would only be brief. He looked too frail to put up much of a struggle. He slipped his arms out of his jacket and folded it over his shoulder; there was no sense in getting an expensive jacket splashed. But the edge of the towpath was concrete here, not earth.