Authors: Sharon Bolton
Now You See Me (3 page)
I
T WAS GONE NINE O'CLOCK BY THIS TIME, BUT THE STREETS were still busy and we didn't make great progress. I was still smarting from Tulloch's comments about wandering and fumbling, so I kept my eyes closed and asked myself what I could have done differently. Joesbury said nothing.
T WAS GONE NINE O'CLOCK BY THIS TIME, BUT THE STREETS were still busy and we didn't make great progress. I was still smarting from Tulloch's comments about wandering and fumbling, so I kept my eyes closed and asked myself what I could have done differently. Joesbury said nothing.
After ten, maybe fifteen minutes of silence, he switched on the car stereo and the eerie notes of Clannad filled the car.
âOh, you are kidding me,' he muttered under his breath. âIs there anything in the glove compartment?'
I opened my eyes and, still wearing latex gloves, pulled out the only CD in the small compartment. âMedieval plainsong,' I said, reading the cover.
Joesbury shook his head. âIf you get chance to speak to her about her taste in music, go for it,' he said. âShe had me listening to Westlife the other night.'
He lapsed into silence again as we reached the Old Kent Road. Occasionally, as the streetlights caught the car windscreen at the right angle, I could see his reflection. Nothing out of the ordinary. Late thirties, I guessed, brown hair cut short. He hadn't shaved for a couple of days. His face and bare forearms were suntanned. His teeth, I'd already noticed, were even and very white.
Another ten minutes passed without either of us speaking. I had a sense, though, partly from the way his head kept tilting, that he was watching me in the car windscreen too.
Wandering and fumbling.
âIf I'd got to her sooner, would she have lived?' I asked, as we turned off Lewisham High Street and into the car park behind the station.
âGuess we'll never know,' replied Joesbury. There were no spaces left so he parked directly behind a green Audi, completely blocking it in.
âShe was still alive seconds before the ambulance arrived,' I said. âI should have put something against the wound, shouldn't I? Tried to stop the bleeding.'
If I was hoping for any sort of comfort from this guy, I was wasting my breath. âI'm a police officer, not a paramedic,' he replied, switching off the engine. âLooks like you're expected.'
The station's duty sergeant, a scene-of-crime officer and a police doctor were waiting for us. Together we walked through the barred rear door of Lewisham police station and my arrival was officially recorded. I'd worked for the Metropolitan Police for nearly four years, but had a feeling I was about to see it from a very different perspective.
Â
Some time later, I sat staring at dirty cream walls and grey floor tiles. My left shoulder was sore from where I'd fallen on it earlier and I could feel a headache threatening. Over the past hour, I'd been asked to undress completely before being examined by a police doctor. After a shower, I'd been examined again, and photographed. My fingernails had been clipped, my saliva swabbed and my hair combed thoroughly and painfully. Then I'd been given a pair of orange overalls normally issued to prisoners in custody.
I hadn't eaten that evening and, whether it was due to low blood sugar, shock or just a cold room, I was finding it hard to stop shivering. I kept seeing pale-blue eyes, staring at me.
I could have saved her. If I hadn't been in my own little world, we might not be kicking off a murder investigation right now. And everyone knew that. It would be my legacy, for as long as I stayed in the service: the DC who'd let a woman be stabbed to death right in front of her.
The door opened and DI Joesbury came in. In the small room he seemed taller than he had on the street or even in DI Tulloch's car.
DC Gayle Mizon, the detective who'd assisted the police doctor in examining me, was with him. The two of them had been laughing at something in the corridor outside and he was still smiling as he held the door open for her. He had a great smile. Then he turned to me and the smile faded.
DC Gayle Mizon, the detective who'd assisted the police doctor in examining me, was with him. The two of them had been laughing at something in the corridor outside and he was still smiling as he held the door open for her. He had a great smile. Then he turned to me and the smile faded.
âStill bored?' I asked, before I could stop myself.
I might not have spoken. I got no reaction whatsoever.
Mizon was an attractive blonde woman of around thirty-three or -four. She'd brought me coffee. I put my hand on the mug for warmth but didn't dare pick it up. I was shaking too much. Joesbury continued to study me, my hair still wet from the shower, my face dry and pink because it hadn't been moisturized, and my prisoner-in-custody uniform. He didn't look impressed.
âRight,' he said. âLet's take a statement.'
Â
By the time he called a halt, I'd barely the energy left to sit upright in my chair. If I'd wanted to be tactful about DI Joesbury's interviewing technique, I'd have said he was thorough. If honesty had been the order of the day, I'd have called him a sadistic shit.
Before we started, they explained that Gayle Mizon would be taking the statement, Joesbury only sitting in on an advisory capacity. They'd even given me chance to request he leave the room. I'd shrugged and muttered something about it being fine. Big mistake, because the moment the interview kicked off, he took charge.
What followed didn't feel like any witness statement I'd ever been a party to before. More like I was about to be charged. He made me go over every detail several times, until even Mizon was looking uncomfortable. And he kept going back to the same point. How could I not have seen something? How could I have missed the attack and yet been close enough for her to die in my arms? Every second I was waiting for him to say that the blonde woman would still be alive if I hadn't messed up.
Finally, he terminated the interview and switched off the recording equipment. The clock on the wall said ten past eleven.
âIs there someone you'd like us to call?' asked Mizon, as Joesbury took the disc out of the recording machine and labelled it.
I shook my head.
âWill there be someone at home when you get there?' she asked me. âFlatmate? Boyfriend? You've had a nasty shock. You probably shouldn't be on your own.'
âI live on my own,' I said. âBut I'm fine,' I added, when she looked concerned. âIs it OK if I go now?'
âFamily?' Mizon wasn't giving up easily.
âThey don't live in London,' I said, which was true, if a bit disingenuous. They don't live anywhere. I have no family. âLook, I'm tired, I haven't eaten, I just want to get home andâ'
Joesbury looked up, frowning. âDid nobody offer you food?' he asked, and really, you had to admire the way he made it sound like it was my own fault.
âReally not a problem. Can I go now?' I stood up. âSir,' I added, for good measure.
Joesbury turned to Mizon. âGayle, if we'd brought the killer in red-handed, knife dangling from his teeth, we'd have fed him. One of our own, we leave to starve.'
âI thought someone else was â¦' Mizon began.
âIt's really not â¦' I tried.
âSorry,' she said to me. I shrugged, managed a smile.
Joesbury stood up and crossed the room. âCome on,' he said, holding the door open.
âWhere are we going now?' I hadn't the energy to even try being polite any more. Not that previous efforts had been all that successful.
âI'm getting you fed, then I'm getting you home,' he replied. He nodded at the disc on the table. âCan you get that processed?' he said to a rather surprised-looking Mizon. Then he walked me out of the station.
Tulloch's silver Mercedes had already been moved and Joesbury opened up the green Audi we'd blocked in previously. He turned on the engine, put the car into gear and began flicking through a stack of CDs.
âGot any Westlife?' I asked, as he reversed the car out of the parking space and turned it round. When he didn't reply, I made a mental note that a sense of humour wasn't high on this guy's list of attributes. And that I could probably cross out fair-minded and compassionate as well. In fact, so far, the only box I could tick was
a healthy respect for a woman's need to eat. He pushed a CD into the stereo. Back on Lewisham High Street, he turned the volume right up and rhythmic, percussion-based club music filled the car. Message received and understood, DI Joesbury, I wasn't meant to talk.
a healthy respect for a woman's need to eat. He pushed a CD into the stereo. Back on Lewisham High Street, he turned the volume right up and rhythmic, percussion-based club music filled the car. Message received and understood, DI Joesbury, I wasn't meant to talk.
T
HE GARDEN IS LONG AND NARROW. AND VERY DARK. Whilst high walls on three sides keep out most of the streetlight, the dense foliage of over-mature shrubs seems to soak up any light that does seep through. The garden is overlooked by several windows, but the intruder moving slowly down the slim gravel path is dressed entirely in black and is unlikely to be seen.
HE GARDEN IS LONG AND NARROW. AND VERY DARK. Whilst high walls on three sides keep out most of the streetlight, the dense foliage of over-mature shrubs seems to soak up any light that does seep through. The garden is overlooked by several windows, but the intruder moving slowly down the slim gravel path is dressed entirely in black and is unlikely to be seen.
The garden is scented. The intruder stops for a moment and takes a deep breath, before stretching out a hand to a tiny, star-shaped flower. Jasmine.
At the bottom of the garden is a small, neat wooden shed, partially hidden by vegetation. Ivy creeps up its walls and overhanging tree branches rest on its roof. The door is locked, but the intruder thinks for a moment before reaching up to run a hand along the rim of the low, flat roof. After a few seconds the hand finds what it is looking for. A key.
The door opens easily. The intruder starts back with a muttered curse.
For a moment, a human form appears to be hanging in the shed. It swings gently, turning on the spot. Human in form, but not human. This has a soft, cylindrical torso, it wears clothes but is limbless. Its head â male â once stared out from a shop window.
The intruder touches it lightly. It spins on the chain that
suspends it from the shed roof and the head lolls like that of a drunk. Or a crazy man.
suspends it from the shed roof and the head lolls like that of a drunk. Or a crazy man.
âWhat a good idea,' says the intruder. âOh Lacey, what a brilliantly good idea.'
âA
RE YOU VEGGIE, LACTOSE INTOLERANT, ALLERGIC TO sesame seeds ⦠?' Joesbury was asking me, practically the first words to come out of his mouth since we'd left the station. We were in a small Chinese restaurant, not far from where I live, that I didn't think I'd ever noticed before. The owner, a slim Chinese man in his fifties called Trev, had greeted Joesbury like an old friend.
RE YOU VEGGIE, LACTOSE INTOLERANT, ALLERGIC TO sesame seeds ⦠?' Joesbury was asking me, practically the first words to come out of his mouth since we'd left the station. We were in a small Chinese restaurant, not far from where I live, that I didn't think I'd ever noticed before. The owner, a slim Chinese man in his fifties called Trev, had greeted Joesbury like an old friend.
âIf it stays still long enough I'll eat it,' I replied.
Joesbury's eyes opened a little wider. He and Trev shared a look, had a short, muttered conversation and then the Chinese man disappeared. Joesbury took the seat opposite mine and I waited with something like interest. He was going to have to talk to me now.
He picked up a fork and ran the prongs down a paper napkin, before leaning back to admire the four perfectly straight lines he'd made. He glanced up, caught my eye and looked down again. The fork made its way down the napkin once more. It was becoming blindingly obvious that DI Joesbury and I weren't of the same mind on the talking issue.
âIf you're not part of the MIT, what do you do?' I asked. âTraffic?'
If you want to insult a fellow cop, you ask him if he works on traffic. Quite why I was insulting a senior officer I'd only just met was, of course, a good question.
âI work for SO10,' he replied.
I thought about it for a second. SO stood for Special Operations.
The divisions were numbered according to the particular function they served. SO1 protected public figures, SO14, the royal family. âSO10 do undercover work, don't they?' I asked.
The divisions were numbered according to the particular function they served. SO1 protected public figures, SO14, the royal family. âSO10 do undercover work, don't they?' I asked.
He inclined his head. âCovert operations is the term they prefer these days,' he said.
âThen you're based at Scotland Yard?' I asked, slightly encouraged at getting a whole sentence out of him.
Another brief nod. âTechnically,' he said.
Now what did that mean? Either you're based somewhere or you're not.
âSo how come you ended up at the scene tonight?'
He sighed, as though wondering why I was bothering him with this tiresome conversation business. âI'm convalescing,' he said. âDislocated my shoulder and nearly lost an eye in a fight. Officially, I'm on light duties only until November, but as both you and DI Tulloch have been at pains to point out, I'm bored.'
Trev arrived back with drinks. He put a bottle of South American beer down in front of each of us. I hadn't been asked what I wanted.
âThe look on your face says you're not a beer drinker,' said Joesbury, reaching across and pouring the contents of my bottle into a glass. âAnd the look on mine should tell you, I know that â you're far too skinny to be a beer drinker â but it's good for shock.'
I picked up my glass. I'm not a beer drinker, but alcohol of any description was starting to feel like a very good idea. Joesbury watched me drink nearly a third of its contents before coming up for air.
âWhat brought you into the police?' he asked me.
âAn early fascination with serial killers,' I replied. It was the truth, although I didn't usually advertise the fact in quite so blunt a fashion. I'd been intrigued by violent crime and its perpetrators for as long as I could remember and it was this that had led me, through a long and circuitous path, into the police service.
Joesbury raised one eyebrow at me.
âSadistic, psychopathic predators specifically,' I went on. âYou know, the type who kill to satisfy some deviant sexual longing. Sutcliffe, West, Brady. When I was a kid I couldn't get enough of them.'
The eyebrow stayed up as I realized my glass was now more than half empty and that I really needed to slow down a bit.
âYou know, if you're bored, you should think about golf,' I said. âA lot of middle-aged men find it fills the hours quite nicely.'
Joesbury's lips tightened, but he wasn't about to dignify such a cheap jibe with a response. And I really had to get a grip. Winding up a senior officer, however unpleasant, just wasn't me. I was low-profile girl.
âSir, I apologize,' I said. âI've had one hell of an evening andâ' Movement at my side. The food had arrived.
âDon't call him Sir,' said Trev, putting a plate of noodles with prawns and vegetables in front of me and something with beef and black beans in Joesbury's place. âYoung female officers calling him Sir turns him on something rotten.'
âI'll remember that,' I muttered, thinking it probably shouldn't be too hard. Joesbury was definitely not my type. I didn't actually have a type. But if I had, he wouldn't be it.
âNow this is for Dana,' Trev went on, putting a covered plastic dish on the table. âGive her my love, tell her to come and see me soon, and if she ever gets tiredâ'
âTrev,' drawled Joesbury. âHow many times â¦?'
âA man can dream,' said Trev, as he made his way back to the kitchen. When I looked up, Joesbury was intent on his food.
âHow did he know I'm police?' I asked, picking up my fork and pushing a prawn around in a circle.
âYou're wearing an orange Andy Pandy suit with PROPERTY OF THE METROPOLITAN POLICE on the collar,' said Joesbury, without looking up.
âI could be a villain,' I said, putting the prawn in my mouth. It sat there, large and uncomfortably dry, on my tongue.
âYeah,' said Joesbury, putting his fork down and lifting his eyes. âThe thought had crossed my mind.'
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