Birdman

He waited until the two men in the Sierra nodded in response, then started the van and headed up the hill.

* * *

In his walled garden Harteveld saw none of these exchanges. He was propped against a stone bench, blinking at the morning with bloodshot eyes. Next to him, in a bed of violets and moon daisies, lay an empty pastis bottle and a small pile of cigarette ends. He had been there all night, listening to the storms and sirens chase each other up and down Greenwich, not taking shelter, but waiting motionless as the clouds swelled and broke, dropping their rain on his face, turning the maze of paths into rushing gullies. The sheet lightning had turned the bone-white church spire blue, and by morning fruit trees had lost branches, the lawns were boggy and the lovely irises along the west wall lay exhausted and flat. The orangery doors stood open to the morning and the copy of The Times, which had been lifted from the living room floor by the winds, was distributed around the orangery and patio. Kayleigh Hatch's face hung in the branches of a cedar of Lebanon.

Now, as the shadows in the gardens faded and the new sun dried out the rain-drenched cobwebs in the copper beeches, Harteveld began to stir.

* * *

In the Sierra, Betts turned and looked at Logan. Somewhere in the alley next to Harteveld's house a car had started. Presently garage doors opened, and a green car, a beautiful, high-reared classic car, swung out into the alley. It turned left onto Croom's Hill and headed off into the bright morning.

Betts's mouth twitched slightly as he reached for the ignition.

* * *

Five miles away, in Shrivemoor HQ, Caffery's phone rang.

'DI Caffery? Jane Amedure speaking. Your SA at the Forensic Science Services. I'm in receipt of two black plastic dustbin liners and contents. I can run a GC/MS on those compared to the ones submitted from the autopsies, and have the results later today.' She cleared her throat. 'And, uh, something else came my way from DS Essex this morning.'

'Yes,' Caffery said dully. He was exhausted. 'That was personal. From me. We're not reviewing it yet. Not officially.'

'I know, DS Essex filled me in. If it doesn't go any further I might be able to sneak it in under operation Walworth.'

'Good of you.'

'Yeah well, I heard the story.'

'Anything you can tell me?'

'Not much visually, they're old and very fragmented. In the event they prove to be human I'll run a mitochondrial DNA test, so I need to know if your mother is still alive? Hello?'

'Yes, hello.'

'I said is your mother still alive, or one of her relatives?'

'Yes, she's — you think they're human?'

'I can let you know for sure later today, maybe tomorrow.'

'Thank you, Dr Amedure. Thank you very much.'

He replaced the handset, leaned back in his chair and stared out of the window for several minutes. He had a blunt, toxic pain between his eyes. He'd got to bed at 4 a.m. On Betts's return they had worked for an hour. While Veronica wrapped her mother's goblets and placed them in a tea crate, Essex shut himself in the living room, tagging and bagging the bones, carefully, as if he was turning Caffery's emotions in his hands. By ten the next morning, just as Gemini's extended period of detention was starting, everyone at Shrivemoor knew the story, knew about Ewan and Penderecki, understood Caffery a little better. The women in the incident room looked at him with something new, something, he imagined, curiously like fear. if he let it, he could be undone in the time it took Amedure to make a report on the bones.

'Got a minute?' Maddox was standing in the doorway. 'Someone to see you.'

'Yeah. Go on, then.'

'Do you want to be alone?' Maddox asked the figure in the corridor. 'I can butt out if you want?'

'You might as well hear.' North, the owner of the aggregate yard, stepped into the room. He wore a white polo neck under a suit, polished shoes, a heavy gold chain over the neck of the sweater and was sweating profusely in the heat. He sat in the chair Maddox offered, his gaze unsettled.

'I feel a right cunt being here if you'll excuse my French.'

Jack and Maddox sat, placed their elbows on the facing desks and folded hands a few inches apart. Maddox tilted his head. 'Sounds like you want to talk.'

'I suppose I've got to.' He pinched the crease in his trouser knee and shook it lightly, watching it settle. 'It's been dragging me down the last few days, and the wife — well, she's got the right hump, won't let me through the door till I've done the proper thing and come down here.'

'What's on your mind?'

'That lad down at Greenwich—'

'How do you know about him?'

'The truth?'

'Yes. If you feel like it.'

'I've got a mate in this department.'

Caffery and Maddox exchanged a brief look.

'It's a black lad, isn't it?'

'Is that important?'

'In a way.' North stared at the trouser crease and Caffery sensed he was trying hard not to squirm. 'I might have told someone something — well, wrong like.'

'When you were questioned?'

'No. Later. In the pub.' His face slackened. 'Mel Diamond, DI Diamond—'

Maddox sighed. 'Yeah. What about him?'

'He's an old mate. Old Charlton supporters, we are.' North bit his lip. 'Look, my daughter lives in east Greenwich, near the yard. She's got problems with her neighbours. Nigerians. Noise, smells, ignorant animals they are, got rats living in what come through the holes in the wall, under the floorboards and up into the baby's room.' He paused. 'Not that I've got anything against them, but they drive around in their flash cars, God only knows how 'cos not one of them's in work, and there's my daughter scratching a living and can't get herself a job round her way cause every post goes to a black with the world being what it is.'

'What are you getting at, Mr North?'

'I lied.'

'Lied?'

'Can't you see my position? You'd have done it too if your daughter was living where my girl is. I can promise you that.'

'When you say you lied—'

'All right, all right: I told Mel Diamond I'd seen a Nigerian in a red sports car hanging around outside the yard. I thought if I could shake those boys up a bit — but you went and took someone else in.'

'We had a lot of witnesses came up with the same sighting.'

North twisted his wedding ring on his fat livid finger. 'Well, I don't know about them, but the honest truth is that I ain't never seen no-one sitting outside. There. I've made a right prat of myself. Hope you're happy.'

'Mr North.' Maddox stood, extending his hand. The phone was ringing on his desk. 'We appreciate your honesty. Now if you'll excuse us.'

As North left he picked up the phone.

It was Betts, calling to let Jack know that Harteveld had left Croom's Hill.

* * *

The inside of the Cobra smelled of leather and, faintly, of hot tarmac as the air conditioner sucked in some of the outside world. He stopped at the traffic lights where Tooley Street sloped up to meet London Bridge. It was a bright blue day, the sun pulled out the sparkles in the new buildings along the Thames so they looked as if they were built from packed sugar.

He stared blankly out at it all from his hermetic bubble. He hadn't noticed the sleek grey Sierra five cars behind, or the two men unmoving behind their sunglasses. He was very thin, he must have lost two stone since Christmas, but now he was sweating like a fat man: in spite of the air conditioning yellow sweat wet the front of his shirt.

The traffic lights changed, but the car in front didn't move. Harteveld hardly noticed. His long hands resting on the wheel looked as if they were trying to curl in on themselves. Maybe, he thought — hoped — his body was giving up.