“I’d hold off for a day or two,” May cautioned. “If we don’t find a link between the deaths tomorrow, we investigate them separately. Do we have a deal?”
“Do I have a choice?” complained Bryant.
♦
Janice Longbright was on all fours under her desk. There was something wrong with the electric socket on the floor that Dave and Dave, the two builders, had connected. It was crackling and popping, but as Bryant had blown up the other circuit, she needed it to work. She was tired and wanted to go home, but staying in the office stopped her from thinking about Liberty DuCaine.
“Need any help?” asked Renfield, bending low.
“There’s some kind of intermittent fault, the power keeps shorting out.” She refused his offer of a hand and clambered up. “Don’t worry, I can fix it.”
Renfield folded his thick arms and sternly regarded her. “You don’t always have to be so independent, you know.”
“It comes naturally to me.” She dusted herself down. “Was there something you wanted?”
“I’m sorry about DuCaine.” He looked awkward. “I know you and he got – close.”
“We slept together once, Jack. There’s no need to be coy about it. I’d be sorry for anyone I knew who got killed in the line of duty. So I’m sorry he died, nothing more.”
“Bit of a harsh way of looking at it.”
“Well, small cruelties are what get us through.”
Renfield looked uncomfortable. “I was going to say that I’m here if you get fed up, or need to talk to someone.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ve been around the block, it’s happened before, if I think too hard about it I won’t come in tomorrow morning. So let’s just draw a line under the matter.”
“Okay. I just wanted to say – you know – ”
“Can we talk about this some other time? Go home and get some rest.” Renfield looked dejected. She touched his arm. “But it’s good of you to think of me.”
She dropped back into her chair and pinned a stray auburn curl behind her ear. Releasing a long, slow breath, she looked around the room. This is it, she thought, the other end of my rat run. It starts at my empty flat in Highgate, and descends to a derelict warehouse in King’s Cross. There and back. My life in the service of the public. I wanted to be a burlesque dancer. Instead, I ended up being a copper like my ma.
Liberty DuCaine had given her a glimpse of the outside world. Most men seemed to smile on her in the way that they might admire an old Land Army poster, for its vigour and colouring. Liberty had found more within her, and liked the very qualities other men found unappealing. She had no desire to change. She was big-boned, strong-willed, blunt, outspoken, womanly, as glamorous as a lipstick lesbian and as kind as a man’s memory of his mother. In the catalogue of desirable female attributes, it felt as though she had managed to tick all the wrong boxes.
She caught sight of herself in a huge gilt mirror that stood propped against the opposite wall and knew this was who she would always be, a Diana Dors look-alike who wore a corset under her uniform and made weak men afraid. To hell with them, she thought with sharp finality. If they can’t handle me, that’s their problem, not mine. I’m not going to change who I am now. Tomorrow I’m going to bleach the hell out of my hair and go back to being big, blond and buxom. I reined it in for you, Liberty, because I wanted you to want me. I won’t do that again for anyone.
She stayed in the office for want of something better to do. Paperwork smothered her desk; there were dozens of King’s Cross passenger statements still to sort through. With any luck, it would keep her busy for the rest of the night. She could sleep on Bryant’s moth-eaten sofa and start again first thing in the morning.
∨ Off the Rails ∧
17
In Plain Sight
At 11:47 A.M. on Tuesday, John May received a phone call from Cassie Field. “You said to call if I saw any of the stickers,” she explained. “Well, I saw some last night.”
“In the bar?”
“Yeah, on the backpacks of that group I told you about, the ones who spend all evening on their PDAs. They came in just after Theo left. I got talking to one of them, and got his mobile number for you.”
“Thanks, I’ve been trying the house phone, but nobody answers. That was thoughtful of you.”
“Not really. I fancied one of his mates and was trying to pick him up. He wasn’t interested, so I thought I’d turn them all over to the police. Have you got a pen?”
“Fire away.”
“His name’s Nikos Nicolau. He’s taking some kind of pharmaceutical course at UCL. He started to tell me about it but he’s got a bit of a speech impediment, and the music was too loud for me to hear him properly, plus he was boring. I asked him about the stickers but he was evasive. He’s kind of creepy. I thought I’d better call you.” She gave him Nicolau’s phone number.
“I’m on it,” said May, thanking her. He rang off and called Nicolau, who sounded uncomfortable about being contacted by a police officer. May arranged an appointment for two P.M. at the college and was heading out of the room when he collided with Bryant coming in.
“You will not believe this,” said Arthur, out of breath. “He doesn’t exist!”
The two Daves, who had been attempting to fit an inadequate piece of hardboard across the hole in the detectives’ office, stopped work and turned their attention to Bryant. He seemed to fascinate them.
“Who doesn’t exist?”
“My blithering, blasted, bloody witness. Inattentional blindness, the oldest trick in the book.”
“Arthur, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“He’s playing psychological games with me. Do you remember there was this perception experiment, conducted in the 1990s?”
“Strangely enough, no.”
“A researcher pretended to be lost and stopped people on the street to ask for directions. Each time he did so, two workmen carrying a door barged between them. One of the workmen switched places with the researcher. Over half the subjects failed to notice they were now talking to someone else, because they were concentrating on the problem at hand, not on the researcher’s face.”
“Who are we talking about?” May threw up his hands helplessly. “I’m lost.”
“I’m sorry, I forgot you exist in an alternate universe where everything has to be slowly explained to you. The man who was on my walking tour, the one who saw Mr Fox attacking the addict? We got his ID from the tour company, but he’s not the man I remember meeting.”
“Maybe I’m being dense – ”
“You most certainly are and it’s very simple. I did a head-count when we set off – I always do, to make sure we don’t lose anyone. Sometimes when I get too interesting they try to slip away. We had the same number at the end as we had at the start. Mr Fox followed his victim, forcing him into a dead-end tunnel. After stabbing him, he knew he couldn’t get out of the other end, so he had to double back. It meant having to pass through my group, so rather than draw attention to himself, he dismissed the person who most looked like him and replaced him. Obvious, really. Just what I would have done.”
“What do you mean? How do you ‘dismiss’ someone?”
“Who knows? Maybe he gave him money or just threatened to rough him up. Took his jacket, changed his hair, I don’t know exactly how he does it, but he does. To be honest, he could have switched with almost any of the invisibles in my group because I barely notice them.”