“Invisibles?”
“It doesn’t matter. Then he drew my attention to the attack, which allowed him to manipulate the situation and slip away.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“I think I have a vague idea of what he looks like at the moment. He’s shortened his hair and smartened up. He’s been to a tanning salon and done something to his face that makes it look different, but I can’t put my finger on it. I can get out a basic description.”
“He’ll change his appearance again, you know that. Keeping one step ahead is a matter of pride with him.”
“But he’s tied to the area, John. I don’t know what keeps him here, but that’s how we’re going to get him.”
“So what have we actually got? Fox doesn’t mind being seen because he’s never the same person for long. He absorbs others and uses their knowledge until it’s time to change once more. The danger is knowing something about him in return. What did the victim know that placed him at risk? Get Janice to dig into the boy’s background; we might get lucky and turn up something. Has anyone spoken to UCH this morning?”
“He’s alive and stabilised, but not conscious. Janice is talking to his doctor right now.”
“The Taylor case gets priority treatment. You know how this goes, Arthur; a junkie’s death matters less than a young mother shoved down the stairs, because if it turns out she’s done nothing wrong and was pushed by a stranger, everyone is at risk, and then it’s a matter of public safety – ”
“ – and a case for the PCU,” concluded Bryant impatiently. “Yes, I appreciate that. But if we keep a watch on the tube station, we can tackle both problems at once.”
“It’s a big place; I don’t see how we can cover it with only a handful of staff. Dan, wait.” May collared Banbury as he passed the doorway. “I heard you applied for a priority DNA check – anything from the contact lens case in the apartment?”
“Nothing from the eyelash,” said Dan. “The saline had corrupted it. But there were fingerprints on the exterior of the case, and they match Janice’s ID of the victim lying in UCH.”
“She’s got an ID? Why didn’t I know this?”
“Only just happened. Tony McCarthy, aka ‘Mac’, small-time crook, recovering heroin addict, a known face in the dodgier King’s Cross pubs. McCarthy’s got an impressive string of convictions. He pulled down a couple of years in Pentonville for dealing.”
“Looks like Mr Fox slipped up,” said May.
“It’s not like him,” Bryant insisted. “He’s too careful for that.”
“If he’s addicted to changing his appearance, he probably wears coloured contacts. And Mac was a junkie. If Mr Fox invited him over and left him alone for even a minute, it’s likely Mac would go through his host’s bathroom cabinet looking for something to steal or swallow. He picked up the lens case, checked it out, put it back somewhere different, and Mr Fox failed to wipe it clean.”
“Okay, we’ve been handed McCarthy, but if there’s something in his past that connects the pair of them, Mr Fox must know we’ll find it. He’s daring me to try to stop him. Wouldn’t you want to measure your opponent’s strength? See how close he’s likely to get?”
“What kind of man thinks like that?” asked Longbright.
“It’s about power, Janice. Some men use everything as an opportunity to prove their superiority. For them, life is a perpetual dare. This is his work. Rather than shift from his location, our Fox will hide in plain sight until one of us is forced to make a move.”
“Killing people is not normal work, Arthur,” May pointed out gently. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to act as if you admire him.”
“Of course I don’t.” Bryant’s watery blue eyes rolled behind his bifocals. “I think he’s horrible. But if something wriggles under a rock, don’t you want to pick the rock up and take a look? I wouldn’t be much of a criminologist if I wasn’t intrigued.”
“Then I shall leave you to your intrigues.” May searched around for his coat. The two Daves were standing by with screwdrivers raised, listening with undisguised interest. “I’m going to try and throw some light on why an innocent woman died. Perhaps you’ll give us the benefit of your intelligence by doing the same.”
“I have my suspicions about her death,” Bryant told his partner’s retreating back, “but you’re not going to like it. You never do.”
“You’re not going to win this one by ploughing through a bunch of old books, Arthur,” May called back serenely. “It’ll come down to modern detection techniques. I’m willing to put money on it.”
“So am I,” said one of the Daves. “Twenty quid says he proves the old codger wrong.”
“Make it fifty,” said the other, “and you’ve got yourself a bet.”
∨ Off the Rails ∧
18
Lunacy
Rain was tumbling through the office ceiling. Everyone looked up as a piece of plaster divorced itself and fell into a bucket with a plonk. They dragged their attention back to the acting head of the Unit.
“Words fail me,” Raymond Land continued, despite the fact that they clearly did no such thing. “What more am I supposed to do, for God’s sake? You get your old jobs back, we might finally be allocated a decent budget thanks to Giles Kershaw’s old-school network, our enemies at the Home Office have heard the news and are wandering around with faces like slapped arses, we even get a case that fits the Unit’s mission statement and what happens? I ask you, what happens?”
Ask he might, but there was no response. The assembled staff of the PCU looked at one another in puzzlement. Outside the door, one of the Daves was hitting a pipe with the desultory air of a Victorian nanny beating a child. Land squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the workman to finish.
“Exactly. Nothing. Twenty-four hours is a bloody long time in this area, and the trail has wiped itself clean. I walk around the offices – if that’s what you can call this doss-house – hoping to see someone in the throes of a revelation, or at least bothering to fill in their paperwork, and what do I see?”
“Is this going to take very long, sir?” asked Meera.
“You’ll stay here until I’ve finished, young lady.” Land tried to take his eyes from her and failed. “What…what is all that stuff on your face?”
“Lip gloss and blusher, sir. Janice gave me some makeup tips. I had a makeover.”
“During your duty hours? What the hell is going on here?”
“Not here, at Selfridges, in the cosmetics department where Gloria Taylor worked. I got more out of her colleagues that way, catching them while they were working. Taylor took the same train home every night. She was in perfectly normal spirits when she left, looking forward to seeing her daughter because she was going to take her to the cinema for the first time, to see an old Disney film they just re-issued at the Imax, The Lion King. She’d bought the kid a stuffed lion from the Disney Store, but hadn’t taken it home with her. It was still in her locker. I filed my report and emailed it to you.”
“Oh. Well. I suppose that’s all right. But the rest of you…” His attention fell upon Colin Bimsley, who was reading a cookery book. “I assume that’s not a police manual in your hand?”
“No, sir, it’s aubergine and mozzarella parcels. I’m thinking of taking a course in Italian cuisine.” He had found the book in one of the trash bins while he was staking out Mr Fox’s apartment, and had decided it was about time to learn a new skill. John May encouraged them all to do so whenever they were inundated with paperwork, to keep their brains sharp. Besides, Longbright had tipped him off that Meera liked Italian food.
“What about the requisition forms I asked you to handle? You can’t have finished those already.”