"She just called she'll be back in fifteen or so."
"Right. Can I leave Gummer with you until she's back? You could make him some tea or something."
"I'll give him some shortbread. Where are you going?"
"Brixton. Tell Danni I'll call her later."
Thirty-three.
What pitched her out of that long, trancy sleep? The voice? Benedicte thought so. A man's voice, murmuring. She opened her eyes. A bluebottle was picking its way carefully through the crust on Smurf's nose. She stared blankly at it, lying on her side, trying to decide if she was dreaming or really hearing a man's voice in the kitchen below.
Hal? Was it Hal? What's happening? She raised her head. Maybe the troll had gone. Maybe Hal was talking to Josh. Yes, that's what it sounds like he's gone and I missed it because I was asleep. She rolled on to her front and fanned her hands out on the splintered boards. The skin on her arms had taken on the papery, transparent look that dried honesty got she almost expected to see the little veins in her hands turn blood-black and noded like seeds. Her throat was so dry it seemed no longer a functioning part of her body, but a long, living welt running under the muscles.
Another sentence spoken from below.
Hal?
Moving painfully she shuffled sideways and dropped her face into the gap between the boards. Everything was taking longer than it should, every move made her vision swim, the edges of light and matter blur. She wriggled her hand out until it cupped the light fitting. The light was on, she could feel the heat of it against her palm as she applied a silent, steady pressure downwards on it. With a quiet sloosh it fell down into the room below, circling wildly on the wire. She lay for a moment, panting, exhausted by the effort. I'm ill, she thought. He's killing us. Gathering all her energy she inched her face into the gap, and immediately she could feel different air on her face, dry, full of the kippery smell of an animal's bedding.
My God. Is he still here?
And then she saw. She wanted to jerk back out of her hole but she found she couldn't move. She was transfixed.
Hal was gone. Only the man-shaped stain where he had been. And in his place the upholstered armchair that belonged next to the window in the living room. Sitting in the chair, facing away from her, into the family room, just ten feet below her, the troll. He had stripped down to a T-shirt and was crouched on the chair like a bird, his hands between his legs.
Silently, carefully, she sucked in a breath. You should have known should have known. All the lights in the two rooms were on, the curtains were drawn. A camera lay on the floor next to him. He hadn't heard her push the light through because he was intent on watching something out of sight in the living room. His face was creased and reddened, there was a diamond point of saliva on the lower lip, and now that she looked closer she saw his belt and flies were open and he was using one hand to massage himself. Oh, God. A bubble of nausea rose in her throat. Oh, God the bastard. He stopped masturbating for a moment to spit on his palm and Benedicte got a glimpse of the little white pudding of his penis -not even hard.
"Do it," he murmured. "Do it."
What's he watching? Christ, what's he watching? Can Josh see?
"Just do it," he was saying. "Do it now." His bottom lip was loose and moist, his loamy hand a blur, the saliva lengthened downwards from his mouth. Who's he talking to? Ben closed her eyes, the darkness in her head switching and flickering. Am I imagining it? Is this still a dream? My God, Josh. Where's Josh?
From the living room came a wail. Her eyes snapped open. That was Hal. Screaming something in a thick voice she couldn't understand: Tcan'tdoitlcan'tlcan't-Ican't. PleaseGODkillmeinstead…" He wrenched in a breath and this time she heard the words clearly. "KILL ME. Please. Kill me instead."
"Get off. Get off." The troll got down from the chair and kicked something that lay on the floor just out of Ben's view. Something heavy. He began to pull the belt out of his jeans. "Get off." He wrapped the belt around one fist, pulling the other end taut. The jeans slid down to his ankles, his legs bowed out like a mountain goat's. He dropped to his knees.
My God, what's he doing? He looks as if he's going to…
She could see only his lower body, the jeans crumpled around his feet, dirty grey Y-fronts. But there was something in the tension of his buttocks, something that made her think of an animal feeding. The way a cat's hindquarters would twist when it was…
When it was chewing something
A thin cry. The troll's buttocks twisted again. Now Benedicte understood. Josh. "NO!" She jammed herself blindly forward into the hole. "No! Leave him alone!"
A sudden silence. The feet below became still.
"I mean it. Leave him alone or I'll kill you. I'll kill you."
Silence. All she could hear was the swollen knocking of her heart. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, his face shot up next to hers she could smell his breath, see blood on his teeth. Ohmigod. She jolted back. Jammed her ear against the edge of the boards, the pain boomeranging her back into the hole. No." She scrabbled for purchase, the plasterboard cracking, her free leg cycling crazily, trying to get a foothold on the carpet, expecting the foul breath on her at any second. She could hear him panting, almost as if he was afraid -What's he afraid of? got a hurried, hectic glimpse of his eyes, panicked, nervous, his hands up to his mouth as if she terrified him, then sniff, sniff, sniff, and he started whimpering, lips quivering, and this time, with the last of her strength, her hands scrabbling weakly at the carpet, she wrenched herself out of the hole, back into the room, and even as she did she heard the doorbell ringing in the hallway.
Caffery stood on the doorstep, the rain pattering down around him. He was breathing hard. He had walked around the perimeter of the Clock Tower Grove building site, passing heavy machinery and a saturated bundle of electrical conduit Champ, I'll never be able to look at conduit again without thinking of Champ until he could see Clock Tower Walk beyond the security fencing. All the houses were unoccupied, all except number five. Number five's curtains were drawn, and when he saw that he started to move a little faster, breaking into a trot along the little brick street, slamming his thumb on the doorbell.
"Mrs. Church?" He rang again, the heel of his hand flat against the bell. The house was silent. Standing on tiptoe he looked through the garage door. A lemon yellow Daewoo was parked in the gloom. He knew he might be wrong. He remembered the woman who had answered the door to him here, more than a week ago. He remembered her talking about the smell in her house, just as Gummer's wife had done, just as Souness had done at the Peaches'. He remembered the dog. He lifted the letterbox.
"Mrs. Church?"
And then, on the air in the hallway, he smelt urine. My God, an animal's in there. Food containers littered the hallway. A TV played somewhere in the back of the house. And at the top of the stairs something had been spray-painted in red.
He dropped the letterbox and turned, reaching in his pocket for his phone, his heart racing.
"Jack, listen," Souness was adamant, 'don't go in, Jack, don't go in. Wait for us. Are ye listening to me?"
"I won't. I swear."
He meant it. He put the phone in his pocket, and stood on the doorstep, his jacket held over his head to protect him from the drizzle, shifting tensely from foot to foot, looking up at the house then back along the road for the area cars. Minutes ticked by, and suddenly, from behind, came a noise. He shot to the letterbox in time to see something bolt out of the kitchen, through the hallway and hurtle up the stairs. Blurred and huge, he was carrying something in his arms and immediately Caffery knew that there was blood. He ripped off his jacket, wrapped it around his arm and rammed his elbow through the glass panel, loosened the bolt under the Yale, flicked the catch down, and now he was in, racing into the kitchen, flinging the door back on its hinges. The kitchen was hot full of that familiar smell -Jesus, what's happened in here? the lights were on, the curtains closed, and here, lying on the floor, shaking and covered in his own dirt, lay something