Sharon Bolton - Like This, for Ever

‘This house gives me the creeps,’ he said.

‘You should see it on the inside,’ she replied. ‘Kids and homeless people used to break in before all the windows were properly boarded up. We used to get called out to it quite a lot.’

They turned the corner and left the old house behind.

‘Barney, it’s not really any of my business, I know,’ she said. ‘But I’m not sure it’s very safe for you and your mates to be out after dark at the moment.’

‘We stay together,’ replied Barney. ‘We look out for each other. And Jorge and Lloyd are nearly fifteen.’

He waited for Lacey to point out that he’d been alone when she’d met him and got ready to respond that he was fast. That no one could catch him on foot once he got some speed up.

‘Five boys of your age have gone missing recently,’ she went on. ‘None of them lived very far from here.’

‘What happens to them?’ he asked her. ‘The TV never says how they died. Do you think the Barlow twins are dead as well?’

‘I hope not,’ she said, in a voice that told him she was pretty certain they were.

4

ALONE ON THE rapidly dwindling beach, Dana walked to the water’s edge. Just over a year ago, when she’d moved to London from her native Scotland, she’d fallen in love with the river at night. She loved the way it curled its way between the buildings like a sleek black snake, mirroring only what was beautiful about the city – its lights, its architecture, its colour. Now, the spot around Tower Bridge would always remind her of two small, pale bodies, two boys who should have run squealing along this beach, not been carried from it in body bags. She took her phone from her pocket.

‘Hey,’ said a deep male voice with a South London accent.

‘Hi. Where are you?’

A pause. ‘Just in my car. Parked, not driving. What’s up?’

‘It was them. The Barlow twins. As we knew it would be, I suppose.’

A whispered curse. ‘You OK?’

‘I’m on my way to tell the parents. Mark, their mother …’

Another pause. ‘Want me to come?’

Dana smiled to herself, shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ll be fine. What are you up to anyway?’

A sigh came down the line. ‘Dana, there are some things it’s better you don’t know.’

‘Enough said, I suppose.’

Silence.

‘What’s up?’

‘I shouldn’t say this,’ said Dana. ‘I wouldn’t to anyone else. I haven’t the faintest shred of—’

‘Dana, just say it.’

‘I think it’s a woman.’

Silence for a heartbeat, then, ‘Oh?’

‘No sexual abuse, Mark. No physical abuse of any kind, except the wound that kills them. Their bodies are perfect and we find them curled up like they’re asleep. Just looking at them – oh, I can’t explain it, but they inspire such love. I know it sounds stupid but I think the killer loves them, in her own way. I don’t think she wants to hurt them, I think she can’t help herself. I think maybe she lost her own son at that age, and something is making her re-enact it with proxies.’

‘Anything to back this up, other than what your gut is telling you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Then the chances are you’re having the normal reaction of any woman your age confronted with dead kids, and you’re projecting what you feel on to the killer.’

‘Yes, but …’

‘Not done yet. On the other hand, as theories go, it’s not completely off the wall. You can soon run a check on boys of that age who’ve died in London in recent years. If any died of extensive blood loss, if any of the mothers have had unusual difficulties coping. It’s a lead.’

‘Yeah, I can get that started tonight. Look, I’ve got to go. Thanks, Mark.’

Dana disconnected the line and heard a lapping sound at her feet. In the minute or so that she’d been talking, the water had crept closer. She took a step back and stumbled, then turned round and found herself walking faster than was sensible. The lights had been taken away, most of the people had gone from the beach and from the bridge, and she really needed to watch her step. Miss your footing on one of these beaches at night, hit your head as the tide crept its way in, and it could be the end of you.

Only when she’d reached the first step that wasn’t encrusted with river-weed did Dana feel her heartbeat begin to slow down. She turned back, one last time. By this time, it was impossible to tell where the beach ended and the water began. She could still hear it though, the soft, whispering sound it made as it crept towards her.

5

‘WILL YOU BE working on the murders when you go back?’ Barney asked Lacey, as they turned into the road where they both lived. Lacey looked down at the boy, only a few years away from becoming a man, and yet whose face was so fresh, whose skin so clear and whose thought processes so blindingly obvious. He was thinking that his stock with his gang of mates would soar if he had an inside track on a murder investigation. Especially one involving kids. People were invariably most interested in murders when they were potential victims themselves.

She was almost sorry to disappoint him. ‘No, I don’t work on murders,’ she said. ‘My job isn’t anything like that exciting.’

She could see him watching, waiting for her to tell him what her job was, hoping it would be something like Drugs, Vice or the Flying Squad. But how could she explain to a boy she barely knew that she didn’t think she would ever work as a police officer again?

‘You and your mates are good,’ she said. ‘I’ve watched you a couple of times now. If the light catches you the right way, especially against the mural with stars on it, you look like you’re flying.’

‘My mates are scared of you,’ he said.

The words seemed to take them both by surprise. Barney’s lips were clenched tight and he had an oh shit look in his eyes.

‘Are you?’ she asked him.

‘No,’ he said after a second. ‘But then, I knew you before.’

Before. This child, whom she’d spoken to less than a dozen times, could remember what she’d been like before. Jesus, even she couldn’t remember that any more.

Barney had stopped moving. ‘He’s here again.’ His voice had lowered, giving a hint of the man’s that was to come in a few years, and something about its tone put her on full alert. She stopped, too.

‘Who’s here?’ she asked. Two middle-aged women were walking away from them further up the street. There was no one at Barney’s front door.

‘The man that watches you.’

Lacey wondered at the complexity of the human heart that could feel fear, misery and joy, all at the same time. All with the same root cause. ‘What man?’ she asked, although she knew perfectly well.

‘The one who sits in his car outside your house,’ the boy replied. ‘Who knocks on your door a lot.’

‘Where is he?’ she asked him. ‘Don’t point or look, just tell me.’

The kid was bright, he did exactly that. ‘He’s in a green car on the left-hand side of the road about six – no, seven – cars away from us.’

So strong, the temptation to look for the car, to make sure he was right. ‘How on earth did you spot that?’

Barney shrugged, looked uncomfortable. ‘I just see things,’ he said.

‘What do you mean, you just see things? I wouldn’t even have known there was a green car that far down the street, but you not only see the car, you see a man sitting inside it, in the dark.’

He sighed. ‘The colours of the cars are reflected in the water on the road,’ he said. ‘There’s a silver one, a black one, red, two more silver, white van, then his green one.’

He couldn’t see the line of parked cars any more. She was blocking his view. If he was right, it was extraordinary. Incredible powers of observation and recall.