Sharon Bolton - Like This, for Ever

Oh, this wasn’t an empty house, somehow she just knew it. This house was alive and breathing, watching her. She could almost see the gentle, respiratory movement of the walls. The wind, which was somehow finding its way in from outside, ruffled loose papers, stirred old cobwebs, chased dried leaves across the floors. The woodwork shifted and tensed, bracing itself, waiting for her next move. Reluctant to leave the relative safety of the room she’d entered by, Lacey knew she was committed. Having entered the house, she had to complete the search.

Police training told her to check and secure the ground floor first. Instinct screamed at her not to go down. Down meant no way out. Down was the equivalent of being trapped in a cellar.

Besides, the chute had led from the top floor of the house. Logically, anything happening in this house would be happening above her. Which meant there was no point checking this floor either. She had to go up.

Leaving the doorway to take to the stairs was like finding herself in the middle of a maze, in which danger could come from any direction. This was a huge house, with any number of rooms, corners and cupboards. Barney was small and agile. He could be anywhere. He could be watching her right now. If it came to it, could she fight an eleven-year-old boy? One who was desperate, and possibly armed?

Before she was halfway up the stairs, Lacey had the overwhelming feeling that she’d taken the wrong flight. The urge to turn, head down and then back up the left-hand stairs was so strong it was all she could do to force herself to carry on. Then a muffled but distinct yelling stopped her in her tracks. The sound a terrified child makes when his mouth is covered.

Stewart Roberts looked Dana straight in the eyes, but there was something rather defiant about his face now. He’d grown paler, the muscles in his jaw were twitching and his eyes were beginning to look damp.

‘I want to talk about the time you went to the boat to dry it out,’ she told him. ‘The second week in January, I understand.’

Wary, he inclined his head. ‘The locksmith I sent there said it looked damp,’ he replied. ‘Thought perhaps a hatch was leaking. I went a couple of days later and found he was right. There were small pools of water on the floor. And most of the soft furnishings were damp.’

‘Did you find a leak?’

He shook his head.

‘For the benefit—’

‘For the benefit of the tape,’ he interrupted, ‘I didn’t find a leak. None of the hatches had been left open, to my knowledge. The boat seemed completely sound. I had no idea, and still don’t, how the boat could have been wet.’

Dana pressed a key to take her to a different page.

‘Our crime-scene investigators have found traces of blood on your boat,’ she said. ‘At least two distinct types, neither originating from Mrs Green this time. Could either be yours?’

Slowly, reluctantly, he shook his head. ‘I keep a record if I cut myself,’ he said. ‘It happens very rarely. I’m extremely careful.’

‘What about Barney?’

His breathing was quickening. ‘Barney hasn’t been on the boat since last October. And when he cuts himself, the whole world knows about it.’

‘You do realize that if the blood we’ve found matches any of the victims, then they could only have been killed by someone with access to your boat?’ Dana said.

Stewart didn’t reply. For a few seconds she watched his chest rise and fall.

‘More than once now,’ she said, ‘you’ve referred to the keys to the houseboat going missing late last year. Mrs Green said the same thing. What can you tell us about that?’

‘The keys were missing over Christmas,’ Stewart told her. ‘I had the locks changed.’

‘Can you give us some dates?’

He sighed and pulled out his phone. He looked at the screen for several seconds, tapping various apps. ‘The last time I was at the boat before Christmas was the thirteenth of December,’ he said after a moment. ‘That was a Thursday. The following Tuesday, the eighteenth, Gilly and I met for a drink. I imagine the keys went missing some time over the weekend in between.’

Dana looked at her laptop calendar. Anderson leaned closer so he could see it too. Tyler King had disappeared on the twentieth of December, Ryan Jackson on the third of January. Both bodies had been found in or by the Creek.

‘When did you get the locks changed?’ asked Anderson.

Stewart had been anticipating the question. ‘The eleventh of January,’ he said. ‘Friday morning.’

On the tenth of January, Ryan’s body had been found on the beach at Deptford. From the following day, the killer would have been unable to access the boat. He’d found somewhere new. Somewhere he didn’t dare risk keeping the boys for too long. So he’d started killing them faster. It was all starting to come together, except …

‘Any idea how the keys went missing?’ Anderson asked.

Stewart shook his head. ‘I kept them on a hook by the front door with all the house keys,’ he said.

‘I think you told us before you don’t have many visitors,’ said Anderson. ‘Barney doesn’t like people in his house. I think you said that’s the reason why you never used babysitters.’

Stewart seemed to shrink a little. He shook his head, but the conviction had gone.

‘Who, apart from you and Barney, could have taken those keys?’ asked Dana gently.

‘No one,’ said Stewart. ‘No one comes into our house. Just me and Barney and occasionally his mates. He can tolerate kids, you see, because he stays in charge. Other than a few kids, though, no one.’

Silence. The man across the desk remained perfectly still. Outwardly, he was unchanged. Inside, Dana knew, he was crumbling.

Knowing that if you’re going to attack, you do it fast and hard, Lacey ran up the last few steps. She burst through the one door on the upper landing and in the tangerine light of the street lamps had a moment to take in the huge, high-ceilinged room, the bloodstains festooning the walls and rafters like forgotten party-streamers, and the sickly, slaughterhouse stench of the place. Then she spotted the small, slim boy tied to the trestle table in the middle of the room. Eyes open. Body wriggling. Huck . Still alive, thank God. Duct tape had been tied across his mouth but he was making a hell of a noise from behind it. His hands were taped together and so were his feet, and tape had been wound round and round his body to secure him to the table. His head was jerking from left to right but his eyes never left hers.

Then they did. At the exact moment that Lacey heard the swish of air behind her, Huck’s eyes darted to the left. Without that second of warning, the blow might have been fatal. As it was, her right arm deflected the flying sledgehammer and it caught the side of her head. The next blow, coming only a split second later, was that of a body hurtling through space and flying directly into her. She fell to the ground, sickened and disorientated. As she went down, she spun to the left and caught sight of the second trestle table. Lying on it, trussed and gagged exactly like Huck, was Barney.

‘Ma’am.’ Tom Barrett was at the far side of the room. He had to raise his voice to be heard.

‘What is it, Tom?’

‘I’ve been running checks on all those kids Stewart Roberts told us were friends of Barney’s. I think you’re going to want to see this.’

Dana crossed the room to Barrett’s desk. He stood to let her sit down, but she shook her head, leaning on the desk instead. His screen showed the webpage of a CNN news-site.

‘Barney Roberts’s best mate is a kid called Harvey Soar,’ Barrett told her, as first Mizon, then Anderson, Richmond and Stenning gathered around the desk behind her. ‘Harvey has – or rather had – some famous parents.’