Bolton, J. - Now You See Me

At ten past four we watched the last recording and I had a sense of freedom looming. I’d go home, draw the blinds, put on a film and curl up on the sofa. If I was lucky, I wouldn’t wake till morning.

It wasn’t to be. We hadn’t even switched the machine off when the door opened to reveal Tulloch, a blue cotton trench coat loose around her shoulders. This time, she was alone. She nodded at Barrett and then turned to me. ‘Looks like I’m stuck with you, Flint,’ she said. ‘You’re based here until further notice and you’ll bring your ongoing projects from Southwark with you. Come on, I’ll give you a lift home. We can talk on the way.’

14

‘WE’VE FOUND THE VICTIM’S CAR,’ TULLOCH TOLD ME as we pulled out of the car park.

‘The Lexus?’ I asked.

She nodded. ‘We’ll keep it under surveillance for a couple of days,’ she said.

It was standard procedure. Plain-clothes officers would watch the car, see if anyone approached it. Anyone who showed a particular interest could well have some bearing on why the woman had been in that part of London. On the other hand …

‘Sixty grand’s worth of luxury vehicle on that estate won’t go unnoticed for very long,’ I said.

‘Probably not,’ agreed Tulloch. ‘We found the keys as well. Behind a wall not far from where you found her.’

‘So how …?’I began.

‘We think whoever killed her took the keys, meaning to drive away in her car,’ said Tulloch. ‘The dogs tracked someone to the alley you emerged from, but then he backtracked.’

‘He heard me coming,’ I said.

‘Makes sense,’ said Tulloch. ‘You’d cut off his escape route so he had to change his plans. He ditched the keys, ran further down the block, round the rear of the buildings and made for the A3. The dogs lost him at Kennington Tube.’

‘You must know who she is by now,’ I said. ‘The car would have been registered.’

She nodded. ‘We have a pretty good idea.’

I waited. ‘Are you allowed to tell me?’ I asked, after a moment.

Tulloch sighed. ‘It’ll probably be on the news tonight,’ she said. ‘The car was registered to a Mr David Jones. Lives in Chiswick, married to Geraldine. We’ve got officers round there already, but only the au pair’s at home. I’m on my way over now.’

Geraldine Jones. The name meant absolutely nothing. ‘Can I come?’ I found myself asking.

‘Absolutely not,’ she replied, glancing sideways at me. ‘You should try and get some rest. You look like you need it.’

I couldn’t argue with her on that one. We were silent for a while. There was something I wanted to say to her, I just didn’t know how to start. So she drove and I looked at my fingernails. When I glanced up again, we were on the Wandsworth Road, not far from my flat.

‘I heard there was something unusual about the murder weapon,’ I said, knowing I was chancing my luck.

‘That will definitely not be on the news tonight,’ she replied, with a tiny half-smile as she turned into my road and pulled up against the kerb. I put my hand on the door handle and opened the door. Now or never.

‘I’m sorry I screwed up,’ I said. ‘I know if I’d had my wits about me, she probably wouldn’t have died.’

Tulloch took both hands off the wheel and twisted round in her seat to face me properly. ‘What are you talking about?’ she said.

‘If I’d seen the attack, I could have stopped it,’ I said. ‘Even if it was too late for that, I could have identified who did it.’

She nodded her head slowly. ‘Yes, that’s possible,’ she said. ‘Or I might have two dead women on my hands right now and Southwark would have lost an officer.’

She turned the ignition key and the engine died. ‘In any case,’ she went on, ‘the dogs tracked the killer to the alleyway you came out of, remember? He heard you coming and backtracked. He’d killed her and left her to die before you got anywhere near.’

She was right. I hadn’t thought of that. Oh thank God.

‘Lacey, you’re not responsible for what happened to Geraldine Jones,’ Tulloch went on. ‘If that’s what’s been going through your head, forget it. And get some rest.’

It hadn’t been my fault. Geraldine Jones hadn’t died because of me. I got out of the car and thanked Tulloch for the lift. She told me to turn up at Lewisham first thing on Monday morning and drove away the minute I closed the car door. I watched the silver Mercedes turn on to the main road and felt strangely left out.

Nothing I could do. I was a witness, not an investigating officer, and finally I was home. Tulloch was right, I should rest.

But all around me life was going on and the evening was filled with that golden light September is so often blessed with. It really wasn’t an evening for staying at home alone. Even if you were me. I went inside and jumped in the shower. Thirty minutes later I was on my way out, determined to make up for lost time.

Or maybe not. The top step leading down to my basement didn’t normally have a scruffy-looking girl in a pink jacket standing on it, as though she couldn’t quite make up her mind whether to approach my door or not. She started when I appeared, then moved back and waited for me to join her at pavement level.

‘Lacey,’ she said, to my surprise, because I knew I’d never seen her before. ‘Can I have a word? About the murder last night? There’s something you really need to know.’

15

‘DO I KNOW YOU?’ I ASKED.

The girl was in her early twenties and, whilst I don’t like myself for saying this, not the sort of person it’s easy to look at. Her dyed black hair was slicked back with some greasy-looking substance and she’d tried, and failed, to cover a crop of spots around her chin with too much make-up. I counted six studs in her left ear. She didn’t have a right ear. The burns scars around her lower jaw and the right side of her neck were dreadful.

‘I’m Emma Boston,’ she said, in a voice that might have belonged to an elderly smoker. ‘I’m working on last night’s murder. I’ve got information for you. Can we go inside?’

‘What do you mean, you’re working on the case?’ I asked, trying to remember if I’d seen her at Lewisham or even Southwark.

Boston was wearing large sunglasses, the sort that make it impossible to see the eyes behind them. I wondered if her eyes had suffered fire damage too. ‘You were the one who found her,’ she was saying. ‘I heard she was still alive. Is that true?’

This woman wasn’t a police officer. ‘I’m going to ask you one more time, then I’m going to ask you to get off my step. What exactly are you doing here?’

Boston was about to respond when she broke into a fit of coughing. ‘Did she say anything before she died?’ she managed, when she got her breath back. ‘Do you know who she is yet?’

Light dawned. ‘Are you a reporter?’ I asked.

Her lips hardened. She was used to people not responding well to her. ‘Look, we both have jobs to do,’ she said. ‘I just think we can help each other.’ She looked round the street. ‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’ she went on. ‘I really do have some information.’

‘Detective Inspector Tulloch is heading up the investigation,’ I said. ‘She’s based at Lewisham police station.’

‘OK,’ she said. ‘But I’ve had a letter that could be from the killer, and seeing as how it mentions you by name, I thought you’d be interested. My mistake.’

She pushed past me and walked up the street towards Wandsworth Road. I watched her go, fairly sure she was lying, but …

I caught up with her ten metres from the corner. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s been a long day.’