Bolton, J. - Now You See Me

A noise behind her head. Someone coming back.

A hand touching her face. Then a sudden burning as the tape across her mouth is ripped away and the cold air stings raw skin.

‘How’re you doing?’ whispers the voice in her ear.

Amanda tries to think of something to say. Something that will strike a chord, make a difference. Something other than the old clichés. Why are you doing this? Please don’t hurt me. Let me go now, I won’t say a word, I promise .

‘This is a mistake,’ she chooses. ‘I’m not the person you think I am. I’ve done nothing.’ Amanda thinks it isn’t possible to be any more afraid. Then she realizes it is.

‘Tell me something about yourself, Amanda,’ whispers the voice. ‘Tell me about your children.’

Her children? Her stomach turns cold. Impossible. Abigail is at school. Someone would have called her if she’d gone missing? When did she last talk to Daniel? Amanda strains her eyes, looking left and right, as though she might see them, strapped down like she is, one on either side. No one there. She and the voice in her ear are alone.

‘What are their names?’ asks the voice. ‘I’ll know if you’re lying. You’ll know too. What’s your daughter called?’

‘Ab— Abigail,’ Amanda manages.

‘Sweet. And your son? Tell me all about your son.’

‘Daniel,’ she says.

‘You must be very proud of them. Mothers will do anything, won’t they, for their children? Are you a good mother, Amanda?’

‘I try. I don’t understand. Why are …’

Suddenly, Amanda isn’t cold any more. She’s hot. Sauna hot. She watches a figure in white move away from her towards a bench at the far wall. She sees a hand reach out, a finger tap gently on a small, portable CD player.

‘Let’s have some music, shall we?’ says the voice. ‘This is one of my favourites.’

The tune rings out, light, jolly, familiar, as the white figure comes back towards her. It’s a tune from childhood. The lyrics start just as something that feels like ice is traced slowly across Amanda’s stomach. The trail it leaves behind begins to prickle and then sting. She can almost hear her hot blood sizzling as it meets the cold air.

27

Saturday 8 September

THE NEXT DAY, THE MOOD AT THE STATION WAS TIRED BUT upbeat. Five thirty a.m. on 8 September had come and gone and no real disturbances had been reported. I’d arrived late, but even so I was one of the first. The rest of the team drifted in, yawning and bleary-eyed, towards midday. I saw nothing of Tulloch, but if she’d resigned from the investigation, it wasn’t yet public knowledge.

During the afternoon, Emma Boston sent me several texts, wanting to know whether there was any news. I replied each time in the negative, but politely. Since Emma had come up with an original angle on a recent murder, her stock with the national press had shot up, and she still had the ability to plaster my name, and possibly my photograph, all over the papers.

The day shift came to an end and still no one wanted to go home. We could relax at midnight, when 8 September was over, and not before. I wandered through to the incident room and no one told me to leave. People started sending out for food. At nine twenty I was about to make yet another trip to the coffee machine when the call came through from the control room.

Anderson took it, rising to his feet and motioning the room to quieten down. Someone leaned across and switched off the TV just as he replaced the receiver.

‘Pete – get the boss,’ he said. ‘We’ve had a call from a bloke on the industrial estate by Mandela Way. Half hysterical, by all accounts. Screaming down the phone about a mutilated body.’

I watched the last of the cars leave the yard just as another text came in from Emma.

Can u meet me Forest Hill Swm Pls? Urgt info on G Jones case.

She wanted me to meet her at a swimming pool? I checked my watch. At half past nine? I didn’t need to look up Forest Hill. I knew exactly where it was, on the Dartmouth Road between Dulwich and Catford. When I was younger, swimming had been one of the few things I was really good at and Forest Hill, one of the old-fashioned Victorian pools, had reminded me of pools I’d visited as a child. I’d used it until it closed down. I couldn’t imagine what Emma was doing there, or what it could possibly have to do with Geraldine Jones.

There was no answer from Emma’s mobile number, even though she’d just sent me a text. I sat for a second, thinking. Did I really want to start driving around London this late? Then another text flashed up on my phone. Emma again. As I read it, something cold crept down between my shoulder blades.

Don’t phone. Just come. Please.

This needed some very careful handling. Everyone on the team had just been called out to what could be the next murder site and I was being summoned in the opposite direction by someone with a known connection to the killer.

I picked up the desk phone and told the control room where I was going and who I was planning to meet. They agreed to pass the information on to a member of my team just as soon as they could. As I left the building, Mark Joesbury was coming down the stairs. He stopped when he saw me. I was sure he was about to speak when the door behind him opened and Anderson appeared. I turned and hurried out of the station.

*

Driving down the Bromley Road, I told myself I was taking no risks. I was just going to be close by. In case. When I was about ten minutes away I had a radio call from Tulloch wanting to know where I was. I filled her in quickly.

‘Lacey, I’m sending a team after you,’ she said. ‘Do not get out of your car until they’re with you. Do you understand?’

‘Well, yes, but—’

‘Don’t argue with me, Flint. The callout to Mandela Way was a hoax. There’s no body here. And I do not like the fact that you are on your own on the other side of London.’

She and I both.

‘OK, understood,’ I said. ‘I’ll get to the pool and wait for you.’

‘Mark and Neil will probably be with you first. They never actually left the station.’

I parked a little way down the street from the pool and looked up and down the road. Traffic was still constant. The street was well lit. Nothing out of the ordinary. But no sign of Emma.

I pulled my mobile out of my bag. No new texts, which didn’t feel right. If she was here, she’d be looking out for my car, she’d have seen me arrive. If she hadn’t approached it was because something was wrong.

On the other hand, I’d made faster time than I’d expected. She was probably still on her way. Then the phone beeped. Just two words this time.

Help me

28

I WAS OUT OF THE CAR. STILL NO ONE IN SIGHT.

‘Emma!’ I’d intended to shout, but not much sound came out. I leaned back in through the driver door, hating the moment my back was to the street, and pulled out the hand-held radio. Shoving it into my pocket and holding my mobile tightly, I stepped away from the car.

Help would be here any second and I certainly wasn’t going far. I just needed to look. I half ran down the street until the massive and elaborate red-brick building soared above me. Plenty of shadows. I reached the steps that led to the front door.

‘Emma,’ I tried again. I climbed the steps, looking round continually, telling myself my car was close. I could be safely locked inside it in minutes.

Geraldine Jones’s killer hadn’t needed minutes .

At the top of the steps I found the front door locked. Where the hell was everyone? Conscious that minutes had past since Emma’s last message, I ran back down to the street.

The Ripper hadn’t needed minutes .