Fragile Minds

SATURDAY 22ND JULY CLAUDIE



Down on the high street I hailed a cab, hastily applying mascara and blusher as I sat in the back, remembering the club-owner’s scorn last time, trying to make my hair look wild and tousled rather than like I’d just literally fallen out of bed.

I arrived at London Bridge around six and made my way past Southwark Cathedral. It was Evensong; the girls’ choir singing, the purity of their voices floating out into the dusky sky. For a moment I could almost believe that there was peace in this city. Then the air was riven by a siren, and I turned my back on the church, making my way to the club.

‘Can I see the American please?’ I asked, relieved it was a different doorman. He was white, shaven-headed and thickset, with tattoos on his neck. ‘Larry,’ I said as confidently as I could.

‘Wait here,’ he ordered. He had a strong accent that sounded something like Russian. I leant against the wall outside watching a malevolent shark of an aeroplane track the sky, expecting to be turned away again. I was surprised when, five minutes later, I was let down into the club.

I walked down the stairs and it was like entering hell: all red velvet and dim light, and hot beyond belief. I peeled off my parka and sat at the bar as instructed. A small redhead was up on the mirrored stage, upside down on the pole most of the time, giving her dead-pan all to Lady Gaga’s Poker Face; other half-naked girls were dotted around the place, talking to the punters, laughing, simpering, taking money, dancing at tables or leading groups of men away to the side booths.

I glimpsed Larry at the side of the stage, beckoning the sweating redhead as she finished her set; the music changed and the next girl arrived on stage, scowling provocatively at the audience who whooped. The redhead slipped her skimpy black dress back over her head and followed Larry. It looked like he was reprimanding her for something. She seemed truculent at first, and then she changed tack; she started laughing, stroking his chest, looking up at him like a little girl and batting her lashes. But for all the coquetry and the flirting, she was holding herself too rigidly. She’s scared of him, I thought.

After about five minutes he let her go, and she disappeared into the club, which was slowly filling up. A large stag party arrived and took over a couple of tables in front of me; they were in their late twenties and thoroughly over-excited. ‘I’d hit it,’ I heard one of them proclaim with relish, pointing at the nearest girl, a pneumatic blonde with breasts so high and round they were like bread rolls. ‘I’d f*cking hit it hard.’

‘We all would.’ The rest guffawed loudly, ordering champagne and beer. ‘Let’s have it, boys.’

‘Andrei says you want a job.’ Larry was suddenly beside me, wiping his forehead on his jacket sleeve. He snapped his fingers irritably at the pretty black waitress. ‘Get me a soda.’

He didn’t offer me anything.

‘Not really a job—’ I began, but he was staring at me now.

‘Did we meet before?’ he asked, his tiny eyes narrowing.

‘No,’ I lied, smiling my best smile.

‘If you don’t want a job, honey, what the f*ck do you want? I’m a busy man.’

‘I just wanted to ask you a few questions. It’s about my friend, Tessa—’

‘Never heard of her,’ he said too quickly, grabbing the Coke from the waitress and draining it in one. Then he slammed the glass on the bar. ‘Listen, darling,’ he was millimetres from my face now and spitting. I shut my eyes. ‘One thing I hate is journalists. I f*cking hate journalists – even more than I hate feminist f*cking do-gooders with their moustaches and their hairy twats.’

‘I’m not a journalist. I swear.’

He glared at me, and then he grabbed my face.

‘Ow!’ I protested.

His warm, fat fingers sank into my jaw-bone. ‘I don’t believe you.’

The tiny redhead arrived back now, neatly side-stepping the stag party who were getting more raucous by the minute. She had freshened up, changed into a see-through silver dress, reapplied her magenta lipstick, and she was waiting just behind him, drumming her nails anxiously on the bar.

‘I’m not. I just – my friend died, and I—’

‘Listen, lady.’ He was hurting me. I caught the redhead’s eye; she looked away. ‘I don’t care who you are. I don’t know your dead friend Tessa and I suggest you f*ck off. Right now.’ He was angry; he pulled me off the stool so I tripped and fell against him, my wrist still in his vice-like grip.

‘Ow!’ I complained again. ‘You’re hurting me.’

‘Get the f*ck out of my club now.’ He pushed me back against the bar. He was about to blow, I could sense it. ‘I’m sick of you lot snooping around.’

‘Larry,’ the redhead spoke now, she had a rasping little voice, a broad cockney accent. ‘I’m sure she don’t mean no harm.’

‘Who the f*ck,’ Larry wheeled round, his impressive bulk hard to turn, ‘who the f*ck asked you, Paige, baby?’

She shrugged and dropped her gaze, but not before she had caught my eye and flicked her gaze urgently towards the stairs.

‘The boss is waiting,’ he spat at her. She strolled over to a table in the corner where a plain man in shirtsleeves sat behind an open laptop, head down in concentration. He was wearing a flat cap and drinking Perrier. He wasn’t watching us, but I had the feeling he had taken in every action, every word. Paige stood in front of him, obscuring his face from me as Larry started to propel me towards the exit. When I looked back, Paige and the ‘boss’ had both vanished. Andrei was at Larry’s side now; he practically lifted me from the ground, carrying me towards the exit.

‘I only wanted to ask about my friend Tessa,’ I protested, but my heart was beating so fast now it hurt, and I was scared too. I’d hit a nerve somewhere, and these men were dangerous, that was obvious. I’d stepped straight into a wasps’ nest.

Andrei carried me up the stairs and out into the warm Saturday night – but he didn’t let me go. He kept on going, down a stinking back alley, and now I was truly frightened. I started to struggle frantically.

‘What are you doing?’ I kicked my legs like a child, one foot coming into contact with his shin. He swore in Russian and dropped me in front of him so I fell on all fours, my knees making painful contact with the concrete ground, and then he kicked me again so I went right down, the air leaving me like a burst balloon. I was lying next to a dumpster and the ground was filthy; the smell of urine overwhelming, ammonia pungent in my nostrils. I tried to scrabble to my feet but before I managed it, Andrei had kicked my arms out from beneath me.

I lay still now. I thought for a moment my arm might be broken, and I’d bitten right through my lip; I could taste the blood. I wondered if he was going to beat me properly, or kill me even, and I was filled with a pure terror, and then a surge of something I didn’t recognise for a moment. The will to live. And for a strange out-of-body second, I wanted to laugh; I felt the laugh build in my throat. I wanted to live. I hadn’t felt this since Ned had died, but now I was threatened, I could feel the blood pumping round my body and pure adrenaline in my veins. I was filled with the knowledge that, whatever else happened, right now I didn’t want to die.

With a concerted effort, I managed to roll over and pull myself to a sitting position.

‘Please,’ I struggled to remember my attacker’s name. ‘Please, Andrei, don’t kill me.’ I had read somewhere that you needed to bond with your aggressor. ‘Please, Andrei,’ I said his name again.

‘Kill you?’ the Russian said, and then he spat on the ground beside me. I could see a tattoo on his throat, creeping up from his coat collar, something like the top of the Virgin Mary’s head, and I thought, I have seen that somewhere before. He cracked his knuckles, and I saw the odd symbols that decorated his fingers, and I thought of the man in St Pancras whose face I had never seen. A great wave of fear washed over me. ‘I won’t kill you now, little girl. But you need to go home and you need to not come back here. You understand me?’

I stared at him.

He prodded my ribs with his boot. ‘You understand?’

I nodded fervently. ‘Yes.’

‘Good.’ He eyed me, and then he leant down and pulled me up to my feet. I had a head rush so intense I thought I’d fall again. ‘Now, go.’ He pushed me out into the street, and then he threw my jacket after me. ‘Go home. Before I change my mind.’

So I did what I was told. I went home – only someone else had got there first.





SATURDAY 22ND JULY SILVER



Silver left the Malverns’ smelly little house with a huge sense of relief. Standing on the pavement outside, the bastard Beer called him loudly and he found he had the most overwhelming urge to go to the pub.

So he did.

He parked the car up on the top of Craddock Hill and walked the fifty metres down to the Mock Turtle, the drizzle stinging his face. The landlord had changed, he could see that from the name over the door, and he was secretly relieved; he didn’t need any painful reminders of a bygone time; any familiar faces watching him falling off the wagon.

He sat on a bar stool and ordered a pint of bitter. Then he sat and stared at it for a good five minutes. Five years, four months— His phone rang. It was Kenton.

‘Ah there you are,’ she said, and she sounded inordinately relieved. ‘Did you get my messages?’

‘No.’ Silver eyed the pint warily. ‘Phone doesn’t work well up here. Crap reception.’ Actually, he hadn’t checked it since he’d left the debris that was Brenda Malvern’s life.

‘Do you know about the burning girl?’

‘Yeah, I spoke to Malloy last night.’

‘Right. Meriel Steele. I’ve got to—’

‘What?’ Silver pushed the pint away and stood now, almost banging his head on the beam above the bar. ‘Meriel Steele? Are you sure?’

‘Well, she’s cinders, literally, but some students taped her as she set fire to herself.’

‘Nice,’ Silver grimaced. His mind was ticking furiously.

‘Yeah, pretty bloody grim, as you can imagine. Looks like it’s pretty much definitely her, but we’re waiting for forensic confirmation.’

‘OK. Well, I’ve just been to see Sadie Malvern’s family.’

‘Right.’ She cleared her throat tentatively. ‘Why are you so concerned particularly about Sadie, guv? Do you think she’s got something to do with Berkeley Square? Or that she might be one of our unidentified dead?’

‘She can’t be. The family said she’s not missing, they’ve spoken to her since the explosion. She’s got no boyfriend, which I don’t believe; she’s on a “retreat”. Apparently she was with her little mate. Meriel. So yes, perhaps there is a link.’

‘Oh.’ Kenton absorbed this. ‘Wow.’

‘Yeah, wow indeed.’ Silver pushed his way out of the pub now, and he actually felt a spring in his step. Lana was fine, the kids were all right, and they had a lead. Maybe he could go back down to London now and get on with his job. ‘So we need to treat the Academy as a central link between these girls.’

‘Where and what was this retreat?’

‘They weren’t exactly sure, that’s the problem. Somewhere on the coast, somewhere that might have begun with H.’ Silver doubted poor Brenda Malvern had ever been further than Leeds.

‘That doesn’t really narrow it down much, does it? Hull?’

‘Sadie says it’s dead gorgeous where she is now,’ that poor washed-out woman had said, with a touch of envy.

‘No. You couldn’t call Hull dead gorgeous could you?’

‘Never been, guv.’

‘Yeah, well, don’t bother.’ Silver walked back up the hill to his car. ‘Look, we need to talk to the Steele girl’s family immediately. They might have an idea. There’s something fishy going on here. Too many bad eggs in the Academy.’ More eggs. The metal of his car key dug into Silver’s hand. ‘And who the hell are these Archangel and Prince characters? Sounds like a bloody fairytale. There’s got to be a connection somewhere.’

‘I’ll get back on to Devon and Cornwall.’ Kenton sounded quite excited. ‘I’ve put a call in to Mrs Steele, but they’re the ones who actually dealt with family notification. Craven and Tina’ve gone back to the Academy to speak to the head honcho.’

‘OK. I’ll try and get back by tomorrow.’

‘Really?’ Kenton sounded doubtful. ‘Is everything OK at home then?’

‘Yeah,’ Silver grinned, ‘everything’s fine.’





But Silver wasn’t smiling back at Lana’s house when he realised leaving the children again wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d imagined. Molly, in her filthy jodhpurs, was already welling up at the kitchen table, having learnt that her mother wasn’t coming home yet, and Matty, running in from playing on his skateboard to eat a ham sandwich his grandma had just made, was attempting great stoicism, but failing badly. Thank God Ben was out. Silver couldn’t deal with three broken hearts all at once.

‘You cannot just go and leave those poor kids again,’ Anne was whispering furiously at him in the utility room. ‘You’re their dad.’

‘Yeah, and Lana’s their mum – and where the hell is she?’ but even as he said it, Silver knew it was unfair. She had undertaken the majority share of child-care since they split. He had done his bit before the divorce, during Lana’s probation period when she’d escaped prison by the skin of her perfect teeth, largely because Silver’s boss had been persuaded to pull several strings, which had caused huge animosity in the local community, and shame in Silver’s heart. Admittedly he’d had a lot of help from extended family, but nonetheless Silver had cared for the children during Lana’s various rehab stints. But since the divorce, however dutiful he was about paying his maintenance on time and speaking to them on the phone, Silver hadn’t been around much for his family. A fact he was more than painfully aware of right now.

‘Look, Anne,’ he changed tack now. ‘You’re doing such a fantastic job. They feel secure with you and I don’t need to go immediately. I will come back again.’

‘Don’t you try and sweet-talk me.’ Anne began folding towels like a machine. Snap snap went the fabric as she pulled it tight. Silver couldn’t help thinking she might be imagining inflicting some sort of injury on him as she did it.

‘Your soft soap won’t wash. It never did with me. The little ’uns need you, Joseph.’ Snap went the towel. ‘Just like they did last time. Pass me that stuff from the dryer.’ She didn’t bother with ‘please’.

‘Sure.’ He pulled out a bunch of clothes and began to make piles; an activity he found quite soothing. Halfway through, he realised he had no idea what garment belonged to whom, other than the pink pants and socks that must be Molly’s.

‘Maybe I could take Molly down to London with me,’ he mused.

‘Don’t be so ridiculous.’

‘I’m not. She could come and stay with me at Philippa’s. Ben won’t want to come now he’s got Emma.’ Ben had recently started seeing his first serious girlfriend, and he was awash with hormones and young love. ‘And Matty—’

‘Exactly. What about Matty?’ Anne folded the final towel and placed it on her immaculate pile. Then she grabbed Molly’s underwear from him, as if it was somehow inappropriate for him to hold it. ‘You can’t just leave him here. He’d be so upset.’

‘I thought I was doing quite well there,’ Silver observed mildly, but he let her finish the job. ‘Well, I could take him too.’ But he knew in reality this was impractical. He sighed. ‘OK, you win. I’ll stay a few more days.’

‘A few more? You’ve only been here one.’ Her mouth was pursed so tightly it had almost disappeared.

‘A few more,’ he repeated, ‘while I work out what’s to be done.’

He stalked out of the room to see his children. But his mind was full of Meriel Steele, and what the hell Sadie Malvern was doing on this bloody retreat, other than finding her inner child.





SATURDAY 22ND JULY CLAUDIE



‘I’ve been so worried about you,’ were Francis’s first words when I found him in my flat that evening. He had stood as I had staggered in, feeling very much the worse for wear, and then I had stood too, frozen with fear. He had come towards me, hands extended – and I had found myself unable to move. ‘Since last week. I felt bad I didn’t contact you to see if you were OK. And now I see I was right to be worried. What on earth’s happened, Claudie?’ He moved as if he was about to touch my face; instinctively I side-stepped.

‘Are you hurt? You’re bleeding.’

My hand was clamped tightly round the phone in my pocket. ‘No, I’m fine.’ Which was quite obviously not true. I could barely stand upright.

He stepped towards me and I noticed an overpowering smell of lavender, and that his smiley blue eyes were a little tired today, the skin around them dry and seemingly more lined.

‘Francis, sorry,’ I tried not to stutter with shock, ‘it’s nice to see you and everything, but how did you get in?’

He smiled, and I thought for the first time that his beard looked strangely like groomed guinea-pig fur, Natalie’s favourite pet of choice when we were kids.

‘Your charming sister was here. She let me in.’

I looked around, and I noticed the Le Creuset casserole dish had been refilled; that there was a note on the side in Natalie’s girlish scrawl.

‘She seemed to think I was someone called Rafe.’

‘Really?’

‘She brought you Stroganoff. She said to make sure you heat it through properly. Smells delicious doesn’t it?’ He smiled again, his mouth almost lost in the brunette guinea-pig fur. I shuddered.

‘She thought you were Rafe?’ I’d never bothered to introduce my sister to my new boyfriend. Natalie was disapproving – well, I was still married – so I hadn’t seen the point. She had raised an eyebrow when she realised he was an MP but her interest in politics was non-existent; she rarely bothered to vote and she only read women’s magazines, and I’d stringently avoided further conversations on the topic once she’d reproached me for dating again. I wanted something that was just mine, that no one else interfered with. Especially Natalie. ‘Didn’t you set her straight?’

‘I didn’t think it mattered. One love, love all,’ he smiled beatifically, and I felt my gut twist with anxiety.

‘Francis, I have to tell you – I’m—’ I took a breath to steady myself. ‘You’re frightening me a bit.’

I remembered the photo of him and Tessa I’d seen in her flat; and I realised how little I knew of this man who’d been treating me, and I felt the cold press of fear.

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Claudie.’ His face fell. ‘I really don’t mean to. I come in peace.’

‘Well,’ I edged slightly nearer to the door behind me, ‘I mean, you must realise it’s not very normal to get into someone’s flat under false pretences and—’

‘Not false pretences,’ he frowned now. ‘Just an honest mistake.’

‘Whatever,’ I shook my head with frustration. ‘Anyway. As you can see, I’m fine. So you can go now.’

He stepped closer to me. My clothes were covered in dirt from the alley behind Sugar and Spice and I could hardly stand straight, I was in so much pain from Andrei’s dig in the ribs. My face was probably bleeding again where the graze on my cheek had reopened, and my left hand was badly bruised. I must have looked a complete state; I certainly felt like one, and the cab driver who’d finally stopped for me had asked to see my money up front, eyeing me warily in his mirror the whole way home as if I might suddenly combust.

‘You look – hurt. I can give you a treatment now if you like,’ Francis offered. He started digging around in his canvas knapsack. ‘I’ve got some calendula somewhere, and also some arnica. Brilliant for bruising. You know, homeopathic medicine can be really very effective.’

‘Francis. Please. I really would just like you to go now. I appreciate your kindness coming here but—’ I could hear the hysteria building in my own voice. ‘Really. I’m fine.’

He stared at me and for the first time since I’d met him, I found his gaze eerie, the eyes too intense. I could almost feel him sizing me up.

‘All right, I’ll go. But really, Claudie.’ He looked so hurt, like a droopy Bassett hound. ‘I mean you only good.’

I stepped back so he could pass; my palms were sweaty and I found that I was holding my breath.

‘Francis?’ I said as he opened the door.

‘Yes?’

‘How did you meet Tessa? Was it on that yoga retreat?’

‘I can’t remember,’ he frowned. ‘I think I was recommended by a friend. That’s usually the way.’

‘What friend?’ I asked.

He shook his head. ‘It’s hard to think now. So many spirits come and go.’

As he reached the door, he paused.

‘I answered your phone, by the way.’

‘I really wish you hadn’t,’ I said. I needed to sit down.

He started to say something about St Thomas’s Hospital ringing to speak to me about contra-indicated results, but I wasn’t really listening. Just go, just go I willed him silently, and he looked at my face, and he stopped talking and went.

As soon as he had left, I finally exhaled. Then I locked and bolted the door, and I stood, back against it, heart thumping – and I realised with a blaze of something, how angry I was. And then I thought of Amanda Curran’s words, of the man she’d met with Tessa.

Over on the sideboard, I found the card that the nice woman officer with the soup-coloured hair had left, DS Lorraine Kenton, and I rang her number. She didn’t answer, so I left a message asking for her to call back.

Then I went into the bathroom, took two strong painkillers for my bruised ribs, and got into the shower. And that was the last thing I remembered for a while.





SATURDAY 22ND JULY SILVER



Molly and Matty were watching Doctor Who in the living room and Anne was changing bed linen upstairs when Ben arrived home. Silver called his eldest into the kitchen before his grandmother got there first.

‘Good innings?’ He thought his son had been watching the County Cricket down at the Youth Club, but from the way Ben was blushing, Silver would hazard a guess he’d been up to something different altogether.

‘I see.’ He grinned at his lanky son. ‘She’s a cracker, that Emma, isn’t she?’

‘I’ll say.’ Ben opened the fridge, immediately scavenging for food, his tousled dark hair falling across his face as he leant in to look for spoils.

Silver remembered kissing an enthusiastic Ruthie Burton round the back of the Mock Turtle on a boiling summer’s day, just before he met Allana. He grinned. ‘Her mum wasn’t bad in her day either.’

‘Yeah,’ Ben smiled pleasurably at the thought of his sunny-faced girlfriend, and ripped a leg off the roast chicken Anne had served up for tea. ‘She said she knew you. She’s still not bad for an old bird. I can’t believe my luck, Dad.’

‘Why not? You’re a good-looking lad.’

‘You sound like Mum.’ Ben’s handsome face darkened. ‘’Cept Mum don’t think Emma’s good enough for me.’

That made sense. Allana was never going to let her boys go gently.

‘Doesn’t think, Benjamin. And you’ve been with her now? Emma?’

Ben nodded shyly.

‘So you’re – you know,’ Silver poured his son a glass of juice. ‘You’re being careful?’

‘Dad!’

‘I’m serious.’ Silver wiped the rim of the glass. Anne’s washing-up left something to be desired. ‘Embarrassing or not, you do not want a puking baby at home at the age of seventeen, believe me. Even if you do think Emma’s The One.’

‘I hear you, Dad.’ Ben drained the juice so he didn’t have to look at his father.

‘So you’re taking precautions?’ Silver thought he’d better try and emphasise the point now he’d started.

‘Dad. We’ve done all this at school, all right? In Pshe.’

‘What the hell’s that?’

‘Durr,’ Ben pulled a face. ‘Sex education, Dad. You know, birds and the bees—’

‘All right, wise guy.’ It sounded plausible. ‘It’s just – I’m not ready to be a grandfather yet.’ Christ, what a terrible thought. Silver looked out at the darkening Moors and wondered where on God’s earth his life had slipped away to when he wasn’t paying attention.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Ben muttered. ‘I’m – we’re sensible.’

‘Grand. Now, look. I’ve got a proposition for you.’ Silver opened the door quickly and checked up the hall that Anne wasn’t about to come flouncing in with some new complaint. Then he leant against the worktop and eyed his son. He couldn’t believe Ben was so tall, taller almost than him. How the hell had that happened? It seemed only yesterday that Ben had been the mewling baby on Lana’s lap, muslin cloth firmly tucked around him so he couldn’t ruin her pristine skirt. ‘I’ve got to get back to London, to this case.’

‘The bomb?’ Ben tore into the chicken now.

‘Sort of the bomb,’ Silver agreed. ‘But your gran doesn’t want me to leave the kids.’

‘She’ll go mad if you do, Dad.’ Ben gnawed the meat down to the bone, flecks of chicken falling to the floor.

‘Yep, I know.’ Wincing, Silver shoved some kitchen towel towards his son. ‘Wipe the floor, mate. So I thought, as long as you were all right up here with your Emma, I might just take them with me.’

‘Who?’ Ben was lost.

‘Matthew and Molly.’ Silver took the kitchen towel from his son and shoved it in the bin.

‘Take ’em where?’

Silver concentrated on wiping the bin lid. ‘Down to London with me.’

‘What about school?’

‘What about it?’

‘Dad! Don’t be—’ Ben struggled for the word.

‘Difficult?’

‘Difficult, yeah.’

‘Obtuse?’

‘Dad!’ Ben grinned. ‘Yes, obtuse.’

‘Look.’ Silver took his son by the shoulders and held his gaze. Ben’s hazel eyes were on a level with his now. ‘Matty’s just finished his exams, and Molly breaks up next week. It’s not going to hurt her to miss a day or two. And they could do with it. They’re missing Mum.’

‘Well, when’s Mum coming back?’ Ben looked wary suddenly. His relationship with his mother was tense at the best of times; they had clashed badly since Ben hit puberty; which had coincided with the car crash. Ben had been seated next to his mother, in the passenger seat, directly in front of Jaime who had died almost instantly. And of course Silver had always thanked God, however much guilt he’d felt, that his own kids had been unhurt – but he’d also always worried that Lana’s latent hostility to her eldest son was his fault. Molly was the only girl, and Matty was Lana’s baby boy, but Ben – Ben was very much his father’s son, from his lopsided smile to his single-mindedness. Silver knew too that Ben had never forgiven his mother for that dreadful day. The boy may have walked away pretty much unscathed on the outside, but the inside was a different matter.

‘I don’t know, son.’ Silver heard the bastard Beer whisper quietly in his ear again at the thought of Lana. ‘I wish I could tell you. She’ll be gone till she’s sorted herself out, I guess.’

‘And when will that be?’ Ben’s jaw set rigid and he flung the stripped chicken bone in the bin savagely.

‘Soon, I hope.’ What more could Silver say? He really didn’t know what had got into his wife; whether this disappearing act precipitated some sort of breakdown, or whether it was just a bid for freedom. Only time would reveal the answer.

‘How long you planning to go for, Dad?’ Ben eyed him suspiciously. ‘Really just a day or two? All the way down there?’

‘OK, a week or two, maybe. It’ll be good for them. See the sights, broaden their horizons. Realise there’s a world beyond Frogley.’

‘That’s exactly what Mum doesn’t want them to realise.’

Silver was impressed by his son’s sense of perception. ‘Well, Mum’s not here is she?’

Ben stared at him and then a grin spread over his handsome face. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

‘So, do you mind? Or do you want to come too? Plenty of hot chicks in London town, you know.’

‘Hot chicks?’ Ben was incredulous for a second, then he creased up laughing. ‘God, Dad. You’re so – old.’





He knew he would pay for the decision for the rest of his life, but Silver waited until Anne had ‘popped home to get some bits’ and then he bundled the kids in the car with some crisps and Coke and a hastily packed bag. Matty had been totally unfussed, ‘As long as I can bring my skateboard, Dad?’ Molly a little more tearful, clutching her old teddy bear, her lip trembling below the gappy top row of teeth.

Ben insisted he would stay and talk to his grandmother.

‘You don’t have to, lad.’ Silver felt a pang of guilt. ‘I’ll just leave her a note.’

‘Dad. I don’t mind. And you have always told me I’m man of the house when you’re not here.’

Silver smiled ruefully, feeling yet another pang of guilt. What damage had he and Lana done to these kids during their own private hell? he wondered. He pulled his lanky son into a bear-hug. ‘And if you change your mind—’

‘Nah,’ Ben patted his father’s back as if he was the child and stepped out of the embrace. ‘I’ve got Emma, and my job at the Hebdon Arts Festival next week. I’m happy here for now. Plenty of time for London town.’ He winked at his father. ‘And hot chicks.’

And so Silver hit the Southbound M1 with his daughter asleep in the back, and his younger son’s inquisitive freckled face pressed against the glass window, searching the dark countryside for something intangible.

Silver shoved his Dean Martin CD in and cranked up the volume to sing along to That’s Amore as they always had done on long journeys.

‘Remember this?’ He ruffled his son’s curly mop. ‘What adventures we’re going to have, big man.’

Matty waited precisely ten seconds before turning Dean off.

‘Don’t sing, Dad,’ he grimaced. ‘It’s embarrassing. Can we have Eminem?’





SUNDAY 23RD JULY KENTON



Lorraine Kenton felt pretty chipper this Sunday morning, it had to be said, having managed a full night’s sleep followed by an early morning breakfast with Alison that had led to – well. She smiled at the memory as she tried to tidy her desk a little. She’d also heard from Silver; he’d be in this morning, and she was relieved – but also proud. She didn’t think she’d done too bad a job without him. She’d spoken to the local constabulary in Devon and Cornwall who had gone to break the news to Meriel Steele’s family, and she was awaiting records from Steele’s dentist to pass to the pathologists. She didn’t know what to do about questioning the parents about the girl’s whereabouts before her death though; she was waiting for Silver to arrive first. And she was desperately going through the cuttings again for any mention of a man called Archangel, or latterly, since Silver had spoken to the little red-haired lap-dancer again, the Prince. So far, nothing. The link at the Academy was defeating her still, though she thought that if she could track down the Archangel, all would become clear. Someone at the Academy had been up to no good, spreading a deep malignancy; who though, wasn’t yet clear.

Whilst Kenton grafted Derek Craven strutted around the office with photo-fits of dead girls, giving it the big ‘I am’. Talking a lot and achieving precisely nothing, as far as Kenton could see. He’d returned from the Academy with some kind of theory but he refused to share it with the rest of the team, though Kenton assumed it would be to do with the mysterious Lethbridge. Kenton watched him now, pontificating in Malloy’s office, his big belly almost wobbling as he paced the room.

Yawning, she fetched herself a cappuccino from the coffee machine, avoiding the still teary Gill McCarthy as best she could, and then cursed her own stupidity for actually believing it might taste something like coffee. She filled it with sweeteners and played her messages. One was from the St John’s Wood nursing home, St Agnes, saying that Edna Lamont was on the mend, if she would care to visit now. And then a woman’s voice, youngish, frightened. Cross, perhaps.

‘Could you call me back please? I’m worried about this man I have just found in my flat.’

Claudie Scott. She left a phone number.

Kenton frowned. Claudie Scott – why was that name familiar? She scrabbled through the notes on her desk. Of course. Tessa Lethbridge’s friend. The girl with the faraway stare.

Kenton called the number, but she just got an answer-phone. She left a message, apologising for taking so long to get back to her.

‘Hope all is OK. Let me know the details, Claudie.’ She rang off, and had a tentative sip of her cappuccino, wrinkling her nose in distaste. When Silver got in, they could go and visit Edna Lamont. Kenton’s pulse quickened slightly. This was why she had joined the force. This was proper detective work.

Craven left Malloy’s office, and swaggered past her desk, having the audacity to actually wink at her. She bit her lip.

‘Kenton,’ Malloy stood at his office door. ‘Can I have a minute?’

Kenton’s stomach rolled uncomfortably. Frankly, her big boss terrified her. Even if all the others said he was just blarney and not brimstone, he didn’t half shout a lot. Kenton, who came from a very small, mild family of church-goers, who raised money for the local hospice every year with their own bring and buy sale in their own front garden, and who never, ever raised their voices, was always worried by him – particularly the ripe language.

She sat tentatively on the chair in front of Malloy. He chucked a copy of News of the World on the desk. There was a picture of the rather solid Steele in a pink tutu aged about twelve, arms above her head like the fairy in a jewellery-box; another more recent but rather fuzzy picture of her, pouting suggestively. And then a blurry grab of the girl on fire in Trafalgar Square.

DANCER DIES IN DEATHLY BLAZE the headlines screamed. GIRL IGNITES HERSELF IN HORROR FIRE: WHY?

‘How the f*ck have they got hold of this footage?’ Malloy glowered at her. ‘Any ideas?’

‘No sir.’ She pulled the paper closer. You couldn’t call Meriel Steele a looker, that was without doubt. She was rather potato-faced, sullen even. And those boobs. Wow. ‘Someone else must have got a picture. Everyone uses their mobile phones these days, don’t they?’

He ignored her logic.

‘Right.’ He picked up a shiny green pencil and turned it over and over in his hand as he spoke. ‘So, DCI Silver has crawled up the f*cking M1, as we know—’

She dared to interrupt. ‘He’ll be back this morning, actually, sir.’

‘Good. About f*cking time.’ He stabbed the pencil into the newspaper. ‘Craven has just drawn my attention to the fact that Meriel Steele is not the only girl from the Academy up to no good. We have Sadie Malvern – aka the sometime lap-dancing Misty Jones – who is still missing.’

‘Actually, Silver has—’

Malloy didn’t stop to listen. ‘And we have the little girl on the CCTV footage, Anita someone, who presumably is in kingdom f*cking come. And then we have the bloody dead, lying, dance teacher with a fake name. What the f*ck is going on, Kenton?’ He glowered at her, holding the pencil so tight that at any moment it was going to shatter into a thousand pieces. ‘Why does it take Craven to point this out at such a late date?’

‘Sir, I am fully aware of these girls and the connection, and—’

‘I don’t care what you’re f*cking aware of. Get down to that ballet school and find out what the f*ck is happening.’

‘We have been already, a few times. And it’s Sunday, sir.’ Kenton realised too late that this explanation was a bad move, but she’d started so she’d have to finish. ‘I think you’ll find—’

‘What?’ He stood now, slamming his chair into the desk and crossing to the window. ‘That they’re all at f*cking church? Saying their prayers and singing All Things Bright and Beautiful? Pull the other one, Kenton. They’re up to no f*cking good, these bloody ballet fools, and I need to know what the f*ck is going on, Sunday or no bloody Sunday.’

Kenton stood now, understanding she was dismissed.

‘Yes, sir.’ Her mouth was dry and her heart was thumping and, as she backed carefully towards the door, she thought that if she saw that bloody traitor Craven in the next five minutes, she wasn’t sure what she’d do.





SUNDAY 23RD JULY SILVER



At 9 a.m. on an already sweltering morning, Silver took the call that finally confirmed it was Academy student Anita Stuart who had blown herself up in the doorway of the Hoffman Bank. One of the builders who had been hospitalised with shrapnel injuries after the attack had been trying out the camera on his new mobile phone before the explosion. His wife had only just gone through his phone last night, and found the brief clip of footage; it was jumbled and unclear, but it had captured the moment when Anita Stuart had reached inside her bag and detonated a bomb. It also showed the shadowy image of another woman behind Anita moments before the explosion, and Stuart shaking her off as she ran towards the bus stop, the phone camera tracking her as she screamed ‘Now now now!’ before opening the bag.

The implications of the bomber being one of the Academy students were huge, Silver realised without a flicker of doubt. McNulty from the Explosives team was still cursing as Silver hung up from the call and leant his head against the cool window for a second, listening to the children thunder downstairs for their breakfast. It didn’t make any sense to Silver. Why the hell would a genteel little ballet student choose to blow herself to pieces? More to the point, who had persuaded Anita Stuart that it was a good idea to die so dramatically aged only seventeen?

Silver left a sleepy Molly and Matty in front of a lavish fry-up courtesy of Philippa, the air in the kitchen thick with grease and the stink of bacon. His landlady seemed more than happy to distract the ever-moody Leticia with the new arrivals. She’d apparently confronted her middle daughter about the internet whilst Silver had been up North. Consequently, this morning Leticia wouldn’t speak to him at all, however hard he tried to make her laugh with his silly jokes. But she didn’t seem to mind Matty. No one minded Matty, that was the truth – he was a genuine old soul in a young body, his trusting freckled face inviting friendship from most, his tawny hair sticking out at all angles as he ate his bacon fat with enthusiasm and pulled silly faces at the girls.

Whilst Precious showed Molly her collection of something hideous and pink called Bratz, Matty and Leticia logged into You Tube on her laptop.

‘Biggest mistake of my life, letting Marlon buy her that bloody machine,’ Philippa muttered as ever, but she looked pleased the two children were bonding – until she realised it was over footage of fatal shark attacks.

‘Come now, Letty,’ she pulled a face at her daughter, who blatantly ignored her and clicked on another Great White mauling a surfer.

Late already, Silver watched them all for a moment from the doorway. On a whim he dashed back into the room, and kissed each of his children on the head.

‘Dad!’ Matty ducked, horrified, rolling his eyes at a smirking Letty, though Molly was still quite happy to accept her father’s affection, thank God, her wide face beaming.

An hour after he’d left Yorkshire, Anne had rung to berate him, and he knew he was being entirely cowardly by not yet returning her call. He’d texted her and Ben to say they’d arrived safely in London; he’d also rung Lana to tell her he’d taken the kids with him, but he’d only reached her voicemail again. He wasn’t expecting a call back any time soon.

When he arrived in the station car park, feeling rather bleary and in need of caffeine, Kenton was outside, waiting for him, her face slightly flushed.

‘Malloy’s on the warpath. Can we go straight to St John’s Wood please?’ Kenton’s voice was tight. ‘We can talk to Edna Lamont now she’s well enough.’

‘Sure,’ Silver was aware of a tension in his young partner. ‘Everything OK?’

‘Fine,’ Kenton lied, sliding into the seat next to him. ‘Have you seen the headlines?’

‘Meriel Steele? Yes, I have. Pretty unavoidable. Have you reached the family yet?’

‘Lesley Steele’s coming up today – Meriel’s mum. Dad’s poorly and house-bound apparently. And there’s no body to see, poor lady. Should be here around three.’

‘Right. We need to push the connection between these girls. And the Prince character? Or the Archangel? Anything?’

Silver had phoned through the information Paige had given up on Friday night. He felt she knew far more than she was saying; he guessed it was about the club’s mafia connections, but he hadn’t yet thought of a way to persuade her to speak out. She was scared, that was clear, and she wouldn’t speak until she thought she’d be safe.

‘Roger’s looking into it. Nothing specific yet, though. Sorry.’

‘God.’

He decided not to push Kenton on whatever was upsetting her. She’d tell him in time, if she wanted to. He unwrapped a stick of Orbit and switched the stereo on, Eminem’s vitriol filling the air.

‘Sorry.’ He grinned at Kenton, who gave him a begrudging smile. ‘Kids’ favourite.’

‘No worries. Didn’t think it would be yours.’

‘So. St John’s Wood, then, kiddo. Posh land.’





The nursing home was a large, grand house, set back from the road in a pretty garden. Very different from the place his own mother had ended up in when dementia struck her quite suddenly ten years ago, Silver thought, feeling a sudden melancholy as he parked on the end of a row of expensive cars.

Kenton was sneezing ferociously on the doorstep as a pretty Asian nurse let them in. ‘Hayfever,’ she sniffed miserably, indicating the huge oak tubs of yellow petunias and pansies on either side of the door.

‘CID,’ Silver showed his badge, smiling politely at the nurse. ‘We’ve come to see Edna Lamont please.’

‘Oh,’ the nurse frowned. ‘I’m not sure she’s well enough—’

‘I had a message saying she was,’ Kenton said firmly, blowing her nose. ‘Last night.’

‘She may have taken a turn for the worse again, I’m afraid.’ The nurse showed them to a seat in reception. ‘If you don’t mind I’ll just check with my colleague.’

‘Flipping typical,’ Kenton muttered. ‘One step forward, four steps back.’

‘What’s wrong?’ Silver muttered back. ‘You’re not your normal sunny self, Lorraine.’

Girlfriend trouble, he thought knowledgeably.

‘It’s—’ Kenton didn’t know what to say about Craven. She knew Silver wasn’t that enamoured of the man either, but it wasn’t her place to speak badly of her superiors. There was a line, and she had to tread it carefully. ‘Can I tell you later?’

‘No problem, kiddo.’ Silver discarded his gum into the bin contemplatively and wondered if the home had a vending machine.

The nurse came back. ‘If you can get everything you need in five minutes—’

‘Five minutes?’ Kenton expostulated.

‘Five minutes is ample,’ Silver smiled again at the nurse, whose name badge read Pritti. She melted slightly at that lopsided grin. ‘Ta very much, Pritti.’

She led them down the hushed corridor, the silence broken only by the snores of one patient and the intermittent cries of another who, every now and then, shrieked ‘Let me go’ loudly.

‘That’s Ruby,’ the nurse whispered sadly. ‘She’s got early onset dementia. We’re waiting to move her.’

‘Move her?’ Kenton repeated. ‘Why?’

‘We don’t really nurse, or deal with the terminally ill. It’s a shame, because a few of us have specialist psychiatric training.’

‘So why not use it?’

‘We’re more for – pastoral care.’

‘Great,’ Kenton muttered again as they waited outside Edna’s room. ‘They get sick or mad, they get turfed out.’

Silver patted her shoulder. ‘Your job’s not a moral crusade, kiddo. Calm yourself.’ But he admired her passion.

Edna Lamont was a delicate-looking old woman, fine-boned and obviously once rather beautiful. She lay very still in her bed, a pink blanket pulled up almost to her chin, despite the warmth of the day; her elegant liver-spotted hands folded above the blanket, a pale green bed-jacket laced up to the chin. She looked aristocratic, and ancient, as if a single gust of wind would blow her clean away.

‘Joe Silver, Metropolitan Police.’ Silver offered her his hand and then sat beside her. ‘We won’t take up much of your time, Mrs Lamont.’

‘Miss Lamont. I was never married.’ She turned rheumy eyes the colour of faded jade on him. ‘Or just call me Edna. How can I help you, Mr Silver?’

‘Thank you, Edna.’ He didn’t correct her. ‘It’s just – I wondered if you could have a look at a photo for us? We’d be very grateful.’

Silver looked at Kenton, who retrieved the picture of Tessa Lethbridge from her bag.

‘Do you recognise this as being your niece, Rosalind?’

The old lady peered at it for a long moment, then reached her hand out for the photo. It quivered as she brought it nearer to her face.

‘It’s hard to say. It’s been so long since I saw her. She fell out with my brother, you see. Her father, Edward.’ She dropped her hand back onto the blanket, as if she was exhausted already. ‘Edward hated Rosalind’s politics. They had the most terrible row the last Christmas they spent together; he called Rosalind a communist and she renounced him for his consumerist ideals. He was the most ghastly bore sometimes, I have to admit, but it was all silly dramatics, if you ask me. And they never made it up. Rosalind left the country soon after. He never saw her again.’

‘She left and went where?’ Silver and Kenton exchanged glances. ‘Can you remember?’

‘It’s hard to say.’ The old lady shook her head. ‘She was always travelling. I used to call her a free spirit. I know she went to Africa for a while. Lived with the Ashanti tribe in Ghana for a while. Studied with their witch-doctors apparently. Learnt all about healing herbs. She sent me a bone once. Her mother was quite hysterical with worry.’ She patted Silver’s hand; her skin was paper-dry. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Silver. My memory is not what it was, I’m afraid.’

She began to cough. Pritti cleared her throat pointedly, and checked her watch.

‘I think,’ she said gently, ‘we should finish. I’m going off shift now, and Edna is tired.’

‘You’ve been very helpful, Miss Lamont.’ Silver stood now. ‘We won’t take up any more of your time. But if you remember anything else, perhaps you could ask the nurse to phone us.’

‘There was something else.’ She coughed again, her delicate body shaking gently. ‘When Edward died, we had to try to reach Rosalind to return for the funeral. She refused of course. She was so far away, she had just been in a car accident herself in – what do they call it? That big place. Open space, with the dreaming men.’

Edna shut her eyes for a moment. Kenton looked at Pritti. Had Edna fallen asleep?

They waited.

‘The outback.’ Edna Lamont’s eyes snapped open again. ‘Australia.’