Like This, for Ever

64




‘HELLO.’

The voice was sleepy, with just a hint of concern, the classic response to an unexpected late-night phone call.

‘Evi? This is Lacey Flint, from the Metropolitan Police.’

Silence on the line. Just beyond the conservatory windows, rain was falling steadily. Already it was the wettest March on record and still it came: relentless, unforgiving rain – that might run scarlet with a small child’s blood before the night was out.

‘You called me Laura. Laura Farrow, remember? In Cambridge.’

‘Good lord, of course.’ A second’s pause, while Lacey imagined Evi looking at the clock, giving herself a little shake, telling herself to wake up. She’d met Dr Evi Oliver, a psychiatrist specializing in problems affecting young people and families, just weeks earlier in Cambridge, when Evi’s concern over an unprecedented number of student deaths had led to an undercover police operation. In only a few days, Lacey had come to trust Evi in a way she rarely trusted anyone. When they’d said goodbye, neither woman had expected to be in contact with the other again. Undercover police officers did the job and then disappeared. It had to be that way.

‘How are you?’ asked Evi, sounding wary but not unfriendly.

‘Not good at all. And I’ve no time to chat. Evi, I’m really sorry to do this to you, but I need advice. Can you help me?’

No hesitation this time. ‘What do you need?’

‘So we’re no longer looking for Dracula, we’re looking for Peter Frigging Pan!’ Dana stopped pacing when the wall got in her way and turned to face the group, who were almost cowering before her. Mizon, Stenning, Richmond, Anderson and Barrett, the only members of the team she hadn’t been able to bully into going home. ‘Can I have a volunteer to explain that to the world’s media tomorrow morning, after my godson’s body has been washed up by the tide, because I really don’t think I’m—’

‘Dana!’

Anderson was on his feet. ‘I am very close to going to the Super and requesting that you be removed from this case too,’ he said.

As they stared at each other, Dana could almost hear the sharp gasps going on around them. She wasn’t the only one who didn’t believe what she was hearing.

‘Like DI Joesbury, you are just too close,’ Anderson went on. ‘The only reason I’m not doing so is that when you’re on form you’re the brightest police officer I’ve ever worked with. I happen to think the young lad needs you.’

This wasn’t happening. Neil gave her unquestioning back-up. Always.

‘But he needs you at your best, not falling apart, so you’d better decide which you’re going to be and you’d better decide quick.’

It was a disciplinary offence, talking to a senior officer this way. She had to nip this in the bud, right now.

‘Now, Gayle has been working on something all evening.’ Anderson turned briefly to Mizon and gave her a quick, encouraging smile. ‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed. And we are going to pay her the courtesy of listening to her.’ Attention back on Dana now. ‘Are you staying or not?’

‘Of course I’m staying,’ Dana said. ‘I’m sorry, everyone. Go on, Gayle.’

Mizon’s throat clenched as she swallowed. ‘Well, the first thing I want to show you is this,’ she said, indicating her screen. The others gathered round, Dana just a second behind everyone else, to see a photograph of red roses filling the screen.

‘I went on to the website of David Austen Roses,’ Mizon went on. ‘They’re probably the biggest supplier of roses in Europe, my mum uses them all the time. Anyway, not really expecting anything, I typed “Peter Pan” into the search facility and look – this is the same photograph that Peter Sweep’s been using on his profile page.’

‘So all these weeks we’ve been looking at a patio rose with double blooms and bright-red flowers called Peter Pan,’ said Anderson.

‘Yes,’ said Mizon. ‘I guess he thought a boy in green tights would have been too obvious.’

For a moment, Lacey felt like a beleaguered general spotting reinforcements on the horizon. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed Evi. ‘Is there such a thing, such a condition, as a fear of growing up?’ she asked. ‘Have you ever come across children who are terrified of the whole business of puberty, of entering the adult world?’

It was way past midnight, and Evi Oliver had almost certainly been dragged out of bed. On the other hand, she was the woman who, despite severe physical disabilities, had twice been instrumental in stopping exceptionally serious crimes. ‘Many times,’ she said. ‘I’d say most pre-teens will experience anxieties about the onset of adolescence.’

The rain was shrill on the flat, glass roof of the conservatory and Evi’s voice was pitched low. Lacey had to listen hard.

‘And how do these anxieties manifest themselves?’

‘The usual ways. Bad behaviour, sulking, truancy, minor problems with the police. Let’s see, shoplifting, category-C drug use. It’s called being a teenager, Laura. I mean, Lacey.’

‘OK, that all sounds completely normal. But have you ever come across kids whose reactions have been more extreme? Violent, even?’

A couple of seconds went by as Evi gave herself time to think. Lacey watched the rain and tried not to think about the water level rising steadily higher. About the tide on the turn. She told herself to hold it together, to think about the man who might still be on the bridge in the rain, counting on her.

‘Sometimes,’ said Evi, after a moment. ‘I’ve treated some pretty disturbed teenagers. They’ll start lashing out at parents, siblings. They might get involved in gangs, playground fights.’

Unable to bear the indoors any longer, Lacey pushed open the conservatory door. The sound of the rain intensified, like the drumbeats of an approaching army. ‘What about extreme violence?’ she asked. ‘Could a child be so disturbed by the fear of growing up that it drives him to kill?’

A heavy sigh on the other end of the line. ‘Oh Lacey,’ said Evi. ‘I did so hope they hadn’t got you involved in the South Bank murders.’

‘So what does everybody think?’ Dana asked a short while later. ‘Susan?’

On the whiteboard in front of them were the quotations pulled from the Missing Boys Facebook page that referred to the fictional Lost Boys of J. M. Barrie’s story. Gayle Mizon had just outlined her theory that the killer could be a child – a child with a Peter Pan complex.

Dana stared at them. It was almost too ridiculous, except hadn’t she had a feeling from the outset that these boys weren’t being killed by the classic male paedophile? She’d assumed the killer had to be a woman. What if she’d been right on the first count, but had jumped too quickly to the next neat solution?

‘It’s an interesting idea,’ said Richmond, which Dana had learned in their short acquaintance meant she hadn’t yet formed an opinion. Trouble was, they didn’t have time for her to consult the literature, organize group discussions and mull it over for days.

Without speaking, Stenning stood up and walked back to his own desk. He moved the mouse around, opened up a search engine.

‘The problem I have with it all,’ said Anderson, ‘notwithstanding the rigour of the work that Gayle’s done, is that children want to grow up. They crave independence, the ability to do cooler stuff. I can’t imagine what could make a child terrified of growing up.’

Richmond got up too and paced a long, slow circle, rubbing her temples all the while.

‘How about if, whoever this kid is, his mother has a lot of boyfriends, is even on the game,’ said Mizon. ‘He’s going to view the sexual act in a very negative way. Maybe he’s been sexually abused. It could all add up to a child who views sex as inextricably linked with the adult condition and as something to be avoided.’

‘Susan?’ prompted Dana.

The profiler turned to face the group.

‘Sadly, that scenario is all too common,’ she said. ‘Most sexual offenders will have an early history of sexual abuse or disturbing sexual experiences. Our killer isn’t a sexual offender, though.’

‘Well, what if he’s afraid of the responsibility of adulthood?’ said Mizon. ‘What if he’s made to feel guilty for not being a breadwinner yet? You can see it, can’t you? “When are you going to do something useful with your life instead of taking from us all the time?”’

‘You’ve given this a lot of thought,’ said Richmond.

Mizon’s eyes dropped to her lap.

‘But I doubt either of those factors would be enough,’ said the profiler.

‘What if there’s more than one?’ said Anderson. ‘This is South London. We have some pretty dysfunctional family units.’

Richmond was silent.

‘Is it possible?’ asked Dana.

‘Everything’s possible,’ said Richmond. ‘Whether it’s likely is another matter. I can think of no documented cases where a fear of entering the adult world has led to a child taking extreme measures to prevent others from doing so.’

‘You think Gayle’s wrong, don’t you?’ said Dana.

‘She isn’t wrong,’ said Stenning, turning to face them again. ‘Come and look at this.’

‘What turns children into killers?’ asked Lacey.

‘Nothing,’ Evi replied. ‘They’re born that way.’

Lacey took a moment to process the answer she really hadn’t been expecting. ‘That’s a bit radical.’

‘You’ve not had much to do with kids, have you?’ said Evi. ‘The average two- or three-year-old will get into a murderous rage on a regular basis – screaming, kicking, hitting.’

‘That’s just a tantrum,’ said Lacey.

‘And what’s a tantrum but an expression of completely uncontrollable rage?’ said Evi. ‘You put the means to do serious harm into the hands of a toddler in the middle of a full-blown tantrum and the chances are he’ll use it. Children are passionate little creatures, capable of the same strength of feeling as adults, and they have the same dark impulses that we have. The question you should be asking me is what stops children killing.’

‘OK, what stops children killing?’

‘Social conditioning, mainly done by loving parents, within a calm and stable home environment,’ said Evi. ‘The child learns that the world doesn’t revolve around him alone, that others have feelings and rights, too. Most importantly, he has to learn that if he acts on a violent impulse, there will be consequences. But no one should underestimate how much effort goes into this. Conditioning a small human being takes a huge amount of work.’

Lacey stood in the shelter of the conservatory roof, looking out at foliage that seemed to slump under the weight of the rainwater. Each drop that fell into the garden bounced off leaves and branches, sometimes more than once, multiplying the sound of the rainfall. Her tiny patch of lawn had turned to mud already.

‘That all makes perfect sense,’ she said. ‘And I can see how lots of children don’t get the chance to learn those lessons. But wouldn’t that mean we have a whole load of juvenile delinquents?’

‘Well, I think some people would argue that’s exactly what we do have,’ replied Evi. ‘There are people who will tell you that a major part of our society is facing meltdown because parents are opting out of the social responsibility of bringing up their kids to know right from wrong.’

‘It’s that simple?’

Evi gave a small laugh. ‘Nothing ever is.’

‘Evi, if I’m right that the killer is a child, he can’t be a young one. Anyone under the age of ten or eleven just wouldn’t have the strength or the independence of action. Is that fair?’

‘Sounds sensible. Killers under the age of ten are almost unheard of. Do you have a particular child in mind?’

Frankly, out of the father and the son, I’d be more worried about the son.

Do you think they’re together? Barney and Huck.

‘Yes,’ Lacey said. ‘His name is Barney.’

‘I think I’ve got him,’ Stenning called over, hurrying them along.

Awkwardly, as though they’d grown stiff from sitting in one position too long, the group gathered around his desk.

‘I’ve done a search of the CCTV footage we collected from the access roads,’ he said. ‘Just two of them, Horselydown Lane and Jamaica Road, I didn’t have time to do any more. A kid wouldn’t be able to drive a car, right, which could explain why the previous searches threw up zippo, so I did a search for bikes.’

‘You think he transported a body on the back of a pushbike?’ said Dana. ‘Two bodies, in the Barlow boys’ case?’

‘I think that might be exactly what he did, Boss. Take a look at this.’ Stenning dragged the mouse across the desk and clicked. The team saw a still picture of Horseleydown Lane, off which led the Horseleydown Steps. The steps weren’t in shot. A second still picture came into view, and this one showed a slim figure on a bicycle. The bike was dragging an enclosed baby trailer. The third shot showed a closer view of both bike and trailer.

‘There’s something in that trailer,’ said Gayle. ‘Could you fit two nine-year-old boys in there?’

‘Yes,’ said Anderson. ‘We’ve had one since Marcus was three. He and Abigail both still get in it from time to time. They’re over the weight limit, but in the park it’s safe enough.’

In the fourth shot, the bike and trailer had disappeared from view.

‘Eighteen minutes later, he comes back,’ said Stenning, who was jiggling the mouse again. ‘Remember those large bins just by the steps? I reckon it would be easy enough to park the bike behind them and carry the boys one at a time down on to the beach. Here we go.’

Dana stepped closer to the monitor as the bike and trailer came back into view. It could be just wishful thinking, but the rider seemed to be pedalling faster now, as though pulling a lighter load.

‘How would he get them in there?’ she asked. ‘When they’re alive, I mean. Once they’re dead it would be reasonably straightforward.’

‘If this is a young teenager, he’s not going to seem particularly threatening,’ said Richmond. ‘Quite the opposite, in fact. Younger kids love hanging out with older ones. Maybe he just offered to take them for a ride.’

‘And if that didn’t work, he had the Vulcan pressure points to fall back on,’ suggested Anderson.

‘Fake blood to throw them off guard,’ said Dana. ‘Looks like he had a whole bag of tricks.’

‘Do we get a better look at the rider at all?’ asked Anderson.

‘Slightly,’ said Stenning, ‘at the next scene. Give me a second.’

They waited.

‘Here we go,’ said Stenning. ‘Camera on the corner of Jamaica Road and Bevington Street.’ He flicked through still shots and the team watched the bike and trailer getting closer. As he reached the corner, the rider braked and, for the first time, looked up.

‘Definitely not a man,’ said Anderson.

‘Slim woman or teenager,’ said Richmond.

‘I don’t think that’s a woman,’ said Mizon. ‘Women and teenage boys just don’t move in the same way. Look at him. He’s holding his shoulders like a man. And there’s no way he’s dressed for the weather. That’s a thin jacket he’s wearing. A woman would dress properly. It’s not a woman.’

‘No, it’s not,’ said Dana. ‘Well done, Gayle. You too, Pete.’

‘Bloody good job,’ said Anderson. ‘Now we just need a friggin’ name.’

‘Barnaby Roberts,’ said Mizon. ‘His father’s in custody downstairs. I think we might just have been focusing on the wrong member of the family. And, much as I’m enjoying your praise, this isn’t my theory. It’s Lacey’s.’

‘Tell me about Barney,’ said Evi.

Lacey took a deep breath, told herself to concentrate. This wasn’t the time for running around, this was thinking time. ‘He lives with a largely absent father whom he seems to fear,’ she said. ‘His mother committed suicide when he was four and he found the body. But then he wiped the memory from his mind and convinced himself not only that she was still alive but that he could find her by advertising in local papers.’

‘Poor kid,’ said Evi.

A poor kid who might, at this moment, be slitting the throat of another child. Lacey looked up. In the light of the solar lamps, the trees and shrubs in her garden were glowing vivid shades of green, as though the downpour had washed away all traces of city grime. Her garden looked strangely beautiful, but beyond it was a big city, and it was no place for anyone to be out alone, especially not a child.

‘He’s exceptionally bright,’ said Lacey. ‘Has incredible powers of observation. But with issues. Almost certainly has OCD. I see him doing things with his hands, muttering to himself when he thinks I’m not looking. He’s very knowledgeable about tides and the river, he knows stuff the killer would need to know. And he’s been taking a very keen interest in the murders. Wanting to discuss them with me.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘We don’t know,’ she said. ‘But another child has gone missing tonight. Wherever Barney is, he could be with his latest victim.’

‘Hence the sense of urgency.’

Urgency? Jesus, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could stay in one place. She wondered how Gayle Mizon was getting on, sounding out the Peter Pan theory with the MIT.

‘Evi, a few minutes ago, you said you’d hoped I wasn’t involved in the South Bank murders. I was just asking you about seriously disturbed kids. How did you know what case I was calling about?’

Evi gave a heavy, sad sigh. ‘I’ve been keeping a watching brief on the South Bank case,’ she said. ‘Quite a few of us have, actually, because it’s been so completely atypical. No violence, no sexual motive. It’s all been about showing off, misdirections, fooling around. One of my colleagues spotted the Peter Pan quotations, and that got us thinking. Some of the references have come from the book, rather than the stage play, which isn’t so readily available. Others have come from the official sequel, Peter Pan in Scarlet. Quite a lot have even come from the 2003 film. Typically, who’s most familiar with the Peter Pan story? Kids.’

‘You didn’t say anything?’ Lacey knew she sounded judgemental, just couldn’t help it.

‘Lacey, what did we really have other than an idea? Possibly a completely daft one? Child killers are extremely rare. The few we have almost invariably come from a background of serious neglect and abuse. They’ve been brutalized from a very young age and they deal with it by passing the violence on. Are you with me?’

‘Of course.’

‘But the South Bank murders show no violence, which argues against them being the work of an abused kid. It was a feeling, a hunch. Nothing more. Only now it seems you have the same one.’

‘Except I was thinking of a child who identified with a character from literature. Someone who wanted to stay a child for ever and keep his buddies with him.’

Silence again, while Evi was thinking. Come on, come on …

‘The victims didn’t know each other, though,’ she said. ‘They weren’t buddies. And the killer can’t have known them all even slightly well or there’d have been a connection you’d have spotted.’

Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. Lacey strode outside, almost panting with the effort of just moving forwards. ‘Shit, you’re right. I’ve just sent the investigation team off on another wild-goose chase and his little boy is going to be dead before the night’s out.’

‘Lacey, get a hold of yourself. You’re almost there. I do think your killer could be a child, and from what you’ve told me about this Barney, he seems a very likely candidate. I just don’t buy your afraid-of-growing-up theory. No, stay with me. As I understand it, murder is driven by compulsion. Sex, avarice, rage. Strong but very simple emotions. Fear of growing up? No, that’s too complex. I think the Peter Pan business is just an idea he’s been having fun with. He’s been playing with you. He has no intention of flying off to Neverland, he’s enjoying himself too much. His real motivation will be much simpler, much deeper. But for heaven’s sake, you can worry about what’s driving him when he’s caught.’

The rain had finally stopped. The garden looked like a tiny patch of rainforest after a tropical storm, like a dense, storybook jungle – like a painting she’d seen on a wall.

‘Flying off to Neverland,’ said Lacey.

‘Sometimes, Lacey, there is no reason. People kill and there is no neat, understandable motive. What did you say?’

‘Evi, thank you.’

‘What? Are you OK?’

‘I have to go now,’ said Lacey. ‘I know where he is.’