Part 11 (2/2)

No. 1 ... No. 1.

She sat up quickly, gulping air, her heart racing. It took her a moment to realize where she was in her bed at home.

It was light outside and sunlight dappled the ceiling. No. 1. Number one No. 1. Number one. Now she got it. It had niggled at her when she was at Zebedee Juice and now she understood why. It was what the killer had written on Lorne's stomach. She s.n.a.t.c.hed up her phone. The display read ten to eight. She'd been asleep for seven hours. There was a team meeting in forty minutes. But this time it wasn't going to be Debbie Harry speaking at the front of the room. It was going to be Zoe.

She raced through the shower, guzzled two cups of coffee, let the cat out, shooing it when it tried to nuzzle her ankle, and got to work at exactly half past to find the meeting had already started. Someone had blown up a series of photos all registered s.e.x offenders under the age of twenty-five who lived in the area and had pinned them to the wall. One of the DSs was talking the team through the history of each one. When Zoe came in, flushed, hair still wet from the shower, clutching her bike helmet, the DS stopped talking and stared at her dumbly.

'Sorry, mate,' She dumped the helmet and her keys on a chair and came to the front of the room. 'I've got to say something. Just before you go any further.' She uncapped a marker pen and drew a circle on the whiteboard. 'We're looking at it all wrong.'

In the circle she carefully wrote: No. One No. One.

Then she moved one of Lorne's post-mortem pictures the one with the message on her stomach and stuck it on the board next to the words. 'Look at the picture,' she said. 'Look at her belly b.u.t.ton. Right here, after the ”No”.'

The team gawped at the whiteboard, not a flicker of recognition in their faces.

'It doesn't mean no one understands him. It doesn't mean that Lorne is no one to him. He's telling us she is number one number one. Just one of many. He means there are going to be more. A number two. A number three.'

There was a long, stunned silence. Then, at the edge of the room, the superintendent cleared his throat. 'Great thanks, Zoe. Everyone take that on board, OK? You hear me? Now.' He nodded at the DS. 'Have you finished, mate? Because I want to get on to this thing with British Waterways. I want a complete list of anyone who was mooring in the ca.n.a.l on Sat.u.r.day so we can-'

'Hang on, hang on.' Zoe held up her hand. 'I'm still here, you know. I haven't left the room.'

'I'm sorry?'

'I'm still here. Or are you going to ignore what I just said?'

'I haven't ignored it. I've told everyone to keep it in mind.'

'Would you like me to finish finish what I was going to say? Or shall I not bother?' what I was going to say? Or shall I not bother?'

The superintendent looked at her, a baleful light in his eyes. But he knew Zoe of old, knew sometimes it was easier to roll over, and eventually he took a step back, holding his hands up in surrender.

'OK.' She turned back to the team. She knew the blood had come to her face and that Ben was watching her steadily from the corner. 'We've got to take this seriously, because who knows? I might even be right. He could intend doing this again. It could already already have happened. Has anyone gone to Intelligence to find out if there're any other forces dealing with anything like this?' have happened. Has anyone gone to Intelligence to find out if there're any other forces dealing with anything like this?'

'We'd know if there were,' said the superintendent.

'Would we? What if the body hasn't been found?'

'There'd be a missing-persons case.'

'No that's rubbish. How many women in their late teens, early twenties, go missing every month?'

'Yes but you're not talking about girls like Lorne.'

Zoe looked back at him with a level gaze. She knew what he meant that the girls who went missing without making headlines were the prost.i.tutes, the drug addicts, the runaways, the strippers and the dregs. She'd get it through to them if she showed them the photos of Lorne. But she couldn't. Just couldn't do it.

'You mean,' the superintendent said, lowering his chin and looking over his gla.s.ses at her, 'there's a pile of dead bodies somewhere? Just no one's noticed?'

'No. I'm saying that up to now we're pus.h.i.+ng this investigation towards it being someone she knows, a teenager. I'm asking you to reconsider. I'm asking you to think outside those parameters. And to do it quickly because, honestly, I think this could be a warning.'

Debbie Harry, who had been sitting at the back of the room in silence, gave a delicate little cough. She looked very young and fresh and pretty, dressed in a white lace blouse, her hair tied back. 'While speculation is a good thing, it is just that. Speculation.'

'More speculative than saying ”all like her” means everyone likes her? What if it means he's going to go after anyone who's like Lorne?'

'Well,' Debbie said, suddenly soothing, 'I've always been very clear in stating my case in this forum: that my opinions are only guidance. That you really, really all of you all of you must form your own conclusions. And always keep an open mind.' must form your own conclusions. And always keep an open mind.'

'Yes. And I heard you say that. But I might be the only one who did, because I look around and I see a whole room full of investigators all too happy to accept a bit of guidance from you because it means they don't need to use their brains. Sorry, guys, it's true. You've accepted her parameters, so if we're really going to work this case like a psychology seminar, then let's go for it. Let's all of us write up a thousand interpretations of these sentences. Then have a seance to decide which is right.'

'Hang on, hang on.' The superintendent held up his hand. 'There's vindictiveness creeping in here. It's the last thing we need.'

'Vindictiveness?'

Debbie nodded regretfully. As if it hurt her to be attacked, but that she, the adult, was prepared to be grown-up about it. She gave Zoe a sympathetic smile. 'Well, I didn't want to be the one to say it, but I have wondered if I'm stirring things up for you, Detective Benedict. Just a feeling that something about me is tapping into something very painful for you.'

Zoe opened her mouth to answer, then saw that everyone was staring at her. She got it. They all thought she was jealous. Jealous of this idiotic jumped-up psychology student with her one-size-too-tight blouses and her soft hair. She shot Ben a look, half expecting, or hoping, he'd say something in her defence, but he wouldn't meet her gaze. He had focused his eyes on the photos of the s.e.x offenders on the board as if he was far more interested in them.

'Jesus.' Bad-temperedly she s.n.a.t.c.hed up her keys and her helmet. 'Welcome to the new age of policing. Anyone in here who gives a s.h.i.+t about justice, you'd better start saying your prayers.' She saluted the superintendent, clicked her heels together and, the team staring at her as if she was completely mad, left the room, slamming the door behind her.

29.

Sally had decided that Millie had to go to school, whatever happened. She had some free slots at work that morning, so she drove her to Kingsmead, and promised to pick her up next to the sports hall at home time. Jake the Peg's purple jeep was nowhere to be seen. Even so, she watched Millie all the way until she'd gone into the building.

Her job that morning was just around the corner from the school in one of the most expensive streets in the city. Most of the houses were elegant detached villas, built in Victorian times. The Farrow and Ball paint fad had arrived here, and all the doors and windows seemed to be painted in muted greys and greens; bay trees in faux faux-lead pots lined either side of neat gravel paths while pots of woody lavender and rosemary were dotted everywhere. Steve had a house at the other end of the road from Sally's cleaning job, so on Wednesdays she'd got into the habit of going on to his afterwards. Sometimes they'd eat lunch. More often they'd end up in bed.

His house was a little smaller than the others in the street, but otherwise very similar a stone-flagged doorstep, an old-fas.h.i.+oned bell with a wire pulley that rang a proper chime inside. At one o'clock she stood outside, listening to the bell in the hallway and thinking about David and what had happened with Jake. She was ready to tell Steve all about it. But the moment he opened the front door, she saw the mood was all wrong.

'Hi, gorgeous.' He kissed her briefly, but it was a distracted kiss. Just a peck on the side of the face before he turned and went back down the corridor towards the kitchen.

She followed him thoughtfully, watching his retreating back. He was dressed in shorts and a paint-spattered T-s.h.i.+rt with 'Queensland: beautiful one day, perfect the next' printed across the back. There was something heavy about his shoulders, which wasn't right. 'Are you OK?' she said, when they got into the kitchen.

'Hmm?'

'I said, is everything all right?'

'Yes, yes. I was going to make you lunch there's tuna in the fridge but I got busy sorting out all the tools you need for the house. And while I was going through them I got hit.' He slapped the back of his neck, as if a mosquito had landed there. 'Right here, by the b.l.o.o.d.y carpentry muse.' He gestured to the adjoining living room, where dustsheets lay on the floor covered with curls of planed wood. A nail gun had been balanced on a Black & Decker Workmate and a toolkit sat under it. 'Trying to fix that doorframe, but I'm just making a c.o.c.k-up of it.'

'I'll cook.' Sally unfastened her HomeMaids tabard. 'You get on with it.'

'Sally, I-'

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