Like This, for Ever

the door opened fractionally. Neil Anderson looked in.
    ‘This is Sergeant Anderson, he’s a detective too,’ said Dana, noticing how alarmed the child became suddenly. ‘Will you excuse me for a second?’
    She got up and followed Neil outside. ‘SOCOs are still in the church, but they’ve finished with the boiler room, where Oliver was left,’ he said.
    ‘Anything?’ asked Dana.
    ‘They say they’re pretty certain the boiler room isn’t where the other boys were killed. They say you can’t spill that much blood and not leave a trace. Especially as neither the floor nor the walls lend themselves to thorough cleaning. And there’s no drain of any description.’
    ‘Did they find anything we can rely on?’
    ‘Some footprints that are too big to be Oliver’s but not as big as most men’s. They’ve taken photographs, obviously. Also there were some fibres on Oliver’s jacket. Black, look like some sort of wool mix. They could be important, especially if they match nothing at the Kennedy house.’
    Dana stopped, turned and leaned against the corridor wall. Anderson did the same.
    ‘How’s the kid?’ he asked, after a second.
    ‘Good as you could expect,’ said Dana. She looked at herwatch. ‘I have to be at the Yard in less than an hour,’ she said.
    ‘Have you decided what our official line is on Sweep yet?’
    ‘We’re going to announce that we no longer believe him to be the killer, simply a malicious prankster. He will be found and brought to justice, but he’s no longer a major focus of our inquiries. We’ve asked Facebook to block the Missing Boys site. From now on, we’re going to ignore him.’
    Anderson pursed his lips in a silent whistle.
    ‘You think we’re being rash?’
    ‘Boss, what if he did take Oliver last night, but something prevented him from going back to finish him off ? All the shenanigans on Facebook could just have been the real killer venting his frustration.’
    ‘Possible.’
    ‘In which case, taking away his soapbox and announcing to the world we’re not taking him seriously any more could just make him do something stupid.’
    Dana straightened up. ‘I hope so,’ she said. ‘Because until she does, we won’t catch her.’
    Barney’s dad was in the kitchen, eating breakfast, when Barney came down. He looked up and his face creased with concern. ‘What time did you get to sleep?’ he asked. ‘Or did it not actually happen at all?’
    ‘I think I heard you come in,’ replied Barney, who didn’t think he’d ever felt this tired or ill in his life before. It had been impossible to sleep after Peter’s Facebook message. Peter was someone he knew. How else would he be able to order Barney’s favourite pizza? He knew who he was, where he lived and what his favourite pizza toppings were. Jeez, fewer than half a dozen people probably knew all three of those things about him.
    He sat down and stared at his dad.
Did you order me a pizza last night, Dad? Did you?
    ‘What?’ said his dad, cereal spoon hovering.
    If he said nothing, if he didn’t mention it, then his dad might. His dad might give himself away. Last night, someone calling himself Peter Sweep had abducted and murdered a ten-year-old boy. He’dtied him up, put his photograph on Facebook, and then kept the world informed when he’d cut open his throat and fed off his blood. Last night, once again, his dad had been on the boat.
    ‘… Usually when killers go for one particular type of victim, it’s because those victims remind them of a person in real life … They can’t kill the one they really want to, so they choose – do you know the word surrogate?
’
    Barney looked at his father’s hands, at the skin around his mouth, as if there might be some traces of Oliver Kennedy’s blood.
Is it my throat you want to cut, Dad? My blood you want to drink? Do I have to die to stop you?
    His dad was looking at the TV screen behind Barney’s head. The volume was still low. Now he was looking round for the remote.
    Shall we just end this now? I’ll get the sharpest knife I can from the drawer, I’ll lie down on the table and you won’t even have to tie me down because if Mum’s gone for good and you’re a murderer, then I really don’t want to live any more.
    ‘They’ve found him,’ said his dad, cranking up the volume. ‘Thank God for that.’
    ‘Found who?’ Barney managed, before turning to look at the screen. A reporter in a green coat was standing outside St Thomas’s