Like This, for Ever

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 wenton. ‘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,