Like This, for Ever

Vulcan Death Grip, one squeeze and you’re down. It takes a minute or two, from what I can remember. And it’s far from reliable.’
    ‘Neil’s right,’ Dana told Richmond. ‘It’s also exceptionally risky, which is why the police don’t use it. But if an adult is using it to subdue a child, I’d say the child could be incapacitated in less than a minute.’
    ‘Who would know about this?’ asked Richmond.
    ‘Anyone trained in combat of any sort,’ said Anderson. ‘Police, armed forces. Even people who study martial arts. Frankly, though, I’ve seen kids doing it. My son and his mates went through a phase of torturing each other with pressure points.’
    ‘OK, well that is helpful,’ said Richmond, giving her neck one last rub. ‘Thank you. I’d like to look now at what he does with the bodies. And the first thing that strikes me is that he wants them to be found quickly. Leaving Tyler to one side for a moment, he leaves them in places where they’ll be seen within hours. He’s making no attempt to hide them, he wants everyone to know what he’s up to. He’s enjoying the attention. But he’s still careful. He knows the river will cover his tracks after a few hours. He picks places where there’s no CCTV and where he has a good chance of getting in, offloading the body and disappearing again. Quiet, but not too quiet, and always at low tide.’
    ‘He knows the river very well,’ said Mizon.
    ‘Yes, he does,’ agreed the profiler. ‘OK, now we get to the interesting stuff. All five victims are Caucasian males, aged ten or eleven. When boys of this age are killed, it’s usually either gang related, involving a close family member or sexual. This appears to be none of those. Something on your mind, Sergeant?’
    Anderson had been making faces at Dana, gesticulating that now was the time to bring up her killer-as-a-woman theory. She looked at the floor.
    ‘Apparently not,’ he said.
    ‘Is the means of death important?’ asked Stenning.
    ‘The means of death is probably the key to it,’ said Richmond. ‘Our guy doesn’t want to mark the bodies, I think we’re all agreed on that. He wants to keep his boys nice and neat and clean. So why isn’t he smothering them with a pillow? It would be quick and easy, far less messy. Why isn’t he strangling them? He has a thing about pre-teenage boys and he has a thing about blood. That’s what we need to work on.’

17
    BARNEY WAS LATE leaving school because the third Friday in the month was the day he stayed behind to clean the animals’ cages and make sure they had enough food and water for the weekend. It was just after four when he made his way to the main school door. Mrs Dalley saw him look through the sliding window of the office. She was on the phone and pressed the mouthpiece against her shoulder.
    ‘Be with you in a sec, Barney,’ she called.
    Barney nodded and went to wait by the door. A boy from Year Five was already there, looking out across the yard.
    ‘Right, Huck,’ said Barney.
    ‘Right, Barney,’ replied the younger boy.
    Huck Joesbury played in the Under Eleven football team, even though he was only nine. He was supposed to be a genius on the rugby pitch too, although as rugby wasn’t played at school, this was something that remained a rumour.
    ‘Is your mum late?’ asked Barney.
    ‘My dad’s picking me up,’ said Huck. He was smaller than Barney, with dark-brown hair that stuck upright and bright-blue eyes. There was something about his small face that always made Barney think of elves. Not that he ever mentioned it. You couldn’t really tell a kid, even a younger one, that he looked like an elf.
    ‘The dad with the most boring job in the world who never leaveshis computer?’ said Barney, remembering a previous conversation he’d had with Huck. Barney had argued that being a university lecturer in old books was far more boring than working with computers.
    The smaller boy nodded. ‘He phoned to say he’d be late. Computer trouble.’ Then his little face lit up. ‘Here he is.’
    A tall, broad-shouldered man in jeans and a black leather jacket and with a big grin on his face was approaching the school door. When he reached it, he bent and pressed his face against the window. His nose and mouth squashed up and spread out against the glass.
    ‘Dad!’ moaned the child, glancing round at Barney.
    ‘You should see my dad if you think that’s embarrassing,’ said Barney as Mrs Dalley appeared behind the