Like This, for Ever

street.
    ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m not working at the moment. I’m on sick leave.’
    He sneaked a sideways glance. She didn’t look sick. For one thing, she went out running every morning, he heard her leave as he got ready to go to the newsagent’s and often they’d both get back to the house at the same time. Sometimes he’d see her riding off on her bike, a gym bag slung over one shoulder. And in the evenings, she often left the house on foot, coming back hours later.
    They’d reached the corner and Barney had a second’s gratitude that he wasn’t on his own. This was the only bit of the journey home that bothered him, having to pass the old house. Even with the security fencing, even with all the ground-floor doors and windows boarded up, he couldn’t help the feeling that someone could be in there, waiting to jump out.
    ‘This house gives me the creeps,’ he said.
    ‘You should see it on the inside,’ she replied. ‘Kids and homelesspeople used to break in before all the windows were properly boarded up. We used to get called out to it quite a lot.’
    They turned the corner and left the old house behind.
    ‘Barney, it’s not really any of my business, I know,’ she said. ‘But I’m not sure it’s very safe for you and your mates to be out after dark at the moment.’
    ‘We stay together,’ replied Barney. ‘We look out for each other. And Jorge and Lloyd are nearly fifteen.’
    He waited for Lacey to point out that he’d been alone when she’d met him and got ready to respond that he was fast. That no one could catch him on foot once he got some speed up.
    ‘Five boys of your age have gone missing recently,’ she went on. ‘None of them lived very far from here.’
    ‘What happens to them?’ he asked her. ‘The TV never says how they died. Do you think the Barlow twins are dead as well?’
    ‘I hope not,’ she said, in a voice that told him she was pretty certain they were.

4
    ALONE ON THE rapidly dwindling beach, Dana walked to the water’s edge. Just over a year ago, when she’d moved to London from her native Scotland, she’d fallen in love with the river at night. She loved the way it curled its way between the buildings like a sleek black snake, mirroring only what was beautiful about the city – its lights, its architecture, its colour. Now, the spot around Tower Bridge would always remind her of two small, pale bodies, two boys who should have run squealing along this beach, not been carried from it in body bags. She took her phone from her pocket.
    ‘Hey,’ said a deep male voice with a South London accent.
    ‘Hi. Where are you?’
    A pause. ‘Just in my car. Parked, not driving. What’s up?’
    ‘It was them. The Barlow twins. As we knew it would be, I suppose.’
    A whispered curse. ‘You OK?’
    ‘I’m on my way to tell the parents. Mark, their mother …’
    Another pause. ‘Want me to come?’
    Dana smiled to herself, shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ll be fine. What are you up to anyway?’
    A sigh came down the line. ‘Dana, there are some things it’s better you don’t know.’
    ‘Enough said, I suppose.’
    Silence.
    ‘What’s up?’
    ‘I shouldn’t say this,’ said Dana. ‘I wouldn’t to anyone else. I haven’t the faintest shred of—’
    ‘Dana, just say it.’
    ‘I think it’s a woman.’
    Silence for a heartbeat, then, ‘Oh?’
    ‘No sexual abuse, Mark. No physical abuse of any kind, except the wound that kills them. Their bodies are perfect and we find them curled up like they’re asleep. Just looking at them – oh, I can’t explain it, but they inspire such love. I know it sounds stupid but I think the killer loves them, in her own way. I don’t think she wants to hurt them, I think she can’t help herself. I think maybe she lost her own son at that age, and something is making her re-enact it with proxies.’
    ‘Anything to back this up, other than what your gut is telling you?’
    ‘Nothing.’
    ‘Then the chances are you’re having the normal reaction of any woman your age confronted with dead kids, and you’re projecting what you feel on to the killer.’
    ‘Yes, but …’
    ‘Not done yet. On the other hand, as theories go, it’s not completely off the wall. You can soon run a check on boys of that age who’ve died in London in recent years. If any died of extensive blood loss, if any of the mothers have had unusual difficulties coping. It’s a lead.’
    ‘Yeah, I can get that started