Like This, for Ever

bit wary of an emotionally distant parent?’
    ‘I don’t know. I don’t know either of them well enough to judge.’
    ‘Lacey, you can’t give a vulnerable, disturbed kid potentially harmful information without speaking to his father first. Setting aside for a moment the damage you’d do to him, think about the implications for you if the father makes an official complaint.’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘If you think the kid’s being abused at home, then you have to make it official. Otherwise, I tend to think families are best placed to sort their own problems out. Talk to his dad, take it from there.’
    He hadn’t told her anything she couldn’t have worked out for herself. So why, exactly, had she asked him round?
    ‘I will, thanks.’
    Joesbury looked at his watch. ‘Christ,’ he said. ‘Well, if I’m not staying, I’m going.’
    Ignore the stab of disappointment.
‘As obvious statements go, that had an elegant simplicity about it,’ she said.
    ‘Goodnight kiss out of the question?’
    Don’t smile at him. Don’t even let your eyes soften. ‘I appreciate your coming round, Sir.’
    Wrong, too flirtatious! He’d taken hold of her wrist, was pulling her … ouch!
    ‘What’s up?’ He’d seen the flicker of pain, was lifting her left wrist and loosening his fingers to reveal the plaster peeking out from beneath her sweater. A plaster that was bloodstained. She pulled away; he tightened his fingers, around her hand this time, so as not to hurt her.
    ‘What’s going on?’ he asked her.
    Shit, shit, shit. This is what he did. He wormed his way in and dug out her secrets, one by one. He’d keep on going, if she let him, until there was nothing left for him to find, and that would be—
    ‘Lacey?’
    ‘It got infected,’ she said, looking him directly in the eye. ‘It’s a bit sore.’
    ‘That scar’s nearly five months old,’ he said. ‘No way did it get infected. Lacey, what did you do?’
    It was none of his business. How dare he ferret his way into her head like this? Her mobile was ringing. No, her phone was still in the custody of the forensics service contracted to the Metropolitan Police. It was his phone. She watched him pull it out of his jacket pocket, check the screen, then put it to his ear.
    ‘Want me to come?’ he said after a moment.
    He ended the call without saying anything more and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
    ‘You know another kid went missing tonight?’ he asked her.
    Acutely conscious of the throbbing pain in her wrist and the sharp, twisting guilt in her chest, she nodded.
    ‘Apparently he’s now hanging by his ankles from Southwark Bridge.’
    Both hands covered her mouth, pain forgotten. ‘Dead?’ she managed.
    He shrugged. ‘Not clear yet, but probably.’
    ‘It doesn’t fit. He doesn’t kill them this quickly. And he doesn’t hang their bodies from bridges.’
    ‘If I ever meet him I’ll be sure to pass on your disappointment. In the meantime, the line-access team have been called out to bring him down.’
    She nodded. One of the specialisms of the Marine Unit was searching at heights and the line-access team was a group of trained climbers. They regularly checked the bridges of London and other high-profile buildings for explosive devices. Joesbury was by the door now. ‘Are you coming?’ he asked her.
    She shook her head.
    A sigh, quick and impatient. ‘I’m a simple soul, but it strikes me it wouldn’t hurt you or Dana to remind yourselves you both work on the same team.’
    ‘She doesn’t need me.’
    ‘Have you considered that maybe I do?’
    No, she could not be needed. Not by anyone and especially not by him. There was nothing in her to give. ‘I can’t.’
    He dropped his eyes to her wrist again. The pain had become sharp and intense, like tears she couldn’t let herself cry.
    ‘Lacey, please sort yourself out,’ he told her. She braced herself for the slam of the door, but it closed softly and sadly and he was gone.

46
    ‘ CHRIST, IT’S LIKE a fucking royal visit. Don’t these people sleep? Or are they all the ruddy undead?’
    Dana and Mark, in oilskins and lifejackets, were on the flybridge of the police launch as, a little over the speed limit, it emerged from the shadow of Tower Bridge and motored upstream towards Southwark. Directly in front of them, the turquoise and gold bridge had been cleared of traffic and pedestrians, but every square foot of pavement on the southern embankment seemed to have someone