one of the officers who arrived in the second car heard moaning from above.
“She can’t speak, but we’re assuming she’s the owner of the house. Looks like this Paynter character has been keeping her prisoner there. Probably for the two years he’s been missing.”
“Jesus,” Lennon said.
“One thing turned up in the preliminary search that’s … well, worrying.”
“What?”
“A bag of teeth,” Uprichard said. “It’s been left in situ, but I’m told they’re human teeth. Molars, incisors, all in a little red velvet purse.”
“The floor of the cellar,” Lennon said.
“What about it?”
“There were rough patches, different textures, like parts of it had been dug up and filled back in again.”
Uprichard chewed his lip as he thought. “Of course, this chap has a previous conviction for kidnapping a prostitute.”
“Girls like this one he had in Belfast,” Lennon said. “Trafficked in, no trace of them if they disappear, no one to call the police for them.”
“It’ll be a first for Belfast,” Uprichard said. “We’ve never had a serial killer.”
“No, anyone with the inclination to kill for laughs had plenty of outlets until recently. What about the girl?”
“She’s still in the ward,” Uprichard said. “A lady from Care NI’s talking to her.”
Care NI was a Christian charity that, among other things, assisted trafficked women in the days following their rescue. Often the women were terrified of the authorities, so counselors from the charity helped them communicate with the police officers, social workers, and immigration bureaucrats whom they now had to face.
“She’s in a bad way,” Uprichard said. “But she’s a tough wee girl. She’ll need to be. This isn’t a straight trafficking case. She’ll have to answer for the man she killed.”
“We’ve no real evidence that she killed anyone,” Lennon said. “Only what Roscoe Patterson told me, and that’s hardly gospel.”
“Once forensics are in, there’ll be plenty of evidence,” Uprichard said. “But we can recommend leniency if she can show it was done in self-defense.”
“So where does she go?” Lennon asked. “The Victim Care Suite, or a cell?”
“It’s Christmas,” Uprichard said. “There’s no staff in the care unit to look after her. It’ll have to be a cell.”
“No,” Lennon said. “What she’s just been through, we can’t lock her up.”
“We might not have much choice if she’s a suspect in a murder case.”
Lennon stood up. “Are you going to arrest her?”
“No, not yet, but—”
“Are you going to interview her under caution?”
“It’s not up to me to—”
“Then there’s no call for that girl to spend a single minute in a cell until she has to.”
“Then what do you suggest?” Uprichard asked.
Lennon rubbed his dry, tired eyes as he thought. There was only one answer that would allow him any peace.
“I’m a fucking idiot,” he said.
71
GALYA WATCHED THE nice woman’s lips move, heard the words they formed, but little of it registered with her conscious mind. She talked about agencies, police, immigration, women’s rights, sometimes while holding Galya’s hand.
Sleep edged in, and Galya had to shake it away.
The woman was very kind, and was here to help, she said so over and over.
But the bed was so comfortable, even if every part of Galya ached or stung to one degree or another, and sleep was an insistent intruder.
Galya’s eyes had slipped closed when a cough stirred her. She opened them and saw the policeman lean in through the drawn plastic curtain that surrounded the bed. He said something to the kind woman, and she excused herself and left with him.
On her own, the bustle of the hospital became a soothing murmur, like the sound of a stream in the summer. Galya thought of Mama and Papa, and the small house she had grown up in, the smell of baking bread, Mama’s coarse skin, the road that led to her door. As she drifted deeper into the warmth of slumber, she saw the man with the moon face, the teeth in his hand, showing them to her, counting them out one by one, pointing out those that he’d taken from her mouth, and her finger exploring there, finding the gaps where they’d been, and then he wanted to show her something else, something bright and shining, something sharp, something—
A choked cry escaped her when the kind woman’s hand brought her back to consciousness.
“It’s all right, darling,” the kind woman said. “You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you.”
Galya slipped a finger between her lips, ran the tip over her teeth. When she found none were missing, she gave a silent thank you to Mama.
She looked from the kind woman to the policeman who stood behind her. He seemed exhausted, a bandage covering the cut on his chin.
“This is Detective Inspector Jack Lennon of the Police Service of Northern Ireland,” the kind woman said. “He’s the one who found you.”
Galya was not sure if she was expected to respond in some way, so she nodded.
“He’s been trying to sort out somewhere for you to stay once you’re discharged from here,” the kind woman said. “The police, they have special places for victims to stay, comfortable places. But it’s Christmas, and they’ve no staff to look after you there. The only other place they have is the cells in the station. You can stay there until after the holiday. You’ll be safe, but it won’t be very comfortable.”
“Cell?” Galya asked. “Like prison?”
“Or there’s another choice,” the kind woman said. “This police officer, he has a friend, a very nice lady, and you can stay with her. She’ll get you something to eat and somewhere to have a wash and some food. What do you think?”
Galya remembered accepting another man’s offer of help and the terror that followed. But one desire came to her mind and overrode all fears.
“A bath?” she asked, imagining warm water on her body, the cleansing of it, the heat.
“I don’t know about a bath with those dressings on your feet,” the kind woman said.
“Yes, a bath,” the policeman said. “We’ll keep your bandages dry somehow.”
Galya didn’t think about it for long.
“Please, I want to go to this place,” she said.
72
EDWIN PAYNTER LAY quite still as they wheeled him from room to room, through scans and examinations, while nurses wiped blood away and doctors examined images of his skull. The policemen grumbled about having to stay here instead of going home to their families. They were reminded that a head injury required patient observation and they would have to wait for other officers to come and take their places.
Paynter listened to it all while he kept his gaze on the ceiling. He passed the time by mentally going through the steps that he’d practiced for such an occasion. The few minutes of confusion and disorientation, then the eyes rolling back, the tongue going to the back of the mouth, concentrating the movement on the stomach muscles, keeping the neck loose, the legs kicking out.
He had used this technique once when a young woman challenged him in a shopping center, accusing him of following her. It had worked wonderfully, turning her anger to fear and concern.
