She looked down at the body of Agnes Crabtree. 'I hope they sort you out, missus.' Then she set off in pursuit of the pimply boy, though she reckoned his knob must have shrivelled to the size of an acorn at the sight of the dead woman, if it hadn't retracted up inside him altogether.
Delaney looked out of the passenger window as they drove along the Western Avenue, at least the rain had stopped, but the flyover was clogged fairly solidly as they moved slowly towards White City. He looked over to where the old dog-racing track used to be and realised how much London had changed over the last twenty years or so. And not for the better. Delaney had a theory that a city could only take so many people. Too many rats in a cage meant that some, already feral, turned psychotic and in his experience humans were no different. It might not be against the laws of God for so many millions of people to be crammed together in one space, but it was certainly against the laws of nature. We are the architects of our own destruction sure enough, he thought drily. He should have got out of London when he had a chance. If he had listened to his wife four years ago things would have turned out very different.
He'd never have met Kate, and once again Delaney's stomach gripped with the guilt of it all. London might be a mess but he himself was a walking fucking disaster area. And he knew it. Maybe this was it though. Maybe he had a chance to rewrite history, almost. A second chance. Maybe Kate was his salvation.
The traffic cleared and Sally was able to floor the accelerator and they drove past the White City police station and soon they were at Chalk Farm.
He had to live on the third floor Delaney thought as they trudged up the steps, out of breath and figuring, yet again, it was time for a new fitness regime. A man clattered by in army fatigues and a woollen hat. Delaney stood aside to let him pass. The man was probably carrying, which was why he was so keen to get past, but Delaney had other fish to fry. He carried on to the third floor where Sally Cartwright was already waiting for him, not a hair out of place nor the slightest evidence of any exertion on her part.
'What are you waiting for, Sally? Bang on the door!' he snapped.
Sally smiled thinly and rapped hard on the door. After a short while with no response Delaney stepped forward and banged harder, and they heard the sound of a chain being lifted and the face of a small, white-haired, elderly woman peered out.
'I'm not interested in Jehovah or shoe brushes.'
Delaney knew how she felt. He held out his warrant card. 'Detective Inspector Jack Delaney, and this is Constable Sally Cartwright.'
'He hasn't done anything wrong.' She tried to shut the door but Delaney held it open with his hand.
'Who hasn't done anything wrong?'
The elderly woman shook her head. 'I should speak to a lawyer first. That's right, isn't it?'
Sally smiled at her reassuringly. 'What are you talking about?'
The woman shook her head again. 'I don't know anything about it, and he was with me the whole time.'
'Is Ashley Bradley your son?' Sally asked.
The woman shook her disarrayed white hair. 'He's my grandson. I told them never to get that dog, I knew it would end in tears.'
'Where is he, Mrs Bradley?'
The woman shook her head. 'You just missed him.'
Delaney cursed himself. 'Army-type clothes and a woolly hat?'
'That's right. He's gone. But he's been with me all the other times.'
