You battled to retain your composure. — Go on.
Mr Confectioner laughed like a waterfall, all shoulder-shaking shushes. — I suppose I overestimated you. Check it. The night before I took her, when she went with her mother and sister to that grotty fast-food place. Had you checked the footage, you’d have seen me there. Sporting the trusty parka. You were remiss, DI Lennox.
You could feel the eyes of the others – Toal, Gillman – through that mirror. Knew they wouldn’t be on Horsburgh.
— I’d dumped my little device in the rubbish bin outside the window. A small bang to attract them all, then that blazing bucket. How children love a fire! So easy for me to swap Tessa’s drink with my spiked concoction; I knew she’d go for Sprite, she always did. I hoped that Britney would walk alone to school the next day, and sure enough… He basked in self-approval. — The rest played out roughly as you described it. My discarding of the school books and bag was basically just to mess around with you. A little tease. It thrilled me to think of you earnestly pondering the deep significance of these completely playful actions. But… you didn’t think to check the burger bar’s CCTV from the night before? Shabby policework, Lenno—
You’d sprung across that cold distance between you and him and had your hands round Mr Confectioner’s throat. But although his body went limp and he offered no resistance, fear was absent from his bulging eyes. Instead, a sick smile played upon his rubbery lips; he was like a terrifying ventriloquist’s dummy. And you heard him rasp in a thin, ghostly voice, — Feels good, doesn’t it?
Then, in a slow caressing movement, Gareth Horsburgh’s hand went up to your genitals. You stopped, froze under the nonce’s touch on your penis; that contact when you realised, with horror, that you were erect. You loosened your grip and backed away, just as Gillman and Notman burst through the door. — Now you’re beginning to understand, Mr Confectioner said, rubbing at his throat.
Then you saw how it should be done. Saw Gillman move slowly behind Horsburgh. Watched apprehension replace the hauteur in the beast’s eyes. Saw the unnerved nonce try to steel himself, and he was about to speak when Gillman said in an even, neutral voice, like he was talking about the weather: — You’re mine now.
— No marks, Doug, Ally, you’d said softly, trying pathetically to maintain an authority you knew had left you as you closed the door, squeamished by the mutual information that hung adhesively between you and your brother officers, as cosy and wily as clandestine sex.
You went to the anteroom, slumped down in a chair next to Toal. Watched defeatedly through the screen. There are many ways you can hurt somebody without leaving marks. Every interrogator in every police force in the world gets taught them, either formally or informally, depending on the nature of the regime. You were sure that Gillman, standing behind the now disquieted Mr Confectioner, a white towel in his hands, knew every one of them. — All that stuff aboot being a hunter, he smirked as he snapped the ends of the towel tight, — made me laugh, that yin.
By his silence, Gareth Horsburgh recognised that true terror would now be visited upon him, by someone who really did understand punishment.
— Ye know, ah don’t see that. Gillman shook his head. — Ah see a middle-aged guy who lives at hame with ehs ma.
You couldn’t stay. You sprang to your feet, headed out and down the stairs, shamed again by the beast. A pursuing Toal caught up with you on the path outside. In the biting cold air, your boss gave you the spiel about being a good man, who’d done a good job. About not taking the Robertson route and going down. Then he’d whispered, — You were caught on camera, leaving a bar in Newcastle frequented by drug dealers.
— Boss, I—
— Don’t say anything, Ray. Toal’s head whipped back and forth. — It’s been taken care of. Don’t speak to anybody about this. I’ve made an appointment for you to go and see Melissa Collingwood in counselling. You are officially on leave till further notice. Go to Trudi’s, Ray.
You nodded, walked down into Comely Bank Avenue and jumped in a taxi up to the Jeanie Deans pub. All you could think of was: I didn’t consider the camera in the centre, at the burger bar. They had one there, to check who was going in and out of the toilets, and over the counters for robbery and staff assaults. I just didn’t think about the night before. Why? Because all I thought about was Angela, what a dirty, lazy cow she was, who’d poisoned her own kid with her crap food.
So you went to the bar you used to frequent with Robbo and several other burned-out dissaffected cops. Met a few of the boys there and drank a lot of vodka, before being felled by a sick joke.
18 Decked
LENNOX DRIVES BACK towards the Gulf Coast at a steady eighty; air con off and windows down, taking in the scent of the night, as he vacates the freeway for the connecting fork to Highway 41, passing on to the curving slip road for Bologna.
At thirty-five he feels suddenly older, sensing the seasons quickly chasing him down. Twenty-eight to thirty-four seemed static, a welcome hiatus after two decades of almost overwhelming volatility, but then his thirty-fifth year had delivered a quantum leap into middle age. Smitten by angst, he wonders about his next cataclysmic anniversary, and the urge to savour almost overwhelms. Lennox feels he should be looking at the eminence of the flickering stars through the dark, naked treetops, but he’s too intent on steering down this winding drive, treacherous after America’s breezy highways and waiting to claim him for its own. His need to concentrate is a response to his fatigue, but also because he feels an uneasy seduction lurking in those heavens; the stars seem closer down here, frozen detonated fireworks clustering in the air with a judging, perilous aspect.
The air at ground level is still almost gossamer in its humidity, but the swishing palm trees overhead signal a building wind as the road snakes even more keenly. Then, to his right, lights of varying intensity shimmer through the trees as the town rises out from the mangrove swamp.
As he drives towards the harbour, the marina is on the left: moon-globe street lamps beam in ripples over the water, the stars now a pallid glimmer in the inky sky above, and he can see thunderhead clouds glowing ominously through the mottled darkness to the north. Passing over the swamplands, they draw winds from the mangrove bushes as they loom in menacing approach.
Pulling into the near empty lot, he sees Chet’s boat moored under a burning lamp. As he exits the car, a solitary figure emerges from the office on the brokerage strip. — You’re sure lucky to catch ol Chet. Don Wynter twirls a set of keys, glancing to the berthed boat. — Reckon he’s plannin on takin a long trip. Down to the Keys, or maybe even the Bahamas. Plenty supplies; I know that cause I sell em to him, the old boy laughs. — Pretty tight- lipped about it all. Reckon he got some sweet thing tucked away.
— Anybody else on the boat? Lennox asks.
— Don’t reckon so, the loquacious harbour master says, and begins to expand, but Lennox has turned abruptly and stolen off towards the vessel. Stepping on to the gangplank, he looks down at the oily water before hopping on to the pristine craft. It’s dark, but light emanates from the cabin below. However, Chet is on the bridge, and both men are startled by the unexpected presence of the other. — Lennox. What… what are you doing here?
— I left something, he says gruffly and heads without invitation downstairs to the galley kitchen and dining area. The dog-eared
Chet stands trembling in front of him, but although a breeze is mounting, it hasn’t yet shifted the humidity from the air and it isn’t cold. He regards the magazine in Lennox’s hand. — Must be valuable, for you to come back for it.
— Aye, Lennox acknowledges, — it is. Then he looks up at the sky. — Weather’s turned a wee bit.
— Forecast isn’t too bad though. The rain clouds should blow over us, Chet says, distractedly. — Tianna nice and safe?
Lennox’s antenna tingles. Tianna’s safety has become an afterthought. — Aye. She’s with friends of mine.
