Henry picks up the Sky Plus remote and rewinds to a recorded news broadcast. ‘Look at this,’ he says. ‘Just fucking look at it.’
On TV, Patrick sees a black police officer with broad shoulders. He’s sitting behind a long desk, flanked by uniformed officers whom Patrick presumes to be of a higher rank.
‘Here he goes,’ says Henry. ‘Here he fucking goes. Listen.’
On screen, the policeman is saying how sorry he feels for Henry.
‘ We know you’re in a great deal of emotional turmoil, and we want to help you. We want to talk to you and we will go to every effort to talk to you.’
Patrick goes cold from his feet to his head.
‘Those cunts,’ says Henry, blinking and tearful. ‘Those fucking cunts. Look at them. Who the fuck do they think they’re talking to?’
Henry watches the press conference twice more, mouthing along with it. Patrick doesn’t move from his position in the doorway.
‘They feel sorry for me?’ Henry says. ‘They’re trying to fucking embarrass me. They’re trying to fucking show me up. Who are they, eh? Who are these cunts to feel sorry for me?’
‘I don’t know,’ says Patrick.
‘I’ll do them,’ Henry says. ‘I’ll fucking do them. The fucking cunts.’
Henry goes to the cabinet and takes out a disposable mobile phone, still boxed. He opens the box, takes out the phone, takes off the bubble wrap and fits the battery. He puts all the bits of cardboard in a Tesco Metro carrier bag, ready to be thrown in someone else’s bin.
All the while, he’s muttering to himself. I’ll do you, you cunts. I’ll fucking do you. Fucking show me up. I’ll do you.
When Henry’s got the phone, then his wallet, he stands waiting in his neat grey coat with the black suede collar, his square-toed Church’s shoes. He looks almost small, like an angry bantam. It hurts Patrick to see it.
Henry tells Patrick to drive to Hyde Park. There are few CCTV cameras there.
Henry hates CCTV cameras. He sometimes talks about moving away, moving to a country where it’s more difficult to be seen.
Patrick and Henry drive to Hyde Park and sit on a bench.
Henry calls the radio station and rages.
CHAPTER 14
Pete Black: ‘Are we on air?’
Maggie Reilly: ‘You’re live on the air to London.’
‘Good. I saw what that policeman said about me on the news. The press conference. He was lying about me. That policeman. So let me tell you this. I want him to apologize. Properly. I want him to say sorry for the lies he told about me.’
‘What lies did he tell? As far as I can see-’
‘That I’m pathetic. That I’m in pain. I’m not in pain. I was trying to help. I wanted to help that little baby. And he comes on TV and insults me. Well, I’ve had enough. More than enough. I’ve had it up to here with scum like that, pricks who think they can talk to me any way they want to. I want an apology. A public apology.’
‘I don’t think that’s going to happen, Pete. I don’t think the police will apologize to you.’
‘Well, they’d better.’
‘And what does that mean?’
‘I want you to get a police officer on the line and I want an apology. I know they’re listening. I know they’re tracing this call. They think they’re so clever. They think they’re so smart. They think they’re whiter than white. Well, I’ve had enough.’
Silence.
‘Either they apologize — or what happens next is their fault.’
‘What does that mean, Pete? What’s going to happen next?’
‘That’s not for me to say. All I want is for the police to come on here, on the radio, on your show, and say sorry for what they said about me.’
‘Pete, you’ve freely admitted to killing two people.’
‘What about all the hookers and all the dealers, eh? What happens to them? All the vandals and all the hoodies and all the dole scum? All these lowlifes, all these generations of parasites living in shitty, dirty, horrible council flats. They get away with murder. The police turn a blind eye to them, don’t they?’
‘Pete, I’m not sure-’
‘If they don’t apologize, I’ll do it again.’
‘Do what again?’
‘I think you know what I mean.’
‘No, I think London needs you to be very clear here. I think London needs to know exactly what you’re saying.’
‘I’ll tell you what I’m saying. I’ve got keys to all your houses. I’ve got keys to all the houses in London. If they don’t apologize to me, then I’m going to come for all the mummies and all the daddies and all their little babies. I’m going to let myself into someone’s house tonight and I’m going to open them up and I’m going to gobble on their insides and I’m going to fuck them and I’m going to fucking eat them, all right? Do you understand me now? Do you fucking feel sorry for me now? Do I sound like I’m in pain now? You lying cunts. Do you understand me? Do you understand what I’m going to do?’
Teller clicks a mouse to stop the playback. ‘That’s enough of that, I think.’
Luther sits back in the chair. His eyes flick to Cornish. ‘There’s more?’
‘Another minute or so. They killed the live feed, of course.’
‘Another minute of-’
‘Just ranting,’ Teller says. ‘Cunt this, cunt that.’
‘I need to hear it.’
‘You can hear it at your own desk. I’ve heard enough.’
‘We get a location?’
‘Hyde Park. Two and a half square kilometres of open parkland. Limited CCTV coverage. Thousands of people moving in thousands of different directions. He might as well have called from the moon.’
Cornish rolls up a sleeve. Doesn’t seem to like it. He unrolls it again and buttons the cuff. ‘Will he make good on this threat?’
‘Yes,’ says Luther. ‘He’s like the rest of them. He’s grandiose, self-important, ego-driven. He can’t stand to be thought of as weak. He’d rather be hated than pitied. And he’d rather be feared than either.’
‘Well,’ Teller says. ‘If we had a PR problem before, we’ve got a humdinger now. Can we find him before tonight?’
‘How?’ says Luther. ‘Tell me how, I’ll do it.’
‘I don’t know. Sprinkle some fairy dust. Do your thing.’
‘Okay. Then let me do what he’s asking. Let me go on TV, on radio, whatever, and apologize.’
‘That’s not going to happen,’ Cornish says.
‘There’s a family in London who won’t see the sunrise tomorrow if it doesn’t. You can bet he’s already picked them out.’
He outlines what Benny told him about the likelihood of Facebook stalking. Cornish and Teller listen, increasingly despondent.
Then Cornish says, ‘But if we give this prick what he wants today, what does he ask for tomorrow? Do we give him that, too? And if we do, what does he ask for the next day? And the day after that? And the day after that?’
Luther sags, knowing he’s right.
‘Take me off the case,’ he says.
