‘I’ve been better,’ he said weakly. ‘I just wish I knew who would want to do something like this to me.’
‘I know how you feel,’ she said thoughtfully, remembering a time when she had been attacked by a deranged former patient. ‘Sometimes it’s just because you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
‘Why was I there, though? That’s what I don’t understand.’
Jessica Tam nodded. ‘Give it time. Sometimes that’s all we can do.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘And try to get some rest. We need to get you well first. Maybe things will be better for you tomorrow.’
Jamil sank his head back deeper into his pillow and closed his eyes.
Maybe he would find some peace in his sleep, Jessica thought.
But she was wrong.
Very wrong.
*
Delaney pushed the fingers of his right hand through his damp hair. It had stopped raining a short while ago but there was still a stiff breeze in the moist air, and it was cold, too damn cold. He shouldered through the crowd of people who had gathered behind the yellow ribbons sealing off the top end of Carlton Row. Sally Cartwright was sailing behind him in his slipstream and smiling apologetically at the disgruntled members of the public shunted aside by him.
Melanie Jones was shouting something at Delaney as he ducked under the ribbon and he could feel the lights of a video camera trained on the back of his head – a new cameraman stepping into the breach for her, he guessed. But he had had enough of that particular reporter for one day and had tuned her out entirely. However, he couldn’t tune out the red-faced man who was even then barrelling towards him, clearly agitated.
‘Delaney, where the bloody hell have you been?’
Detective Inspector Robert Duncton of the serious crimes unit based at Paddington Green was a stocky man in his early forties. Delaney had run into him a few weeks back on another case and Duncton had made it quite clear that he regarded Delaney as a dangerous, ill-disciplined throwback with no place in the modern police force. The fact that Delaney had solved that particular case, rescuing at least three people in the process, didn’t seem to concern him much and his attitude towards Delaney didn’t seem to have mellowed any. Duncton’s wide shoulders were straining the fabric of his overcoat as he glared at Delaney, waiting for an answer.
‘Traffic was a nightmare on Western Avenue, wasn’t it, Sally?’
‘Horrendous, sir,’ Sally agreed.
‘Don’t bullshit me, Delaney. What the hell took you so long?’
‘You want to dial that attitude down a notch or two,
Duncton stepped closer. He didn’t raise his voice, mindful of the gathered crowd, but he clearly wasn’t happy. ‘No, I bloody don’t. You might act like the Lone bleeding Ranger out of your hick nick out in White City. But if you are on my watch you do things my way.
Delaney smiled at Sally Cartwright, not believing what he was hearing, and jerked his thumb towards Duncton. ‘Can you believe this guy?’ he asked her.
‘Let’s just get one thing clear …’ said Duncton, poking Delaney in the chest with a thick finger.
But that was as far as he got because Delaney, turning his shoulder to block his movements out of view, grabbed hold of Duncton’s finger and leaned in close to whisper, keeping his face smiling in case any cameras were still trained on him.
‘No!’ he said. ‘Let’s get this clear. You ever fucking lay a finger on me again and I will break it off at the fucking joint. I don’t work for you. You don’t outrank me, so keep the showboating for someone who gives a shit and let’s just focus on the matter in hand. Okay?’
He released Duncton’s hand and slapped him on the shoulder. ‘So what have we got, detective inspector?’
Duncton, now even more red-faced and furious with it, would have slapped his hand forcefully away but was as aware as Delaney of the scrutiny that Melanie Jones was giving them from beyond the perimeter screening and of the camera that was trained on them, the zoom no doubt closing in on their faces. It wouldn’t be too hard to get a lip-reader to work out what they were saying, even if they were too far away for the microphone to pick up their conversation. He returned Delaney’s smile and spoke through gritted teeth.
‘Let’s go inside.’
Delaney, followed by Sally Cartwright, accompanied the stocky detective into the house. Duncton pulled them up in the small hallway and shut the door behind him. From the lounge ahead of them they could hear a woman sobbing and another woman making comforting sounds.
Duncton held his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. ‘There’s a woman in there whose son has been abducted. God knows what has happened to him. Let’s focus on that.’
‘What I said,’ said Delaney.
Duncton nodded and sighed. ‘Okay. So bring me up to speed. Garnier. This boy who’s missing. What’s the connection?’
Delaney shrugged. ‘You know as much as I do.’
The other detective shook his head. ‘We know the square root of bugger-all. What’s this got to do with the sick bastard you’ve just been to visit?’
‘Trust me, it wasn’t a social visit. Two children went missing here fifteen years ago. Garnier was involved. We know he is a child murderer and rapist. What has this to do with the child that’s gone missing today? Garnier was in
