White Corridor

Rosemary Armstrong hated being called a ‘Mrs.“ when she should have been a Right Hon, and had no time for obsequious chitchat. She steamrollered over the minister’s pleasantries, cutting him off in mid-flow. ”The Princess Royal’s visit to this police unit, I see it has been scheduled for Thursday afternoon from five p.m. until six p.m. The Princess is attending a dinner in Kensington at six forty-five P.M., so I think we can shave half an hour from her appearance, yes? So five P.M. to five-thirty P.M., yes? And no formal presentations to staff, only the division heads, yes? We’d prefer not to have lilies or tulips in the presentation bouquet, best to stick with a small-bud pastel English arrangement. Get your florist to take a tip from Sissinghurst, which the Princess patronises. Still water and a selection of China teas during the photo opportunity; I’ll fax you a full list of requirements, yes? No “Meet the People” walkabouts, no presentation on the future of national policing, just a few opening pleasantries, a tour of the refurbished offices, “This is the operations room,” a quick demonstration of the latest technology, et cetera, photo opportunity and out, yes?“

“Well, I suppose we can squeeze the schedule down to half an hour,” said Faraday, who had no idea just how unprepared the unit was to receive royal visitors, “but I do think it’s a shame when-‘

“Jolly good, that’s all settled, then, yes? We shall have a chance to chat further on Thursday afternoon, no doubt.” Over my dead body, you ghastly little man, she thought, replacing the receiver before he had a chance to reply.

In the white Vauxhall van, Madeline lay awake, holding onto the jammed door handle. Ryan was buried under her arm once more, snoring lightly, untroubled by the cold.

We could die here, she thought. At the rate this snow is falling, we’ll be buried beneath the drifts soon. For a split second the idea seemed almost appealing, to slip away into the frozen darkness and have all her problems resolved. Then she glanced back at Ryan’s calm features and knew she would fight to protect him, whatever the cost.

How far was it to the nearest town? Those who had been equipped for such an emergency had long ago set off on the road, before it had become entirely impassable. Now it was too late, deep into the night, and all they could do was wait for the rescue services to arrive. Her breath blossomed in misted arabesques. She could hardly feel her lips.

At least the glittering signatures of frost on the windows prevented Johann from seeing in. Judging by the noise of the maelstrom outside, he was too concerned with his own safety now to try and find them. Kate Summerton had warned her that psychically sensitive women could develop extraordinary connections to the men with whom they made love. She felt a growing sureness about their bond now; within a few hours it would be light, and he would come to track her down once more. He wanted no salvation, only protection from exposure, but she was determined not to surrender the incriminating packet of horrific photographs.

It would be important to keep up their strength. She remembered there was a bar of chocolate in her pocket; it was better than nothing. And perhaps others were still trapped in their vehicles. Surely someone would be able to help her. She pressed her eyes shut and concentrated. Whoever you are, wherever you are, I’m sending out a message for help.

With the collar of her padded jacket pulled over them both, she shifted Ryan closer to her breast and tried to sleep.

29

CONNECTION

Janice Longbright had asked everyone else to leave the room. Once the door closed, she turned down the light a little and sat beside Owen Mills. She knew that he would only ever view her as the enemy, even if he had done nothing wrong. Sometimes, though, it was possible to lower the barriers set in place by age, race, gender, and authority just a little, enough to allow common gestures of grace to pass between two lives.

“Owen, I want to talk to you, not because my job demands it, but because I want to understand a little more. It’s hard to imagine this as neutral territory, isn’t it?” She looked up at the glaring light panels. “I hate this room as much as you do. Probably more, because I see it nearly every day. God, it’s depressing in here.” She moved a little closer. “Seeing that we have to talk, would you rather be somewhere else?”

“Whatever. The quicker I can get away.” He threw her a sullen glare.

“Let’s see how we get on. I can wrap this up more quickly if you give me an answer. Silence implies guilt, you know? At least if we talk, we can clear the air. How did you come to meet Lilith Starr?”

“Saw her around on the estate.”

“You probably see a lot of people on the estate, but you don’t have to talk to them. What made you choose her?”

Silence. Mills folded his arms defensively. Longbright narrowed her eyes, thinking. “You asked her out?”

Nothing.

“You dated her?”

‘Dated. What is that?“

“All right then, went out with. You went out with her.” She stopped and watched him. “You were still going out with Lilith Starr.”

Silence, she saw, was starting to mean yes.

“How long have you been going out with her?”

Downcast eyes. A sigh, a refolding of the arms. “Seven, maybe eight months.”

“You still at school?”

“They got nothing to teach me.”

“You went to St Michael’s, Camden? I’ve been there a few times. Can’t say I’d blame you for leaving. A real dump.” The room had grown cold. April brought them take-out coffees. Beneath his padded nylon sweats, Owen was small. He had the look of a boy who had been teased, then bullied and finally ostracised by those around him in class. In Camden, kids sometimes killed each other for living in the wrong postcodes. “I guess you and Lilith looked out for each other. A private thing. We all need someone who’ll do that, Owen. The streets can be pretty bad, especially in winter. Did you think she was going to stay out all night on Monday?”

“No, man, she had a crib. The place was fine.”

“So it came as a surprise when she didn’t return.”

No answer.

“She had a tattoo removed. Didn’t she like it anymore?”

“No.” Emphatic.

“What was it, the name of an old boyfriend?”

No answer.

“I was thinking of getting one once, a picture of Sabrina- an English glamour model from the fifties with a tiny waist and a big bust, you won’t have heard of her. I changed my mind when I discovered that her real name was Norma Ann Sykes.”

‘Bust. You use weird words.“

“Everyone needs to find the language they’re comfortable with, Owen. I haven’t seen this removed tattoo, but apparently it’s a real mess. How did she get rid of it?”

“Cut it off with a penknife. The tattoo guy wanted too much to take care of it.”

“When did she do that?”

“Soon after I met her.”

“Was it because of you? Did you ask her to do it?”

No answer.

“Where did she go to get it done? That place in the market?” Janice looked up at the ceiling, thinking. “Lilith Starr. If I was planning a career in show business, it’s the kind of name I’d pick. What made her choose that one?”

“I’m not telling you anything more about her. You didn’t know her.”

Longbright kept her voice soft and low. “I know she went out last night meaning to come straight back, then