Chameleon's Shadow

‘Me . . . nothing. Him . . . music and some girl he was keen on. Never really listened . . . just let him rabbit on till he nodded off.’

‘You said you met him a month ago. Have you any idea how long he’d been in London before that?’

‘No. ’

‘You also said gays were interested in him. Do you know if he ever went with any of them? Would he have sold himself if he needed money?’

Disgustedly, Chalky spat on the ground, as if to demonstrate his feelings about anal sex. ‘Didn’t ask. Can’t stand the buggers. Just showed him a safe place to kip.’

‘What would your guess be?’

‘Depends what he’s on. Cider comes cheap . . . heroin comes expensive. Most of ’em do it if they’re on the drugs.’ He made to move away, but a strong emotion suddenly burst out of him. ‘It ain’t right!’ he said loudly. ‘It’s not just the lads these bastards are after, it’s the lasses as well. If you’re going to tell the cops anything, tell ’em that.’

‘Sure,’ said Jackson easily, ‘but which bastards are we talking about? Punters or dealers?’

‘All of ’em! They treat runaways like garbage. When they’re not emptying themselves into the poor little sods, they’re getting ’em hooked on heroin. It shouldn’t be allowed.’ He launched another globule of spit on to the tarmac. ‘You can’t blame the kid for turning vicious. It’s the only way any of ’em know how to survive.’ He nodded. ‘I’ll see you around some time.’

Jackson watched him walk away. ‘Are you coming?’ she asked Acland.

He stared after Chalky for a moment, then opened the back door and put his kitbag inside. ‘Yes.’

*

If either had expected a sense of urgency to greet their arrival at the police station, they were disappointed. The team who’d interviewed Acland earlier had clocked off shortly after his release and the detective constable who was assigned to deal with them appeared to know less about Walter Tutting and Kevin Atkins than they did. Stressed about her work schedule, Jackson quickly

became irritated when he cut short her attempt at an explanation to pull out a form and ask for their names and addresses.

‘I don’t have time for this,’ she said curtly. ‘I’m on call. We need to talk to Detective Superintendent Jones or DI Beale as a matter of urgency –’ her eyes narrowed – ‘and you know perfectly well who I am. The WPC on reception gave you my name over the phone.’

The man looked at her with the same half-amused expression that had been on the faces of the people in A&E. ‘I still need your details, Ms Jackson.’

‘It’s Dr Jackson and Lieutenant Acland,’ she told him. ‘The Bell, Gainsborough Road. I guarantee the superintendent will not object to being woken if you inform him that we have Kevin Atkins’s mobile. It was on a homeless lad who’s been taken to St Thomas’s. Walter Tutting’s in the same hospital.’

He filled in their names and address. ‘Telephone number?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ she snapped, losing her patience. ‘Just call the superintendent.’

‘When I’ve satisfied myself that it’s necessary.’

‘Then try DI Beale.’

‘Same answer.’

Jackson eyed him for a moment. ‘What time does the superintendent usually come in in the morning?’

The man shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know. It depends on his shifts.’

‘Where can I leave a message for him?’

‘With me.’

She leaned forward. ‘Then put this: “Can’t get past the arrogant dickhead on night duty who has a problem with dykes. Urgent you contact Jackson ASAP at the Bell re gay murders. She has evidence linking a homeless man to Kevin Atkins.” Add the time and tell your boss we’ve taken the evidence with us because we don’t trust you to look after it properly.’ She handed the rucksack to Acland and stood up.

‘I’m merely following standard procedure, Dr Jackson,’ said the constable. ‘If I phoned the superintendent every time someone claimed to have important evidence, he’d be dead of exhaustion by now. Do I take it you’re terminating this interview because you no longer wish to report a crime?’

‘No. I’m terminating it because I haven’t the time to play up to your image of yourself. You can add that at the bottom of the message.’

‘What about you, sir?’ he asked Acland. ‘Have you anything to add?’

‘Only that, in your shoes, I’d consult with someone else before Dr Jackson and I leave.’ He paused. ‘I was signed off by a custody sergeant called Laver or Lavery. If he’s still on duty, you might do yourself a favour by talking to him.’

*

‘You should have let Jones eat him for breakfast,’ said Jackson after the door closed behind the constable. ‘Why so helpful suddenly? What’s a middle-aged Gruppenfu?hrer to you?’ Acland shrugged. ‘He’s out of his depth. It’s obviously a big deal to wake the boss in the middle of the night.’ ‘He’s a small-minded bully with a power complex.’ ‘You’re not much better. You only took him on because he was an easy target. I didn’t notice you lamming into any of the patients in A&E for sneering at you.’ She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. ‘It’s bad business practice to attack customers. Policemen are in a different category altogether. They have professional standards to uphold, which don’t include treating members of the public like a subspecies.’ Acland allowed a silence to develop. He still couldn’t decide what he thought about this woman. There was so much about her that repelled