adult when you realize there might not be an answer. Where will you go?”
“Back to the shop.”
“He'll find you there.”
“Yeah. Mr Lawrence will help me.”
“He's the painter?”
“Yeah.”
“He's an old man. What can he do?”
“He's a thinker, Powder Pete. He'll think of something. I heard, somewhere, that brains is better than muscle.”
“That’s bollocks. Fear is the key, Paul Knight, the fear of death, that inventor of heaven and hell and all the gods there ever were. When people know that you have no fear then they will fear you.” “So I'll make myself scarce, then.”
“Yes. I've got to let you go, Paul. I want to help you but, if I get hurt…bad, then who's going to look out for the kids? And time's against me. Gotta find a new place, a safe place. The villains, Ticker's men, are coming back and this time they'll mean business.” “You don't need to say nothing, Powder Pete. Just help me out, will you? I'm hurting a bit. Just a bit.”
“You're bleeding.”
“Yeah, a bit. It ain't much, is it?”
“You ought to get to the hospital, boy. Something might be busted, inside. But they'll ask questions. It didn't happen here, right?” “Don't you worry about me, Powder Pete. You got enough to worry about with the kids. I'll make out. Always did, right? You take care of the kids. I'll be back… Terminator, innit?”
Powder Pete helped him through the window and passed out the bags containing the badminton rackets and trainers. He shook a sad head. Paul Knight was one of life's losers, a non-starter in the race of the nobbled. Had he been a dozen years younger then Powder Pete would have taken an interest, taken care of him, but lines had to be drawn. Aid agencies across the world drew them and one man could only do so much.
It was a shame, but there was nothing he could do but watch him go, damaged goods leaking on to the gutted road.
A cry came up from the Warren and Powder Pete turned from the window and the forlorn figure of Paul Knight, a hunched silhouette against the shine of the city, clambering over the top of the world, the piles of rubble and the silent diggers. He moved towards the sound of tears and found their source curled up beneath a stained duvet. He stroked a head of damp hair and said gently, “Don't be frightened. I’ll take care of you. My name is Powder Pete.”
Chapter 20
Two days earlier, the day before Brian Lara had met Paul Knight in Avenue Road, PC Donna Fitzgerald spent the morning with Geoff Maynard. She considered that Cole and Maynard made an unlikely alliance. Cole was direct, intense and dangerous on a number of levels
– even the villains recognized it. He was good-looking too with a physique that would make a cheap suit look good. She couldn’t imagine him involved in household chores or relaxing in front of the TV. But just the thought of him quickened her pulse. She was in trouble and she knew it.
Maynard, on the other hand, was relaxed and informal and the casual clothes he wore – she hadn’t yet seen him out of jeans – were well-worn, even scruffy. She could easily imagine him at her old school, teaching one of those dusty subjects she’d chosen to ignore. But there lay the paradox. For someone who took in every word and clung to every gesture no matter how slight or inconsequential, he was simply too laid-back, and although he never challenged – as a copper might have done – she just knew that it was all noted and filed for later use. It was this undercurrent that left her uncomfortable and slightly on edge.
She was, however, fascinated by the way he worked and following him around, armed with a street map and retracing the victim’s footsteps from, in the case of Elizabeth Rayner, the leisure centre to her likely destination, she found herself shaking her head on more than one occasion.
“Lose yourself in the surroundings,” he had said. “Ask yourself the questions: why here, why now, was he waiting, or following, where from, was an exit considered, if not, why not…”
She hadn’t really appreciated what he was getting at until they reached the spot where Elizabeth was attacked. The only clue that an incident had taken place was a poster, under the heading of ‘Serious Assault’, appealing for witnesses and information. There, he had offered two options – were they looking for a stalker or an opportunist? The stalker would know the route and lie in wait. He would have made his plans, followed her home on a number of occasions and got to know her routine. He would then have chosen the safest place to carry out his attack. Having already found a number of more likely places further along Elizabeth’s intended path, she knew without Maynard spelling it out that they were looking for the opportunist and that the assaults on Elizabeth at least, had not been planned. Equally, assuming that Elizabeth was followed, for if not then the attacker might have been hanging around for some time waiting for a likely victim and would not have taken the chance of being recognized, then the attacker must have come from the same direction, the leisure centre and the Square.
And after the assault which way did the assailant leave the SOC? She nodded her understanding. She was beginning to understand his reasoning and caught his glance as she worked it out. He was willing her to get there, just like her old teacher.
“That way would be unknown territory,” she confirmed. “So unless he knew the area he’d go back the way he came. He must already have made sure there was no one behind him – the attack only took seconds – so he knows that way is clear.”
Maynard said nothing but she knew she’d got it right. They approached the High Road. He didn’t need to ask the question that she was already working on – which way now?
To the crowd, she proposed. In a crowd people remain anonymous. He’s heading back to the Square!
Wouldn’t he hang around to see the ambulance and the police? Some get off on that?
No, he couldn’t take the chance someone would approach from the other direction.
Maynard said, “So, we’ve got the time to within seconds and we know which way he came and which way he went. Any camera along the way would have photographed not only Elizabeth once, but the attacker twice within a few minutes, front and back image.” They walked on and checked every shop and business, searching for a camera that might have picked up the passers-by. They checked the higher buildings for any CCTVs that covered the street itself. They were some two hundred yards from the SOC, just a short distance from the Square itself, when they found what they were looking for. “You’re sure it’s a him we’re after? Could it be a double act with the woman acting as a lure, maybe, or even a lookout? Maybe she was fingering the victims and giving him directions on the phone – Fred and Rose West, Brady and Myra Hindley?”
Maynard pulled a face. It wasn’t dismissal, exactly, but it was clear he wasn’t happy with the idea that two people were involved. “You check the film,” he said. “You’re looking for a man – or a woman – wearing or carrying a dark jacket and, if it’s a man, then you might look for a woman on his heels. I’m going to concentrate on Brian’s woman. The key to all this lies…”
“Go on?”
“I was going to say in her handbag, but it might be under her skirt.” Maynard walked away toward the Square and left Donna staring thoughtfully after him.
Later, Brian said, “You ain't a normal copper, are you?” He sat in the front of Maynard's car. He felt a lot more at ease without the others. It was never easy with coppers up close. They were only interested in one thing, a result. And they didn't care how they got it.
“I'm not a policeman at all. I'm a psychologist. Does it show?” “Some things aren't hidden. Blue eyes is blue eyes.”
“My eyes aren't blue.”
“I know. They're brown. And they're all over me. They have been since you walked into the room.”
“Maybe you're tired or maybe you’re on something but you're way off the mark.”
“Think so?”
