‘Can’t not bloody listen, can I? You’re ranting. You really need to get over this hatred you have of Hopkins. Maybe he’s not as bad as you think, once you get to know him.’
Gus snorted loud and long. ‘Yeah right.’
The sounds of their crime scene suits rustling as they move drifts up into the attic space.
‘You’re not shagging him again are you, Al?’ A loud guffaw and the sound of a hand slapping lightly onto fabric. Followed the words. ‘Joking … You wouldn’t be so stupid would you – not after last time?’
The Man in Black’s scalp tingles as he presses his ear closer to the small hole he’d created right where the wall meets the ceiling. He is aware that his heart rate has increased in excitement and breathes quiet slow breaths to moderate it. This is delicious. Being able to hear McGuire talk, made up for all the hours spent attached to a catheter in the dark, uncomfortable little nook. The pleasure of knowing he is privy to the inside investigation, of hearing first-hand the voices of his targets, is thrilling. Now, he’s found out something he hadn’t realised. Alice had been shagging the reporter before – and lo and behold, here she is shagging him again, but this time her boss doesn’t know. Scrumptious!
‘Halllooooeee, Gus and Alice, boss woman. Let’s see what we’ve got.’
The Man in Black’s grin widens. He loves Prof Carlton – doesn’t mean he isn’t going to punish him – that’s still to be decided, but he is drawn to the quirky character the man has created. Plus, he wants to hear what delightful little insights he’ll have about him. It is interesting to have access to other people’s honest thoughts about oneself – and incredibly rare – people are always so damn dishonest.
Beneath him, Professor Carlton begins to hum.
Lavender’s Blue Dilly Dilly,
Lavender’s green
The man has a lovely tenor, and it amuses the Man in Black to hear that the little ditty he’d left behind has made its way into an earworm.
‘For God’s sake, Prof. Inappropriate!’ That’s Alice’s voice, although her words are tinged with amusement.
‘Eh, what is?’
The Man in Black imagines Carlton pushing his exceptional glasses up his nose and looking blankly at Cooper.
‘Never mind. It’s not that verse this time. It’s the second one – like you surmised;
Who told you so, Dilly Dilly,
Who told you so?
Twas my own heart,
Dilly Dilly, That told me so.’
The Man in Black’s grin deepens … such fun. Carlton is really on the ball – do they think a victim per verse? Lovely.
‘You don’t really doubt me, my dear, do you?’
Alice snorts at the psychologist’s complacence. ‘As far as I can see, that’s the only difference between the two crime scenes. I’m going down. Meet us back at The Fort when you’re done.’
Carlton remains, humming to himself and occasionally sighing. ‘Such a waste, such a waste … poor thing, poor thing.’
Two hours later, the scene below is empty, and it’s time for the Man in Black to make his way back to his access point two houses along. Careful not to spill, he removes the catheter, installs all his accoutrements into his bag and crawls along the floorboards, careful to remain only on the solid bits. When he gets to the appropriate house, he glances at his watch. The old biddy would be alone by now, watching the telly, the sound up really high. She’ll probably have downed a few glasses of sherry too.
He slides the attic door back and unfolds the compact extendable ladder he carries with him. Gentle snores drift up the stairs, nearly indiscernible against the blare of some daytime gameshow or other. He descends the ladder and begins to pack it away, then follows his usual routine of changing clothes. He is ready to go downstairs when a series of heavy bangs reverberate round the small terraced house. Shit!
Seconds later a voice accompanies another series of bangs. ‘Open up please, ma’am. We’re the police and we just want to check if you’ve seen anything. There has been an incident nearby and we need to chat with you.’
Shit, shit, shit.
‘Hang on, hang on. I’m not as young as I used to be. Give me a minute.’ The old dear’s voice is hoarse, and she still sounds half asleep. He can hear heaving sounds as she elevates her bulk, followed by the stomp of her Zimmer frame as she waddles her way to the door. The Man in Black looks back up towards the attic, then shakes his head. No way does he want to risk the noise of opening the door. Instead, he does the only thing he can and opens each of the bedroom doors in turn to ascertain which is the spare room. Slipping inside one filled with junk, he hunkers in the corner behind a chest of drawers and waits.
From here he can only hear the rise and fall of voices, but no words. After half an hour with no sound except the distant TV, he gets to his feet and tiptoes to the door. Pulling it open, he listens. She is snoring again. Taking care to avoid the middle part of the treads, he descends the stairs and slips along the hallway to the kitchen, pausing only when she stops snoring for a moment.
When she recommences with a snorting rumble, he continues to the kitchen. Peering out the window, he doesn’t see anybody. He puts on his hi-vis vest, hefts his rucksack up, and slips out the door, leaving it unlocked behind him. Back straight, confident, and making no attempt to hide himself, he marches down the passage and slips into the crowds as they begin to disperse from the house a few doors up the street.
In the distance he recognises a figure, hunched over, talking to a scruffy woman in slippers dragging on a cigarette. He is taking notes and nodding at the woman – no doubt trying to pry into the investigation.
