A sick killer. There was only one sick killer from the Barchapel area that I was aware of, and I’d been talking to him through a glass screen the previous day. I stared at the comment, re-reading it several times.
My reverie was broken by a loud tut from the elderly gentleman seated opposite. I glanced across, wondering if he was irritated that I was reading articles about a brutal murder, but his attention was focused on something going on in the next carriage.
‘Cockroaches,’ he muttered in disgust. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, and I noted the brief tremble in his fingers and the ashen pallor of his skin. He realised I was watching him and turned to me. ‘It’s always the same on these trains at the weekend,’ he explained. ‘Gangs of kids. Scabby little insects who scurry around and cause trouble.’ He shook his head. ‘The girls are usually worse than the boys. If the train guard was doing his job properly, they’d be turfed out at the next station and banned from travelling on this route. But, of course,’ he waved an irritated hand, ‘there’s never a train guard in sight when you need one.’ He sighed. ‘Don’t mind me, dear. Train guards are a particular bugbear of mine.’
I pulled a face and grunted, hoping to convey sympathetic agreement without commitment, and leaned over so I could get a better look at what was going on. I might be officially on holiday but I was still with the police; I had responsibilities that I couldn’t ignore.
The man was right. Through the glass door that led beyond this carriage into the next, I could see half a dozen teenagers standing in the aisle clustered around a seated passenger. They were displaying the sort of surly snarls that were virtually an adolescent art form. Whoever the passenger was that they’d targeted, it was clear they were harassing them.
I slowly closed the lid of my laptop and pushed my lunch bag to one side. The elderly man gave me an alarmed look. ‘You shouldn’t get involved,’ he advised. ‘Sometimes they carry knives.’
I almost hoped they did. I smiled at him. ‘Don’t worry about me,’ I murmured. ‘I’ve got this.’
I stood up and smoothed down my clothes before walking up the aisle and pressing the button to open the door. It slid open with a smooth whoosh, and I heard the taunting voices of the group of teens.
‘Your mum’s psycho like you. She’s on meds, right?’ one of the girls said to the seated victim. She was dressed in a tight T-shirt that displayed her midriff and was emblazoned with glittery words that stated she was ‘No Angel’. Indeed. ‘Are they good ones? Do they get her high?’
‘Oh,’ sneered the boy next to her, ‘I bet they’re good. Get us some, will ya?’
I adjusted my cuffs and sauntered towards them. ‘Hey,’ I called out in a friendly voice. ‘What’s going on?’
As if they were a single amorphous being, the teens turned towards me. No Angel screwed up her face. ‘Fuck off, lady.’
My expression didn’t alter. ‘Dear me, such language.’ I paused. ‘You know, swearing at the police is likely to end up in arrest.’ It wasn’t, of course; there was no specific offence that dealt with swearing alone, but this lot wouldn’t know that. I embellished even further. ‘The last person who swore at me is doing six months in jail.’
They all looked me up and down. ‘You’re not police,’ one of the boys muttered. ‘Where’s your uniform?’
No Angel thumped him round the back of his head. ‘Idiot,’ she said. She looked at me. ‘Prove it. Prove you’re a copper.’
The others were starting to shuffle backwards. That wasn’t unexpected. Bored teenagers like these, especially when they were in groups, could give the impression that they were feral and unstoppable and had a total disregard for authority. But, despite their loud mouths, they’d back down quickly once challenged. I’d been that age once and I wasn’t convinced that I’d been any different. However, No Angel was bolder than the others; in my experience, that meant she had less to lose.
I reached into my pocket and drew out my warrant card. The girl slunk forward and stared at it.
‘Detective Constable Emma Bellamy,’ I said, allowing her a long gawk.
‘Fucking hell,’ she muttered. She raised her head, a defiant tilt to her chin. ‘You can’t arrest us for swearing. It’s a free country. Free speech an’ all that.’
I decided that I liked her. ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘I can’t arrest you for swearing.’ I gestured towards the passenger they’d been haranguing, a young lad who looked about the same age but who had flushed skin and scared eyes. ‘Unless other people are feeling distressed or harassed.’
‘We weren’t doing nothing,’ No Angel said. She jabbed the boy in the seat with her elbow. ‘Were we, Al? You ain’t distressed.’
I wouldn’t allow their victim to be drawn into a pointless, peer-pressured denial. ‘I know what I saw.’ I gave her a meaningful look. ‘Perhaps you lot should find another carriage to sit in.’
She sniffed. ‘Stinks in here anyway.’ She allowed a beat to pass. ‘Of pigs.’
I put on my most disapproving expression, the one that had cowed various werewolves and vampires into at least a semblance of submission, but No Angel was unimpressed. She turned away, though, and marched down the aisle into the front carriage with the others following.
The boy they’d been bothering watched
