flickered on the walls. It was gloomy inside but he knew instantly that he was looking at the room from the video. Full of furniture, the walls decorated with cheaply framed oils, a gilt-covered starburst clock, four 200-packs of imported Rothman's on the bookshelf. This is it this is it. And then he saw her.
A woman, huge, sitting on the sofa in the shaded room, blue light playing across her face. She wore pale nylon knickers and an ageing bra. Her legs were too enormous to close the whorled fat on the insides of her thighs forced them out in a stubby foreshortened V. Her blonde hair, worn with a fringe, was pulled severely back on top of her head and secured there with a black band, revealing small gold earrings. Next to her sat a mug, an ashtray and a packet of Silk Cuts. Is that her? The hair's different. The woman in the video had been a brunette. A wig then in the video she must have worn a wig. At that moment she put down her cigarette in the ashtray, lifted a small polystyrene cup to her mouth, spat a glob of brown sputum into it, wiped her mouth, rested the cup on her belly, picked up her cigarette and went back to the TV. As she settled back he saw a tattoo on her arm and a little bolt of hope went through him. He was meant to be here.
The back door was locked, so he went round to the front. The paint was peeling and there was a disposable barbecue on the porch, full of rainwater and flies. He looked through the window and could see the blonde through the door at the end of the corridor, her legs bathed in blue TV light. He knocked on the window.
In the living room her legs jerked as if she'd been shot. She bolted upright, things falling on to the floor, and he saw her big blank face turn wildly to the door. He took a step back, took off his sunglasses and waited. Soon he could hear her breathing on the other side of the door.
'Who the fack's that?'
'Tracey?'
'I said who the fack is it?'
'Jack Caffiery.'
'Jack Caffery.'
'Never heard of you.' The chain was drawn across and the latch was unhooked and now the door opened a crack and her big face appeared in the gap in the door, pale eyes blinking in the sun. 'Who the fuck are you, then?' She had pulled on a flimsy pink gown. In spite of the nicotine-stained blonde hair, this was definitely the woman from the video. She had the teeth of an old rabbit. 'What d'you want, then? I'm not buying nothing.'
'Are you on your own? Is there anyone else here?'
'What the fuck's that to you?'
'Caffery,' he said. 'Jack Caffery.'
'Am I supposed to know what the fuck you're talking about?'
'Ivan Penderecki sent me.'
Her face changed. 'Eh?'
'Ivan Penderecki. You know who I mean. A friend of your brother's.'
At that she took keys from a hook, took the chain off the door and stepped outside, closing the door behind her and tying the gown closer. 'Don't give me all that. He never did send you.'
'No, you're right. He never did because he's dead. I found out about your brother from the videos Penderecki was keeping for you.'
Tracey Lamb's mouth opened a little. She stood with her feet apart, her big ham arms crossed under her breasts, her mouth slack and nasty. 'Who are you?'
'Detective Inspector Jack Caffery. Metropolitan Police.'
He knew she'd bolt when he said it and he was ready. He stepped straight forward and put his hands on either side of her as she scrabbled to get the keys in the front door.
'What?' she screamed, frustrated. 'Get off of me!'
'Stand still, I want to talk to you.'
'I'm not talking to the fucking filth.'
'Stand still, Tracey!' She abandoned the attempt to get into the house and instead launched sideways, breaking past his arms and charging along the side of the house. But he mirrored her, his hands out, herding her back towards the wall. 'I mean it, Tracey. Keep still:
'Fuck off. Keep a-fucking-way from me.' She put her head down. He saw she was preparing to aim a knee at his groin and he stepped sideways, quick as a torero, getting her right hand behind her back.
'No no no. Never kick a man in the balls.'
'Oww!' Tracey Lamb had been arrested before and was 'hold-wise'. She tried to lock her arm at the elbow but Caffery caught her by the hair, repositioned his feet and grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her back before she could lock it. 'OwwwV
'Yes OK, OK. Try not to struggle, Tracey. It just makes you look even more suss.'
'Get your fucking hands off me.' She struggled and kicked and twisted, and clamped her hand over his, trying to loosen his grip. 'You touched my titsV she screamed. There was no one to hear her, but this was knee jerk con behaviour. Even during the arrest they began plotting for the lawsuit they'd serve on the Met. 'Touched my fucking tits '
'Yeah, c'mon, c'mon.' He hesitated a moment, looking around at the clearing. Where now? Where shall I take her? The car. 'Come on.' He dragged her back down the little drive, his hand bleeding where she'd clawed at it. A crow or a rook screamed above them and took flight from one of the huge rustling trees. At the car he pushed her roughly into the passenger seat and locked the door. She scrambled to the driver's side, but he was there already, opening the door and getting in, pushing her into the seat. 'Back back. Or do you want cuffing?'
'You bastard.'
'I mean it, I'll cuff you.'
'You fucker.' She puffed her breath out in a sigh and fell back in the seat.
'Good. Now…' He started the engine and turned the air on full. He hadn't broken a sweat but Lamb was red- faced and puffing. 'Don't try to get out. Just behave yourself.'
'Don't talk to me like that.' She sat forward in the seat shaking a bitten, nicotine-stained finger at him. 'I don't care who you are, don't talk to me like that. Filth!' She sat back in the seat, breathing hard. 'Should've fucking known to look at you you were filth. Evil fucking eyes. Typical filth to go round hitting women, that's real filth behaviour.'
'Just calm down, OK?' He reached across her and she flinched. 'Relax.' He unhooked the seat-belt. 'I'm not going to touch you.'
As he pulled the seat-belt across her huge body Lamb dropped her chin and sank teeth into his arm.
'Fuck, Jesus.' She had him in a vice grip. He grabbed her by the hair and jerked her head back, shaking her like a dog. 'Let go. Come on, let fucking go, you shithouse.' She gave a little gasp and released her grip and he sat back, pulled his hand away, examining the grey marks, pinpoints of blood under the skin. 'You spiteful little slag.'
He drove her to a lay by on the A134, opposite a graffitied power substation in the centre of an overgrown field. He parked the Jag so the passenger door was hard up against a hedgerow, switched off the engine and turned to her.
'Look, first let me give you a little straightener, OK?' He got tobacco from the glove compartment and began to roll a cigarette. 'I don't know why you haven't got a file on you, but I can promise you that when they do they'll find you so tasty they'll crow it from the rooftops. You'd be looking at, what? Something between seven and ten? But for now they don't know and guess who can keep it that way?'
'I'm not a snout if that's what you're getting at.' The gold earrings clung precariously to the bottom of a long slash in her earlobes, stretched by years of heavy jewellery. He was sure he could see a tiny flash of sky and trees through them every time she moved her head. 'If that's what you've come here for. Not a fucking snout.'
'I'd like you to tell me if any of your brother's fucked-up and twisted pals had a habit of biting. Hmm? Someone in Brixton who likes biting little boys?' He sealed the Rizla and lit the cigarette, pointing it at Tracey. 'It's got serious now, Tracey, really serious. I want some names I want to know all the names of Carl's friends.'
'You're fucking joking, aren't you? I'm not rolling over go fuck yourself.'
'You specialize in juves, don't you? You and Carl were part of a paedo ring. I've seen the videos.'
'They were faked, ya stupid cunt. Faked.'
'Yes, well, first off, you're lying. But let's just say for the sake of argument that this is your excuse, then welcome, Tracey, to the land of the pseudo photo the Home Office is one step ahead of you and we can do you for
