going to go home and sleep. Sleep it sounded like a long drink from a cold well.
The Jaguar was almost empty so he pulled into the petrol station opposite Shrivemoor to fill up. It was hot: overhead the sun was steady at the midday position, shrinking the grass in the front gardens, making the drains sweat. He stared out absently at the street as the car filled, conscious of the way he'd just lived out Rebecca's diagnosis of him all through the time in the car with Tracey Lamb he'd wanted to push those rabbit's teeth down her throat. He sighed and replaced the nozzle, locking the petrol cap. He was tired of it all. He was tired of knocking himself out for a child he didn't know and suddenly he didn't care if they caught Rory Peach's killer, he didn't even care if there was another family, tied up somewhere, their own child naked and terrified.
He went into the kiosk to pay, bought a truffle icecream for Kryotos, and was crossing the forecourt, the tarmac hot underfoot, when someone came trotting over from the direction of Shrivemoor. 'Mr. Caffery.'
Instinctively he left his hand where it was, on his breast pocket, closed over his wallet. A very tall man with pale, almost alabaster skin and fine blond hair in a neat baby curl stopped a few feet away on the edge of the forecourt. He was dressed in a pop-button cord shirt and matching fawn cords and was holding an old Argos carrier-bag containing a few belongings. 'You are DI Caffery.' He put his hand up to shield his eyes. 'I saw you in Brixton.'
'Have we met?'
'No. I was interviewed by one of your men. He gave me your name.'
'And you are?'
'Name's Gummer. I'm, uh He looked over his shoulder. 'I've got a few things I'd like to discuss about the Peach case.'
'Uh.' Caffery didn't move for a moment. He supposed he should shake Gummer's hand, but there was something about him that said Gummer was more interested in giving Caffery a lecture on the allocation of man- hours than passing on any information. He looked like someone who had a theory. Or maybe he was a journalist, giving him an act. 'It might be easier if you made an appointment.'
'Maybe we could have…' He waved vaguely down the street in the direction of the shops. 'I could buy you coffee. They wouldn't let me into the station made me wait out in the sun.'
'They probably would rather you called first.'
'S'pose so.' Gummer began to tuck in his shirt, and now Caffery could see a slight stoop in his posture, as if he was afraid he had shown too much of himself, too much spirit in that brave, rash sprint across the tarmac.
Suddenly Caffery felt a little sorry for him. He dropped his hand from his wallet. 'Look, what did you want to talk about?'
'I just said the Peach family. You know. The ones in Donegal Crescent?' He crossed his hands over his chest and gave an odd little dip at the waist, as if his hands had been bound across his chest like a pharaoh. 'You know, the ones who got tied up.'
'Yes, surprisingly, I do know.'
'I've got a theory.'
Ah. I was right. I've got you sussed. 'Look, Mr. Gummer, maybe an appointment would be better do it officially.' He turned to go but Gummer stepped in front of him.
'No.'
'We can make an appointment now.'
'No come and have coffee with me.'
'If it's so important why don't you just tell me? Now.'
'I'd rather you had coffee with me.'
'I'd rather you made an appointment.'
'OK. OK.' Gummer dropped his eyes and stared at his greying, unlaced trainers, shifting from one foot to the other as if getting up his courage. His face was becoming red. 'Has um has anyone said anything to you about a bogeyman? A troll?'
That got Caffery's interest. 'Where've you heard that?'
'It was in the paper. A little boy got raped by him in the park.'
'I see,' he said cautiously. 'And when was this?'
'Long time ago. His name was Champaluang Keoduangdy.'
'Did you know him?'
'No. I read about it.'
'You remember his name? It's a difficult name to remember.'
'I learned it. I was living in Brixton then. It was the troll who did that, you know.' His neck was red now, bright red. He seemed to be blushing all over.
'Is this what your kids have told you?'
'No, no. Not my kids…' He put his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet a bit more. 'I haven't -uh I haven't got any.'
'Got any?'
'Any kids.'
'Then who told you about the troll?'
'The kids I teach at the swimming-pool. The little ones are always talking about it. And…' He looked up and met Caffery's eyes. 'And I wondered what the police knew about it.'
'But we're talking about kids' fantasy lives. What's it got to do with the Peaches?'
'They're not stupid, children. If they talk about a troll in the woods, about a troll watching them in bed, maybe you should listen to them. Whoever it was who raped Champaluang wasn't a figment of someone's imagination.'
'That's true.' Caffery put his hand under the icecream, afraid it would drip. 'Mr. Gummer, these children you teach, have any of them actually seen him? The troll? Have you heard any of them say they've seen him or been approached by him?'
' just because they haven't doesn't mean you can dismiss' it You should be exploring every avenue.'
'Yes. That's what we're '
'And something else,' Gummer interrupted, agitated now. 'I read the Peaches were going on holiday is that true?'
'If you read it then it must be true.'
'Well, then,' he said, 'maybe we should ask ourselves if that is relevant information.'
'I think it would have crossed the mind of any investigating officer. If he was doing his job. Wouldn't it?'
'If he was doing his job, yes…' Gummer met Caffery's eyes defiantly, leaving the sentence to hang there between them.
Caffery sighed. He was tiring of this jousting session out in the midday sun. 'Look.' He held up the ice-cream. 'It's melting. I should go.'
Gummer shifted his weight from foot to foot and back again, the corduroys folding and pleating around his feet. 'You police, you won't take any help '
'I'm sorry.'
'You're all as bad as each other.' He rolled the carrier-bag and its contents into a little ball. 'You've all got your theories but anyone else comes along you've got to be the kings of the castle, haven't you? Won't listen to anyone else.'
'Mr. Gummer, that's not true '
'No wonder no one never reports anything to you.' He began to shuffle away. 'No wonder kings of the castle.'
Caffery stood in the hot sun and watched Gummer's shambolic progress across the tarmac. He waited until he had disappeared around the corner then sighed and turned back to the Jaguar.
Bela Nersessian was in the downstairs lobby waiting for the lift, breathing heavily. She was wearing a sequinned low-necked sweater and tight black leggings, and had three bags of shopping gathered around her feet. Caffery had forgotten she was coming today.
'Bela,' he said.
'Afternoon, darling.' She held a hand out for the ice-cream. 'I'll take that and…' she nodded at the shopping '… if you wouldn't mind.'
