attempted to run a comb through his hair.
‘Like I said, I’ve spoken to the cops already. There’s not much I can add. I must have been out when he was killed. I never heard anything.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘That was the point, actually. For the first time in over a year he was quiet. I should have realised something was wrong when he wasn’t playing his stereo full blast in the afternoon.’
‘Noisy neighbour?’ said Nightingale.
‘You don’t know the half of it,’ said Lumley. The kettle switched itself off and Lumley dropped teabags into the mugs and poured in hot water. ‘I know I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead but Daryl was a nasty piece of work. He really didn’t give a toss about anyone other than himself. He was up late at night but that was okay because I worked nights. I know the girl in Flat 1 was always complaining and even got the council environmental people around once, but you couldn’t reason with him. I think he had two ASBOs from his last place. That was council-owned so they got him out eventually but this is private so there was no way to get him out.’
‘He’s out now,’ said Nightingale.
Lumley looked over his shoulder. ‘Yeah, but skinning him alive was a bit drastic, don’t you think?’
‘I suppose they looked at the woman in Flat 1?’
Lumley laughed. ‘She’s five foot nothing. Daryl was a big lad.’ He bent down to open a small fridge tucked away under the table. He sloshed milk into both mugs. ‘Sugar?’
‘Sweet enough,’ said Nightingale.
Lumley handed him one of the mugs, a tea bag still floating in the brew. ‘So they’re no nearer catching the guys that did it?’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘What I read in the papers. Plus the fact that you’re here.’ He waved Nightingale to the one chair in the room, a wood one with a high back. Lumley sat down on the bed.
‘I was hoping to talk to whoever was in Flat 4. I wanted to know if they saw Daryl with any visitors.’ Nightingale took photographs of the four other victims and gave them to Lumley.
‘They’re the others that were killed, right?’
Nightingale nodded. ‘Did you ever see any of them here?’
‘I didn’t see much of him or his visitors, truth be told,’ said Lumley. He flicked through the pictures and then handed them back. ‘We were in different time zones. Once I got into the habit of sleeping with earplugs I rarely had any dealings with him.’ He sipped his tea. ‘You know what he was like, right?’
‘A thirty-nine-year-old Goth, unemployed. That pretty much says it all.’
Lumley chuckled. ‘Yeah, he wasn’t a great one for nine to five, that’s for sure. He wasn’t a Goth though. I think they just said that to make it a better story. The first four were Goths, right? Two young guys and two young girls. Then they found Daryl all cut to bits and they wanted to label it the Goth Killers so that’s how they described him. But I heard the music he played and he wasn’t into the Goth stuff. More heavy metal. The heavier the better.’
‘Goth stuff would be what, then?’
‘Pierce The Veil, Sleeping With Sirens, My Chemical Romance. The Cure if you’re old school. Not Aerosmith and AC-DC.’
‘So you’re saying he wasn’t a Goth?’
‘He wore black, sure. But none of that make-up nonsense. Black jeans, black shirts, black motorcycle boots. He was more of a biker.’
‘Did he have a bike?’
Lumley laughed. ‘No, he was a biker without a bike. But he did have biker mates. Not Hells Angels exactly, but serous bikers. I saw the picture they used in the papers, and it was him, sure, but it showed his face and his hair was spiky and gelled but usually he just wore it natural. And you didn’t see the tattoos in the picture, his arms were covered in them. All sorts of stuff. Fish. Animals. Flowers. A pirate. A sword. The times I saw him he was wearing a denim jacket with the sleeves hacked off.’
‘So you saw bikers around but never Goths?’
‘Like
‘Like I said, I’ve spoken to the cops already. There’s not much I can add. I must have been out when he was killed. I never heard anything.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘That was the point, actually. For the first time in over a year he was quiet. I should have realised something was wrong when he wasn’t playing his stereo full blast in the afternoon.’
‘Noisy neighbour?’ said Nightingale.
‘You don’t know the half of it,’ said Lumley. The kettle switched itself off and Lumley dropped teabags into the mugs and poured in hot water. ‘I know I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead but Daryl was a nasty piece of work. He really didn’t give a toss about anyone other than himself. He was up late at night but that was okay because I worked nights. I know the girl in Flat 1 was always complaining and even got the council environmental people around once, but you couldn’t reason with him. I think he had two ASBOs from his last place. That was council-owned so they got him out eventually but this is private so there was no way to get him out.’
‘He’s out now,’ said Nightingale.
Lumley looked over his shoulder. ‘Yeah, but skinning him alive was a bit drastic, don’t you think?’
‘I suppose they looked at the woman in Flat 1?’
Lumley laughed. ‘She’s five foot nothing. Daryl was a big lad.’ He bent down to open a small fridge tucked away under the table. He sloshed milk into both mugs. ‘Sugar?’
‘Sweet enough,’ said Nightingale.
Lumley handed him one of the mugs, a tea bag still floating in the brew. ‘So they’re no nearer catching the guys that did it?’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘What I read in the papers. Plus the fact that you’re here.’ He waved Nightingale to the one chair in the room, a wood one with a high back. Lumley sat down on the bed.
‘I was hoping to talk to whoever was in Flat 4. I wanted to know if they saw Daryl with any visitors.’ Nightingale took photographs of the four other victims and gave them to Lumley.
‘They’re the others that were killed, right?’
Nightingale nodded. ‘Did you ever see any of them here?’
‘I didn’t see much of him or his visitors, truth be told,’ said Lumley. He flicked through the pictures and then handed them back. ‘We were in different time zones. Once I got into the habit of sleeping with earplugs I rarely had any dealings with him.’ He sipped his tea. ‘You know what he was like, right?’
‘A thirty-nine-year-old Goth, unemployed. That pretty much says it all.’
Lumley chuckled. ‘Yeah, he wasn’t a great one for nine to five, that’s for sure. He wasn’t a Goth though. I think they just said that to make it a better story. The first four were Goths, right? Two young guys and two young girls. Then they found Daryl all cut to bits and they wanted to label it the Goth Killers so that’s how they described him. But I heard the music he played and he wasn’t into the Goth stuff. More heavy metal. The heavier the better.’
‘Goth stuff would be what, then?’
‘Pierce The Veil, Sleeping With Sirens, My Chemical Romance. The Cure if you’re old school. Not Aerosmith and AC-DC.’
‘So you’re saying he wasn’t a Goth?’
‘He wore black, sure. But none of that make-up nonsense. Black jeans, black shirts, black motorcycle boots. He was more of a biker.’
‘Did he have a bike?’
Lumley laughed. ‘No, he was a biker without a bike. But he did have biker mates. Not Hells Angels exactly, but serous bikers. I saw the picture they used in the papers, and it was him, sure, but it showed his face and his hair was spiky and gelled but usually he just wore it natural. And you didn’t see the tattoos in the picture, his arms were covered in them. All sorts of stuff. Fish. Animals. Flowers. A pirate. A sword. The times I saw him he was wearing a denim jacket with the sleeves hacked off.’
‘So you saw bikers around but never Goths?’
‘Like
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