last time you spoke to Pat Maxwell?’
‘Gosh, this is years back. She’d be retired now, I expect. Assuming she’s even still around.’
Luther and Howie walk silently through the office, back to the lift. The doors open. They step inside.
Howie presses the button for ground.
The doors close.
She says, ‘So what do you think?’
‘About what?’
‘Pete Black?’
‘Either he’s a stalker,’ Luther says, ‘some freak who’s genuinely been a fan of this woman for fifteen-odd years. In which case, you’d expect some kind of prior communication.’
‘Or?’
‘Or he’s the man who kidnapped and killed Adrian York. And maybe tried to abduct that other little boy.’
‘Kintry. So why does he make this call?’
‘Maybe because Maggie was the only one who ever paid attention to what he’d done. But I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right. Does it feel right to you?’
‘No.’
‘Good. Because it’s not right, is it? It’s not right.’
‘You think he’s serious about giving back the baby?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t get him. I can’t see him.’
The doors open.
They step out of the elevator, pass across the bright lobby, shove through the news crews and pass on, into the rainy night.
Then Luther stops.
Commuters, shoppers and tourists flow round him like water surging round a boulder.
‘Adrian York,’ he says. ‘That’s an abduction that nobody even knew was an abduction. Right?’
Howie nods, knowing not to interrupt.
‘So. Victimology one-oh-one: what if that’s why he chose Adrian York? The other abduction, the Kintry kid, if they really are connected . . . it sounds like an unplanned snatch and grab gone wrong.’
‘A trial run,’ Howie says.
‘Exactly. So, say he was learning. Refining his methods. He tries brute force in broad daylight. That doesn’t work out. Maybe he’s closer to getting caught than we realize. So he decides to go another way.’
‘I don’t get you.’
‘I’m saying, what if he knew about the complaints the mother made.’
‘Chrissie York.’
‘What if he knows about the complaints Chrissie York made to social services? What if he knew they treated her with contempt? If he knew that , he knew he could snatch the York kid right off the street. And if he’s fast enough, and nobody sees . . . nobody would believe it had even happened .’
‘Which makes it the perfect abduction,’ Howie says. ‘But that doesn’t alter the fact that he’s completely silent about it for fifteen years. So why start phoning radio stations now?’
‘I don’t know,’ Luther says. ‘Maybe because the Adrian York thing went well and the Lambert thing didn’t?’
‘Didn’t in what way? He got the baby.’
‘Depends what he needed from it. But maybe he’s feeling embarrassed. Feeling the need to justify what he did.’
‘But why does he feel that need now?’
‘Because he’s a psychopath. He doesn’t feel shame or guilt. He’s superior. He’s unique. He looks down on us. He detests us. But it matters to him that we know he’s better than us. He needs our admiration.’
On the way to the car he calls Teller. He asks her to call Avon & Somerset, get them to bike over the Adrian York and Thomas Kintry cold case files.
He asks for the contact details of Detective Inspector Patricia Maxwell, probably retired.
He calls Ian Reed at home and asks him to look over Maggie Reilly’s old news report to see if anything strikes him as relevant or odd.
They’re all long shots: the York case is sixteen or seventeen years old. But the ground has to be covered.
Then he phones Zoe and asks her to meet him.
CHAPTER 10
Luther walks through a night swarm of briefcases, umbrellas, pinstripe suits and taxis, then steps into Postman’s Park. He walks through the icy rain until he reaches a long wooden gallery that shelters a wall decorated with ceramic tiles.
Waiting, he reads some of the tiles. Takes strange comfort from them:
Elizabeth Coghlam,
‘Gosh, this is years back. She’d be retired now, I expect. Assuming she’s even still around.’
Luther and Howie walk silently through the office, back to the lift. The doors open. They step inside.
Howie presses the button for ground.
The doors close.
She says, ‘So what do you think?’
‘About what?’
‘Pete Black?’
‘Either he’s a stalker,’ Luther says, ‘some freak who’s genuinely been a fan of this woman for fifteen-odd years. In which case, you’d expect some kind of prior communication.’
‘Or?’
‘Or he’s the man who kidnapped and killed Adrian York. And maybe tried to abduct that other little boy.’
‘Kintry. So why does he make this call?’
‘Maybe because Maggie was the only one who ever paid attention to what he’d done. But I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right. Does it feel right to you?’
‘No.’
‘Good. Because it’s not right, is it? It’s not right.’
‘You think he’s serious about giving back the baby?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t get him. I can’t see him.’
The doors open.
They step out of the elevator, pass across the bright lobby, shove through the news crews and pass on, into the rainy night.
Then Luther stops.
Commuters, shoppers and tourists flow round him like water surging round a boulder.
‘Adrian York,’ he says. ‘That’s an abduction that nobody even knew was an abduction. Right?’
Howie nods, knowing not to interrupt.
‘So. Victimology one-oh-one: what if that’s why he chose Adrian York? The other abduction, the Kintry kid, if they really are connected . . . it sounds like an unplanned snatch and grab gone wrong.’
‘A trial run,’ Howie says.
‘Exactly. So, say he was learning. Refining his methods. He tries brute force in broad daylight. That doesn’t work out. Maybe he’s closer to getting caught than we realize. So he decides to go another way.’
‘I don’t get you.’
‘I’m saying, what if he knew about the complaints the mother made.’
‘Chrissie York.’
‘What if he knows about the complaints Chrissie York made to social services? What if he knew they treated her with contempt? If he knew that , he knew he could snatch the York kid right off the street. And if he’s fast enough, and nobody sees . . . nobody would believe it had even happened .’
‘Which makes it the perfect abduction,’ Howie says. ‘But that doesn’t alter the fact that he’s completely silent about it for fifteen years. So why start phoning radio stations now?’
‘I don’t know,’ Luther says. ‘Maybe because the Adrian York thing went well and the Lambert thing didn’t?’
‘Didn’t in what way? He got the baby.’
‘Depends what he needed from it. But maybe he’s feeling embarrassed. Feeling the need to justify what he did.’
‘But why does he feel that need now?’
‘Because he’s a psychopath. He doesn’t feel shame or guilt. He’s superior. He’s unique. He looks down on us. He detests us. But it matters to him that we know he’s better than us. He needs our admiration.’
On the way to the car he calls Teller. He asks her to call Avon & Somerset, get them to bike over the Adrian York and Thomas Kintry cold case files.
He asks for the contact details of Detective Inspector Patricia Maxwell, probably retired.
He calls Ian Reed at home and asks him to look over Maggie Reilly’s old news report to see if anything strikes him as relevant or odd.
They’re all long shots: the York case is sixteen or seventeen years old. But the ground has to be covered.
Then he phones Zoe and asks her to meet him.
CHAPTER 10
Luther walks through a night swarm of briefcases, umbrellas, pinstripe suits and taxis, then steps into Postman’s Park. He walks through the icy rain until he reaches a long wooden gallery that shelters a wall decorated with ceramic tiles.
Waiting, he reads some of the tiles. Takes strange comfort from them:
Elizabeth Coghlam,
Similar Books
