‘Is it possible that Ezzy Sheeran’s disappearance and Bella’s murder are linked?’ he asks.
‘Who put that idea in your head?’ Delilah snaps.
‘Is it?’
Delilah makes an exasperated gesture. ‘We can’t rule it out,’ she says. ‘Two young homeless women in the same city, within two months of each other. We really need to find this Shane.’
‘I’ll do what I can,’ he says. ‘And for what it’s worth, I agree. Shane sounds dangerous.’
* * *
Sometime later, Joe sits, on a wooden bench by the path on Midsummer Common, enjoying the cool of the evening. There is a scent in the air that he thinks might be jasmine, and crickets sing in the grass at his feet. Joe closes his eyes, wonders what Sarah and the kids are doing, and feels a wave of loneliness wash over him.
‘You’re Joe, aren’t you?’ says a voice in his ear.
Joe opens his eyes to see a girl sitting by his side. She is small, maybe in her late teens, and would be very pretty, except that she has too many piercings for his taste, and green hair doesn’t really do it for him.
‘That’s my name,’ he agrees. ‘Who are you?’
‘Erzebet,’ she says. Her voice is low pitched, with an Irish lilt.
He blinks. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘It means devoted to God.’ She smiles at him. It would be a sweet smile, but her teeth are a little crooked, and don’t look entirely clean. ‘I’m not though,’ she says. ‘Devoted to God, that is. People call me Ezzy.’
She moves a little closer to him on the bench and he notices that over her trainers she is wearing roller skates. She is very thin, and her skin has a dry, grey look about it. Her pupils, he sees now, are dilated.
‘Well, nice to meet you, Ezzy. How do you know my name?’
‘I was at St Martin’s in town just now. Your people back there were talking about you.’
Joe wonders if the girl, who seems to be edging closer along the bench, has followed him here.
‘How old are you, Ezzy?’
‘Eighteen.’
She barely looks fifteen.
‘If you’re under eighteen, I can call social services. There are charities that can help. Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?’
‘Can I stay with you?’
Joe gets to his feet. ‘That won’t be possible, I’m afraid.’
She is upright too, like a child beside him, even with the added height of the skates. ‘They said at St Martin’s that you look after the pretty girls.’ She pushes her bottom lip out. ‘They say you take them home and make them nice and comfortable.’
‘I don’t know who—’
‘Are you cheating on me already, Joe? We’ve only just met and you’re cheating on me.’
The girl’s face is twisted with rage. She isn’t Ezzy, any more, though, she’s Felicity, and that is a knife in her hand.
‘Serves you right,’ she hisses, as she drives the knife into his stomach and his whole body begins to burn with shock and pain. ‘Cheating bastard.’
* * *
Joe wakes with a start to find that he is in his bedroom at home, and the clock by his bed reads 02.45. He has had the dream again.
It has never featured Felicity before.
He gets up, to let the night air cool his body, and checks the locks on the doors and windows before he gets back into bed. He lies, trying to think about anything but Ezzy and finds himself thinking, instead, about Bella and the mysterious Shane.
Watching people while they sleep? Joe wonders if he will ever sleep soundly again.
27
Shane
Shane is very good at entering property. He doesn’t like the term breaking and entering. There is no need to break if you are good at what you do, and Shane is very good at what he does. Of course, he doesn’t usually enter properties when people are inside, but he likes a challenge.
The fire escape makes it easy because people are never as security conscious on their top floors as they are on the ground, and the locked yard around its base gives an odd illusion of safety. Don’t they know how easy it is to scale a stone wall that’s no more than seven feet high? Child’s play.
He ascends the steps slowly, knowing how noisy iron can be, and how close to sleeping people he will be as he climbs to the first floor, the second and then the third and last. On the third floor a doctor lives and works.
A special doctor. A doctor who treats the mind. A doctor called Joe who spends a lot of time with the homeless. Shane isn’t sure whether or not he trusts Joe with his people. It is time Shane paid Joe a visit.
When Shane reaches the top, he tries the door handle, because you never know, but it won’t budge. His bump keys will not work on this sort of lock. There are two windows to the left of the door, a larger one that he could climb through easily and a much smaller one above it. The smaller one is slightly open to let in the night air.
Shane swings one leg over the side of the fire escape and feels it shift on its clamps. Using his other leg as an anchor, he leans out towards the open window, until he can slip his thin hand in through the two-inch gap. Reaching the lock, he turns it. The small window can now be opened fully and by balancing on the sill, Shane can reach down and unlock the larger window. Getting in now will be easy. He climbs in, onto the worktop surrounding the kitchen sink and drops to the floor.
He waits to check that all is silent. He has made no sound and in his dark clothes it is unlikely that he has been seen. Cautious, though, he unlocks the back door. He closes the lower window and returns the smaller one to the position he found it in. Only now, can he take stock of his surroundings.
He is in the small, functional kitchen of a professional single male. He sees the cheap IKEA crockery and the top-of-the-range coffee maker. There are economy bags of basmati rice and penne pasta on the shelves but the wine on the rack is good quality. To one side of the sink is a knife rack. Shane is never entirely sure how he feels about knives. On the one hand, they feel nice when he’s holding them. On the other, they cut through skin and flesh so easily and there have been accidents before now. He chooses the one from the middle of the row. It is a perfect fit in his right hand.
Armed now, he steps out onto a narrow landing and passes a bathroom on his right. The door that will open on to the internal staircase has a Yale lock and bolts at both top and bottom. He draws back the bolts and puts the lock on the latch. A second escape route never hurts.
The room ahead is large and lit by the streetlamps outside. Even in the poor light he can see the warm colours, the good-quality furniture. He spends longer than he should at the window, looking out at his city by night. He cannot see any of the sleepers from this height but he knows where they are. Before the night is over, he will have visited them all.
A clock strikes the quarter-hour and breaks him out of his reverie. He returns to the landing. There are two more rooms in the top-floor flat.
The first is a living room, with sofa, armchairs, bookcases and a TV; smaller, shabbier and more cosy than the room where the doctor sees his patients. Most of the books are about psychology or psychotherapy but there are a few novels. Shane has little interest in books.