"The Tuesday. And it was the Wednesday I hung about outside the estate, the Thursday me and Tom talked it over, and the Friday we reckoned we'd go round to take a butcher's. It were about eight o'clock at night, we was on our way, Tom lifts an Evening Standard from a bin, and there's this steaming great headline saying: Homeless man starves to death. So he reads it and goes: 'Jesus, you're an arsehole, Terry, the bastard's been dead for days and you've suckered me into looking for a corpse.' "
Deacon was silent for so long that Terry eventually spoke again. "Yeah, well, maybe Tom was right. Maybe it was the Tuesday before, and I was so stoned I let a whole week go by before I did anything."
"According to the police he went into the garage on Saturday the tenth."
"It weren't a Saturday when I saw him," said the boy decidedly. "Saturdays are good tourist days, so I'd've been out begging."
Deacon felt for the key in the ignition. "How long after Billy died did Amanda come asking questions?"
"A few weeks. She'd paid for his cremation by then because she told us about it."
The engine fired and he put it into gear. "Why didn't you tell her Billy was still alive on the Tuesday?"
Terry stared despondently out of the window. "For the same reason I didn't tell you. I don't reckon he was, see. Matter of fact I don't like to think about it too much. I mean, d'you believe in ghosts?"
Deacon recalled the smell of death that had been in Amanda's house and wondered uneasily about the nature of Billy's deus ex machina .... I believe in hell ... I have nightmares sometimes where I float in black space beyond the reach of anyone's love ... only divine intervention can save a soul condemned forever to exist in the loneliness of the bottomless pit ... please, please don't stay away longer than is necessary...
DS Harrison slept badly. At the back of his mind all night was the disturbing knowledge that he had missed something. He was temporarily distracted by the mayhem of Christmas morning, as his excited children opened their presents and his wife set to work on the lunch preparations but, shortly after eleven o'clock, a call came through from the station relaying Deacon's message.
"He refused to explain what this matter of urgency was," said the desk sergeant, "and to be honest I didn't take it too seriously. But this name, Nigel de Vriess, has now come up in another connection. Hampshire and Kent are alerting forces across the South to watch out for him. Apparently, his Rolls-Royce was reported abandoned last night in a field inside Dover. What do you want me to do about it? Pass this Deacon's number on to the DCI?"
"No, I'm coming in. Tell the DCI I'm on my way."
"Amanda must've done something pretty bad to get old Billy worked up like that," said Terry suddenly. "I mean he didn't rate stealing and drugs too high, but he didn't lose his rag overly much at the guys who did them. Do you get what I'm saying? It were murder that made him go ape-shit and stick his hands in the fire and talk about sacrifices. Like the time Tom took the geezer's coat off of him and the geezer froze to death in the night. That's when Billy spent the night in the nude to take the blame on himself. He damn near died for it. It were only because Tom got really upset about what he'd done that we were able to get Billy back in his clothes again. So do you reckon she killed Billy by letting him starve to death?''
"No," said Deacon whose thoughts had been following similar lines. "Barry's right. She wouldn't have told me Billy's story if she was afraid of what I'd find out. In any case, I can't see Billy caring too much about his own death."
...my own redemption doesn't interest me...
"Whose, then?"
...I'm still searching for truth ... there's no way out of hell except through God's mercy ... I'm searching for truth ... why enter hell at all ... I'm searching for Verity...
"Verity's?" suggested Deacon.
Terry shook his head. "Verity murdered herself."
...you and I will be judged by the efforts we make to keep another's soul from eternal despair... do you enjoy suffering...? yes, if it inspires compassion ... there's no way out of hell except through God's mercy ... I'm searching for Verity...
"James?''
"Yeah." Terry nodded. "I reckon the bitch murdered her old man, and Billy watched her do it. He mentioned once that he dossed west of London before he came to the warehouse. But I didn't pay no mind. It weren't important then. It makes sense now though, doesn't it?"
"Yes," said Deacon slowly, thinking of the river above Teddington, where the water level remained constant because the lock gates held back the tides.
Harrison telephoned through to a Chief Superintendent Fortune in Hampshire. "I have a possible sighting of de Vriess on Saturday night," he told him. "He was with a woman called Amanda Powell, previously known as Amanda Streeter. She's the wife of James Streeter, who absconded in nineteen ninety with ten million pounds. According to my information, she and de Vriess have been intimately acquainted since the mid-eighties."
"Who's your informant?"
"A journalist called Michael Deacon. He's been investigating the Streeter disappearance."
There was a momentary silence. "He phoned de Vriess's house this morning, claiming to be a business colleague. We're sending someone up to question him. What's he like?"
"I think he's protecting his story. Look, I suggest your officer talks it through with me here first. The situation's fairly complicated, and it'll probably help to have me there when you question Deacon. He's not the only one involved." Briefly, he recounted Barry Graver's part in the proceedings. "He hasn't positively identified the man as Nigel de Vriess," he warned, "but he described him as having a birthmark on his shoulder, and that's mentioned as a distinguishing characteristic in your bulletin."
"Where can we find Grover?"
"He's staying with Deacon."
"What about Amanda Powell? You say she was in her house last night. Is she still there?"
"We're not sure. We've had a car in position across the road for about thirty minutes, but there's been no movement inside. We've also suggested that Kent police stake out her mother's house in Easeby. She was there most of yesterday, and only returned to London in the late evening."
"How far is Easeby from Dover?"
"Twenty miles."
"Right. There'll be two of us coming up." He reeled off a number. "I'll keep that line open for you. The traffic shouldn't be too bad so expect us between one and one-thirty."
Barry was in fine good humor when Deacon and Terry returned. Left to his own devices and with a clear goal in view, he had brought order to the proceedings, and appetizing smells drifted from the oven. He beamed at them happily as they came through the door, and Deacon was struck by how different he seemed from the unhappy man who haunted The Street offices.
"You're a genius," he said honestly, accepting a glass of chilled white wine.
"It's not so difficult, Mike. I remembered reading once about cooking turkeys in very hot ovens, and that's what I've chosen to do. It's important to keep the flesh moist, so I've stuffed bacon and mushrooms under the skin."
He used the same slightly overbearing tone as when talking about his talent with pictures, and Deacon felt sorry for him because he realized that Barry's self-esteem was so fragile that he could only blossom when he could prove to himself that he was better than his peers. On balance, he preferred Barry bossy to Barry in tears, so he kept to himself that Lawrence was Jewish and that bacon might prove difficult.
"And I've made extra roast potatoes for Terry."
"Wicked," said the boy admiringly.
"And if you'll pardon the liberty, Mike, I used your telephone to call my mother. It occurred to me she might be worried about what had happened to me."