“Why did it freak you out?” Longbright asked as their food arrived.
“Because by this time I’d worked out the date, hadn’t I? I mean, I’m not likely to forget it, ever. His father died on the day of the King’s Cross fire, just like my old man, only my dad was in the station and burned to death, and his died under a train in the morning. And that’s when I knew, see. That’s when I knew who started the fire. He didn’t have to say nothing, I just knew. I could see it in his eyes. Kind of horrified he’d done it, and kind of arrogant as well. Trapped by something caused by his anger, something so terrible he’d never be able to leave the area until he’d come to terms with it. But that’s not possible, is it? I mean, something on that scale. I watched on the news as they carried the bodies out. Even the survivors were completely black. The effect those scenes had on me – I guess that’s when I started falling apart, you know?”
He started to cry, and the trickle of a tear became a flood, so that he was forced to blow his nose on his napkin and turn away from her, nuzzling the heel of his hand against his forehead. The gaudy red Indian restaurant had become a confessional. Longbright suddenly felt sorry for him.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” she said, drawing his eyes to hers. “He’ll know you’re out of the hospital now. He’s around here somewhere. He’ll follow you home and try to finish the job he started. But you have a chance of staying alive. I’ll stay close by you, and keep my team on alert. When he shows his hand and moves in, we’ll get him.”
“Is that it? You really think I’m going to survive that?” McCarthy was rubbing his red eyes, a terrified child. “He’ll stab me, and he’ll give you lot the slip again.”
“You want to end this, don’t you?”
“I know what you’re up to. You just want to get the arrest; you don’t care about me.”
“I’ll bring him in, Tony, I swear. And I won’t let you die. We need to get him somewhere that’s enclosed, with escape routes we can monitor. Somewhere that’s always being watched.”
“Where?”
“The station. You’re going to perform that stupid wide-boy walk of yours, shout at the guards and passengers, generally make a bloody great nuisance of yourself and draw him back to the spot where it all began.”
“People could get hurt. You’re crazy.”
“You have no idea how crazy,” warned Longbright.
∨ Off the Rails ∧
44
Remote Control
Arthur Bryant found Sergeant Jack Renfield in the filthy junk-filled anteroom that passed for the Unit’s reception area. “What are you still doing here?” he asked in obvious irritation.
“Dan’s been trying out his new radios,” said Renfield. “But don’t worry, I’m on it.”
“What radios?”
“We’re short-handed,” Renfield explained, “so he’s been developing these close-range radio mikes.” He held up something that looked like a pen refill, curved at one end. “He’s been dying to try them out. They’re like the security headsets bouncers use, but they’ve got a better range. During surveillance we can stay in contact with each other, and we can track everyone’s movements on the laptops.” He turned his screen around and pointed to a number of red dots pulsing on a Google map of London.
“Do they work underground?”
“I don’t know,” Renfield admitted.
“We’re after a killer who operates in the tube network, you flybrain. This is not the right time to start testing out Dan’s toys. I asked Janice to get you to cover Tony McCarthy as he came out of hospital. Didn’t she come and talk to you?”
“No. I saw her go out a while back. She didn’t say where she was going.”
“Stubborn bloody woman! Has she got one of those things?”
“Yeah.”
“Then see if you can raise her. And get after whoever it is you’re supposed to be following.”
“Nikos Nicolau. He’s been sitting on his fat arse in an Internet café in Tottenham Court Road for the past two hours.”
“And what if he suddenly disappears? Where have the others gone?”
“Dan’s gone after the stroppy Indian fella, Sangeeta; Colin’s got Toby Brooke; Meera’s got the rich one, Fontvieille; John’s covering Ruby Cates. Raymond’s in his room having a massive row with someone from the Home Office.”
“And I know exactly what Janice is up to,” added Bryant. “Find someone to cover Nicolau – use Raymond if you have to; he’ll kick up a fuss but we need everyone we can lay our hands on. Find out where Janice is, and bloody go after her. If it turns out that Mr Fox is following them, she’ll need all the backup she can get. This has the potential to blow up in our faces. We’re close now, so I don’t want anything to go wrong.”
“We’re close?” Renfield was surprised. “That’s news to me. Hang on, I’ve got Dan on the line.” He talked with the CSM for a moment, then covered the phone. “He just spoke to Janice. She’s on the Euston Road with McCarthy in tow, heading east.”
“I know what she’s up to. She’s taking him back to the station, where it all began. Your bug won’t be any use there if they go down onto the platforms. Get to her first. Stay as close as you can, and keep in contact.”
“How can I if she goes underground?”
“I don’t know, run up the stairs and call me as soon as you get a signal. You’ll have to figure it out. I’ll stay here. Someone has to keep an eye on you all.”
“You know me,” said Renfield, heading out, “I’ll have a go at anyone, but we could do with some more backup than this.”
Moments later, Fraternity DuCaine appeared in the doorway.
“Good God, you’re not dead,” said Bryant, clutching theatrically at his heart.
“Yeah, I get that a lot. I’m his brother,” said Fraternity. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump. You don’t know how long the DS will be, do you?”
“You could give us a hand while you’re waiting,” said Bryant.
DuCaine shrugged amiably. “Sure, no problem.”
“Good.” Bryant unleashed a gruesome smile. “What do you know about card tricks?”
♦
Anjam Dutta badly wanted a cigarette. He couldn’t drink any more coffee. His nerves were on fire. Something very big and very bad was happening at his station. He had called his bosses, but all they could suggest was closing the entire interchange down. Dutta’s eyes flicked from screen to screen, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. “We’ve got a camera out on the District & Circle, Sandwich. Did you call Maintenance?”
“Twenty minutes ago,” Sandwich told him. “They’re having trouble getting to their equipment.”
“I’m not surprised.” Dutta could see the problem; a knot of passengers blocking the path to one of the supply stores. Usually he could register travel patterns just by glancing at the screens. Football days were the easiest because supporters were helpfully dressed in their team colours. Other groups offered subtler clues. Rush hour commuters knew their way around the system, and rarely strayed from their routes. They didn’t queue at the ticket windows because they all had travel cards. Tourists stood in line for tickets and clustered around the two main maps. Schoolchildren, students, hen night parties, clubbers aiming to arrive in in time for cheap admissions, concert-goers – they were all easy enough to spot.
But this one had him puzzled. There was no pattern – just a massive increase in traffic, right across the station. Passengers of all types and ages were pouring in from every entrance, despite the fact that access had already been restricted. He checked the arrival times of the Eurostar trains and found no correlation there. The wall clock read 1434. It was as if rush hour had decided to start three hours early.