Chameleon's Shadow

Fourteen

THE AMBULANCE HAD ALREADY arrived by the time Jackson turned off Lambeth Palace Road into St Thomas’s A&E entrance. With every emergency parking space taken, she glanced at Acland in the mirror and asked him if he had a valid driving licence.

He nodded. ‘No one’s asked for it back yet.’

She pulled over and opened her door. ‘There’s a staff car park round the side. Find the main entrance and follow the signs. I just need a couple of minutes to check through the kid’s things . . . see if I can find out who he is. If you’re challenged, show this – ’ she pointed to a medical priority sticker on her dashboard – ‘and ask them to page Trevor Monaghan or phone me on this number.’ She took a card from her pocket and passed it back to him.

‘Don’t go looking through anything of mine,’ said Chalky firmly. ‘The black rucksack belongs to the lad . . . everything else belongs to me . . . and it’s private.’

Jackson eased out from behind the wheel. ‘You’re safe on that score,’ she said sarcastically. ‘I’m not in the habit of rifling through plastic carrier bags full of rubbish.’

She opened Acland’s door and handed him the keys. ‘You’re very trusting,’ he said, climbing out. ‘Why shouldn’t I be? You’re not planning to steal a BMW, are you?’ He watched while she opened the boot and made a quick search of Ben’s rucksack. ‘I haven’t driven since I lost my eye.’ ‘So? You can see well enough to climb railings.’ She removed a label from the inside flap with a name, Mr B. Russell, and an address in Wolverhampton. ‘I’ll take this for the moment, but can you go through his things with a fine-tooth comb after you’ve parked? We need home address, surname and next of kin.’

‘Shouldn’t the hospital do it?’

‘It’ll be quicker this way.’ She took out her medical case and slammed the boot shut again. ‘Bring the bag to reception when you’ve finished and ask them to page me or Dr Monaghan –’ she eyed him for a moment – ‘and don’t leave Chalky alone in my car. I’d prefer the contents to be intact when I come back.’

Acland wanted to tell her that he knew what she was doing – tying him to a responsibility he hadn’t asked for – but she was gone before he could say it. In any case, part of him rose to the occasion, even if he recognized, and resented, how easily Jackson manipulated him.

‘You sure you can drive this thing?’ asked Chalky suspiciously as Acland climbed in beside him and turned his head to focus his good eye on the gearbox. ‘I notice no one asked me what I thought about it.’

Acland saw with relief that the car was an automatic. ‘If you want to make yourself useful, help me get out of here. Shout if I get too close to anything on my left.’

In the event, it was more by luck than good judgement that Acland made it safely to the car park. Chalky was about as much use as a maiden aunt who’d never been in a car in her life. He peered religiously out of his window but, with a complete lack of spatial awareness, he failed to mention a single hazard until after it had passed.

‘You damn near hit a bollard back there,’ he said helpfully as Acland killed the engine.

‘Thanks for warning me.’

‘Didn’t need to. You were doing OK on your own.’ He pulled a baccy tin out of his coat pocket and started to shred wisps of tobacco on to a Rizla. ‘So what’s the plan?’

‘We both get out so you don’t pollute the doctor’s car any further.’

‘She’s some woman,’ said Chalky, rolling the paper in his fingers. ‘Seems pretty interested in you.’

‘She’s a lesbian.’

The older man gave a snort of amusement. ‘The meths hasn’t totally rotted my brain, lad. I’ve a few dyke friends down in Docklands – they tend to hang together for safety – but I share a cider with them from time to time. They look after each other . . . There’s a couple of schizos in the group that the others take care of.’ He paused to run his tongue along the paper. ‘The doc’s doing the same for you.’

Acland got out and walked round to open Chalky’s door. ‘She wants me to check the boy’s rucksack to see if she missed anything.’

The older man studied him thoughtfully. ‘You’d better let me do that, son. The kid doesn’t like strangers poking through his stuff any more than I do. Think I didn’t notice you eyeing up the bags in the alleyway?’

Acland ignored him. ‘I’ll only be looking for next-of-kin details. You can watch while I do it if it’ll make you happier.’

But Chalky was more interested in creature comforts. ‘I’ll take a quiet smoke and a drink in here where it’s warm. You can show me what you’ve found afterwards . . . and I’ll tell you what’s important and what isn’t.’

‘No chance.’ Acland put his hand under the other man’s elbow and heaved him upright. ‘You can do your smoking and drinking on that wall over there.’

‘I’m not taking orders from you, lad.’

‘I outrank you.’

Chalky shook him off. ‘Not in my world, you don’t,’ he said with sudden belligerence. ‘In my world, anyone who’s been at this game longer than you takes precedence . . . and that includes young Ben in there.’

Acland kept an eye on his fists. ‘You don’t want to take me on, Corporal. I’ve been a mean bugger since the ragheads destroyed my face.’

‘You look it,’ Chalky agreed. ‘Seen guys like you before . . . fucked on the outside and fucked on the inside. What the hell? The wall’s as good as anywhere.’ He removed a half-bottle of vodka from another pocket. ‘I got lucky,’ he said by way of explanation as he wandered off. ‘A lass gave me a tenner this morning . . . said I reminded her of her grandpa.’

*

If Acland had ever thought about leaving, he abandoned the idea as he watched Chalky perch on the low wall bordering the car park and unscrew the vodka with shaking hands. Perhaps it was the desperate way the corporal sucked at the alcohol, or the fact he looked older than the fifty-six he was claiming, but the scene – Dickensian in its harsh reality – burned into Acland’s brain. He couldn’t imagine this man as a soldier with the fortitude to march and fight for two days on the desolate ridges of the Falkland Islands. He retrieved Jackson’s torch from the dashboard pocket, then opened the boot and upended Ben’s rucksack in the front corner. The ceiling light was strong enough to show objects, but Acland propped the torch on his kitbag to help him decipher anything written. He experienced a similar embarrassment to DI Beale as he surveyed the adolescent’s pathetic haul. There were more gadgets than Acland possessed – a couple of mobile telephones, a digital camera, a BlackBerry and four iPods – but fewer clothes. Acland guessed the gadgets were stolen – certainly none of them had functioning batteries – but he separated out the mobiles and the BlackBerry in case there was anything relevant on them. There were several envelopes, all addressed to Ben Russell c/o a drop-in centre in Whitechapel. Inside were handwritten letters from someone called Hannah. Acland skimmed through them. I miss you so much . . . Dad’s been over the moon since you left . . . He’s such a knobhead . . . keeps saying out of sight, out of mind . . . I feel sorry for your mum . . . I saw her in town and she looked really sad . .. At the top of each letter, by way of Hannah’s address, was The Hell Hole, but the frank marks on the envelopes suggested they’d been posted in Wolverhampton.

In one of the rucksack pockets, Acland found a photograph of a simpering girl with straight blonde hair, heavily made-up eyes and pale pink lips. A flourishing dedication had been scrawled in felt-tip pen across the bottom – Love you, babe – don’t forget to write – and on the back in pencil was written 25 Melbury Gardens, WV6 0AA. It didn’t take Einstein to work out that this was the address for Ben’s return letters, although Acland doubted it was where Hannah lived. The ‘knobhead’ father wouldn’t ignore letters from London.

He repacked the rucksack, placing the phones, BlackBerry, envelopes and snapshot in the front pocket, then dropped it to the ground at his feet. He took another look at the array of bags that Chalky claimed were his, then stepped away from the car and raised his voice. ‘Are you sure nothing else in here belongs to Ben? I remember him bringing more than just the rucksack into the passageway.’

‘You’re talking through your arse.’

Acland studied him for a moment. ‘If you keep claiming to be a soldier,’ he said coldly, ‘I’ll slit your bloody throat. Nothing you’ve ever done in your whole miserable life allows you to range yourself with the guys I’ve led.’

‘I don’t take that kind of talk off jumped-up lootenants.’ There was noticeably more aggression in Chalky’s tone, as if vodka had released the fighter in him. ‘If you’re looking for his cash, he wears it in a belt . . . same as I do. The nurses will have pocketed it by now.’

‘Nurses don’t steal off kids, Chalky, and neither do I. Which of these bags is his? I’ll go through the lot if necessary.’

‘Jesus Christ!’ The corporal heaved himself off the wall and came towards him. ‘I’ll have your guts if you’ve touched anything of mine.’ He loomed menacingly at Acland’s shoulder. ‘It’s the Londis bag . . . the one with the baccy and the booze. They’re no good to him here. He won’t be able to smoke and drink in a sodding hospital, will he?’

Acland pulled the Londis carrier forward and untied the polythene handles that were holding the contents together. Two hundred Benson & Hedges and a bottle of whisky. ‘How did he get them? You said he was fifteen.’

‘Nicked ’em.’

‘You can’t nick spirits and cartons of cigarettes off the shelf.’

‘OK, he paid for ’em . . . probably in a Paki shop. Pakis don’t care who buys the stuff as long as cash changes hands.’

‘Where would he get the money?’

‘Snaffled a rich bitch’s handbag, I expect. They’re thick as pig shit, those women.’ His tone was contemptuous now. ‘They yackety-yack with their friends outside cafes, and they don’t even know their bag’s gone till they come to pay. All you need’s a diversion – a mate pretending to beg – and the bitches all look at him while you do the business behind them.’

‘You’re a real hero, Corporal.’

Chalky shouldered the lieutenant aside. ‘It’s an ugly world, son, and stripes and pips don’t mean a fucking thing outside the army. The sooner you get wise to that the better.’ He took the carrier out of Acland’s hands, retied the handles and shoved it to the back of the boot. ‘There’s nothing in there that’ll do a sick kid any good.’

‘Did he have a duffel bag with him?’

Chalky coughed smoker’s phlegm into his throat and spat it on the ground. ‘Not that I saw.’

‘Are you sure?’

Something in the lieutenant’s tone irritated him. ‘You calling me a liar? Just take the rucksack.’ He closed the lid. ‘I’ll wait in the car till you’re done.’

Acland clicked the remote on the key fob to lock the doors. ‘You’ll wait on the wall,’ he said without hostility. ‘I’d prefer my kitbag to be here when I get back.’

*

It was twenty minutes before Jackson came to find him in the A&E waiting room. He opened the front pocket of the rucksack and showed her the electrical gadgets. ‘How’s he doing?’

‘He’ll live but he’ll have to stay in for a few days.’ She took the chair beside Acland. ‘We’ve found a phone number for the address in Wolverhampton, but no one’s answering. Did you come up with anything else?’

Acland removed the photograph. ‘I think she’s his girlfriend.’ He turned it over to show the address, explaining why he thought it was a friend’s house rather than her own. ‘If it was a commercial poste restante there’d be a PO Box number, so whoever lives there must know her, and probably Ben as well.’

‘I’ll try it. What about the mobiles? Anything on them?’

‘Dead. The BlackBerry, too.’ He paused. ‘There’s a digital camera and four iPods as well. I’d say it’s a good bet they’re all stolen.’

Jackson viewed him with amusement. ‘A dead cert more like. I hope that means you haven’t given Chalky free rein of my car. He’ll have the seats out of it before you can blink . . . not to mention the CD player and the radio.’

‘He’s sitting on a wall. Vodka and him don’t mix. He’s spoiling for a fight.’

‘That’s alcohol for you. I expect he uses it to self-medicate for depression . . . It’s what most of them do. Sometimes it’ll send them to sleep . . . other times it’ll gee them up for a confrontation. Where did he get the vodka from?’

‘Stole it, I should think . . . or got Ben to do it for him. He’s appropriated a bag of booze and fags that the lad brought in with him.’

‘Payment in kind for a secure pitch for the night,’ said Jackson matter-of-factly. ‘It’s a dog-eat-dog world on the streets. How much did he take you for?’

‘Nothing.’

Jackson looked amused. ‘Chalky’s a pro. You’d probably have woken up tomorrow morning to find most of your cash missing.’

She lifted the phones out of the rucksack pocket and selected a Nokia, removing the back and the battery to check if the SIM card was there. ‘I keep a Cellboost in my bag. How’s your conscience when it comes to the Data Protection Act? Shall we give it a whirl?’

‘Won’t it be locked?’

‘We won’t know till we try.’

*

Following in Jackson’s wake, Acland was interested in how many negative reactions she seemed to inspire. He was used to attracting suspicious looks himself, but it was a new experience to see someone else draw the flak. Even in the early hours, St Thomas’s A&E was busy, and he saw the faces people pulled as she passed and the way they turned to watch her retreating back. From behind, her bootleg trousers and black leather jacket, topped by her thick neck and short hair, made her look more masculine than ever, and he wondered how many of the reactions were caused by confusion over her gender. She spoke on her mobile as she walked along, apparently oblivious to the interest she was causing. ‘I’ve another address for you . . . 25 Melbury Gardens, WV6 0AA . . . No name, I’m afraid . . . Not sure, but I doubt it’s a relation . . . Possibly someone who knows his girlfriend . . . That’s right . . . no surname . . . just Hannah. If I leave his rucksack in the PCT office, will you make sure he gets it? Cheers.’ She redialled. ‘Anything new for Dr Jackson? Dr Patel covered it...? Thank him for me. No, I’m still at the hospital . . . almost finished . . . ten minutes max but I can be out of here in two if something comes up. Cheers.’ She stopped outside an office and punched a code into an electronic lock before ushering Acland inside. She passed him a piece of paper and a pen from the desk. ‘Print “Ben Russell” on that in block caps and leave it with the rucksack in the corner,’ she told him, taking her case from behind the door and propping it on her knee to open it. ‘OK, let’s see what we can find.’

Acland watched her unwrap the Cellboost. ‘Why don’t you put the SIM card in your own Nokia and read it that way?’

‘I’m on call.’ She connected the booster to the phone and hoisted a meaty thigh on the edge of the desk while she waited. ‘There’s usually a lull about this time. The busy periods are in the lead-up to midnight and after three o’clock in the morning.’

‘Why?’

‘Human nature and blood-sugar levels. Parents check on children before they go to bed themselves . . . Adults tend to worry in the hours before dawn when they’re at their lowest ebb. It’s a common time for people to die.’

Acland finished writing Ben’s name and moved the rucksack into the corner. ‘I wouldn’t like that.’

‘What?’

‘Finding someone dead in bed.’

‘Then don’t take a job in a hospital or a nursing home or you’ll come across them on a regular basis.’ Jackson cupped a hand round the mobile to see the battery level. ‘Hardly anyone dies at home these days, yet most of us would rather fall asleep in our own beds than attached to drips in a sterile environment full of strangers.’

‘Maybe doctors shouldn’t strive so assiduously to keep people alive.’ He spoke the words grimly.

Jackson eyed him for a moment. ‘All people? Are you saying we should have left Ben to die in an alleyway because life-long insulin is going to cost the rest of us a fortune?’

‘No.’

‘Who, then? You?’ She removed the Cellboost from the mobile and fired it up. ‘If you’re looking for someone to blame because you’re still alive, then blame your men. They could have abandoned you in the desert and saved the medics the time and trouble of putting you back together again. Not to mention the decent dinner I might have had if you and Chalky hadn’t insisted on saving the lad upstairs.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Accepted . . . and you’re right, it’s locked.’ She gave him the pen again. ‘The IMEI number should be under the SIM card.’ She prised the casing open and removed the piece of plastic, reading aloud a series of digits. ‘Got that?’

Acland nodded. ‘How do you know how to do this?’

‘A policeman taught me.’ She moved round to the chair and switched on the computer. ‘OK, what I’m about to do next is highly illegal so if you don’t want to be involved you’d better wait outside the door.’

‘Involved in what?’

‘Me asserting that I’m the owner of this phone in order to access the master code.’ She tapped in a website address, then held out her hand for the IMEI number.

‘I’ll read it to you.’

‘Then bear in mind that everything I’m doing is being recorded on the hard drive. You’re aiding and abetting a fraudulent use of someone else’s data.’

Acland shrugged indifferently and read out the number. ‘Why would a policeman teach you to do something illegal?’

‘Daisy forgets security codes . . . including the burglar alarm.’ Jackson clicked the mouse, then leaned back while the screen worked out permutations. ‘The woman has a PhD in First World War poetry . . . can recite most of Rupert Brooke . . . but can’t hold a four-digit PIN in her head. I’ve had to learn the tricks of the trade for all the security devices in the pub. If she puts in the wrong code, nothing works.’

‘Why doesn’t she use the same code for everything?’

‘Because she’s a dipstick where mobiles are concerned. She’s had more lost or stolen than you’ve had hot dinners. If she used the same four numbers on her phone as we do on the alarm, the pub would have been stripped bare months ago. Any Tom, Dick or Harry can do this.’ She nodded at the monitor. ‘There you go. A usable master code.’ She reached for the Nokia and punched in the numbers. ‘Bingo. Let’s start with ICE.’

Acland watched over her shoulder as she went into the address book. ‘What’s ICE?’

‘In Case of Emergency. It’s the recognized site for next-of-kin details so police and paramedics don’t have to call every name in the address book.’ She read the name that appeared. ‘Belinda Atkins. That doesn’t sound very hopeful . . . it’s a London phone number.’ She put in ‘Russell’, but the only names that appeared under ‘R’ were ‘Randall’, ‘Reeve’, ‘Roddy’ and ‘Rush’.

‘Try “Atkins”?’ Acland suggested.

There were five of them: Belinda Atkins, Gerald Atkins, Kevin Atkins, Sarah Atkins, Tom Atkins. ‘So whose phone is it?’ Jackson asked. ‘It’s obviously not Belinda’s, if she’s the next of kin.’

‘Kevin’s,’ said Acland. ‘He’s the only one without a landline. All the others have two contact numbers. It’s a good way of remembering your own mobile number.’

‘Give it a go,’ she said, offering him her own phone and reading out the digits.

‘As long as you do the talking if anyone answers. I wouldn’t want to be woken at this time of night to be told about a stolen mobile.’ He pressed the ‘call’ button and the handset in Jackson’s hand started playing ‘The Ride of the Valkyries’.

Jackson killed it. ‘I know the name Kevin Atkins,’ she said slowly, ‘but I can’t think why. Where would I have heard it before?’

‘A patient?’

She shook her head. ‘Somewhere else. I’m sure I’ve seen it fairly recently, too.’ She lapsed into a brief silence. ‘Damn! It’s really bugging me.’

Acland nodded to the lit screen. ‘Try Google,’ he said.

*

Neither was prepared for the information that came up.

BBC NEWS / England / London / Third murder victim beaten to death...

The body of Kevin Atkins ...

Guardian Unlimited / Special reports / Murder of Kevin Atkins part of a series...

Detective Superintendent Jones, who is leading the murder inquiry, said...

The Sun Online – News: Male prostitute sought for gay killings...

Police warn gay community to be vigilant following the murder of Kevin Atkins ...

Jackson’s response was disbelief. ‘There’s no way that kid could beat anyone to death. He’s skin and bones. His sugar levels would have gone haywire the minute he started pumping adrenalin.’

Acland’s response was extreme agitation. ‘You shouldn’t have done this. I’m going to be crucified.’

Jackson clicked on the BBC news report and scanned down it. ‘The story’s four months old. More to the point is why hasn’t the server disconnected the phone?’

Acland turned away, pumping his fists violently. ‘Who cares?’

‘You might if the police come bursting through the door,’ she said. ‘They’re obviously still tracking it . . . and we’ve just given them its location.’

‘Shit!’

‘Calm down,’ Jackson said sharply. ‘It’s Ben who’s going to be in the firing line . . . not you and me. The first question they’ll ask him is how did a murdered man’s mobile get in his rucksack?’

‘He’ll say I put it there.’

‘Why would he do that?’

‘Because I’m the obvious fall guy. I was in the alleyway with him . . . and Jones already thinks I’m involved in these murders.’

Jackson eyed him thoughtfully. ‘The kid won’t know that unless you told him.’

Acland ignored her. ‘I can’t even prove the damn thing was in his rucksack. Chalky was sitting on a wall when I found it.’ He started pacing the floor. ‘Shit! Fucking shit!’

‘You were searched at the police station,’ Jackson reminded him, ‘and you didn’t have the mobile on you then.’

He swung round in fury. ‘I’ve never had it on me,’ he snapped, ‘but it won’t stop the bastards accusing me. There’s no way they’ll believe this was chance. They’ll say Ben was stashing stuff for me . . . and our meeting was prearranged.’

Jackson allowed a pulse of silence to pass. ‘Was it?’ she asked dispassionately.

Acland came close to stamping his foot. ‘I only found out what his name was when Chalky told you.’

‘Does he know yours?’

Acland shook his head angrily, as if the question was irrelevant.

‘What about Chalky? Does he know you as anything other than lootenant?’

‘No.’

‘Then Ben will have a tough time implicating you in whatever he’s been up to,’ she said calmly. ‘If he was sick enough to go into a coma, I doubt he’ll even remember you were there . . . let alone be able to describe you.’ She closed down Windows and turned off the computer. ‘However suspicious you are of the police, they don’t usually manufacture evidence out of thin air . . . and a prearranged meeting requires some foreknowledge of the other person, such as a name or a recognizable description . . . not to mention a means of communication.’

Rather than allay Acland’s anger, this reasoned approach seemed to stoke it up. ‘Don’t patronize me,’ he warned.

‘Then use your brain,’ Jackson murmured, reaching for her medical case and lifting it on to the desk. ‘No one’s going to be interested in you. It’s the wretched kid who’ll be put through the mill . . . just as soon as he’s well enough to answer questions. Me, too, if I’ve wiped anything important off Atkins’s SIM card.’

‘You shouldn’t have interfered.’

‘Maybe not, but the guy who owned that phone was murdered, so on balance I’d say I did a good thing.’

‘You might feel differently if you’d been held for six hours.’

‘I doubt it,’ she said coolly. ‘I don’t panic as easily as you seem to do.’

Acland slammed his palms on to the desk. ‘I told you ... don’t patronize me.’

Jackson shrugged. ‘You’re not giving me much choice. If you want respect, you’d better find a way of dealing with fear that doesn’t involve throwing a tantrum.’

He thrust his face into hers. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have got in your car. Every time I trust a woman, I get fucking shafted ... and I’m sick to death of it.’

She stared back at him, unmoved. ‘If you carry on like this, I’ll start to question your actions myself. Are you going to back off . . . or do we play this charade to the end? I’m not remotely interested in bolstering your self-esteem by allowing you to intimidate me.’

Reluctantly, Acland straightened and stepped away. ‘For all I know you’ve set this up. Your lady friend did a fucking neat job of getting me arrested last time.’

Jackson rose to her feet. ‘Daisy couldn’t organize a piss-up in brewery. It was me who told the police you were coming . . . and before your hackles go up again, we were only asked about the fight in the pub and whether we knew how to contact you. I had no idea you had a connection with Walter Tutting until they took you in for questioning . . . and neither did Daisy.’

‘She made the arrest possible. She pointed me out to the police as soon as I came through the door.’

‘She had no choice. You assaulted one of her customers and she has a licence to protect.’ Jackson shook her head at Acland’s sullen expression. ‘What did you expect her to do? Jeopardize everything she’s worked for to avoid you feeling hard done by? If so, you’ve some strange ideas about other people’s priorities.’

‘I sure as hell don’t understand yours,’ he retorted angrily.

‘Why come looking for me? I’d be long gone if you’d kept your nose out of my business. The kid’s no concern of mine. Once I’d called the ambulance, I’d have left.’

‘The phone would still have existed and it would still have belonged to Kevin Atkins,’ she pointed out, ‘and you’d have looked a lot guiltier if you’d vanished at that point. Do you think Chalky wouldn’t have said that a lieutenant with an eyepatch was the third person in the alleyway?’

‘The police wouldn’t have been involved. It’s only because you’re a control freak that we’re in this mess. If you’d left well alone, the mobile would have remained untouched in the rucksack and the server wouldn’t have been able to track it.’

‘And you’d prefer it that way?’

‘Yes.’

‘All right,’ she said abruptly. ‘Then you and Chalky had better disappear. I can’t imagine he’ll be any keener than you to assist in a murder inquiry.’ She tucked her own mobile into her pocket, opened her medical case, put the stolen mobile and the spent Cellboost into an envelope, then closed the lid. ‘You’ll have the time it takes me to drive from here to Southwark East police station to put distance between yourselves and this hospital. I won’t mention either of you unless I’m asked directly if you were here.’

Acland squared up to her. ‘What good’s that if the paramedics saw us?’

Jackson shouldered past him to pick up the rucksack. ‘The police won’t bother with paramedics when they have Kevin Atkins’s phone,’ she said bitingly. ‘The only person they’ll be interested in is the sick boy upstairs. Or is that too complicated for you to understand?’