Off the Rails

∨ Off the Rails ∧

17

In Plain Sight

At 11:47 A.M. on Tuesday, John May received a phone call from Cassie Field. “You said to call if I saw any of the stickers,” she explained. “Well, I saw some last night.”

“In the bar?”

“Yeah, on the backpacks of that group I told you about, the ones who spend all evening on their PDAs. They came in just after Theo left. I got talking to one of them, and got his mobile number for you.”

“Thanks, I’ve been trying the house phone, but nobody answers. That was thoughtful of you.”

“Not really. I fancied one of his mates and was trying to pick him up. He wasn’t interested, so I thought I’d turn them all over to the police. Have you got a pen?”

“Fire away.”

“His name’s Nikos Nicolau. He’s taking some kind of pharmaceutical course at UCL. He started to tell me about it but he’s got a bit of a speech impediment, and the music was too loud for me to hear him properly, plus he was boring. I asked him about the stickers but he was evasive. He’s kind of creepy. I thought I’d better call you.” She gave him Nicolau’s phone number.

“I’m on it,” said May, thanking her. He rang off and called Nicolau, who sounded uncomfortable about being contacted by a police officer. May arranged an appointment for two P.M. at the college and was heading out of the room when he collided with Bryant coming in.

“You will not believe this,” said Arthur, out of breath. “He doesn’t exist!”

The two Daves, who had been attempting to fit an inadequate piece of hardboard across the hole in the detectives’ office, stopped work and turned their attention to Bryant. He seemed to fascinate them.

“Who doesn’t exist?”

“My blithering, blasted, bloody witness. Inattentional blindness, the oldest trick in the book.”

“Arthur, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“He’s playing psychological games with me. Do you remember there was this perception experiment, conducted in the 1990s?”

“Strangely enough, no.”

“A researcher pretended to be lost and stopped people on the street to ask for directions. Each time he did so, two workmen carrying a door barged between them. One of the workmen switched places with the researcher. Over half the subjects failed to notice they were now talking to someone else, because they were concentrating on the problem at hand, not on the researcher’s face.”

“Who are we talking about?” May threw up his hands helplessly. “I’m lost.”

“I’m sorry, I forgot you exist in an alternate universe where everything has to be slowly explained to you. The man who was on my walking tour, the one who saw Mr Fox attacking the addict? We got his ID from the tour company, but he’s not the man I remember meeting.”

“Maybe I’m being dense – ”

“You most certainly are and it’s very simple. I did a head-count when we set off – I always do, to make sure we don’t lose anyone. Sometimes when I get too interesting they try to slip away. We had the same number at the end as we had at the start. Mr Fox followed his victim, forcing him into a dead-end tunnel. After stabbing him, he knew he couldn’t get out of the other end, so he had to double back. It meant having to pass through my group, so rather than draw attention to himself, he dismissed the person who most looked like him and replaced him. Obvious, really. Just what I would have done.”

“What do you mean? How do you ‘dismiss’ someone?”

“Who knows? Maybe he gave him money or just threatened to rough him up. Took his jacket, changed his hair, I don’t know exactly how he does it, but he does. To be honest, he could have switched with almost any of the invisibles in my group because I barely notice them.”

“Invisibles?”

“It doesn’t matter. Then he drew my attention to the attack, which allowed him to manipulate the situation and slip away.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“I think I have a vague idea of what he looks like at the moment. He’s shortened his hair and smartened up. He’s been to a tanning salon and done something to his face that makes it look different, but I can’t put my finger on it. I can get out a basic description.”

“He’ll change his appearance again, you know that. Keeping one step ahead is a matter of pride with him.”

“But he’s tied to the area, John. I don’t know what keeps him here, but that’s how we’re going to get him.”

“So what have we actually got? Fox doesn’t mind being seen because he’s never the same person for long. He absorbs others and uses their knowledge until it’s time to change once more. The danger is knowing something about him in return. What did the victim know that placed him at risk? Get Janice to dig into the boy’s background; we might get lucky and turn up something. Has anyone spoken to UCH this morning?”

“He’s alive and stabilised, but not conscious. Janice is talking to his doctor right now.”

“The Taylor case gets priority treatment. You know how this goes, Arthur; a junkie’s death matters less than a young mother shoved down the stairs, because if it turns out she’s done nothing wrong and was pushed by a stranger, everyone is at risk, and then it’s a matter of public safety – ”

“ – and a case for the PCU,” concluded Bryant impatiently. “Yes, I appreciate that. But if we keep a watch on the tube station, we can tackle both problems at once.”

“It’s a big place; I don’t see how we can cover it with only a handful of staff. Dan, wait.” May collared Banbury as he passed the doorway. “I heard you applied for a priority DNA check – anything from the contact lens case in the apartment?”

“Nothing from the eyelash,” said Dan. “The saline had corrupted it. But there were fingerprints on the exterior of the case, and they match Janice’s ID of the victim lying in UCH.”

“She’s got an ID? Why didn’t I know this?”

“Only just happened. Tony McCarthy, aka ‘Mac’, small-time crook, recovering heroin addict, a known face in the dodgier King’s Cross pubs. McCarthy’s got an impressive string of convictions. He pulled down a couple of years in Pentonville for dealing.”

“Looks like Mr Fox slipped up,” said May.

“It’s not like him,” Bryant insisted. “He’s too careful for that.”

“If he’s addicted to changing his appearance, he probably wears coloured contacts. And Mac was a junkie. If Mr Fox invited him over and left him alone for even a minute, it’s likely Mac would go through his host’s bathroom cabinet looking for something to steal or swallow. He picked up the lens case, checked it out, put it back somewhere different, and Mr Fox failed to wipe it clean.”

“Okay, we’ve been handed McCarthy, but if there’s something in his past that connects the pair of them, Mr Fox must know we’ll find it. He’s daring me to try to stop him. Wouldn’t you want to measure your opponent’s strength? See how close he’s likely to get?”

“What kind of man thinks like that?” asked Longbright.

“It’s about power, Janice. Some men use everything as an opportunity to prove their superiority. For them, life is a perpetual dare. This is his work. Rather than shift from his location, our Fox will hide in plain sight until one of us is forced to make a move.”

“Killing people is not normal work, Arthur,” May pointed out gently. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to act as if you admire him.”

“Of course I don’t.” Bryant’s watery blue eyes rolled behind his bifocals. “I think he’s horrible. But if something wriggles under a rock, don’t you want to pick the rock up and take a look? I wouldn’t be much of a criminologist if I wasn’t intrigued.”

“Then I shall leave you to your intrigues.” May searched around for his coat. The two Daves were standing by with screwdrivers raised, listening with undisguised interest. “I’m going to try and throw some light on why an innocent woman died. Perhaps you’ll give us the benefit of your intelligence by doing the same.”

“I have my suspicions about her death,” Bryant told his partner’s retreating back, “but you’re not going to like it. You never do.”

“You’re not going to win this one by ploughing through a bunch of old books, Arthur,” May called back serenely. “It’ll come down to modern detection techniques. I’m willing to put money on it.”

“So am I,” said one of the Daves. “Twenty quid says he proves the old codger wrong.”

“Make it fifty,” said the other, “and you’ve got yourself a bet.”