The Killing Habit

by Mark Billingham

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I’m sure Uncle Fester would OK it.’

  ‘I might take you up on that,’ Thorne said. ‘Could do with all the help I can get.’

  ‘Nah.’ Treasure punched him on the arm. ‘You’ll catch this one.’

  Thorne nodded, closed his eyes for a few seconds.

  ‘That’s why you can’t stand the likes of Fulton,’ Treasure said. ‘Because you think they don’t give a toss. You’re wrong a lot of the time, by the way, but you always think they don’t care and you do.’

  ‘I’m not sure I do,’ Thorne said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Give a toss.’ He turned to look at her. ‘You should have heard me this morning. Saying exactly what needed to be said… pain and loss and holes in people’s lives, you know? They ate it up. But I’m not sure I could put my hand on my heart and tell you I meant it.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ Treasure said.

  Thorne shook his head. ‘I wonder why that career as a therapist never worked out?’

  ‘It’s a defence mechanism, that’s all. You’re worried you might not get this bloke, and that’s fair enough. I mean, you might not, so telling yourself you don’t actually care one way or the other is going to make that a bit easier. Maybe you won’t lie awake half the night, afterwards.’ She laughed, softly. ‘Don’t give a toss? I’ve worked with you, mate, remember.’

  ‘How could I forget?’

  She leaned into him. ‘You can try and fool yourself, if you fancy it, but you don’t fool me.’

  ‘You’re wasted in uniform,’ Thorne said.

  ‘Yeah, you might be right.’ Treasure adjusted her utility belt, straightened her stab vest. ‘I’d like to hang on to it, though.’ She waggled her eyebrows again. ‘You know, just for the bedroom.’

  TWENTY-NINE

  ‘Is Andy OK?’ Paula Evans drew deeply on an e-cigarette that looked like something out of Doctor Who. She puffed out a huge cloud of smoke and sat forward on the leather armchair. ‘I deserve to know that much, at least.’

  ‘I wish I could tell you more,’ Tanner said.

  ‘You haven’t told me anything.’

  ‘Yeah. He’s OK.’

  The woman nodded and sat back. She was short and slight, with old-fashioned NHS-style glasses and brown hair gathered into a scrunchie. She said, ‘Something, I suppose.’

  There were toys littering the floor in the living room, which Tanner would have cleared away, and washing up waiting to be done in the kitchen she had glimpsed on the way in. But not everyone lived the same way she did, and more to the point, she was not a woman who had watched her husband bundled into the back of a police car almost a week before and was now coping single-handedly with a three-year-old.

  ‘He thought I didn’t know,’ Paula said. ‘About the drugs. I mean, I presume it’s got something to do with the drugs… the reason you’ve got him and he hasn’t been in touch since that first night.’

  Tanner said nothing.

  ‘I’m not stupid, mind you.’ Another chug on her vape. ‘I know you don’t keep someone that long because they’ve got a Spice habit, so there’s obviously something else going on.’

  ‘I know you’re not stupid,’ Tanner said.

  ‘Good… and you know that the fact you’re not telling me anything makes the whole thing a damn sight scarier?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Smoke hissed through Paula’s teeth. ‘Just doing your job, right?’

  Tanner managed a weak smile, then looked around. Having spent only three months as a free man between Pentonville prison and a very different sort of confinement at Long Barrow Manor, it was easy to understand just how much Andrew Evans would be missing this place. Yes, it was chaotic and, Tanner guessed, fraught at times, but sitting there, she could feel the warmth of home; recognised it as something she had not felt herself since Susan had died. The comforting warmth of familiar things and of the people desperate for a loved one to return to them. There was a wife waiting who loved Andrew Evans dearly, and there was his son.

  ‘Where’s Sean?’ Tanner asked.

  ‘Nursery.’ Paula nodded. ‘First day he’s been since you lot took Andy away. He’s upset, you know… missing his dad. I’m upset too, tearing my bloody hair out, but I’ve been trying not to show it when Sean’s around, because he picks up on all that stuff.’

  ‘Course.’

  ‘See, last time his dad disappeared he didn’t come back for eighteen months. Sean was only two then, but I know he remembers.’ She shook her head violently, as though trying to dislodge something, then looked at Tanner. ‘You got kids?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Right…’

  Tanner saw the woman glance across at her left hand, though she was unsure what information could usefully be gleaned these days from the absence of a wedding ring.

  ‘You’re better off,’ Paula said.

  Tanner managed the wry smile she guessed was expected, though she knew Paula Evans was not being honest. It was the kind of thing harassed parents often said, but it was rarely meant. Most of the time they actually felt sorry that you were missing out or, worse, that there must be something wrong with you, with your choice.

  Whether you had made one or not.

  The truth was that, a few years before, she and Susan had talked about having children, but it hadn’t gone much further than that. A few leaflets on adoption, an hour online looking at sperm banks. One of Tanner’s brothers had jokily suggested that he could be a donor, but Tanner hadn’t much liked the idea of raising a son or daughter that would also be a nephew or niece. Susan said there was a fellow teacher who might be keen. Eventually, they had dropped it, the same way the idea of getting married had blossomed quickly then come to nothing. A few over-excited evenings; domestic fantasies, which grew more improbable as Susan got further into the wine.

  In the end, they had decided they liked things as they were.

  ‘Why fix it if it isn’t broken?’ Tanner said.

  Paula looked at her.

  ‘Not having kids.’

  Why fix it… ?

  It was more or less exactly what she and Susan had said to each other and suddenly Tanner found herself imagining what things would be like if she and Susan had made the leap. She would be where Paula Evans was now, bringing up a child on her own. No, worse than that, because in her case the absent parent would never be coming home and doing her job would have been next to impossible.

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s a bit late for me.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  Paula reached down to pat what looked like an extremely flat stomach and let out a theatrical sigh. She held out her futuristic-looking vape. ‘I should be coming off this, really.’

  Tanner said, ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Paula took another good-sized hit on the e-cig she was about to give up. ‘Oh.’

  ‘Your husband didn’t mention it.’

  ‘That’s because he doesn’t know.’

  ‘OK…’ For a few seconds, Tanner toyed with saying ‘congratulations’, but decided it might be tactless, or even wholly unwelcome.

  ‘I didn’t want to tell him when he was still so messed up.’ She closed her eyes for a few seconds. ‘I wish I’d told him that first night when he called from the police station.’

  Tanner leaned forward. ‘Would you like me to…?’

  Paula shook her head.

  ‘I think he could do with some good news.’

  ‘I’ll tell him myself. When I get the chance.’

  Tanner nodded and sat back again. ‘When’s it due?’

  ‘Not until November. I’m only two months gone.’ She swallowed. ‘He’ll be back by then, right? Andy?’

  Tanner looked away, but only for a few seconds. ‘Listen, I know I’ve not told you very much, and that’s because I really can’t, but if it’s any help, I can tell you Andy’s getting clean. He’s coming off the Spice.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘And I will tell you he’
s helping us. I can’t say any more than that, but I promise you he’s doing something important. OK?’

  Paula nodded and puffed out a series of short breaths. ‘I’m probably pushing my luck, but I don’t suppose you can tell me where he is? You know, just roughly.’

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘Is he in London? The outer Hebrides?’

  ‘I’ve told you as much as I’m allowed,’ Tanner said. ‘More than I’m allowed.’

  Paula shrugged, as though Tanner’s response was the one she’d been expecting. There was a low rumble as a train went past somewhere nearby, and when it had begun to fade, she said, ‘I’m not surprised… you saying he’s doing something good, because that’s actually the sort of bloke Andy is.’ There was a small grunt of laughter and suddenly there were tears in her eyes. ‘What happened to that kid just destroyed him, you know? He was never really the same afterwards, like it just kicked all the joy out of him. So he went inside and he did his time because he knew he had to, but I didn’t get the same Andy back. It was partly that stupid drug, I know that, but sometimes… even now, when he’s looking at me, I know that he’s seeing that little lad. That split second when he looks up from his phone and sees the bike and knows there’s nothing he can do…

  ‘Whatever he’s been up to since he came out, I know that’s down to the drugs, but take those away and he’s a decent bloke. Yeah, he’s an idiot and he’s a bloody big kid and sometimes I want to slap him silly, but at the end of the day, he’s basically good. He’s a good… soul.’

  ‘I know,’ Tanner said. ‘I know he’s been through a lot.’

  Paula sniffed and smiled, reached across for a box of tissues on the cabinet next to her chair. ‘He’s strong as well, mind you. Whatever’s going on, I know he’ll come out the other side.’

  ‘Look… there might be a way you can tell him yourself.’ Tanner remembered what she said to Andrew Evans the last time she’d spoken to him. ‘About the baby.’

  Paula waited. Her eyes widened and she curled her fingers through a few loose strands of hair. She looked like a teenager.

  ‘I can’t make any promises, though.’

  Five minutes later, Tanner walked to the end of the Evans’s path then turned to look back at the house. Two storeys in a well-kept terrace in Bounds Green. Not Hampstead or Highgate, not by a long way, but nice enough; a park nearby and decent schools. Andrew Evans had told her that Paula did some part-time work as a book-keeper, but even so, Tanner wondered how she would manage to keep up the mortgage payments.

  She lifted her bag a little higher on her shoulder.

  Even if Tanner had been in a position to tell Paula Evans everything, to assure her that her husband would be back to see his second child born, it would not all necessarily have been good news. She would still have been unable to promise that, when all this was over, he would be spared a return to prison. Yes, his help with their investigation would certainly be taken into account and the crimes he had committed had clearly been done under duress, but Andrew Evans had threatened a man with a gun and, ultimately, there were no guarantees of immunity. The law would run its course, and, naïve or not, Tanner clung to the belief that it would do so fairly, but she also decided, there and then, that when the time came she would do whatever she could to help his case.

  She turned and walked towards her car.

  She would bring Andrew Evans back to his family.

  As Tanner’s car turned the corner, the man who had been watching from the other side of the road put on his helmet, fired up his bike and roared away in the opposite direction.

  THIRTY

  Thorne was rapidly losing the will to live.

  The estate agent led them into the kitchen. He held his arms out wide, as though it might miraculously increase the size of the room, and said, ‘This is the kitchen.’

  Thorne leaned close to Tanner and whispered, ‘Thank God he’s keeping us informed. That fridge and the dirty big cooker were confusing the hell out of me.’

  Tanner shushed him.

  ‘Seriously… if he says “wow factor” or talks about anything “ticking all the boxes”, I might have to hurt him.’

  ‘It’s a pretty good size,’ the estate agent said, ‘and as you can see there’s a very nice breakfast area, too.’ He pointed to a table covered in a multicoloured plastic tablecloth. Thorne was grateful that he didn’t bother telling them it was a table. ‘Plenty of room for the two of you to sit and eat your toast or cornflakes or whatever…’

  Thorne whispered again. ‘Does he think we’re a couple?’

  ‘I don’t know what he thinks,’ Tanner said. ‘But it’s probably a fair assumption.’ She looked down at the laminated sheet of property details she had picked up the day before. ‘Anyway, what’s so horrific about that?’

  Thorne said nothing, followed Tanner as she wandered across to the window.

  The estate agent strolled over to join them. He had thick glasses and a shock of dark hair, and though he was probably in his mid-twenties he looked younger, in a suit which was too big for him. The shiny tie was almost exactly the same shade of pink as his shaving rash. ‘Yeah, not a bad view, is it?’

  ‘It’s a patio,’ Thorne said. ‘And a fence.’

  ‘They’ve done a nice job with the borders though.’ The man nodded and thrust his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘Tall trees, so you won’t be overlooked, and there’s even room for a little shed, if that’s your thing. Every man needs a shed, am I right?’

  ‘I do need somewhere to keep my model trains,’ Thorne said.

  ‘Right.’ The estate agent looked at him, as though unable to decide if Thorne was being serious.

  ‘It’s nice,’ Tanner said.

  The estate agent moved away again, presumably leaving them alone to continue drinking in the view. Thorne turned to see him aimlessly opening cupboards and running his fingertips across the worktops.

  ‘You think it’s nice?’

  Thorne shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Cheers, that’s very helpful.’

  ‘I told you, I’m rubbish at this.’

  The two-bedroom ground floor flat was on a quiet street off the High Road in East Finchley. Driving over, Tanner had told him again that, once she had sold the house in Hammersmith, she could pay cash for a place like this and still have a good-sized nest egg left over. ‘Maybe even enough for a little place in the country,’ she had said.

  ‘The country?’

  ‘Just for weekends, you know.’

  Thorne had shuddered theatrically.

  Now, they continued staring out of the kitchen window. A black and white cat moved cautiously along the edge of the fence. It turned and spotted them and quickly jumped off again. Thorne pointed out the cat flap he’d noticed in the back door. ‘That’s one thing you wouldn’t need to do.’

  ‘Don’t need one,’ Tanner said. ‘No way my cat’s going outside again until we make an arrest.’

  Thorne nodded, took another look around. ‘Yeah, it’s all right, I suppose.’ He took out his phone and checked for messages. ‘I don’t really know what you’re looking for.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Tanner said.

  It was the end of the day and a new shift had taken over back at Becke House. A team with considerably more manpower than would normally be the case; chasing every lead and inputting every scrap of information that arrived in connection with the Alice Matthews investigation and the hunt for a man of whom she was just the latest in a list of victims.

  The victims they knew about…

  Patricia Somersby.

  Annette Mangan.

  Leila Fadel.

  Not that Thorne or Tanner would ever be off the clock, not with a case like this one, and if neither of them mentioned it, it was only because they didn’t have to. Each knew exactly where the other’s mind was, that terrible landscape; knew that, in truth, there was precious little headspace available for well-appointed kitchens or mature treelines.

>   ‘Feel free to have a wander around on your own.’

  They both turned, unaware that the estate agent had come back over to join them.

  ‘You get more of a feel for a place without some idiot burbling at you, so I’ll just lurk around in here.’

  Without saying a word, Thorne and Tanner walked out into the hallway like automatons and drifted into the smaller of the two bedrooms. The decor was clearly the choice of a teenage girl, but the clutter that might have been expected had been cleared away for the viewing. Cushions had been carefully arranged on the bed and the room smelled of lavender.

  Thorne held his arms out. ‘This is the bedroom.’

  Tanner grunted, and half-smiled.

  There were photographs on the window ledge and Thorne moved across to have a look. He picked up one of the photos, felt a little nosy examining it. He had heard about people who viewed properties almost every day with no intention of ever buying, but purely because they were driven by some prurient compulsion. Because, for whatever reason, they enjoyed the sneaky snapshot it gave them into other people’s lives. Their tastes and habits, their domestic quirks. There were others he had heard about who went even further and made a habit of stealing something from each place they visited. Easily pocketable personal items that were unlikely to be missed. Thorne could only presume they got an extra kick from the trove of knick-knacks they amassed; the fragments of lives assembled into a voyeur’s bizarre mosaic.

  Pens, perfume, hairbrushes.

  He looked down at the photograph again: the smiling husband and wife; the daughter who couldn’t quite manage it. He put the photograph back.

  ‘How did it go with Andrew Evans’s wife?’

  ‘Could have been better,’ Tanner said. ‘She’s not in a good way.’

  ‘What did you expect?’

  ‘And she’s pregnant.’

  ‘They timed that well.’

  ‘I was thinking… if we take someone into protective custody —’

  ‘It’s not quite that.’

  ‘No, but he’s helping us with an investigation, isn’t he?’ Tanner sat on the edge of the bed. ‘If we remove someone from their home, so that they can’t earn money, is there some sort of fund we can use to help out the rest of the family? For mortgage payments, utilities, whatever.’