Maybe it’s all just some sad joke. Maybe she knew me and Paul had been an item for a while, and she was hoping he’d be fooled into thinking she really was me.
Yeah, good luck with that, love, if that was your plan.
Me and Paul, all that’s ancient history.
So, let’s just, for now, put it all down to coincidence. Let’s say it really is her name.
How many Kate Denham’s must there be in the world?
I’d left Paul with a warning that I still wanted to ask him a few more questions later. That I also expected him to avoid spreading panic, by keeping it quiet that I was a real police officer.
He’d nodded gratefully, of course. He was glad that that seemed to be it for now. He wasn’t a prime suspect, after all, for some as yet undisclosed major crime.
Paul’s a love rat, no doubt about that; but I really can’t see that he’d kill anyone.
Veronica’s obediently tagging along with me once more. Grim faced, like she really can’t believe how her party’s taken a turn for the worse.
I can’t put off calling in help any longer. I’m…I’m just going to have to remove the book, the murder weapon.
That way, as long as no one sees me taking it, I’m in the clear.
There’s nothing to link me to the poor girl’s death.
‘I’ve done it, I’ve done it all!’ Hare says, approaching us excitedly, a little unsure who he should be talking to. ‘The doors and windows are locked – the windows had sort of swollen anyway, as it happens, and were pretty much impossible to open anyway.’
‘The phones? Did Burk – I mean your friend, ask you to try and retrieve all the phones in the house?’
He nods in reply to my query, pulls a queasy, lopsided smirk.
‘Not everyone handed them over, even though I got some of the bigger guys to help me collect them. But it turns out it doesn’t matter anyway; there’s no signal. Not even a blip of one!’
I flip out my own cellphone, press a few buttons to check.
Yep, he’s got that right; no signal at all.
That’s good, very good.
It gives me an excuse when I have to explain why I didn’t immediately call for help earlier.
*
Chapter 8
The man of reason only accepts those things he already believes in
And that is why he is foolish
The Desire
I’m interested in retrieving my book for a reason other than the more obvious one – namely, ensuring I’m not put in the frame for the girl’s murder.
Ever since I stepped out of the taxi, a very small corner of my mind has been nagging me that the book’s illustrations had changed. That I hadn’t imagined it when I thought the people in the pictures had slightly moved from their original positions.
That it wasn’t just all down to a trick of the light, as I’d told myself.
Crazy, right?
The illustrations are – well, odd in so many ways. For a start, they seem to be a far later addition to the book than the vellum-like pages they’re either drawn or printed on.
The pages, as I’ve already pointed out, have that crisp, greaseproof paper feel of vellum, which you’d associate with an ancient, at least medieval book. The letters of the words are hand written, as you’d expect in such an old book. Even here, though, everything’s not as it first seems.
Is the term palimpsest, for an old manuscript that has been scraped clear and freshly written on? I think it is. And that’s definitely what’s taken place here. The letters aren’t an angular gothic script, but a much, much more recent form of writing; even though, at first glance, you could be fooled into believing the words have been printed. The spelling and language, too, appear to be curiously modern.
The illustrations are of the kind I’d expect to find within an original Dickens’ novel: delicate etchings, featuring both a man and a woman in what I presume is mid-Victorian garb. The woman wears a voluminous, multi-layered dress. Her thin, elegant neck is completely bared, as are most of her shoulders.
She’s amazingly beautiful. It’s a kind of demure yet also – perhaps they really shouldn’t be so compatible – bewitchingly enticing beauty. The man portrayed with her is suitably enamoured. He’s darkly handsome, caring, loving. He either stares at her longingly or tenderly caresses her.
Or, rather, that’s how they were originally pictured together. Or, maybe, how I falsely remember them being portrayed.
For when I skipped through the illustrations while seated in the back of the cab, I seemed to detect the most subtle of changes. The woman, I’m sure, was turning away, even pulling away, from her lover. His expression was one of shock, anger. He was reaching out, not to caress, but to grab, to drag her back.
It was as if the illustrations had moved slightly on in time, like a later set of stills from a movie.
Thinking about it all like this once more, I suppose it had to be a trick of the light. Or a faulty memory.
Either that, or I’m really losing it.
*
Chapter 9
If anyone ever tells you you have no choice
Then the really surprising thing is
You do
The Desire
‘There! There she is!’
Veronica’s grabbing my arm, pointing out across the crowded hall towards an open door leading into another, larger room.
I’m tempted to ask her who she means. Then it dawns on me; she’d presumed, wrongly of course, that we’ve gone off in search of this Barbie girl, this other Kate Denham.
When this other Kate turns to look our way, having both heard and noticed the elatedly pointing Veronica, it’s quite startling. Clever makeup and contact lenses enlarge and enhance her eyes, giving her an amazing air of child-like innocence. Her hair is of the brightest blonde. There’s masses of it too, like it’s waiting for a giant, gap-toothed comb to tease it into whatever elaborate shape you please.
She smiles, revealing perfect, perfectly small teeth. Her lips are red, luscious, and ideally shaped into a Cupid’s bow.
Even amongst all these oddities surrounding me – the Cybermen, the Riddlers, the Hellraiser Pinheads – she shines out. She’s different, too, in a way that everyone else could only ever hope to be.
She really is this bizarre character, this living, breathing doll.
She has an otherworldly beauty, an impossible beauty. I’ve no doubt that she’s come as an angel because it fits in with her idea of a sense of perfection, an angelic ideal. She could be a medieval figurine of ivory, representing blissful perfection.
As I draw closer to her, I find myself almost automatically asking the strangest question I’m ever likely to ask.
‘Kate? You’re Kate Denham? Is that right?’
She nods, smiles, flutters her doll’s eyes in an obviously well-practised manner.
‘Are you sure about that?’
If she frowns in surprise or irritation, I can’t really tell. No crease forms on her forehead. It’s as clean and clear as pristine plastic.
It’s only in her eyes that I detect any confusion.
‘Course I’m sure.’ She says it with a faint, trilling chuckle.
Again, it seems practised. All part of her new persona.
This is how Barbie would speak, were she able to construct sentences other than those brought into life by a pull of a cord in her naked back.
‘I heard you had an argument earlier with Paul Reed.’
I phrase it as a statement, not a question.
She nods, smiles again.
‘Tell me about it.’ I add, wondering if she’s playing stupid as part of her act.
‘And I have to explain this because…?’
She lets her voice drift off, waiting for my reasons.
‘Can’t you see she’s a police officer?’ Veronica helpfully hisses quietly at her.
‘Really?’
Barbie says it like she’s completely puzzled by Veronica’s admonishme
nt. She gives me the once over, still looks unpersuaded.
‘Isn’t she a bit, well, young to be a cop?’
Ah well; I wondered how long I could get away with this ridiculous façade. The only thing that surprises me is that no one’s noticed this up until now.
A disdainful look from Barbie has got to be seen before anyone can really understand how bizarrely hurtful it is. It’s like your favourite toy, the one you’ve loved and cared for throughout most of your childhood (and, embarrassingly and secretly, a little beyond), has finally revealed her real, innermost feelings for you: and they’re not at all good or flattering.
‘I did wonder if throwing out an invite for a weirdo like you was really such a good idea!’ Veronica glowers at Barbie as if everything she’d feared might go wrong has all just taken place in less than a minute. ‘Don’t they teach politeness and respect for authority at your school?’
Barbie glances Veronica’s way. She just widens her eyes a little, acting all unworldly innocent once more.
She smiles again.
She turns slightly, smiles at me.
‘What’s your relationship with Paul Reed?’ I persevere.
‘Not that I really see it as been any business of yours, but…I used to go out with him. He dumped me. As Paul always does.’
She smiles blissfully at Veronica.
Veronica blushes, hangs her head in shame.
‘He says he can’t recall ever going out with you,’ I point out.
‘Well, I’ve changed an awful lot, haven’t I, since he last saw me? Besides, if you knew Paul, you’d know he doesn’t find it hard to conveniently forget just how badly he treated his exes.’
I do know Paul; and I do know how painfully correct that is.
‘It wasn’t an argument,’ she continues assuredly. ‘I just wanted to show him what he was missing. I don’t have any interest in him any longer; but it’s still always nice, isn’t it, to see the hurt in someone’s eyes, when that someone has treated you so badly?’
‘I might have to ask you a few more questions later.’
I turn away, realising this isn’t getting any of us anywhere.
Why would this girl murder the girl Paul had brought to the party with him?
Jealousy?
Frustration, that Paul hadn’t recognised her?
That might lead to a bit of eye scratching, maybe, at most.
I can’t see her killing anyone for it.
I bound up the stairs, hoping to leave Veronica a good few steps behind me. I don’t want her in the room when I remove the book. I even force my way past a few people, pulling them slightly to one side, hoping they’re too drunk to notice. Hoping they’ll block Veronica’s way.
With a nod of recognition to Burke, I fling open the door to the room, dash inside.
Naturally, the poor girl’s still there, spread-eagled across the bed.
But the book – well, that’s gone.
*
Chapter 10
If you put your mind to things
If you concentrated
Yes, you’ve got all the right qualities to be successful
You know this too
But, strangely
That merely encourages you to put things off
For another, better day
The Desire
‘Who’d you let in?’
Flinging open the door once more, I catch Burke by surprise.
He’s hardly up there with the Marines when it comes to rigidly remaining at his post. He’s languishing against the wall, flirting with a very responsive Goth girl.
‘Oh, er, no one, no one!’
He jumps, standing up straight and ignoring the girl, as if this is how he’s maintained his guard at the door since I left him. He scowls at me, like he’s a little irritated by any scurrilous accusation against his character.
‘You sure about that?’
‘Well, well…course, I had to take a trip, you know, for a leak, but–’
‘Great!’
I turn back into the room. I’m about to slam the door behind me, but Veronica turns up, apologising for being a little late. She’d got waylaid by some friends, she explains, wanting to know all the gossip about who was hiding away in the closed bedroom.
‘Anything wrong?’ she asks, no doubt sensing my anguish and panic. ‘Where’s everybody else?’ she adds anxiously. ‘The help you called for?’
‘Oh, they’ve been delayed,’ I lie. ‘I just got a call.’
‘Your phone’s working? No one else’s seems to be, for some reason. They were complaining about it to me. They’re angry that they’re not allowed outside. Mostly, they’re drunk, and still enjoying themselves; but some of them are starting to wonder what’s going on.’
I’m only half listening to her. Surely, someone outside saw who came in here.
‘Veronica, could you ask the people outside if they saw anyone enter the room while our friend was in the toilet?’
‘Someone’s been in here?’
I nod.
‘I’ll check for fingerprints.’
It sounds suitably official and reassuring. I’m even intending on following through on my statement and checking the fingerprints on the glass tumbler.
As Veronica had talked, I’d been curiously taking in a little more of the scene, vainly hoping I’ll spot something that might lead me to whoever’s stolen the – my – book. Underneath the bedside lamp’s bright light, I could clearly see a slightly greasy fingerprint on the glass.
I wouldn’t need to dust it with talc, which, of course, would lead to me being accused of tampering with evidence. I could take a photo on my cellphone, blow it up – and then what?
Check it off against a houseful of kids’ fingerprints?
Check it off against Paul’s?
Still, I can’t think what else to do.
I kneel by the side of the bedside cupboard, taking a photo of the glass. Veronica, taking her cue, disappears out of the door, dutifully closing it behind her.
When I blow up the whorls of the fingerprint on my screen, it seems strangely familiar. As part of my training, I’ve recently been taking and closely inspecting a large number of fingerprints.
I turn my camera on the tip of one of my own fingers. Click a picture. Blow it up.
Yeah, as I suspected.
The fingerprint on the tumbler is mine.
*
Chapter 11
It’s motivation you lack, if we’re being honest, isn’t it?
Your mind flitters elsewhere, while your self-absorption restricts you more than you realise
And so you give up on your dreams too easily
The Desire
Just outside the door, there’s an increasingly noisy and panicked commotion.
Veronica’s voice is raised, shrill, as she tries to calm people down.
Has news about the girl’s murder leaked out?
There are a few screams. Nervous laughs.
‘What’s going on?’ someone yells, their voice trembling with fear.
Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I step outside of the bedroom.
‘Is everything all right out here?’
Veronica’s flustered, her face red. She’s pretty close to tears.
‘They can’t get their costumes off! No one can remove their costumes!’
I chuckle uneasily.
‘Why are they trying to remove their costumes? Are they leaving?’
‘They’re sticking to us, look!’
A girl leans towards me, demonstrating with an attempted pinch of her snake-scaled costume that it really does seem to have become attached to her own skin.
‘Me too,’ ‘I’m the same,’ others around me agreed.
‘It’s…it’s just a little hot in here, that’s all!’ Veronica tried to give off an air of calm and reason, but her voice was quivering and high, like it was all getting too much for her. ‘Clothes naturally stick to you: you know, especially le
ather, or man-made fabrics like these costumes are made of.’
The protests started up immediately.
‘So why can’t we open a window, let some cool air in?’
‘Why can’t we open the door: step outside for a while?’
‘How’s your ridiculous theory explain this, Veri? My skin is–’
‘I’ve got the key, the key to the door!’
The shout comes from below us. A guy dressed as a hooded Death, carrying a fake scythe, forces his way through the crowded hall. He’s making his way towards the front door.
‘What? Where’d you get that, Michael Roger?’ an aghast Veronica demands, leaning over the bannister.
‘The kitchen!’ Death glances up at us, jangling his set of keys. ‘You had them in the kitchen, all labelled.’
A cry telling everyone that they can’t leave almost leaves my lips. As for the explanation that there’s been a murder, well, that doesn’t even get that close.
That would cause an even worse panic: announcing to them that there’s a murderer casually walking round amongst them.
Besides, something deep within me is whispering: Wait.
Just wait.
Everything will sort itself out.
Death slips his key into the door. He turns it.
Death turns the door’s handle. He pulls back hard on the door.
Death bangs violently on the door, letting his scythe fall aside.
‘It won’t open! The bloody thing still won’t open,’ Death wails miserably.
*
Chapter 12
Desire is neither thought, nor object, nor a wish
The Desire
‘This is all way too odd!’
‘Something totally bizarre’s going on here, Veri!’
‘Smash a window!’
‘You will not smash a window.’
At last, Veronica says it as sternly and authoritatively as if she really were an evil queen. Standing against the banister, she could be making an uncompromising proclamation from her palace balcony.
‘The door will open fine at some point,’ she continues serenely. ‘It swells up in wet weather, that’s all. Tom said the windows are sticking too!’
She gracefully smiles down on everyone, like she’s relishing her new-found confidence and unquestionable authority.
It all gives me yet another breathing space. Another chance to make up for my earlier failings and incredible, panicked stupidity.