The Doll's House - [50]

‘Happy to do whatever I can,’ Emilia replied breezily.

‘We need to better understand the significance of a tattoo that is present on all three victims.’

‘The bluebird tattoo,’ Emilia responded.

‘Exactly. We haven’t been able to link it to any previous victims or offenders. So it could be a dead end. It may even be a ruse, designed to throw us off the scent.’

Emilia nodded sagely, swallowing a smile. Helen Grace had never been this open with her before about an ongoing investigation. Was she worried this time? Stumped? Or was this the start of a rapprochement in their relationship?

‘Or,’ Helen continued, ‘it may be significant. If it is, then odds on there is someone out there who knows what it means. Who saw it on a friend or colleague or family member. I know it’s a long shot, but presuming the killer lives locally, we were hoping the Evening News might go big on this. Capture the attention of the public -’

‘And rattle the killer too?’

‘Perhaps.’

So much and no more. Emilia was enjoying being back in the game.

‘I’ll talk to my editor but I know he’ll be happy to help. This is a big public-interest story.’

And a juicy one too, Emilia thought, but didn’t say.

Helen left shortly afterwards, the rough approach having been agreed between them. Emilia knew that usually this would be a job for media liaison, but Helen had come to her personally. Had her past vendetta against Helen been erased from her rap sheet? Emilia felt the old excitement returning. This could play well for her at the paper – and, who knows, perhaps beyond – so as Emilia sat at her desk, next leader article already half written, she made a silent vow to ride this story as hard as she could.

84

Ruby hadn’t slept a wink all night. She had been exhausted by her efforts and under normal consequences would have sparked out, but hope and adrenaline were keeping her awake. Time was elastic down here – she imagined the minutes and hours passing steadily but had no idea what time it really was. So she tried to stop herself counting and think of other things.

She thought of things she would do when she was free. All the dreams she had postponed out of fear, insecurity or lack of resources. To hell with hesitation now. Silly as it was, she pictured herself in Tokyo. She had always wanted to go to Japan. Why, she couldn’t say, but she had once gone as far as buying a Teach Yourself Japanese CD and had listened to it religiously one summer. She had forgotten almost all of it of course, but there were some words she retained. She still loved the sound of them. On-ay-guy-shee-mass. Kon-eech-ee-wa. She smiled to herself as she rolled the words around her mouth, enjoying their familiarity.

Movement upstairs. A sound, then another. Was it morning? It could just be him wandering around. He wasn’t a good sleeper and she heard him walking around at all hours. But the fact that he had been silent for so long gave her hope that the night had finally passed.

This was it then. Ruby clutched her weapon a little tighter. She would only get one shot at this, so she would have to get it right. Stupidly she found herself smiling again, excitement overcoming caution. Was she crazy to hope? Could it all end so simply? She tried to quell her sense of anticipation – to fail now would be too much to bear – but she couldn’t help it. She had won his trust. She had the element of surprise. And something inside was telling her that she would be home by nightfall.

85

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. A slick, rust-coloured patch of damp stared back at him. He took in its contours, its shadings of colour, and saw in its form a million different things – an island, a cloud, a sailing boat, a unicorn. He was amused at his eccentricity, lying in bed dreaming up nonsense when there was so much to be done, but he made no attempt to stop. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself the luxury of happiness – why not indulge himself?

How dark and unremitting his life had been since Summer left. How had he endured so many years of misery and loneliness? It seemed crazy to think now that he had survived more than a decade without her. He had been ripped apart by her desertion of him and he blushed still at the thought of his younger self cradling Summer in his arms, slapping her face to wake her. He had been unable to speak for a month after it happened, mute with shock at this sudden betrayal. He was surprised to find that, even now, if he really concentrated he could summon the distinctive, acrid smell of the vomit that had coated her that night.

His first thought on realizing she had left him was to kill himself. It was the obvious thing to do and there had been many points since when he’d regretted losing his nerve. He had gone to a DIY store and bought everything he needed, but when it came to the crunch, something held him back. At the time he rationalized this as Summer intervening, pulling him back from the brink. But now he wondered if it was just plain cowardice. He didn’t know whether it was a sign of strength or disloyalty that he was still breathing. Still trying to be happy.