know why and till we know..." He saw that her face had changed. Anger, horror, and fear had metamorphosed into...What was it he was seeing?
She was looking beyond him, her gaze fixed on the kitchen. And he knew. Just like that-as if fingers had snapped in front of his face and he suddenly returned to consciousness, he knew. He didn't have to turn. He only had to wonder how long Daniel had been standing in the doorway and how much he had heard.
Aside from having given Yasmin Edwards a wealth of information that she did not need and that he was not authorised to give to anyone, he'd frightened her son, and he knew that without looking, just as he knew he'd long outstayed whatever welcome he might have had in Doddington Grove Estate.
"Done enough?" Yasmin Edwards whispered fiercely, moving her gaze from her son to Nkata. "Said enough? Seen enough?"
Nkata tore his gaze from her, moving it to take in Daniel. He was standing in the doorway with a piece of toast in his hand, one leg crossed over the other and squeezing as if he needed the toilet. His eyes were big, and what Nkata felt was sorrow that he'd had to see or hear his mum in anything resembling an altercation with a man. He said to Daniel, "I d'n't want you to hear that, man. No need and I'm sorry. You just be careful on the street. There's a killer going after boys your age. I don't want him going after you."
Daniel nodded. He looked solemn. He said, "'Kay." And then when Nkata turned to leave, "You come round again or what?"
Nkata didn't answer him directly. He said, "You just keep safe, okay?" And as he stepped out of the flat, he ventured a final look at Daniel Edwards' mother. His expression said to her, What did I tell you, Yasmin? Daniel needs a man.
Her expression responded just as clearly, Whatever you're thinking, that man i'n't you.
CHAPTER SIX
FIVE MORE DAYS PASSED. THEY COMPRISED WHAT EVERY investigation into murder comprised, cubed by the fact that the squad was dealing with multiple killings. So the hours that stacked upon hours, which worked their way into long days, longer nights, and meals grabbed on the run, ended up being devoted to 80 percent slog. This involved endless phone calls, record checks, fact gathering, statements taking, and reports making. Another 15 percent went to coalescing all the data and trying to make some sense of it. Three percent went to revisiting every piece of information dozens of times to make sure nothing had been misunderstood, misplaced, or missed altogether, and 2 percent went to the occasional feeling that progress was actually being made. Staying power was necessary for the first 80 percent. Caffeine worked well for the rest.
During this time, the Press Bureau did its promised part to keep the media informed, and at these events AC Hillier continued to require DS Winston Nkata-and frequently Lynley as well-to serve as window dressing for the Met's display of Your Taxes at Work. Despite the maddening nature of the press conferences, Lynley had to admit that, so far, Hillier's performances in front of the journalists appeared to be paying off, since the press had not begun baying yet. But that didn't make the time spent with them any less onerous.
"My efforts might best be devoted to other pursuits, sir," he informed Hillier as diplomatically as possible after his third appearance on the dais.
"This is part of the job," was Hillier's reply. "Cope."
There was little enough to report to the journalists. DI John Stewart having divided his allocation of officers into teams, they were working with a military precision that could not be anything but pleasing to the man. Team one had completed their study of the alibis given by the possible suspects they'd dug up after looking into releases from mental hospitals and prisons. They'd done the same for sex offenders set free within the last six months. They'd documented who was working in open conditions prior to discharge, and they'd added homeless shelters to their list, to see if anyone behaving suspiciously had been hanging about on any of the murder nights. So far they'd uncovered nothing.
In the meantime, team two had taken over beating the bushes in an effort to roust out witnesses...to anything. Gunnersbury Park still looked like their best bet for this, and DI Stewart was, as he put it, damn well determined to find something in