Someone Else's Skin (22 page)

‘It’s politic, and it’s pragmatic. Idiotic would be running in blind, because we didn’t stop and think first.’ Another slap, this one on the face. She didn’t like him criticising Ed, that much was clear. They walked on, not speaking.

London was still waking up, although it was close to ten o’clock. The office workers were entrenched, the school run was over. It was a dead hour of the day, before the lunchtime rush. Two passenger jets cross-hatched the sky: white lines on a whiter background. Closer at hand, a couple of sparrows practised their spring flight patterns.

Birdsong was an eerie sound in central London. Like hearing the sea before you could see it – a reminder that Nature was behind or beneath everything, even those places where men had done their best to obliterate her.

Noah wondered if Ayana could hear birdsong, or the sea. He wanted to think she was near a phone, or a weapon. He realised he was wishing for a crime like the one Hope Proctor had committed at the refuge.

Marnie walked ahead of him, to drop her empty coffee cup into a litter bin. ‘Guess where Lowell Paton is living.’

He read the distaste on her face. ‘Not in the flat where he kept Simone prisoner?’

‘Near enough. Home sweet home. At his dad’s expense. Maybe Ed was right and Paton senior helped his son tidy up after Simone got away. If Daddy’s home, we’d better be prepared to listen to the bullshit in stereo.’ She tidied her hair. ‘Families closing ranks . . . Makes a change from beating the crap out of each other, I suppose.’

‘There’re all kinds of ways you can abuse someone. It doesn’t have to be physical.’

She shot him a look. ‘True. Do you think Ron Carling had a happy childhood?’

Noah was on his guard against the question, wondering what she’d heard – or guessed – about the situation with him and Carling. ‘Why him?’

‘Because he’s a bigot and a blag artist.’ She adjusted the cuffs of her shirt. ‘And because I suspect he’s been giving you more grief than you choose to share with me.’

‘It’s nothing I can’t handle.’

‘Bully for you. I still need to know if there’s a rotten apple on the team. Insofar as we are a team. He has a problem with you, doesn’t he?’ She kept her eyes ahead, making it marginally easier for him to answer.

‘Apparently. He’s getting over it, though.’

‘Because you’re good at deflecting or because he’s learning tolerance?’

‘A . . . bit of both.’

‘Is it going to be a problem, in the team?’

‘There’s no problem. Nothing serious, just mucking about. Macho stuff. You know.’

‘Not really,’ Marnie said. She came to a standstill, nodding at the phallic apartment block ahead of them. ‘Let’s see what Lowell Paton’s got to say for himself. Maybe it’ll shed some light on where Simone’s gone, or what’s going on in her head.’

45

Lowell Paton was twenty-three, but with his skinny frame and show-off sportswear, he could have passed for eighteen. He rubbed sleep from his eyes, inviting Noah and Marnie into the penthouse apartment at the top of the block. No more underground living for Lowell.

Marnie had warned Noah that they weren’t to push Paton. They didn’t have a warrant, or even a formal complaint. The best they could hope for was an insight into Simone’s state of mind. Lowell was unlikely to give the information freely, but a guilty conscience was a funny thing. Sometimes it provoked the party in question into sharing more than he intended. Monsters weren’t very good at staying hidden, and Lowell Paton had been a monster to Simone Bissell. There was a flaw in this logic, however, as Noah realised after ten minutes in Paton’s apartment, with its noisy decor: twin sofas in blood-red leather, red-and-black mosaic wall segregating the kitchen from the living space. Mirrors on all sides, one framed in light bulbs; not the room of someone who wanted to avoid his own reflection. White rugs, pretending to be bleached animal skins. An AV system that looked as if it could land a jet plane, Swarovski crystals stuck like shrapnel in the sleek black corners of the console.

Pimp my penthouse.

Lowell Paton moved around the apartment with the easy neglect of someone who didn’t pay rent, or insurance. Noah guessed Paton senior had that covered; cosseting his son for whatever reason he’d found to excuse the indulgence. Perhaps he thought he was keeping him safe up here, away from the streets where Lowell had strayed, albeit briefly. Noah’s heart sank when he saw the spoilt, satisfied boy this indulgence had bred. Lowell Paton didn’t have a guilty conscience. The monsters in his past, with or without his father’s help, had all been exorcised.

In the kitchen – black rubber peppermill, polished granite trivet under an Alessi kettle – Lowell opened a fridge the size of a space shuttle, studying its contents. ‘I’ve got Coke or,’ he grinned up at them, ‘Bud.’ His face had the forward slant of a fox’s. Wide mouth, thin-lipped, drawn tight across the lower half of his jaw. Long eyes under longer brows, sandy-brown like his hair, like his eyes. His left earlobe was pierced, impaled by a broad Perspex talon. Street face, gangland, but too studied to be the real thing. And too smooth. There wasn’t a mark on him.

‘Nothing for us, thanks.’ Marnie fed Lowell’s smile straight back, not missing a beat. At the door, she’d shown her badge with a hint of apology, as if deferring to the privilege evidenced by the security here, the uniformed concierge, the glossy lift that delivered residents to carpeted corridors outside their front doors.

Lowell carried a bottle of cola to the sofas, inviting Noah and Marnie to sit one side of the coffee table while he sprawled on the other. In his shiny white tracksuit on the red sofa, he resembled a maggot in an open wound.

Noah, remembering what Ed Belloc had said about the boy’s blood kink, felt his gorge rise. Paton kicked his legs apart, angling his crotch in Marnie’s direction. Where was Mrs Paton? What brand of motherly love had resulted in this self-assured machismo? Or had there been no love, was that Lowell’s problem?

‘So how can I help you guys?’ Lowell Paton swung the bottle between the knuckles of his right hand. Rings on three of his fingers: gold sovereigns. Gangsta bling. The rings made good weapons, whenever Paton felt like punching someone. Not men or boys. He wouldn’t last two minutes on the street. Paton punched girls. He’d broken Simone’s nose with the hand he was using to swing the cola.

Marnie said, ‘We’d like to ask some questions about Simone Bissell.’

Lowell passed his tongue over his skinny upper lip. Not nervous, just tasting whatever he’d eaten for lunch; the penthouse smelt of chorizo and cheese. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Simone, yeah.’ He put the bottle to his mouth. ‘Cool.’

‘You remember her.’

‘Sure. We hung out together for a bit.’

‘More than that.’ Marnie smiled.

Lowell sprawled lower on the red leather, getting comfortable. ‘Yeah.’ A long swig from the cola bottle left his mouth wet, open. ‘Lived together for a bit. Must’ve been about a year. Cool times.’

‘You lived together for a year. When was this?’

‘Two, three years ago.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘She did a ghost.’ Lowell kissed the neck of the bottle, blowing a note from it. ‘Vanished. But that was cool. Peace out,
vato.
’ He splayed two fingers from the side of his head.

‘She left, after a year. Why did she do that?’ Marnie looked around. ‘This is a great place you have here.’

‘Yeah.’ Lowell stroked his left thigh. He glanced at Noah, from under his lashes.

Someone else might’ve mistaken the glance for fear, or flirtation, but Noah knew it was Paton’s prejudice for his skin colour; wanting to impress the black man he was aping. Paton would’ve loved Noah’s little brother, Sol.

‘Simone didn’t like it here?’

‘We didn’t live here.’ Another swig from the bottle. No sweat on his face or hands. No evidence of nerves. ‘They hadn’t finished the place back then.’

‘Your dad owns the block, is that right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘So where did you and Simone live?’

‘Down in the basement.’ He laughed, nodding. ‘Yeah, I know, bit of a shithole, but still . . .’ He edited the laugh, turning down the corners of his mouth, caricaturing regret. ‘They were some good times.’

‘You were fond of Simone.’

‘I loved that girl.’ Lowell sat forward, his face changing. For a man with no lips, his pout was impressive. ‘What’s with all this?’ He looked at Noah. ‘What’s up, man?’

‘Simone’s missing,’ Marnie said. ‘We’re asking around anyone who knew her, seeing if they can suggest places she might’ve gone. You’re the person who spent the most time with her. We thought you might have some ideas for us.’

‘Missing.’ Lowell sank back, sucking at the neck of the bottle. ‘For real?’

Noah’s dad would’ve slapped him, no hesitation: ‘Learn some respect, boy,’ believing women should be worshipped, not seeing this as sexism in another shape.

‘So you loved Simone,’ Marnie said. ‘How did you two meet?’

‘On the streets.’ Lowell was desperate for Noah’s approval, some sign that he was winning respect from that quarter.

Noah gave him a bland face, guessing this would elicit further attempts, maybe a boast, anything to give them an excuse to take Paton in for questioning, better still if they could charge him with false imprisonment and assault, although Noah didn’t ask for miracles. It was clear that Lowell was insulated by his father’s wealth, to the point of complacency. Noah was surprised he hadn’t insisted on calling Paton senior before answering police questions. Did Lowell really believe he’d done nothing wrong in keeping Simone a prisoner for a year, beating and raping her? He was so relaxed on the sofa, he looked boneless.

‘How did Simone feel about living in the basement?’ Marnie asked.

‘Anywhere’s better than the streets, right?’

‘Where did she go when she left?’

Lowell shrugged. The light slid off the shoulders of his tracksuit, pooling in his lap. He fidgeted with the cola bottle. ‘No idea, sorry.’

‘Why did she leave?’

‘Dunno. Maybe she got a better offer.’ He flashed his teeth, rotted by cola. Daddy needed to shell out for some dental implants.

‘Better than this?’ Marnie looked around again. ‘Hard to imagine.’

‘I told you, we weren’t up here. We had the basement flat.’

‘Still, anywhere’s better than the streets. And you loved her. You’d have moved her up here, when it was ready.’

‘I guess.’

Noah was watching Paton’s hands on the bottle, his knuckles white above the yellow rings. ‘What sort of better offer?’ he asked. It was the first time he’d spoken. He used Sol’s street accent. ‘You said maybe she got a better offer.’

‘Yeah.’ Lowell wet his upper lip. ‘She liked it hard, you know?’ He flicked his eyes at Marnie, then back to Noah. ‘Stabbing.’

The silence in the penthouse was broken by Lowell insisting, ‘Daggering, man, you know what I’m talking about.’

‘She liked rough intercourse.’

‘Yeah.’ He bounced on the sofa, juggling the bottle from hand to hand. ‘Oh yeah.’

‘It got too much for you.’

Lowell grinned. ‘Nearly broke my dick.
You
know what I’m talking about . . . Blacks fucking
own
this shit.’ He stopped abruptly, as if he’d heard his dad’s voice in his head, telling him to mind his manners, or watch his mouth.

‘That’s why she left, to find someone who could satisfy her appetite for rough sex.’

The flat note in Noah’s voice penetrated Lowell’s defences, finally. He squirmed upright on the sofa, looking towards the phone he’d dropped on a side table. Thinking of calling his dad? ‘I loved her,’ he whined. ‘Tried to give her everything she wanted. Flowers, man. I brought her flowers, every week.’ His eyes filled with self-pitying tears. ‘Yellow roses. Her favourites.’

‘But she left, without saying where she was going.’

‘It was a long time ago, man. A long time.’

‘You didn’t try and find her?’

‘She didn’t want to be found. It was pretty obvious, the way she left. Just cleared off one night, when I was sleeping.’ He rubbed his hand under his nose. ‘Didn’t even say goodbye. Didn’t thank me for finding her this place. Nothing.’

‘You think she should’ve thanked you,’ Marnie said.

‘She was living rough. I found us this place. Yeah, a thank-you would’ve been nice.’ The pout crept back on to his fox’s face. ‘Guess I never really knew her. Never understood where she was coming from, you know? She was cool, but a bit of a freak. I mean, she looked like a street kid, right?’ He stared at Noah. ‘
You
know what I mean, man. The streets. I thought she was well hench. But when she spoke . . . the things she said . . . that was different.’

Marnie reached into her bag. ‘Would you mind making a note of your phone number for me, in case you think of anything else?’ She held out a notebook and a pen.

Lowell shrugged, climbing to his feet. He scrawled the number, adding his signature underneath as if she’d asked for his autograph.

‘Thanks.’ Marnie took back the notebook and pen. ‘By the way, did Simone tell you why she was living on the streets?’

‘Yeah, her mum and dad giving her shit, usual story.’ Lowell yawned, his lower jaw swinging as if it might come free from the rest of his face. ‘I could dig that.’

‘You have problems with your parents?’

Paton looked through slitted eyes at Marnie. ‘I’m one of the lucky ones,’ he said.

46

‘I need a shower,’ Marnie told Noah, when they reached the street outside Paton’s apartment.

‘I need a colonic.’ Noah buttoned his coat, looking savage.

‘What’s daggering?’ she asked him.

‘You really want to know?’

‘I can hazard a guess. Rough sex, you said. I’m thinking very hard and fast.’

Noah made a non-committal sound of disgust. He looked back up at the penthouse. ‘Do you think Daddy’s going to keep him up there for ever?’

‘Out of harm’s way?’ Marnie said. ‘Why not?’

‘He needs bringing back down to earth.’

She hadn’t seen Noah like this before, his jaw clenched so hard she could hear it popping. She tried to lighten his mood. ‘He was tight with you, man. Thought you well hench, whatever that means.’