The Ink Black Heart, page 39
‘Yeah. But Bram – the big blond kid – isn’t hers, just Nils’.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. Nils had him with a girlfriend in Holland, but the girlfriend died, so Bram came to live at North Grove.’
‘Sad,’ said Robin.
‘Yeah,’ said Zoe again.
They walked on in silence until they reached a bus stop, which Robin had assumed was Zoe’s destination, but she strode onwards.
‘How’re you getting home?’ asked Robin.
‘Walkin’,’ said Zoe.
The day had been sunny but the night sky was cloudless and the temperature had plummeted. Zoe was walking with her arms wrapped around herself and Robin thought she might be shivering.
‘Where d’you live?’ Robin asked.
‘Junction Road,’ said Zoe.
‘That’s in the same direction as the police station, isn’t it?’ said Robin, hoping this was true.
‘Yeah,’ said Zoe.
‘So… you must be artistic, right? To get a job at North Grove?’
‘Kind of,’ said Zoe. ‘I wanna be a tattoo artist.’
‘Seriously? That’d be so cool.’
‘Yeah,’ said Zoe. She glanced up at Robin, then rolled up her jacket sleeve, and the sleeve of the thin top beneath it, to reveal the densely tattooed forearm covered in characters from The Ink Black Heart. ‘I done them.’
‘You – what?’ said Robin, unaffectedly astonished. ‘You did them?’
‘Yeah,’ said Zoe, shyly proud.
‘They’re incredible, but – how?’
As Zoe laughed, Robin saw a glimpse of a young person behind the skull-like face.
‘Y’just need to make the stencils an’ ’ave ink an’ a tattoo gun. I got one second-hand, off t’internet.’
‘But doing it on yourself…’
‘I used mirrors and that. It took a long time. Over a year to do it all.’
‘That’s all stuff from The Ink Black Heart, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah,’ said Zoe.
‘I love that cartoon,’ said Robin, well aware that she’d now split into two different Jessicas: one from London who knew only vaguely about The Ink Black Heart, and one from Yorkshire who adored it, but there was no time to worry about that now.
‘Do ya?’ said Zoe, looking up at Robin again as she pulled down her sleeve. She seemed to like Robin the more for hearing it.
‘Yeah, of course. It’s really funny, isn’t it?’ said Robin. ‘I love the characters and what they say about – I don’t know’ – (which was true: Robin grasped for generalities) – ‘life and death and the games we all play’ – (Drek’s game meant something like that, didn’t it?) – ‘and I love Harty,’ Robin concluded. It was safe to love Harty. Nearly all the fans whose tweets she’d been wading through for weeks loved Harty.
Zoe wrapped her arms around herself again and then, suddenly, words poured out of her.
‘It saved my life, that cartoon,’ she said, staring ahead of her. ‘I felt so bad when I were thirteen. I were in care, like Edie Ledwell. There’s so many things the same between us. She tried to kill ’erself and I did too, when I were fourteen. Slit me wrists – I’ve tattooed over the scars.’
‘God, I’m sor—’
‘I found The Ink Black Heart on YouTube and it was so fookin’ weird but I couldn’t stop watchin’ it. I loved the style of the drawings and all the characters. They’re, like, so messed up, but they’re still OK really, in’t they? I felt proper bad and wrong when I were fourteen but, like, all the things Harty says, like, it’s never too late, even if you was made to do bad stuff, you don’t have to for ever. I just loved watching them, and it’s proper funny.
‘I were gonna do it again – slit me wrists. I ’ad the stuff ready and I were gonna pretend I were goin’ on a sleepover and go in the woods an’ do it, so nobody could find me. But the cartoon was the first thing that made me laugh in, like, a year. An’ I thought, if I can still laugh… and then I saw Edie Ledwell online sayin’ she were gonna do another one and I wanted to see it, so I didn’t kill meself. That’s what stopped me. That’s mad, innit?’ said Zoe, staring into the darkness. ‘But it’s true.’
‘That doesn’t sound mad,’ said Robin quietly.
‘So I watched the second one an’ it were really funny an’ all. That were the first one Magspie spoke in. You know that guy ’oo was chattin’ you up back there? Preston? The one ’oo was modelling for your class?’
‘Yes,’ said Robin.
‘He were the voice of Magspie in episodes two an’ three.’
‘No way!’ said Robin.
‘Yeah – but then ’e went home to Liverpool for a few months so they got someone else in doing a Scouse accent. He ’ates people goin’ on about The Ink Black Heart. When ’e saw my tattoos ’e were a right bastard about them…’e’s…’
But Zoe left the thought unfinished. They walked on in silence for a while, with Robin wondering whether it was a good or bad idea to bring up the game.
‘Edie Ledwell spoke to me once,’ said Zoe, breaking the silence. ‘On Twitter.’
She spoke of it in a hushed, awed voice, as though of a religious experience.
‘Wow, really?’ said Robin.
‘Yeah. It was the day me mum died.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ said Robin.
‘I weren’t livin’ with ’er,’ said Zoe quietly. ‘She were… She ’ad a lot of problems. She ’ad to be sectioned twice. She did drugs. That’s why I were in care, mostly. Me foster mum told me she’d died an’ gave me a day off school. I went on Twitter an’ I said me mum ’ad died that day. An’ Edie Ledwell spoke to me. She—’
Robin looked down: the girl’s face had crumpled. She could have been a ninety-year-old woman or a baby with that expression of anguish, her tears making no impression on the thickly applied kohl, and Robin suddenly remembered Edie Ledwell’s smeared eyeliner as she’d wept at the office.
‘—she were really nice,’ said Zoe through sobs. ‘I told ’er me foster mum ’ad just told me an’ she said she were in care an’ all. An’ she sent me a h-hug an’ I told ’er – I told ’er she was my ’eroine an’ – an’ I loved ’er. I said that… I did tell ’er that…’
‘Have a tissue,’ said Robin quietly, pulling some out of her tote bag.
‘S-sorry,’ said Zoe. ‘I jus’ – I wish – like, people were ’orrible to ’er online and I were – I didn’t – like, people were sayin’ there was tons of stuff wrong with the cartoon an’ – but – I dunno, I never thought there were nuthin’ wrong with it, but then when I read what people were sayin’ it sort of made sense – but I wish I ’adn’t – me b-boyfriend says we didn’t do nuthin’ wrong but—’
Robin’s mobile rang. Inwardly cursing the caller, she fished it out of her bag. It was Strike.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘How’d it go at North Grove?’
‘I said everything I had to say to you last weekend,’ said Robin coldly. ‘I’m busy, OK?’
‘Right you are,’ said Strike, who sounded amused. ‘Call me when you’re not busy.’
‘No, you are,’ said Robin, and hung up.
‘Your ex?’ said Zoe in a small voice. She was mopping her face with the tissue Robin had given her.
‘Yeah,’ said Robin, stuffing the mobile back in her bag. ‘Go on, what were you saying?’
‘Oh, nuthin’,’ said Zoe hopelessly.
They walked on, the only sound from Zoe an occasional sniff. Highgate Hill was a long and well-lit street along which plenty of traffic was still moving. A group of youths cat-called the two women as they passed on the opposite side of the road.
‘Bugger off,’ said Robin under her breath, and Zoe smiled weakly.
‘I met Josh Blay,’ Zoe said, her voice slightly croaky now.
‘Seriously?’ said Robin, appropriately impressed.
‘Yeah. ’E come to stay at North Grove for a month before ’e and Edie were… were attacked.’
‘Did you talk to him?’ said Robin, sure she already knew the answer.
‘No, I were too scared! I walked in the kitchen an’ he were just standin’ there.’
And you were shaking.
‘An’ I was, like, shakin’,’ said Zoe with a tearful little laugh. ‘Mariam introduced me an’ I couldn’t talk. I never got the courage up.’
But it was evident to Robin that Zoe was a rarity in the Ink Black Heart fandom: someone who’d esteemed Edie Ledwell more highly than Josh Blay.
‘What was he like?’ Robin asked Zoe.
‘Stoned,’ said Zoe with a sad smile. ‘Mostly. ’E didn’t like meetin’ people. ’E stayed in ’is room a lot an’ ’e kept playin’ that Strokes song, “Is This It” over an’ over again… and then ’e set fire to the room.’
‘He did what?’ said Robin, feigning surprise again.
‘Well, Mariam thought it were Josh,’ said Zoe, ‘but I don’t think it were.’
‘Who, then?’
‘Shouldn’t say… wanna keep my job.’
Robin considered pressing her, but having built up trust, was afraid of breaking it.
‘What d’you do at North Grove, anyway?’
‘All sorts,’ said Zoe. ‘When I got to London I went to visit it, just to see… just to see where it all ’appened. I went in the shop an’ got talkin’ to Mariam. She were proper nice about me tattoos an’ I told ’er a bit about being a big fan and that, an’ about just leavin’ care, an’ she said, did I ’ave a job, an’ I said no, an’ she offered me one.
‘I ’elp out with this class Mariam takes on Tuesdays with kids who’ve got special needs. Edie used to do it when she were livin’ at North Grove,’ said Zoe with a slight return of the holy voice. ‘An’ I wash brushes an’ do a bit of cookin’, and I babysit the kids a bit. Star’s all right, Freyja’s kid, but Bram’s… well, ’e’s bigger ’n me. ’E don’t give a shit if I tell ’im t’do anything.’
They turned at last into Junction Road.
‘Hey,’ said Robin, as though the thought had only just occurred to her, ‘you didn’t ever play that game, did you? That those fans made, about The Ink Black Heart? I’m only asking ’cause I did, a bit,’ said Robin. ‘A few years back. I just got really into the cartoon. The game was quite good, seeing it was supposed to be made by amateurs.’
‘Yeah,’ said Zoe cautiously, ‘I played it a coupla times… what were your username? Maybe we talked to each other in there.’
‘It was – bloody hell, I can’t remember now,’ said Robin with a little laugh. ‘InkHarty or something.’
‘There’s tons of InkHartys,’ said Zoe, which was precisely why Robin had chosen the name.
They passed a toy shop, Zoe’s gaunt reflection sliding across rows of plastic figurines.
‘I live oop there,’ she said, pointing to the narrow corner building Robin had already seen in Strike’s photo.
‘Yeah? Got flatmates?’
‘Not really. There’s other people in there, but I’ve just got a box room,’ said Zoe. ‘It’s got a sink,’ she added, almost defensively.
‘London property,’ said Robin with an eye-roll.
‘Yeah,’ said Zoe. ‘Well – it’s been nice talkin’ to you. Nice to meet someone from Yorkshire,’ she added.
‘Yeah,’ said Robin warmly. ‘Hope I see you next week. I’m gonna go to the police station and hand this purse in.’
‘D’you live far from ’ere?’
‘No. Short walk. See you.’
Zoe smiled and disappeared around the corner. Robin walked on. After crossing the road she glanced back and saw Zoe letting herself into the corner building via the side door.
Robin pulled out her mobile and, still walking, called Strike back.
‘Evening,’ he said. ‘How’d it go?’
‘Pretty well,’ said Robin, now looking around for a cab. ‘I met Preston Pierce and your girl with all the tattoos.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah. She’s working at North Grove and – hang on, that’s a taxi,’ said Robin, flagging it down.
Having given the driver her address and got in, Robin raised her mobile to her ear again while groping in her bag for notebook and pen. She wanted to write down everything she’d just heard from Zoe before she forgot any of it.
‘Her real name’s Zoe Haigh,’ said Robin. ‘But in the game she’s moderator Worm28.’
‘You serious?’
‘Yep,’ said Robin, pulling off her pen lid with her teeth. ‘She came down to London to be with her boyfriend and it clearly isn’t going well between them. Worm28 told me in the game “I wish I could tell you where I’m working” – Zoe’s working at North Grove. Worm28 told me she met Josh Blay but couldn’t talk to him and just stood there shaking. Zoe’s just told me exactly the same thing.’
‘Bloody hell. Didn’t I say we were due a breakthrough?’
‘There was other stuff,’ said Robin, scribbling in the notebook open on her lap. ‘Something about her boyfriend telling her they “hadn’t done anything wrong”. She seemed to be feeling guilty, although it might just have been for criticising The Ink Black Heart online. She loved the cartoon, but she seems to have been persuaded by the arguments that it was ableist and all the rest of it.’
‘Her boyfriend’s got to be one of the three who met Nils at the Red Lion and Sun,’ said Strike. ‘My money’s on Wally Cardew.’
‘You think?’ said Robin.
‘Can you see how she’d fit into Montgomery’s life? He’s living with his girlfriend, he’s holding down a good job: what would he want with Zoe?’
‘It could’ve started as an online flirtation she took a lot more seriously than he did. He might not’ve realised she was going to up sticks and move to be near him.’
‘I can’t see that happening to Montgomery. Why would he let an online flirtation develop into a situation that might jeopardise his nice life? Cardew hasn’t got a girlfriend, from what we’ve got on him so far, and he’s a reckless tosser. I could imagine him sleeping with young fans and getting a shock when one of them decided to move to London to be near him.’
‘What about Tim Ashcroft?’
‘Pukka public-school type… I dunno, it could be him, but I’d imagine he’d go for someone a bit more—’
‘Cashmere sweater?’ Robin suggested.
‘Well, yeah.’
‘He’s an actor. He might be attracted to more bohemian types. And don’t forget her username in the game. Ashcroft played The Worm.’
‘There’s that,’ said Strike, although he didn’t sound convinced.
‘Zoe said something else,’ Robin went on, still making notes on a page that was turning alternately orange and grey as the taxi passed beneath streetlights. ‘She doesn’t think Blay set fire to his own bedroom, but she wouldn’t tell me who did. Said she wanted to keep her job.’
‘Interesting,’ said Strike.
‘I know… but I’ve got bad news too,’ said Robin. ‘I had to get out of the game. Anomie’s given an order that mods need to keep an eye out for people who log into the game but don’t play. He thinks the police might be spying on fans, which might explain the fact that he’s not on there much himself at the moment.’
‘Inconvenient,’ said Strike, ‘but not irretrievable. We’ll just have to make sure you do a good bit of playing in the next few days to allay suspicion. What about Pierce?’
A mental image of Preston Pierce’s large penis intruded immediately into Robin’s mind and was firmly repressed.
‘He came close to asking me out for a drink.’
‘Fast work,’ commented Strike, who didn’t sound particularly pleased about it.
‘I turned him down in favour of walking Zoe home. I think it was the right call. I couldn’t interrogate him and keep an eye on the game. Anyway, there’s next week…
‘There’s one other thing,’ said Robin, ‘which seems – well, it could be a huge coincidence, but – there’s this stained-glass window in the communal kitchen. Mariam made it, the woman who took my class. It’s been there five or six years, according to Pierce.
‘There’s – I think it must be a quotation, but I don’t know – words written across the top of it, anyway – about anomie. The window shows a kind of idealised commune and the people represented on it have all been at the collective, or are friends of Mariam’s, apparently. And over the top of the picture there’s this quote about the conditions under which it’s impossible to feel anomie. Something about organs being in solidarity with each other?’
Robin could almost hear Strike thinking in the pause that followed. At last he said,
‘Well, coincidences happen, but that feels like a hell of a coincidence.’
‘You think that’s where Anomie got the idea for the name?’
‘I’d’ve thought it’s a strong possibility.’
‘All of them were at North Grove at some point. The whole cast.’
‘You’ve done a bloody good night’s work there, Robin.’
Robin thought she heard a woman’s voice in the background, from Strike’s end of the call. Television, or Madeline Courson-Miles?
‘I’d better go,’ she said quickly. ‘Speak tomorrow.’
She hung up before Strike could respond.
41
But there comes an idealess lad,
With a strut, and a stare, and a smirk…
Constance Naden
Natural Selection
The condition of Strike’s stump was deteriorating. In spite of his twice-daily applications of cream, the skin beneath the gel pad remained irritated and inflamed. He was afraid he might be looking at the early signs of choke syndrome, whereby the skin would ulcerate and break down, yet he made no doctor’s appointment. What was the point? He couldn’t afford to stop working. The addition of surveillance on Jago Ross had rendered their current roster of investigations unsustainable. The only solution was to find new subcontractors who might be drafted in to help.
Having exhausted all his police and army contacts, Strike went back through every previous temporary hire he’d decided against making permanent. Finally, and in desperation, he succeeded in re-hiring, on a weekly contract that could be terminated without notice at either party’s behest, an ex-Red Cap by the name of Stewart Nutley who, three years previously, had driven his moped into the rear of a taxi he was supposed to be following. Strike had bawled Nutley out for the offence and sacked him on the spot, so it was with minimal enthusiasm that he rang the man and ate some humble pie. A gap-toothed, mouse-haired married man in his early thirties, Nutley’s resting expression was unattractively self-satisfied. As he hadn’t managed to hold down a civilian investigative job since he and Strike parted ways, Nutley was keen to prove his worth to an agency that had gained greatly in prestige since he’d left it. While nobody on the team was particularly enamoured of the new hire, all were grateful for another pair of legs and eyes.
