Death Angels Read Free Page B

me in your own words what you saw.”
    “Who else’s words would I use?”
    “Just go ahead.”
    Anderton tilted his cup, looked in it, reached for the teapot and poured. The tea had gotten much darker while they were sitting there, and he grimaced as it passed his lips. He ran his fingers over his balding scalp, the skin red where it had been stretched. “To tell you the truth, I wasn’t especially curious. It’s just that there was nothing else to look at. But I said to myself, this character is twice as big and twice as old as the kid, and they sure as hell aren’t father and son.”
    “But he had his arm around him?”
    “Like I said. But it was mostly him who was doing it.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “He was obviously more interested than the kid.”
    Macdonald looked down at his blank notepad. The less I write now, the less irrelevant stuff I’ll have to sort through later, he thought. “Was he using force?” he asked.
    “Where do you draw the line between force and affection?” Anderton asked, as though he were giving a philosophy lecture at the University of London.
    “Where do you draw it?”
    “He wasn’t dragging the kid along, if that’s what you want to know.”
    “Were they talking?”
    “I heard voices, but they were too far away for me to catch any words.” Anderton rose from the table.
    “Are you going somewhere?”
    “I was going to boil more water. Permission granted?”
    “Of course.”
    “Do you know what language they were speaking?” Macdonald asked.
    Anderton sat back down. “Wasn’t it English?”
    “We don’t know yet.”
    “Why would they be speaking another language?”
    “Did they seem to understand each other?”
    “The character was doing most of the talking, but it looked like the kid understood him. Of course, they weren’t there very long.”
    “I see.”
    The kettle began to whistle. Anderton went over to the stove and fixed more tea, his back to Macdonald. “I was just about to come out of the bushes when they left.” He sat down again.
    “Did they see you?”
    “I have no idea. The kid turned around once and he might have noticed me. But what difference does it make now? He’s dead, right?”
    “How long did you watch them walk away?”
    “I didn’t stare at them until they disappeared over the horizon, if that’s what you mean. I was in a hurry to get home and watch East-Enders . And it was already getting dark.”
    “Which way did they go?”
    “Straight south across Windmill Drive.”
    “We’re going to need your help to put together a composite sketch of this man.”
    “But I barely saw his face. I can’t just make things up, can I?”
    Macdonald sighed.
    “Okay, okay, I wasn’t trying to be a wise guy or anything.”
    Macdonald jotted down a note to himself.
    “I’ll do whatever I can. It’s not like I don’t realize what you’re up against, and I do feel sorry for the kid. Not to mention his parents. I mean, I called you guys, right? First thing I did when I saw it in the South London Press .”
    “Yes, a lot of people would have been afraid to come forward at that point.”
    “I hope you get your hands on the motherfucker. We’re behind you all the way.”
    Macdonald had the impression Anderton was including everyone in the former British Empire.

    Macdonald made his way through the traffic to Clapham Common South Side and entered the Dudley Hotel at the corner of Cautley Avenue—twenty-five pounds a night, up front. He broke the seal on the door and walked to the middle of the room. The stench of blood was everywhere. You’re used to blood, he told himself, but nothing like this. He’d grown up on a farm and seen a thousand pigs slaughtered, but it didn’t turn his stomach the same way. Human blood has a cloying sweetness that throws you off balance, he thought.
    So this is where they were going. It might have been right after Anderton saw them. Assuming it was them. The kid had been here for two days. Why had he