It’s half past one when Ruby heads back to Royal Oak. She’s wearing a different outfit, and carrying shopping bags from Zara and Primark. The new clothes will erase her old image as a goth, their pale colours chosen to go unnoticed.
It’s obvious before she reaches Sutherland Place that Steve Pullen’s death has been discovered. Police cars are cruising past, uniformed officers going door to door, their expressions solemn. The Met never care unless the victim’s one of their own. They pull out all the stops when an officer suffers, like it’s a national tragedy, even though her father’s basic needs have been ignored.
She takes her time returning to the B&B, observing details. The road has been cordoned off, a gaggle of locals watching the free entertainment like motorway drivers craning their necks to see carnage after a crash. Three squad cars are parked outside number 7, and officers dressed in white overalls stand on the pavement clutching boxes of equipment. When Ruby approaches the cordon, a young WPC gives her a reassuring smile.
‘Can I have your name?’
‘Chloe Moore. I’m staying at the B&B.’
‘Wait here, please. I’m afraid there’s been a fatality.’
Ruby widens her eyes. ‘It’s not Mrs Caston at number ten, is it? She’s in her eighties.’
The young officer’s tone softens. ‘Don’t worry, love, I’m sure she’s fine.’
Ruby takes a step back once she’s given her fake phone number and address, certain that her new identity will pass any test. She’s checked it many times. Ten minutes go by before she’s allowed to return to the B&B, where Mrs Caston is standing in the porch, fiddling with her beads. The landlady looks older than before, her expression anxious.
‘Thank goodness you’re back, dear. I was worried about you.’
‘What on earth’s happened, Iris?’
‘A neighbour’s been killed in broad daylight. He was such a lovely man. I can hardly believe it.’
Ruby lets her mouth drop open. ‘That’s awful, on such a nice street.’
‘It’s tragic for his family.’ The old woman’s face is suddenly paler than before.
‘You don’t look well, Iris. Let’s get you back inside.’
She leads Mrs Caston down the hallway, supporting her arm. She can feel the old woman trembling. Ruby sits beside her on her faded settee, holding her hand, until colour returns to her cheeks.
‘Thank you, dear, you’re so kind, but don’t worry about me.’
‘It’s fine, honestly. Rest there for a minute, I’ll make you some tea.’
Ruby has bought herself time to take care of details. She wipes the back-door handle with bleach, making sure everything she’s touched is scoured clean, before bringing the old lady her drink. Once she’s back in her room, she takes care not to sit too near the window, so no one catches her spying. Crime-scene officers are still flooding the scene. Fiona Pullen and her son must be at the local station, broken by grief. Now that Ruby’s third target is dead, she can hear her father’s delight humming in her ears.