54

  Wally stood outside number 11 Hoppery Lane, one of the hundreds of bland, anonymous little streets in the city’s always sprawling yet ever diminishing suburbs. It had taken Wally an embarrassing amount of time to find his way through the labyrinth of red tiled, two up, two down, terrace houses. He had trudged along in the gloom and the rain until he finally came upon Timmy’s house. Wally had only been here once, after a drunken night out, so his memory was a little fuzzy. All he remembered was that Timmy’s mum had a fascination with cats. That was how he found the place in the end. In their shoebox sized front garden, on the crumbling brick wall, he recognised the little brown stone statue of a cat waving its paw. It had a round, fat face and a sly sneer in its eyes that made Wally want to toe punt it. He looked around and saw a few curtains twitching. People with Wally’s face and general skulking physique tended to get that reaction in quiet places like this.

  Wally walked into the front garden and knocked on the door. He waited, hunching over, trying to stop rain pouring down the back of his neck. This was one of the rare occasions where he wished he was in his uniform. The broad collar of his police tunic and the heavy brim of his helmet were great at sluicing rain away from the back of his neck.

  “Timmy! Hey Tim, it’s me! You there?” Wally peered up into fat drops of rain for signs of life.

  He hadn’t seen or heard from Timmy since the massacre at the Golden Bowl. They had been marched back to the precinct, debriefed, dressed down, stripped of their detective stripes, and put on something called administrative leave. Wally still wasn’t sure what they had done wrong, but he was glad to be clear of the investigation. He’d seen dead bodies before, but not like that. All piled up with their insides hanging out. They looked more like animal meat than people. Wally had done the sensible thing and drunk himself incoherent when he got home. Then he had slept for a full day, hunger being the only thing to drive him from his bed. Once he had found some scraps of hard bread and a bowl of watery soup to quell his grumbling stomach, the tears came. He wasn’t even sure why he was crying. That had lasted the whole night. Now he just felt lonely. No one else had seen the place. No one understood. He just wanted to unload. To speak to someone who would care. That’s why Wally Washbottom found himself outside in the pouring rain searching for his only friend in all of Valderia.

  “Timmy!” Wally yelled at the windows. “Please mate! Just… are you alright? Just lemme know you’re alright and I’ll piss off! Timmy?”

  “Would you shut up!” a voice barked over the rain from somewhere behind him.

  Wally looked around but couldn’t see where the voice had come from.

  “Shut that noise up!”

  “I’ll call the coppers!”

  “You shut up!” Wally yelled back at the disembodied voices. “And I am a copper! Corporal Wally Washbottom!”

  “Ooooh, no you’re not! You're just a little scrote!”

  “Why don’t you come down and ‘ere and say that!” Wally shook his fist at the surrounding streets, blinking rain out of his eyes.

  The street fell silent again. The only sound was the rain and the steady splashing of overrunning gutters.

  “Tim! Open the door, mate!” Wally yelled up at the second floor windows. “Let me know you’re alright! Please!”

  Wally began having visions of his friend laying on the floor up there. Wally had been in a dark place since the massacre at the restaurant, but he had been born and dragged up in dark places. He knew there was still some light out there, somewhere. But Timmy? Timmy wasn’t like that. He was softer. Kinder. More easily wounded than Wally. What if he had done something stupid? Wally began to panic. He felt his breath quicken as anxiety gripped his chest.

  “Tim… if you don’t open the door… I’m gonna kick it in!” Wally shouted.

  There was still no response. Wally gritted his teeth and grunted in frustration. He braced himself, holding the sides of the garden wall, and then launched himself at the door. There was a dull thud. The door barely moved. Wally bounced off and rolled into the street, groaning pitifully.

  “Ha! Copper my arse!” a disembodied voice from the surrounding houses mocked.

  “Piss off!” Wally screamed furiously.

  He leapt to his feet and grabbed the stupid cat statue, holding it aloft, ready to brain the owner of that voice.

  “Wally?”

  Wally spun and saw Timmy standing there in his big yellow raincoat with the hood pulled up and drawn tight around his pink cheeks.

  “Tim! You’re alive!” Wally said, running and hugging Timmy so hard he gasped.

  “What? Why wouldn’t I be alive?” Timmy grunted as Wally squeezed him.

  “Wot? Oh err… no nuffin’. I mean… I was just comin’ to see if you was alright and then you wasn’t answerin’ the door,” Wally babbled, letting go of Timmy and stepping back.

  “I just went for a walk,” Timmy said, his voice small and weak. “What’re you doing with mum’s hello cat statue?”

  “Oh… nuffin!” Wally quickly put the statue back and then stood with his hands behind his back awkwardly. “You alright?” Wally asked, pulling his threadbare jacket tight around him as rain dripped from his nose.

  Timmy nodded and looked sheepishly down at his shoes.

  “Yeah,” he shouted over the rain.

  “You sure?”

  “You want to get out of the rain?” Timmy asked him abruptly.

  “Yeah!”

  “Come on then.” Timmy turned and led him away from the house.

  Wally looked at the house and then at Timmy’s retreating back, crestfallen.

  “We not going inside?” Wally asked, and Timmy shook his head.

  “Mum doesn’t like me having guests,” Timmy said.

  “Oh right.” Wally tucked his hands into his pockets, hunched his shoulders, and followed Timmy with squelching shoes.

  Timmy led him all the way to the swollen banks of the river. The usually turgid waters flowed with renewed, frothy vigour, spilling out over the banks and greedily swallowing as much of the city as it could. They sought shelter under a small, disused bridge. There were a few upturned barrels here that they sat on to keep their feet dry.

  “Here,” Timmy said.

  He fished in his shopping back and pulled out a stick of brown fudge.

  “Ahh yeah! Fudge!” Wally said happily.

  He took the wrist thick bar from Timmy, tore off the wrapper, and took a massive bite. He chomped away happily, drooling slightly as he fought to masticate the fudge into a malleable lump, and passed it back to Timmy, who took a more conservative bite. They passed the fudge back and forth for a little bit, chomping away in silence. Then Timmy produced a bottle of something dark. He cracked open the top, blew out a breath, and then took a quick slug of it. He pulled a face and wheezed as the cheap spirits burnt his throat and nose.

  “Wot’s that?” Wally said to him.

  “Ermm… Shipmate’s White Label,” Timmy coughed, blinking blearily as he read the bottle’s label.

  “Wot you drinkin’ that for?”

  “It was the cheapest bottle they had.”

  “No, I mean why you drinking for Tim?” Wally said reproachfully. “Ain’t like you to be drinkin’ during the day. Or drinking anyfin’ stronger than a pale ale.”

  Timmy sighed and looked down at the bottle. His podgy little body was miserably curled over, and his feet swung morosely.

  “Dunno,” Timmy replied. “Thought that’s what you’re supposed to do, isn’t it?”

  “Wot?” Wally said.

  “To make the pictures stop going round and round in your head,” Timmy said, his voice a hushed whisper.

  “Oh…” Wally said, staring into the frothing water. “Doesn’t work does it?”

  Timmy shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes.

  “I keep seeing them,” he said. “All mangled and cut up with their guts hanging out. Stacked on top of each other…”

  “Don’t,” Wally said, physically flinching at the memory.

  They sat silently for a few minutes. Wally heard Timmy sob. He was crying himself but he was just better at hiding it. He heard the bottle open aagain,and Timmy took another drink before coughing and wheezing. Without looking up, Wally held his hand out for the bottle. He took an expert nip.

  “Phwoaarrr!” he gasped. “Better off gettin’ paint stripper!”

  “Probably is knowing my luck,” Timmy muttered.

  There was a pause and then Wally started chuckling.

  “Knowing our luck, it’s probably the murder weapon in a string of ‘orrible high profile murders, wot can’t be solved!”

  “And now we’re key witnesses and the Mayor wants to talk to us!” Timmy snorted, wiping tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand.

  “And we have to work with some new mental Sergeant or Lieutenant wot’ll make us sit on the highest buildin’ in the city while it’s snowing…”

  “In our underpants,” Timmy added.

  “Yeah coz of urban camouflage or sumfin’!”

  They both began snickering.

  “And it turns out the murderer is the long lost brother of an Owner,” Timmy said.

  “Oh deary!” Wally laughed. “We’re buggered mate!”

  “They’ll fire us for sure this time!”

  “Or give us another bloody medal!”

  This time Timmy laughed so hard he almost toppled backwards off his barrel.

  “But at least we’ll be together,” Wally said as he caught Timmy, his voice more serious. “We’ll always ‘ave each other’s backs, right?”

  “Yeah, course.” Timmy looked away, slightly abashed. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer any of your messages… I just wanted to run away from it all.”

  “I know,” Wally said, patting his friend on the back. “It ain’t… right. None of it is.”

  Timmy nodded and took another sip from the bottle.

  “When do you think we’ll go back to work?” Timmy asked, and Wally shrugged his bony shoulders.

  “Do you even wanna?” he asked.

  Timmy sighed and shook his head.

  “We could do something else,” Timmy said.

  “Like wot?”

  “I don't know… I’ve always wanted to be a baker,” Timmy said.

  “A baker?” Wally snorted.

  “Yeah. It’s warm, it’s inside, and you could probably eat plenty.”

  “That don’t sound half bad actually,” Wally laughed. “But your dream was to be a copper, Tim.”

  “It was,” Timmy said. “But that’s why dreams are for little kids.”

  Wally looked forlornly off into the brown waters of the river.

  “Have you heard from Charlie?” Timmy asked.

  “No. Last I heard he was still up in the hospital recoverin’,” Wally said. “He took a lot of bad cuts.”

  “He could have died,” Timmy said quietly.

  “But he didn’t!” Wally shot back. “Charlie’s the toughest copper on the beat. It’s gonna take more than a few Triads with toothpicks to take ‘im down!”

  “I should have helped…”

  “Tim, come on!” Wally said in exasperation. “You done everythin’ you could’ve. Weren’t like any of us was ready to walk into that! We got Charlie out and ‘e’s alive, no point beatin’ yerself up about wot you could’ve done.”

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  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  “I am… and Charlie will tell you hisself. Come on!” Wally jumped off the barrel and waded into the ankle high waters.

  “Where?” Timmy asked.

  “We’re gonna go see Charlie,” Wally said. “Past time we should ‘ave gone anyway.”

  “Oh Wally… I don’t know. I think I’m just going to go home,” Timmy said.

  “No you’re not! You’ve been ‘ome too much and so ‘ave I. Our mate got injured in the line of duty and we ain’t gone and visited ‘im yet. I’d say that’s bang out of order. Don’t you fink?”

  “Well… yes but…”

  “No buts!” Wally said, pulling on Timmy’s arm. “And Charlie’s gonna tell you that you ain’t got nuffin’ to blame yerself about. ‘E’ll talk some sense in to you.” Wally pulled Timmy off the barrel.

  “Alright! Alright! I’m coming!” Timmy protested.

  “And leave that damn bottle ‘ere. Bloody stuff’s givin’ me a belly ache,” Wally said.

  “Yeah me too,” Timmy said, grinning lopsidedly at him.

  “Good. And you’ll see it ain’t so bad!”

  *

  The Mercy of Mother’s hospital and free clinic was heaving when they arrived. They sloshed in from the pouring rain and found the place inundated with similarly sodden patients. They were everywhere in various states of injury and discomfort. White aproned nurses flitted about taking names and maladies with frightful speed and efficiency. Timmy and Wally, trying not to slip on the rain slicked white tiled floors, skirted their way to the reception desk, where a particularly harangued looking nurse was busily filling out forms. She had fiery red hair tied back in a bun that had frayed loose, sending red strands in all directions. She had dark rings around her blue eyes and a grim determination about her mouth that made Timmy hesitate in bothering her.

  “Yes?” she said without looking up, her tone polite but clipped.

  “Oh… err we were looking for someone,” Timmy replied, water dripping down his round cheeks.

  “Were looking for someone?” she said.

  “Are looking for someone,” Timmy corrected himself. “We’re police officers.”

  “You are?” the nurse looked up finally, and she was clearly unimpressed with the half drowned young men before her.

  “Yeah, I’m Washbottom, and he’s Edgewater,” Wally said, his cheeks reddening slightly under the nurse’s appraisal.

  “You’ll be looking for Charlie then?” she said, returning to her paperwork.

  “That’s right,” Timmy said.

  “‘Ow did you know?” Wally asked.

  “Corporal Nelson has had more visitors than a first time mother,” the nurse said with only a hint of irritation in her voice. “He’s on the third floor in the Burmondsey Wing. And please, no drinking this time, we’ve got enough work without dealing with drunk coppers.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Timmy said, and they hurried away.

  They found Charlie lounging at a bay window, staring out into the rain. Both of his thighs were heavily bandaged but the strangest thing about him was that he wasn’t in uniform. Neither of them had ever seen Charlie wearing anything but his police issued blues. He was wearing a long, flowing bathrobe, cinched tight around his waist, that the hospital had given him. It was too small for a man of Charlie's generous proportions. The sleeves stopped about halfway down his arms and the hem barely came to knee length. His legs were stretched out in front of him and for some reason Timmy found the sight of his bare feet oddly unsettling. Charlie saw them in the windows reflection and turned a broad smile on them.

  “Boys!” he boomed at the sight of them.

  “Charlie!” They ran the last couple of paces towards him and then stopped awkwardly.

  “Come here!” Charlie laughed, sweeping them up into a manly hug in each arm. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Yeah you too,” Wally said as he patted the man’s thick back.

  “How are you?” Timmy asked as Charlie let them go.

  “I’ve been better,” Charlie said, nodding at his bandaged legs. “Those rotten Triads got me worse than I thought. Nicked an artery apparently. I’ve got more stitches in me than a wedding gown. Doctors have ordered me to stay off my feet until the cuts heal.” Charlie rolled his eyes as if almost bleeding to death was such an inconvenience.

  “That sounds bad,” Timmy said, looking at Charlie’s wounds.

  “Ahh doctors,” Charlie said, waving a hand. “They exaggerate. But how have you boys been?”

  “Ermm… yeah… alright,” Timmy said, shuffling his feet and looking away from Charlie.

  “You haven’t returned to duty yet?” Charlie asked, already knowing the answer.

  “No,” Timmy said.

  “Just… you know…” Wally said, his voice trailing off.

  “Convalescing,” Charlie completed for them.

  “Well… obviously… not like you… we’re not… we didn’t get hurt,” Wally mumbled, his eyes drawn to Charlie’s wounds again.

  “You did,” Charlie said, his voice softening as he looked at the two young officers. “So did I. And those wounds can’t be fixed with some stitches and bed rest.”

  The three of them fell silent.

  “It’s not right,” Charlie continued. “You shouldn’t have had to have seen that. Not as young as you are.”

  “I keep seeing it,” Timmy muttered.

  “I’ve had nightmares,” Wally said, shame thick in his voice.

  “Aye, me too lad,” Charlie said.

  “Really?” Wally said, looking up.

  “You’d have to be a monster to not,” Charlie said, his tone slightly reproachful. “No shame in it, son. You wouldn’t be right in the head if seeing all that didn’t affect you.”

  “I just feel like…” Wally trailed off again, unable to put words to his thoughts.

  “Like the whole world just got darker,” Timmy said. “Like it’s all pointless. We couldn’t save those people. We couldn’t catch those Triads. We couldn’t stop you getting hurt. We’re just useless…” Tears burned Timmy’s eyes and his voice cracked.

  “Come on lads,” Charlie said, sighing deeply. He swung his injured legs down gingerly and patted the seat on either side of him. “Sit yourselves down.”

  They did as he bid.

  “You're not useless,” Charlie said firmly, keeping his voice low enough that only they could hear him. “You’re a pair of rookie coppers that have probably seen more action than half the veterans in the force already. You stood your ground, you fought side by side with me, and you got me out of there alive. That’s a damn sight more than some folk would have done.”

  “It is?” Timmy said, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

  “You kidding me?” Charlie said. “Most would have bolted and waited for backup when they saw the state of that kitchen and all them bodies. You boys followed me down. That takes a lot of guts.”

  “I didn’t,” Wally said. “Timmy went to back you up.”

  “And you followed him?” Charlie asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  Wally shrugged his narrow shoulders.

  “‘Coz he’s my mate.”

  “And you always back yer mates, right?” Charlie said, and they both nodded. “Then you ain’t got a damn thing to feel ashamed about boys. But, I’m glad you feel like crap, because that shows you care. Any copper who saw them dead civilians, butchered like that, any copper that saw one of his own wounded in combat and them wot did it got away, should feel like crap. That should eat at your guts, it’s eating at mine. I couldn’t care less about getting cut up. But the fact that those scum are still out there somewhere, that burns me more than anything else.”

  “Wot makes things even worse is that the Gnome we was goin’ after was one of them dead in the office with ‘is throat slit,” Wally said.

  “Another dead end,” Charlie sighed, and Timmy winced at his choice of words. “But that’s the way the game goes, boys. You don’t get to ride in on your horse and clear the town of the bad guys every time. Sometimes, you just have to accept that you haven't got them yet.”

  They sat in silence, staring at the floor. Slowly, Charlie wrapped his brawny arms around Timmy and Wally’s shoulders and gave them a reassuring pat on the back.

  “I’m proud of you boys, and I’m honoured to serve by your sides. Chin up. Worst thing that can happen is we lose two promising young coppers because of all this. One day, I’m gonna be too old to hit those cobbles and show the villains of this city the brawny arm o’ the law. It’s the young bucks like you two that’ll have to step up then.”

  “We could never be like you,” Timmy said abashedly.

  “Why not?” Charlie asked. “I was once like you.”

  They both looked up at him in surprise.

  “What, do you think I came out me mother like this?” He laughed, his eyes crinkling into merry slits. “I was once just a scared kid who took up the uniform because it was a steady paycheck and they promised two hot meals a day. Remember boys, no one ever stays just as they are. You’ll grow. You’ll learn. You’ll get stronger. And one day your name’s will hold weight in Valderia and Villains won’t dare try you.”

  “Yeah they’ll be trembling in their boots at the mention of Edgewater and Washbottom,” Wally said, with only a hint of sarcasm.

  Charlie gave out his signature booming chuckle and slapped them on the back.

  “I want you boys back in blues as soon as you're ready, and I don’t want to see you like this again, understand?”

  “Yes si… Corporal Nelson,” they chorused.

  Charlie then sniffed. His voice dropped to a serious growl.

  "Ain't nothing in the bottom of a bottle worth finding, you understand me?"

  Timmy looked away, shame burning his face.

  "I've seen too many good coppers go that way," Charlie said, his voice gentle but stern at the same time. "I won't see it happen to you two."

  "Yes Charlie," they said, nodding their heads and staring at their feet.

  “Good lads.” Charlie squeezed their shoulders once.

  There was a sudden furor at the mouth of the ward. Nurses were converging frantically on one of the beds. Curtains were thrown back and orders were being rapidly given out. A group of white clad nurses surrounded a bed where a young man, rail thin and sickly looking, was convulsing. They couldn’t hear what was being said but it didn’t look good. Charlie tutted and shook his head sadly.

  “Another damned overdose,” he said to them.

  “An OD?” Wally said.

  “Yes, they brought in a group of them in the early hours of the morning. Most were already dead but a few had survived,” Charlie said.

  “But I thought all the Burn was gone?” Wally asked Timmy.

  “That's what Marney said,” Timmy replied.

  “Marney?” Charlie said.

  “Yeah she’s… our informant,” Wally replied.

  "Marney..." Charlie rolled the name around his mouth with a look of consternation on his face. “A little slip of thing with red hair?”

  “Yeah, do you know ‘er?” Wally said, impressed. Charlie knew everyone on the Valderia streets.

  “She got brought in last night,” Charlie said, his voice grave. “I haven’t had much to do around here and couldn’t help but do a bit of coppering to occupy my time, so I got chatting with the addicts. They told me about her.”

  “Marney overdosed!” Timmy squawked.

  “Yes. She’s in a bad way. She’s barely regained consciousness. They’re not sure if she’ll survive.”

  “Where is she?” Wally blurted out.

  “In the adjacent ward,” Charlie replied. “That’s where they’re keeping most of them.”

  “We’ve gotta go see her!” Wally said to Timmy, leaping to his feet.

  “Sorry Charlie but…” Timmy said.

  Charlie waved a beefy hand at him.

  “Go lad. Thank you for the visit, and remember the next time I see you two, you’ll be back in uniform. Understood?”

  “Yes! Thank you Charlie!”

  They turned and sped away, skirting past the group of nurses who were still trying to resuscitate the young man and through the double doors to the next ward. The atmosphere was heavy here. The lights were dim, and the smell of death hung heavy. All of the curtains were drawn, and the eerie silence was only punctuated by solitary moans and coughs.

  Timmy peered around while Wally peeked through curtains, trying to spot Marney.

  “Excuse me,” a nurse said from behind them. “What are you doing?”

  “We’re looking for someone,” Timmy said.

  “We’re coppers,” Wally added quickly.

  “These people are in no fit state to talk to the police,” the nurse said.

  “No… umm… we’re here to see a… friend,” Timmy said. “Her name’s Marney.”

  The nurse pursed her lips and then sighed.

  “What’s her surname?”

  Timmy and Wally looked at each other.

  “We don’t know,” Timmy said, shrugging his hammy shoulders.

  “She’s only little,” Timmy said. “And she’s got red hair and… and a lovely smile.”

  “And green eyes,” Timmy added quickly. “Or were they blue?”

  “Last bed on the left,” the nurse said. “Although she hasn’t fully regained consciousness yet.”

  “Thank you!”

  They quickly bustled to the end of the ward and gently drew back the curtain to the last bed on the left. Marney looked so small and delicate in the big bed. Timmy had never realised just how fragile she was. Awake, she had such a personality and energy to her that it made her seem bigger than she was. Laying in that bed, she looked like one of those little porcelain figures that would crack if it was knocked over. Her red hair was splayed around her head, and there were livid bruises coming up around her eyes and her arms. Her hands were resting above the sheets, and they too were riddled with scabs and bruises.

  “Oh…” Wally said.

  He looked like a lost child, unable to process what he was seeing in front of him.

  “Marney?” Timmy whispered.

  He shuffled around to the side of the bed and tentatively reached out a hand to her. She was so still. He touched a finger to her hand. She felt cold.

  “Marney?” Wally said gently. “It’s us, Timmy and Wally. Are you… are you okay?”

  Timmy drew back his hand and fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, unable to look at the girl in the bed.

  “Marney,” Wally hissed, slightly louder than before. “Marney! You gotta wake up, okay? You’re… Marney! Marney!”

  “Wally!” Timmy hissed.

  Wally looked up, his eyes red rimmed and glistening.

  “Tim… is she…”

  “I don’t know,” Timmy said, looking down at his feet.

  “W-W-Wally?”

  They both looked up and saw Marney’s eyes fluttering open.

  “Marney! You’re alive!” Wally cried out, falling to his knees beside her bed.

  “T-T-Timmy?” she croaked.

  “Yes! It’s us! Timmy and Wally, we’re ‘ere!” Wally said.

  “Marney are you okay?” Timmy said. “What happened?”

  Marney shook her head weakly.

  “The bad man…” she whispered.

  “What?” Timmy said.

  Marney croaked and coughed.

  “Get ‘er some water!” Wally said, frantically looking about.

  “Here,” Timmy poured a glass and gently tipped it against her lips.

  Marney drank slowly and then rested her head back on the pillow.

  “Marney what hap…”

  “The bad man came again,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering wide open for a moment. “He came and… and he killed them.”

  “What?” Timmy said. “Killed who?”

  “All of them,” she said, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. “All of my friends.”

  Her breathing had become shallow and erratic.

  “Easy Marney,” Wally said, patting her hand gently. “What are you talking about? The other Burners?”

  Marney nodded her head.

  “The ones that OD’d?”

  Again, she nodded her head.

  “They overdosed Marney,” Timmy said softly. “No one murdered them.”

  Marney shook her head, her little body quivering.

  “He did it,” she whispered. “The bad man. He comes at night, and he poisons them.”

  “He poisons them?” Timmy said, looking up at Wally.

  “He tried to get me,” she rasped.

  She raised a shaking hand to her throat. There were livid finger shaped bruises around her neck that looked like someone had tried to choke her.

  “I fought but he was too strong…” she began weeping again.

  “This man has been coming to the RatHoles and poisoning Burners?” Timmy asked, his mouth had gone dry.

  Marney nodded.

  “It’s not Burn,” she whispered. “There is no more Burn.”

  “But why?” Wally asked. “Why would someone want to poison a bunch of addicts?”

  Marney just shook her head.

  “It does make sense,” Timmy said.

  “It does?” Wally asked incredulously.

  “We got Cameron,” Timmy said. “Marney told us there was no more Burn on the streets and the OD’s stopped. Then all of a sudden they started again, but this time it was different. Before addicts were dying all over the city, now it’s concentrated to the RatHoles, and even then it’s only small groups in the same places.”

  “You reckon someone’s been going round murderin' Burners in the RatHoles and it just happens to look like overdoses?” Wally said incredulously.

  “It’s a good way to cover up a murder,” Timmy said.

  “But why?” Wally shot back. “Why would anyone want to do that?”

  “He enjoys it,” Marney whispered, tears rolling down her temples. “He hums and whistles while he’s killing them. Please, you have to stop him!”

  Timmy looked at Wally, who had gone white. Timmy’s face hardened, and his mouth became a firm slash.

  “We’ll protect your friends, Marney.” Timmy said, clasping the girl’s bloody hand in his. “No one’s killing people in our city anymore!”

  Wally silently clasped Marney’s hand, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “We’re not useless. We’ll stop him. We promise.”