Read The Doorkeepers for Free Online Page A

moment. Supposing I call you back in a couple of hours?”
    â€œSure, please do.”
    Josh quickly left his number and then let the phone drop. Nancy appeared, bundled up in a white feather comforter. It had been hot during the day, but it was one of those foggy coastal nights when the temperature suddenly drops, and the windows look as if long-drowned mariners have been breathing on them.
    â€œYou need some sleep,” Nancy told him.
    â€œNot tonight,” said Josh. “Not until I know what happened to Julia.”
    They read the newspaper reports two and three times over. Julia’s death had been the lead story in the London
Evening Standard:
RIPPER VICTIM FOUND IN THAMES. Most of the national dailies had carried it as a second lead, and all of them reported that this was the seventh such murder in less than three years.
    The Daily Telegraph
read: “Police are strenuously trying to deter the media from jumping to the conclusion that a serial killer is at work. Detective Chief Inspector Kenneth Bulstrode pointed out that none of the seven women had been murdered in exactly the same way, and that not all of them had been mutilated as extensively as Julia Winward. Some victims had lost only their eyes or their livers, while Julia Winward had been ‘to all intents and purposes, emptied’.”
    Emptied,
thought Josh. Jesus. He couldn’t imagine it. He didn’t
want
to imagine it.
    Julia had been identified only by chance. She had a tiny tattoo on her right shoulder in the shape of a daisy, and a Soho tattooist had recognized it from the pictures that appeared on ITN News. Josh’s eyes filled with tears again when he read about the daisy. For some reason, it had always been Julia’s favorite flower, and she had told him that it symbolized “something you’re not quite capable of reaching, not just yet, but one day you will”.
    He finished reading the last report and yawned. Nancy was fast asleep on the floor, silently breathing, as if she were dead. He reached out for his half-empty glass of Jack Daniel’s and it was then that the phone rang.
    â€œMr Winward? Detective Sergeant Paul here. Did you receive the newspaper cuttings?”
    â€œYes, thank you. I read them.”
    â€œYou don’t mind if I ask you some questions over the phone? It shouldn’t take more than an hour.”
    â€œListen, I have a much better idea. Why don’t you ask me face to face?”
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œI mean I’m catching the first available flight to London. My kid sister’s dead, detective. I’m not leaving her body all alone in a strange country, with nobody to look after her.”
    There was a pause. Then DS Paul said, “All right. I understand. As soon as you’ve booked your flight, call me and tell me, and I’ll arrange to pick you up at the airport.”
    Josh put down the phone and shook Nancy awake. “What is it?” she blinked. “Earthquake?”
    â€œGet your things together,” he told her. “We’re going to London.”

Four
    Detective Sergeant Paul met them at Heathrow Airport as they came out of immigration, holding up a cardboard sign saying
Winward.
To Josh’s surprise, she was a petite Asian woman in a smart black suit and a brown silk blouse, her hair tightly braided on top of her head. Quite pretty, and very delicate, with hand movements like an Oriental temple-dance. “Mr Winward? I’m Indira Paul. I’m so pleased you made the effort to come here. This could be a considerable help, you know.”
    â€œAnything we can do,” said Josh.
    It was a warm, sunny day, unusually warm for March. As they drove along the M4 into West London, Josh saw pink cherry trees blossoming and bushes coming into leaf, and the sun sparkling from the windows of thousands of suburban houses and factories. Up above them, the sky was the clearest of blues, with large white cumulus