Skin and Bones Part 3

It was like losing them all over again. Julia felt blank. Anaesthetised. When she spoke, it was a shock to hear the words come out. It sounded like no one she knew.'Do we go to the police?''I doubt they'll be able to find evidence of foul play.''They might at least take the idea of a second killer seriously.'Craig looked at his watch. 'We should have reported the break-in straight away. Then there's the question of Peggy Forester. As soon as we admit to seeing her, they're going to take a very close look at us.'Julia was still smarting from Craig's suggestion that her father could have prevented the ma.s.sacre; now his slightly condescending tone only increased her irritation.'Don't forget the hotel fire,' she said acidly. 'Not to mention your car accident.'He frowned. 'What are you getting at?''Well, you weren't straight with me about your past, or about seeing Peggy Forester. I'm starting to wonder what else you've been holding back.''He drove straight at me,' he said angrily. 'The car ended up in a ditch. When I found you on the beach, my clothes were soaked, remember? I had cuts on my hand and my head. I didn't b.l.o.o.d.y invent it.''I'm not saying it didn't happen,' she countered. 'But how am I to know if the killer caused it, or something else?'Now he looked mystified. 'Like what?''You tell me. Maybe you weren't concentrating.' She met his eye, wanting to measure his reaction very carefully. 'Maybe you'd been drinking.'When she was alone again, Vanessa rested back on the bed and a.s.sessed the situation. She had never seen Toby so shocked, so furious, but to his credit he'd kept his temper in check. She'd cautioned that he would gain nothing from confronting George while he was angry. She half expected him to ignore the advice, but he had left quietly, without announcing his presence in the house. Soon Vilner would leave too, and perhaps George would update her on their meeting.Then again, perhaps he wouldn't.While she waited, she reflected on how easy it was to light a touch paper, but how difficult to predict the consequences. Perhaps, when he came up to see her, she would tell George what she had done.Then again, perhaps she wouldn't.The accusation seemed to deflate him. Craig's shoulders dropped. His gaze turned inward, dark with self-loathing.'You're right,' he said quietly. 'I haven't been honest with you.'He stood up and walked to the window, as if he needed to put some physical distance between them before he could explain. Julia waited, still angry and now a tiny bit afraid of what he might reveal.'Years ago, I had quite a serious drink problem. It started when I was doing the investigative work. Stress of the job, I suppose. I was missing deadlines, picking fights with people, generally behaving like a t.w.a.t. The turning point came when I had a run-in with the police.'Julia thought of Kate's warning about him. 'What happened?''I had a good lead about a bent copper. A senior detective in the Met, taking backhanders from some major villains. I was putting the story together when I got a visit from his sergeant. He was adamant that his boss was completely straight, that someone was trying to fit him up. He appealed to me to let it go. He was very plausible, very friendly, with only the merest hint of a threat. I told him I'd consider it.'He turned away from her. 'The next day I got pulled over and breathalysed. I was way over the limit, ended up with a year's ban.''You think it was down to this sergeant?''I never knew for sure. But I took the coward's way out and dropped the story. After that I had no stomach for my job. The kids were little, and Nina was threatening to kick me out. I managed to stop drinking and make a new start, and after that I didn't touch a drop for years.'He turned back to her. 'Then Dad was killed, and I found out about Nina's affair, and I hit the bottle again.'Julia nodded. 'I thought I could smell it in the car.''I had a mouthful of Scotch when we stopped at your parents' cottage. A bit more when I dropped you off . . .' He shrugged. 'But the accident happened just as I described it. Alcohol wasn't a factor.''It must have been on your mind when we discussed whether to go to the police?''Yeah, I suppose it was, although my main concern was how they'd view our visit to Peggy Forester.'He sounded genuine enough, but Julia had reached the point where she was no longer sure of anything.'Did you ever find out what happened to the policeman?''The senior one was definitely bent, but he retired early and skipped off to Spain. Never faced justice. His faithful sergeant is now a detective inspector, working here in Suss.e.x.' Craig laughed. 'And if you think that sounds like a disaster, wait till you hear about the mess I'm in now.'George felt drained by his encounter with Vilner. Again he thought of Toby's suggestion on Tuesday. Pack a case, jump on a plane to Antigua. Leave it all behind: Vilner, Kendrick . . . Vanessa.No. He couldn't leave Vanessa behind.When he looked in on her, she was sound asleep. That was good. He could spare her the details of his encounter with Vilner. No sense burdening her.Ten per cent was an outrageous demand. Vilner didn't have the evidence to justify it, but he knew, as George did, that the media wouldn't give a d.a.m.n about evidence or the lack of it. Neither would Craig Walker, come to that.He wondered if that was part of Vilner's game plan. Use Craig and Julia Trent as his mouthpiece, enabling him to stay in the background. That's how I would do it, he thought. Join forces with my enemy's enemy.That got him wondering if he should employ a similar tactic. In admitting that he'd kept information back from Kendrick, Vilner had made a serious error. No doubt he a.s.sumed George wouldn't rat on him to Kendrick, for fear of weakening his own position. But George knew that when the problems were stacking up, you dealt with them one at a time. You prioritised. First defuse Vilner's threat, then worry about where it leaves you with Kendrick.But it was a big step, not to be taken lightly.Sleep on it, he decided at last. Speak to Kendrick tomorrow.Julia decided she needed coffee. Refusing Craig's offer to make it for her, she went into the kitchen. Craig followed and hovered tentatively in the doorway.'His name is Sullivan,' he said. 'I spotted him in one of the news broadcasts. Figured he owed me a favour.''That's how you got the report?''And the address of your hotel,' he admitted glumly. 'But it was a risky strategy from the start. I saw him yesterday, and told him what had happened this week. I thought it would convince him that there was a second killer. It turned out he didn't need convincing.'Julia, rinsing the cafetiere under the tap, stopped what she was doing. 'He agrees there was a second killer?''Yes. But he thinks it's me,' Craig said. Blunt and bitter.Julia couldn't quite mask her shock. She opened a drawer, took out a dishcloth and began drying the cafetiere. Of course he wasn't the killer. She saw the killer this morning, in her parents' house. Craig had been right behind her. He couldn't be in two places at once.Unless there was more than one person involved . . .Her train of thought must have been obvious to Craig. He said, 'It's not me. If you believe nothing else I've said, you must believe that.'Julia didn't feel ready to comment. 'But you think Sullivan is George's inside man?''It would explain a lot. He's exactly the kind of lowlife who'd end up on Matheson's payroll.'He said nothing more, just leaned against the doorframe and watched as she spooned coffee into the cafetiere. His presence didn't make her uneasy, as she might have expected, and she realised her gut instinct was to believe him. Then she thought of the other terrible insight she'd had about him, and decided now was as good a time as any to confront him.'You resent me, don't you?' she said. 'You wish Carl had killed me outside the village shop.'Toby was steaming with rage on his way back to London, and that rage was reflected in his driving. He chopped in and out of lanes, tailgated the cars in front, and in Streatham he jumped a queue by moving into the opposite carriageway and driving through a pedestrian crossing on the wrong side of the road. He raced away to a barrage of horns and flashing headlights, and knew he was perilously close to doing something he would regret.On one level he could appreciate the need to calm down, but at the same time he'd never before had to contend with such devastating betrayal. He tried persuading himself that Vanessa was confused, that somehow she had misinterpreted the situation, but in his heart he didn't believe it. He knew how his uncle operated. Time and again George had made deals and not said a word until the papers were signed, even though, as a director, Toby should have been ent.i.tled to prior knowledge.So this latest revelation couldn't be dismissed. George was intent on selling the business from under his nose. Giving away his birthright.Toby had to prevent it, somehow. He had to find a way to fight back.And he would.

Fifty-Eight.

'It was Sullivan who first planted the idea in my head,' Craig said. 'The first time we met up, he told me Dad was shot twice. He said Carl had gone back to . . . finish the job.' He swallowed. 'He was taunting me that Dad only died because of you.''I suppose it's true,' said Julia. Feeling the p.r.i.c.kle of tears, she kept her back to him so he wouldn't see them. The kettle boiled, and she poured hot water into the cafetiere.'I'm very proud of him,' said Craig. 'I'm proud he helped to save you. And I know it's totally irrational, but part of me does feel bitter about it. If you hadn't gone running across the green, if you hadn't needed needed saving, he might be alive today. And I've found that hard to deal with.' saving, he might be alive today. And I've found that hard to deal with.''It wasn't exactly easy for me,' Julia reminded him. 'You don't have a monopoly on grief. Or regret.'She poured the coffee and quickly set the cafetiere down. Put a hand over her mouth as tears ran down her cheeks. Her shoulders twitched with each silent sob. She heard Craig take a step into the kitchen.'It was never personal,' he said, 'And once I met you I realised what a stupid notion it was. My father did absolutely the right thing.'She felt his hands gently grip her arms and turn her to face him. There were tears in his eyes and a sorrow on his face that matched hers. Dismissing the last of her doubts, she stepped into his embrace. The feel of his body, his strength and his warmth, made her heart beat faster.They stood like this for a long time, then parted just enough to look into each other's eyes. Julia felt her cheeks reddening, a slow bloom of heat that didn't stop at her face but spread deliciously through her body. He reached out and cupped the back of her head, pulled her close and guided her mouth towards his, their eyes still locked together, solemn and scared and hungry.She'd always thought all that stuff about fireworks was a lot of nonsense, the type of thing you only found in romantic fiction. But after so much time on her own, after so many difficult weeks without any real intimacy or affection, the first touch of his lips against hers was like an explosion. It felt like breaking into sunshine after a year in a freezer. It made her feel complete when she hadn't even known she was broken.It was a perfect moment. One of those all too rare occasions when he acted without any thought whatsoever. He simply did what he felt was right.A perfect moment, and it ended with a phone call. His mobile, bleeping from inside his jacket.They broke apart, both a little awed and embarra.s.sed. Craig fumbled for the phone, read the display and felt his stomach contract. Even as he took a step backwards, Julia read his expression and busied herself with the coffee.'Nina?''Craig. The police are here.'Her words blasted the air from his lungs. The killer had targeted The killer had targeted his family his family.'Are the kids all right?''They're fine. I picked them up from school.' There was a rustle of movement down the line, and when she spoke next her voice was lower, almost a whisper. 'The police want to talk to you about Abby Clark. She's gone missing.''But I talked to her yesterday morning.''That's what Abby's friend told them. She seems to think Abby was working on something for you.'Another shock, this one even greater. He glanced at Julia and saw her looking in his direction, reacting to the horror on his face. He was still reeling when Nina said, 'Where are you?''Chilton.' He answered too quickly, the lie automatic. Easier than explaining the truth.'No, you're not. I rang there first.' A beat of silence. Then she hissed: 'You're with her, aren't you? Julia Trent?''Nina, listen, this isn't-''Well, that didn't take you long, did it? After all the bulls.h.i.t you gave me.''It's not like that.' He looked at Julia again. 'Tell the police I'll be there as soon as I can.''What's happened?' said Julia. Inside her emotions were in turmoil. She didn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed that the kiss had been interrupted.'Abby's gone missing. The police want to interview me.''There might be a perfectly innocent explanation.'He gave her a sharp look. 'Remember what we said about coincidence? Besides, Abby's a journalist. She's never incommunicado. No. This is because of me, because of what I asked her to do.''You don't know that,' she said, but he was in no mood to be placated.'If she thinks she's on to a big story, she'll take risks. When she rang yesterday she was really excited. Not just about Vilner. She mentioned someone else.' He searched his memory. 'Kendrick, I think she said.''Who's he?''No idea. That's what she was trying to find out.' Again he was lost to her, gazing into the middle distance.'Why did you lie to Nina?''I don't know,' he said grimly. 'Yet another disaster.' By 'another' she couldn't help wondering if he meant the intimacy they had shared.She accompanied him to the front door, where he gave her a quick, impersonal peck on the cheek.'Be extra careful, won't you? There's no telling what he'll do next.'She nodded. Watching him hurry away, Julia felt a sudden conviction that she would never see him again, and the fleeting vision of happiness she had experienced this afternoon crumbled like a castle built from dry, brittle sand.

Fifty-Nine.

It was a cold, clear night. She stood beneath a dazzling moon, the whole universe suspended above her. She was back on the beach at Camber, but there was no tree. No man in black. Kate's hotel was dark, deserted.She turned her back on the land, towards the sh.o.r.e. But there was no sh.o.r.e. For as far as she could see there was only sand, rocks, seaweed. Abandoned boats tilted at rest on the seafloor. Fish glittering silver like distant reflected stars, twitching and flopping helplessly on dry land.She was alone. Utterly alone.She wobbled and nearly fell. The beach was shifting, trembling beneath her, the vibrations running into her feet and through her bones, threatening to shake her to pieces. She clutched her belly in panic. Looked up and saw a line of white froth gleaming in the darkness, the horizon rushing towards her.A tsunami. A giant wave, boiling and foaming like a living thing, growing more immense with every second, fast and powerful and hungry, pummelling the ground beneath her feet. She had to run. She had to run now now.But she couldn't run. She couldn't move at all.She shut her eyes and waited for the wave.* * *Julia woke, heart hammering. Took in her surroundings and settled back with a long sigh. Of all the bad dreams she'd had since the ma.s.sacre, none had provoked a sensation of such absolute desolation. Loneliness on a cosmic scale.It wasn't too difficult to guess what had prompted it. Last night, after waiting hours to hear from Craig, she had sent him a text. He phoned a few minutes later, apologetic but also weary and distracted. He had told the police what little he knew about Abby's enquiries. Vilner's name seemed to be familiar to them, but Kendrick's drew a blank. He'd also mentioned his theories about the ma.s.sacre, but the police had been openly sceptical. They were more interested in whether Craig had been having a relationship with Abby, a possibility suggested by her current partner.'Why did she think that?' Julia had asked.'No idea. We got on pretty well. Flirted a bit. But that was all.'His breezy denial made her wonder how he would describe what had happened between them. It also struck her that she only had his version of his marital problems. Perhaps the reality was more complicated.Even more unwelcome was the possibility that Abby's fate was connected to their own enquiries. She pictured George Matheson, standing with her on the village green. His grief had seemed so genuine, his sympathy heartfelt, and yet all the time he must have been glorying in the deception. He'd partic.i.p.ated in an act of ma.s.s murder and now he was covering his tracks with the same ruthless efficiency. She didn't want to believe it, but the evidence was becoming too strong to ignore.The phone rang, making her jump. She glanced at the bedside clock: just after eight on a Sat.u.r.day morning. It must be Craig.But it was a woman's voice. 'Julia? It's Alice here. Alice Jones.''Oh.' Julia pa.s.sed the receiver to her other ear. 'Are you all right?''I thought I should warn you. It's partly because of you that I've made this decision. I hope you'll forgive me if it's not quite what you suggested, but it's really the only option left.''Alice, slow down,' said Julia. 'I don't understand.''I haven't got much time. I just want you to be careful.''Has someone threatened you?' Julia hadn't given Alice's address to anyone, and she was sure no one had followed her to Brighton. How had they found her?But Alice laughed her strange, off-key little laugh. 'No. That's why I'm taking this option, to be free of those worries.''Then what?' said Julia, so baffled she wondered if she was still dreaming.'The media media,' Alice said. 'It's going to hit you like a tidal wave.'The phrase made Julia go cold. She grabbed the mattress and squeezed it to make sure it existed. She really was here, at home. Safe.'I have to go now,' Alice said. 'I'm truly sorry. Goodbye.'The line went dead. Julia immediately dialled 1471, but knew it would be hopeless. We do not have the caller's number We do not have the caller's number.She sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the carpet, wondering how it was that she might have convinced an unstable woman to commit suicide.Craig was up first, at around eight o'clock. Since the ma.s.sacre he'd found it difficult to sleep late, particularly on Sat.u.r.days. And after the grilling he'd got from the police the day before, he'd spent most of the night awake, trying to mediate between his many competing worries.Creeping downstairs, he saw the envelope on the mat and knew immediately it brought bad news. The post wouldn't be delivered for another couple of hours yet.It was a plain brown A4 envelope, hand delivered and bearing only his name in a standard typeface, printed on an inkjet or laser printer. He took it into the kitchen and put it on the worktop, then quietly shut the door and made coffee. It was a futile exercise in denial. The envelope lay like a predator, his heart thudding like a trip hammer at the thought of what it might contain.Only the fear that Nina might walk in gave him the impetus to pick it up. With shaking hands he prised the flap open and turned the envelope on its side, shaking loose the contents.A single sheet of heavy-duty A4 paper. Text on one side, a photograph on the other. The text was in the same neat font, in the very centre of the sheet. It said:Don't talk to the police. We will know.The photograph was of Tom and Maddie, with Nina, hurrying along a busy road. There were parked cars in the foreground and a low building in the background with a chain-link fence around it.Nina collecting the kids from school. Taken recently, probably a long-range shot with a zoom lens. But what made him light-headed with terror was the way the picture had been pierced by a pin or perhaps the nib of a pen, not once but four times.Four neat little holes, obliterating the eyes of his children.A coughing fit sent Julia to the bathroom. Once again she spat blood into the basin, shockingly bright against the white ceramic. She knew she shouldn't ignore it, but also felt unwilling to waste her day in a hospital waiting room. Perhaps if it hadn't improved by Monday . . .Rinsing her mouth, she remembered that Gordon Jones's note had included a phone number along with the address. She rang and discovered the number belonged to the other ground-floor flat. The woman who answered said there was a problem getting Alice's phone connected, and she had agreed to pa.s.s on messages.'Will you fetch her for me?' Julia asked. 'It's urgent.''Oh, she's not here, love. She went yesterday. Doesn't look like she's coming back, neither.''Did she say where she was going?''Not a word. I only know because the landlord was round here last night. Shame she didn't say goodbye.' The woman sniffed. 'Still, mustn't judge. She's had her share of problems, that one.'Julia thanked her and put the phone down. She spent a restless half-hour tidying up, making tea she hardly drank and toast she didn't eat. All the time imagining Alice calmly preparing to end her life.She thought about her warning: the media descending on her. Had Alice written some kind of note, confessing that she'd seen the second killer?Julia's heart twisted with fear and guilt. Those three boisterous children didn't deserve to lose their mother. But what could she do?Finally she overcame her reluctance to call Craig. She rang his father's number, then his mobile, but there was no answer. She would have to try his home number.It was Nina who answered, just as Julia knew it would be. She sounded hara.s.sed and short-tempered.'Is Craig there?''He's gone out. Who is this?''Julia Trent.'Nina made a noise, a mixture of disgust and contempt. 'Don't you think you've done enough damage with this ridiculous story about the ma.s.sacre? Leave my husband alone and keep your mad theories to yourself. You're nothing but trouble.'She slammed the phone down. Julia slumped back in her seat, feeling physically winded. The dream had been a terrible premonition. She was completely alone.Alone in the path of the wave.

Sixty.

George had barely slept all night. Vanessa woke in distress at four in the morning, bleeding heavily. The doctor came out and judged her too frail to be moved to hospital. When he emerged from her room, his face was grave.'It won't be long now,' he told George. 'You need to prepare for the end.'George had nodded. Much later it struck him that he was preparing for the end in more ways than the doctor could have imagined.By then it was seven o'clock. He went for a walk around the grounds, enjoying the serenity of a world not yet fully awake. The air was crisp and cold and brilliantly clear, the sky unblemished but for a few slow dissolving vapour trails. He tried to imagine himself into Vanessa's dwindling existence, forced to confront the knowledge that soon these glorious mornings would continue without her.Then he reflected that his own existence was none too glorious at the moment.It soon got worse. George had eaten a meagre breakfast and was sitting at Vanessa's bedside when Terry Sullivan rang.'The s.h.i.t's. .h.i.t the fan,' the policeman told him. 'You know there was a witness called Alice Jones, hiding up in her bedroom?'George grunted non-committally. He didn't want Sullivan to know he'd pored over every word of the report.'Turns out she's been telling us a load of porkies. That or she's totally flipped.''What?' said George. He could feel a chill creeping up his spine.'She's now claiming Julia Trent was right. There was was a second killer.' a second killer.''She's made a statement to that effect?'A bark of laughter from Sullivan. 'If only.'George grimaced as he guessed it. 'The media?''Yep. Shacked up with the cheapest, tawdriest tabloid of the lot. And you know why it was them rather than us? She says we can't guarantee her safety. Part of the deal is that they've got her and her family in a secure location, and they're going to keep them there for as long as it takes.''As long as it takes?' George repeated, buying himself time to think. Beside him, Vanessa stirred, opening her eyes.'Till the killer's caught. Which every right-thinking tosspot who reads this rag will say is only fair and reasonable. Meanwhile the other papers will compete for the privilege of ripping us to shreds, accusing us of incompetence, corruption, you name it.' He let out a heavy sigh. 'The fallout's going to be horrendous.''How did you find out? I a.s.sume the story hasn't been printed yet?''No. They like to give us a bit of advance warning. Often it's thinly disguised blackmail. They'll go easy on the force if we agree to co-operate.''And will you?''That's a decision for the top bra.s.s. Word is, they're s.h.i.tting bricks about it.''So what will you do? Renew the investigation?''I can't see we've any choice.'Vanessa gave him a questioning glance. George smiled and shook his head, as if to say, It's nothing It's nothing. She closed her eyes again.'Of course, she could have cooked this up just to line her pockets,' Sullivan went on. 'Wouldn't surprise me if her and that Trent woman are in it together.''It's a possibility,' George agreed. He thought of his encounter with Julia on Wednesday. She had seemed determined to speak to Alice Jones: it looked like she'd succeeded.'Even so, it's gonna bring a lot of heat down on you, especially if they link it to Craig Walker's allegations.'An uneasy pause. Sullivan clearly laying the groundwork for something, George guessed. Or perhaps waiting for him to make the suggestion.'We do still have the fact that they visited Peggy Forester.'Sullivan cackled. 'Yeah. Your trump card, hopefully. I'll have to try and work out the best strategy for using it.' Another pause, loaded with significance. This time George knew exactly what was coming.'We also need to talk about my remuneration. The stuff I've done up to now, that was a favour, but we're moving into high-risk territory. If I'm gonna stick my neck out for you, there's got to be something in it for me.'George faked a laugh. 'Absolutely. Why don't you call in sometime this weekend and we'll put some figures together?'Vanessa had turned her head away from him. Her eyes were still shut, but whether she was conscious he couldn't say. After ending the call, he took a moment to order his thoughts. It actually required no time at all to a.s.sess the situation. He could sum it up in three words.It's falling apart.The moment she saw the house in Arundel Crescent, Julia knew it was a wasted journey. Every window was closed, and a dull reflected light shone from the gla.s.s. There was no hint of sound or movement inside.Still she knocked and waited. She cupped her hands and peered through the lower bay window. The living room looked reasonably tidy, a few toys scattered here and there. A gla.s.s of water stood on the window ledge, stale with bubbles.Above her the crows circled like black rags. Their cries took her back to 19 January, and it struck her that each time she returned here she felt more more affected, rather than less, as though the village wasn't done with her yet. affected, rather than less, as though the village wasn't done with her yet.Finally she wrote a note: Gordon, I'm worried about Alice. Please Gordon, I'm worried about Alice. Please call me call me. She signed her name, added her contact numbers and slipped it through the letter box.It was just after ten in the morning, and much warmer than it had been in January. Back at the flat she'd heard a weather forecast that warned of an imminent change: storm-force winds and torrential rain. In a spot of banter, the news presenter had said, 'Oh well, I suppose we can't complain,' and the forecaster had merrily agreed. 'Our luck had to run out sometime.'That phrase came back to her now, as she returned to her car. It wasn't particularly comforting, but at least it was an improvement on Nina Walker's parting shot.You're nothing but trouble.The doctor had suggested Vanessa should have a private nurse on hand for most of the day, and as soon as she arrived George took the opportunity to retire to his office. He allowed himself a small sherry and contemplated what action to take.Vilner was still the immediate concern. Before the policeman's call, George had virtually decided to go ahead and tell Kendrick that Vilner was cheating him. It was a risk, of course, but the news from Sullivan made it clear he was facing calamity on several fronts. To stand any chance of defeating his enemies, he needed to a.s.sess their strengths and weaknesses, test their alliances.But first he rang Toby to tell him of yesterday's encounter with Vilner. It was a brief, disingenuous conversation. He gave the impression that the meeting had been arranged as a direct consequence of Toby's request. He said he'd opened negotiations with Vilner, but warned it was likely to be a long and difficult process. In the meantime he ordered Toby to keep his head down and his mouth shut. And he wanted no further work on the second application.'But you said I could do it,' Toby complained.'And now I'm saying you cannot.' He tried to outline the possible fallout from the Alice Jones story, but Toby went on protesting, trying to find a way round it, until finally George lost his temper. 'Just do as you're told for once,' he roared. 'I'm in enough of a mess right now, without your childish b.l.o.o.d.y whingeing.'He slammed the phone down, the anger hot in his veins. Just what he needed to take on Kendrick. A quick gulp of sherry, then he grabbed the phone up again.

Sixty-One.

Nine-thirty, and Sullivan found himself waiting like a jilted lover amid the teeming ma.s.s of humanity on the concourse at Victoria Station. Impatient shoppers and tourists barged past as if he'd chosen that precise spot purely to inconvenience them. He'd been loitering long enough to draw the attention of a couple of transport police. He let them get within a couple of yards before flashing his warrant card. One of them scowled as he turned away; the other had the decency to blush.'f.u.c.king clothes hangers,' he muttered, not caring if they heard.He'd been summoned to an urgent conference at Scotland Yard to debate the potential fallout from Alice Jones's revelations. The thought of a Sat.u.r.day wasted on hot air and management speak filled him with gloom, and there wasn't even the prospect of a game of buzzword bingo with a few like-minded colleagues. More and more nowadays the senior officers were young, clean-cut college boys and girls with settled home lives and delicate sensibilities, immaculate in their political correctness.Still, ironic to think he would be better apprised of the situation than anyone else there. He had no intention of sharing any of that knowledge, however. First he had to decide how it could be used most profitably, and at the least risk to himself.f.u.c.king with Craig's head had lost some of its appeal, especially now Alice Jones had given him an opportunity to secure a decent payday from George. But her allegations, combined with Craig's, also made him uncomfortable. At the back of his mind lingered the fear that there was something a whole lot bigger going on here, something he would be wise to avoid.He looked at his watch again. When Craig rang this morning, asking for an urgent meeting, Sullivan half hoped to discourage him by stipulating Victoria Station, but Craig had immediately agreed. Sullivan spotted him now, threading his way through a party of tourists dragging suitcases towards the Gatwick-bound train.Dispensing with a greeting, Sullivan barked, 'You've got two minutes, max.''That's long enough,' Craig said, handing him an envelope. 'Have a look, but don't flash it around.'Slightly wary, Sullivan opened the envelope and took a peek at the contents. He frowned. 'Your kids?''Yeah. There's a message on the other side.'Sullivan read it, then silently thanked his maker that he'd agreed to this meeting. Being the good actor he was, he affected disdain.'All this proves is that someone doesn't like you.'Craig's face darkened with fury. 'Someone like you, for instance?' Before Sullivan could respond, he added, 'Don't try to deny you're in Matheson's pocket. I won't believe you. But did you know this is the kind of thing he'll stoop to, or are you part of that as well?''I'm part of nothing,' Sullivan growled. 'I dunno what the f.u.c.k you're talking about. You got any proof it was George that sent it?'A few pa.s.sersby must have heard the aggression in his voice, for suddenly the s.p.a.ce around them grew larger. Sullivan glanced round, concerned only that the uniforms were well out of earshot.'A journalist friend of mine was investigating the ma.s.sacre,' Craig said. 'Now she's gone missing. I've come to London to find out what's happened to her.'Sullivan was mystified. This was something he knew nothing about. At the same time he realised Craig wouldn't yet know about Alice Jones.'Tell me her name. I'll see what I can find out.'Craig looked dubious, but gave him the details, and the name of the Met officer in charge of the case. He ended by saying, 'All that c.r.a.p on Thursday about me being the second killer. This had better put an end to it.'Sullivan handed the envelope back. He grinned. 'You never really struck me as a ma.s.s murderer, shame to say.''Good. And if it is Matheson who's behind this, you can tell him he won't get away with it. No one threatens my kids. No one.''Hey,' Sullivan said. 'I know you're angry, but I won't say this again. I am not part of this. I'm as much in the dark as you are.'Craig stared at him, his eyes narrow with suspicion. Finally he sighed. 'Then G.o.d help both of us.'The phone call changed everything. The killer saw immediately how it could be exploited. This would fit perfectly into his plans.The net was closing. No point denying it, or pretending it wasn't happening. But that was okay. He was smarter than the people who were looking for him. Smarter and more devious and, most importantly, more ruthless. He was still one step ahead, and Alice Jones had just put him further in front.The existence of the second killer couldn't be disputed for much longer. Even without physical evidence, the combination of witness accounts and media pressure would soon convince the police to take it seriously. And once the killer's existence existence had been accepted, all that mattered then was his had been accepted, all that mattered then was his ident.i.ty ident.i.ty.What he had to do was give them someone else. Someone plausible. Someone with a clear, undeniable motive.Like greed, for instance.And viewed like that, there could be only one possible candidate.* * *Julia drove back to Lewes, haunted by the dream and the terrible sense of desolation as her body crumpled in the face of the tsunami. Alice's fate remained heavy on her conscience. The desire to share her burden created an almost physical ache, but the only possible candidate was Craig. And he was out of bounds.Back at the flat, she checked her phone. Someone had called twenty minutes before, but withheld the number. That only added to her despair.She ate a bar of chocolate and slumped on the sofa for an hour, watching some G.o.d-awful excuse for Sat.u.r.day-morning TV. This is ridiculous, she thought at last. Sitting around all day would send her insane.On impulse, she decided some gentle exercise would do her good. She found her gym bag and packed a towel and a one-piece swimsuit. With the weight she'd lost, it probably wouldn't be a great fit, and some of her scars might be visible. Did she really want people staring at her?Then she thought, Sod it Sod it. She was past caring. Let them look.She was almost out of the door when the phone rang.George concluded his conversation with Kendrick, feeling like a starving man who'd crawled into a den of wolves in search of meat. But it was too late now. The deck was shuffled, the cards would fall as they landed.He returned to Vanessa's room. The nurse raised a finger to her mouth: Don't wake her Don't wake her. George gazed at his wife's pygmy form beneath the sheets. Even though it was barely an hour since he'd left her, she seemed yet more diminished, as if her intention was to depart the world via a process of miniaturisation, becoming smaller and smaller until finally she vanished altogether.He smiled at the thought. If only it were that benign.The nurse had unplugged the phone extension, so as not to disturb her. George didn't realise until he felt the buzz of his mobile. He read the display and felt his heart tighten.He listened, incredulously, to the first glimmer of positive news in what felt like a lifetime. 'You're sure?' he said. 'There's no doubt at all. She is waking?'Now the caller grew more sombre, more guarded. Adopting the same tone, George said, 'There's a long way to go, of course. But it's cause for hope, at least. Thank you. Thank you so much.'He finished the call and gave a start when Vanessa said, 'What's happened?'Her eyes were open, her brow creased with concern. It was only then he registered the tears on his cheeks. He brushed them away with his fists.'Nothing,' he lied. 'It's nothing.'Let it be Alice, Julia thought, or failing that, Craig: apologising for Nina's tirade.But it was a male voice, educated and polite with just a touch of the Estuary wide boy. A combination that Julia instinctively knew meant trouble.'Julia Trent? My name's Guy Fisher. I'm calling about Alice Jones.''What's happened? Is she all right?'He sounded perplexed. 'Good as gold. Why?''She called me this morning. It sounded like . . .' Now she felt ridiculous. 'I got the impression she might harm herself.''No, she's safe and sound. Done herself a very nice deal with us.'Julia was frowning, relieved but confused, until it clicked. 'You're a journalist?''Yeah, though I can't divulge which paper. All top secret at the moment. Can't have our rivals getting wind of it and beating us to print.'Now Alice's garbled conversation made sense: It's not quite what It's not quite what you suggested you suggested.'A tabloid, I suppose?''One of the biggest and best,' Fisher shot back. She could hear the grin in his voice.'What has she told you?''The works. It's explosive stuff.' He snorted. 'But I don't have to tell you that. b.l.o.o.d.y scandalous, the police ignoring what you said about the other gunman. Thanks to their incompetence we've got a ma.s.s murderer still on the loose.'She opened her mouth to explain that it wasn't so simple, then stopped herself. That was precisely what he was angling for.'Don't worry,' he said. 'Alice is safe and sound with hubby and the kids, and we're gonna keep them that way till this guy is behind bars.' He sounded ridiculously proud about it. 'But this isn't just about her. You're a big part of the story. A much bigger part, to be honest. And that's where it gets a little tricky.''What do you mean?''This is a lot of money we're sh.e.l.ling out. You appreciate we have to make sure we're not being sold a pup. Part of the deal with Alice is that we talk to you, strictly off the record . . .' A hopeful pause. 'Unless you want to sign up as well?''I'll pa.s.s on that for now,' she said. 'Go on.''All right, off the record it is. We need to run through Alice's statement, make sure what she's given us is kosher. You're the only one who can corroborate it.''And if I say no?'Fisher sucked air between his teeth. 'It could jeopardise the deal. I'm not saying it will. But it does make round-the-clock protection a bit harder to authorise.'b.a.s.t.a.r.d, she thought. Using Alice's safety to coerce her into helping.He added, 'Alice a.s.sured us you'd be willing to help. She said you were a really decent person. The fact you were worried about her proves that.'Julia sighed. 'What would I have to do?''Just meet up and go through the statement. It'll take twenty minutes, half an hour at most. I'll bring a disclaimer, forbidding us to quote directly from you.' He hesitated. 'Unless you want to reconsider? I can give you the name of a good PR firm if you want to get some advice first.''No,' said Julia firmly. 'I'll do this for Alice, but that's all.''Fair enough. We're on a tight timeframe, though. Can we meet this evening?''I suppose so.' And immediately thought: I don't want you in my I don't want you in my flat. flat.'You're in Lewes, aren't you?' he said. She could hear the tap of a keyboard. 'Is the Hamsey Arms any good?''That's fine.''Great. Probably the earliest I can get down there and still meet my deadline is seven o'clock. That okay?'She agreed reluctantly. 'How will I recognise you?''Easy. I'm drop-dead gorgeous.' More laughter, all from him. 'Nah, I'll be the guy still working his b.u.t.t off. You won't miss me.'She put the phone down in a temper. To think she'd worried herself sick about Alice committing suicide, and instead the woman had hawked her story to the gutter press. She s.n.a.t.c.hed up her bag and slammed the door behind her.

Sixty-Two.

Heading south, Vilner felt faintly queasy. This was his third visit to Chilton in four days, and potentially the most important one. He still wasn't sure if he was doing the right thing, but he'd weighed it up as best he could and decided it was worth a punt.He drove carefully, observing the speed limits and traffic signals. He couldn't risk getting pulled over with some of the gear he had on him. When Kendrick phoned him, he ignored it. He wanted to delay the conversation until after this was done. By then he'd know exactly what he was facing.The meeting might get unpleasant, so he had prepared carefully. For one thing, he was more than an hour early. He'd borrowed an anonymous two-year-old Volvo, which he parked in the village. He wore a dark grey suit and cashmere overcoat. The weather was turning, and there were only a handful of people around, mainly sightseers by the look of them. Vilner attracted barely a glance as he took a briefcase from the boot and crossed the road into Hurst Lane.The trees were straining in the wind, as though they wanted to be somewhere else. The sound was like a hundred human voices crying a lament. Leaves and twigs fell all around him, and he felt a brief nostalgic longing for the noise and smell of traffic, the buzz of the crowd.As he walked, he didn't think too much about what lay ahead. Instead he thought about the woman.Julia timed her swim about right. In the early afternoon the indoor pool was at its quietest, and she easily ignored a few prurient glances. She intended to be long gone by three o'clock, when an inflatable a.s.sault course was floated out on the water and hordes of local children materialised to play on it.In the course of a dozen unhurried laps her anger melted away and left her far more forgiving of Alice's decision. Unlike the police, a newspaper would have few qualms about providing protection on the basis of what might be spurious allegations. They appreciated the pure news value of the story, never mind its veracity.For a woman torn by an agonising separation from her family, it must have seemed like the perfect answer. And in a roundabout way it might achieve what Julia wanted: a renewed police investigation. The only thing that rankled was the way Alice had volunteered her a.s.sistance, although Julia suspected that was more the reporter's doing.The pool was part of a leisure centre, with large windows along two of the outside walls. Each time she rested, she gazed up at a slice of sky above the cliffs that overlooked the town. Now she watched a finger of grey cloud slowly gliding across the blue, like a bruise spreading on clear skin.She shivered. It was time to go.She dried off and dressed in a cold, poky cubicle that brought to mind her school days: damp clothes and teasing and towel snaps. As she walked out through the lobby, the automatic doors opened and a gust of wind buffeted her. The woman at the desk gasped. 'My goodness, it's blowing out there.'Julia nodded, glad she'd brought her car, but wishing she didn't have to go out again this evening.It took her only a couple of minutes to drive home, but longer to find a vacant parking s.p.a.ce in the busy streets near the castle. As she got out of the car, the sun was finally extinguished by cloud and a whole different season seemed to take hold. No rain yet, but there was a vicious edge to the wind, something almost malicious as it whipped up from nowhere and subsided just as quickly. She hurried back to her flat, litter and dry leaves skittering in her wake. More than once she turned, convinced there was someone behind her.Her name was Louise, and she'd recently started work at a pub in Crouch End part-owned by Vilner. She was twenty-five, pet.i.te and pretty, with large liquid eyes and an alluring gap between her front teeth. From what he'd gathered, she had spent a few years travelling and working abroad, returning to the UK when a relationship ended.What impressed him was that she wasn't intimidated by him the way most people were. She looked him in the eye, and when he tried out a bit of sarcasm she came right back at him. They'd had one date so far, concluded with no more than a prim goodnight kiss, but he'd sensed a real chemistry between them. Tonight he was taking her to a favourite restaurant of his, out in Amersham, and then, with any luck, back to his place for a nightcap.That was later. First, there was this.The house looked cold, empty, abandoned. Vilner waited in the lane, hidden by trees, and watched for five long minutes. The wind swirled over the roof, rattling the tiles and keening round the chimney pots. A crushed can blew across the yard and snagged in the hedge. In one of the outbuildings a loose plank drummed against something metal. Lots of noise to distract and deter him, but at last he was satisfied.He made a full circuit of the building, examining the windows and doors, frequently pausing to listen. He knew the place was unoccupied, but there were curtains and blinds drawn everywhere, so he couldn't scope out the interior. The back door was just as solid as the front. It didn't give a fraction when he tried the handle.He returned to the front door. There were two locks: a straightforward cylinder at the top and a mortice deadlock below it. He opened the briefcase and took out an electric pick gun. In prison he'd learned the basics of lock picking, and over the years he'd developed his skills with a traditional set of hand tools, but once mastered the electric picks were much quicker and less obtrusive.Today his luck was in: the mortice hadn't been used. It took him less than a minute to overcome the cylinder, and the door sprang open. He lifted the briefcase over the threshold and shut the door behind him. A gust of wind boomed in the chimney breast. The roof timbers creaked like a ship in a storm.He could see the room to his left was empty, furrows in the carpet where furniture had once stood. He knelt to put the pick away, and take out his gun. Flipping the briefcase lid, he caught a flash of movement from the room to his right. Something coming in fast and heavy. No time to use the gun. All he could do was twist sideways and ride with the blow, but it wasn't enough.His last conscious thought was, Not lucky at all. Not lucky at all.There had been another recent call, number withheld, but no messages. Nothing from Craig.She fretted for more than an hour before finally deciding she had to warn him. Unwilling to risk another confrontation with Nina, she tried his mobile and got the answering service. She quickly composed a message.'Craig, it's Julia. I thought I should warn you, Alice Jones has sold her story. The journalist wants me to corroborate it, so I've agreed to a meeting this evening. I'll ring you when I get back, probably around eight. If you get a chance, ring me and we can discuss how much I should reveal.' She swallowed, thinking: But we're not allowed to speak But we're not allowed to speak to each other. to each other.Less than a minute after she put the phone down, it rang again. Either Craig was responding to her message, or Nina had intercepted it and was about to scream at her.But it was neither. A woman with a cultured but slightly abrasive Scottish accent said, 'Am I speaking with Julia Trent?''Yes.''Julia, my name is Sheila Naughton. I believe you're aware there's a major new exclusive being prepared, and I wondered if you'd care to add your own comments to-''No, thank you. I have nothing to say.'Julia put the receiver down and held it there, as if restraining a small animal. Within ten seconds it rang again. She lifted the receiver and cut the call. Another ten seconds and it rang again. She pulled the line plug from the socket.Clearly Guy Fisher had failed to keep the story under wraps.The onslaught had begun.Vilner was thirteen again, conning money from a nonce in a Gents near Sovereign Street. Too late he realised he'd been set up for an ambush. A second man stepped from a cubicle and shoved him off his feet. His head hit the grimy tiled floor and he pa.s.sed out. When he came to he was lying face down in a puddle of stale p.i.s.s, one of the men tugging on his jeans while the other knelt over him, stroking his c.o.c.k and breathlessly explaining where he was going to put it.In a sudden frenzy Vilner kicked backwards and caught the first man in the face, then reared up and grabbed the other one by the b.a.l.l.s, wrenching them as hard as he could. Slippery from the wet tiles, he wriggled through a flurry of blows and managed to get away. Bursting into the twilight of a winter afternoon, he sprinted towards the safety of the Christmas shopping crowds on Briggate, and the intoxicating blend of terror and elation felt just as vivid upon recollection a quarter of a century later as it had at the time. For a moment he was truly superhuman, capable of anything.Then he opened his eyes and saw he wasn't in Leeds. He wasn't thirteen any more. And he wasn't about to fight his way to freedom.This time the ache from his head wound was eclipsed by a pain in both arms so excruciating he could hardly breathe. He blinked furiously to clear his vision, but even when he'd stared at them for what seemed like an eternity, he still couldn't make sense of what he saw.His hands were missing.

Sixty-Three.

Craig didn't look at his mobile until he was on the train back to Suss.e.x, at the end of a long and harrowing day. When the buffet trolley approached, he thought he'd never in his life wanted a beer as much as he did now. It took all his willpower to shake his head and watch the trolley pa.s.s.He listened to Julia's message and checked the time. It was gone six-thirty, probably already too late to call her. In any case, he was in no mood to discuss Alice Jones and her tabloid exclusive. Abby Clark was dead, and it was his fault.After his meeting with Sullivan, he'd gone to see Abby's partner, Marie. His visit had several purposes: to offer her some support, to find out if she knew anything else that could help find Abby, and to a.s.sure her that he and Abby had never had an affair. He'd been there an hour or so, sharing tea and sympathy, when the police arrived with the news they'd been dreading. The body of a woman, believed to be Abby, had been recovered from the Thames.Until that point, Marie had made a supreme effort to hold herself together. Now she disintegrated in front of his eyes. When the police officer asked if she was able to identify the body, Craig offered to accompany her. In a private moment at the mortuary, he learned that the cause of death wasn't yet confirmed. There was evidence of violent trauma, but it wasn't clear if this had been inflicted by an a.s.sailant, or whether she had collided with something in the water. The post mortem should tell them more.He returned to Marie's flat, and sat with her while she made a succession of difficult calls to Abby's family and friends. It wasn't until he walked back to the tube station, emotionally drained and boiling with fury, that he allowed himself to say the words in his head: Abby had been murdered.He was equally convinced the killer was either James Vilner, or the other man, Kendrick. One or both of them had engineered the Chilton ma.s.sacre, almost certainly on behalf of George Matheson. Abby had died because of the favour she had done for Craig. Because she'd come too close to the truth.That in itself was almost impossible to bear. What made it even worse was that he couldn't prove any of it.Vilner stared. His vision blurred again and instinctively he tried lifting his arms, but they wouldn't move. He blinked and stared, blinked and stared, but no matter how many times he did it the result was always the same. Both his hands were gone.'You've never taken me seriously, have you?' said a voice. He realised there was someone in the room with him. He forced his head up and made out a pair of workman's overalls, splattered with what looked like red paint.'Best to demonstrate from the start that I don't go in for half measures,' the man went on. 'Though what I did in Chilton should have made that clear.'The man waited, perhaps expecting a response, but Vilner's brain wouldn't process the words. They reached him like someone shouting through a waterfall; just static flooding his skull. He couldn't believe he'd been so thoroughly outplayed. He thought he'd come here early enough to antic.i.p.ate a trap, but his opponent was earlier still.He looked back at himself. He was slumped in a half-sitting position on the floor of what had once been the farmhouse's dining room. Instead of carpet below him, there was a thick layer of plastic sheeting, the type builders put down when laying foundations to prevent damp penetration. The sheeting ran the entire width of the room and was taped to the walls at a height of about two feet. The only other things he could see were a couple of large buckets, a roll of heavy-duty plastic bags and a DeWalt Alligator saw with the same red paint along the blades.He opened his mouth to speak but vomited instead, an acidic gruel which dropped on to his chest and pooled in his lap. He stared at it for a moment, then back at his arms, which ended in stumps covered in crude white dressings. There were thick tourniquets around both wrists.The man saw him studying them and said, 'I applied those before the surgery. After all, it's no fun if you bleed to death this early on.'The torrent of pain must have let up slightly, for Vilner made sense of the phrase bleed to death bleed to death. He was struck by a thought: How will I How will I drive Louise tonight if I don't have any hands? drive Louise tonight if I don't have any hands?His lips formed a smile of profound disbelief, and he began to cry.

Sixty-Four.

The Hamsey Arms was a long low building on the outskirts of Cooksbridge, just north of Lewes. To reach it, Julia had to drive along a dark, thickly wooded stretch of road. By now the wind had risen to gale force, an almost relentless howl audible over the sound of her engine. She could feel the tyres b.u.mping over debris in the road. Her headlights picked out trees writhing in the wind. She'd already heard reports of blocked roads and railway lines, and the storm was forecast to get worse as the evening went on.The main bar faced out towards the road. The well-lit interior looked cosy and welcoming as she turned into the car park. The fact she'd arrived in one piece filled her with relief, as did the sight of eight or ten other cars: she wasn't the only one crazy enough to venture out on a night like this. There was a small garden at the front, with picnic tables and planters made from beer barrels. A couple of the tables had overturned, and it looked like the planters would be next.Just as she switched off the ignition, a single fat raindrop exploded on the windscreen and ran down the gla.s.s. Then another. Then it was as if someone had tipped an enormous tank of water upside down. The sudden deluge pounded on the roof and made the sound of the wind almost insignificant.She turned up the collar of her coat, as if that would make a difference, and prepared for a soaking. When she opened the door, the wind nearly tore it from her grasp. She got out, slammed the door and locked it, then hurried as fast as she dared towards the pub.She entered the bar on a rush of wind and rain. Bottles and gla.s.ses rattled in the draught, and there was nervous laughter. A dozen or so faces turned to stare, then gradually looked away. The main group was a family gathering, taking up several tables festooned with giftwrapping and party novelties. A rather imperious elderly lady sat at one end, wearing a paper crown. There were about fifteen people with her, including several excited children.Julia tidied her hair, wiped rain from her face, undid her coat. Then she looked up, scanning the bar, and just as it occurred to her that the weather might have caused him to delay or even cancel their meeting, she spotted him.The train was packed with Sat.u.r.day shoppers and a fair number of football fans. Craig found himself squashed into a window seat beside an obscenely overweight man who reeked of beer and body odour. Keeping his breathing as shallow as possible, he planted his face against the window, his reflection pale and anxious in the darkness.He'd learned from Marie that Abby's laptop was missing, along with her treasured Blackberry. When asked, the police officer wasn't sure if these items had been recovered, but he thought it extremely unlikely. So did Craig. Which meant no one knew exactly how far her enquiries had progressed.Now he went back over their conversation on Thursday morning. She knew virtually nothing about Kendrick, other than that he was from Trinidad. What she'd learned about Vilner had confirmed Craig's suspicions. Vilner had got on board the Matheson gravy train as a result of money he was owed. What had she said? Gambling debts run up by George's nephew. Toby someone. Harman?He flinched as a volley of raindrops rattled on the window. The man next to him shifted, pressing further into his s.p.a.ce. Craig tried to ignore the discomfort. Something in the conversation was snagging right at the back of his mind, but he couldn't see it. Couldn't force it into the light.The train rumbled and shook, and he glimpsed leaves swirling past. He thought about his father's lawn, always kept so tidy, and idly wondered at what age a man developed the patience to sweep his garden after every storm. He thought about the creep he'd caught taking photographs of the front door.He thought about Julia, how they read her father's diary and shared a maelstrom of emotions that led first to a pa.s.sionate disagreement and then, quite unexpectedly, to a different kind of pa.s.sion.A loud snore from his fellow pa.s.senger jolted Craig from his reverie, leaving an infuriating conviction that this insight, whatever it was, had been tantalisingly close.Personal s.p.a.ce. Something about personal s.p.a.ce.Guy Fisher wasn't quite what she'd expected. The voice on the phone had been a.s.sured, even c.o.c.ky, but the man sitting alone at a corner table looked geeky and the very opposite of drop-dead gorgeous. It made her wonder how often he'd impressed someone who heard his voice, only for them to be disappointed when they met him in the flesh.On the other hand, there was little doubt it was him. He was virtually the only customer sitting alone, and he was the only one tapping away on a laptop. There was paper all over the table, and a briefcase standing upright on the seat next to him.He looked fairly young, late twenties or early thirties, and wore a blue shirt under a black Armani bomber jacket. She could see the bulge of a serious beer belly pressing against the table. He had brown hair, slicked back with gel or mousse, and he wore gla.s.ses with square lenses that did him no favours. Something about his almost wooden focus on the laptop reminded her of that puppet from a 1960s TV show. What was he called?She cleared her throat as she reached him. He didn't acknowledge her, but went on typing as if he couldn't possibly interrupt himself mid-flow. She waited, deciding she would count to five and then walk out.On three he looked up, almost surprised, as if he hadn't really expected her to show up. 'Miss Trent? I'm Guy Fisher. Take a seat.' His rubbery lips formed an ingratiating smile, and she had to suppress a giggle.Joe 90, she thought. That's who he looks like.She took off her coat before sitting down. As her back arched she saw his gaze dart towards her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, searching for the outline of her nipples through the shirt. She folded her arms and looked him in the eye.'It's good of you to come,' he said, closing the laptop. He gathered up the paperwork and shuffled it into some sort of order. She noticed a gla.s.s by his side, containing an inch of what looked like c.o.ke, and wondered if he was going to buy her a drink. Not that she really wanted one, but in the circ.u.mstances it was only polite to offer. She had a feeling politeness was just one of the social skills he lacked.'With you in a second,' he said. He lifted the briefcase on to the table, put the laptop away, then began hunting through the papers again.A cheer went up across the room. Julia turned to see a waitress emerge from the kitchens, holding a birthday cake ablaze with candles. When the old woman saw it she smiled benevolently. The adults were applauding, while the children knelt on their seats and chanted, 'Gran-ny! Gran-ny!''Ahh. Isn't that sweet?' Fisher gave her a sickly grin. He placed the papers in an upper pocket in the briefcase, then began to slide the case around. 'This is what you need to see.'A ferocious gust of wind shook the building and the lights in the bar flickered on and off. Julia glanced at the window and saw her reflection strobing in the gla.s.s: heregoneheregone. Fisher turned the briefcase so the upper half was facing out towards the room. His right hand was resting inside it.'Here we are,' he said.He was holding a black pistol.

Sixty-Five.

Another gust of wind, and a loud crash from outside. One of the children screamed and clutched her father. The lights flickered again, but stayed on. There were ominous groans from the drinkers at the bar.The man sitting opposite her ignored it all. He stared at her through his ridiculous gla.s.ses, and she understood that they were simply part of his disguise, along with the Estuary voice and the slicked-back hair and the paunch. He wasn't a journalist, here to verify Alice Jones's story.He was the second killer.He watched her closely. His smile was hideous, no warmth or light in his eyes.'I take it you've worked out who I am?''Yes.' The sound of her own voice surprised her. She hadn't expected it to function. She certainly didn't expect it to sound so calm.'Good. Now this is where you have to be very sensible. Otherwise a lot of people will get hurt.' He nodded towards the bar. 'Take a look around.'Julia did as she was told. The family party was singing 'Happy Birthday'. The old woman sat through it, her face illuminated by the candles, her smile a little forced, as if she would really rather be at home with her feet up. The other customers were watching them, or talking to each other, or busy eating and drinking.No one had noticed anything wrong. No one else knew there was an armed man in the pub.'I'm not going to kill you,' he said. 'But we need to go somewhere, and we need to do it quietly. If there's any fuss, the first thing I'll do is shoot you in the leg, so you can't get away. Okay?'She nodded dumbly.'The next thing I'll do is shoot the bar staff, because they're most likely to try and phone for help. Then I'll shoot a few of the customers to create a panic.' He made a show of a.s.sessing the best contenders. 'The old woman, probably. And at least one of the kids. I'll aim for their faces. It'll be messy, and it may not kill them straight away. While they're screaming, everyone else will be too traumatised to react. They certainly won't stop us leaving. Am I getting my message across?'He smiled again. He could have been running through the itinerary for a perfect evening out.'Yes,' she said through gritted teeth.'Great. We're going to stand up like a couple of good friends and walk out without so much as a word. That old lady and her delightful family get to remember this occasion the way they should.' He smirked. 'All right?'Julia said nothing. Reluctantly she met his eye and nodded.'Well done.' He glanced around, then shut the briefcase and stood it upright on the table. No urgency. No fumbling. His voice had remained steady the whole time, she realised. No emotion when he talked about shooting a child in the face.'The gun will be concealed by the case,' he said quietly, 'but I'm still holding it. Remember that. Don't get it into your head that you're going to play the hero.'He stood up and ushered her towards the door. She felt as though she'd been hypnotised. Her body seemed to respond to hi