Читать книгу DI Sean Corrigan Crime Series: 5-Book Collection: Cold Killing, Redemption of the Dead, The Keeper, The Network and The Toy Taker - Luke Delaney - Страница 29

Sean had kept the briefing quick and simple. They would drive from Peckham to Hellier’s house in Islington. Sean would arrest him. Sally would direct another search of the house. He knew the audience of bleary-eyed detectives wouldn’t be able to absorb much information at 6 a.m. − most looked like they’d opted for one last drink instead of stocking up on the most precious commodity to a detective: sleep. If they felt tired now, it would be worse for them later.

Donnelly banged on the front door of Hellier’s Georgian terrace. The thick black paint shimmered like water with each knock. Sean and Sally were right behind him. The rest of the arrest team stood further back. No one expected Hellier to fight.

James Hellier appeared in front of them. He was almost fully dressed and ready to leave for work. He looked good. Fit and strong. Immaculately groomed. He was casually threading a gold cufflink through his sleeve.

Sean stepped forward, and before he spoke he could smell Hellier’s expensive cologne. It seemed to take Hellier a second to recognize him. When he did, he began to smile.

Sean held his warrant card close to Hellier’s face. He didn’t back away.

‘James Hellier. I’m Detective Inspector Sean Corrigan, these other officers are with me.’

‘Please, Inspector,’ Hellier cut in. ‘There’s no need for introductions here. I think we all know each other.’

Sean wanted to hit him. If Hellier didn’t stop smiling, he thought he probably would. Instead he pushed him back into the house and spun him around to face the hallway wall. He could see Elizabeth Hellier coming down the stairs.

‘Who is it, James?’ she called out. ‘What’s going on?’ Her panic growing.

‘Nothing to worry about, darling,’ Hellier called up to her. ‘Just call Jonathon Templeman and tell him I’ve been arrested again.’ He turned to Sean. ‘I am being arrested, aren’t I, Inspector?’

Sean pulled Hellier’s arms behind his back and clipped a handcuff tightly round each of his wrists. ‘This time you’re mine,’ Sean whispered into Hellier’s ear. He stepped back and spoke so everyone could hear, especially Hellier’s wife. ‘James Hellier, I’m arresting you for the murder of Linda Kotler.’

Hellier was still smiling. ‘What?’ He didn’t attempt to hide his disdain. ‘This is pathetic. I’ve never heard of the woman.’

‘You do not have to say anything unless you wish to.’ Sean spoke over Hellier’s protests. ‘But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court.’

‘Tell me, Inspector,’ Hellier was almost shouting, ‘are you going to arrest me for every crime you can’t solve?’

‘Anything you do say may be used as evidence,’ Sean continued.

Hellier craned his neck so he could see Sean over his right shoulder. ‘You’re a damn fool. You’ve got nothing on me.’ His smiling face and sweet breath made Sean feel nauseous.

‘Who are you?’ Sean asked him. ‘What the fuck are you?’

Hellier’s grin only broadened. He spat the words into Sean’s face:

‘Fuck you.’

Sean peered through the spy hole into Hellier’s cell. The smug bastard was sitting bolt upright on his bed, as if in some kind of a trance. If only there were some way to find out what he was thinking. Sean moved away from the cell door and headed back to his office. He would interview Hellier when his solicitor arrived.

He sauntered into the inquiry office. The team sensed his mood. It transferred to them. Sean had the upper hand now.

‘Any news from the lab, Stan?’ Sean shouted across the office.

‘Three days for a DNA match, guv,’ Stan called back. ‘Two, if we get lucky. They’ll need our suspect’s samples by midday if they’re to have any chance of doing it that fast, but it’ll only be an initial comparison which won’t give us a definitive match. A full comparison and definitive match will take a week. Minimum.’

‘Not good enough,’ Sean replied. ‘Call the lab back and tell them one in forty thousand isn’t good enough. I need better odds than that and I need them by this time tomorrow at the latest.’

The phone in Sean’s office was ringing when he entered. He snatched it up. ‘DI Corrigan.’

‘Morning, sir. It’s DC Kelsey, from SO11 telephone subscribers’ checks. You left some coded numbers with me a while ago. I said I’d have a play with them.’

‘Go on.’

‘Well, I worked out the code,’ DC Kelsey said matter-of-factly. ‘It was relatively simple, but effective.’

‘Have you run the subscribers’ checks too?’

‘Yes. Some are overseas numbers, so we don’t have them back yet. I’ll email what I have across to you. Be warned, there’s a fair few to go through.’

‘Thanks. And good job,’ Sean said warmly. ‘Let me know when the overseas numbers come back.’

‘No problem.’

‘And thanks again.’

Sally appeared at his office door. ‘Hellier’s brief’s here,’ she announced. ‘They’re in consultation.’

‘Good. When they’re ready, you can help me interview.’ Sally made a show of checking her watch. ‘You need to be somewhere?’ he asked.

‘As a matter of fact, I have a lunch appointment today. I was hoping Dave could do the interview with you.’

‘Lunch appointment?’ Sean sounded surprised.

‘It’s not what you think. I’m supposed to be meeting Hellier’s boss, Sebastian Gibran. His idea. I can only assume he wants to discuss Hellier.’

Sean studied her in silence for a while. ‘I’m not sure about this, Sally,’ he said. ‘These people look after their own. I doubt he wants to help us. Unless he has some other motivation for meeting you.’

‘Such as?’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘I guess you never know your luck.’

Again Sean studied her for a while. ‘Okay. Meet him. See what he has to say.’

‘There’s something else too,’ Sally continued. ‘Remember the suspect Method Index turned up – Stefan Korsakov.’

Sean shrugged his shoulders. He thought that little problem had been dealt with. ‘Yes.’

‘I’ve been trying to put it to bed, but it hasn’t been that easy.’

‘In what way?’

‘His conviction prints should be at the Yard, only they’re not.’

‘Borrowed?’

‘The original investigating officer told me the prison holding Korsakov had requested the prints, only I checked with them and they didn’t.’

‘So he’s lying to you. Any idea why?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Do you want to get Ethics and Standards involved?’

‘Maybe,’ Sally answered. ‘But maybe we should start treating Korsakov as a viable suspect, until we know for sure he isn’t?’

‘Fine,’ Sean agreed. ‘But if he does start looking like a reality, you tell me straight away. Don’t go running off solo, trying to be Cagney without Lacey.’

‘I won’t. I promise.’

Sally turned on her heels and headed out of the office. ‘By the way,’ Sean called after her, ‘have a nice lunch.’

Hellier and Templeman sat close together in the interview room that served as their private consultation room.

‘I need to be out of this fucking dungeon by six at the latest,’ Hellier told him. ‘No excuses, Jonathon. You have to get me out.’

‘It’s difficult to make that promise,’ Templeman answered nervously. ‘The police won’t tell me much. Until I know what they’ve got, I can’t be expected to judge our position.’

‘Our position?’ Hellier asked. He put his hand on Templeman’s thigh and squeezed hard. Templeman winced. ‘No matter what, you’ll be walking out of here. It’s me they want to nail to the wall. Keep that in mind.’

Hellier released his grip and gently laid a hand on Templeman’s shoulder. He knew the man was scared of him. ‘I know you’ll do your best.’ He spoke softly. It only added to his menace.

Templeman swallowed his fear and spoke. ‘Before we can even think about bail, we have to prepare for the interview. If they’ve re-arrested you, they must have something. If you know what that could be, you need to tell me now. They want to start the interview as soon as they can, but they’re only telling me the minimum they’re legally obliged to. You have to help me to help you. We don’t want to walk into a trap. You should answer everything “no comment”.’

Hellier could barely disguise his contempt. ‘Trap! You think they’re clever enough to trap me? They’ve got nothing, and Corrigan knows it. He’s trying to make me panic. Well, let him do his worst. You just keep your mouth shut and try and look professional. Let me do the talking and follow my lead. If Corrigan wants to play, fucking let him. Tell them we’re ready to be interviewed.’

Sean began the interview with the usual formalities, Hellier responding with a nod when asked if he understood the caution and his other legal rights. He nodded again when Sean repeated that he had been arrested for the suspected murder of Linda Kotler. His face was expressionless.

In an effort to gain credibility with Hellier, Templeman immediately went on the offensive: ‘I would like it recorded that it has been almost impossible for me to properly instruct my client, as the investigating officers have told me nothing about the allegation. Nothing about any evidence they may have that indicates my client could in any way be involved in this crime.’

Sean had been expecting as much. ‘The allegation is one of suspected rape and murder. It occurred less than thirty-six hours ago. I’m sure your client will be able to answer my questions without being given prior knowledge.’ Sean waited for a protest. None came. ‘I’ll keep the questions simple and direct.’ He and Hellier locked eyes across the table, then Sean launched into the interrogation: ‘Did you know Linda Kotler?’

‘No,’ Hellier answered.

‘Was that a no comment or a no?’

‘That was a no. I don’t know anyone by the name of Linda Kotler.’

‘Have you ever been to Minford Gardens in Shepherd’s Bush?’ Sean was trying to shut him in.

‘I don’t know. Maybe,’ Hellier answered.

‘Maybe?’

‘I’ve been to Shepherd’s Bush, so maybe I’ve been there.’

‘Minford Gardens?’ Sean repeated.

‘Wherever.’

‘Have you ever been to number seventy-three Minford Gardens?’

‘No.’

‘Sure?’

‘Positive.’ Hellier sounded bored.

‘Are you absolutely sure?’ Sean had to be precise. Any ambiguity now would be exploited later by the defence. Hellier didn’t answer. ‘I’ll take that as confirmation. But you’re lying. You have been there,’ Sean continued.

Hellier gave no reaction other than raising one eyebrow slightly. Sean noticed it.

‘You met Linda Kotler. You met her the same night you killed her.’

‘Really, Inspector,’ Templeman jumped in. ‘If you have evidence to support your allegation that my client was involved, then why don’t you just say so and tell us what it is. Otherwise this interview is over.’ Sean ignored him. Throughout the interruption he maintained eye contact with Hellier.

‘Where were you the night before last?’ Sean asked.

‘You mean you don’t know?’ Hellier tormented him. ‘All those policemen following me and you have to ask me where I was. How galling that must be for you.’

‘No games.’ Sean was trying to keep the pace going. ‘Where were you?’

‘That’s my business,’ Hellier snapped.

Good. His calm was breaking.

‘And now it’s mine,’ said Sean. ‘Who were you with?’

‘No comment.’

The questions and answers came quickly. Templeman kept on the lookout for a break, a chance to object, but he knew neither Sean nor Hellier would listen to him. This was between the two of them. Personal.

‘If you’ve got an alibi, you’d better give it now,’ Sean told him.

‘I don’t have to prove a damn thing,’ Hellier retorted.

‘You weren’t at home.’

‘Your point?’

‘And you weren’t at work.’

‘So?’

‘So between seven p.m. and three a.m. the next morning, where were you? During the time Linda Kotler was murdered, where were you?’ Sean’s voice was rising.

Hellier fought back. ‘Where were you, Inspector? That’s what people will really want to know. Would she be alive now if you’d done your job properly? You’re desperate and it shows. You stink of fear. It’s blinded you. What have you got? Nothing but theories.

‘So you don’t know where I was the night this woman was killed. That proves nothing.’ Hellier leaned back, satisfied.

‘How long did you watch her for?’ Sean suddenly asked. ‘For a week, like you did with Daniel Graydon, or was it longer? Did you spend days and days fantasizing about killing her, the images in your mind growing ever more vivid until you could no longer wait? You followed her home, didn’t you, James? Then you watched her windows, waiting for the lights to go out. And when they did, you waited until you were certain she was asleep before you scrambled up the drainpipe and climbed through her bathroom window. Then you knocked her unconscious, tied her in your favourite bondage position and raped and sodomized her. And when you were finished, you strangled her – didn’t you?’

Hellier made as if to answer, but Sean held up his hand to stop him as the images in his mind revealed further details. ‘No wait, I’m wrong – you didn’t strangle her after you’d raped her. You killed her while you were still inside her, didn’t you? Her death and your climax happening simultaneously – that’s how it had to be for you, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?’

Hellier’s eyes raged inside his stony face, the muscles in his cheeks visibly flexing as he fought to keep control. Finally he spoke. ‘That’s a nice little story you’ve cooked up, Inspector. But it proves nothing – nothing whatsoever.’

‘You’re right.’ Sean sounded humble. ‘It doesn’t prove a thing. But these will.’ He slid a copy of a form across the table. ‘Item number four,’ Sean said. ‘Item number four should be of particular interest to you.’

Hellier scanned the list of items submitted to the forensic laboratory. He saw that item number four was two hairs. He shook his head as if he failed to realize their importance. ‘This concerns me how?’

‘We need samples of your hair and blood, for DNA comparison,’ Sean informed him.

‘You’ve already taken samples.’

‘I can’t use those. This is a different case. I need fresh samples.’

Hellier looked across at Templeman, who nodded confirmation that Sean was telling the truth.

‘Fine,’ said Hellier. ‘Take your samples and get me out of here.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Sean said. ‘Get you out of here? No, that won’t be possible. You’re staying in custody until the DNA comparison’s complete.’

‘Fuck you,’ Hellier exploded. He was standing now. ‘You can’t keep me locked in this fucking cage.’ Templeman pulled him back into his seat.

Sean spoke for the benefit of the tape recorder. ‘Interview terminated at twelve twenty-three p.m.’ He clicked the machine off. ‘I’ll arrange for someone to take your samples.’ Then he walked out of the interview room leaving Donnelly to deal with Templeman’s protests. He smiled as he closed the door behind him, listening to the raised voices fading in the background.

Featherstone sipped a coffee as he waited outside the custody suite. He knew Sean would head that way eventually. Much as he liked the guy, even believed in him, he was aware that, so far as the top brass were concerned, Sean had a tendency to sail way too close to the wind.

‘Sean,’ Featherstone surprised him as he clattered through the door. ‘You got a minute?’ He gestured towards an unoccupied room.

‘Can this wait?’

‘Best not. We won’t be long.’

Reluctantly, Sean followed Featherstone into the room.

‘It seems some influential people are beginning to stick their noses into your investigation,’ Featherstone warned him. ‘Calls have been put in to the Yard and the brass are getting nervous. I’ll keep the hounds at bay, but you’d better make sure you’ve got some evidence to back up any move you make.’

‘We found hairs at the latest scene,’ Sean told him. ‘We can get DNA off them. We match them to Hellier and then it’s all over.’

‘That’s a start,’ Featherstone said. ‘But we can’t hold a suspect in custody while we wait for a DNA comparison. So what’s the plan?’

‘I need to keep him rattled. Keep him off balance. Let me keep him locked up for a few hours.’ Sean spoke quietly, suppressing his anger. ‘Then I’ll bail him, once he’s nice and wound up, not thinking straight. The surveillance team can pick him up the second he leaves the station.’

Featherstone inhaled deeply. ‘Okay. We’ll play it your way, but be careful with this one, Sean. Hellier has some very powerful friends.’

‘Thanks for the warning.’

‘One other thing,’ Featherstone said as Sean turned to leave. ‘What’s this I hear about the victim in Shepherd’s Bush saying she’d met you the night she was killed?’

‘You heard?’

‘There’s not much I don’t get to hear about.’

‘Hellier likes to play games.’

‘You need to be careful,’ Featherstone warned him again. ‘Be very careful. People are watching this case. People are watching you. My advice – make sure you can prove where you were and who you were with the night Linda Kotler was killed.’

‘You can’t be serious?’ Sean asked, incredulous. ‘You don’t actually think …?’

‘Not me,’ Featherstone assured him. ‘But this investigation is turning out to be more complex than anyone expected. It’s making the powers that be very nervous, Sean.’

Sean felt a huge weight pressing down on him, as if Featherstone’s words and inferred suspicion were slowly crushing the life out of him. ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ he said curtly, turning his back on the superintendent and walking out of the room.

He made his way along the corridor and into the communal toilet. After checking to make sure he was alone, he filled a sink with cold water and bent low over it, scooping up handfuls and burying his face in it before straightening to meet his own reflection staring back. His eyes were sunken with tiredness and dehydration. Featherstone’s words still ringing around inside his head. He reached out for the reflection, but the image looking back at him kept distorting to someone else: to the disfigured image of Daniel Graydon, the horrified face of Heather Freeman, and finally Linda Kotler, contorted with agony and fear. He rubbed the mirror, smearing it with water then waiting for it to clear. When it did, it was his own face again, staring back and asking the question: could he have killed Linda Kotler? He swallowed drily, remembering the images he’d seen in his head at the murder scenes and other murder scenes in the past. Not for the first time he found himself asking another question: were these images from his projected imagination, or were they memories – memories of crimes he had committed?

‘You were at home with Kate the night Linda Kotler died, and the same when Daniel Graydon was killed – you were at home.’ Desperately he tried to remember where he’d been the evening Heather Freeman was killed, but he couldn’t. He felt the panic seeping through his very soul. ‘You were with your wife,’ he hissed into the mirror, but he couldn’t chase away the doubt, the possibility he was no different from half the inmates of Broadmoor. Could it be that his home life was a fantasy, his wife a figment of his imagination, his entire family nothing more than a mirage – a projection of what he wanted most but could never have?

‘No,’ he banged the mirror with the underside of his fist. ‘For Christ’s sake, get a grip. You’re tired, that’s all. You solved those other murders. The people who did them are locked up for life because of you.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Hellier killed these people, not me. I’m real. My life is real. It’s real.’

Suddenly the door was thrown open by a uniformed officer desperate for the toilet. He stalled for a second at the sight of Sean standing in front of the mirror, face dripping wet, hands gripping the basin. With a brief nod at Sean, he disappeared into a cubicle. When the door closed behind him, Sean quickly dried his hands on a bunch of paper towels and made for the exit.

Sally entered Che shortly after 1 p.m. and immediately spotted Gibran seated at a table, sipping a glass of amber-coloured wine. He stood when he saw her. A waiter pulled a chair out for her as Gibran indicated for her to sit with a wave of his hand and a smile.

‘DS Jones. I’m very grateful you were able to see me.’

‘Please,’ she said. ‘Call me Sally.’

‘Sally, of course. And you must call me Sebastian – deal?’

‘Deal,’ Sally agreed.

‘Can I get you a drink? Or is that against the rules? I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.’ He gave Sally a boyish grin full of mischief. She already felt relaxed in his company.

‘Why not? Whatever you’re having will be fine.’

Gibran nodded once at the nearby waiter, who scuttled away immediately. ‘The venison here is excellent,’ he informed her, ‘but a little fussy for my taste. You’ll find I’m a simple man with simple tastes, except when it comes to people, of course.’

It seemed to Sally that he was trying to impress her with his modesty and down-to-earth attitude, despite his obvious wealth and influence. She was duly impressed, but she wasn’t about to let it show. Not yet.

‘So, what is it I can do for you, Sebastian?’

‘Straight to the point.’ He stalled while the waiter served Sally’s wine. ‘I hope you like it. Dominico here tells me it’s a very fine Sancerre and as I am nowhere near as well informed in these matters, I’m completely in his hands.’ Gibran waited for the wine waiter to leave before speaking again. ‘You must tell me if the wine’s any good, then I’ll know whether Dominico’s been ripping me off the last few years.’

She took a sip and smiled at him, holding his gaze for a little too long. She concentrated on sounding businesslike. ‘It’s very nice, thank you. Now, why am I here?’

‘I wish I could say it was purely for pleasure, but I’m guessing you’ve already assumed that’s not the case.’

‘I’m a detective. I try not to make assumptions.’

‘Of course. Sorry,’ Gibran said with natural charm. ‘We’re here because we have a mutual interest in a certain party.’

‘James Hellier?’

‘Yes,’ he confirmed, his expression suddenly serious, the flirtatious, boyish personality evaporating in an instant.

‘Mr Gibran − Sebastian. If you’re here to try and somehow influence my opinion of Hellier’s involvement in this case, then I should warn you—’

‘That’s not my intention,’ Gibran insisted, tapping his glass while speaking. ‘I wouldn’t insult your intelligence. I thought you should know my feelings on the subject, that’s all.’

‘Your feelings on the subject would only be of interest to me if they were somehow relevant to our investigation. So, are they?’

‘To be honest, I’m not sure if it’s relevant or not. I just thought someone connected to the investigation should know, which is why I called you.’

‘Why didn’t you contact DI Corrigan?’

‘I get the feeling he’s not my biggest fan.’

‘Well, I’m here,’ Sally said with an air of resignation. ‘So what is it you think I should know about?’

‘How can I put this?’ Gibran began. ‘When James first came to us, he was a model employee. He served the firm above and beyond all expectations for several years.’ He paused. ‘However …’

‘However what?’ Sally encouraged.

‘I’m sorry.’ Gibran shook his head. ‘It’s not in my nature to talk out of school. I would imagine it’s the same in your job: rule number one being to look out for each other.’

‘Well, you haven’t broken any rules yet, because so far you haven’t told me anything.’

‘And under normal circumstances I wouldn’t tell you.’ Gibran’s blue eyes drilled deeply into Sally’s, showing her a flash of his true power and status. She found him no less attractive for it. ‘It’s just that, lately, well, I’ve found his behaviour to be somewhat … erratic. Unpredictable. Troubling, even. Half the time I don’t know where he is, or who he’s with. He’s missed several high-profile meetings the last few weeks, all of which is out of character.’ Gibran appeared genuinely concerned.

‘When did you first become aware of this change in personality?’ Sally asked.

‘I suppose it started a couple of months ago. And now this latest episode, the police raiding our office, dragging James away like a common criminal. Not exactly the image we’re hoping to portray at Butler and Mason.’

‘No. I don’t suppose it is.’

Gibran leaned across the table, and spoke quietly. ‘Do you really believe he killed that man? Is James capable of such a thing?’

‘What do you think?’ Sally asked.

Gibran leaned away again before replying. ‘I’m not sure, to be honest. Not now. My head’s spinning a little at the moment. I’m coming under some fairly intense pressure from above to resolve this situation.’

‘Has something happened to make you feel that way?’

Gibran sipped his wine before answering. ‘The other day, I went to James’s office to speak to him, to see what I could find out.’

‘I hope you haven’t been playing amateur detective,’ Sally warned him. ‘That could cause us procedural difficulties, especially if you’ve questioned him at all.’

‘No,’ Gibran replied hastily. ‘Nothing like that. But you should understand that I am responsible for a great many things at Butler and Mason and a great many employees. I am, if you like, Butler and Mason’s own internal police force. I will do whatever I have to do to protect the firm and the people within it. If James is putting either at risk, then …’ Gibran let his statement linger.

‘You do what you have to do. But make sure you don’t cross over into our criminal investigation. That would leave us both in a compromised position.’

‘I understand,’ Gibran assured her. ‘You’ve made yourself clear. I have no wish to fall out with the police, especially you.’

‘Good,’ Sally ended the debate. ‘So what did Hellier have to say for himself during this little chat you and he had?’

‘Nothing specific. He seemed very distracted.’

‘Not surprising,’ Sally said dismissively.

‘Indeed. But it was more a feeling I had,’ Gibran explained. ‘I’ve known James for several years and this was the first time I’ve ever felt … well, uncomfortable in his presence, even a little intimidated.’

‘Go on.’

‘I almost felt as if for the first time I was meeting the real James Hellier, and that the person I’d known up till now didn’t really exist.

‘Tell me, Sally,’ Gibran asked, his tone suddenly light-hearted, ‘are you familiar with the work of Friedrich Nietzsche?’

‘I can’t say that I am,’ Sally admitted.

‘Not many people are.’ Gibran dismissed Sally’s lack of knowledge before it could make her uncomfortable. ‘He was a philosopher who believed in men being ruled over by a select group of benevolent supermen. Nonsense, of course. I was talking to James about it, trying to relax him, make him feel less like he was being interviewed, but I almost felt as if James believed in it. I mean, really believed it. He started talking about living his life beyond good and evil, as Nietzsche had decreed. Normally I would have dismissed it, but given all that’s happened, suddenly it sounded … sinister.’

‘Is that it?’

‘Like I said,’ Gibran replied, leaning back into his comfortable chair, ‘it was just a feeling.’

‘Well,’ Sally said after a long pause. ‘If you find or feel anything else, you know how to get hold of me.’

‘Of course.’ Gibran looked around him uncomfortably. ‘You take someone under your wing. You trust them, think you know them. Then all this happens.’ He sipped his wine. ‘He’s not the man I used to know. He may seem the same, but he’s different. To answer your original question: do I think James could be involved in killing those people? The truth is, I simply don’t know any more. The fact I can’t dismiss it out of hand is bad enough, I dread to think …’

‘One way or another, we’ll all know the answer soon enough.’

‘Excuse me?’ he asked.

‘Nothing,’ she said quickly, recovering herself. ‘Nothing at all.’

‘Good,’ he declared. ‘Now that’s out of the way, we can enjoy our lunch. I do hope you don’t have to run off anywhere. It’ll make a change to have a civilized lunch with someone who isn’t boring me out of my mind with their latest get-rich-quick idea.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m due a break. Besides, I don’t think I could stand the sight of another sandwich.’

‘Then here’s to you,’ he said, raising his glass slightly. ‘Here’s to us.’

Sally returned the toast with a cautious smile. ‘To us.’

‘It must be difficult,’ said Gibran, suddenly cryptic.

‘What must?’

‘Learning how to use all that power you have without abusing it. I mean, I meet a lot of people who truly believe they’re powerful, but power through money and influence has its limits. Being a police officer, to have the power to literally take someone’s human rights away from them, to take their freedom from them – now that’s real power.’

‘We don’t remove people’s human rights; we can only temporarily remove their civil rights,’ Sally explained.

‘All the same,’ Gibran continued, ‘it must be very difficult.’

‘Maybe, at first. But you get used to it, and before long you don’t even think about it.’

‘I’m guessing it can make relationships with men very difficult. So many are intimidated by powerful women. We like to think the power is always with us, so to be involved with a cop would be, I guess, challenging.’

‘And are you?’ Sally asked. ‘Intimidated?’

‘No,’ Gibran answered, his face as serious as Sally had seen him. ‘But then again, I’m not like most men.’

Sally looked at him for as long as she could without speaking, trying to read his thoughts. Gibran broke the silence.

‘One thing that’s always fascinated me,’ he continued, ‘is how people who seem to have been born to kill somehow find each other, as if they can recognize their own kind when they meet them: Hindley and Brady, Venables and Thompson, Fred and Rosemary West, and God knows how many others. How do they find each other?’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Sally answered. ‘That’s my boss’s field of expertise. He’s a bit more instinctive than most.’

‘DI Corrigan? Interesting,’ Gibran said. ‘When you say he’s instinctive, what do you mean?’

‘Just that he seems to know things. He sees things that no one else can see.’ Sally suddenly felt uncomfortable discussing Sean with an outsider, as if she was somehow betraying him. Gibran sensed her mood.

‘An interesting man, your DI Corrigan. Do you think perhaps it’s his dark side that makes him so good?’

Sally was impressed. It struck her that many of the same qualities she saw in Sean were present in Gibran. She decided that if Sean could ever get beyond his preconceived ideas of Gibran, he would probably like him.

‘DI Corrigan’s a lot of things, but I’ve never seen anything you would call a dark side. It’s more a question of him being willing and able to search for answers in those dark places the rest of us are too afraid to go, in case we see something about ourselves we don’t like.’

Gibran nodded his understanding and approval. ‘It’s because he’s prepared to accept his responsibilities,’ he said. ‘And it sounds as if we have more in common than either of us understood. Perhaps when this is all over and he sees me for what I am and not what he thinks I am, we’ll have a chance to speak on friendly terms.’

‘Don’t hold your breath,’ Sally warned him.

‘No,’ Gibran answered, ‘I don’t suppose I will.’ Again they took a moment to look at each other silently before Gibran spoke again. ‘But there’s one thing I must make clear to you − I cannot and will not let anything or anybody put the reputation of Butler and Mason at risk. Of course, I respect the fact your police investigation must take priority, but other than that I will do what must be done to finish this matter with James one way or another, for better or for worse for him.’

Sally glanced away for a second as if considering his words. Then she looked him in the eye. ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘You do that. Provided you tell us everything we need to know about Hellier, you have my word we won’t interfere in any internal decisions your company makes about him. But tread carefully, Sebastian, for both our sakes.’

Hellier glanced at his watch. Almost five thirty p.m. The police had been deliberately slow in bailing him. DI Corrigan had been conspicuous by his absence. No matter. He had enough time. Just.

He wore the clean clothes that Templeman had arranged. The police had seized the ones he’d been wearing and once again they’d emptied the wardrobe and drawers back at his house. They didn’t have much to take this time around. He was still in the process of refilling them after the first raid when they’d seized every item of clothing he possessed. Corrigan was costing him a fortune.

There was no time to go home first. Never mind. He had done well to plan in advance. He had a change of clothes, his phone and the weapon waiting for him. Not that he was expecting a fight. He was the master of gaining instant control. Years of practice ensured that his strength was seldom matched. He feared nothing and nobody, but the gun was nice insurance all the same.

He stood on the front steps of Peckham police station. He’d already exchanged farewells with Templeman, who had no idea how final Hellier had meant it to be. One more thing to take care of and then he would be gone. He didn’t anticipate needing Templeman’s services again.

He scanned up and down the street. They were back. Did Corrigan never learn his lesson? Fine. If they wanted him to make fools of them again, he was happy to oblige. He looked for a black cab. This was Peckham. There were none. Realizing that he stood out far more than he wanted to, he began walking towards what passed for the centre of this south-east London suburb.

Hellier entered the first mini-cab office he came across. A group of elderly, cheerful West Indian men sat around smoking and laughing loudly at some joke Hellier had just missed. One of the men spoke. He spoke slowly and thoughtfully, curbing his accent enough for Hellier to understand.

‘Yes, sir. What can I be doing for you today?’ he asked.

‘I need to get to London Bridge.’

‘No problem, sir. I’ll take you myself,’ the cabbie replied. Seconds later the car pulled away, and as it did so, six other cars and four motorbikes began to move with it. The driver was unaware he had become the focus of so much police attention, but Hellier knew they were there. Occasionally he stole a glance in the nearside wing mirror. He spotted one of the motorbikes, nothing else; but he didn’t have to see them to know they were there.

‘Lovely day,’ Hellier said to the driver.

‘Yeah, man,’ the driver beamed. ‘Just like being back in Jamaica.’ They both laughed.

Sean was back at his desk, weighing up the options. So far he’d come up with a dozen what ifs, but none of them helped the investigation. None of them helped him. He’d had no choice but to let Hellier walk away on police bail. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself to be patient. When the DNA results came back he could bury Hellier. He was certain of it.

He rubbed his tired eyes with the sides of both fists. For a second he couldn’t see properly. When they cleared, he found himself focused on his computer screen, reminding him he needed to check his emails. It was the first chance he’d had to check his inbox. Amongst the dozens of emails there was one from SO11. The details of the telephone numbers from Hellier’s address book. He wasn’t in the mood to start ploughing through names and numbers; his quota of patience had been used up hours ago. He peered out into the main office, looking for anyone he could delegate it to, but everyone appeared busy. His conscience got the better of him and he started to read through the list himself.

Most appeared to be the numbers of banks, both in the UK and abroad. Other numbers were of accountants, diamond dealers, gold merchants, platinum traders. Hundreds of names, but only a handful of personal numbers. He paid particular attention to these. He read through the names slowly and deliberately. Daniel Graydon’s number was there, as he’d expected: both his home and mobile numbers. So what? It meant nothing, now that Hellier admitted knowing him. He checked for the names of the two other victims, Heather Freeman and Linda Kotler. He didn’t expect to find the runaway’s name, but perhaps Kotler’s. It wasn’t there. He was disappointed, but not surprised.

The mini-cab dropped Hellier off on the outside concourse at London Bridge. He was delighted to see thousands joining the great commute home and even considered waving along the street at the police following him. He couldn’t see them, but he knew they would be able to see him. A little wave would get them thinking, but he resisted the temptation – this was no time to show off. Soon he’d be gone, but first he had some business to take care of. Top of the list being his mysterious friend.

He’d considered leaving, not even bothering to meet the man, but he wasn’t a gambler. He only played when he could manage the risks, and that meant finding out what this man knew, if anything. Could he damage him? Hurt him? Hellier had to find out. No loose ends, he reminded himself. Leave things nice and tidy, just how he liked it. That didn’t mean there wasn’t time for one last thrill. One last indulgence.

Hellier walked fast into the train station, ducking into WH Smiths, watching the main entrance through the magazine shelf, waiting for the surveillance team to enter. They were good, only one standing out as she scanned the crowds for him. Commuters never looked around. They were on auto-pilot. She stood out like an amateur, but the others were invisible.

He took the other exit from the shop and walked back across the inside concourse and out the same exit he’d entered, all the while trying to remember the faces he passed. If he saw them again he would assume they were police. He crossed the short distance to the underground station, stopping suddenly at the top of the stairs and spinning around. No one reacted. A smile spread across his lips. They were very good indeed.

Once again he descended into the underground that had served him so well in the past. He followed his normal anti-surveillance pattern, tactics designed to lose even the best: travelling short distances on trains and then stepping off at the last moment, walking swiftly through tunnels, past zombified commuters, on to another train and away again. Over and over he repeated the procedure, but they stayed with him, leaving him both annoyed and impressed. No matter. As always, James Hellier was one step ahead.

Finally he arrived in Farringdon and made his way to the bar he had chosen the day before. It was busy enough but not heaving. Ideal. He headed straight to the toilet unnoticed. The cubicle he wanted was unoccupied. Two customers stood at the urinals, not noticing him as he shut the door. He didn’t have time to wait for them to leave – in fact, it was better they were there. Soon the police would be here, inside the bar looking for him. He began to undress.

Sean’s mobile vibrated on the desk in front of him. He kept reading the email as he answered absentmindedly. ‘Hello.’

‘Guv. It’s Jean Colville.’ Sean recognized the surveillance team’s DS. ‘Your man certainly knows his counter-surveillance tactics.’

‘I noticed,’ said Sean ironically. ‘Where are you?’

‘Farringdon. Trying to keep up with your target. He’s in a bar in Farringdon Road. He gave us the right run around, but we’re still on him. Bit thin on the ground, but the others are doing their best to catch up.’

‘Is the bar covered?’ Sean asked, concerned.

‘Just. I got one unit around the back – there’s only one exit there. Three in the bar and two more out the front. Apparently your man’s in the toilet. There’s no other way out of there other than the door leading to the bar. So as long as he stays in there, we’re solid.’

‘Good.’ Sean breathed easier. ‘Don’t give this one an inch. If you can’t see what he’s doing, assume he’s doing something we’d rather he wasn’t.’

‘Understood. I’ll call you if the situation changes.’

‘It’ll change,’ Sean warned her. ‘Just be ready when it does.’ He hung up.

‘Problem?’ Donnelly asked, appearing at Sean’s open door.

‘Not yet,’ Sean replied. ‘They’ve followed Hellier to Farringdon.’

‘Well, so long as they don’t lose him this time. By the way, you should know Jonnie Dempsey has turned up. Handed himself in at Walworth. The locals are holding him for us. Apparently he’s telling them that he’d been helping himself to a portion of the night’s takings from his till on a regular basis. He thought the management were on to him, so he took off. When he heard the place was crawling with Old Bill, he decided to lay low. But eventually he decided things were getting a bit too serious to ignore and thought it best to hand himself in.’

‘Scratch one suspect,’ Sean said.

He saw Sally enter the main office. He hadn’t spoken with her since that morning. He caught her eye and beckoned her over. ‘How did your meeting with Gibran go?’ he asked.

Sally took a seat without being invited. ‘It was interesting enough. He certainly didn’t give me any reason to suspect Hellier less. Said he’d been acting out of character lately, missing appointments and so on, and that he felt he was only now seeing the real James Hellier. That the other Hellier, before this all started happening, was the fake. He also said Hellier had been rambling on about living his life beyond good and evil.’

‘Nietzsche,’ Sean spoke involuntarily.

‘Pardon?’ Donnelly asked.

‘Nothing,’ said Sean. ‘It’s not important. Anything else?’ he asked Sally.

‘Not really,’ she replied. ‘He was probably just trying to find out what we knew.’

‘So long as he paid for lunch,’ Donnelly said.

‘As a matter of fact, he did,’ Sally told him. ‘Which is more than you’ve ever done,’ she added.

‘Harsh, but fair,’ said Donnelly.

‘What did you do with the rest of the afternoon?’ Sean asked, not meaning to sound as though he was checking on her.

‘Lunch took longer than I’d expected.’ She blushed, recalling her time with Gibran and how she’d been in no rush to end their meeting. ‘After that I chased up some inquiries at the Public Records Office, but they didn’t have my results yet. I hear Hellier’s been bailed.’

‘We can’t hold him until the DNA results are confirmed,’ Sean explained. ‘Takes too long.’

‘And if the DNA isn’t Hellier’s?’ she asked.

‘Then I’ll be in the shit,’ Sean said bluntly. ‘So don’t be standing too close.’

Hellier had been in the toilet for less than a minute. He could hear people coming and going outside the cubicle. He moved quickly now. Unconcerned about noise. He stood in only his underpants and socks.

He lifted the lid of the toilet cistern and placed it on the toilet seat. He pulled the plastic bag from the cistern and untied it. Carefully he undid the parcel and laid out the gun and spare magazine. He checked his watch. Six forty-five. Fifteen minutes to spare. He clicked the battery back into the mobile phone. He would turn it on once he’d left the bar.

He dressed in the tracksuit, T-shirt and trainers. He stuffed the gun in the back of his waistband and tied the trouser cord tight. He put the phone in one of the top’s pockets and the spare magazine in the other.

Finally he unwrapped the remaining cloth. He twisted the lid off the tube of theatrical glue and rubbed a little on the back of the fake moustache. He stuck it under his lip, using touch to ensure it was placed perfectly. Next he did the same with the matching eyebrows. The wig he donned last. He didn’t need a mirror to know his appearance had been transformed. He smiled to himself.

He neatly folded his discarded clothes and placed them along with his shoes into the plastic bag. He replaced it in the cistern. He might need it later. You could never tell. He delicately replaced the cistern’s lid. One last deep breath to compose himself and he left the cubicle. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he left. He smiled. He walked out of the toilet and then he walked out of the bar.

DS Colville checked her watch. Ten minutes had passed and still the only updates she was hearing on her team’s covert body-set radios were ‘No change.’ Sean’s words rang loudly in her head. She spoke into the radio.

‘I don’t like this. Tango Four, check inside the toilet.’

Her radio made a double-click sound. The officer code named Tango Four had received and understood her transmission. She waited for an update. Two minutes passed. They seemed like two hours. Her radio hissed into life.

‘Control. Control. Tango Four.’

‘Go. Go,’ she instructed.

‘We have a problem, Control.’

DS Colville gritted her teeth. ‘Expand, over.’

‘Target One isn’t in the toilet, over.’

‘Does any unit have eyeball on Target One?’ she called into her radio. Silence was her only answer. ‘Look for him, people. Does anyone have eyeball on Target One?’ Silence.

She turned to the detective driving their unmarked car. ‘I don’t believe this,’ she muttered. ‘Okay. Target is a loss. Repeat target is a loss. All units bomb burst. Foot units search the bar. Everyone else swamp the surrounding area. Find him.’

Throwing the radio on to the dashboard in disgust, she reached for her mobile phone. She searched the phone’s menu for Sean’s number.

Sean listened as DS Colville told him what he most dreaded hearing. Hellier was on the loose once more. ‘How?’ he said into the phone.

‘We don’t know,’ DS Colville replied. ‘We had him cornered in the toilet one minute, then, he disappears. No one sees him leave. We didn’t miss anything. He just disappeared. We’ll keep searching the area until we pick him up.’

‘Save yourselves the bother,’ Sean said wearily. ‘You won’t find him until he wants to be found. Cover his house and office. Call me when he turns up.’ He hung up.

‘Please tell me that wasn’t what I think it was?’ Sally said.

‘I wish I could.’

‘How?’ Sally asked.

‘It doesn’t matter how.’

‘What now?’ Donnelly asked.

‘We keep our heads,’ Sean told them. ‘Hope he resurfaces. In the meantime, contact Special Branch and get a photograph of Hellier to them. Make sure they circulate it to all ports of exit, planes, trains, everywhere.’

‘You think he’ll try and skip the country?’ Sally asked.

‘DNA evidence is difficult to argue against. Hellier knows that. Perhaps he’s decided he has no choice but to run.’

‘Is that his style, to run?’ Sally didn’t look convinced.

‘He’s a survivor,’ said Sean. ‘He’ll do whatever it takes to survive. If that means running, then he’ll run.’

Hellier sat on a bench in Regent’s Park waiting for the friend to call. He had said he would call at seven. It was now almost half past.

What was this damn game? Hellier had no friends. No real friends. Most likely it was a journalist, trying to set him up. He stared at the phone in the palm of his hand, willing it to ring. He had to know who the friend was. His overpowering need to control everything meant he simply had to know. Once he knew, once he decided whether they were a threat or not, he would deal with them accordingly. After that, home. The children he would leave alone, but his wife; she would be his parting gift to DI Corrigan.

The police would be watching his home though. He would have to be careful. He would let his wife take the children to school in the morning. He would fake illness. When she returned, he would be waiting for her. After he’d finished with her he’d spend the rest of the day running the police around town. He would lead them a merry song and dance for hours. They could never stay with him for that long. Not him. He knew their tactics too well. And once he was certain he had lost them, he would disappear.

By the time they became suspicious and broke into his house, it would be too late. He would be thirty thousand feet above their heads. A false passport was already waiting for him in a Hampstead fine china shop. Once he collected the tickets, he would catch a train to Birmingham. His flight for Rome left at 8 p.m. After a two-hour wait at Rome Airport he would board a connecting flight to Singapore. Two flights later he would arrive in his new home.

His phone began to vibrate. He answered it calmly. ‘James Hellier.’

‘It’s me,’ said the friend’s voice. ‘Sorry I’m late.’

‘I don’t like being kept waiting.’ Hellier wanted to dominate. ‘This is your last chance to impress me.’

‘Oh. You’ll be impressed. I can guarantee that.’ Hellier sensed a change in the friend’s voice. He thought he could detect an arrogance that hadn’t been there previously. There was a hint of danger, too. He didn’t like it.

‘I’m going to ask you a question,’ Hellier responded, determined to take charge, show his strength. ‘You will answer yes or no. You have three seconds exactly to answer. If you answer no or fail to answer in the time allowed, I will hang up and we will never contact each other again. Understood?’

‘I understand.’ The voice didn’t argue. Hellier had expected he would.

‘Will you meet me?’ Hellier asked. ‘Tonight?’

‘Yes,’ the friend answered on the count of two. ‘As long as you promise you’ll do one thing.’

‘I don’t make promises to people I don’t know,’ Hellier answered.

‘Stay away from other people until we meet,’ the voice asked regardless. ‘No bars or restaurants, and don’t go home or to your office. The police will be waiting there. Stay alone. Stay hidden.’

Now Hellier understood. In that second it had become all too clear to him. It all made sense. His eyes opened wide as he realized who he was speaking with. Who else could it be?

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll do as you say until we meet.’

‘I will call you, later tonight, and let you know when and where. Agreed?’

‘Agreed.’ Hellier hung up.

What did his friend expect? That he would hide in a bush in the park, like a frightened, wounded animal? Not him. This was London, one of his favourite playgrounds. And he had so little time left to play.

No. He had better things to do than cower and wait.

‘I know who you are, my friend.’ He spoke to himself. ‘And when we meet, you’ll tell me a thing or two. Then I’ll feed you your own testicles, before I gut you like a pig.’

Sean arrived home late, again. He’d hoped Kate would be in bed, but as he quietly opened the front door he could sense her presence. He followed the glow coming from the kitchen and found her tapping at her laptop, hair tied back, heavy glasses adorning her fine-boned face. ‘You’re up late,’ was all he could think of to say.

‘You’re not the only one who has to work late. I work too, remember?’ This was not how Sean wanted the conversation to begin. He’d had enough conflict for one day. ‘I need to get this plan for restructuring the A and E Department finished or I might not be part of the new structure myself.’ Again Sean didn’t answer. ‘You’re not really interested, are you?’

‘Sorry?’ Sean asked over his shoulder.

‘Never mind,’ she snapped, shaking her head with disapproval. ‘We’ve been invited to dinner at Joe and Tim’s next weekend, so make sure you book the night off, all right?’

‘Err …’ escaped Sean’s lips.

‘Well, I’m overwhelmed by your enthusiasm at the thought of spending an evening with me,’ Kate said sarcastically.

‘It’s not you,’ Sean tried to assure her.

‘I thought you liked Tim, and there’ll be other people there too,’ Kate encouraged.

‘I don’t know Tim. I’ve met him, but I don’t know him.’

‘Come on, Sean,’ Kate appealed. ‘Just book the time off.’

‘It’s not that easy, is it?’

‘Why?’ Kate asked. ‘Can’t you bear being away from your police friends even for one night?’

‘They’re not my friends,’ Sean answered too quickly.

‘Whatever, Sean, but you know and I know that you can’t stand to be with “non-police” people,’ Kate simulated quotation marks with her fingers, ‘because you’re all so fucking important that the rest of us mere mortals might as well not exist. True?’

Sean waited a long time before answering. ‘Don’t swear. I don’t like it when you swear.’

‘Well stop giving me so fucking much to swear about.’ Sean turned his back. ‘Come on, Sean,’ Kate softened. ‘I don’t sell insurance for a living, I’m a doctor in Guy’s A and E. Whatever awful things you’ve seen, I’ve seen them too, but I manage to lower myself to speak to people who live normal lives – so why can’t you?’

‘Because they’re …’ Sean managed to stop himself answering truthfully, but it was too late.

‘Because they’re what?’ Kate pursued him. ‘Because they’re boring, because they bore you?’

‘Jesus, Kate,’ he protested. ‘Give it a rest, will you?’

‘So you’re never going to speak to anyone again who isn’t a cop?’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘No, it’s not. It’s the truth.’

Sean grabbed a bottle of bourbon from one of the kitchen cupboards, a glass from another and poured himself a generous measure. He took a sip before speaking again. ‘Christ, you know what it’s like. As soon as people find out what I do, all they want to talk to me about is the job, fishing for the gory details. They haven’t got a bloody clue. If they did, they wouldn’t ask.’

‘Maybe it’s us who haven’t got a clue, Sean,’ Kate said quietly. ‘Maybe we’re the ones who’ve got it all wrong, wasting our lives knee-deep in life’s crap.’

‘Why, because we know the truth? Because we know life isn’t really a shiny advert?’ Sean argued. ‘I’d rather be awake and live in isolation than be like all those mugs out there, walking around without a fucking clue.’

Kate breathed in deeply and cleared her head. She’d dealt with this before and knew she’d have to deal with it again. ‘Is this about your childhood or about being a detective?’

‘Oh, come on, Kate. Let’s not get into that, not now,’ Sean answered.

‘Okay,’ Kate agreed. ‘But if you ever need to talk about it, I’m here.’

‘I’m tired, that’s all. I’m fine,’ Sean insisted. ‘I’m just very tired.’

‘Of course you’re tired,’ Kate agreed. ‘You haven’t slept more than three hours a night since this new one started. Look, I’m going to bed. Why don’t you come with me?’

‘I need a minute or two to unwind,’ Sean told her. ‘I’ll be there soon.’

‘Come now,’ Kate pleaded. ‘I’ll rub your shoulders while you fall asleep.’

‘I’ll be there in a few minutes – promise,’ he lied. The thought of tossing and turning, fighting the ever-present demons was unbearable.

‘Don’t be long,’ she said, turning from him.

He watched her move from the kitchen table and glide towards the stairs, once looking over her shoulder to smile at him, the harsh words of seconds ago forgotten, at least by her. Once she was out of sight, Sean reached for the bottle of bourbon and poured another generous measure.

Sally parked her car close to her flat. Sean had sent them all home. They might as well get a few hours’ sleep before Hellier turned up again, if he ever did. She searched for her front door keys buried deep in the bottom of her handbag. Breaking one of her own rules – never stand at the front door fumbling for house keys.

‘For God’s sake,’ she grumbled, losing her grip of her handbag and spilling the contents on to the ground. She stared at the disaster. ‘Fucking great.’

Sally knelt down and began to collect the debris. At least she’d found her keys. Something made her spin around. Still kneeling, she surveyed the area around her. Suddenly she couldn’t remember what had startled her. She gave a nervous laugh and gathered the rest of her belongings.

She stood and looked along the street. It was almost unnaturally quiet. The way only city streets could be in the night. Somewhere streets away a dog barked. The sound somehow made her feel better. She unlocked the communal front door, entered and closed it behind her. She pressed the light timer switch in the hallway, giving her thirty seconds of light before the darkness returned.

Hurriedly she climbed the stairs to her first-floor flat, again fumbling for her keys and cursing herself. Why was she nervous? Slow down. Put the key in the lock and turn it. The door opened. She almost fell in to the flat. She hadn’t realized she’d been leaning on the door so hard. Closing the door behind her, she threw the bolts across the bottom and top.

She disliked the harsher overhead lights, choosing instead to walk across the dark room she knew so well to the lamp in the far corner. She reached for the lamp switch, but something touched her hand. Material. Silk or nylon. She didn’t understand. She recoiled as if she’d touched a spider’s web, but curiosity overcame her fear. She moved her hand through the darkness to the lamp. Again the material. She pushed her hand through it, finding the switch and turning the lamp on. Light shone through the red silk neck scarf that was now draped over it. It had been a present to herself for Christmas. The room glowed red. This wasn’t right. A cool breeze brushed against her face. It came from the kitchen. That shouldn’t be. The window shouldn’t be open.

She felt him behind her. Close enough to hear him breathing. She almost fainted. Then she almost vomited. He was waiting for her to make her move. Like a snake lying within striking distance, but she was frozen. Fear controlled her.

Finally she forced her body to move, turning towards him, inching herself around, desperately trying to recall her self-defence training. Aim a knee for his groin. God help her if she missed. A knee in the groin and then run.

She forced herself to speak. ‘Please.’ Her voice was almost inaudible. ‘Please. You know what I am. Leave now and this won’t go any further. I promise.’ She was face to face with him. She almost fainted again. He stood above her. He was only about five foot ten, but he looked like a giant.

He wore a dark tracksuit and rubber gloves. A tight-knit woollen hat covered his hair. She could see every muscle in his body was tense, his arms rigid by his side. The red lighting made his teeth shine like rubies.

Sally studied his face. It was distorted by the light and his contorted muscles, but she could see him clearly. He was letting her see his face. She knew who he was. Knew he wasn’t going to let her live. She was going to die and nobody else in the world knew. She had so many things she wanted to do. Wanted to say to people, but now she was going to die.