Читать книгу The Keeper - Luke Delaney - Страница 6

Natural light flooded down the staircase and into the room, its brightness temporarily blinding Louise Russell as she blinked to adjust to its harshness, before the noise of a door being quickly but carefully closed took the light away. Louise’s eyes welcomed back the twilight she had grown accustomed to and looked across the room at Karen Green, who was sinking further into the corner of her cage, her fingers curling through and around the wire mesh as if she was bracing herself, anchoring herself against a tide that was about to sweep her away. Louise could hear her trying to stifle her tears as the footsteps on the stairs grew closer. She listened to those footsteps approaching, but they weren’t heavy and dramatic, they were light and made little more than a shuffling, scraping sound that filled her with a fear worse than anything she’d ever experienced.

It was as if her senses were tuned in to the minutest sound, shade, smell, movement in her prison. This was the darkest most desperate place and time of her life, yet she’d never felt so alive. She found herself mimicking her fellow captive as she backed into the furthest corner of her cage, the beat of her own throbbing pulse almost drowning out the gentle footsteps that tentatively crept down towards them.

After what seemed both an agonizingly long time and a desperately short time he appeared at the bottom of the stairs and stepped falteringly into the makeshift dungeon. Louise watched as he paused before slowly moving inside, keeping close to the wall. As far as she could make out he was wearing a dark or grey tracksuit top and bottoms. Still he said nothing as he moved deeper into the room, then suddenly disappeared as if by magic. A second later she heard the springy click of a cord being pulled, followed by the yellow glow of a low-wattage bulb spilling into the subterranean room. The light wasn’t strong enough to trouble her eyes or vision, but it made a huge difference to what she could see clearly. She saw that he’d walked behind a fabric screen, the type used on hospital wards to provide some degree of privacy.

It was like watching a silhouette in a puppet show, as he stood on the other side of the screen, his legs still, his arms and hands moving, busying themselves with something that made dull chinking sounds. Louise heard the rasp of a stiff tap being turned and then running water. He was cheerfully humming a tune she didn’t recognize, a sound more terrifying than any scream or screech in the night. Her mouth was unbearably dry with fear, her throat glued shut with rising panic, her eyes as wide as a wild animal that knows it’s about to be torn to pieces by its tormentors, her fully dilated pupils increasing her night vision at a time when she almost wished she could see nothing, hear nothing and feel nothing.

Louise watched as the silhouette became still, although somehow she knew he had turned to face them. She could hear him breathing deeply, as if he was preparing himself to walk on to a stage and meet his audience. Finally he stepped from behind the screen, this unimpressive man, average height, too slim, with scruffy brown hair and waxy skin. But to her he was vile monster, a hideous beast that threatened her in every way – her dignity, her freedom, her very existence. How could this wretch suddenly have so much power over her?

She could see he was smiling, a non-threatening, friendly smile. She remembered his stained teeth and the stink of his breath from when he took her, the memory pushing vomit-tasting saliva from her stomach into her mouth. Other memories rushed forward now – the smell of his unwashed hair, the stench of his stale sweat infested with stinking microbes, and his hands, his witch’s hands, lingering too long on her breasts. Without warning the deluge of noise from her heart and blood fell silent. She realized he was speaking and it was enough to make her stop breathing, for her heart to stand still, just for a second.

‘Sam? Are you OK? I brought you something; something to drink and a bite to eat if you can manage it. It’s not much, but you’ll feel better if you can manage to eat and drink a little.’ He began to walk towards her carrying a tray on which he balanced a plastic mug of water and plate with a sandwich that looked like something a child would make. He walked in a crouched position as he circled her cage, peering in through the wire bars, smiling all the time while his eyes, wide and excited, darted over her body, stabbing her with a thousand needle-points and making her skin crawl.

‘I’ll have to put the tray through the hatch,’ he told her. ‘It’s better that way, until you understand more. You know what I mean, don’t you, Sam? You always understood what I meant, even when nobody else did. That’s why we’re supposed to be together.’

He took a small key from his tracksuit pocket and unlocked the padlock securing the bolt to the cage’s hatch. Louise watched his every move, wary of his hand suddenly stretching out for her through the hatch, but he merely pushed the tray in and held it, waiting for her to take it. ‘Take the tray,’ he told her. ‘It’s all for you. I’ll come back for it later, when you’ve had enough.’ Louise shuffled forward slowly, tentatively, her eyes never leaving his as she took the tray, which she immediately placed on the ground before shuffling back into the furthest corner of her prison.

‘Try some,’ he encouraged. ‘Drink first though, the chloroform can leave you a bit dehydrated.’

She picked up the plastic mug and looked at it suspiciously, trying to detect any scent that didn’t belong in an innocent drink of water. Finally she sipped it, a sense of relief soon overtaken by the clean, cold taste of fresh water. Suddenly aware how thirsty she was, she gulped it down quickly.

‘Good, eh?’ he said. ‘Don’t drink too much too quickly though, it might make you feel sick.’

Louise stopped drinking and began to dab some of the water around her lips and face, pausing as she remembered the woman locked in the other cage. Was she strong enough to speak to him yet? She decided she needed to try, do something to establish a relationship. She’d seen a programme about a kidnapped woman who’d built a bond with her captor that ultimately saved her life when he could no longer bring himself to kill her as he’d planned. ‘What about her?’ she managed to ask, barely recognizing her own weak, scratchy voice.

‘Who?’ he asked, his smile twitching now, blinking on and off.

Louise looked towards the other animal cage then back to him. ‘Her. Karen. She said her name was Karen.’

He stared coldly into Louise’s face, his smile nothing more than a memory now. ‘You mustn’t talk to her. She’s a liar and a whore. She made me think she was you, but she isn’t.’

Louise watched his face contorting with hatred, his lips pulled back over his teeth like a hyena laughing, the veins in his neck swollen and blue with anger. Sensing that she had put Karen in real and immediate danger, she hurried to undo her mistake. ‘No,’ she told him. ‘She hasn’t said anything, I promise. I made her tell me her name. It wasn’t her fault. Please, there’s too much water here for me. You can give her the rest of this. Please.’

Her desperate attempts to calm his anger towards the woman cowering and whimpering in her cage on the other side of the room seemed to go unheard. He was stalking across the floor, his eyes fixed on Karen.

‘The whore gets nothing!’ he shouted, his voice echoing hollowly in the brick tomb. ‘The whore gets nothing, except what all whores really want.’

Louise covered her ears with her hands, instinctively curling herself into a tight ball pressed against the wire mesh, watching in horror as he drew closer to the only person in the world who shared her nightmare.

‘It wasn’t her fault,’ she forced herself to call out, somehow certain his anger would not be turned on her. ‘Leave her alone, please. She’s done nothing wrong.’ Tears slid down her cheeks, salty through dehydration. Strands of dry, sticky saliva stretched across her mouth like a spider’s web as she silently pleaded with him to stop.

He fumbled in his trouser pocket, trying to remove an object that was bulkier than the keys he had produced earlier. Whatever it was caught on the fabric of his pocket and he tugged violently to free it, his eyes never leaving Karen Green’s cage. ‘I’ll give you what you fucking want, whore.’

Louise tried to close her eyes, tried to look away as Karen desperately pushed herself into the wire at the back of her cage, trying to find a way to escape the approaching madness. She could see what he was holding now. It was the strange box he’d touched her with when she’d first opened the door to him – the thing that had left her paralysed and helpless.

Almost dropping the key in his fury and excitement, he struggled to unlock Karen’s cage, his words slurred and incoherent. Finally he opened the hatch and leaned into the cage. Karen’s scream pierced through the hands that covered Louise’s ears and penetrated into every millimetre of her body.

Karen was pressed hard against the wire, the skin on her face patterned with the squares of the wire cage, blood running down her chin from the split lip that opened raw and painful as she tried to push her body through the tiny holes, all the time imploring him to stop in her faint, defeated voice. ‘Stop. Please stop.’ But he didn’t. Instead he kept getting closer to her, inch by inch. Moving cautiously, as if she was a wild animal that might turn on him, he stabbed out at her with the stun-gun. He repeated the action several times, missing his target and then backing away, extending her misery and dread, until finally he struck her at the base of her spine.

For a split second Karen’s body went rigid and as hard as mahogany, then she collapsed in a jerking, convulsing wreck. Still he maintained his distance, watching her agony with a slight smile spreading across his lips until her convulsions began to subside. Then he moved in, rolling her on to her back and pulling her legs straight. Louise again tried to look away, but couldn’t, any more than she could have looked away from a crystal ball showing her own future. She watched as he tugged and wrenched at his tracksuit pants, exposing his white buttocks, then his long fingers reached for Karen, pulling her filthy knickers down to her knees and shuffling forward as he lay on top of her. Louise heard him moan as he entered Karen, his buttocks moving rhythmically, slowly at first then quickly, brutally, guttural animalistic noises filling the room. Karen, who had stopped convulsing, was lying under him motionless, sobbing, her eyes wide and staring at Louise, accusing her.

Less than a minute later, screams of joy and pleasure signified his climax. His cries faded away to silence. No one spoke and no one moved for what felt like hours, then he tugged at his trousers until they covered his buttocks and still swollen genitals. He backed out of the cage without a word, replacing the lock and bolt, coughing to clear his throat before speaking. He was calm now, but appeared embarrassed, his eyes avoiding Louise’s.

‘I’m sorry,’ he told her. ‘I’m sorry you had to see that, but that’s what she does. She tricks me. She makes me do it. She knows I don’t want to. She knows I don’t like being with her. She makes me feel dirty. I won’t let her trick me again. Not now you’re here, Sam. I promise,’ he told her. ‘I have to leave you for a while. I’ll come back later for the tray. Try to eat something.’

He turned off the light and moved to the staircase, head bowed as if ashamed. She listened to the slow, soft footsteps as they climbed the unseen staircase and then the clank of metal as the unseen door was unlocked. Again there was a flood of daylight that stung her already sore, red eyes. Then gloom once more as the door gently closed.

Louise peered through the gloom towards the figure lying motionless on the concrete floor of her cage making no attempt to cover herself with the little clothing she had. She whispered into the darkness: ‘Karen. Karen. Are you all right? Please, Karen. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

But there was no reply. Instead Karen curled into a tight ball, hugging herself, and began to sing a barely audible song. Louise struggled to make out the words. When she did, she realized it wasn’t a song Karen was singing, it was a nursery rhyme.

Sally and Sean pulled up outside 22 Oakfield Road, the home of Louise and John Russell, early on Wednesday evening. Sally saw an ugly but practical modern townhouse. Sean saw much more – a concealed front door providing privacy from neighbours and passers-by, state-of-the-art double-glazed windows that were virtually impossible to break in through, a street full of near-identical houses inhabited by neighbours who never spoke to one another, a street where only men who lingered too long and youths clad in hooded tracksuits would draw attention.

‘Why’s this place not been preserved for forensics?’ he demanded.

‘No one’s saying anything happened here,’ Sally told him, defending someone else’s decision as if it were her own. ‘This is just the last place anyone saw her.’

‘“Anyone” meaning her husband?’

‘Apparently.’ Only day one of the investigation and Sally already sounded weary.

They abandoned their car at the side of the road and walked the short distance to the driveway of the house. Sean stopped and looked around, silently surveying every inch of the house and street, looking up as well as at eye level. Only cops looked up as they walked. Many of the surrounding houses had lights on although it wasn’t fully dark – people still used to the habits of winter. Sean searched the windows without thinking, his eyes waiting to be attracted to something they hadn’t yet seen. Across the street a curtain twitched as his eyes passed – a neighbour who’d been spying on them guiltily trying to disguise their curiosity. Good, Sean thought, nosy neighbours were often the best witnesses. Sometimes they were the only witnesses. He made a mental note to shake up the neighbour’s world as soon as he’d finished with Russell.

He turned towards the house and saw Sally was already waiting for him at the front door. Impatience was not a trait he’d associated with Sally until Gibran almost ripped the life from her. He reasoned that, like most people who’d sailed too close to death, she could no longer bear to waste a second of life. He strode to the front door faster than he wanted to and reached for the bell before hesitating and using his fist to pound on the door instead.

‘That doorbell must have been pressed a hundred times since she was taken,’ Sally told him. ‘If indeed she was taken. Any forensic use it might have had is long gone.’

‘Good practice is good practice,’ was all he said.

A silhouette inside the house moved quickly to the door and opened it without caution. A tall slim white man in his early thirties stood in front of them. He looked tired and despondent. Everything about him reeked of desperation, not least the way he rushed to the door. He looked disappointed to see them. Sean knew he’d been hoping it was his wife, coming home to beg forgiveness for her infidelity, forgiveness he was all too willing to offer. ‘Yes?’ he said, his voice no less strained than his body and face.

‘John Russell?’ Sally asked.

‘Yes,’ he confirmed.

‘Police,’ Sally informed him bluntly. ‘We’re here about your wife.’

Sean saw the blood drain from Russell’s face and knew what he was thinking. ‘It’s all right,’ he tried to explain. ‘She’s still missing.’ He watched Russell start to breathe again and held his warrant card at eye level so that even through his panic Russell could see it clearly. ‘Detective Inspector Corrigan and this is Detective Sergeant Jones.’ Sally’s face remained blank. ‘May we come in?’

Locked in his moment of private torment, Russell took a few seconds to react and step aside. ‘Sorry. Of course. Please, please come in.’ He closed the door behind them and led the way to a comfortable kitchen-diner.

Sean glanced at the bric-a-brac of the couple’s lives: photographs of holidays together, more elaborately framed photographs of their wedding taking the prime spots on side tables and hallway walls. They looked happy living their unextraordinary lives, content with their lot, blissfully ignorant of the things he saw every day. He guessed they were planning to have children soon.

‘Would either of you like a drink?’ Russell offered.

‘No thanks. We’re fine.’ Sean spoke for both of them. ‘We just wanted to ask you a few questions about your wife, Louise.’

‘OK,’ Russell agreed. Sean could tell he was nervous, but not in a way that suggested guilt.

‘When did you last see her?’ Sean asked.

‘Tuesday morning. I left for work at about eight thirty and she was still here, but when I got home she wasn’t.’

‘And that was unusual?’

‘She nearly always got home before me. I work longer hours.’

‘Did she say she was going out after work? Maybe you didn’t hear her when she told you. Maybe you were distracted. We all live busy lives, Mr Russell,’ Sean suggested. ‘My wife reckons I only hear about a third of what she actually says.’

‘No,’ Russell insisted. ‘We don’t live like that. If she’d been going somewhere or if she was going to be late she would have made sure I knew and I would have remembered. This is all a waste of time anyway. She didn’t go out for a night out with her friends and she hasn’t run off with another man. If you knew her, you wouldn’t think that, you’d be looking for her.’

‘We are looking for her,’ Sean reassured him. ‘That’s why we’re here and that’s why I have to ask some difficult questions.’ Russell didn’t respond. ‘Even the people closest to us sometimes have secrets. If we can find out any secrets Louise had then maybe we can find her.’

‘Louise didn’t have secrets from me,’ Russell insisted.

‘What about you from her?’ Sally asked clumsily. It was a question that needed to be put, but not now. Not yet.

Sean swallowed his frustration with Sally. ‘Maybe something that seemed innocent to you, but that you didn’t want her to know, something that might have upset her enough to make her want to be alone for a few days?’

‘Such as?’ Russell asked.

‘Anything,’ Sean answered. ‘An old girlfriend contacting you or a large bill you’ve been hiding from her because you didn’t want her to worry about it. Maybe she thought it was a breach of trust.’

‘No,’ Russell slammed the door of possibility shut. ‘There are no old girlfriends, no money worries. We’re careful.’

Sean took a few seconds to consider before making his final judgement. Russell had nothing to do with his wife’s disappearance and couldn’t help Sean find her. There would be no secret lover and she wasn’t going to return in a couple of days telling anyone who would listen that she’d needed a little time alone. Something terrible had happened to her, something beyond her husband’s imagination, beyond almost everyone’s imagination. But not Sean’s.

Despite the warmth of the central heating Sean felt the hairs on his arms and neck begin to tingle and rise. He found himself looking back towards the front door. He saw the faceless silhouette of a man coming through the door, knocking Louise Russell to the ground, somehow overpowering her and taking her, dragging her from her own home, the place she felt safest.

He didn’t know how many seconds he’d been absent for when Sally’s voice dragged him back.

‘Guv’nor?’

‘What?’ he replied like a man caught daydreaming.

‘Anything else we need to know?’

‘Yes …’ Sean turned to Russell. ‘You said her car was missing too?’

‘That’s right,’ Russell answered. ‘That was when I realized something was wrong, when I saw her car wasn’t on the drive. I just had a bad feeling. Then I came inside and found her handbag and phone, but she wasn’t here. I’ve already given your colleagues a description of her car and registration number.’ Sean glanced at Sally, who confirmed with a quick nod of her head. ‘Is there anything else you need?’ Russell asked tiredly.

‘No,’ Sean told him. It was obvious the guy had had enough of giving the same answers to the same questions. ‘You’ve been really helpful, thanks.’ Russell said nothing. ‘If I could just ask you to try and avoid the hallway by the front door as much as possible until I can get our forensics people to have a look at it.’ Russell looked at him accusingly. ‘I like to be sure,’ Sean reassured him. ‘Check every possibility.’

‘If you think it’s necessary,’ Russell agreed.

‘Thank you,’ Sean said. ‘And one last thing, before I forget. Who is her best friend? Who would she confide in?’

‘Me,’ Russell told them. ‘She would confide in me.’

Sean and Sally heard the door close softly behind them as they walked down the Russells’ driveway without looking back. Sally spoke quietly: ‘Well?’

‘He’s got nothing to do with it and he can’t help us find her any more than he already has. We both know she hasn’t run away, not without her bag and phone.’

‘We’re not all addicted to handbags,’ Sally reprimanded him, holding out her arms to indicate the absence of a bag.

‘Phone?’ Sean asked, indicating the mobile clutched in Sally’s guilty hand.

‘OK,’ Sally conceded. ‘So what happened?’

‘I don’t know yet,’ Sean answered. ‘He either did her in the hallway by the front door and took her body away in her own car, or he took her alive.’

‘He?’ Sally challenged. ‘You sound like you already know him.’ Sean merely shrugged in reply. ‘So what next?’ she continued.

‘I need you to get hold of Roddis. Have him examine the house properly, concentrating on the hallway, front door, etc. The scene, if it is one, has been well and truly trampled, but you never know your luck. And make sure her car details are circulated if they haven’t been already, then get them marked for forensic preservation – that won’t have been done yet, you can put your mortgage on it.’

‘I’ll see to it,’ Sally assured him while following his eyeline across the street to the house he was staring at. ‘Something I should know?’

‘A twitching curtain,’ Sean told her. ‘When we first pulled up, someone was watching us. The question is, why?’ He started walking towards the house, offering no explanation. Sally followed.

Sean used the doorbell this time and waited impatiently – he already knew someone was at home. There was no glass in the front door, just a spyhole. Clearly the occupier preferred security to natural light. Sean noticed the pristine Neighbourhood Watch sticker attached to the inside of the front-room window. He went to press the doorbell again, but delayed when he felt a presence on the other side of the wooden barrier. They listened as at least two good, heavy deadbolts were withdrawn. Not many people used security like that when they were at home and awake.

The door fell back into the warm house revealing an elderly man in his late sixties or early seventies. He was still quite tall, about Sean’s height, and he held his back straight military-style, although Sean doubted he’d ever actually been a soldier. He wore smart grey trousers and a brown cardigan over a blue shirt that contrasted with the reddening skin pulled over his bony, angular face. His hair was grey and wavy, but still had traces of the blond that had only recently deserted him. He knew who they were but asked them anyway: ‘Who are you and what do you want?’

Sean had already formed a dislike to him. Sally had no opinion; to her he was one more face, one more witness to be spoken to, assessed and categorized before she could escape to the solitude of her own home, away from prying eyes and stupid questions about how she was coping.

Holding up his warrant card for the wannabe soldier, Sean announced: ‘DI Corrigan and this is my colleague DS Jones. We’re making some local inquiries about a missing person. Mind if we ask you a couple of questions?’

‘Do I know this missing person?’

‘I don’t know,’ Sean answered. ‘Do you? Louise Russell, she lives across the road, number twenty-two?’ Sean didn’t let him answer. ‘Do you mind if we come inside? This inquiry’s at a sensitive stage, you understand.’

The man stepped aside reluctantly. ‘Fine, but this won’t take too long, will it?’

‘No.’ Sean passed by him into the neat and orderly house, immediately looking around, his eyes studying every detail. ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch your name,’ Sean prompted as Sally entered the hallway, making a little too much of checking her watch.

‘Levy,’ the man answered. ‘Douglas Levy.’ Sean’s eyes turned from scanning the house to surveying the occupier, dissecting him layer by layer. Was this the man responsible for Louise Russell’s disappearance? Had he watched her every day from behind his twitching curtain, fantasized about her, about having her, taking her, doing things to her that no woman would ever let him do to them? Had he masturbated while thinking about her, did he take himself in hand while he watched her from the window, ejaculating embarrassingly into his own hand, too overcome by his excitement to fetch tissues from the bathroom before he started? And then, after months, maybe even years, had he decided he needed more? Maybe just to touch her once, maybe a kiss, an innocent kiss on the cheek, something to add spice to his fantasies and masturbating. Had he gone too far, touched her in the wrong place, tried to kiss her too hard until she started to scream and fight, and he panicked, hit her, hit her hard and all the time the excitement rising in his groin, the material of his underpants tightening uncomfortably around his swelling penis and then she was unconscious and he was inside her, grunting and rutting like a pig until all too quickly it was over and then he had to kill her, he didn’t want to, but he had to, to stop her telling everyone what he had done, his hands closing around her throat, her eyes bulging, the whites turning red as a thousand unseen capillaries ruptured. Sean found himself studying Levy’s hands for scratch marks. There were none, but Sean knew he was at least partly right about him.

‘Do you live alone, Mr Levy?’ Sean asked.

‘I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything,’ Levy responded, indignant.

‘No,’ Sean agreed, his question unwittingly answered. ‘I see you’re a member of the local Neighbourhood Watch.’

‘Actually, Inspector, I’m the coordinator of the Neighbourhood Watch. You can check with the local police if you don’t believe me.’

‘Why wouldn’t I believe you?’ said Sean, enjoying the discomfort creeping over Levy’s features.

Sally looked on, disinterested and excluded, already convinced Levy was a waste of time as a witness or a suspect.

‘As coordinator of the Neighbourhood Watch, you no doubt keep an eye on things, look out for strangers in the street, keep a watch on your neighbours’ houses when they’re at work and you’re at home alone … I’m sorry,’ Sean finished with an insincere smile, ‘I’ve made an assumption you’re retired.’

‘I am,’ Levy told him, straightening his back as if he was proud of his retired status, although Sean could tell it was killing him, knowing that he’d passed his usefulness sell-by-date.

‘And did you?’ Sean asked.

‘Did I what?’ Levy was struggling to keep up with the conversation, his pink face growing redder with anger and frustration.

‘See anything or anyone in the street the last few days that made you suspicious?’

‘I don’t spend all my time looking out of the window,’ Levy protested.

‘But when you hear something, like a car coming or going, you do,’ Sean suggested.

Levy grew more flustered. ‘Sometimes … maybe … I don’t know, not really.’

‘But you heard us arrive earlier and you watched us through the window. So you like to keep an eye on the comings and goings of the street, yes?’

‘What’s the point of all of this?’ Levy snapped. ‘I know nothing about the woman across the street’s disappearance. I didn’t hear anything and I didn’t see anything.’

Sean studied him in silence for as long as he felt Levy could stand. ‘OK,’ he said finally. ‘Just one more thing. Did anyone ever arrive at the Russells’ house after Mr Russell had left for work but before Mrs Russell set off?’

‘Not that I noticed.’ Levy answered with his eyes closed as if he could somehow block Sean out of his consciousness.

‘Did they ever argue or fight that you know of?’ Sean continued.

‘No,’ Levy insisted. ‘They’re a decent, quiet couple who keep themselves to themselves. Now please, I’m very busy and I think I’ve helped you as much as I can so—’

‘Of course,’ Sean agreed. Levy opened the door a little too quickly and moved aside, waiting for them to leave. ‘Thanks for your time.’

They walked past him and into the growing darkness. The street was quiet with the onset of night and their words would travel too far if they spoke outside, so they waited until they were back in the car. Sally spoke first.

‘Do you mind telling me what that was all about?’ she asked. ‘Given that I doubt even you are seriously considering Levy as a suspect.’

‘Why not? Lives alone, bored out of his skull, nothing to do, nothing to look forward to. The devil finds work for idle hands. He watches her, fantasizes about her until finally he can’t resist it any more so he waits for the husband to go to work and decides to pay Mrs Russell a little visit. But he goes too far and before he knows it he’s a killer. It’s nothing we haven’t seen.’

‘Christ!’ Sally exclaimed. ‘Even if he did fantasize about her – which I doubt – he would never have the balls to try and do something about it. If there’s one thing that terrifies the likes of Levy it’s change. He would never risk upsetting his pointless life.’

Sean could see that Sally had had enough. ‘Fair point. I guess I just didn’t like him. I guess I just don’t like any of them.’

‘Any of who?’ Sally asked.

‘The stuffed shirt Neighbourhood Watch brigade. We might as well get rid of the lot of them for all the good they do. Stickers in windows and monthly meetings, for fuck’s sake – who are they kidding? Some madman came to this street and killed or kidnapped a woman right under their pious noses and nobody saw a damn thing. Neighbourhood Watch? Bunch of sanctimonious wankers.’ Tiredness suddenly swept over him, reminding him to check his watch. It was gone eight. By the time they got back to Peckham and tidied up the first day of inquiries and prepared for the next it would be close to eleven. He had a chance of making it home before midnight.

‘So you’re sure then?’ Sally asked. ‘She’s either already dead or someone’s taken her and she probably soon will be.’

‘I’m not sure of anything,’ Sean lied. ‘Let’s head back to the office. It’s getting late, there’s nothing else we can do tonight. In the morning you go see her parents and I’ll have a word with her workmates, just in case we’re missing something.’

‘Fine,’ was all Sally replied.

Sean forced himself to ask her the obvious question, fearful she might answer truthfully, making him listen to her fears and pain, but Sally wasn’t about to share herself with anyone yet. ‘Sore and tired,’ she told him. ‘I need tramadol and sleep.’

‘Sort out forensics for the house and check her car details have been circulated and then get yourself home,’ he instructed her. ‘Don’t stick around for anything else.’ He watched as Sally again subconsciously rubbed her chest where the knife had entered. He could imagine the scars beneath her jacket and blouse, still red, raised and ugly; one above her right breast and one below. It would be years before they faded, but they would always be clearly visible.

‘I will,’ Sally promised. ‘And thanks.’

‘Don’t thank me,’ Sean insisted. ‘Just look after yourself.’

Louise Russell sat in the gloom of her cage, knees pulled up to her chin, arms wrapped around her lower legs, hugging the thin duvet close and rocking subconsciously as she tried to judge the time. She guessed it must be the early hours of the morning, whereas in fact it was earlier, not quite ten at night. She’d tried to get her fellow captive to talk, but Karen Green just lay motionless on the floor of her wire prison. Louise already suspected that if either of them were ever to see the sun again they would have to work together. Somehow she needed to break through to Karen and persuade her to talk.

The sudden noise of metal striking metal fired her alert, her eyes open impossibly wide, like a frightened deer, her heart beating like a cornered rat’s. She heard Karen shuffling around in her cage, scratching at the floor looking for somewhere she would never find to hide. The noise and movement fleetingly reminded Louise of the pet mouse she was allowed to keep as a child, always searching in vain for a way to escape its wire world.

Gripped by fear, Louise waited for more sounds. She heard the heavy metal door swinging open and waited for the flood of light to sting her eyes, but it never came and she remembered it was night. A thin beam threw a circle of light on to the floor at the bottom of the staircase. As the soft footsteps made their way down towards them the ray of light bounced around. He stepped into the room and swung the torch slowly and deliberately from one side to the other, ensuring everything was as it should be, exactly as he’d left it. Temporarily blinded, Louise could no longer see his silhouette, only the harsh glare of the torchlight touching her skin, making her shudder as surely as the touch of his hands. She couldn’t see his face, but she was sure he was smiling.

A minute or two later the light behind the screen clicked on, the string cord swinging after he released it. Louise squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds while she prayed this was all a nightmare, an unusually long and realistic nightmare, but one that must end soon. If she could only chase the sleep away and wake herself then this would be over. It would leave her shaken for the rest of the morning, but by lunchtime it would have faded like a watercolour left in the rain. But when she dared open her eyes again he was standing there, peering into her very being, a torch in one hand and a tray in the other with a happy smile on his face.

He carefully placed the things he was carrying on what she assumed was some kind of table behind the screen and began to nervously approach her, one or two small steps at a time, his right hand outstretched in front of him palm up, as if he was approaching a stranger’s dog. ‘It’s OK, Sam,’ he tried to reassure her. ‘It’s me. I didn’t wake you, did I? I didn’t mean to disturb you. I only wanted to make sure you were all right.’ He fell silent as if expecting her to answer. She didn’t. ‘You should be feeling a lot better by now, the effects of the chloroform should pretty much have gone.’ Still she didn’t answer him, but she watched him, watched his every tiny move. He gestured to the tray hidden behind the screen. ‘I’ve brought you more food and something to drink, a Diet Coke – I remembered it’s your favourite.’

Some deep survival instinct told her she had to answer him or soon she would become to him what Karen Green already was. Had that been Karen’s failure, her damnation, that she hadn’t been able to answer him? ‘Thank you.’ She forced the words out, her voice sounding weak and broken.

A wide, relieved smile spread across his face. With his new-found confidence he moved too quickly towards her cage, startling her. He froze for a second, aware his impatience had frightened her.

‘Don’t be afraid, Sam,’ he almost begged her. ‘I would never hurt you, you know that. That’s why I brought you here, so I could look after you, protect you from all those liars, all those liars who told you all those things about me to keep you away from me. I always knew you didn’t believe them, Sam. And now they can’t hurt us any more. We can be together now.’ More silence as he waited for her to answer.

‘I need the toilet,’ she told him, the thought and words coming from nowhere.

He stared at her for a while, his mouth still holding a thin smile, but his eyes darted around in confusion and fear. ‘Of course,’ he eventually answered. ‘I thought you probably would.’ It wasn’t how she’d expected him to answer. ‘I’ll have to let you out,’ he continued. ‘Where you won’t be as safe from them, Sam. They’re still in your mind, you see. All the things they did to you, they’re still in your mind. They might try and trick you, get you to do something you don’t want to do. They might try and make you hurt me.’

‘I won’t,’ she forced herself to say. ‘I promise.’

He pushed his hand into his loose tracksuit bottoms and fished around awkwardly for something, before finally tugging the black box free and showing it to her. She recognized it immediately, the stun-gun he’d used to take her. The thing he’d used to defile Karen Green. ‘Don’t worry,’ he assured her. ‘If they try and make you do something you shouldn’t, I’ll use this.’ He looked puzzled by her expression of fear. ‘It won’t hurt you,’ he promised. ‘It’ll just stop them making you do things. It keeps them away.’

‘I need to clean up, that’s all,’ she told him.

He considered her for a long time before speaking. ‘OK,’ he said, and moved towards her cage slowly and carefully, his eyes never leaving hers. Within a few short steps he was at her cage, almost as close to her as he’d been when he took her, his pallid skin and stained crooked teeth clearly visible, his arms thin, but sinewy and strong, the arteries and veins blue and swollen. He took a key carefully from his other tracksuit pocket and tentatively held it close to the lock. He considered her again, then gave a broad smile, pushed the key into the lock and turned it. A slight moment of hesitation and then he swung the door open, the hinges squealing and the wire of the cage reverberating. He stepped back, the stun-gun in his hand at his side. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘this way,’ and pointed towards the old hospital screen.

Louise walked in a hunched, squatted gait towards the opening, the pain of her muscles cramping matched only by the fear that made her heart send shock waves through her chest. She paused for a moment at the entrance and waited for him to take a few more steps back, at last pushing herself through into the room, stretching her sore, stiff body, straightening for the first time in a day and a half, but all the time careful not to let the duvet slip from her shoulders and show him her nakedness. ‘Behind the screen,’ he instructed her. ‘You can get cleaned up there and there’s a toilet you can use. It’s only a chemical one, but it works well enough.’

‘Thank you,’ she forced herself to tell him, when all she really wanted to do was spit in his face. As she rounded the screen she saw her facilities – an old, stained sink barely attached to the cellar wall; rusty, limescale-crusted metal taps and a new-looking chemical toilet set low on the floor. She guessed he had recently installed the toilet, but clearly he had been planning for this for some time. Her eyes searched around for anything she could fashion into a weapon. There was nothing. She swallowed her disappointment and her rising tears.

She could feel him on the other side of the screen, watching her through the thin fabric, waiting for her to drop the duvet, his imagination removing the barrier, his eyes flicking across her skin. ‘Are you all right in there?’ he asked, as if she was in a separate room.

‘Yes,’ she stuttered in reply. ‘Just getting things ready.’

‘The hot water tap’s the one on the left,’ he warned her.

She let the water run hot before putting the chained plug in the sink and allowing it to fill, looking over her shoulder at his silhouette behind her, allowing the duvet to slip to the floor, leaving her standing naked and vulnerable in a way she’d never felt until now. Quickly she began to wash, using the sliver of soap he’d left on the sink to try and cleanse her skin of as much of him as she could. All the time she knew he was watching her, watching her hands moving over her own damp, shiny body. She rinsed herself clean of the soap and looked around for a towel, a sense of panic rising as she realized there wasn’t one next to the sink, the panic easing when she saw it on the table by the tray of food he’d brought. Hurriedly she patted herself dry, the stale smell of the scratchy towel making her want to retch. She could hear him, breathing heavily as he watched her. Pulling the duvet over herself, she stepped out from behind the screen.

‘Take the tray,’ he said. ‘It’s all for you.’

She studied the tray and the items on it suspiciously. A white-bread sandwich, some crisps emptied into a plastic bowl, a few biscuits and a can of Coke. The emptiness in her stomach and the rasping dryness of her throat told her to take it. ‘You’ll have to eat it in your room,’ he instructed, his eyes pointing to her cage. ‘I’ll get the tray later.’

She did as he wanted and walked as quickly as she could back to her prison, almost relieved to be behind the wire again, a barrier between her and him, even if she knew it was a barrier he controlled. ‘I’ll bring you clean clothes in the morning,’ he said as he closed her cage door and replaced the lock. ‘You need to get some sleep, Sam. We have so many plans to make. I have to go now.’

He was moving towards the light cord when a weak voice stopped him.

Karen’s head raised slightly from the floor. ‘Please,’ she asked desperately. ‘I need a drink and I’m very hungry. Can I have something, please? I promise I’ll be good.’ The room waited silently for a reaction, Louise looking from Karen to him and back, praying he wouldn’t hurt her cellmate, praying she wouldn’t have to watch again.

‘What?’ he demanded, the friendliness in his voice replaced with a quiet menace. ‘You want what, whore?’

‘Please,’ Karen pleaded, her voice trembling, her throat almost shut with dryness and terror. ‘I’m so thirsty. I don’t feel very well. I need some food. Please. Anything.’

‘Lying whores get nothing!’ he shouted.

‘No, no,’ Karen sobbed. ‘Please, I don’t understand what you mean. I don’t know why I’m here. Just let me go, please. I swear I won’t tell anyone what you’ve done.’

‘Shut up,’ he screamed, agitated, behaving as if he was the one who was trapped, as if he was the one in danger. ‘You’re trying to trick me. You’re trying to fuck with my head again.’ He was pointing at Karen, accusing her, close to tears himself now. He turned to Louise. ‘See what they do, Sam? See what they’re trying to do to us?’

‘Just let me go,’ Karen was almost shouting. ‘Please, let me go.’

‘Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Make her stop, Sam!’

Louise covered her ears with the palms of her hands, pressing so hard that her inner ears began to hurt under the pressure. She couldn’t stand to listen to this a moment longer.

‘You’re a whore, a lying whore! She tried to pretend she was you, Sam. She tricked me. She made me bring her here, but I found out she’s a liar. She’s one of them, trying to ruin everything for me.’

‘That’s not true,’ Karen pleaded with him through the strings of saliva that webbed across her contorted mouth. ‘I’ll do anything you want me to, I swear.’

‘Shut up, lying whore,’ he shouted in her face through the wire, holding his stun-gun in front of her so she could see clearly. ‘I know what you’re trying to make me do, it’s what all you whores want me to do to them, but you won’t make me.’ He looked back at Louise, a smile mixing with his fear, his face shining with the sweat of anxiety. ‘Sam’s with me now. You can’t stop us.’ He began to walk backwards, silently, his eyes never leaving Karen’s, wagging his finger at her as if warning her against doing whatever it was he imagined she was about to do. He pulled the light-switch cord, sinking the room back to its deathly gloom as he stepped behind the wall of the staircase and out of sight. They could hear him breathing, deep and panicked, but calming once he couldn’t be seen, then they could hear him no more. They waited a few minutes until the torchlight returned with a click, followed by his familiar soft footsteps climbing the stairs. A metal door being pulled open and then swung carefully shut; the locked padlock clanging against the sheet metal. Then nothing – silence and darkness. Nothing.

Shortly after ten on Wednesday night Sally squeezed her hatchback into virtually the last parking space in the street. Even the necessity to display your residents-only parking permit couldn’t keep the road clear of vehicles abandoned for the night. Her neighbours had been home for hours, most already thinking about sleep before the dawning of another day exactly like the one they’d just lived. Sally almost envied them. She waited in her locked car, lights on and engine running, until she saw some other sign of life in the street. A young couple appeared in her wing mirror, walking arm in arm along the pavement, the man muttering and the woman giggling. At this time of night it would have to do. Sally quickly turned off the lights and engine and jumped from her car, locking it without looking as she walked towards the smart three-storey Victorian terrace her new flat was in: a two-bedroom place on the top floor. By the time she reached the front door she already had her house keys ready and she entered the house quickly and quietly, the way she’d practised hundreds of times. No one could have followed her inside.

She heard the young couple walk past outside, reminding her of one of the many reasons she’d chosen this flat, in this house, on this street: because it was often quite busy, even at night – Putney High Street was just at the end of the road. Sebastian Gibran may not have taken her life, but he’d killed so many things that had been important to her, that she’d loved. She’d not been back to her old flat since he attacked her there. It held nothing for her but nightmarish memories of horror and pain. The selling estate agent had been very helpful and had visited the flat whenever necessary so Sally hadn’t had to.

As quickly and efficiently as she’d entered the house, she climbed the stairs and entered her flat. Only when she was inside did she breathe out the tension she’d been carrying for the last few hours. Standing with her back to the front door, she surveyed the interior, the lights she’d deliberately left on all day – another new habit, to avoid those panicked moments in the dark, fumbling for the light switch. Everything seemed fine as she scanned the sparse furniture and removal company boxes spread around the floor, still waiting to be unpacked. If this latest case went the way she was sure Sean thought it would, the boxes would have to wait a few more days or even weeks.

Sally stepped into the room that served as both her entrance and lounge and searched for the television remote. She found it on the coffee table, hiding under an unread newspaper, and clicked the TV on for background noise. She kept moving deeper into the flat, along the corridor and into the gleaming new kitchen equipped with everything a keen cook would need, things that she would hardly ever use. Stabbing pains in her chest strong enough to make her wince reminded her of her mission. From an overhead cupboard she pulled a pack of tramadol prescription painkillers free, grabbed a glass from the neighbouring cupboard and headed for the fridge. She yanked the door open and checked the barren contents, discovering half a bottle of white wine, still drinkable. Trying unsuccessfully to steady her hand, she poured a full glass, spilling a few drops that ran down the outside of the glass and dripped annoyingly on to the kitchen table. She pushed three tramadol from their foil surrounds, one more than she’d been prescribed to take, and swallowed them in one go with a good swig of the wine.

Closing her eyes, she waited for some relief, some elemental change in her mind and body, but the effects were too slow. She grabbed another glass from the draining board and headed for the freezer, hesitating for a second before surrendering to the idea and opening the door. Her old friend seemed to look at her, that bottle of vodka that had been ever-present in her freezer since her early days in the CID, wedged between a packet of unopened frozen vegetables and a once-raided bag of French fries. The vodka had become more necessary of late, an everyday requirement rather than a treat after a particularly tough day. By five o’clock her mind would already be drifting to the thought of that first taste, first hit, mixing with the tramadol and ibuprofen, a legal narcotics cocktail that rushed straight to her brain and took the world away just as sure as any junky’s fix could. She poured two fingers’ worth into the short, fat tumbler and drank half in one gulp, the freezing liquid numbing her throat and empty stomach, warning her brain of the delights it could soon expect.

She waited for the chemicals to ease her pain and anxiety, but as the storms calmed the quieter ghosts began to sweep forward. The tears seemed to start in her throat, but no matter how hard she tried to swallow them back down they found their way to her eyes and escaped in heavy drops that ran down her face, each finding a new route, dropping on to her hands and into her drink. Once the tears were flowing she knew there was no point fighting them, better to let them come until she would be too exhausted to cry any more; then she would sit quietly, motionless, her mind still and blank, her heart fluttering in the silence until finally sleep would take her. In the morning she would feel a little better, hung-over, but a little better, just about able to face the world.

Since she went back to work she’d been holding it together OK during office hours, getting the job done, not asking for any special treatment, but there were frequent moments of burning anxiety, when she’d been scared to speak for fear of her voice shaking, scared to hold a pen in case someone noticed her hand trembling. And every morning before leaving for work she stood frozen by her front door, physically unable to reach out and open it, hyperventilating with fear of the world beyond. Two weeks ago she’d suffered one of her worst attacks, remaining slumped against her door for more than an hour while she desperately tried to gather up the courage to leave her sanctuary. Even on the days when she overcame the fear and made it to her car, she would drive through the streets pretending nothing was wrong, sit at her desk pretending that she didn’t have to endure this daily ritual of personal torment.

Sally drained the glass and reached for her old friend in the freezer to pour a refill.

It was midnight by the time Sean arrived home, a modest semi-detached Edwardian house in the better part of Dulwich that he shared with his wife Kate and their two young daughters, Mandy and Louise. He knew Kate had been working the late shift as the attending physician in the Accident and Emergency Department of Guy’s Hospital and would therefore not long have got home herself. Probably he’d find her awake, eager to talk about her day and the children. On a normal day at a normal time he’d have looked forward to sitting with Kate and chatting about the unimportant and important alike, but this had been no normal day. His mind was swimming with images and ideas he wouldn’t share with her – images and ideas that would make it difficult to concentrate on anything she said. He reminded himself that women needed to talk, that somehow he would have to focus on his wife’s conversation. All the same he was hoping she’d be asleep so he could grab a drink and watch the TV in the kitchen and pretend to himself he wasn’t thinking about Louise Russell.

He turned the key and quietly pushed the door open. The lights were on in the kitchen. Dropping his keys as noisily as he dared on the hallway table, hoping Kate would hear the noise and know he was home before he accidentally startled her, he took a breath and walked to the kitchen.

Kate looked up from her laptop. ‘You’re late,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I’m the one who’s supposed to be on lates this week, remember?’

‘Sorry,’ Sean told her. ‘We picked up a new case.’

‘So you won’t be around much the next few days?’

‘Sorry,’ he said again. ‘You know what it’s like when a new one comes in.’

‘Yes, Sean,’ she answered. ‘We all know what it’s like when you get a new one. Shame,’ she continued, ‘I was hoping to save some money on childcare this week.’

‘Kirsty’s all right looking after the kids, isn’t she?’ he asked. ‘She probably needs the cash.’

‘So do we,’ Kate reminded him. ‘At least if you were still a sergeant, you’d get paid overtime. The hours you work, we’d be rich.’

‘I doubt it,’ Sean scoffed.

‘So what’s the new case?’ Kate asked. ‘What tale of horror do you have to untangle this time? I assume it’s another murder?’

‘Even if it was a murder, you know I wouldn’t tell you about it. Work stays at work.’

‘Even if it was a murder,’ Kate pointed out. ‘Meaning it’s not a murder this time. So why is a Murder Investigation Team investigating something other than a murder?’

‘As it happens, it’s a missing person,’ Sean told her.

‘Oh,’ Kate said, interested and concerned. ‘A missing person who you think is dead. Get you on the job early, ready for when the body turns up. That’s not like the Met, planning ahead.’

‘I don’t,’ Sean said.

‘Don’t what?’

‘Think she’s dead. I think someone’s taken her.’

‘A kidnap case?’ Kate asked.

‘I’m not expecting a ransom note.’

‘Then what?’

‘Like I said, no details.’ Sean changed the subject: ‘How are the girls?’

Kate paused before answering, unsure as to whether she should try and prise more details from him. She decided she’d be wasting her time. ‘Last time I saw them awake they were fine, but they miss their dad.’

‘I suppose that’s good.’

‘I think I know what you mean,’ Kate smiled. ‘Next time you’re home they’ll mob you – you have been warned.’

‘I look forward to it.’ Sean headed for the fridge, searching around inside for a beer. Kate waved her empty wine glass in the air. ‘While you’re in there, a top-up please.’ He grabbed the bottle of wine and poured as little as he thought he could get away with into her glass, not wishing to delay her going to bed any longer than was absolutely necessary, before putting it back in the fridge and grabbing a beer. He took his favourite glass from the cupboard and sat at the table with Kate, using the remote to click the TV on.

‘I take it that’s the end of conversation for the night,’ Kate accused.

‘Sorry.’ Sean turned to her with a mischievous grin. ‘I thought you were playing on your computer.’

‘Ha, ha,’ Kate replied. ‘Working, Sean. Working. All we ever do is work. Work and pay bills. That’s it.’

‘It’s not that bad,’ Sean argued, now glad she’d waited up, pleased to have the distraction of conversation.

‘We should think about New Zealand again. Remember, after what happened to Sally, you said we ought to get the hell out of here, start a new life, one where we actually see each other. Where we see the kids.’

‘I don’t know,’ Sean answered. ‘It just feels like running away.’

‘Nothing wrong with running away if it’s running away to a better life.’

‘There’s no guarantee of a better life,’ Sean argued. ‘I did my research. New Zealand’s not all green fields and blue skies. They’ve got plenty of problems too. You don’t really think they’d stick me in a plush office somewhere overlooking the Pacific with nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs and admire the view all day, do you? They’d find some shithole to stick me in and we’d be back where we started, only stuck on the other side of the world.’

‘It can’t be as bad as it is here,’ Kate insisted. ‘I’ve lived with you too long not to know your job and how it works. If you were to so much as hint that you want to go home and see your family once in a while, they’d all look at you like you’ve gone mad, like you’re somehow letting the team down. Only losers want to actually go home now and then, right?’ Sean shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘And as we both know, there’s no way you could ever, ever walk out on a job and let somebody else deal with it. You’re way too conscientious for that. True?’

‘I can’t walk out in the middle of a job. There’s no one else to pass it on to. A case comes in, it lands on my desk and that’s it. It’s mine until it’s finished. If I don’t get to come home for a week then I don’t get to come home for a week. That’s the way it is. It goes with the territory. It’s the job. It’s what I do. I can’t run off to New Zealand. I can’t run off anywhere. I am what I am. I do what I do. You don’t want to see me sitting in an office in the City pushing paper around, living for my bonus, another clone – that would kill me. I wouldn’t be me any more. I’d bore you to death.’

Kate thought for a long while before answering. ‘You’re right,’ she told him. ‘I know you have to be a cop. You thrive on it. It makes you proud – and so it should. But the kids are getting older. At least one of us needs to be here more for them.’

‘Meaning?’

‘I’m just saying,’ Kate went on. ‘The fact is I earn almost twice what you do and I don’t have to nearly kill myself to do it.’

‘What are you suggesting?’ Sean asked, his voice thick with suspicion.

‘I don’t really know,’ Kate admitted. ‘I think we need more of a plan, that’s all. I have no idea where we’re going.’

‘Who ever knows that?’ Sean questioned. ‘All anyone can do is live in the day, try and get something out of every day. All these books and gurus spouting plans for a better life – it’s a load of crap. You have to just try and live your life the best you can.’

Kate studied him a while. ‘I am happy,’ she told him, ‘but surely there’s more for us somewhere. Something better.’

Sean searched her brown eyes for signs of happiness. He saw no signs of unhappiness and decided that was good enough, for now.

‘I do love you,’ she continued, ‘which is why I worry about you, which is why I don’t want to share you with the bad people, the psychos, the drug dealers, the angry madmen. I want you all for myself and the kids.’

Her words made him smile. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘But I want you and the kids to be proud of me. I want them to know what I do.’

‘Christ,’ Kate replied. ‘You’ll scare the bloody hell out of them.’

‘I’ll spare them the details, but you get what I mean.’

‘So,’ Kate surrendered, ‘we carry on as we are, ships that pass in the night, absent parents?’

‘I’m not ready to walk away yet,’ Sean told her. ‘Let’s give it a couple more years, then we’ll see.’

‘I wouldn’t ask you to walk away if you don’t want to,’ she assured him.

‘A couple more years,’ Sean almost promised. ‘Then we’ll see.’

‘I’ll remember this conversation, you know,’ she warned him.

‘Of course you will,’ Sean conceded. ‘You’re a woman.’