Choked

90

Midnight. And Easter Sunday became Easter Monday.

Michael Sloane paced the floor of the hotel room. Or as much as he could, given the tiny space they were in. The Holiday Inn outside Colchester wasn’t where they usually stayed, but that was the point. No one would look for them there, Michael had said. Having spent less than half an hour in the room, Dee agreed.

She found it small, anonymous and dull. That must match the kind of people who stayed here, she thought, then felt a shuddering memory. Her own origins were much lower than this. But she was a different person now, and she intended to stay that way.

She sat silently on the end of the bed, ankles crossed, arms behind her, watching Michael pace. She knew better than to approach him or speak to him when he was in this mood. This was no time for their intimate power-playing games. When she saw that look in his eyes, that stiffness in his back, she knew that if she even attempted to intervene or turn the situation into a game, he would hurt her. Normally she would enjoy it, give it back, even, if he was in the right mood. But not when he was like this. When the rage was on him, he could carve her up — or anyone who got in his way.

‘What … the fuck … was he thinking …?’

Dee said nothing. She had not been invited to speak.

‘Picking her phone up … speaking to the caller … idiot … ’

More pacing, more waiting from Dee. Eventually he stopped, turned to her. ‘And have you seen him? What’s he on? What’s Bracken sorted him out with now? He’s … unravelling. Becoming a danger to us.’

Dee took the direct look from Michael as her cue to talk. ‘Let’s get rid of him, then,’ she said, her voice deferential, her eyes downcast.

‘I will,’ said Michael. ‘When he’s finished this job for us, he’s gone.’ He ran his hand through his hair. ‘If he’s capable of finishing this job for us.’

The pacing resumed. ‘We’ve let things get out of control, gone too far this time … too far. It’s time to leave.’

‘Where? The country?’

He nodded, still pacing. ‘The route’s been in place for years in case we need it. Nickoll can stonewall for us until we’re away.’

Dee nodded. She had expected something like this to happen sooner or later. It would be sad to go, to leave everything behind. But their lifestyle would continue. They had enough put aside to take care of that. And that was fine. Because the lifestyle would be what she couldn’t live without.

‘What about the three in the car?’

The two police officers and the Hibbert woman had been left in the 4x4. Parked at the back of the car park, covered by blankets, the Golem watching over them.

‘Hibbert I don’t care about. But we can’t risk them finding the bodies of the police officers. They’ll have to disappear.’

Dee nodded. It was what she had expected to hear.

Michael stopped pacing, stood in front of Dee. He grabbed her face, forced it upwards, made her look at him. ‘And when they disappear … we’re gone too.’

She looked into his eyes, tried to smile, as a shiver of fear ran through her.

91

Tyrell stared at the wall in front of him. No. It wasn’t a wall, it was a mirror. And he saw himself looking right back. But he knew it wasn’t just himself. The mirror was twoway. He couldn’t see them, but he knew they were watching. He had been watched all his life. He knew when it was happening.

His hands were in his lap, under the table. His feet together, back relaxed. He felt calm and composed. At ease with himself. He felt the best he had been since he had come out of prison.

Prison. It didn’t feel like it at the time, but when he looked back, he realised he had been safe there. Happy, almost. But safe, especially. The safest he had been since childhood. Proper childhood, when it was just him and his mother. Before they went to live in the big house. With the old man who said he wanted to be his father and tried to be kind to him. And the brother and sister who only pretended to be kind to him.

He shuddered. It was one of the memories he had tried to keep hidden because it hurt to think it. But they had all come back now. The good ones along with the bad. He thought of his pretend brother and his pretend sister. How they would smile at him when their father was around or his mother was there. And how they would hurt him when it was just the three of them.

He closed his eyes. Tried to block out the things they had done to him. Too late. He had thought the thought, it was there in his head and he had to see it. He had no choice.

How they would hurt parts of his body. Pull, twist. Hit. How he would scream out and they would make him stop. Threaten to send him away from his mother if anyone heard. He would stop crying, but they wouldn’t stop hurting him. They just got worse. Sticks, tennis racquets, cricket bats. Anything was a weapon. And burning him. Tying him up, gagging him, putting lit cigarettes on his skin.

He wriggled in his seat, reliving the memory.

He could feel the rope against his skin, the knots tightening as he tried to pull away from it. He could hear the hiss and crackle of burning skin as the cigarette was applied. Smell again the nicotine smoke, the cooking flesh. His own flesh. Hear the screams and sobs in his head, the cries he couldn’t let go, that died against the gag in his mouth.

And he felt sad once more, sad for his mother, sad for himself.

Too ashamed to show his mother the scars, hiding them for years.

Hiding. Hide and seek. He was always the one to hide. And he was always found. But the way they played it was different. If he was found, which he always was, he had to do a forfeit. And the forfeit was always the same. He had to be locked in the cellar.

He hated that cellar. Every time they mentioned hide and seek, he knew it would end up in the cellar. But he couldn’t say no. He had tried it a couple of times. They had just hurt him.

The cellar was at the back of the house, right by the river. The water used to come up to the back of the property, and they had a boat moored there. His pretend brother and pretend sister would lift the trapdoor and make him walk down the wooden stairs. Then they would slam it shut and run off, sometimes leaving him there for hours. Even forgetting him completely on a couple of occasions. Inside, it was cold, dark and wet. There was no light, no electricity, no candles even. Just him and the rats. And the slow, swishing sound of the water.

Sometimes when he touched the wall his hand came away wet. His feet too. When the tide came in, the wooden walls would groan with the pressure, sometimes even seep. At first he had been terrified, thinking they would give way and the water would flood in, drown him. But gradually he came to accept it. Could even time how long he was down there by the tides. But he still hated it, it still made him cry.

He shook his head, tried to dislodge the other memories that were coming back. The times his pretend brother and pretend sister would strip him naked before tying him up. Tie him up with his legs apart. He would try to struggle, fight, get away. But it was no good. There were two of them, and they were both stronger than him. The pretend sister, she was stronger than she looked. And sometimes the more vicious of the two.

And then when he was tied up and naked, they would hurt him. It was a different kind of hurt to the cigarette burns. This kind made him scared to touch his own body afterwards. They would shove things inside him. Laugh when he begged or tried to scream. They just shoved harder.

Hurting him like that would excite them. They would strip off in front of him, do things to each other’s bodies. Laugh at his pain. They would push parts of their bodies in his face, his mouth. Force him to …

He closed his eyes. No. No …

Prison. Think of prison. In the cell. Alone. In his head. By himself. His own space. His own time.

He opened his eyes. Looked round. He had forgotten that he was here. In this room. He sighed. Relieved. Even this room was better than where he had been, back in his own head. Anywhere was better than that.

He looked at the mirror once again. Knew they were there. He wondered what they could see. He wished they could see what was inside his head. What he had just seen. If they had, they might have been able to stop it.

He shook his head at the thought. That was just stupid. If they could do that, they would have done it years ago. No. Some things just happened. And no one could stop them. That was life. His life.

He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. Because even with that in his head, he knew who he was now. It had all come back to him. Even that.

His life had come back to him.

92

‘He’s getting agitated … No. That’s better. He’s calmer now.’ Marina looked through the two-way glass, kept observing him. ‘Looking at us again. Right there. Like he can see us.’

‘Pulling a gun on a kid?’ said Franks. ‘I’ll give him bloody agitated.’

Marina stood, arms folded round her body, staring at him. The observation room was small, usually managing to fit only two people at the most. Although sparsely furnished, it also served as a graveyard for deceased office furniture. The chair Franks was sitting on had seen better days back when John Major was in power. The desk he leaned on was scarred and pitted by the frustrations of a thousand investigations. The filing cabinet behind them a sixties period piece.

Franks took his eyes off Tyrell, glanced at Marina. She looked terrible. Her hair was unbrushed, her clothes dirty and torn. Huge dark rings under her eyes. He couldn’t begin to guess what she had been through the past few days.

‘Marina … ’

She kept her attention firmly on Tyrell, nodded to show she had heard.

‘Why don’t you go home? Get some rest. I can handle things from here.’

‘No.’ Still staring at Tyrell.

‘You shouldn’t be here, Marina. You shouldn’t have come back here. And you shouldn’t be working.’

Marina ignored him.

The bare-knuckle fight had been too tempting to resist for Franks and his team. As an added bonus, it had yielded a pleasant crop of minor local villains engaged in illegal activity, who were currently overcrowding the interview rooms waiting for various solicitors and mouthpieces to arrive.

In the process, though, they had lost Josephina and the woman holding her. They had, however, managed to get Tyrell, and had brought him straight back to the station.

‘Marina.’ Franks’s Welsh baritone was firm with authority. She turned to face him, reluctantly drawing her attention from Tyrell.

‘It’s after midnight. You haven’t slept in God knows when, and you shouldn’t be here.’

‘But Gary, I—’

He held up his hand. ‘Let me finish. If you are directly involved with an investigation, personally involved, then you have to withdraw. You know the rules. And no one’s more involved in this than you.’

She said nothing.

‘If we want a successful conviction, then we have to be seen to have followed correct procedure. And if I keep you here, then your role could be questioned. Am I right?’

‘With all due respect, Gary, I don’t care about that. I just want my daughter back.’

He sighed, shook his head. ‘And that’s exactly why—’

‘All right then, look at it this way,’ she said. ‘It’s just gone midnight, like you said.’ She pointed to Tyrell. ‘And he’s sitting right there, probably able to tell us where my daughter is. And you’re going to question him. Fine.’ She leaned on the desk, stared straight at Franks. ‘But look at the state he’s in. Mentally. Emotionally. You’re going to get nowhere. You’re going to need a psychologist. One who’s familiar and up to speed with what’s going on. And where are you going to get one at this time of night?’

It was Franks’s turn to say nothing.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘Apart from the one standing next to you.’

Franks crossed his arms. Set his jaw. It made his features look even more bull-like.

‘Besides,’ said Marina, ‘I couldn’t go home and sleep. You know that.’

He sighed. ‘Yes. All right. But on your own head be it.’

Marina managed a small, tight smile. ‘Thank you.’

‘And if this all comes back on us, I’ll tell them it was your fault. That you talked me into it with your … psychologist’s ways.’

Despite the situation, her smile widened. ‘My psychologist’s ways?’

Franks was reddening. ‘You know what I mean. Twisting my words and all that.’

‘Fine.’ She went back to looking at Tyrell, but a new thought struck her. ‘Oh. Another thing.’

‘Oh God … ’

‘My brother. He’s … God knows where. Somewhere in this building. Can we let him go?’

Franks shook his head. ‘He was charged with taking part in an illegal activity … ’

‘He was helping me to catch the woman who had my daughter. And that’s not why you were there in the first place.’

Another sigh from Franks. ‘Fine. Right. Yes. He’s an asset to the community and a boon to the force. Let him go. Right.’

‘Thank you.’

They both looked once again at Tyrell. Marina took a deep breath. Another. She turned to Franks. ‘Ready?’

He stood up. ‘Let’s go.’

93

A my’s head was pounding. The pain sharp, intense, almost blinding. But she wasn’t going to stop. She couldn’t stop. Not yet.

The child was screaming. Screaming … screaming … screaming …

‘Shut up! Shut up, you little brat.’

Amy pulled the child along by her hair, legs kicking and flailing trying to keep up, trying to walk. Failing.

She looked round, wanting somewhere to put the kid, keep her quiet, shut her up for a while. Because there was still a chance for all this to work out. She just had to think bigger, be bolder, that was all.

The kid kept screaming, wanting its mother, trying to pull away.

Amy turned, twisted the kid by her hair. The kid screamed all the more.

‘Oh God, I’ve had enough of you … ’

She backhanded her across the face.

The kid’s eyes widened in pain and surprise. Then the screaming started again, louder even than before.

This was no good. This had to stop. She needed peace and quiet. She needed to be able to think.

She looked round the house once more. It was falling apart, almost before her eyes. Just how they’d wanted it, just how they had left it. But it had taken longer than they thought it would. She didn’t know how it made her feel being back inside. She had thought it would be strange, with ghosts haunting every room, behind every door. Triggers for memories everywhere.

But it wasn’t like that. Probably because the house was so dilapidated, so ruined, she found it hard to associate it with the home she used to know. This could be any crumbling old mansion. Any falling-apart Scooby-Doo haunted house.

But still she walked through it, room by room, familiarising herself with the layout, checking everything was still the same, as she had done when she had last been there.

The house’s footprint was the same. But things had started to rot, collapse. Curtain rails had fallen, the curtains on them now rotted away to near-cobwebs. Here and there the floorboards had given way. The green and black of damp and mildew clung to the walls, growing, consuming. She touched things that came away in her hand.

Other people had been living there. Tramps, judging by the old newspapers, empty bottles. And the smell. Like someone had died there. Or had lived there on their way to dying. And rats. She could hear them, scurrying about everywhere. Unhappy at having their habitat invaded.

And still the kid screamed.

Then Amy had an idea. She smiled. Perfect.

She dragged the screaming kid towards the back of the house. Found the right room. It was still there. The trapdoor. Not letting go of the kid’s hair, she knelt down, pulled. The wood was warped and didn’t want to give, but she kept at it. Eventually, with a huge cry and a pain that went all the way up her arm, the trapdoor opened. Still kneeling, she bent down, stared inside. The stairs looked rotten, about to give way. And she couldn’t see the floor for water. She leaned further in. The wall was still there, only just holding. And the water was only ankle deep. Perfect.

‘You want to play hide and seek?’ she said to the kid, a cruel smile on her face. ‘Do you?’

The kid didn’t answer. Amy doubted she would know what answer to give.

‘Doesn’t really matter,’ Amy said, and hauled the kid over the side into the cellar.

She kept screaming until the trapdoor came down.

Amy stood up. Turned, walked away.

The kid’s screams had disappeared. Become just another one of the house’s noises. Creaking and groaning and scuttling and scurrying.

The silent screaming from the past.

And the present.

94

Jessie opened her eyes, but it was still dark. She was on her back, a cold, hard floor beneath her. She tried to roll over, get up. Pain shot through her arm, stopping her. She flopped back, gasping for breath.

She remembered going to the aid of Helen Hibbert. Being attacked by … God knew who. Some huge grey mountain. He had hurt her arm. She was sure it was broken. And then … nothing. Blackness. Then here.

She felt around with her good arm. The floor was metallic. Heavy. She shivered. And became aware of movement. Someone — or something — on the floor also. Right next to her.

‘Huh-hello … who’s there?’

‘Me, ma’am,’ came a faint voice.

She let out the breath she had been unconsciously holding. ‘Deepak … you OK?’

‘I … I think so, ma’am. Just … headache. Nothing seems to be broken.’

‘Lucky you … ’

‘What?’

‘My arm … ’

‘Hello?’ Another voice. Female. Scared.

‘Helen Hibbert,’ said Deepak. ‘Is that you? Are you in here with us?’

‘Yes … yes, it’s me.’ Her voice small, hesitant. Terrified.

‘You OK?’ asked Jessie.

‘I … I think so … ’

‘Good.’ Jessie tried to get up once more. Failed. Flopped back again, gasping in pain. She looked round, trying to get her eyes accustomed to the dark. See if she could differentiate, grade the greys. She couldn’t.

‘Either of you got any idea where we are?’ asked Jessie.

‘None, ma’am,’ said Deepak. ‘We were there, then … here. I remember the attack, then … nothing.’

‘Right.’ Silence. Jessie listened, tried to make out any sounds that could help. Nothing. They were sealed inside something, that much she knew. Something cold and metallic.

‘Helen,’ she said. ‘Why have they done this? Where are we?’

‘I … I don’t know … ’ Helen Hibbert’s voice was on the knife-edge of hysteria. Jessie could sense she was about to panic, to start screaming. She had to keep talking to her, calm her.

‘Why did you want to see the Sloanes? I’m assuming they’re behind this.’

‘I … I knew they were responsible for Jeff ’s death. As soon as you told me.’

‘How?’

‘Because … ’ She sighed. ‘That’s what happens when thieves fall out.’

‘How did they fall out, Helen?’

‘They … It was Graham and Amy, as she’s calling herself now. They were waiting for Stuart Sloane to be released from prison. Have him assessed, get him declared sane. Contest the will.’

‘Will?’ asked Deepak. ‘Whose will?’

‘Michael and Dee Sloane’s father, Jack. He made another will when he married Stuart Sloane’s mother, making Stuart a full heir. Michael and Dee weren’t happy about that. Didn’t want him taking their money.’

Jessie tried to ignore the pain, thought. ‘So … what? They were angry?’

‘Oh, very angry. Very, very angry.’

‘Are you saying they killed their father?’

‘And their stepmother.’

‘And … what? Blamed Stuart Sloane? How could they have done that?’

Jessie heard a laugh in the darkness. ‘They had help. Help that turned on them.’

‘Why?’

‘That was later … ’ Her voice was drifting.

Jessie was worried the woman would become hysterical. She tried to keep her talking, keep her focused. ‘Who helped them, Helen?’

‘Graham.’

‘Graham Watts?’

‘And Jeff. Because Jeff did anything Graham said. But Graham was the one. He arranged it with Michael. He was on hand after the shooting. His job was to give the shotgun to Stuart. Let the retard take the blame, that’s what Michael said. Stuart wasn’t all there. Suggestible. Graham won Stuart’s trust, told Stuart he would help him. Then hung him out to dry.’ She gave out a noise that could have been anything between a laugh and a sob in the darkness. ‘But really Graham was making sure Stuart had the gun when the police arrived. And that was that. Or it should have been.’

‘What happened?’

‘With Jack out of the way, we all made a lot of money. The Sloanes, the Hibberts and Graham. Good times. Then it all went wrong.’

‘How?’

‘Because Michael had his own plans. And Graham didn’t like them.’

‘What does that mean?’

Helen Hibbert sighed. ‘I’m tired … ’ Her voice was beginning to tremble.

Jessie kept questioning her but she would say no more. She tried to think of something positive she could do to head off Helen Hibbert’s breakdown. She felt inside her jacket for her phone. Missing. Of course. ‘They’ve taken my phone,’ she said. ‘Anyone else got one?’

Helen Hibbert just sobbed.

Then came a sudden light. Jessie saw Deepak’s face illuminated in the darkness. Like a disembodied spectre, floating before her. She saw him smile.

‘Still think I’m stupid for carrying two phones, ma’am?’ he said.

Jessie smiled also. ‘Did I say stupid? No, you heard me wrong. Brilliant. That’s what I said, Deepak, brilliant.’

95

Marina stared at him, trying to read him. Couldn’t. She didn’t know if that was because of him or because of herself.

Franks had made the introductions, careful not to mention Marina’s connection with Josephina, then read him his rights. He had nodded along as he did so, answered when asked to and refused a solicitor. The only stumbling point had been his name.

‘Stuart Sloane?’

He had shaken his head. ‘No. Not that. No.’

Franks and Marina had shared a look. ‘What would you like us to call you, then?’

He put his head back, seemed to be thinking. ‘They said I was going to be a new man. Have a new life with a new name. They gave me a new name.’

‘And what is it?’ Franks was almost smiling, being patient.

‘Malcolm Tyrell.’

‘Right. OK. Malcolm it is.’

‘But I don’t want to be called that.’

Franks struggled not to show exasperation. ‘So how would you like us to address you?’

Marina picked up the undercurrent to his question. She was left in no doubt how Franks wanted to address him.

‘Just … Stuart.’

‘Stuart.’

‘For now.’

Franks bit back his reply. ‘Good. Then let’s get going.’ He gave a sideways glance towards Marina, raised an eyebrow slightly. She knew what it meant: did she want to start the questioning? She gave a slight shake of the head. Let Franks lead.

She could have done this through the two-way mirror. Watched from the observation room, guided Franks through an earpiece. That was how she usually worked with Phil. But this was different. She wanted to be in there, alongside Franks, working up close with him. It felt right, under the circumstances.

She stared, again trying to read Stuart. Again, she couldn’t. He seemed to be pleased about something yet at the same time worried. And the two seemed bound together. She didn’t yet know what that meant, so she thought it would be best if Franks started and she could make an assessment as they went.

‘So, Stuart. Let’s start with the most important question. Where’s Josephina?’

Stuart’s eyes clouded over, brow furrowed, mouth turned down at the edges. He seemed to go into himself.

‘Stuart?’ Franks leaned forward, keeping his face open, his features as neutral as possible. ‘Where’s Josephina?’

‘I … I don’t know.’

Marina sat back, trying not to let her frustration show. She wondered, again, whether she couldn’t read him because of what was going on inside her own mind rather than his. She was trying to be as professional and detached as possible and finding it more difficult that she had expected. Perhaps Franks was right, she thought; perhaps she should have just gone home.

‘Come on, Stuart, you can do better than that,’ Franks said. ‘Where’s Josephina?’

‘I … I don’t know. Honest.’ He looked like he was about to cry.

The other two waited.

Stuart spoke again. ‘I was … was trying to protect her … ’

‘By holding a gun on her?’ said Marina. ‘Looked like it.’

Franks shot her a look, but she already knew she had said the wrong thing, allowed her emotions to get the better of her. She fell silent.

But Stuart didn’t seem to have noticed. ‘No, no … ’ he said. ‘I was protecting her. All the time, I was protecting her. When … when Amy was … ’ his face twisted up, ‘not nice to her, to me — I would protect her.’ His eyes became downcast. ‘And then when we got to the, the barn place … ’ He sighed, shook his head. ‘She … she gave me the gun. Said, said … said she would hurt Josephina if I didn’t do what I was told.’

‘Hold the gun to her head?’ said Franks.

Stuart nodded. ‘So, yes. I did it … to protect her.’

Franks was about to ask another question, but Stuart keep talking.

‘Amy made me. Amy. I hated her. She was … horrible. The other one, Jiminy Cricket … ’

Marina’s eyes widened at his words.

‘ … he was nice. I liked him. Or at first I liked him.’

‘What happened?’ asked Franks.

‘He met me out of prison. Took me to the caravan. Told me I was going to have a new life. And he was all nice about it.’ Stuart smiled. Then his face darkened once more. ‘Then I saw Josephina. Tied up. And … ’ He shuddered. ‘Amy wasn’t being very nice to her.’

Marina’s stomach was turning over. ‘In what way, Stuart?’ Her voice was calm, quiet, like an oncoming storm.

‘She … had her tied to the door handle. Said, said if she didn’t shut up, she would … ’ He shook his head.

‘Go on,’ said Marina.

‘ … said she would throw her to the dogs.’

Marina remembered the two dead dogs and was suddenly thankful for whoever had killed them.

‘And I didn’t like that. No.’ Another shake of the head. ‘No. So when we had to leave the house, when Jiminy got … ’

‘Killed,’ said Franks.

Stuart nodded. ‘ … we went … I don’t know where we went. But then Amy went mad. Even madder. And I said, I said I wouldn’t do anything unless she was kind to Josephina. Told her she mustn’t harm her or I wouldn’t help her. And she didn’t. And I helped her.’ He smiled.

‘Good for you, Stuart,’ said Marina. She was trying not to think that her daughter’s well-being — her life, even — had been in the hands of a man such as this. That was for later. There were more pressing demands.

‘Thank you,’ said Stuart, beaming. ‘And I told Amy, no more. My mind was made up then.’

‘When?’ asked Franks.

‘At the barn place. When she gave me the gun. I wasn’t going to hurt Josephina, even though Amy wanted me to.’

Marina’s stomach flipped once more.

‘But I was going to hurt Amy.’ He smiled. ‘I was going to kill her.’

Neither Franks nor Marina spoke.

‘I know it’s wrong, that you shouldn’t do that. I know. But she was … ’ He sighed. ‘I didn’t know what else to do.’ He nodded, as if confirming that his action would have been the correct one. ‘But the police stopped me. And brought me here.’

‘Yes … ’ said Franks.

‘I knew who she was. It happened then. It all came back. All the good things, and the horrible things too.’

Franks shot Marina a glance: help me out here.

‘What came back, Stuart?’ asked Marina.

‘The memories. Because of Amy. And that’s why I was going to shoot her.’

‘Why, Stuart?’

‘Because I know who she is.’

Marina was about to ask another question, but Stuart kept talking.

He smiled. ‘And I know who I am now.’

96

Amy sat on the floor of what used to be the living room. Head against the damp, rotting wall. She had taken back her earlier thoughts. The house she used to know was still there. Even in the short time she had been back, the layers had peeled away, like the blackening wallpaper behind her, and the house had begun to reveal itself to her as it once was. As she remembered it.

She swung her torch round, the light illuminating only in patches. She kept trying to make out what was in the shadows, the darkness. She thought she could see things moving in there, jumping out of the way of the beam, trying not to be caught by the light. But they didn’t scare her. She welcomed them. Because she knew what they were.

Ghosts. Memories.

The ghosts were all around her. In the darkness, the shadows, when the light moved away from them. She could hear them, see them running from room to room. Feel the warmth from them. Almost touch them. The happiness. Like paradise before the fall.

Before it all went wrong. A dead mother. And a retarded boy.

Then the end of everything.

And this was the room where it had happened.

She looked to where she had once stood. And she saw the ghosts live again.

There was Michael standing in front of her, holding out the shotgun. Pointing it at her. He had already taken care of their father and his new wife. Now he just had to do her and Graham would do him and everything would be set.

‘It’s going to hurt,’ he had said.

‘Just do it. Get it over with.’ She had closed her eyes. Opened them again just in time to see the look in Michael’s eyes, the smile on his face. Just in time to realise that it was going to hurt a lot. That soon she would be as dead as her father.

She had tried to jump out of the way, but the shot still hit her. Michael had been right. It had hurt. And that was the last thing she remembered about that day.

She blinked, back in the present. Looked round again. Saw the house as it was now. Left to rot. To waste away. To decay. To die. Unloved and alone.

She knew just how it felt.

‘No … ’ she screamed. The sound echoed and died around the walls. ‘No … ’ Much softer, just for her ears alone.

No. It couldn’t be the end. It couldn’t. There was still one thing she could do. One more roll of the dice, as her father used to say.

Or two, actually.

She took her phone out. Dialled a number she wasn’t supposed to know but could never forget.

Waited. For the end.

Or the beginning.

97

Michael Sloane threw the last of his things into the leather holdall on the bed. That would have to do, he thought. It was only stuff he was leaving behind. He could always buy more stuff to replace it later. He could buy more of anything.

Dee was in the bathroom making herself beautiful. He looked at her bag next to his on the bed. Matching. His and hers. Two parts of the same being. Completing each other. That was how he had always felt with her. But he had felt like that before.

His thoughts were interrupted. His phone was ringing.

He took it out, checked the display. Recognised the number. He knew he shouldn’t answer. But knew he also had no choice. He put it to his ear.

‘Yes.’

‘Hello, Michael.’

The voice was ruined and ravaged, but still unmistakable.

Dee came out of the bathroom, looked at him, raised an eyebrow. Wanting to know who was on the phone. She saw the look in his eyes. Knew.

‘What d’you want?’

‘Is that any way to talk? To me?’

‘I’m in no mood for games.’

A laugh. Harsh. Bitter. ‘Then you’ve changed, Michael. You always used to have time for games. Didn’t you?’

‘What d’you want.’ Not even a question, just a flat sentence.

She detected the change in his tone. Knew better than to toy with him any further. ‘You,’ she said.

‘Goodbye.’

‘No. Wait. I want to talk. Please. We … we have to talk.’

‘Why does it have to be now?’

‘You know why … ’ She paused, seemed to be gathering herself up, stopping herself from unravelling further. ‘It has to be now. After everything that’s happened. We have to talk.’

Michael looked at Dee. Mouthed the words: she wants to talk. A smile crept on to Dee’s features. Her fingers clasped and unclasped. She nodded.

‘OK, then,’ said Michael. ‘We can talk.’

A sigh from the end of the line. ‘Good.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Guess.’

Irritation entered Michael’s tone. ‘I told you, no more games.’

‘Not a game, Michael. Guess.’

He knew. ‘The house.’

‘The house. I’m there now.’

‘See you soon.’ He hung up. Turned to Dee. ‘As I said. She wants to talk.’

Dee gave another smile. ‘That’s the last thing she’ll want to do when I’ve finished with her.’

Michael smiled. ‘I knew I could rely on you.’

‘I’ll go straight away.’

‘Take the Golem. He should be finished making our unwelcome guests disappear by now. Get her dealt with once and for all. I’ll finish up here. You know where to meet.’

She crossed to him, kissed him on the lips, biting down in the process. He pulled away. Smiled.

‘Later,’ he said. ‘Go.’

She went.

He watched her leave, then looked back at the bags on the bed. Side by side. Identical. Completing each other. But he had felt like that before. He thought of where he was going. Thought: it’s just stuff.

He could always buy more stuff to replace it later.

98

Mickey lay back and smiled. He couldn’t see Anni next to him, but he was sure she was smiling also. Or fairly sure. He checked. Yep. She was smiling too.

‘What?’ she said.

‘Nothing, just … nothing.’

She turned over, settled into him. He loved the feel of her warm naked body against his. Hoped he would never tire of it.

‘Nothing?’ she said. ‘Thanks a lot.’

She was smiling as she said it. Or at least he hoped she was. He checked again. She was.

After the call Mickey had made to Jessie James was abruptly ended, he’d got straight on the phone to the force in Suffolk, informed them of what had happened. He didn’t like leaving it and walking away, but he had no choice. He didn’t know where Jessie had been when she had taken the call — if indeed she had taken the call; if it had been a prank after she had lost her phone, perhaps, or if it had been genuine. Mickey’s gut feeling was that it had been genuine. The DI he had spoken to from Suffolk had agreed with him and assured him they would take it from there. Jessie and Deepak were their officers, after all.

Then, as they were finishing up looking through the files on the Sloanes at the station, Franks had called. A catch-up call. He asked them what they had discovered. Mickey told him about the call he had made to Jessie James, its abrupt end. Franks agreed that, procedurally, he had done the right thing.

‘Doesn’t make it any easier to cope with when you’re sitting on your own, though, does it, DS Philips?’ he had added.

Mickey had looked at Anni before answering. ‘No, sir. Doesn’t.’

Franks had then told them about the raid on the bareknuckle fight. And about finding Marina.

‘Thank God for that,’ Mickey had said. ‘Is she OK?’

‘Shaken. We’re still looking for the daughter, though.’

‘Oh God … ’

‘We’re working on it. It’ll be a long night.’

‘D’you want Anni and me to stay on, sir?’ Mickey asked. ‘Come and help?’

‘Stand down, DS Philips,’ Franks had said. ‘You two have done enough unpaid overtime for one day. At least I assume it’s unpaid.’

Mickey had agreed that it was.

‘Then leave it at that. Go home. Go to bed. Get some sleep.’

Mickey — and Anni — had done two of those things.

‘What are you looking at me for now?’ asked Anni.

Mickey smiled. ‘No reason. Just—’

His phone rang. Anni looked at him. ‘We’re off duty, remember?’

‘After the last few days?’ said Mickey. ‘You think so?’

He answered it, identified himself.

‘DI Adrian May. Suffolk Police. You phoned us earlier about DS James?’

‘Yeah, that’s right. What’s happened?’

‘We just wanted to let you know that we’ve heard from DC Shah.’

‘Thank God. They OK?’

‘The signal was very weak. He mentioned something about DS James being hurt and both of them being taken against their will.’

Mickey sat up. ‘Right … ’

‘But we’ve tried to put a GPS trace on his phone.’

‘Where is it?’

‘Harwich, we think.’

‘Harwich? Our patch.’

‘Exactly.’

Mickey glanced at Anni. She was sitting upright too, the sheets having fallen away from her body. She was beautiful, but he didn’t have time to register that. She was also looking concerned.

‘Do you … need us as, I don’t know, liaison or something?’

‘If you don’t mind.’

Mickey said he didn’t, ended the call.

‘What’s happening?’ asked Anni.

Mickey told her. They were dressed and out of Mickey’s flat in record time.

99

‘You’re Stuart, yes?’ asked Marina, bending forward, trying to keep the urgency from her voice. ‘That’s who you are.’

Stuart nodded. Looked relieved to have been recognised.

‘Then who is Amy, Stuart? Who is she?’

Stuart leaned back, seemed to study the ceiling.

‘Who is she, Stuart? Who’s Amy? Who is she?’

Franks gently placed his hand on Marina’s arm. She relented, sat back. Stuart looked at them, a hurt expression on his face.

‘There’s no need to get nasty. I’m going to tell you.’

Marina nodded, tried to slow her hammering heart. ‘Good. That’s good to hear, Stuart. So who is she?’

‘She’s … Amy wanted to be my sister. Or she said she did. But she was only pretending. She didn’t really want to do that. She didn’t really like me.’ His voice dripped sadness. ‘She only pretended when other people were around. So she could get to be near me. And when she was near me, she would hurt me … ’ He clasped his arms round his body. Began to rock slowly back and forward.

Marina knew she didn’t have much time. If Stuart’s mood changed, if he slipped into a fugue state or became uncommunicative, she knew the interview would be over. And if that ended, then perhaps her daughter’s life would too.

It was clear that he was damaged and she had to tread carefully. She tried another approach. One that might not excite him as much. ‘She wanted you to talk to me, Stuart, didn’t she?’

He frowned. ‘Are you the doctor?’

‘I’m a psychologist, yes.’

‘Are you Josephina’s mother?’

Marina looked at Franks, who nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘yes I am.’

‘I looked after her for you.’

Marina put her hands on the table to stop them trembling. ‘Thank you for that, Stuart. I’m very grateful.’

He accepted the thanks by nodding, then frowned. ‘You’re here to tell me whether I’m mad or not, aren’t you?’

‘Well, I’m … Yes. That’s … Yes.’

‘Yeah.’ He nodded again. Stopped rocking. ‘Yeah. I’ve seen a lot of doctors like you. Lots and lots. They always asked me questions. Always wanted to know things. Things in my head.’

‘And did you tell them?’

He shook his head. ‘No. Things in my head are private.’

‘They certainly are, Stuart,’ Marina said, and noticed a glimmer in his eyes. Please let that be some kind of connection, she thought. Please. For Josephina’s sake. ‘I won’t ask you about the private things in your head.’

‘Good.’ He looked relieved once more.

‘But I do want to know why Amy wanted you to talk to me. Can you tell me that?’

Another nod. ‘So I could have a new life. So I could have a future.’

‘Right. And how was this future going to happen?’

‘You were going to talk to me and then you were going to tell them that I wasn’t mad and then I was going to be given a lot of money.’ He shrugged. ‘And we were all going to be happy.’

Marina nodded. ‘Right. So … was there a will, Stuart? Was that it? Did I have to declare you sane so you could inherit the Sloanes’ money along with the brother and sister?’

Stuart shuddered at the mention of the brother and sister, but nodded.

‘And how much money were you going to get, Stuart?’ Franks’s Welsh baritone cutting in.

Stuart smiled, put on a bad cockney accent. ‘“You stick with me, this time next year we’ll be millionaires.” That’s what Jiminy said.’

‘Right.’ Franks nodded. ‘And this was the Sloanes’ money?’

Stuart said nothing.

Franks leaned forward. ‘So they killed their father? Is that what you’re saying? You didn’t do it, they did?’

He frowned. ‘I hate guns.’

‘Good,’ said Marina. ‘That’s good. And you wouldn’t use one?’

He shook his head.

‘Good. And then what? You were going to sue for wrongful imprisonment, something like that?’

Stuart looked at the ceiling once more. ‘We were all going to be happy.’

Marina could tell his concentration was slipping, that she was losing him. She kept going. ‘And Amy? What would she get out of this?’

‘She would be rich as well. She wanted to spend the money with Jiminy, but he got killed. So she would spend it on her own.’

‘And,’ said Franks, clearing his throat, ‘did she want to be your sister again?’

‘Pretend,’ said Stuart.

‘Pretend to be your sister again?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t want her to.’ He yawned. ‘I’m Stuart.’ He nodded once more. ‘Stuart Milton.’

‘Right,’ said Marina. ‘You are.’

‘Stuart Milton.’

‘Yes.’

‘Not Sloane.’

‘No. Not Sloane.’ Marina leaned forward once more. ‘Where is Amy now, Stuart? Where is she?’

‘She went home.’

‘Where’s home, Stuart? Where would her home be?’

Stuart stretched, arms up in the air, then yanked down suddenly. ‘I’m tired now. Want to sleep.’

He closed his eyes.

Marina wanted to scream.

100

Amy put the phone down, looked at it. One call made. One more to go.

The house was creaking and groaning; a noise made in one place would be answered by something in another. It was carrying on a conversation with itself that she couldn’t be part of. And she wanted to be, like she used to be. When she was part of it. And it was part of her. She wanted her old life back. But she couldn’t. She knew that.

But she could try.

She pulled the wig off, threw it on the floor. No point in hiding any more. Not here. Not in this house. She could never hide anything from this house. It was the place where she had always been most truthful. She rubbed at her face, wiping away what make-up was left. She wanted to be herself once more. For her own sake. For the house.

But it wasn’t enough.

So, ignoring the cold, the shivering from her body, she began to remove her clothes. She would hide away no longer. She would face herself. Now. Truthfully. Not as she used to be, or as she wanted to be. But as she was. Now.

No more lies, no more hiding. It was the end of that. And the beginning of something else.

She kicked the pile of clothes away. Stood naked in what used to be the living room. Where the bodies had been blown apart by the shotgun blasts. Where a family had ended that day. Where a life had ended. Where it would now be born again.

She picked up the phone. One more call to make. Then everything would be ready.

A new life rising out of the old.

101

‘Stuart? Stuart.’

Stuart Milton opened his eyes. He looked irritated at the intrusion. ‘I’m tired,’ he said, a note of petulance in his voice. ‘I want to go to sleep.’

‘Stuart, we know you’re tired,’ said Franks, ‘and we don’t want to keep you up past your bedtime.’

Marina raised her eyebrows at his choice of words.

Franks ignored her, continued. ‘We’ll let you go to sleep. But first you have to answer some more questions for us. Will you do that, please? We wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.’

‘And then can I sleep?’

‘You can sleep.’

‘Can I go back to prison?’

Franks and Marina exchanged a look. ‘If … ’ Franks shrugged. ‘If you want to. I’m sure we could arrange it. Or something like it.’

Stuart, eyes closed again, nodded. Smiled. The right answer.

‘But you have to answer our questions first.’

Stuart reluctantly opened his eyes. He didn’t look happy. He was drifting. Marina knew they didn’t have long.

‘So Amy’s gone home,’ she said.

Stuart nodded, eyelids fluttering.

‘Where’s home, Stuart? Where’s home for Amy?’

‘The house,’ he said, irritably. ‘The house where she lives.’

‘The house? Which house?’

‘Her house.’ Even more irritable. They were starting to lose him.

Marina reached across the table, took Stuart’s hands in her own. His eyes shot open and he jumped as if he’d been given an electric shock.

‘Come on, Stuart. Just a little bit more. Help us out here.’

‘Oh … OK.’

‘Amy’s house, Stuart. Where is it?’

He looked uncomfortable, wriggled in his chair.

‘Where is it, Stuart? Where can we find it?’

More wriggling.

‘Can you draw me a map?’

He shook his head. ‘No. I don’t … don’t want to go back there.’

‘Go back there? You’ve been before?’

He nodded. Tried to pull his hands away from Marina. She wouldn’t let him go.

‘When were you there, Stuart? With Amy?’

He nodded.

‘When?’

‘When … ’ He shook his head again, closed his eyes. Not to sleep this time, more to dislodge the memories that were there. ‘No … ’

Marina held on to his hands. ‘Please help me, Stuart. Try and think. It’ll help Josephina.’

Stuart looked up at the name. Marina pressed on.

‘When were you there, Stuart? When was Amy there?’

‘When she … my mother … ’

Marina said nothing, waited.

‘When … when Amy was pretending to be my sister.’

‘And when was that? Just recently?’

He shook his head. ‘Time isn’t like that,’ he said. ‘Time bends. It doesn’t go in straight lines. It curves. Bends round back on itself.’

‘It does, yes,’ said Marina, not letting go, ‘but when were you in the house with Amy?’

‘When she … when she was pretending to be my … sister.’

Franks leaned forward. ‘When she was pretending to be your sister,’ he said, voice low and authoritative, ‘was she called Amy?’

Stuart shook his head. ‘No.’

Marina and Franks shared another look. ‘What was she called, Stuart?’ asked Marina. ‘What was she called when she was pretending to be your sister?’

He looked at them both as if the answer was obvious.

‘Dee, of course.’

102

Dee had switched the car’s headlights off as she approached the house and drove slowly down the narrow, isolated lane. She wanted her arrival to be as inconspicuous as possible.

Not that it mattered. Her passenger gave her such a clear advantage in any situation that she could have turned up in an ice cream van with the chimes blaring. She turned to the Golem.

‘You know what to do?’

He nodded. She studied him. His lips had been moving the whole journey, as if in silent dialogue with himself. And she recognised drug-addled eyes when she saw them.

‘Are you up to this?’

He nodded again. Gave a smile as if someone had told a joke only he had heard.

‘Then go. You know where to meet, what to do.’

‘I know what to do,’ he said.

‘Go and do it, then.’

He slipped out of the car and was soon just one more shadow in the night.

She looked up at the house. It was desolate, haunted-looking. She couldn’t imagine how anyone could grow up in it, or call it home. But then she thought of the place she had called home. Unhappy childhoods could happen anywhere.

She got out of the car, left it unlocked in case the beeping of the key alerted anyone to her presence. Anyone. She knew who she meant. The woman she had replaced. The real Dee Sloane.

She had met Michael Sloane in a hotel while she was working as an escort, back when she had another name. Not the one she had been given at birth, but the one she had chosen for herself when she had created her first new identity. She had left her family home in Oldham at the first opportunity, determined to make something of her life. She had got as far as Manchester city centre and an escort agency.

Sloane was away on business, staying in a hotel, and wanted a little excitement. His own kind of excitement. He had called the agency, been specific. What the girl should look like, how much damage he would do to her. How much extra he would pay for doing it. They turned him down. He offered them more. Much more. They set about finding a girl who would do what he wanted.

She volunteered. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t done before. Or had had done to her. Except this time she would be paid for it. Highly paid. The money would help cushion the blows.

So she turned up at his hotel room, dressed as he wanted, following the script. And something clicked. She knew it from the way he looked at her as soon as she entered the room. As soon as he touched her. She felt that thrill of electricity shoot through her. He did too. She knew it. She could tell.

She stayed the night. He did exactly what he had said he would do with her. And she loved it. She would have done it for nothing. She told him that.

‘Never say that,’ he said. ‘Never sell yourself short.’

And that was the start of it. He always asked for her when he was in Manchester on business. And he seemed to be on business an awful lot. Sometimes he just came up to see her. They talked. Got to know each other. He was rich but unhappy. Lonely. His partner — that was how he always referred to her, his partner — was ill. Mentally and physically. And it was an enormous strain on him. He felt responsible for it, and in a way he was. He had everything he had always wanted. But it didn’t seem to be enough.

She had heard similar things before. Rich businessmen who claimed to be unhappy with their wives and families. Who wanted the excitement of someone like her. She thought he was just another one of those.

She was wrong.

Because one day he made her a proposition.

‘Are you happy as you are?’

‘I’m fine,’ she had said. This wasn’t the first such request she had fielded away. She had the answers prepared. ‘I make a good living. I have freedom. I’m independent.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘That’s not what I meant. Are you happy being the person you are? Or would you like to be someone else?’

And then he told her what he wanted. Live with him. Let him remake her in the image he desired. Answer to a different name. Get a different face. A new body. Become a different person.

‘Why not get someone else? Someone who looks like that already?’

‘Because it’s you I want. You’re perfect. On the inside. I just want the outside to match.’

That had made sense to her.

‘And you’ll still have your freedom,’ he said. ‘But it’ll be the freedom to do what I tell you.’

She had smiled. And agreed.

And she had become Dee Sloane.

Slowly at first. Painstakingly so at times. But worth it in the long run. She had asked questions, naturally. Who was the real Dee? What had happened to her? And he had told her.

‘She … was involved in an accident. A shooting accident. I did what I could for her, tried to rescue her, rebuild her … I did what I could.’

‘And she’s dead?’

‘She’s … no longer with us.’

She knew what he meant.

And the more she became what he wanted her to be, the more he told her. Dee had been his sister. Did she have anything to say about that? She didn’t. In fact it just gave her an added frisson. The shooting wasn’t accidental. It had been planned. She had guessed as much. And did she mind? Why would she mind?

‘Perfect,’ he said.

And they were.

Now she wasn’t going to let anyone get in the way of their relationship. No matter what it took.

She stepped into the house. It stank of decay, neglect. Corruption. The air felt cold and damp. Things darted away out of the corners of her eyes. She moved forward to where Michael had told her to go. Into the main living room.

She would be there, he had said. After what had happened, she wouldn’t be anywhere else.

She stepped into the living room. Something moved at the far end, over by the wall. Something bigger than a rat. Dee fought the urge to turn, to run away. Stood her ground.

‘So.’ A cracked voice came out of the darkness. ‘The second wife meets the first wife. At last.’

A light went on. Sharp, blinding after such darkness. Dee screwed her eyes tight shut. Opened them again slowly. The figure before her was holding a gun on her. She looked at that, felt fear. Then looked at the figure itself.

And her stomach churned.

103

‘DI May.’ The handshake was firm, strong. Balding, grey-haired and bearded, DI May seemed like an old-school copper. His accent was rough, working-class Essex tempered by learning and experience.

Mickey gave his own name. Anni did likewise. ‘Right,’ Mickey said. ‘What have we got?’

‘We believe DS James and DC Shah were working the same street as you two,’ May said.

‘Yeah,’ confirmed Mickey. ‘Couple of murders, missing person, kidnapped child and the Sloane family involved somehow.’

‘Ah,’ said May, smiling, ‘Suffolk’s Howard Hughes. Local royalty. The untouchables.’

‘So we believe,’ said Anni.

They were standing at the gates to the freight port at Harwich. The mist had returned, and with it the cold. Mickey and Anni were shivering. The parking bays were virtually empty, the lorries and trucks all loaded and left. Ahead of them stood berthed cargo ships and tankers. The floodlights ringing the walls shone down hard, making the scene look bleak and desolate.

May was bundled up inside a quilted jacket, but he still looked cold. ‘And you … what?’ he said to Mickey. ‘What happened exactly?’

Mickey told him about the phone call. The message. May nodded.

‘Well we’ve pinpointed DC Shah’s GPS signal. That’s a bonus. Weak. So we’d better get a move on.’

‘Whereabouts is it?’ asked Mickey.

May pointed at one of the cargo ships. ‘Over there, apparently.’

‘The ship?’ asked Anni. ‘That one there?’

May nodded. ‘Far as we can make out. Had our experts in analysing it. Wanted to get it checked as quickly as possible before his battery went.’

‘Who’s the ship registered to?’ asked Mickey.

May smiled. ‘Good question. Sloane Holdings.’

‘I think that confirms it, then. Do we need a warrant?’

‘Acting on information received, DS Philips.’ May looked round. There were another three officers with him. Both looking as thrilled as Mickey and Anni to have been dragged out of bed in the middle of the night.

‘You ready?’ he said.

They were.

‘Let’s go, then.’

104

‘Where is he, then?’

The woman was speaking, but Dee wasn’t hearing her. She was staring, open-mouthed. The woman before her, the one who used to be Dee Sloane, was completely naked.

‘Where is he?’ Screaming now.

Dee managed to recover enough from the sight in front of her to force some words out. ‘He’s … busy. He sent me.’

‘Busy? Busy?’ Body vibrating in anger. ‘Too busy to see me? Bastard … ’ The words were spat out. She moved closer to Dee. ‘Too busy.’ She smiled. ‘Like what you see? Do you?’

Dee was trying not to look, wanted to turn her head away, close her eyes. Anything. But she kept on staring, eyes drawn to the sight before her as to a car crash. Wanting to see the mutilation, the destruction. Wanting to say, thank God that’s not me there.

‘This is what it looks like. When you’ve been brought back from the dead … ’

Her body had once been female. There was only one breast, and even that looked mangled. In place of the other one was a collection of grafted skin and scar tissue, by turns smooth and ridged, in varying shades of red. The scars stretched down the side of her body, creating a swirling vortex of flesh on her side.

But it was her face that was the worst. Her face and her head.

She was bald but for a few odd tufts of hair sprouting in between healed scars and grafts. Her skull was uneven, misshapen, covered in crests and craters, like a shattered egg that had been put together again without the instruction manual. Without make-up, the lines on her patchwork skin were vivid and throbbing. She had taken out the partial palate that held her false teeth, letting her mouth collapse in on itself on one side. One ear was just a curled stub.

And her hand, clawed and gnarled, was shaking as it held the gun on Dee.

‘This is what he did to me … Take a good look, go on. Stare. This is his creation. This is what he made of me.’

Dee’s mouth worked furiously but no sound emerged. No words seemed adequate.

‘And he’s not coming … ’ Amy shook her head. ‘Not coming … ’ She dropped her head and with it the light.

Dee thought she would be thankful that the beam had been taken away from the deformed body, but the shadows it cast made the sight even worse.

Amy looked up once more. ‘Why you? I don’t want to see you. Why you and not him?’

Dee felt she had to answer this time. ‘Because I … I wanted to see you.’

‘You wanted to see me?’ Her voice was getting louder. ‘You wanted to see me?’ She stepped closer. ‘Well now you’ve seen me. Look. Go on, look.’ She swung the torch over her body again. ‘And don’t stop looking.’ Her voice reduced down to a hiss now. ‘This will be you. Oh yes … this will be you’

‘What … what d’you mean?’

‘When he gets bored of you. When he wants rid of you.’

Amy stepped closer. Reached out a hand.

‘I want to touch you … ’

Dee tried hard not to scream.

105

‘Here.’ Sloane held out his hand. A thick pile of notes in it.

The money was taken without even a smile.

‘Enough?’ Sloane knew the answer already. He wouldn’t have asked the question otherwise.

The other man nodded, as expected. ‘Quite sufficient, thank you.’

‘Good.’

Sloane looked round. Listened. He could hear nothing but the low hum of the ship’s motors as they turned over. The slap of water against the side of the hull. Nothing unusual or out of the ordinary.

Good.

The ship’s captain was a man used to asking no questions. He had as many blind eyes to turn as Sloane had notes to give him. Working for the Sloanes, he had discovered it a useful commodity.

Sloane watched the money disappear inside the man’s coat. ‘You know what to do?’

The captain nodded. ‘Same as usual. I know.’

‘Yes, I know you know.’ Sloane’s eyes lit up with annoyance. ‘Humour me. Imagine I’m the man paying you and I want to make sure you know what’s happening. Go over it one more time.’

If the captain was angry at Sloane’s words, he didn’t show it. His employer could be difficult at times, but there were compensations. ‘When we get out to sea, jettison one of the containers.’

‘The one that doesn’t appear in the ship’s manifest. The one that isn’t here.’

The captain nodded.

‘Good.’ Sloane looked round once more. Listened. Nothing. ‘One more thing. You’ve got an extra passenger.’

The captain frowned. This was a deviation from the script. ‘Who?’

Sloane smiled. ‘Me.’

The captain’s eyes widened. ‘But … this is unexpected. I’ll have to—’

‘You don’t have to do anything. I’m not here officially. I’m not crew, I’m not a passenger. I’m a paying stowaway. And there’s only you and me to know about it, OK?’

The captain nodded, knowing how much another blind eye would pay.

‘Good. How soon before we set sail?’

The captain checked his watch. ‘Couple of hours. First light. Wait for the tide.’

Sloane nodded. Smiled. ‘Plenty of time for you to find me a cabin, make myself comfortable.’

‘Will there be just you on the voyage, Mr Sloane? Or will anyone else be joining us?’

Sloane thought for a moment.

‘Just me,’ he said.

106

‘Dee Sloane? Pretending to be your sister?’ Franks was confused.

Stuart just nodded as if it was perfectly obvious.

‘Yes,’ said Marina. ‘Yes.’ Understanding hit her like a sudden flash of electricity through her synapses. ‘The woman on the phone. To me. Is that who you mean?’

Stuart nodded patiently, as if he was the only intelligent person in the room, explaining a simple point to a couple of thickos.

‘She’s Dee Sloane.’

He nodded again.

‘The real Dee Sloane, is that what you mean?’

Franks looked between the two of them, not understanding what was going on.

‘What gave her away, Stuart? How did you know?’

‘The eyes,’ he said. ‘She looked different. Less … nice. Than before. But she couldn’t hide her eyes … ’

Franks turned to Marina. ‘What’s he talking about?’

‘The woman who’s been phoning me, the woman who’s got my daughter, is Dee Sloane.’

‘But … who’s the woman with Michael Sloane? The one who’s claiming to be his sister?’

‘No idea,’ said Marina. ‘But she’s not Dee Sloane.’

‘Why not?’

Marina turned to Stuart. ‘Why not, Stuart?’

He looked confused.

‘You said she looked less nice. What did you mean?’

‘Less nice. Less … pretty. Not like before. She was pretty before. She’s not now.’

He shivered.

Marina turned to Franks once more. ‘Dee Sloane was hit with a shotgun blast. When her father and Stuart’s mother were killed. She almost died, but she and her brother survived. She took a lot of patching up, though. Maybe it was … I don’t know. Too much work?’

‘You mean replace her with another model?’ asked Franks.

‘Stuart says he didn’t kill his mother and stepfather and attempt to kill his stepsister and brother. He says Michael Sloane did. Now if Sloane is the kind of person who would engineer a shooting like that, it’s not beyond the bounds of possibility that he would replace his sister, wouldn’t you say?’

‘But … shoot his own sister?’

‘Why not? He shot his own father and stepmother. If this hypothesis is right.’

‘Still … ’

‘Gary.’ Marina lowered her voice, tried to keep the conversation as private as possible in front of Stuart. Stuart showed no signs of listening. ‘Someone shot that family. I worked the original case and I never for one minute believed it was this gentleman here.’

Franks said nothing.

Marina leaned forward once more, trying to engage Stuart before he drifted off to sleep again. ‘You said she’d gone home, Stuart.’

Stuart looked confused. ‘What?’

‘The real Dee,’ said Marina, as patiently as she could manage. ‘Your pretend sister. You said she’d gone home.’

Stuart thought for a few seconds, eyelids drooping.

‘Stuart … ’

He jumped. ‘Yes. Home. Yes.’

‘Good.’ Marina nodded. ‘Good. Where is home, Stuart?’

Stuart looked puzzled once more.

‘Home,’ she persisted. ‘Where is it?’

‘Home?’ he said. ‘Well it’s … home.’ His eyelids closed once more.

Franks sighed. Marina kept staring at Stuart.

‘We could look it up,’ said Franks. ‘Check some records.’

Marina stood up. ‘No need. I know where she is.’

107

Dee stepped backwards, tried to stay out of the woman’s reach. ‘Don’t.’ Her voice was small, trembling.

Amy stopped moving. Put her head on one side, like a dog listening. The torch lit up her eyes. It wasn’t pleasant. ‘Why not? Afraid it’ll rub off on you? Afraid if I touch you, you’ll end up like me?’

‘I … ’ Backing away. ‘I … ’

‘I just want to touch you. Where’s the harm in that? Feel what I used to feel like … ’

Amy advanced once more. This time Dee stayed where she was. It was better, her mind quickly and reluctantly rationalised, to let a madwoman with a gun touch you rather than shoot you. The Golem must be around somewhere, she thought, but even he wouldn’t be quick enough to stop a bullet from close range.

Amy moved in close to her. Her breath smelled like the rotting house around them. She reached out a hand, stroked Dee’s cheek. Her fingers were rough, callused. Like being touched by tree bark. Dee tried not to move.

‘It’s … it’s like looking in a mirror, one that takes you back in time … ’ Her voice was low, calm. Almost a whisper. ‘How much?’

‘What?’

‘How much did it cost? To make … whoever you were … look like me?’

‘I … I don’t know. Lots.’

‘Lots.’ Amy nodded as if she had given the correct answer. ‘Lots.’

‘He … he said he wanted me to, to look more beautiful. Said I would, I could, if I would let him do it.’

‘And you did.’ Still stroking her cheek. Eyes travelling all over her features, appraising her. Her expression changeable; sometimes like she was looking at old love letters, sometimes like a farmer at a livestock market. ‘You did … ’

Encouraged by Amy’s tone, Dee continued to talk. ‘I didn’t mind,’ she said. ‘What he wanted to do. It hurt, but … ’

‘Yes.’ Still stroking. Still the same quiet voice. ‘My operations hurt too.’

‘More beautiful. That’s what he said. And that’s what I am. Beautiful.’ Dee looked at Amy. Found strength in her words. Her position. Because she was the winner. She was young, beautiful. And she had Michael. This mad old woman had nothing. She smiled. ‘He recognised something in me. We connected. Like no one I’ve ever met before. We’re soulmates.’

Amy drew back, her hand falling to her side. She stared Dee in the eye. ‘Pathetic. Soulmates. You know nothing.’

‘I know everything.’

‘You know nothing.’ Her voice rising, starting to shake once more. ‘About him. About me. Nothing.’ She stood where she was, still staring at Dee. ‘Soulmates. That’s what we were. He wanted me. And I wanted him. We had each other. All that we needed. We were our world.’ Her face twisted. ‘And then the boy arrived … ’

‘I know all this,’ said Dee. ‘He’s told me. How the two of you hated Stuart. How your father wanted to make him part of the family, marry his mother. How he wrote a new will with him in it, threatened to write you out if you complained.’

‘He told you all this, did he?’

‘He did. How he faked the shotgun attack, made it look like Stuart had done it. And he told me how sad he was about what happened to you.’

‘You were doing so well up until the last part. The last part’s a lie.’

‘He said he went all over Europe, taking you to specialists to fix you up.’

Amy was beginning to shake with anger. ‘That was what he told you, was it? Even he couldn’t bear to be seen as a bastard. Even he … ’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘You think it was an accident? What happened to me? Do you? He shot me … ’

‘He said he had to make it look real.’

‘Bullshit. I looked in his eyes and I saw it. It just … went wrong, that’s all.’ She shook her head. Eyes fluttering, miles away. ‘Do you know … do you know what it feels like to watch the man you love … the absolute, total love of your life, the only person you’re ever going to feel like that about, pick up a gun, point it at you and … ’ Amy stared at Dee with renewed hatred. ‘He’s gone, you know.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Left you. Dumped you.’

‘No, no, he hasn’t … ’

‘Yes he has.’ The words spat out. ‘I know what he’s like. He wouldn’t have sent you here if he hadn’t left you. He’s gone off without you.’

‘He wouldn’t do that … ’

Amy laughed. It sounded like something was being dislodged inside her. ‘Yeah … that’s what I said. He wouldn’t do anything to me. Wouldn’t hurt me … But he did, didn’t he? Tried to kill me. Thought it would be easier to find a new one, make her the way he wanted, rather than make me well again … ’

She swung the gun on Dee. Started squeezing the trigger.

Dee looked round, desperately trying to signal to the Golem.

But he was nowhere to be found.

108

‘Where?’ asked Franks, looking puzzled. ‘Where is she?’

Marina looked at him, didn’t answer. She leant over the desk, brought her face right up against Stuart’s.‘Home,’ she said, her voice loud enough to make him open his eyes. ‘Home.’

He nodded, closed his eyes again.

‘It’s the house, isn’t it? The one in Wrabness? The one the Sloanes wanted to let crumble away?’

He didn’t answer. She reached over, shook him by the shoulders.

‘Isn’t it?’

‘Leave me alone … ’

She pulled him up close to her. Franks made to stop her, but she gestured at him to leave her alone. He dropped back. Stuart’s eyes were wide and staring, like he had been woken from a particularly deep sleep.

‘No, Stuart, I won’t leave you alone. Amy has taken my daughter, Josephina, the little girl you said you wanted to protect, to the house in Wrabness, hasn’t she?’

Stuart nodded.

Marina let him go. She looked at Franks.

‘Wrabness,’ she said, eyes lit by triumph. ‘Let’s go.’

109

Mickey had never liked ships. And containers at Harwich held equally bad, violent memories for him. But he put that all aside. He had work to do.

Harbour security was minimal as May and his team had driven up to the main gate. May had shown his warrant card and explained that two senior officers had gone missing, believed to have been abducted and placed on board the waiting cargo ship. The two rent-a-cops on the gate had jumped to attention. This was the most action they had ever seen on duty. They allowed the car through with no fuss. May asked them not to contact the ship and, thrilled at being in the presence of real coppers, they agreed.

They had embarked from the cars, stood on the pier. Mist and fog settled on them, dampening their clothes and hair, belabouring their breathing. May turned to his second in command, DS Terry.

‘What’s it say, Philip?’

DS Terry scrutinised a hand-held device, looked around. Converted what he saw on screen to what was in front of him.

‘That ship,’ he said pointing to the one in front of them. ‘Somewhere near the back.’

May nodded. ‘Come on then.’

The walkway was long, raked. The ship, one of several, looked huge against the pier, the cars, the people. A vast metal town. But Mickey was sure it would look tiny once it was out to sea, dwarfed against the waves.

The containers were piled high in the centre of the ship. Multicoloured, uniform and battered, they looked like enormous grubby bricks in some oversized, rusted Lego set.

The six officers arrived onboard and were met by a crew member. Bleary-eyed and unshaven, his eyes darting warily, guiltily about, he looked to Mickey not like a ship’s crewman but more like the kind of guy who operated fairground rides. Mickey never felt comfortable on fairground rides.

May flashed his warrant card once more. ‘The captain around?’

‘Got a warrant?’

‘Don’t need one.’ May pushed past him, made his way to the bridge.

The captain was waiting for them. Face calm but looking warmer than the night air would have suggested.

May explained who he was, why he was there. ‘We have reason to believe two of my officers have been kidnapped and are being held on this ship. We’d like your permission to search.’

‘You need a warrant for that.’

‘Or your co-operation. Probable cause.’

The captain shrugged. ‘We’re preparing to sail on the morning tide. Get a warrant.’ His voice displaying studied disinterest.

May was about to speak, but Mickey stepped in. ‘Listen, mate,’ he said, ‘it’s the middle of the night and we can’t get a warrant until morning, as well you know. During which time you’ll have sailed away and left us to it. Well, we can’t let you do that. We’ll make sure you’re delayed here for as long as necessary. Could take us days to get a warrant. And all the while you’re going nowhere. And losing money. You want that?’

That got his attention. ‘You don’t know who owns this ship.’

‘I do know who owns this ship. And we’re not leaving until we’ve searched it.’

The police officers stood their ground. The captain had no choice but to allow them access. He gave a small, defeated wave.

‘Thank you,’ said May. ‘Now let me see the ship’s manifest.’

The captain reluctantly handed it over.

‘Right.’ May looked at Mickey. ‘You and DC Hepburn take the stern.’

‘That’s the back, right?’ said Anni.

‘Correct.’ He divided up the rest of his team into port and starboard.

‘All the terms,’ said Anni, impressed.

‘Grew up on a narrowboat outside Harlow,’ said May. ‘Right. I’ll take the pointy end. Let’s go.’

Mickey and Anni made their way towards the back of the ship. It was quite bright due to the overhead pier lights, but Mickey still swung a torch left and right. They stood before a stack of containers and looked up. He held the torch on them. They were piled so high, the beam died.

‘Great,’ said Anni. She put her hand on the first one. ‘Let’s start here, shall we?’

She worked the handle, swung the door open. Mickey shone the torch inside. The beam picked out stacked cardboard boxes.

‘Something going outbound,’ he said, then turned to her. ‘Hey, that’s a thought.’

‘What?’

‘Well, it might be worth checking that list—’

‘The manifest,’ said Anni.

‘Yeah,’ said Mickey. ‘I’m betting most of these are going out empty.’

‘Why?’

‘Because we hardly make anything any more. We import. So we check the empty ones first.’

‘Good idea.’

‘Right, let’s—’

A noise from the other side of the container stack. Like someone had been listening, was trying to get away.

Mickey and Anni shared a glance. Mickey gestured with his eyes; Anni nodded. They divided up either side of the container, began to creep round.

Another sound before they had got halfway. Someone moving away quickly.

Mickey sprinted to the corner. A figure was running towards the middle of the ship. Male, tall, well dressed. Suede jacket. He turned back to face them. Mickey recognised him. He had last seen him sitting in the back of a police car in Aldeburgh.

Calling himself Stuart Milton.

‘Come on,’ he shouted to Anni, and gave chase.

110

‘No. Definitely not.’

Marina stopped walking, not believing what she had just heard. ‘No? What d’you mean, no?’

Franks stopped walking also, turned, came back to her. ‘I mean no.’

They were in the corridor outside the interview room. Stuart Milton had been left to sleep while they went about putting the circus together to ride on Wrabness. Or at least Marina had thought that was what they were doing.

‘But that’s not fair. After what I’ve just done … Gary, that’s my daughter out there. I’ve got to come. No question.’

‘I’m sorry, Marina, but you’re not. It’s my decision. I listened to your arguments and let you in there and you did a damned good job. But you’re a psychologist. Your presence on a police field operation could be detrimental to its success. So I’m sorry, but no.’

Marina didn’t know what to say, how to reply.

Franks’s features softened. ‘I’m sorry, Marina, I really am. If there was a way you could be there, I would let you.’

She said nothing.

‘You can stay here. Or you can go home. But you can’t come with us. I’m sorry. We’ll call you as soon as we can.’ He gave a tight smile. ‘With good news, I hope.’

She felt like she was about to explode. ‘I’m not some fucking grieving relative, Gary. I’m one of the team. A valued member. Or I thought I was.’

Franks’s eyes widened. Clearly unhappy with women swearing. ‘You are,’ he said. ‘Of course you are.’

‘Yeah,’ said Marina. ‘Right.’ She turned away from him, strode off down the corridor towards the reception area. Keyed in the pass code, slammed through the door. To find her brother sitting in reception. She stopped walking, looked at him.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

‘Waiting for you,’ he said. ‘Fuckers let me go. Couldn’t hold me.’

She looked at him. He looked like she felt. Dirty, dishevelled. His sweats and trainers filthy.

‘What’s happened?’ he asked.

Marina opened her mouth to tell him, closed it again. She looked round. Checked no one was in earshot.

‘Where’s your car?’

‘Outside. They brought it here. Why?’

She thought. ‘Got anything planned for the rest of the night?’

Sandro, his face lined and tired, gave her a suspicious look. ‘I have a feelin’ the right answer isn’t “Goin’ home to bed”.’

‘Dead right,’ she said. ‘We’re going to Wrabness. To get my daughter back.’

111

A my kept trying to squeeze the trigger, but her hand was shaking too much to complete the action. Dee could see how unhinged she was, so she tried to play for time until the Golem arrived. Kept talking. ‘What exactly did you think you were going to achieve?’ she said. ‘With all this.’

‘You know what I was going to achieve,’ said Amy. ‘Get what was mine. What’s owed to me. It’s what I deserve.’

‘So why haven’t you tried to do it before? Why now?’

She lowered the gun slightly, concentrating on her words, focusing her anger. ‘I did try. A few times. But it costs money, doesn’t it? And when you’re a non-person, when you don’t exist, you don’t have any, do you? Not that you would know.’

Dee said nothing. Her previous life flashed through her mind. She ignored it.

‘Who would believe a madwoman? No one. That’s who.’

‘But a madwoman with a convicted murderer — that’d work … ’ Dee almost smiled at her own words, knowing they would just enrage Amy further.

‘Shut up! Shut up! You know that’s not true … And we could have proved it. Graham and me. That was the plan. That’s why he fell out with Michael. Over me. Graham hated what Michael had done to me. Hated it. Oh, he was all for it at first. He was with us. One of us. He helped put the blame on Stuart, get him sent down for the killings. But he hated what Michael had done to me. And then when you came along … ’

‘He left.’

Amy smiled. ‘Yes. He hated you as much as he hated Michael. And when Michael wouldn’t give him or me any money, we came up with the plan.’

‘This plan.’

‘Yes. Graham had kept a copy of the will, after all these years. The one my father made just before he died. The one that included Stuart. All we had to do was wait until Stuart was released, have him declared sane, show that he didn’t do the killings and him and me could be cut in. Michael wouldn’t let that happen, of course. Came after us.’

‘And did a pretty good job.’

Amy didn’t reply with words. She just growled.

‘It was foolproof. Get that psychologist back, the one who said the right things about him at the time. Because she’s made quite a name for herself. She’s high profile now.’ Amy sighed. ‘Foolproof. That’s what Graham said.’ Her eyes became wet.

‘How wrong he was.’ Dee could sense Amy weakening. When the Golem appeared, that would be the end of it. Then she could join Michael and say hello to a new life. But she couldn’t resist one last gloat. ‘You failed,’ she said. ‘Failed.’

‘Shut up! Shut up!’

‘Failed.’

Amy brought the gun up once more, levelled it. Dee stopped talking, thought she had actually gone too far this time. But then she felt rather than saw movement at her side. A shadow flowed, became corporeal. The Golem appeared.

Dee smiled. Her confidence returned. ‘As I said. You failed.’

Amy stared at the two of them.

And laughed.

112

Mickey ran. The other man ran faster. He seemed to know his way around better too, weaving in and out of the container stacks and negotiating on-deck obstacles that Mickey had difficulty seeing until he was on them. Coils of rope. Storage chests. The man jumped and dodged, avoiding them. Or deliberately taking a route that would slow Mickey down.

Mickey began to see where his quarry was headed. The ramp. The pier. Then off and away.

He couldn’t let that happen, had to stop him from reaching it.

The figure broke cover, came running out from behind another container stack, heading away from Mickey. Mickey gave chase, jumping over a coil of rope in his path.

The fleeing man looked backwards, checked that Mickey was still with him. Mickey ran harder, gaining on him. The man turned, ducked behind another container stack. Mickey, still running, followed him.

And felt an immediate pain in his chest.

He dropped to the deck, sore and winded. When he opened his eyes, the well-dressed man was standing over him, a length of metal in his hand. Mickey’s hand went to his chest. He gave a practice breath. It hurt. A lot.

The man gave a quick look round, then brought the metal bar down once more.

Mickey managed to roll out of the way, letting his shoulder take most of the blow that had been intended for his torso. He felt something crack as he did so. Pain shot down the length of his arm. He tried to pick his arm up, move it. Couldn’t.

He was out of it.

He could only watch as the man dropped the bar, looked round quickly to see if any other police officers were in sight. There weren’t. He looked down at Mickey again. Smiled.

‘Terribly sorry, old chum. Must dash.’

Mickey tried to rise, grab him, stop him from leaving. Felt a web of pain anchor him to the deck, pull him back down again.

He gasped, groaned. Tried to get his two-way radio out of his pocket, tell May what was happening. But it hurt too much. Couldn’t even manage that. His arm dropped down again. He sighed. He could only watch as the well-spoken, well-dressed man turned, walked away.

And immediately crashed face forward on to the deck.

Anni emerged from behind a stack of containers swinging a length of wood in her hand. She dropped it, bent over the man, brought his arm sharply round, cuffed him.

‘Gotcha,’ she said. ‘You’re nicked, mate.’

‘Oh, very good … ’ The man was wriggling, trying to get up. Hurting himself even more in the process, but not stopping. ‘Just you wait, bitch … Do you know who I am?’

‘No sir, I don’t,’ said Anni. ‘But we’ll find out soon enough.’

‘I own this ship … and when I get up … I’ll take out your fucking eyeballs with my fingers … ’

‘Whatever.’

‘Bite your tongue out … ’ He wriggled some more. ‘Let … me … go … ’

Anni looked over at Mickey. ‘Give DI May a call, will you?’

‘You are in so much fucking trouble … ’ Fire burned in the man’s eyes. An ugly, twisted rage. ‘I’ll have your fucking jobs … I’ll take your fucking life … ’

‘That’s all well and good, sir,’ said Anni, tightening her grip on him. ‘Now can you tell us why two police officers have been kidnapped, brought on board and detained against their will?’

The man fell silent. Stopped moving.

‘I want my lawyer.’

Damn, thought Anni. The magic words. The custody clock had started ticking. She looked over at Mickey, who was still lying on the ground. ‘You OK?’

Mickey tried to sit up. Couldn’t. Flopped back down again. Winced from the pain. ‘What … d’you think?’

‘Chuck me your radio.’

It took a great deal of painful effort, but Mickey managed to send his radio sliding along the deck towards Anni. She picked it up and spoke into it without loosening her grip on Michael Sloane.

‘DI May, DC Hepburn here. We’ve apprehended a suspect who’s attacked DS Philips. He needs medical attention.’

DI May’s voice crackled back. ‘Good work, DC Hepburn. We’ll get that to him. And I was just about to call you,’ he said. ‘We’ve found them. Jessie and Deepak plus Helen Hibbert.’

‘They OK?’

‘They’ll need looking over by the paramedics too. They say it was the Sloanes who did this to them. Michael and Dee Sloane.’

Anni looked at the prone man, who had reacted to the name. ‘I think we’ve got Mr Sloane here.’

‘Don’t let him get away, DC Hepburn.’

She gave an extra squeeze. He wasn’t happy about it. ‘He’s not going anywhere, don’t worry.’

She cut the connection, looked over at Mickey. Smiled. ‘We make a good team, don’t we?’

Mickey managed to return the smile. ‘Yeah … ’

113

‘That it?’ Sandro peered through the windscreen. ‘Looks like it’s falling into the river.’

‘Looks like the river’s sucking it down,’ said Marina.

They had driven along the narrow road Marina had walked two days earlier. She found it hard to believe that it was only two days ago. So much had happened in such a small space of time. She parked in front of the house, turning her lights off as she made the approach. There were two cars there already. One that matched the kind of clunker Sandro would buy, the other a small, expensive sports car.

No police. They had managed to get there first. But they wouldn’t be far behind, so every second had to count.

Marina killed the engine, made to get out. Sandro placed a restraining hand on her arm. She looked at him, irritated to be held up. His eyes showed nothing but concern.

‘You sure about this? You don’t want to wait for your lot to arrive? There’s people there already. Might get a bit hairy.’

Marina closed her eyes tight, shook her head. ‘No, I can’t. Can’t wait. Josephina’s in there. We can’t wait any longer. We have to get her out straight away.’

Sandro nodded. ‘Fair enough. I’m coming with you.’

Marina didn’t answer. She just wanted to close her eyes, go to sleep. Make it all go away. Have a normal life again. She didn’t want to walk into a haunted-looking house to get her daughter back from a psychopath. She felt tears squeezing their way out of the corners of her eyes. Put her fists there to stop them.

‘Hey … ’ Sandro made to hug her.

‘Don’t,’ she said, pulling away. ‘If you do that, I’ll crumble. And if I crumble, I won’t want to go in there … ’

Sandro nodded, moved away from her. ‘OK. But don’t worry. I’ve got you, sis. We’re good.’

She squeezed his hand. Gave another nod.

They got out of the car. Made their way cautiously but quickly towards the house.

114

‘What’s so funny?’ asked Dee.

Amy shook her head. ‘Nothing. Nothing.’ She laughed again, as if she had just heard a great joke and was savouring the punchline.

Despite the reassuring presence of the Golem at her side, the laughter was starting to unnerve Dee. ‘I said, what’s so funny?’ she asked again, her voice louder, higher this time.

Amy straightened up. Retrained the gun on Dee. ‘You are.’

‘Me.’

‘Yes. You. You’re so sure of yourself, aren’t you? Always right. And even if you’re not, you’ve got enough money to convince everyone that you are. My money.’

Dee said nothing. Just waited. Let her say her piece, she thought. Then the Golem can deal with her and we can be gone.

‘So,’ said Amy, circling the gun, looking down the sights, smiling still, ‘what d’you think you’re going to do now?’

‘Me?’ said Dee. ‘Nothing. Not a thing.’ She gestured with her thumb towards the Golem, who had moved close beside her. Almost behind her. ‘He is.’

Amy kept the smile on her face, the gun pointed. She looked like she was struggling not to laugh.

Mad bitch, thought Dee. Time to finish this. ‘We can’t have you around any longer. Making accusations. Planning and plotting against us. Getting in the way … We’ve had enough. Time for it to stop.’

Amy giggled. It infuriated Dee.

‘You played a long game this time. And it failed. There’s no prize for second place.’

‘Oh,’ said Amy, ‘you’re so right. So right.’ She moved her attention from Dee to the Golem. Addressed him directly. ‘Remember our agreement?’ she said, her eyes suddenly unclouded by madness, just vicious, businesslike. ‘The money? The shares?’

The Golem nodded.

‘Good. Get on with it.’

Dee felt the Golem’s hand encircle her throat. She had no time to shout out, to plead for mercy. She had no time to prepare herself for death.

He snapped.

She only had time to die.

115

Marina and Sandro walked towards the house, the mist parting with their footsteps. Whatever front door had once been there had fallen off and was rotting away. Marina stepped over the threshold, stopped. Listened. Heard creaking, groaning. Heard the river water sloshing round the foundations of the house, lapping away at it.

And something else. Faint and muffled. Small screams. Small hands hitting something.

Marina gasped. ‘Josie … ’

She made to run inside the house. Sandro stopped her. Marina glared at him, tried to shake off his grip.

‘Wait,’ he said, voice a hissed whisper. ‘The cars outside, remember? We don’t know who’s here. Let’s go carefully.’

The words didn’t penetrate. All she could hear was her daughter’s screams. She shook Sandro off and ran into the house.

She found herself in a central hall, huge, tall, a rotting staircase in the centre. She looked round, tried to get her eyes accustomed to the change in darkness. Saw movement, a light coming from a room off to her left. Ran towards it.

And found herself in what must have once been the living room. There was a woman lying on the floor, unmoving. Standing over her was one of the biggest men she had ever seen. And standing opposite, a naked, bald woman holding a gun.

The woman looked up from the body on the floor, stared at her. Marina took her in. She was like a female version of Frankenstein’s monster. A patchwork person. Marina flinched at the sight of her, but didn’t stop moving forward.

‘Where’s my daughter, bitch?’ She moved right up to the ruined woman.

The woman looked at her. Smiled. ‘Dr Esposito, I presume?’

Marina stopped. Looked at her. ‘You’re the one, aren’t you? You took my daughter … ’

The woman looked over Marina’s shoulder. ‘Golem … ’

Marina felt movement behind her. Smelt something rank, Decomposition and corruption to match the smell of the house itself. She turned. The man mountain was moving towards her. She had time to notice him. His skin was grey. Like a dead person. Filthy, bloodied bandages were hanging off his arms. She saw glistening wounds beneath. He smiled.

And stopped moving. Turned.

‘Hey, mate … ’

Sandro had tapped him on the shoulder. He took advantage of the Golem not moving. Swung a punch at him.

The Golem, eyes full of surprise, tottered, slipped. Sandro followed up with another punch. The Golem went down on one knee, a look of surprise on his face.

Sandro looked at Marina. ‘I’ve got this. Go on.’

Marina turned back to the woman before her. Made her hand into a fist. Put everything she could behind it. All the pain, anguish, heartache of the past few days. And the rage, the silent screams she had wanted to release but had been unable to. Everything. And let it fly.

Her knuckles stung, her arm shook from the reverberation of the impact. She might have done serious damage to her hand, but she didn’t care.

The punch had connected with the woman’s jaw, spun her head backwards, her body following. She had let go of the gun in her hand, sending it flying across the room, and stumbled to her knees. Marina bent down, picked her up by her chin. There was blood all round her mouth. She made a kind of strangled growl as Marina pulled at her.

‘Where … is … my … daughter?’

The woman smiled. Blood glistening on her teeth. ‘Feel better for that? Won’t help you … because it … it doesn’t matter any more … ’

Marina pulled back her hand to slap her face but stopped. The woman was staring up at her, madness dancing in her eyes. ‘Where is she? Tell me … ’

The woman laughed. You can’t talk to me like that. I’m … I’m Dee Sloane … ’

Marina knew she would get nothing more from the woman. She was enjoying Marina’s pain. Instead she turned round, scanned the room, tried to tune out what was before her, listened for sounds of her daughter.

She heard them. Faint but unmistakable. Screams. Pounding. ‘Josie … ’

She dropped the woman who called herself Dee Sloane. Let her crumple to the floor.

116

Sandro was aware of Marina leaving the room. But he didn’t let his concentration slip, didn’t take his eyes off his opponent. Golem? Was that what the insane woman had called him? Whatever or whoever he was, he was there to be beaten. But it wouldn’t be easy.

The Golem looked at him, smiled. Advanced. He looked like he was going to relish the fight. Sandro hated those kinds of opponents. He always just wanted to get it over with. Put the other guy down as hard and as fast as possible. Win. And that was what he planned to do here.

‘You not hurt me,’ said the Golem. ‘I Superman … ’

Oh God, thought Sandro. Chatty and mental. Just what I need.

He squared up to the man mountain before him. The lack of sleep, the exhaustion of the previous few hours slipped away from him. The adrenalin high he had been on when he stepped into the ring hours ago kicked in once more. He brought his fists up, his system pumping. Felt that familiar bodily engine revving. It always kicked in. Like he was a car, speedy and powerful, one that couldn’t wait for the brake to be slipped so he could see how far he could get and how fast he could go.

And something else. Something that was always there. In every fight, in every aspect of every day of his life.

The rage. The familiar rage.

The Golem came towards him. Sandro saw his father’s features imprinted on his opponent’s face.

‘I feel no pain,’ said the Golem. ‘But you will.’

Sandro was ready.

He swung the first blow.

117

Marina ran. In and out of rooms, trying to make out shapes, objects in the dark, trying to find her daughter. Calling all the time, letting Josephina know she was coming for her. That it was all right. Her mother was here.

‘Josie, keep shouting, keep shouting … ’

She did. Calling for her, pounding too. But the calls, the pounding were starting to weaken.

‘Josie … Josie … keep going, keep going … ’

Marina ran into a room at the back of the house. The sound, the smell of the river was strong in there. She could hear it lapping at the foundations, curling underneath her, the wood beneath the floorboards creaking as it did so.

‘Josie … ’

The pounding had been coming from this room. Marina listened, tried to hear it. Couldn’t.

‘Josie … I’m here, Mummy’s here … Tell me, tell me where you are … ’

A thump. Small. Weak.

Marina looked round, scanned the room, eyes now accustomed to the darkness. Checking the rotting furniture, looking for cupboards, anything.

‘Again, darling, do it again … ’

Another thump, even weaker this time.

Another desperate scan of the room. The walls held nothing. Marina looked down, scanned the floor.

And then she saw it.

The trapdoor.

She knelt down, found the metal ring, recessed in the wood. Pulled. It wouldn’t budge. The wood damp and warped.

She pulled harder. Nothing.

Marina felt tears well up within her. Anger, rage and sorrow all built to an emotional crescendo. She wasn’t going to let this happen, she wasn’t …

She pulled again. Put everything she had behind it, every last piece of herself. If she never moved again, it would be worth it to get the trapdoor opened.

It moved. A small amount, but definite movement.

Encouraged, she pulled again, harder this time.

More movement.

She pulled harder, screaming at the top of her lungs.

The trapdoor gave, opened fully.

Marina fell backwards as it did so, letting the heavy wood drop to the floor, the noise echoing round the house, reverberating away to nothing. She got quickly to her knees, looked down into dark space.

And there was her daughter.

Pushed up against the top of the steps, her eyes wide with terror, soaking wet. Marina leaned in and Josie came straight into her arms.

‘It’s OK, it’s OK, Mummy’s here now … ’

She stood up, holding her daughter close to her, tighter than she ever had before, never wanting to let go. Josephina did the same, clinging on for her life. She smoothed her daughter’s matted hair away from her face, wet from the cellar, from tears. She could barely see her through her own tears. There were times she had doubted that she would ever see her again, ever feel her, hear her. But there she was.

‘It’s OK, Mummy’s here, I’ve got you, don’t worry … ’ The words came out in a cascade of relief. She rocked her daughter backwards and forwards as she spoke.

‘Have they hurt you, darling, have they … ’

Muffled against her, Marina felt Josephina shake her head.

‘I wanted you, Mummy … ’

‘I know you did, darling, and I wanted you too.’ She clutched her tighter. ‘I’m here now. And I won’t let anyone take you away again. Ever.’

Josephina didn’t move. Just clung on to her.

Marina dug into her pocket, brought out the tattered, dirty soft toy. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘Lady. I kept her for you … ’

Josephina took it, hugged it to herself.

‘Ah, how sweet.’

Marina turned. Amy had entered the room. Still naked, face a bloodied mask.

And holding the gun.

118

Sandro’s blow connected. The Golem reeled backwards.

‘Gotcha,’ said Sandro, huffing out breaths.

The Golem quickly recovered, looked back at him. Smiled again.

‘You can’t hurt me,’ he said. ‘You can’t kill me.’

Sandro moved round the floor, fists at the ready. Trying to find the right next move, the right combination of blows, the best attack. ‘Is that so? You look like you’re in a bit of a state to me. Like some other fella’s already had a go at you.’

The Golem moved too. Not as light or nimble as Sandro, not a distance fighter like him, just used to relying on his size and the power that came with it for his advantage.

‘Not a state.’ Another laugh. ‘Invulnerable. Invincible. Unbeatable.’

‘Yeah, right, pal.’

Sandro had to admit that there was something behind those words. The dead woman on the floor was testament to that. And the size of him … Sandro had fought some big guys before. And they had been hard fights. The big fellas could throw a punch and get behind it. Make it hurt. He’d had to use every trick he knew just to avoid a beating. And they hadn’t been as big as this one.

He had to win this fight. Because if he didn’t, he would be dead.

The Golem made a move. Faster than Sandro would have expected. He just had time to duck out of the way as the big man’s fist came towards him.

He kept the momentum going, dodged round the side of his opponent, let loose a couple of punches to his ribs. His fingers hurt, it was like hitting a wall, but when he looked at where he had made contact, he noticed blood starting to seep through the other man’s T-shirt.

Result, thought Sandro. Like his arms, he’s got a wound there. A target. Something to aim for.

He swung again. But the Golem was waiting for him. He brought his arm backwards, smacked Sandro in the face, sent him flying. He stumbled backwards, tripped over the body lying on the floor, crashing into the rotted curtain hanging over a window. He tried to grab hold of it to stop his fall, but went down with it in his hands, the curtain pole following.

The Golem, again faster than Sandro would have expected, was on him.

Sandro was trying to wriggle free from the curtain as the Golem brought back his booted foot ready for a kick that would have shattered Sandro’s ribs and taken out at least one of his kidneys. Sandro thought fast. Grabbed the foot as it came towards him. Twisted. Hard.

He heard the terminal creak and snap as cartilage and bone were forced in directions never intended for them. The Golem dropped to one knee. But his features registered no pain. In fact it just seemed to make him angrier.

‘You think that would hurt me? I told you. You cannot hurt me.’

Sandro was momentarily shocked into inactivity. He had expected his move to work. Expected the big man to collapse in agony. Instead, the Golem was back on his feet, his leg twisted, pulling back his fist, readying it to fly.

Sandro turned, scrambled along the floor on his hands and knees to get out of the way. He grabbed the fallen curtain pole to help lever himself to his feet, but the pole snapped in two. He had just got to his feet when the Golem came up behind him, smashed him in the back.

The blow caught him between the shoulder blades, knocked the air from him. He went down again.

The Golem moved in. Turned him over. Knelt over him.

‘You put up a good fight. And I respect that. But now, you die.’

Sandro felt the Golem’s fingers tighten around his throat. Knew he had to do something. Thought fast. He knew the Golem didn’t respond to pain, so there was no point in trying to hurt him. Instead he had to do something physically incapacitating.

The Golem’s fingers were on his neck. Sandro grabbed a thumb with each hand. Bent them back as far as he could. The Golem released his grip slightly, tried to fight him off. Sandro kept on pulling. Felt them snap.

The Golem looked confused, wondering why his hands didn’t have the same grip, why he couldn’t squeeze hard any more. He tried. But it was no use. Without his thumbs, he couldn’t snap anyone’s neck.

Sandro knew he couldn’t rest, that his opponent was still dangerous. He felt around on the floor, found the broken curtain pole. Yes. That would do.

With the Golem still on top of him, he gripped the pole in his left hand, brought it into the Golem’s side, right into the bleeding wound he had discovered earlier.

The Golem didn’t flinch. So Sandro did it again. And again.

The third time he left it there and pushed. Hard as he could. Something changed in the Golem’s eyes. A light dimming.

Sandro stared into his opponent’s face. Saw not the Golem, but his own father. Bearing down on him, hurting him. Ruining him. He had never been able to fight back when he was younger. Used to lie awake at nights planning all the things he was going to do to get even. Never having the nerve to put any of them into practice. Just letting the rage build inside him. Taking it out on anyone else, finding surrogates for his anger.

And here he was again.

Sandro let go of the pole, flattened out both of his hands and smacked the Golem over the ears.

It was one of the most dangerous moves he could make. Not even allowed in the bare-knuckle ring. The mildest thing the blow could do was disorientate, hit an opponent’s centre of balance. It could also burst the eardrums. But the worst thing, if enough force was applied, was unconsciousness and even brain damage.

And Sandro hoped he had applied enough force.

He saw his father disappear, saw the Golem once more.

He looked into the Golem’s eyes again. The light was going out. Blood began to trickle out of his ears. His mouth went slack.

And he collapsed on top of Sandro.

‘Brilliant … ’ Sandro could barely breathe.

He managed to push himself out from under, let the Golem’s broken body slump to the floor. He climbed slowly to his feet. Legs unsteady, head and body sore. Breathing ragged.

But alive.

119

‘And it was all going so well … ’ Amy held the gun on Marina and Josephina. Her bloodied features filled with regret.

‘So well?’ said Marina, clutching her daughter tightly to her chest.

‘Yes. Everything was planned, everything was ready.’

‘Everything planned? You killed … killed someone I loved. You tried to kill everyone I love.’

‘No, not me. Michael Sloane. He did that. I’m not responsible for what happened to your family.’

‘Michael Sloane did that?’ Marina clearly didn’t believe her.

‘Graham and I were going to approach you. Ask you to help us with Stuart. We were going to do it properly, formally. But Michael found out. We didn’t plan it well enough. He found out we were going to approach you when you were in that cottage in Aldeburgh. So he got there before us. Firebombed the place. Only I managed to get you and your daughter out of there. And then … we had to improvise.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

Amy sighed. ‘I don’t care.’

‘You blame Michael Sloane for everything.’

Her eyes flashed. ‘And why do you think that is?’

‘You used me. You kidnapped my daughter.’

‘I panicked. After the blast. Had to do something. I’d come to speak to you, ask you nicely, but then there was the blast. And Michael was there. You were unconscious, I pulled you out of its range so he couldn’t grab you, throw you back in. Then the car went up. And the only thing I could do was take your daughter. And run.’

‘But … you tortured us — me and my daughter … you enjoyed it.’

‘So melodramatic. We had to see that you weren’t being followed, hadn’t told anyone. So we set a test for you. In the bar in Southend. Told you which motel to sleep at. I even came into the hospital, put the book of maps and the phone in your bag.’

‘You were spying on me.’

‘We already had the equipment. The Sloanes knew what we were up to. Were trying to stop it. Even if it meant killing us. So we were monitoring their calls, checking that they weren’t getting too near us.’ She sighed. Readjusted the gun. ‘Still, it doesn’t matter. Not now. Not any more.’

Marina stared at her, unable to move.

Amy’s finger tightened on the trigger.

There was nowhere for Marina to run, nowhere she could hide that would take her out of range of the gun. And she couldn’t make a grab for it, not with Josephina in her arms. As she closed her eyes to accept was about to happen to her, Sandro stepped out of the shadows and came up silently behind Amy.

He reached round, grabbed the hand that was holding the gun, hooked his other arm round her neck.

Marina put Josephina down. The girl didn’t wanted to be parted from her mother, complained. ‘Just for a second, darling. Mummy’s got something to do.’

Josephina did as she was told.

Marina stepped forward. Sandro twisted Amy’s hand, making her drop the gun. His other arm gripped her even tighter round the neck.

‘What do we do with her?’ he asked.

‘Franks should be here soon. We’ll leave her for him.’

Amy squirmed and wriggled against Sandro’s grip. Marina stared at her.

‘I’m a mother. A very angry mother. You stole my daughter. You tried to kill me and my family. You killed someone I loved.’

‘Not me,’ said Amy, gasping and struggling. ‘Michael … ’

‘But you stole my daughter.’

Amy managed to get free of Sandro’s grip. She looked to the door, thinking of making a run for it, but Marina and Sandro were blocking her way. Instead she backed away from them, tripped and lost her footing.

Marina put out an arm to catch her but missed. Amy fell backwards through the trapdoor into the water below. She tried to reach the side, pull herself out, but Marina stood over her. Looked down at her.

Then slammed the trapdoor shut.

120

‘You can’t leave her like that,’ said Sandro.

‘Why not?’

‘Because she’ll die. You’ll kill her.’

Hammering came from the trapdoor behind them. Marina seemed to be ignoring it. Sandro couldn’t.

Marina shrugged, picked up Josephina once more. ‘So?’

Sandro looked from the trapdoor to his sister. ‘You’ll have the law down on you. You’ll be done for murder. Is that what you want for your daughter? A criminal for a mother? You’re not your father’s daughter, Marina. You’re better than that.’

Something changed in Marina’s features. The anger, the rage drained out of her. She sighed. ‘I’m too tired to open it. I’m taking my daughter home. You do it if you want to.’ She turned and left the room.

Sandro stared at the trapdoor.

121

Dawn was breaking. The room was getting lighter. Phil Brennan opened his eyes. It took him a few seconds to orientate himself, remember where he was. Hospital. Then he remembered what had happened. And his heart became heavy as lead.

He tried to move his arms, his legs. Flex them, test that they still worked. They did.

His door opened. Light from the corridor flooded in, making silhouettes of the figures in the doorway.

He squinted at them, wondered who it was.

Then realised.

Marina was walking towards the bed, their daughter in her arms. The lead in his heart began to dissipate. He smiled. Marina came nearer. She looked terrible. Hair all over the place, clothing dirtied and torn. Josephina the same.

But to Phil, they had never looked more beautiful.

Marina sat on the side of the bed. Leaned in, stroked his face. Josephina hugged him.

‘Hey,’ Marina said.

‘Hey yourself.’

Up close, Marina looked like she was on the verge of breaking down. He placed his wired and tubed hand on top of hers.

‘We’re here,’ she said. ‘Sorry it took so long … ’

Then the tears started.

From all three of them.