Dead Scared

Wednesday 16 January (six days earlier)

BY THE TIME Joesbury got back to the Cripps building, Lacey was being led back to her block by a group of young women. Her wet clothes clung to her body and her hair streamed down her back. She was gritting her teeth, he could tell from the way her jaw was set, and seemed determined not to make eye contact with anyone around her, keeping her gaze up and ahead.

Joesbury, on the edge of the crowd, was wearing dark, plain clothes. The collar of his jacket was pulled up and a black woollen cap covered most of his head. He was standing in the shadows, little more than a shadow himself. Wouldn’t make any difference. She’d know him. Joesbury stood still as stone, knowing that if she looked in his direction now, movement could give him away.

He’d seen the three masked figures slip away into the night minutes earlier and had given chase. He’d seen the vehicle they’d driven away in, memorized the make and registration number and already called it in. Not that he held out much hope. It would almost certainly be a stolen car they’d abandon after tonight. In ordinary circumstances he might have sprinted to his own car, taking a chance on the direction they’d take and finding them again. Ordinary circumstances when he didn’t have a damaged lung, and when Lacey wasn’t in the hands of irresponsible twats. Instead, he’d jogged back to the green.

Almost at the door of the building, she tottered and Joesbury took an involuntary step forward.

Biggest fucking mistake of his career, allowing himself to be talked into bringing her here. He simply could not function properly where she was concerned.

And now that the fun was over, several of the students still on the green were starting to notice him. A few long-legged strides and he was gone.

‘Hello?’

No background noise. She’d be in that tiny room, the one with the impossibly narrow bed pushed against the window wall.

‘Did I wake you up?’ He knew he hadn’t. There hadn’t been time for her to shower, drink tea, agree with the rest of the girls on the corridor what pillocks men could be, say goodnight and fall asleep.

‘No.’

Silence. He couldn’t ask her if she was OK. Couldn’t tell her what it had cost him to watch her go through that and not put someone in hospital for it. His scar was hurting again. He reached up, pressed fingers against the skin just below his right temple.

‘Thanks for the report,’ he said. ‘Very thorough.’

A moment passed, whilst she thought of something sarcastic to say back.

‘Pleasure,’ she said. ‘Where are you?’

Joesbury took a step closer to the window. From the third floor of the hotel he could see the tower and some of the taller buildings of St John’s. He was looking in the exact direction of her room.

‘Thames Embankment,’ he said. ‘On my way home. Long day.’

The tiniest sigh that could almost have been a crackle on the line. Or, if he didn’t know her better, the start of a sob. ‘Pity,’ she said.

‘Why?’ he asked, before he could stop himself.

An intake of breath. Then a gulp. ‘Oh, nothing. I could just use a drink and some grown-up conversation right now.’

Joesbury turned back to his room, to the neatly made double bed with its dark-red throw, and saw Lacey’s head on the crimson silk, her arms outstretched, hair trailing to the carpet.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

‘Fine, just tired. I should let you go too. Thanks for checking in. Goodnight, Sir.’

‘Lacey, be careful.’ Idiot. Shouldn’t have said that.

‘Why? What’s up?’ Alert again.

‘Just do what you’re told for once,’ he said. ‘Keep your wits about you. I’ll see you soon.’