Dead Scared

I LEFT ST JOHN’S, walked along bridge street and turned into Thompson’s Lane where I knew I’d find the Varsity Hotel. There were two young night porters at the desk.

‘Hi,’ I said. ‘I’m Laura Farrow. Has anyone left a message for me?’

One looked blank, the other cast his eyes over the desk in front of him. ‘I can’t see anything,’ he said in an eastern European accent. ‘What was the name of the guest?’

Very good question. I had no idea what undercover name Joesbury used.

‘Mr Johnson?’ I tried, because I knew initials usually remained the same. The boy looked at the screen in front of him. ‘We have a Mr Jackson,’ he told me.

‘Is he in?’ I asked, grasping at straws. The boy turned to the key hooks on the wall behind him. ‘No,’ he said, turning back to me. ‘His key is here.’

Thanking the boys, I went outside again. Joesbury had hinted there were more undercover officers in the city but I hadn’t a hope of tracking them down. If I phoned Scotland Yard and told them who I was they would probably put me through to SO10. But that could be completely the wrong thing to do. Don’t trust the police, Joesbury had told me.

OK, I wasn’t going to panic. Joesbury was more than capable of taking care of himself. Sniffy was looking after Evi. Jessica was safe in a secure psychiatric ward. Bryony was beyond our help. It looked like I was next on the list and I certainly wasn’t about to take my own life. I just had to sit tight.

Back at college, hot tea felt very appealing but mindful of Evi’s theory that I’d been drugged I wasn’t taking any chances. I brushed my teeth, drank some water from the tap and got ready for bed. I switched the light out and wondered if I’d ever fall asleep. Then a thought hit me.

According to Talaith, Bryony had been most scared of losing her looks. She’d dreamed about disfigurement. What if the fire had never been meant to kill her? What if that was just the last stage of the physical and psychological torture? What if all someone had done earlier today was to make sure the window of her room wasn’t locked and show her a mirror?

The beeping of a text message coming into my phone nearly made me leap out of bed. I grabbed it from the bedside shelf. Joesbury. Oh, thank God.

Delayed, it said. Sit tight. Don’t contact anyone but me.

Oh, thank God, thank God. As I muttered it over and over in my head, the world slipped away.

The man who now had Mark Joesbury’s mobile phone put it down softly on the desk in front of him. ‘We have another twenty-four hours maximum,’ he said. ‘Is she out yet?’

A screen on the computer in front of him flickered to life and he was looking at a picture of a young woman in bed, apparently asleep.

‘Should be,’ he was told. ‘There was enough stuff in there to knock out an elephant.’

‘Are we going in?’ asked the third man in the room.

The man at the desk shook his head. ‘Not sure.’

‘Last chance, and at least we know that ruddy dog’s out of the way.’

‘Too risky. There’s someone else sniffing around. We’ll finish her off tomorrow.’

‘What about Evi Oliver?’

‘She’s had no real pain relief for three weeks now and we’ve been playing with her head till she hardly knows what day it is. According to Meg, she’s on the verge of losing it.’

‘Is that good? We haven’t had her to the unit yet.’

‘We may have to pass on that. There isn’t time to use them both and getting her out of the way was always the priority.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘Besides, Laura is the one I’ve set my heart on.’