Lockdown

Forty-eight

When people imagined New York, they thought first of the skyline and then of the press of bodies. But on the right block, at the right time, you could be all alone, with not a soul around. That’s where Carrie was now. Ten blocks from home. And the silence meant she could hear the scuff of footsteps behind her as clear as crystal.

The footsteps quickened. She glanced back but didn’t see anyone. She could feel the presence of the person following her now. A man, almost definitely a man.

Her hand went into her pocket and she felt for the small canister of mace. It was a gift from Lock, accompanied by a lengthy explanation. A knife can be taken off you. Ditto a gun. A taser, the latest must-have for ladies who lunch, too tricky to deploy. Miss with the stinger and you have to get in close. A rape alarm? Someone had to make a decision to get involved, and this was New York. So he’d given her pepper spray and taught her a few moves: elbow strike, double-handed fend-off. All designed with only one end in mind: to give her enough time to get away. As he told it, that’s all bodyguarding was anyway. Organized running away.

She felt for the red cap at the top of the canister and flicked it forward. Felt for the trigger just beneath that. Used her index finger to move round the cold metal and locate the nozzle. The last thing she wanted to do was spray herself.

She could feel the guy almost on her shoulder. She was sure it was a man by the sound of his steps.

Three more steps, and she turned and pulled out the mace at the same time.

‘Whoa! Carrie, sorry, I wasn’t sure it was you. I didn’t want to go shouting after some stranger in the street and freak her out.’

‘You asshole, Ryan.’

‘I get that a lot.’

‘I thought you were a mugger.’

‘You might wish I was in a second.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘I need one final favour.’

Her day had started at six with a trip to the gym and an hour of punishment on a Stair Master. Thousands of people in the city who lived in walk-ups dreamed of moving out so they could escape having to climb flights of stairs. Yet here she was, surrounded by women of her age and younger, paying for the privilege.

Men could get away with going to seed in front of camera. A few extra pounds and a face like a bloodhound lent them gravitas. For a woman it was a career-finisher. That was the reality of her business.

Now it was nine in the evening and she was standing in front of a camera outside Meditech headquarters. Three hours after she’d left work. Two of those had been spent persuading Gail Reindl to agree to the story.

Through her earpiece, she could hear the voice of the anchor back in the studio: ‘For another dramatic development in the abduction case of Josh Hulme, we cross to our correspondent who’s live outside the head offices of Meditech Corporation for an exclusive update. Carrie, what’s this new information that’s come to light?’

Like a golfer, Carrie had a routine every time she went live. She took a deep breath that lasted to the count of three. This time it lasted to the count of five.

‘Thanks, Mike. As those of us who have been following this story already know, an arrest has been made, and the FBI have informed news sources that they are not looking for anyone else in connection with this crime. However, earlier today I spoke off record to a source close to Meditech Corporation who is claiming that Josh’s au pair at the time, a young Russian woman who was found dead shortly after the abduction, was having a relationship with a member of the company’s security personnel.’

The anchor came back in. ‘And why is that a particularly significant development, Carrie?’

‘Well, Rob, if you recall, Josh Hulme was last seen with the au pair getting into a town car outside an Upper East Side apartment block, leading many to conclude that this young woman was in some way involved in the kidnapping.’

‘And what are the FBI saying about this?’

‘So far not very much, although it is believed that this new information has been brought to their attention before now.’

As she finished up, Lock led the applause. Angel joined in, barking her approval as she rubbed against his leg.

‘You want to get something to eat?’ Carrie asked him.

‘What about Paul?’

She was quiet for a moment, then sighed. ‘We broke up.’

Lock did his best not to show his delight. ‘That was sudden.’

‘Yes, it was.’

‘Who had the change of heart?’

‘Does it matter?’

Lock hesitated. ‘If it’s the person who’s asking me out to dinner then maybe it does.’

Behind them, the camera guy took time out from eavesdropping to clear his throat loudly.

Lock turned to him. ‘You got something you want to say?’

‘Only that if it was me, I wouldn’t need asking twice.’

They dropped Angel back at the apartment and headed downstairs to Carrie’s neighbourhood Italian. Red and white chequered table cloths, vampire-dark lighting — the place had stayed unchanged for so long it was now considered retro. They both ordered pasta and split a bottle of red wine.

‘More ripples in the pond?’ Carrie asked Lock as a single candle flickered between them. ‘Is that why you asked me to do that piece?’

‘No, insurance.’

‘Against?’

‘Life insurance.’

‘For who?’

‘Me.’

‘And how does that work?’

‘Well, assuming it’s the same people, someone who’s prepared to kidnap a minor and assassinate someone in the middle of the day in Midtown isn’t going to think twice about snuffing me.’

‘But if you’re the accuser. .’

‘Starts to look bad if I have an accident. Doesn’t make me safe, but sure as hell gives them something to think about.’

‘And where does that leave me?’

‘They won’t touch you.’

‘Glad you’re so confident.’

‘If journalists were fair game you’d be an endangered species by now. Anyway, there are better ways to manipulate a story than killing the messenger. They’re counting on the fact that given enough time all this will go away.’

‘And will it?’

‘Everything does in time.’

‘So why keep pressing?’

Lock smiled, reached over and refilled both their glasses. ‘Because I’m an asshole like that.’

She reached down into her bag and pulled out a bulging manila envelope. ‘I know. Which is why I’ve brought you everything I’ve managed to gather on Meditech. And the retired Colonel Brand.’

He took the envelope. ‘You mind me reading at the table?’

‘If you can in this light.’

He flipped to the stuff on Brand, and two words caught his eye. Abu Ghraib.

‘He was there when Lindy King and her boyfriend were keeping prisoners on a short leash,’ Carrie said.

‘So how come no one ever heard of him?’ Lock asked as he read on.

As soon as the photographs from Abu Ghraib came to light, Brand had been offered, and accepted, an honourable discharge. If he had known what was going on there he’d been savvy enough to keep his face out of the frame.

‘Meditech did a full service check when they took me on. Spoke to a bunch of people. They must have done the same for Brand.’

‘Maybe that’s why they took him on,’ said Carrie.

Later that evening, they made love at Carrie’s apartment. It wasn’t like it had been before. It was slower, with more of a connection. Before it had been recreational. This felt like the prelude to something that went deeper.

Afterwards, Carrie snuggled up next to him, her head on his chest. She drifted off to sleep, still cradled in Lock’s arms. No Harry Met Sally quandary for Lock. It felt good. They lay like that for a long time.

When she woke, it was still dark and he wasn’t there any more. Angel must have snuck in and was asleep at the foot of the bed. Carrie got up and put on her robe. She walked through into the living room.

Lock was standing by the window, putting on his jacket while staring down at the empty street below. ‘It’s early, go back to bed.’

She yawned, stretching her arms above her head. ‘I get up early.’

‘Not this early.’

‘Why? What time is it?’

‘Four.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Brooklyn.’

‘At four in the morning?’

He walked over to her and kissed her softly on the lips. ‘Best time to see Brooklyn. When it’s pitch-black.’