Severed

21

The first thing that happens is that we drive to Lucas's Islington apartment, or duplex as he prefers to call it, since the living accommodation is actually set over two floors. It's part of a swish glass building that stands out on a street of low-rise, low-cost 1960s houses in the slowly gentrifying area west of the bottom end of the Holloway Road. We deposit his car in the secure underground car park and go inside, pleased to find that there's no ambush or police here either.

'Let's start at the beginning,' Lucas says when we're in his study and he's got his laptop booted up.

We're both drinking coffee, sitting in matching and very comfortable black leather chairs at opposite ends of his enormous glass desk. It's now twenty to five, and I feel a lot better. I've showered and am dressed in a pair of Lucas's Armani jeans and a short-sleeved cotton Hugo Boss shirt. I wanted a pair of his shoes as well but he said his friendship only went so far, so I'm still in my tatty smoke-stained Timberlands.

'Do you still not remember anything at all about last night?' he asks.

'I can't really remember anything about yesterday. I vaguely recall driving to the showroom yesterday morning, but even that I'm not a hundred per cent sure about. I have no recollection of calling you.'

'It's a pity we can't do something to unlock your memory. Obviously, the people who set you up have gone to great trouble to conceal the location where you spent last night. Which means they think your memory might come back, or…'

'Or what?'

'Or it's a place that's familiar to you.'

I shake my head. 'I've never been in that bedroom before.'

'No, but you might have been to the house.'

'I don't think so,' I say. 'The place where I woke up this morning is somewhere north of London. Hertfordshire, maybe the edge of Essex. I don't know anyone who lives there.'

'OK,' he concedes. 'Now I need to take a look at this DVD. See what it shows up.'

He takes the case from his pocket and removes the disc.

'It's really not pleasant,' I warn him.

He lights a cigarette and views me through the smoke. 'I know, and you don't have to stay in here. In fact, it might be better if you didn't. There's no point putting yourself through it all again.'

Lucas is right, and as he inserts the DVD into his laptop I get up and leave the room. I want to remember Leah as she was when we first met: a mischievous, smiling young woman with beautiful doe eyes and a cute upturned nose, not the cold, lifeless corpse she became, nor the bleak, bloody way she met her end.

I take a seat in Lucas's lounge and stare at the blank screen of the giant plasma TV that hangs on an even blanker-looking wall. Lucas's place is a typical bachelor's pad, minimally furnished with most of the money going on the electrical goods. There are no pictures on any of the walls, and the sofa and matching chairs are carefully and immaculately arranged, giving it a showroom feel. It's all undeniably flashy – which makes me conclude that the PI trade pays a lot better than I ever thought – but bland and utterly devoid of character.

While I wait, I force the thoughts of Leah out of my mind and instead go back through the events of the day, trying to come up with some answers. I've been targeted by a gang of violent criminals with whom I have no previous connection. A former soldier, Iain Ferrie, whom I served alongside but hardly knew, had something in a briefcase that these people wanted desperately, but instead of sending one of their own associates to collect it, they decided to use me, going to elaborate lengths, including setting me up for murder, to make sure that I followed their instructions. Ferrie refused to tell me what was in the case but suggested that it was something 'very bad', and his demeanour – extremely tense and agitated – makes me think that he was telling the truth.

What's also true is that the men to whom I delivered the briefcase are determined to hang on to it, and will not hesitate to kill anyone who, like Snowy, gets in their way. They've taken some losses at the brothel, but I suspect there are more of them, and they still have the case. They also believe, it seems, that Ferrie was holding something back from them.

Iain Ferrie. Whichever way I look at it, he is the key to all this, the starting point.

I get up from the sofa just as Lucas opens the door of his study and steps into the lounge. I'm about to tell him that we need to learn more about Ferrie when I stop. The expression on Lucas's face is one of shock and confusion.

'It's bad, isn't it?' I say.

'It's horrible,' he answers, shaking his head slowly. 'Awful.'

'I know,' I say. But of course I don't. I couldn't bring myself to watch it all earlier, so I can only imagine the savagery and terror on that DVD.

'But there's something else,' he continues, with a sigh. 'Something I've got to show you.'

'I don't want to see any part of that film ever again,' I tell him.

'It's not something on the film.'

Puzzled, I follow him into the study and stand next to him in front of the laptop, which is displaying the 'My Computer' screen where the documents and various internal and external drives are listed. As I watch, Lucas leans down and right-clicks on the DVD drive icon. A menu of options appears, and he double-clicks on the 'Properties' icon. A table with a pie chart in the middle appears, stating that the disk has 83 per cent available space. Beneath the pie chart there's a single untitled file listed.

'Look at the date on the file,' Lucas says, touching the screen lightly with a forefinger.

The text to the right of the title 'Unknown File' reads 'Date last modified', and that's the moment when it finally clicks. I turn and stare at him, and I'm guessing my expression is as confused as his was when he first came out of the study.

'This is the DVD they gave me, right? The one with the murder on?'

He nods. 'That's right. The one that was supposedly filmed last night featuring you and Leah. But you can see, can't you? It wasn't. This file, the film of the murder, was made at 11.47 p.m. on Wednesday.' He taps the time and date on the screen. 'In other words, two days ago. Someone's really fucking you about, Tyler.'

I step back from the machine, suddenly feeling flushed. 'What the hell does this mean? That it was all an act? But Leah was dead, Lucas. I saw her. And she sure as hell hadn't been dead for that long.'

He sighs. 'The film looks real enough. If it's a fake, it's a damn good one.'

I slam my hand down on the desk so hard the coffee cups rattle and Lucas flinches. Frustration hits me like an icy slap, and I'm reminded once again how impotent my memory loss is making me.

'What the hell does this all mean?' I repeat, my voice rising.

'It means', says Lucas calmly, 'that Leah may well be dead, but it wasn't her you woke up next to this morning.'