The Killing House

85

Fletcher reached Cherry Hill, New Jersey, in two hours. It took him another twenty minutes to locate the name of the street M had given him.

The road, long and wide, snaked its way through a quiet suburban neighbourhood of pleasant and well-kept middle-class homes. He took a right and saw, far ahead and parked against the kerb, the same Jeep he’d driven to meet M earlier in the day.

Fletcher parked a good distance away. He killed the lights and engine. M stepped out of the Jeep and headed towards him, a phone pressed up against her ear.

Fletcher turned around in his seat to speak to Jimmy Weeks. ‘This is the woman I told you about, the one who works for the security company. Her name is M, like the letter. She’s going to take you to a house, the white Colonial at the end of the cul-de-sac. The house belongs to a friend of hers — a friend who also works at the same security company.

‘I need to speak to this woman in private for a moment. Please stay inside the car. When I’m finished, she’ll take you to the house to call your parents.’

‘Before you go,’ Weeks said. ‘I just… you know.’

‘You’re welcome.’

Fletcher lingered near the front bumper as M finished her conversation.

She hung up and said, ‘People from our Philadelphia office are at the Weeks home right now. The police are there, and the FBI. They’ve been handling the phone traces in case James Weeks calls.’

‘Have you spoken with Karim’s lawyers?’

‘Several times. They’re in heated negotiations with federal prosecutors.’

‘What kind of negotiations?’

‘The FBI is willing to drop the charges against Karim in exchange for the surveillance videos from the New Jersey house, and all information he has regarding you. Karim told them to go to hell.’

I’m sure he did, Fletcher thought. ‘And what have Karim’s lawyers advised you to do?’

‘To keep my head low for the time being.’

Fletcher unbuckled his leather belt.

M eyed him curiously.

‘There’s a micro-camera installed inside the buckle,’ he said. ‘Open it and you’ll find a micro-SD card. I started recording the moment I woke up in my cage.’

‘What’s on it?’

‘Borgia’s confession, Marie Clouzot, all of it. The video will show me killing Borgia. You can tell your lawyers that I coerced you into helping me. They’ll help you concoct a proper story. It doesn’t matter what you say, really, because once federal prosecutors see the video stored on that micro-SD card, they’ll do anything to prevent the truth from coming to light.’

‘Karim won’t stand for that,’ she said. ‘Neither will I.’

‘Marie Clouzot was carrying a laptop. It’s in the Mercedes, on the front seat.’

‘What’s on it?’

‘I don’t know, but I’m sure you’ll find out.’ Fletcher handed over his belt. ‘We’ve spoken long enough. Get Mr Weeks to the house so he can speak to his parents.’

‘You’re leaving, aren’t you?’

‘I have to.’

‘Why? You just told me this video contains Borgia’s confession.’

‘The government will never stop hunting me,’ Fletcher said. ‘They’ll never admit to framing me for a crime I never committed.’

‘Which is all the more reason why you need to fight this.’

‘If I want to stay alive, I need to keep moving.’

M said nothing.

‘Did you manage to find me a coat?’ he asked.

‘In the backseat of the Jeep. There’s money in the pockets.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I will… I hope to see you again.’

M darted behind the wheel of the Mercedes and shut the door before he could reply.

Fletcher approached the Jeep. M had brought him a black winter parka. It was stuffed with down. The size was perfect: an XXL. She had also purchased a hat and gloves for him.

The Mercedes whisked past him as he slid inside the jacket. He settled himself in the front seat and watched M help the teenager out of the backseat.

There was no reason to linger. James Weeks was now in safe and reliable hands.

Fletcher started the Jeep. He needed to go to New York to retrieve his Jaguar. Then he needed to find a place to hide. He mulled over several possible destinations as he drove away.