Whispers of the Dead

CHAPTER 24

IT WAS AS THOUGH all the breath had been sucked out of me. Even though I’d told myself Sam was probably already dead, that York had no reason to let her live, I’d not fully accepted it.

I grabbed hold of Paul as he flung himself forward. ‘Don’t…’

I’d seen the photographs of York’s victims. Paul didn’t need to see Sam like that. He strained against me, but then his legs gave way. He took a faltering step backward and slid down the wall.

‘Sam… Oh, Christ…’

Move, I told myself. Get him out of here. He was slumped on the floor like a broken toy. I tried to get him to his feet.

‘Come on. We need to go.’

‘She was pregnant. She wanted a boy. Oh no, God…’

My throat ached. But we couldn’t stay there, not when we didn’t know where York was.

‘Get up, Paul. You can’t help her now.’

But he was past listening. I would have tried again, but the tiny chamber suddenly darkened. I jerked round, only to find that the door had swung shut behind us. I quickly pushed it open again, half expecting to see York standing outside. No one was there, but as the grey light from the doorway reached Sam’s body, I saw something else.

A glint of silver beneath the tangled blond hair.

There was a clenched feeling in my chest as I stepped nearer to the piled bodies. It grew tighter as I gently moved the hair aside. I felt myself sway when I looked down at the familiar face. Oh, God.

Behind me I could hear Paul starting to weep.

‘Paul…’

‘I let her down. I should have—’

I gripped his shoulders. ‘Listen to me, it isn’t Sam!’

He lifted his tearstained face.

‘It isn’t Sam,’ I repeated, letting him go. My chest hurt at what I was about to say. ‘It’s Summer.’

‘Summer…?’

I stood back as he climbed to his feet. He approached the body fearfully, as though not quite believing it even now.

But the steel ear and nose studs were enough to convince him it wasn’t his wife. He stood with the knife held limply by his side, taking in the bleached blond hair that had tricked us. The student was lying face down, her head turned to one side. Her face was horribly congested, the single bloodshot eye that was visible dull and staring.

I’d assumed Summer hadn’t come to the morgue because she was upset over Tom’s death. And instead York had been claiming yet another victim.

A tremor ran through Paul. ‘Oh, Jesus…’

Tears were streaming down his face. I could guess at the turmoil he was feeling: relief, but also guilt. I felt it myself.

He pushed past me out of the chamber.

‘SAM! SAM, WHERE ARE YOU?’

His shout reverberated off the tiled walls of the spa. I went after him. ‘Paul—’

But he was past restraint. He stood in the centre of the spa, the knife clenched in his fist.

‘WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH HER, YORK?’ he yelled, his face contorted. ‘COME OUT, YOU FUCKING COWARD!’

There was no answer. Once the echoes had died, the silence seemed to condense around us. The slow drip, drip of an unseen tap counted away the moments like a distant pulse.

Then we heard something. It was faint, the merest suggestion of a sound, but unmistakable.

A muffled whimper.

It came from one of the other treatment chambers. Paul ran and flung the door open. Battery-powered storm lanterns had been arranged around the walls, though none were switched on now. But enough light fell through the doorway to see the unmoving figure in its centre.

Paul’s knife clattered to the floor. ‘Sam!’

I groped for the nearest lamp and turned it on, blinking in the sudden brightness. Sam was tied to an old massage table. A camera had been positioned on a tripod by her head, its lens pointing directly down at her face. A wooden chair stood next to it, echoing the arrangement we’d found in the mountain cabin. Her wrists and ankles had been secured by broad leather straps, and a thinner one had been fastened round her throat, tight enough now to dig into the soft flesh. It was connected to a complicated arrangement of steel cogs from which a wooden winding handle protruded.

York’s Spanish windlass.

All that registered in the first seconds of reaching the small chamber. You’re too late, I thought, seeing the tautness of the strap circling her neck. Then Paul shifted to one side, and I saw that Sam’s eyes were wide and terrified, but alive.

Her swollen belly looked impossibly big as she lay bound to the table. Her face was red and tear-streaked, and a thick rubber gag had been forced into her mouth. She sucked in a gasping breath as Paul took it out, but the strap round her throat restricted her breathing. She tried to speak, chest working as she gasped for air.

‘It’s all right. I’m here now. Don’t move,’ Paul told her.

I went to unfasten the straps holding Sam’s ankles, and my foot slipped on something wet. I looked down and saw dark splashes pooled on the white floor tiles. Remembering the bloodstains in the ambulance, I felt cold, until I realized the fluid wasn’t blood.

Sam’s waters had broken.

I tore at the ankle straps with a new urgency. Next to me Paul reached for the windlass handle.

‘Don’t touch it!’ I warned. ‘We don’t know which way it turns.’

As badly as we needed to get Sam out of there, the windlass strap was already digging into her throat. If we tightened it by mistake it could kill her.

Indecision racked Paul’s face. He started casting around on the floor. ‘Where’s the knife? I can cut—’

An ear-splitting bellow drowned him out. It came from behind us, from beyond the darkened archway by the plunge pool. It rose in pitch, sounding barely human as it reverberated off the walls before dying away.

The distant tap dripped in the silence. Paul and I stared at each other. I could see his mouth frame a question.

Then York lurched through the archway.

The undertaker was barely recognizable. His dark suit was filthy and stained, his hair matted. The cords on his neck stood out as thick as pencils as he screamed at us, brandishing a long-bladed knife in both hands. Even from where I stood I could see the blood on it, staining his hand black in the poor light.

My limbs felt numb and heavy as I grabbed the wooden strut I’d dropped.

‘Get her out!’ I told Paul, my voice unsteady, and stepped out to face York.

He came towards me at a shambling run, roaring as he slashed the air with wild swipes of the knife. The strut seemed pathetically flimsy in my hands. Just give them time. Forget everything else.

‘Wait!’ I yelled. Or thought I did; afterwards I was no longer sure if I’d actually said it out loud.

‘Drop the knife!’

The shout came from the corridor leading to the stairs. Relief surged through me as Gardner emerged through the doorway, Jacobsen close behind. Both had their guns drawn, levelling them at York in a two-handed grip.

‘Drop the knife! Now!’ Gardner repeated.

York had turned towards them. His mouth hung open, panting. There was time to think he was going to do it, that this was going to end here.

Then, with an incoherent scream, he lumbered at Jacobsen.

‘Stay back!’ Gardner yelled.

York yelled something unintelligible but didn’t stop. Jacobsen seemed frozen. I could see the pale fixity of her face as he bore down on her with the knife, but she didn’t move.

There were two loud cracks.

They were deafening in the tiled confines of the room. York seemed to trip. He stumbled sideways, falling into the big wall mirror. It shattered as he collapsed on to a drinking fountain, dragging it to the floor in a cascade of plaster and silver fragments.

The echoes of gunfire and breaking glass slowly died away.

My ears rang painfully. A faint blue mist hung in the air, a bonfire reek of cordite overlying the stink of decomposition. York didn’t move. Gardner hurried over. Still pointing the gun at him, he kicked at the hand holding the knife to knock the weapon away, then quickly knelt and felt at York’s throat.

Without urgency, he stood up and tucked the gun back into his belt clip.

Jacobsen was still holding her own gun outstretched, although now it was pointing down at the floor.

‘I—I’m sorry,’ she stammered, as colour rushed back into her cheeks. ‘I couldn’t…’

‘Not now,’ Gardner said.

There was a sudden sob from the treatment room. I turned to see Paul helping Sam to sit up, trying to calm her as she coughed and gasped for breath. He’d cut the windlass strap, but a livid red line circled her throat like a burn.

‘Oh, G-God, I thought… I th-thought…’

‘Shh, you’re all right, it’s all right, he can’t hurt you now.’

‘I c-couldn’t stop him. I told him I was p-pregnant, and he said… he said that was good, that he wanted to wait until, wait until… Oh, God!’

She doubled up as a contraction rocked her. ‘Is she OK?’ Gardner asked.

‘She’s in labour,’ I told him. ‘You need to get an ambulance.’

‘On its way. We were heading back to Knoxville when I got your message. I put the call in for back-up and paramedics right away. Christ, what the hell were you thinking?’

But I’d no time for Gardner’s indignation, or to ask how they’d managed to find us so quickly from my garbled directions. Sam’s face was screwed up in pain as I went to her.

‘Sam, an ambulance is on its way. We’re going to get you to a hospital, but I need you to tell me if you’ve any other wounds or injuries apart from your throat.’

‘N-no, I—I don’t think so, he just put me in here and left me! Oh, my God, all the bodies outside, they’re all dead…’

‘Don’t worry about those. Can you tell me when your contractions started?’

She tried to concentrate as she panted for breath. ‘I don’t… in the ambulance, I think. I thought it was some mistake when he came to the door. He said I should call Paul but when I turned my back he… he put his arm round my neck and… and squeezed…’

She was describing a chokehold, I realized. Done properly it could cause unconsciousness in a matter of seconds, with no lasting after-effects. Misjudged, it could kill just as easily.

Not that York would have cared about that.

‘I couldn’t breathe!’ Sam sobbed. ‘Everything went black, and then I woke up in the ambulance with this pain… Oh, Lord, it hurts! I’m going to lose the baby, aren’t I?’

‘You’re not going to lose the baby,’ I told her, with more confidence than I felt. ‘We’re going to get you out of here now, OK? Just sit tight for two more minutes.’

I went out into the spa, pulling the door to the treatment chamber closed behind me. ‘How long till the paramedics arrive?’ I asked Gardner.

‘Out here? Maybe another half-hour.’

That was too long. ‘Where’s your car?’

‘Parked out front.’

That was an unexpected bonus. I’d thought they’d have come across the hillside as Paul and I had, but I was too concerned about Sam to wonder about it for long.

‘The sooner we get Sam out of here the better,’ I said. ‘If we get her to your car we can meet the ambulance on its way.’

‘I’ll get the wheelchair from upstairs,’ Jacobsen offered.

Gardner gave a short nod, and she hurried out. Grim-faced, he considered the corpses in the plunge pool.

‘You say there’re more outside?’

‘And in here.’ With a pang of regret, I told him about Summer’s body lying in the other treatment chamber.

‘God almighty.’ Gardner looked shocked. He passed a hand over his face. ‘I’d appreciate it if you stayed behind. I need to hear what happened.’

‘Who’s going to drive them?’ Paul was in no fit state, not with Sam as she was.

‘Diane can go. She knows the roads better than you do.’

I looked at the corpses lying on the floor of the spa. I didn’t want to stay there any longer than I already had. But I’d trained as a GP, not an obstetrician. I knew Sam would be best served by someone who could get her to the ambulance as soon as possible.

If I belonged anywhere, it was here.

‘All right,’ I said.

Gardner and I stayed by the unbolted French doors after Jacobsen left with Sam and Paul. It had been decided it was better for them to go out that way rather than risking carrying her up the rotting staircase. Gardner had phoned to check on the progress of the back-up and ambulance, then gone to see if there was another way out through the spa. He reported that the rooms beyond the archway were blocked off.

‘Explains why York didn’t just take off,’ he said, dusting off his hands. ‘Must’ve been down here when you came in and couldn’t get out without going past you. Looks like half the floor above has collapsed through there. Whole damn place is being eaten by termites.’

Which in turn had attracted the swamp darners. York’s own hiding place had given him away in the end. There was a poetic justice there, but I was too tired to spend long thinking about it.

Jacobsen said little before they left. I guessed she was still reproaching herself over her failure to shoot York. Hard as it must have been, for a field agent that sort of hesitation could be disastrous. If nothing else, it would leave a black mark on her record.

If not for Gardner it could have been far worse.

When they’d gone neither he nor I made any move to go back inside. After the shuttered horrors of the spa, emerging into the sunlight was like being reborn. The breeze carried the smell away from us, and the air was sweet with grass and blossom. I breathed deeply, trying to clean the foulness from my lungs. From where we stood, the trees screened what lay in the garden. With the green mountains rolling to the horizon, it was almost possible to think this was a normal spring day.

‘Do you want to take a look down there?’ I asked, looking down at the pond glinting through the trees.

Gardner considered it without enthusiasm. ‘Not yet. Let’s wait till the crime scene truck gets here.’

He still showed no inclination to go back inside. He stared down the hillside towards the pond, hands thrust deep into his pockets. I wondered if it was to stop them shaking. He’d just killed a man, and no matter how unavoidable it might have been that couldn’t be easy to deal with.

‘Are you OK?’ I asked.

It was like watching a shutter come down across his face.

‘Fine.’ He took his hands from his pockets. ‘You still haven’t told me what the hell you thought you were doing, coming in here by yourselves. Do you have any idea how stupid that was?’

‘Sam would be dead if we hadn’t.’

That took the heat out of him. He sighed. ‘Diane thinks York was waiting till the last minute, right till she was actually giving birth. He would’ve wanted to make the most of the opportunity. Two lives for one.’

Christ. I stared across at the mountains, trying to dispel the images that had been conjured.

‘You think she’ll be OK?’ Gardner asked.

‘I hope so.’ Providing they got her to hospital in time. Providing there were no complications with the baby. It was a lot to hope for, but at least now she had some sort of chance. ‘How did you manage to get here so fast? I wasn’t sure you’d heard my directions.’

‘We hadn’t. At least, none that made sense,’ he said, with a touch of his old acerbity. ‘We didn’t need to, though. After York left the skin on the windscreen we put a Bird Dog on your car.’

‘A what?’

‘A GPS tracking device. We knew where you’d left the car, but the old road you took isn’t on any maps. So I took the one that seemed nearest and it led us right to the front gate.’

‘You put a tracker on my car? And didn’t bother to tell me?’

‘You didn’t need to know.’

That explained why I hadn’t seen anyone following me the night before, and how the TBI agents had arrived at Paul and Sam’s so quickly. I felt a flash of annoyance that no one had seen fit to let me know about it, but under the circumstances I could hardly complain.

I was just glad it had been there.

‘So how did you know you’d got the right place?’ I asked.

He gave a shrug. ‘I didn’t. But there was a new padlock on an old gate, so someone obviously wanted to keep people out. We’d bolt cutters in the trunk, so I cut the lock off and came to take a look.’

I raised my eyebrows at that. Breaking into private property without a warrant was a cardinal sin, and Gardner was a stickler for protocol. His face darkened.

‘I decided your phone call constituted probable cause.’ His chin came up. ‘Come on, let’s get back inside.’

The cloying odour of decomposition wrapped itself around us as we went back down the corridor. The light from the French doors didn’t reach into the spa, and after the bright sunshine the dim chambers seemed more dismal than ever. Even though I knew what to expect, it didn’t lessen the impact of seeing the corpses heaped in the plunge pool like so much rubbish.

York’s body lay as we’d left it, as unmoving as his victims.

‘Lord, how did he stand the smell?’ Gardner said.

We went into the small chamber where we’d found Sam. The severed ends of the leather strap that Paul had cut from her throat lay like a dead snake on the old massage table. The windlass bolted to its head had been crafted with obvious care. The ends of the strap fed into an intricate arrangement of finely machined cogs, operated by a polished wooden handle. Turning it would cause the strap to tighten, while the cogs would prevent it from slipping when the handle was released.

A much simpler construct would have been just as effective, but that wouldn’t have been good enough for York. Narcissist that he was, he wouldn’t have been satisfied with a cord twisted round a piece of wood.

This was his life’s work.

‘Helluva device.’ Gardner sounded almost admiring. Suddenly, he stiffened, cocking his head. ‘What’s that?’

I listened, but the only sound was the still-dripping tap. Gardner was already out of the treatment room, hand poised on his gun. I followed him.

Nothing in the spa had changed. York still lay unmoving, the blood pooled around him as black and still as pitch. Gardner quickly checked through the archway leading to the blocked-off rooms. He relaxed, letting his jacket fall over his gun again.

‘Can’t have been anything…’

He seemed embarrassed, but I didn’t blame him for being jumpy. I’d be relieved myself when the back-up arrived.

‘You better show me the other bodies,’ Gardner said, all business again.

I didn’t go with him into the small chamber where Paul and I had found Summer. I’d already seen more than I wanted. I waited in the spa, standing by York’s body. It lay sprawled on its side in the shards of broken mirror, the jagged fragments like silver islands in the blood.

I stared down at the unmoving form, struck as ever by the gulf between its utter immobility and the roaring energy it had possessed a short while ago. I felt too empty for either hate or pity. All the lives York had sacrificed had been a futile attempt to answer a single question: Is this all there is?

Now he had his answer.

I was about to turn away, but something stopped me. I looked back at York, uncertain whether I was imagining it. I wasn’t.

Something was wrong with his eyes.

Careful to avoid the blood, I crouched beside the body. The sightless eyes were so bloodshot that they looked scalded. The skin around them was badly inflamed. So was his mouth. I leaned forward and flinched back as acrid fumes made my own eyes water.

Darkroom chemicals.

My heart was thumping as I tugged York’s body on to its back. The bloodstained hand with the knife flopped limply as it rolled over. I remembered how Gardner had kicked at it before checking his pulse, yet the knife remained clenched in the dead fist. Now I saw why.

Clotted with drying blood, York’s fingers had been nailed to the handle.

In that instant, everything fell into place. The agonized keening and York’s unintelligible screams; the frenzied slashes of the knife. He’d have been in agony, the toxic chemicals searing his mouth and all but blinding him as he’d tried to pull the nails from his hand. We’d seen only what we’d expected, the crazed attack of a madman, but York hadn’t been attacking us.

He’d been begging for help.

Oh, dear God. ‘Gardner!’ I shouted, starting to scramble to my feet.

I heard him emerge from the chamber behind me. ‘For Christ’s sake, what the hell do you think you’re doing?’

What happened next unfolded with the treacle-slow helplessness of a dream.

The remains of the big mirror that York had broken was still fixed to the wall in front of me. In its fragmented surface I saw Gardner pass the plunge pool. As he did, one of the bodies in it moved. My voice died as it detached itself from the others and rose up behind him.

Time started up again. I gave a shout of warning, but it came too late. There was a strangled cry, and I came to my feet to see Gardner struggling to pull free of the arm that was clamped vice-like round his throat.

Chokehold, I thought, dumbly. Then the figure standing behind him shifted its grip, and I felt a shock of recognition as the dirty light from the shuttered windows fell on to its face.

Kyle was breathing raggedly through his open mouth. The round features were the same, but this wasn’t the amiable young morgue assistant I remembered. His clothes and hair were clotted with fluid from the putrefying bodies, and his face had a deathly, consumptive pallor. But it was his eyes that were the worst. Without the usual smile to disguise them, they had the flat, empty look of something already dead.

‘Move and I’ll kill him!’ he panted, tightening his hold.

Gardner was clawing at the constricting arm, his face congested, but he didn’t have the leverage to pry it loose. I felt a surge of hope as he dropped one hand to the gun at his belt. But he was already losing consciousness, his coordination failing as his brain was starved of blood and oxygen. As I watched his hand limply fell away.

Stooping under the agent’s dead weight, Kyle jerked his head towards the treatment room where we’d found Sam.

‘In there!’

I was still trying to force my mind to work. How long had Gardner said it would be before the first TBI agents arrived. Half an hour? How long ago was that? I couldn’t remember. Broken pieces of mirror crunched underfoot as I automatically took a step towards the small chamber. Then I saw the massage table, its leather straps open and waiting.

I stopped.

‘Get in there! Now!’ Kyle roared. ‘I’ll kill him!’

I had to moisten my mouth before I could answer. ‘You’re going to kill him anyway.’

He stared at me as though I’d spoken a different language. The pallor of his face was even more noticeable now, shockingly white against the black stubble and bruised skin under his eyes. A greasy sheen of sweat filmed his skin like Vaseline. He was wearing what looked like a medic’s uniform, although it was so filthy it was hard to tell.

It could easily have passed for a security guard’s.

‘Do it!’ Kyle yanked on Gardner’s neck, jerking the TBI agent like a doll. I couldn’t tell if he was still breathing, but if the pressure was sustained much longer there’d be brain damage even if he survived.

I bent and picked up a piece of broken mirror. It was long and thin, like a knife. Its edges gouged my palm as I gripped it tightly, hoping Kyle wouldn’t see my hand shaking.

He watched me uneasily. ‘What’re you doing?’

‘Let him breathe.’

He tried to sneer, but it was as brittle as the shard of mirror. ‘Think you can hurt me with that?’

‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. ‘But do you want to find out?’

His tongue darted out over his lips. Kyle was a big man, fleshy and heavily built. Just like York. If he dropped Gardner and rushed me I doubted I’d have a chance. But his eyes kept going to the glass shard, and I saw the doubt in them.

He slackened the chokehold enough to let Gardner draw a few rattling breaths, then tightened it again. I saw him flick a look at the doorway.

‘Just let him go and I promise I won’t try to stop you.’

Kyle gave a wheezing laugh. ‘Stop me? You’re giving me your permission?’

‘His back-up’s going to be here any second. If you go now you might—’

‘And let you tell them who I am? You think I’m stupid?’

He was a lot of things, but not that. Now what? I didn’t know. But I didn’t think he did either. He was sucking in breaths, stooped and flushed with the effort of supporting Gardner’s weight. From the corner of my eye I could see the gun on the agent’s belt. Kyle obviously hadn’t thought of it so far.

If he did…

Keep him talking. I gestured towards York’s body. ‘Did you enjoy it, mutilating him like that?’

‘You didn’t give me a choice.’

‘So he was just a diversion? You did that to him just so you could get away?’ I didn’t have to try to put contempt into my voice. ‘And it didn’t even work, did it? All that for nothing.’

‘You think I don’t know that?’ The shout made him wince, as though in pain. He glared at the undertaker’s body. ‘Jesus Christ, do you have any idea how much time I spent on this? How much planning? This isn’t how it was supposed to be! York was my way out, my happy fucking ending! he’d have been found with Avery’s wife, some loser who’d committed suicide rather than be caught. End of story! I’d have left Knoxville afterwards, started out somewhere new, and now look! Goddammit, what a waste!’

‘No one would have believed it.’

‘No?’ he spat. ‘They believed the photographs I left at his house! They believed everything else I wanted them to!’

A pulse had started to beat in my temple at the mention of Sam. ‘And if they had, what then? Murder more pregnant women?’

‘I wouldn’t have had to! Avery’s wife was so full of life! She was the one. I could feel it!’

‘Like you could feel it with all the others? Like you did with Summer?’ I yelled, forgetting myself.

‘She was Lieberman’s pet!’

‘She liked you!’

‘She liked Irving more!’

That shocked me to silence. We’d all assumed that Irving had been targeted because of the TV interview. But Kyle had been present that day in the morgue when the profiler had flirted with Summer. The next day Irving had gone missing.

And now Summer was lying in the dark as well.

She only smiled back at him. That was all. For Kyle’s ego it had obviously been enough.

I felt sick. But Kyle had become distracted enough to relax his grip on Gardner. I saw the TBI agent’s eyelids start to twitch open, and said the first thing that came into my mind.

‘What had you got against Tom? Was he such a threat?’

‘He was a fraud!’ Kyle’s face twisted in a spasm. ‘The big forensic anthropologist, the expert! Basking in the glory, playing jazz while he worked, like he was in some pizza bar! Hicks was just an asshole, but Lieberman thought he was something special! The greatest mystery in the universe right under his nose, and he didn’t have the imagination to look beyond the rot!’

‘Tom knew better than to waste time searching for answers he couldn’t find.’ I could hear Gardner wheezing again now, but I daren’t spare him a glance. ‘You don’t even know what it is you’re looking for, do you? All the people you’ve killed, these bodies you’ve… you’ve hoarded, and what for? There’s no purpose to any of it. You’re like a kid prodding something dead with a stick—’

‘Shut up!’ Spittle sprayed from his mouth.

‘Do you even know how many lives you’ve wasted?’ I shouted. ‘And why? So you can take photographs? You think that’s going to show you anything?’

‘Yes! The right one can!’ His mouth curled. ‘You’re as bad as Lieberman, you only see the dead meat. But there’s more than that! I’m more than that! Life’s binary, it’s on or off! I’ve stared into people’s eyes and watched it go out of them, like nicking a switch! So where’s it go? Something happens, right then, at that moment! I’ve seen it!’

He sounded desperate. And suddenly I realized that’s exactly what he was. That was what this was all about. We’d been wrong about the killer’s identity, but Jacobsen had been right about everything else. Kyle was obsessed with his own mortality. No, not obsessed, I realized, looking at him.

Terrified.

‘How’s your hand, Kyle?’ I asked. ‘I’m guessing you only pretended you’d stabbed it on the needle. Tom thought he was doing you a favour asking you to help Summer, but you were only hanging round hoping to see one of us get stuck, weren’t you? What happened, did you lose your nerve?’

‘Shut up!’

‘The thing is, if you were just pretending, how come you went so white? It was when I asked about your shots, wasn’t it? You’d not thought about infections from any of the people you’d killed until then, had you?’

‘I told you to shut up!’

‘Noah Harper’s tested positive for Hepatitis C. Did you know that, Kyle?’

‘Liar!’

‘It’s true. You should have taken up the hospital’s offer of post-exposure treatment. Even though you didn’t prick yourself on one of the needles, it was still an open wound. And there was all that gore on your glove. But then you weren’t planning on staying around, were you? Much easier to stick your head in the sand than accept you might be infected by one of your own victims.’

His face had paled even more. He jerked his head towards the treatment room. ‘Last time! Get in there, now!’

But I didn’t move. Each minute I kept him talking was a minute closer to help arriving. And looking at his pallor, the ragged way he was breathing, I’d started to think about something else. Why had he chosen to hide, gambling everything on being able to slip out while we were distracted with York, instead of making a run for it while he had the chance? Perhaps for the same reason he hadn’t killed Sam. The same reason he hadn’t already choked the life out of Gardner and overpowered me.

Because he couldn’t.

‘You took quite a knock in the crash, didn’t you?’ I said, trying to keep my tone conversational. He regarded me with a hunted expression, his chest rising and falling unevenly. ‘I saw the steering wheel in the ambulance. Must have given your ribs a hell of a crack. Did you know that’s one of the most common causes of death in car crashes? The ribs splinter and pierce the lungs. Or the heart. How many times have you seen injuries like that in the morgue?’

‘Shut up.’

‘That sharp, stabbing pain you feel every time you draw a breath? That’s the bone splinters lacerating your lung tissue. It’s hard to breathe, isn’t it? And it’s going to get a lot harder, because your lungs are filling up with blood. You’re dying, Kyle.’

‘SHUT THE FUCK UP!’ he screamed.

‘If you don’t believe me, take a look at yourself.’ I gestured to the broken mirror on the wall. ‘See how pale you are? That’s because you’re haemorrhaging. If you don’t get medical help soon you’re going to either bleed to death or drown in your own blood.’

His mouth worked as he stared at his shattered reflection. I’d no idea how badly hurt he really was, but I’d just fed his imagination. To someone as self-obsessed as Kyle that would be enough.

He’d all but forgotten about Gardner. The TBI agent was blinking now as consciousness returned. I thought I saw him shift slightly, as though he were testing the chokehold. No, not now. Please, just stay still.

‘Give yourself up,’ I went on quickly.

‘I’m warning you…’

‘Save yourself, Kyle. If you give yourself up now you can get medical attention.’

He didn’t speak for a moment. I realized with a shock he was crying.

‘They’ll kill me anyway.’

‘No, they won’t. That’s what lawyers are for. And trials take years.’

‘I can’t go to jail!’

‘Would you rather die?’

He was snuffling back tears. I tried to keep the sudden hope from my face as I saw the tension begin to go out of him.

Then Gardner’s hand began inching towards his gun.

Kyle saw what he was doing. ‘Shit!’ He wrenched hard on Gardner’s throat. The agent gave a choked gasp and pawed feebly at his belt as Kyle grabbed with his free hand for the weapon. I lunged towards them, knowing I wasn’t going to reach them in time.

There was a sound from the doorway.

Jacobsen stood framed in it, her face blank with shock. Then her hand swept aside her jacket as she went for her own gun.

‘Leave it!’ Kyle yelled, twisting so Gardner was between them.

She stopped, hand resting on the pistol grip. Kyle had Gardner’s gun partway out of its clip, but he had to reach at an awkward angle round the agent’s body. The silence was broken only by his ragged breathing. Gardner was no longer moving at all. He hung from the chokehold like a sack, his face darker than ever.

Kyle licked his lips, his eyes going to Jacobsen’s belt clip.

‘Hand away from the gun and let him go!’ she said, but for all her authority there was still a quiver to her voice.

Kyle heard it. Adrenaline had given him a new strength. The moon face moved from side to side as he shook his head and smiled. He was back in control. Enjoying himself.

‘Oh, I don’t think so. I think you need to put your gun down.’

‘That’s not going to happen. Last chance—’

‘Shh.’ He cocked his head towards Gardner, as though he were listening. ‘I can hardly feel your partner’s heartbeat. It’s getting weaker. Slowing… slowing…’

‘If you kill him there’s nothing to stop me shooting you.’

Kyle’s smugness vanished. The pink tongue darted out to moisten his lips again, and at that moment there was the thump of footsteps from the floor above. Kyle’s eyes widened, and as Jacobsen’s attention wavered he snatched the gun from Gardner’s belt and fired.

I saw Jacobsen stagger, but she’d already drawn and fired herself. As Kyle let Gardner fall there were two more cracks and a section of mirror by my head exploded, spraying me with splinters. Then Kyle’s gun clattered to the floor and he dropped as though his strings had been cut.

My ears rang for the second time that afternoon as I rushed to Jacobsen. She was slumped against the doorway, her gun still rigidly levelled at where Kyle lay. Her face was chalk white, in stark contrast to the spreading dark stain on her jacket. It was on her left side, a glistening wet patch between her neck and her shoulder that grew bigger as I looked.

She blinked. ‘I’m… I think…’

‘Sit down. Don’t try to talk.’

I spared a quick glance at Gardner’s unmoving form as I tore open her jacket. I couldn’t see if he was breathing, but Jacobsen’s situation was more urgent: if the bullet had hit an artery she could bleed out in seconds. Feet were clattering down the stairs and along the corridor but I barely heard. I’d pulled her jacket from her injured shoulder, my breath catching at how her white shirt was soaked with blood, when figures burst through the doorway. Suddenly the chamber was filled with shouting.

‘Quick, we need—’ I began, and then I was dragged away and thrust face down on to the floor. Oh, for God’s sake! I started to get up but something struck me roughly between the shoulder blades.

‘Stay down!’ a voice yelled.

I yelled that there was no time, but no one was listening. All I could see from my vantage point was a confusion of feet.

It seemed an age before I was recognized and let up. Angrily, I shrugged free of the helping hands. People were crouching by Gardner, who had been moved into the recovery position. He was still unconscious, but I could see that at least he was breathing. I turned to where Jacobsen was being attended by two agents. They’d pulled her shirt away from her neck and shoulder on the side where she’d been shot. Her white sports bra was stained crimson. There was so much blood I couldn’t see the wound.

‘I’m a doctor, let me take a look,’ I said, kneeling beside her.

Jacobsen’s pupils were dilated with shock. The grey eyes looked young and scared.

‘I thought you were talking to Dan…’

‘It’s OK.’

‘The… the ambulance was only half a mile away, so I came back. Knew something wasn’t right…’ Her voice was slurred with pain. ‘York hadn’t taken any of the photographs from the house. His parents, all his past. He wouldn’t have just left them…’

‘Don’t talk.’

I felt a surge of relief as I saw the blood-filled furrow in her trapezius, the big muscle that runs between neck and shoulder. The bullet had torn a groove across its top, but despite the bleeding there was no serious damage. Another inch or two lower or to her right and it would have been a different story.

But she was still losing blood. I wadded up her shirt and started to apply pressure to the wound when another agent rushed in with a first-aid kit.

‘Move,’ he told me.

I stood back to give him room. He tore open a sterile gauze pad and pressed it on to the wound hard enough to make Jacobsen gasp, then began expertly taping it into place. He obviously knew what he was doing, so I went over to Gardner. He was still unconscious, which was a bad sign.

‘How is he?’ I asked the agent kneeling by him.

‘Hard to say,’ she said. ‘Paramedics are on their way, but we weren’t expecting to need them. The hell happened here?’

I didn’t have the energy to answer. I turned to where Kyle lay sprawled on his back. His chest and stomach were coated with blood, and his eyes gazed sightlessly at the ceiling.

‘Don’t bother, he’s dead,’ the agent told me as I reached down to feel his throat.

He wasn’t, not quite. There was the faintest whisper of a pulse under the skin. I kept my fingers there, looking down into the open eyes as his heart gave its final stutters. They grew weaker, the gaps between them longer and longer until eventually they stopped altogether.

I stared into his eyes. But if there was anything there I couldn’t see it.

‘You’re hurt.’

The agent kneeling by Gardner was looking at my hand. I saw that it was dripping blood. I must have gashed it on the piece of broken mirror, although I’d no memory of it happening. The cut sliced across the existing knife scar on my palm like a thin mouth, blood welling between its lips.

I’d felt nothing until then, but now it started to burn with a cold, clean pain.

I clenched my hand on it. ‘I’ll live.’