moving her mouth.
Jill moved forwards a little, quickly and silently, until she figured she was back in the spot where she had been lying when she'd regained consciousness. She lay down just before she heard a door open at the end of the room.
'You awake yet, bitch?'
The male voice, slightly accented, came from about ten metres away from her head. That's where the door is, she recorded for later. The room is big. She counted his footfalls, listened for the way he moved, began to picture objects he was manoeuvring around as he walked through the room. Good girl, the white-eyed girl whispered in her head. Jill lay still.
'Hey, Sergeant Jackson.' A singsong voice, close to her ear. He was leaning right down, his mouth close to her head. Eyes closed, she could see him now, from where his voice had issued, from where she could feel and smell him breathing. She could swing, now, pivot her legs up from her hips, wrap his head in her thighs and snap his neck. She chose not to move, but she felt power seep back into her body with the knowledge that she could. She enforced stillness, body and mind.
'You know, you fucking whore, that I almost killed my wife because of you. You come to my house?' His voice sounded soft but outraged, hissing into her ear. 'Can you hear me? Does your head hurt, cunt? I'm going to make you hurt much more than that.'
She lay in the basement with Jamaal Mahmoud. She knew that now.
Because she heard him breathe in, and felt him move to take the shot, she knew the blow was coming and could block her reaction, but she couldn't block the pain. She let her head loll limply from the force of his open- handed slap to her face. The slap was nothing. It was the fist-sized mush of tenderness at the back of her head that made her want to vomit; the force from the blow caused it to roll on the hard floor beneath her. She focused her senses on the hand he had used to strike, his location now, mentally picturing his positioning. She thought of an alternate strategy to strike back if she had to, absorbing the energy of the pain to use later.
'Hmm,' she heard him say. And she waited. Waiting was important now, she felt. His movements were her eyes. She had to learn more about where she was in order to be able to get around in the dark; to find her way out. She felt him crouching there by her head, breathing with her, a bond between them, united by their hate for one another, and the desire to make the other one hurt; an intimacy in their silent understanding.
She heard him shift and undo his zipper. Oh no, no, no.
Be still, the white-eyed girl warned. Don't be silly now.
Jill smelled the sweet sweat of male genitalia that had never failed to flood her with distress and with images of being raped as a child. She retreated further into herself as she heard the man beside her stand; he took two steps from her head towards the middle of her body.
When she heard his derisive laughter and felt the warm stream of his urine splashing down onto her stomach and face, Jill knew that a feeling of relief was at odds with the situation. Anything but rape, she told herself. She stayed motionless, allowing nothing in her features to indicate that she was conscious.
Beside her, the white-eyed girl's mouth set in a hard, straight line. Sebastian entered the ballroom at the tail end of the applause; it briefly swelled again when the men noticed his presence. He smiled warmly at his guests, but was worried about the wild-eyed look of the boy on the other side of the room. He needed to handle the situation quickly – the child looked ready to break down. While some present were quite partial to a bit of crying, others, particularly his overseas guests, considered it distasteful to be confronted by high emotionality.
He raised his hands slightly, palms down, indicating the men should calm themselves, be seated.
'Friends,' his voice reached all corners of the room, 'I hope you are comfortable. Tonight's games will be underway soon. For those of you who have had enough to eat and drink, a movie is showing in the room on the right behind me, and I believe these gentlemen to my left are engaged in a swap meet. You might wish to join them. I would like to ensure that our youngest guest has something to eat and drink. Please excuse me.'
He cut across the room, and was with Tadpole and Jerome in a few long strides.
'My boy, you must be starving,' he smiled down, speaking in a soothing tone. 'Please let me help you choose some nice things to eat.' He steered the dazed little boy to the food table, and fetched for him a heavy white dinner plate, some silver cutlery and a linen napkin. He put them on the table in front of Jerome.
'Feel free to use your hands, Jerome,' he stage-whispered, and then stood back, indicating that Tadpole should step back with him. They stood out of earshot of the boy.
'I'm surprised at you, Tadpole,' his voice was steely. 'Couldn't you have given Jerome a little something to take the edge off things?'
'I wasn't sure what you wanted, Mr Sebastian.' Tadpole gave a small sycophantic smile.
'No matter. Five milligrams of Valium will do nicely. See if you can get him to drink this.' Sebastian took a side step to the linen-covered drinks table and removed a bright blue bottle from one of several ice and bottle- filled silver buckets.
'Vodka-pop. Blueberry, I believe. Kids love them.' He removed the bottle top with a twist of his palm. His big body blocking the view of others, Sebastian took a syringe from his jacket pocket and squirted a small amount of clear liquid down into the bottle. He swirled it a little and handed it to Tadpole.
'He's had nothing to eat or drink down there has he?'
'No, Mr Sebastian. Not since this morning.'
'Good, he'll be thirsty. Give him this. In fifteen minutes, take him to the bedroom next to my study. I'll bring the Japanese in there in twenty.'
'Yes, Mr Sebastian.'
Tadpole smiled beatifically and made his way over to the food table.
Sebastian thought there was time to visit the basement before the fun began.
45
He had no idea why the Jew had made it that way, but Sebastian had found the soundproofing of the basement invaluable over the years. Although he'd tested its effectiveness in absorbing sound many times, he still felt uncomfortable leaving Jamaal alone with the policewoman while he had a house full of friends. He knew Mahmoud could make a mess at times.
He squeezed his big body through the trapdoor in the cupboard floor. Ordinarily, he avoided this small entry, preferring the big panel and tunnel in the garage, but he had little time tonight and this was the closer access point. When he'd traversed the last tight turn, he opened the door to the big room.
'Jamaal, it smells terrible in here.' He quickly took in the woman's body on the floor, Mahmoud standing over it. He hoped she was not dead yet. There was much she could tell them before she and the shrink went to the bottom of the harbour.
When he reached Jamaal, he saw she was still breathing and decided not to comment on the piss. Although it was distasteful, he understood Jamaal's urges. Perhaps he'd give her to him when he had what he needed. He knew it was important to keep his dog happy.
'She's still out, I see, my friend,' said Sebastian. 'I bet she didn't think she would be meeting you this way.'
'Fucking bitch,' Jamaal kicked Jill in the ribs.
'Yes, thank you, Jamaal. I do need her awake.'
Jill couldn't stifle the moan following the kick in her side. Her stalling for time was over. She opened her sightless eyes.
'Sergeant Jackson, welcome to my home.'
Jill heard his height, knew where he was standing in relation to Jamaal.
'What did you do to my eyes?'
She'd debated asking, knowing that it would betray her weakness. If her blindness had been caused by the blow to the back of her head, they would not know about it. Still, within moments of her rising, they would become aware that she could not see.
'Ah, yes. My apologies. Jamaal saw fit to limit your movements using medical means. I'm afraid you've been
