At any second she expected it to ring again.
‘At least ring them’ the photographer said, angrily.
‘It’s probably the parents of one of the kids who’ve been taken into care,’
she observed. ‘They told me to back off.’
‘They also threatened to kill you. What’s next after the phone calls. Someone banging on your door? Petrol poured through your letterbox? Ring the police, Cath.’
She shook her head.
‘There’s no way I’m leaving you alone tonight.’
She smiled at him, touching his hand as he squeezed her shoulder. ‘I didn’t want you to leave anyway,’ she whispered, moving closer to him.
Cross enveloped her in his arms and she clung to him fiercely.
‘How the hell did they get your number anyway?’ he wondered. ‘I thought you were ex-directory.’
‘I am’ she said, softly.
‘Jesus Christ, Cath’ he exclaimed. ‘If they can find that out what else can they do?’
She moved away from him, got to her feet and crossed to the window of the flat and peered out into the night.
‘They’re probably using a public phone’ she mused. ‘It’d be harder to trace.’
“Whoever’s doing it probably hasn’t even thought about that,’ said Cross, dismissively.
‘There’s been nothing for two hours now’ she said, still gazing out into the blackness. ‘I think they’ve finished for the night. Probably fed up. They think they’ve
made their point.’ She turned to face Cross. ‘Let’s go to bed.’
He nodded slowly, watching as she flicked off the lamp on top of the TV set, glancing down at the photo of herself and her brother that took pride of place there.
She reached out and touched the photo, touched the image of his face briefly.
Cross had already wandered across the hallway to the bedroom.
Cath took one last glance across at the telephone, then flicked off the main light, closing the sitting-room door behind her.
Outside, hidden by the enveloping shroud of night, prying eyes saw the light go off.
The flat was in darkness.
Now it was just a matter of time.
He watched her as she slept, crouching inches from the side of the bed.
Frank Reed watched the steady rise and fall of his daughter’s chest, listened to the faint hiss of her breathing.
She looked so beautiful. So peaceful.
He reached out and, very gently, brushed a strand of hair away from her mouth.
She rolled over in her sleep and Reed took a step back, fearing that he’d woken her, but she remained still.
He leaned forward and kissed her softly on the forehead.
‘I love you,’ he whispered, then rose to his feet and walked slowly from the bedroom, pausing in the doorway, his gaze still upon her.
He wouldn’t lose her.
No matter what it took.
He’d already lost his wife: he didn’t intend losing his daughter.
He pushed the bedroom door shut.
Maria Goldman woke with a start, her eyes staring wide, the last vestiges of the nightmare still imprinted on her mind.
She looked anxiously around the room, searching for that huge cloaked figure which had pursued her through her dreams.
The horned figure.
Was it hiding in the shadows of the room? Skulking in the blackness?
She let out a frightened gasp as she felt the hand touch her back.
Her husband, woken by her sudden movement, ran one hand over her soft skin and asked her if she was OK.
Maria nodded and moved closer to him, feeling his arm around her, sliding towards sleep, drifting quickly into oblivion once more.
She wondered if the horned figure would be waiting in the dark recesses of her dreams.
He couldn’t remember how long he’d been walking or even where.
Talbot might as well have been walking in circles.
Each street looked the same, every building indistinguishable from the next.
The darkness had grown colder as night had become early morning.
And still he walked, collar turned up to protect him from the biting wind that whipped down some of the side streets, tossing waste paper and empty cans before him.
Hands dug deep into his pockets, he walked on.
Sixty-two
Detective Sergeant Bill Rafferty knocked on the door of the office, waited a moment, then stepped inside.
The room was empty.
Talbot’s desk was unoccupied.
Rafferty muttered something under his breath and glanced to his left and right along the corridor. He spotted a uniformed man heading for the exit doors at the far end.
‘Have you seen DI Talbot this morning?’
‘No, sir’ the uniformed man called back.
Rafferty went back into the office, perched on the desk, and turned the phone to face him. He jabbed one of the buttons on it and waited.
He recognised the voice on the other end.
‘Colin, it’s Rafferty here,’ said the DS. ‘Have you seen Talbot this morning?’
‘I haven’t seen him for a couple of days’ DC Colin Penhallow told him. ‘What’s the problem, Bill?’
‘He’s not here, that’s the problem. I’ve had two messages from Macpherson over at Theobald’s road saying he wants to talk to him, but so far, no sign.’ The DS looked at his watch.
‘Sorry, I can’t help you, Bill’ Penhallow said apologetically. ‘What does Macpherson want with him anyway? He’s in charge of that child abuse case, isn’t he? That’s nothing to do with us.’
‘Try telling that to the DI. It seems to have been the only thing on his mind in the last few days.’
‘Why the hell is he so interested?’
‘That’s what I’d like to know.’ He glanced down and saw a red light blinking on the console. ‘Look, I’ve got to go, there’s another call on three. Cheers, mate.’
Rafferty jabbed the third button,
‘DI Talbot’s phone.’
‘Bill, is that you?’ said the voice at the other end.
It was low, rasping.
‘Who’s this?’ Rafferty asked.
‘It’s me.’ A cough. ‘Talbot.’
‘Jesus Christ, I’ve been trying to get hold of you for the last hour, are you all right?’
‘Yeah. Listen, can you pick me up from home in about an hour?’
‘No problem. Jim, Macpherson’s been on the line this morning, something to do with this child abuse case in Hackney.’
‘What did he want?’
