The Golem’s gaze seemed to be far away. At Sloane’s words, his eyes returned to the world. Like a reconnaissance craft that had been charting the outer reaches of infinite space.
‘You’re back with us,’ said Sloane. ‘Good.’
‘Sorry?’ The Golem’s voice was quiet, quizzical. Not, as Sloane had noted before, the expected voice of a killer.
‘Why are you standing there? Here, in this room? You should be in bed. Hospitalised.’
‘I … ’ the eyes were phasing out once more, ‘am strong. Mind over matter. We feel pain … only if we allow ourselves to be hurt by it.’
‘Right.’ Drugs, thought Sloane. Has to be. ‘You got the laptop. Good. And Watts is out of the way. But you let the rest of them escape.’
‘I … yes. It is embarrassment to me.’
‘It’s more than that. It’s dangerous. And not just for you. For me as well. You’ve left far too many loose ends.’
‘I … apologise.’
‘You’ll have to do more than that. You’ll have to make it right.’ He looked the Golem up and down. His side, his arms were bandaged. He wore a loose shirt to cover them. He looked pale. Or rather, thought Sloane, a lighter shade of grey. ‘Can you do that?’
‘I can.’
‘Good. But what happened yesterday could be very damaging to me. Permanently damaging, even. And I’m not prepared to allow that to happen. Not after everything I’ve done. So I need that damage limited. Stopped. And I have to know, are you capable of doing it? Today, now, in the state you’re in?’
The Golem looked Sloane directly in the eyes. He was back, focused. No doubt about it. To look in the Golem’s eyes was to stare death in the face. Sloane blinked. Swallowed hard.
‘I can do it. Today. I am in perfect state.’ He moved forward. Sloane took a step back. ‘I feel no pain. I am … super man.’
‘Good. Then let’s … let’s crack on.’
‘Also … ’ The Golem moved, wouldn’t let him get away.
Sloane waited.
‘Also I need to redeem myself.’
‘Redeem?’
‘I am professional. I allowed … error of judgement. I considered all alarm systems except one. I did not consider dogs. It was sloppy. I need to redeem.’
‘Good.’
‘I
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘What must I do?’
Sloane returned his attention to the two laptops. ‘We need to know where she’s gone. And him, whatever he’s calling himself now. And the kid. I can’t see her getting rid of either of them. They’re her insurance. She still thinks she can win with them. How wrong she is.’
He sat down at the desk. ‘We need to find her. Hopefully one of these should give us a clue as to where they are. We also need to know if she’s still in contact with the psychologist and what we can do about that.’ He sighed. ‘I should have got rid of her when I had the chance,’ he said, more to himself than anyone else. ‘Too soft, that’s my trouble.’
Dee chose that moment to enter the room. Sloane looked round at her. She was dressed in a clinging black velour leisure suit, trainers. Hair tied back. No make-up. There was no trace of the provocatively sexual being of the previous day. She was all business now.
‘Nice of you to drop by.’
‘I’ve been working out.’ She crossed the floor towards him. Didn’t even give the Golem a second look.
Sloane smiled to himself. He never knew where he was with her. He couldn’t predict how she would behave from one second to the next, what sort of mood she would be in, what would come out of her mouth or even what she would be wearing. Those capricious mood-swings had been very entertaining in the past. Exciting. And dangerous too. But he liked that about her. No. He
‘I’m just briefing our friend, darling,’ he said.
She stared at him.
‘Damage limitation. Before it’s too late.’
Her reply was cut off by the phone ringing. Neither of them made a move to answer it.
‘Probably the police again,’ said Sloane. ‘They called round last night. We’ll just pretend we’re not in again.’
No response from Dee.
‘I’ve briefed the house slave. They won’t get through.’
Nothing.
Sloane looked between the Golem and Dee. Tried to work out which one was the more impassive. Couldn’t decide.
The house slave entered clutching a handset, her hand over the mouthpiece. Sloane looked at her. ‘You know we’re not to be disturbed,’ he said, voice low. ‘I left you strict instructions. Do you enjoy your punishments?’
She trembled. Passed the phone over. ‘I think … think you need to answer, sir.’ Bowed her head. Stood there as if awaiting a blow.
He took the phone, quelled the anger rising within him. Spoke. ‘Sloane.’
‘Hello, Michael.’
It took him a few seconds before he recognised the voice. Then he understood why the house slave had been insistent. She had avoided her punishment. Unless she still wanted it, of course.
‘Hello, Helen,’ he said. ‘A pleasant surprise.’
At the mention of the name, Dee’s head swung round, eyes burning into him, as if she could see the woman on the other end of the phone. She knew who it was.
‘Jeff’s dead,’ said Helen Hibbert.
‘So I heard,’ said Sloane. ‘My condolences.’
‘You know why I’m calling. I have to see you. I’m coming round.’
Sloane mustered a smile. ‘Of course, Helen. Always a pleasure.’
The phone went dead. He handed it back to the house slave, who left the room. Dee was still staring at him.
‘Let’s hope,’ he said, ‘that it’s not too late for all this damage limitation.’
The other two said nothing.
53
The fog was lifting. Not nearly enough for the sun to appear, but just enough for Mickey to make out the tall, cadaverous shape of pathologist Nick Lines standing ahead of him by the second tent. He looked like a ghost, or the Grim Reaper, ready to carry dead souls over to the afterlife. He beckoned to Mickey, entered the tent. Mickey couldn’t shake the feeling that by following Lines, he was stepping out of one world and into another.
And in a sense he was. Phil Brennan, after a few too many beers, had once explained it to him.
‘The ordinary world,’ he had said, ‘the normal, everyday world, the nine-to-five, alarm clock,
Mickey had listened, thinking that if nothing else, he’d have a good story to tell the rest of the team the next morning about what the boss had come out with when he was drunk.
