For once he pushed the vision of her to the back of his mind, his thoughts focusing instead on the events of that night. Most particularly on the six shots that Hitch had fired. Six shots just to frighten the crew of The Sandhopper? Scott shook his head.
He got to his feet and thrust a hand into the spray, satisfied that it was warm enough. He stepped under it, enjoying the feel of the water on his skin, his eyes closed, still confused about what was going on. About Carol. About what had happened that night. Christ, things were becoming a mess and he could see no way of sorting them out. He had to speak to her. Even if it meant sitting on her doorstep until she either came out of her flat or came home from wherever she was.
For all he knew she could be dead.
He opened his eyes, rubbing his face with both hands, increasing the speed of the jets so that the water stung his skin when it struck him.
He didn't even hear the knocking on the door.
The rushing of water from the shower masked every other sound.
The knocking came again, more insistently this time.
Scott ran both hands through his hair, smoothing it back tight against his scalp.
The banging on the door had become more frenzied.
He reached for the soap and began to wash.
There was a thunderous crash as the door was smashed in. It flew back on its hinges and crashed against the wall with an almighty bang.
Scott heard it at last and looked around, fumbling for the taps, trying to turn off the shower.
There was movement in his sitting room, in his kitchen. He heard voices. Then, through a gap in the shower curtain, he saw a dark shape.
What the hell was happening?
The dark shape was coming closer.
Scott steadied himself, waiting until the shape was only a couple of feet from him, then leapt forward, crashing into the intruder.
Both men went hurtling backwards, Scott slamming the newcomer's head against the bathroom cabinet. The mirror shattered and pieces of glass cut into the intruder's neck. Scott grabbed him by the lapels and hauled him to his feet. But now there were others coming into the room.
He saw the uniforms.
The two policemen in the doorway stared in at him, one of them taking a step closer, anxious to rescue their plain clothes colleague from Scott's attack. The man was dazed but managed to shake loose of Scott's grip. He felt the back of his neck and brought his hand around covered in blood.
'Put some fucking clothes on, Scott,' he said angrily. 'You're under arrest.'
'You've got no right to come bursting in here like this,' Scott snarled. 'What's the fucking charge, anyway?'
The plain clothes man looked at him, his eyes narrowed.
'Murder.'
SEVENTY-ONE
'I'm here to help you. But I can't do that unless you help yourself.'
Brian Hall leant on the edge of the table and looked down at Scott.
Hall was about thirty-five, dressed immaculately in a charcoal-grey Armani suit. He was clean-shaven and his hair combed perfectly. The contrast between the lawyer and Scott was stark. Scott was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt which needed washing. He sported a thick growth of stubble and his eyes were sunken, with dark rings beneath them. He'd managed to grab a couple of hours' sleep in the cell since they'd brought him in, but it was scarcely enough to refresh him. He looked as bad as he felt. Now he cupped both hands around the plastic beaker full of luke-warm coffee and lowered his head, staring into the depths of the brown liquid as if seeking inspiration there.
Hall had arrived at Dalston police station about twenty minutes ago and announced that he was acting for Scott. He'd been shown to the interview room where Scott sat with a uniformed officer close by the door. The room smelt of stale sweat and strong coffee. All it contained were the table and two wooden chairs, one of which Hall now gripped the back of, looking first at the policeman then at Scott.
'Talk to me, Jim,' he said. 'That's what I'm here for. I'm here to help you but I can't do that unless you talk to me. Tell me what happened.' There was a hint of exasperation in his voice.
Scott looked up at him and motioned towards the policeman.
'Could I have a few minutes alone with my client, please?' Hall said. The policeman nodded, got to his feet and walked out, closing the door behind him.
'Now will you talk to me?' Hall said.
'How did Plummer know I was here?' Scott wanted to know.
'I don't really see what that's got to do with it…'
'How?' snarled Scott.
'Word gets round, Jim. Once he heard you'd been arrested it was just a matter of finding out which police station you were being held at,' Hall said. 'He called me, asked me to help you.'
Scott was unimpressed. He lowered his head again, the knot of muscles at the side of his jaw pulsing angrily.
Plummer knew where he was.
'And are you supposed to get me out of here?' he asked, sardonically.
'I can't do that,' Hall said, flatly. 'You know that. They won't even post bail with the evidence against you.'
'I didn't kill those blokes,' Scott told him.
'I'm sure you didn't but…'
Scott interrupted him, angrily.
'I didn't fucking kill them,' he snarled.
'That's as maybe, but unfortunately the evidence points to the fact that you did.' Hall exhaled deeply. 'The three men were shot with your gun. Your fingerprints were found on the spent shell cases they found on The Sandhopper's deck. On top of that you've got no alibi for the time of the murders.' Hall walked slowly up and down. 'They've got enough evidence to throw away the key, Jim. My only advice to you is to plead guilty.'
Scott smiled humourlessly.
'Well, thanks for that brilliant piece of help,' he sneered. 'Did Plummer send you here just to tell me that?'
'I don't know what else to say to you. The evidence against you is overwhelming.'
'I didn't kill them.'
'Then who did?'
'John Hitch,' Scott said flatly. 'Hitch killed them with my gun on Plummer's orders. I've been fitted up.'
'That's ridiculous,' Hall said. 'If Plummer was trying to frame you, why send me here to help you?'
'All part of the fucking act. He's done me up like a kipper and I fucking fell for it. That's what annoys me as much as anything. I walked straight into it.' He clenched his fists.
'You say Hitch killed them. You may believe that…'
'I know it,' Scott snarled.
'All right,' Hall said, raising his own voice. 'You know it. You know it, but on the evidence against you there isn't a jury in the world that's going to believe you.' He lowered his voice slightly. 'You'll go down for life.'
