‘Well, this is it,’ Carl mutters.
He gets out, opens the rear door, and helps me into the night air. Immediately, my heels sink into sludge, the cold envelops me and I’m beginning to wish I’d brought a coat.
‘Are you sure?’ I ask.
‘The Concordia.’
He points at a sign beside the door.
‘But it’s not finished.’
He shrugs.
‘Let’s go inside, see what’s going on.’
Reluctantly, I follow him, stumbling through mud and cursing my choice of footwear. We’re greeted by a security guard. Installed behind a marble counter, he looks up from a crossword.
‘Maya Scotton,’ I announce. ‘To see Lily Babbage.’
‘Top floor. She’s still here.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Planning the décor, probably.’ The guard twiddles a pen in his fingers. ‘Or finding more problems. She comes over a lot. Regular visitor. Knows the boss. Gets away with murder.’
I peer back out of the glass frontage at the wilderness of mud and concrete and iron spikes.
‘I know it doesn’t look much at the minute,’ the guard assures me. ‘They’re starting on the landscaping next week. It’s not so bad inside, perfectly safe. The lifts are in full working order.’ He points the pen at a metallic door. ‘Help yourself.’
‘I’ll come up with you.’ Carl leads me to the lift and presses a button.
About thirty seconds. That’s all it takes for us to reach the penthouse. And by the time we arrive, my skin’s prickling with anxiety. I edge my way out into a huge, gloomy space, taking in the fact that it’s lined with the obligatory wall-to-ceiling windows. I count four panels of glass; the fifth is missing, a sheet of plastic fluttering in its place. For a few seconds the clouds give way in the sky and a full moon appears, casting a watery light across the room, urging shapes out of the shadows and revealing a mess that’s anything but safe. Wires hang from walls. Buckets, tools and piles of plasterboard litter the place. Directly in front of me, on top of a workman’s bench, two mobiles sit next to a drill and a length of rope. I’m about to examine them in more detail when the moon disappears again, leaving obscurity in its wake. The only illumination now is from part way down a corridor leading off to the right, where a door’s been left open, allowing a shaft of light to cut across the floor.
‘Lily?’ I call. ‘Are you here?’
No answer.
I move toward the light, listening to the constant flapping of the plastic sheet. An icy gust of air lifts it momentarily, and I halt. We’re ten floors up and there’s no protection against the drop. It’s incredibly dangerous. Surely, Lily shouldn’t be up here alone.
‘Hello?’ I call, becoming more uncertain by the second. ‘Is anybody here?’
I sense a movement, turn back to the corridor. There’s a figure silhouetted against the light.
‘Glad you could make it.’
Immediately, I’m turned to stone, not thinking, not breathing. I’m not even sure my heart’s beating, because I know that voice, its familiar Scottish lilt. As he moves forward, my eyes adjust to the gloom and his features emerge, like something out of a nightmare: ebony eyes, glassy with drink, moist lips, parted in a strange, unnatural smile.
‘What’s the matter?’ Boyd asks, amusement clear in his voice. ‘Confused?’
He waits for a reply, but my mouth won’t function.
‘Oh no.’ He clasps a hand to his chest. Doing his best to mimic a woman, his voice takes on a falsetto quality. ‘But Carl’s a goody. How come he brought me here? I don’t understand.’ The hand slaps against his forehead, palm outwards. And as quickly as it sprang into life, the pantomime ends. Lips crack into a snarl. The eyes glint. ‘Anyone can be bought for the right price, Maya. Or with the right threats.’
He brushes past me, jolting my senses back to life. Shock gives way to panic. Adrenalin surges. My heart thunders, causing a rush of blood through my veins. Lungs draw in a quick succession of breaths. I manage to turn, watching through bleary vision as Boyd heads straight towards Carl, and pats him on the back.
‘Daniel’s little crew took one of ours, so I took one of theirs. Didn’t I, Carl?’ He ruffles his hair. ‘Just a little chat, that’s all we needed. Turns out Carl’s got things of his own he’d like to keep safe, pretty girlfriend, lovely mummy. He’s a good lad at heart, so don’t get annoyed with him, Maya. He didn’t have much choice.’
Avoiding all eye contact, Carl stares at the floor. And suddenly it’s clear to me, why he’s been so uncomfortable all day.
‘You don’t have to do this,’ I tell him, my voice unsteady with nerves. ‘And you don’t want to do this. I can see that. Whatever threats he’s made,’ I raise a shaking hand at Boyd, ‘he won’t carry them out. He can’t. He’s got no one behind him, not any more.’
Boyd laughs.
‘I take it you’re referring to Mr Dean’s agreement with Mr Finn?’
I falter.
‘How do you know about that?’
‘D’uh. Carl told me, of course. Good God, you’re slow.’ He leaves Carl with another pat and saunters back to me, eyebrows raised. ‘It’s a good job I never put all my trust in Richard Dean, kept my options open. I’ve got a few people of my own, Maya. Well, I call them people. They’re more like animals, really.’ He sniggers. ‘Animals, aren’t they, Carl?’ Keeping his eyes fixed on mine, he raises his voice. ‘They belong in a
