He paused. ‘You don’t think she’ll turn up at The Fort, do you?’
Being humiliated in a hospital room was one thing, having that humiliation witnessed by his team and the extended Fort population was most definitely another.
Alice shrugged. ‘Not like she was that popular, was it? Can’t see why she’d want to revisit.’
Alice popped more cake in her mouth, chewed and swallowed before continuing. ‘In fact, I’ve no idea why she’d come back here at all. She’s got no relatives here. Few friends. It’s a mystery.’
Gus shrugged. ‘Well, as long as she stays out of my hair, I’m happy.’
He drained his cup, leaving his cake on the table and stood up. ‘You ready?’
Alice wrapped the cake in a napkin, and scrambling to her feet followed him out of the Costa.
Chapter 44
Bradford
The Man in Black has followed Hopkins off and on for most of the day. He’s managed to slip a tracker on the bumper of his car and is able to see where the journalist is at a glance and right now, he is back in his flat in Lister Mills.
This is great news. Under the guise of an electrician, wearing a wig and affecting a limp, he gained access to Hopkin’s flat and positioned a couple of cameras so he could keep an eye on the man. It had been easy to clone all his passwords for entry to the building using the underground car park entrance.
Watching Hopkins lie in bed, his large screen TV tuned into some adult porn site, he’d watched in amusement as the journalist masturbated into an old sock – classy – before switching off the light and rolling over. Within half an hour, his breathing had deepened, and he could hear slight snores.
It is time. This one, despite all the supposed security precautions, is going to be bloody easy – easier than Smedley’s at any rate. In preparation, he accessed the system and put a block on the security cameras. No point in taking chances – even if he is still in disguise. The lift from the underground garage is slow but steady and in no time, he’s gained access to Hopkins’s floor. A quick glance round tells him he is alone. Cocky, he can’t risk a wink at the cameras – although he knows they’re switched off. Soundlessly he opens the door to Hopkins’s flat and retrieves first the camera from the spacious white pine floored living room. Then he selects the heavy based ornament he’s chosen as his weapon.
Moving along the hall to the single large double bedroom, he listens. The snores are still loud. Creeping forward he enters the room, removes the second hidden camera and approaches the bed. Reaching out with his gloved hand he shakes Hopkin’s shoulder, and as soon as the man’s eyes open, he slams the vase onto his head, and hearing a distinctive crack as Hopkins’s skull cracked, he whispers, ‘Guess who?’
As Hopkins’s eyes fluttered back in their sockets, he wraps his strong fingers round the man’s neck and squeezes and squeezes and squeezes. For twenty seconds – no – more – Hopkins’s hands flutter helplessly around his hands, but within another twenty he is gone.
The Man in Black stood up from his kneeling position, cricks his neck, and looks down at the journalist’s face. Oh, how he’d been tempted to leave a camera in situ to record the following day’s activities. It would have given him great joy to witness the body being found and the subsequent CSI and police investigation from the comfort of his den.
A sudden vision of him, lying on his bed, huge tub of popcorn on his lap and his entertainment on the laptop, popped into his head. But that would have been a risk too far and he was nothing if not a pragmatist. There was no way he would risk them finding any trace of him however small in this flat. No, let them work for the rest of the clues. He’d given them more than enough to be going on with, hadn’t he?
With a last glance at his quarry, he turns and vacates the room, before retracing his steps out of the flat and back into the underground garage. Luck is on his side, as nobody was there to witness his movements – partly because he’d drugged the overweight, slightly gormless security guard who was supposed to remain alert all night – You just can’t get the staff these days, can you? – and partly because he is, of course, just a lucky bastard.
Chapter 45
Bradford
When she’d heard that Gus and Professor Carlton were going up to Scotland to interview her foster brother Rory, Corrine had insisted on coming with them. Not only had she insisted, she’d taken over the organisation of the entire trip, from offering to drive, to booking hotels, and promising to prepare a lunch for them to eat on the journey. The last had filled Gus with dread, but he hadn’t the heart to refuse her offer. She wanted to keep busy and he was happy to indulge her. Despite her attempts at joviality, Gus noticed she’d lost weight, that even over the last few days, her hair had developed curls of grey in it and there were more than just laughter lines around her eyes.
His father had initially been sceptical about including her in the trip, but he’d bowed to her logic. ‘Fergus, my love, you know the detective who tried to interview Rory got nothing from him. Maybe I can break through to him. Besides, I feel guilty for deserting him in his hour of need.’
Fergus had blustered and mumbled and fussed. ‘He killed his wife, Corrine. You didn’t desert him – he got locked up.’
With patience born of long familiarity with her husband’s protectiveness, Corrine wrapped her arms round him. ‘It wouldn’t have hurt me to send him a card every so often, now
