As for her instincts, how reliable were they? Her thoughts on the sudden deaths, for example. She was more convinced than ever after seeing Posner that there was a link, but nobody else believed her. What made her right and her more experienced colleagues wrong, other than an extraordinarily strong hunch. But she knew she was right, and the body count was rising. Why could nobody else see it?
Maya’s reverie was broken by her ring tone. She checked the caller ID hoping it wasn’t Spence again. She smiled when she saw it was Dominique.
‘Morning, Mama.’ The reply was a strangled sobbing sound. She sat up, panicked. ‘Mama? Mama, what’s wrong? What’s happened?’
There was a rattling as the phone was passed to someone else.
‘Maya? Hi, it’s Jean from next door. It’s Jet… Dominique has just found her in the garden, and… well, I’m afraid she’s dead. Somebody has killed her… I think you should come.’
Jean continued to explain the horror of what Dominique had discovered. Maya could barely believe what she was hearing.
‘I’m on my way.’ Tears filled her eyes at the thought of poor Jet. She’d been the family pet for fifteen years. This was horrific. It had to be another message from Naylor. If she thought she felt scared after the break-in, it was nothing to the sheer panic she felt now. Things had gone too far. Jet had been killed for fuck’s sake. Who would be next?
I know who is going to be next. I’m surprised it took me so long to decide when it’s alarmingly obvious. This is going to be the hardest one yet though. I know I’m taking a real risk, but it will be worth it. Shouldn’t every show end with a dazzling finale? Plus, this one really, really deserves to die. I’ll be doing a favour for so many people. Louisa my darling, this last one is for you. A symbol of my eternal love.
And then, I’m coming home.
64
Donnelly gradually came round. The pain in his head was excruciating and the dizziness and nausea left him in no doubt he was suffering with concussion. He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious for, but the bulging of his bladder suggested at least a couple of hours. He was lying on the floor of the shipping container. The metal chain he had brought had been padlocked tightly around his chest and his hands and feet were bound by the cable ties. He was trussed up like a Christmas turkey, and despite being in a level of pain he had never experienced before, he was raging.
It was hot in the container. The summer sun had turned it into a giant oven. He hadn’t noticed the uncomfortable temperature when he had been emptying it, but now the door was shut, the heat was intensifying. He steadied his breathing and willed himself to stay calm while he gathered his thoughts.
Who the hell could have dared to do this to him? Surely it had to be opportunists, nobody who knew of him and his reputation would have risked doing something so stupid. When he found out who was responsible, he would kill them. Slowly and painfully. But first he had to get out. He suddenly thought of Lurch. He was supposed to be meeting the big man here. He would be along any minute now and then he could let him out.
Then a surge of apprehension rushed him like a giant wave. Lurch was late. Lurch was never, ever late and he hadn’t picked up any of Aiden’s calls for a while now. What if something had happened to him? What if whoever had had the audacity to tie him up in his own lock-up had got to Lurch first? Without Lurch, how the hell was he going to get out of here? He was trapped. A sitting duck for whoever had targeted him, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Aiden Donnelly began to experience an unfamiliar prickle of fear, which he quickly smothered with his mounting rage.
‘Arghhhh, get me out of here,’ he screamed as he tugged frantically against the chain and thrashed his body against the restraint of the cable ties.
His desperate voice echoed around the empty container. He managed to manoeuvre his body enough so he could raise his feet and bang them against the walls. The result was a pitiful, desolate thumping sound. It was certainly not loud enough to attract attention.
He wrestled his hands round to the side of his body in a desperate attempt to check his pockets for his mobile phone, but it was gone. Panting with the exertion, he curled on his side while he caught his breath. His mouth was dry, and he was desperate for a drink. The bottles of water he had brought were lying agonisingly out of reach.
Eventually, once his heart rate had resumed to normal, he attempted to shuffle himself up onto his knees, attempting to stand. The exertion was far too much for him as the gravity caused his stomach to turn. He dropped back to the floor and vomited violently, spraying himself and his clothing in the process. Eventually, the nausea subsided. The pain in his head intensified and he started to see stars, before once again being swallowed into unconsciousness.
65
Maya and Dominique had been sat on the couch, holding on to each other for what seemed like an age. Despite the heat, they were ensconced under a blanket, both cold with shock. Their eyes were swollen with crying; their throats raw with talking and arguing.
Maya
