familiar effect of the pills was returning. He felt the weight of the big gun in his pocket and waves of adrenaline surged through his veins, flooding him with a sense of power and well-being. But he had to do something; he had so much energy it was boiling over.
The man with the dog had gone and the young couple had moved to another tree. They thought they could fool him, but he wasn't that stupid. The Green was full of young couples now. They leaned against every tree, pretending to be kissing and feeling each other up. Mick felt a jolt of energy in his loins as he watched the erotic tableau of shadows.
When the police car finally came, he was ready. He saw its headlights approaching slowly, dispersing the watchers on The Green as its beams sought the right house, and he left softly by the back door. He had a plan. There was only one sensible thing he could do, and that was get out of Eastvale, disappear, go down to join Lenny in London for a while. To get out of Eastvale, he had to cross The Green, then the river, and walk up around the castle to the bus station at the back of the market square. It was no good running east; in that direction there was nothing but fields and the long flat vale; he would be an easy target out in the open there. Cautiously, he edged down the back alley to the end of the block, where a narrow snicket separated two terraces. As he crept out into the street again, he was about four houses north of the police. Now all he had to do was disappear quietly into the trees and he was home free.
He crossed the street without attracting any attention and stood on the verge of The Green. The police were still knocking at his door and trying to peer in through the windows, the fools. A few more paces and he would be among the' shadows, the shadows that belonged to him again. Suddenly, a voice called out behind him and for a moment he stopped dead in his tracks, feeling the adrenaline prickle inside him.
'Hey, you!' the voice called again. 'Stop where you are! Police!'
For a second he thought it was all over, that they had him, but then he remembered he had an edge-the gun and the power he felt crackling inside him. The new plan came as a brainstorm, and he laughed out loud at the beauty of it as he ran across The Green with the police close behind, still shouting. He would never make it to the bus station, he knew that now, and even if he did they would be waiting for him, talking to each other on the airwaves. So he had to improvise, try something different.
The light was on. That was a good sign. Without hesitating, he leaped up the steps three at a time and ran his shoulder into the front door. It didn't give at once. The police were clearing the trees now, only about seventy- five yards away. Mick took a few paces back and crashed into the door again. This time it splintered open. The woman, alarmed by his first attempt, was peering, frightened, through a door in the hallway. Mick rushed in, grabbed her by her hair and dragged her to the front window. The police were halfway across the street by now. Taking out his gun, Mick smashed the window and held Jenny up by the hair.
'Stop!' he screamed at them. 'Don't move another inch! I've got a gun and I've got the woman, and if you don't do what I say I'll fucking shoot the bitch.'
III
Even Robin's voice was different. It had lost its timber of shy cheerfulness and become forced and clipped.
Sandra edged backwards until she could feel the screen against her back. She was almost perfectly lined up with the projected model, whose image was wrapped around her body, the girl's face superimposed on her own.
'Robin,' she said as calmly and quietly as she could manage, 'you don't really want to do this, do you? Don't let things go too far.'
'I have to,' Robin said tersely. 'It's already gone beyond.'
'Beyond what?'
'Beyond where I thought I could go.'
'You can still stop it.'
'No.'
'Yes, you can,' Sandra insisted gently.
'No! Can't you see? I have to go further, always further, or it's no good, there's no point. When I watched you, Sandra, watched you undressing in your bedroom, it was the best, it was just like… I didn't think I could go any further than that. I didn't think I could ever go any further. Do you know what I mean? The ultimate.'
Sandra nodded. The model's face remained still and detached, fixed on that far-off memory. Sandra felt as if she were tied to the screen by the projection. She wanted to tell Robin to turn it off but she didn't dare. The way he was talking, he was beyond reason. There was nothing she could do but keep asking him calmly to put the knife down and stop. But she knew he wouldn't. He'd gone too far now, and he could only go further. He'd made his greatest step and the rest would have to follow.
He was coming closer, the projected model bending around the knife blade, throwing its shadow onto Sandra's chest. She was backed up as far against the screen as she could get. Robin stopped, still at an angle so as not to block the image projected on her. 'Take your clothes off,' he ordered, twitching the knife.
'No,' Sandra replied. 'You can't mean it. Put the knife away, Robin. It's not too late.'
'Take your clothes off,' he repeated. 'I do mean it. Do as I say.'
It was futile to protest any more. Sandra clenched her teeth, holding back the tears, and brought her trembling hands to the buttons on her shirt.
'Don't hurry,' Robin said. 'Take your time. Do it slow.'
Each button seemed to take an eternity, but finally the shirt was undone. She dropped it on the floor and waited.
'Go on,' he said. 'The jeans.'
Sandra was wearing tight Levis. She undid the top button and pulled down the zipper. It wasn't easy, but she managed to fold them over her hips and get out of each leg while still standing up.
She stood before Robin in her white bra and panties, shaking all over. The image was still wrapped around her and now it seemed welcome, offering her a little covering, some protection. Robin pulled the slide out of its slot, and the bright, piercing light of the lens pinned Sandra to the screen. She put up a hand to shield her eyes.
Robin said nothing for a long time. He seemed to be just gazing at her, a slender figure with long, blond hair and shapely long legs. He was awestruck. She could feel his eyes as they slid over her body, probing every curve, every shadow. She noticed that the hand that held the knife was trembling.
'Now the rest,' he ordered in a voice that seemed caught deep in his throat. Sandra started to obey.
'Slower,' Robin commanded her.
Finally, she stood naked in the harsh glare of the slide projector. Now she made no pretense of not crying; her shoulders shook and the tears flowed down her cheeks, fell onto her chest and trickled across her breasts.
Suddenly, Robin gave a strangled cry, dropped the knife and hurled himself down on his knees in front of her. The abruptness of his action shocked Sandra out of her fear. He put his arms around her hips and buried his face in her loins. She could hear him sobbing and she could feel his warm tears. Quickly, she stretched out her left hand to grab the camera that Robin had left on the table beside the screen. Then, with both hands, she lifted it high in the air and brought it down hard on the top of his head.
IV
It was quiet in Banks's office. He sat smoking a cigarette, feeling very pleased with himself, waiting to hear from Hatchley and Richmond. Opposite, Trevor sat sullen and withdrawn, while his father seemed nervous, tapping on the edge of the desk and whistling between his teeth.
There was a soft knock at the door and Sergeant Rowe's gray-haired head popped around, indicating that
