'Sarah…'
She moaned and raised her head. She looked like she'd been dunked in paint-stripper. When Holland opened his mouth, she pushed her tongue into it and he felt the stirring in his groin. It took a major effort to pull away from the kiss.
'Sarah, let's get you inside.'
'No…'
She squeezed his neck so hard that he had to fight not to cry out. He reached up and wedged a hand between her fingers and his skin. 'You need to stop this. You need to get to bed and go to sleep.'
Her voice was hoarse and punctuated, by desperate, absurd intakes of breath. 'Was it nice.., to be proved right? To see me… fuck up at work…?'
'Don't be stupid.'
'In front.., of everybody…'
'What you said to Thorne was.., good enough.'
'If he believed me…'
Holland realised that he'd been stroking her hair for a while. 'Listen, what you said about me being proved right. I don't give a toss about that, but maybe it's enough of a warning for you to want to do something about it…'
She burrowed her head deeper into his shoulder. She might have been nodding, but he couldn't be sure.
'Sarah?'
She whimpered. It sounded like there might be another attack of hysterics on the way. His hand stopped stroking her hair, grabbed a handful of it. 'This might be the last chance you get, you know?'
She raised her head and stared at him, with something strange in her bloodshot eyes which he couldn't come close to reading. She looked up at him for maybe fifteen seconds. Challenging… apologising.., accepting.., saying something without words; something he would spend a long time afterwards trying to interpret. Then, in the early hours of the morning, with the first few drops of rain crashing onto the windscreen, he could say very little which didn't sound pat and pointless. 'I'll be here to help you, if you try and change things…'
He pulled her head gently back down on to his shoulder, and the two of them sat there, holding on to each other for all the wrong reasons. McEvoy needing to go through this but wanting him to go. Wanting to get inside, on her own, and turn on her computer. Holland shushing her like a child. Changing his position ever so slightly, moving his arm just a little to get a look at his watch. Mary from Rickmansworth: 'He should never be let out. What about the life sentence the parents have been given? What about the parents of that little girl?'
Alan from Leicester: 'It isn't about vengeance, Bob, it's about justice. It's just too soon.'
A child jailed for the murder of a little girl now a grown man eligible for parole. The debate had raged eight months before, over the parole for the boys that killed Jamie Bulger. It was raging again. The phone-lines, as Bob kept reminding everybody, were red-hot… Susan from Bromley: 'That boy should be kept in prison for his own good. If he comes out, someone will find him and kill him.'
That one was his favourite. Let's not talk about releasing our own demons back into society. Let's not say we want them locked away for the rest of their lives because it makes us a bit less guilty about not protecting our children. Let's pretend we're concerned for the safety of the murdering bastards. Priceless.
He weighed up the arguments, as he always did, and in the end, he was firmly with the majority on this contentious issue. The man should never be set free. Killing kiddies was evil. Caroline had gone to bed nice and early, and he'd had. most of the evening to sit and think, and assure himself that he'd thought of everything. He'd considered abandoning the whole thing when Palmer had escaped. He thought about trying to find him, starting their little partnership up again. He bore him no ill will for weakening the last time, for turning against him. That was the way it went with characters like Martin. The fear could be harnessed, but it was sometimes a bit unpredictable.
After due consideration, he'd decided to press on. Never still and never back. Palmer was part of his past now, let him flounder and drown. His future was far more exciting. It did give him a laugh though, Palmer escaping the way he did. Thorne was so arrogant. Thorne, who never suffered fools. Now he'd fucked up very badly. Now, Thorne was the fool.
He poured himself another glass of wine. He wondered if McEvoy would luck up. It wouldn't be the end of the world if she did – he'd be covered – but it would be disappointing after the effort he'd put in so far. On balance, he decided he had good reason to be optimistic. She was the perfect choice after all.
The first time he'd met her, he'd recognised something. He'd seen a need, and not just the obvious one. He'd spotted the drug dependency immediately, of course: he'd seen it many times when he was on the street. It was probably the coke that had first put the idea in his head, but he quickly found out that McEvoy's need ran far deeper. So, all being well, they would both get something out of it. He would know if he had made the right choice very soon, but if all did not go well, he had already decided that he would kill her later anyway. He leaned across to the radio and turned it up. Some idiot was twittering on about how it would be impossible for this boy to hide who he used to be, even if he was released. They'd said the same things about Venables and Thompson. They'd have to become different people; they'd need to hide their past from everyone. They'd have to lie, for ever, to close friends and future spouses. It wasn't possible. Someone would find out, surely. How could you keep your past so secret?
He smiled at that. He knew it could be done. Thorne pressed the Play button on the answering machine, and a day that had ended badly, got even shittier.
'Hello… Tom, it's Eileen. Auntie Eileen, from Brighton… I hate these things. Listen, we need to have a chat about your dad. I've been in touch with him a fair bit, you know, since Christmas and, well… it's not good. You wouldn't really remember, but your granddad was the same… later on. Sometimes I think he forgets to eat anything. Anyway, I've been nagging him and he says he's going to see the GP. I think he'll probably get referred, you know, for proper tests, but anyway, give us a call and we can put our heads together. You should tell him yourself as well, make sure he keeps the appointment…'
He hit the Stop button and went to put the kettle on. He banged down the mug on the worktop. It had been a week since the row with his dad. He should have called him back the next day, sorted it out. What was Eileen getting involved for anyway? She'd never been arsed before. Christ, they always came out of the woodwork when there was something to get worked up about. Busybodies like that loved a fucking crisis didn't they?
That KFC he'd picked up on the way home had been a mistake. He was starting to feel a little sick.
Proper tests? What did that mean…?
He looked at his watch. It was far too late to call his dad now. He tore at the milk carton roughly enough to spill milk everywhere. Fuck it, the tea would only keep him awake anyway. Wasn't there supposed to be more caffeine in tea than coffee?
He stomped back into the living room and sat there in silence, cradling his phone.
Who was he kidding? If he slept at all it would be a miracle. The adrenaline that had rushed through his bloodstream in the hotel room earlier was still around, looking for something to do. The feelings that had taken hold of him, knocked him around a little, as he'd looked down at Jason Alderton, had gone back to wherever it was they hid most of the time, but he was still feeling bruised. And McEvoy…
What the hell had all that been about? He'd need to talk to Brigstocke about it in the morning. Maxwell would probably write it up in his report, but Thorne knew it would be good if he could get in first. He hadn't a clue what he was going to tell Brigstocke though. Probably the same bollocks McEvoy had given him… He'd need to talk to Holland as well.
He looked at his watch. Only five minutes later than the last time he looked.
He let it ring three times, hung up, dialed again. It rang for a very long time.
'Palmer?'
'I was asleep…'
'Give me an address.'
'What…?'
'Give me the address where you are, and I'll come and get you.'
'I can't.'
Thorne hadn't expected it to be that easy, but he was still genuinely annoyed. 'Why don't we just get this
