‘ Henry, you don’t need to tell me that, but does it mean we railroad him, just because we’ve closed our minds to the implications of what I’m saying?’
Henry bridled. He had been convinced of Trent’s guilt. Now the belief was being challenged, he was uneasy. ‘No,’ he said sheepishly. He took a swig of beer. ‘I’m not happy with the thought it wasn’t Trent who did it. It’s just too much of a coincidence for him NOT to have done it.’
‘ So do we get him convicted just because of a coincidence?’
‘ No, I’m saying that-’
‘ What are you saying, Henry?’
‘ Don’t you want him done?’ he almost shouted. He took control of his voice, lowered it, leaned across the circular table and pointed a finger at Danny. ‘That guy abducted you at knife-point, was probably going to rape you, was definitely going to murder you — and yet you seem to want to protect him.’ He shook his head, confused. ‘I don’t get it.’
Now she leaned forwards. ‘I want justice done, Henry. I want to see him inside until he dies, but I don’t want him convicted of something he didn’t do. That’s too good for him. It makes us as bad as him. Everything we do needs to be spot on and he needs to know it’s spot on, because if it isn’t he’ll always be one-up on us, and I don’t want that.’ She sat upright and rubbed her eyes. Her face softened and she smiled. ‘Let’s not fall out — I don’t like arguing with you, but I’m sure true justice is really what you want too.’
He exhaled a long sigh, nodding. ‘Yeah, you’re right, I do. But if he didn’t kill Claire, you know what that means, don’t you?’
Danny shivered. ‘I know exactly what that means.’
They had another quick drink and left the pub. The night had a chill to it. Danny instinctively linked arms with Henry as they strolled amiably to his car which was parked some way down the road, under a street lamp and not in the pub car park. Both had developed phobias about car parks. A little shimmer of pleasure glittered through Danny when she touched Henry.
‘ That was a nice drink, Henry.’
‘ I enjoyed it too, even though you made me think. I don’t usually like to think too deeply with a beer in my hand. The two activities don’t seem to correlate. I usually talk football or sex, or both.’
Henry drove her home, pulling up outside. ‘Thanks, Henry.’
‘ Pleasure.’
She looked at him. There was only a small distance between their faces. Danny felt a rush down between her legs as her eyes flicked across his face. She swallowed, giggled and broke the moment.
‘ It would be nice, wouldn’t it?’ she said, a hint of regret in her voice.
‘ It would be wonderful,’ he conceded.
‘ But it won’t happen.’
‘ No. I’ll watch you walk to your door.’
‘ Good night, Henry.’ She was out of the car quickly, in the house moments later, giving him a quick wave from the threshold.
He drove off, failing to notice the black figure in the shadows at the end of the road, stepping out to watch Henry’s tail-lights disappear around the corner.
As Danny expected, Trent subsequently denied murdering Claire when the allegation was put to him on Tuesday morning. Although he had denied everything else, even in the face of overwhelming evidence, his denial of Claire’s murder seemed to be true. With increasing anguish, the police concluded that maybe, possibly, probably… then definitely… there was another child-killer on the loose.
When Danny eventually fell asleep it was half-past midnight. Thursday morning. In Miami, it was seven-thirty in the evening.
Myrna Rosza finished crying for the moment.
She was in her personal restroom adjoining her office, glaring at herself in the mirror over the wash-basin. Emotions tumbled across each other inside her, but she had regained outwards control of herself. She flicked on the tap, filled the basin with hot water and washed her face, removing the stained make-up from around her eyes and cheeks.
Then she spent almost twenty minutes carefully reapplying it, after which she felt more positive about things and life in general. She completed the process by brushing and spraying her hair into place.
When she reviewed the new woman, she attempted a smile which lapsed fairly quickly at the prospect of the immediate hours ahead of her. Home was not a place to which she desired to return. It would be empty, cold and forbidding. On the spur of the moment she darted back into the office, picked up the phone and dialled the Fontainbleau Hilton on Collins Avenue, Miami Beach, booked a room, and a table at one of the restaurants. She slammed the phone back down, put on her top coat and walked purposefully out of the office.
The elevator to the basement was empty. It stopped with a bump and opened its doors to reveal a vast, deserted, underground parking lot. Since Kruger’s death, the building superintendent had allowed her to park there — at a cost.
Moments later, the tyres of the Lexus were squealing across the concrete floor. She hit the exit ramp, suspension bouncing, drove through the raised security gate, then out onto the road where the rain hit the hood and windshield like a bucket full of grit. Myrna fumbled for the wiper control, then felt the thud of a body on the front of the car. She slammed on, unable to see properly, but aware a person had rolled off the hood onto the road.
‘ Shit,’ Myrna cried. She leapt out — and at the back of her mind thought she could be stepping into a heist, a robbery, God knew what. At the front of the car lay the crumpled form of a female who was already rising to her hands and knees. She was totally drenched. In her hand was a rolled-up newspaper.
‘ Good God, are you okay?’ Myrna bent low to assist.
The female looked up.
‘ You!’ Myrna exclaimed.
To have had that long white wine and soda immediately before coming to bed was a pretty big mistake, Danny discovered not long after falling asleep. Her bladder called to her pitifully, ‘Empty me!’ in such a pathetic tone she could not ignore it.
With a grunt of frustration, she rolled out of bed, padded to the loo and back. When her head hit the pillow, she expected to return to sleep immediately. No chance.
Uncontrollably her mind clicked into gear and refused to get out of it. She found herself tossing and turning, desperately trying to get to sleep. She constantly re-ran images and conversations of the week through her mind’s eye and it began to drive her mad.
She pictured herself sitting next to Ruth Lilton on their settee, clasping the woman’s delicate hands in her own, offering support and reassurance, whilst at the same time bringing her up-to-date with the investigation.
‘ We initially believed the man we had in custody for the other matters was responsible for Claire’s death. He denied it and, quite honestly, it looks as though he may not have killed her.’
‘ He must have, he must have,’ Ruth Lilton sobbed.
‘ I can appreciate how you must feel like that,’ Danny said softly.
‘ You can’t appreciate fuck all,’ Joe Lilton snarled into Danny’s face. ‘You don’t know fuck all about how we’re feeling; we’ve lost a daughter. Murdered. How can you have the bottle to sit there and say “I can appreciate”?’ He mimicked Danny’s voice.
‘ Joe!’ Ruth said. ‘Please.’
‘ Well, bloody police… you’re telling us that bastard who’s locked up didn’t kill her.’
‘ Yes, that’s what I’m telling you,’ Danny said stonily, trying not to rise to him, even though her blood had passed boiling point.
‘ Well, who did kill her? C’mon, tell us. Do your job.’
Danny’s eyes played over his face. ‘We don’t know yet, but it’s only a matter of time. We will be able to get a DNA profile from the bodily fluids her attacker left in her. We’ll catch whoever did it, never fear. That’s a promise.’
Joe went silent at these words. Then with a snort of contempt he threw up his arms and stormed out of the room.
