my own sense of helplessness.
For the second time tonight Ruiz wants to hit someone. I can see him squaring up to the younger man, who regards the threat with a weary inevitability. I try to defuse the situation.
‘Tell me this, lieutenant. How important is my daughter to you?’
He doesn’t understand the question.
‘You want Gideon Tyler. What if my daughter is in your way?’
‘Her safety is our primary concern.’
I want to believe that. I want to believe that Britain’s finest military minds and personnel will do everything in their power to save Charlie. Unfortunately, Gideon Tyler was one of their best. Look what happened to him.
I feel myself stumble slightly and catch a trembling hold of the table.
‘Thank you for your help, lieutenant, you can assure your superiors of my co-operation. I will give them as much help as they have given me.’
Greene looks at me, unsure of how to interpret the statement.
‘Gideon Tyler’s wife and daughter are alive. They’re staying at her parents’ house.’
I study his reaction. Nothing. I get a tingling sensation in my fingertips. I haven’t revealed a secret. I’ve uncovered one. He knew already about Helen and Chloe.
In the waiting stillness, the truth comes splattering like rain into my consciousness. The army is guarding the Stonebridge estate. Ruiz picked it on our first visit. He said Skipper was ex-military. Not ‘ex’; he’s current- a serving soldier. The cameras, motion detectors and the security lights are part of ongoing protection. The British army has been looking for Gideon Tyler for a lot longer than the police have.
Julianne is sedated and is sleeping according to Veronica Cray. The doctor thought it best that she wasn’t interrupted.
‘Where is she staying?’ I ask.
‘At a hotel.’
‘Where?’
‘Temple Circus. Don’t try to call her, Professor. She really does need to rest.’
‘Is anyone with her?’
‘She’s under guard.’
The DI breathes gently into the receiver. I can picture her square head, short hair and brown eyes. She feels sorry for me, but that’s not going to alter her decision. My marriage is not her concern.
‘If you see Julianne…’ I try to think of a message for her to pass on, but nothing comes to me. There aren’t any words. ‘Just check on her- make sure she’s OK.’
The call ends. Darcy has gone to bed. Ruiz is studying me, his stare sliding loosely over everything.
‘You should get some sleep.’
‘I’m OK.’
‘Lie down. Close your eyes. I’ll wake you in an hour.’
‘I won’t sleep.’
‘Try. There’s nothing more we can do tonight.’
The stairs are steep. The bed is soft. I stare at the ceiling in a sort of conscious daze, exhausted yet frightened of closing my eyes. What if I do sleep? What if I wake in the morning and none of this has happened? Charlie will be sitting at the kitchen table in her school uniform, half-awake, grumpy. She’ll launch into a long story about a dream and I’ll only be half-listening. The content of Charlie’s stories is never the important thing. What’s important is that she’s a bright, singular and amazing girl. What a girl.
I close my eyes and lie still. I have no expectation of sleep but hope the world might leave me alone for just a few moments and let me rest.
A phone is ringing somewhere. I look at the digital clock on the bedside table. It’s 3.12 a.m. My whole body is trembling as if struck like a tuning fork.
The cottage phone has been diverted to Trinity Road and it’s not the ringtone for my mobile. Maybe Darcy’s mobile is ringing in the guest room. No, it’s coming from somewhere closer. I slip out of bed and step across cold floorboards.
The ringing has stopped. It starts again. The sound is coming from Charlie’s room… her chest of drawers. I pull open the top drawer and rifle through socks and school tights rolled into balls. I feel something vibrating inside a pair of striped football socks: a mobile phone. I pull it free and flip it open.
‘Hey, Joe, did I wake you? How can you sleep at a time like this? Man, you’re cold.’
I groan Charlie’s name. Her mattress sinks beneath me. Gideon must have planted the mobile when he broke into the cottage. The police looked for fingerprints and fibres, not mobile phones.
‘Listen, Joe, I’ve been thinking you must know a hell of a lot about whores- being married to one. ‘
‘My wife’s not a whore.’
‘I’ve talked to her. I’ve watched her. She’s hot to trot. She would have fucked me. She told me so. She was begging me to bang her. “Take me, take me,” she said.’
‘That’s the only way you can get a woman- by kidnapping her daughter.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Her boss is banging her. He signs her pay cheques, so I guess that makes her a whore.’
‘It’s not true.’
‘Where was she Friday night?’
‘In Rome.’
‘Funny. I could have sworn I saw her in London. She stayed at a house in Hampstead Heath. Arrived at eight, left next morning at eight. Owned by a rich guy called Eugene Franklin. Nice place. Cheap locks.’
My chest tightens. Is this another one of Gideon’s lies? He does it so effortlessly, mixing in just enough truth to create doubts and sow confusion. Suddenly I feel like a stranger in my own marriage. I want to defend Julianne. I want to produce evidence that he’s wrong. But my arguments sound puny and my excuses taste bad even before they leave my lips.
Charlie’s pyjamas are spilling out from beneath her pillow, a pink vest and flannelette trousers. I rub the brushed cotton between my thumb and forefinger, almost trying to conjure her up, every detail.
‘Where’s Charlie?’
‘Right here.’
‘Can I speak to her?’
‘She’s tied up right now. Trussed up like a Christmas turkey. Ready for the stuffing.’
‘Why did you take her?’
‘Work it out.’
‘I know about you, Gideon. You’re AWOL from the army. You worked in military intelligence. They want you back.’
‘It’s nice to be wanted.’
‘Why are they so keen to get you?’
‘Can’t tell you that, Joe, or I might have to kill you. I put the word secret into secret service. I’m one of those soldiers that isn’t supposed to exist.’
‘You’re an interrogator.’
‘I know how to ask the right questions.’
He’s getting bored with the conversation. He expects more of me. I’m supposed to provide him with a challenge.
‘Why did your wife leave you?’
I can hear the slow, relentless sound of his breathing.
‘You frightened her away,’ I continue. ‘You tried to lock her up like a princess in a tower. Why were you so convinced she was having an affair?’
‘What is this- a fucking therapy session.’
‘She left you. You couldn’t keep her happy. How did that make you feel? Till death do us part, isn’t that what you both promised.’
‘That bitch walked out. She stole my daughter.’
‘The way I hear it, she didn’t walk- she ran. She punched that accelerator and got the hell out of there- left
