Never seen them.
Silently Vincent spun a further two photographs toward Anna. She saw herself at the door of the motel, letting Riding in, letting Phelps in.
I can meet friends if I want to.
Clyne leaned over her shoulder and stabbed a bitten-down forefinger on the men at the motel. This man was found shot dead at the bank. We know who he is, Jeffrey Riding. This man she indicated Phelps is also known to us: Brian Phelps. Were currently looking for him.
Vincent pointed to the photographs of the dead men. This man was also killed at the bank, and this one was found dead at the university. We dont know who they are.
He paused. Two further photographs lay face down in front of him and now he turned one of them over. But the man were most interested in is this one.
Wyatt leaving the motela grainy, blurred shot, not helped by the automatic caution that governed everything he did, for he had his collar up, a cap over his, brow, dark-rimmed glasses on his face.
Anna chanced a question. So you knew about this all along? Youve been watching?
Vincent looked around her shoulder at Clyne. A signal passed between them and the woman breathed on Annas neck again: Looks like youve got some enemies out there, Anna. We got this lot by courier just a couple of hours ago. An anonymous note with it.
Vincent leaned forward. Anna felt herself cringing. They both had her hemmed in with their body heat. A citizen doing his duty? Vincent asked. A rival gang? You tell us.
In a way its no skin off our nose, Clyne said behind her. Weve got enough here to make a case stick against you. Well find a way to explain the incidental bodies
They all belong to your gang, for example, Vincent said. You all had a falling out. and case closed, Clyne concluded. Once we find Phelps and this other character.
Phelps will be easy.
Its this other man, Clyne said. Him were really interested in. Interests you as well, eh, Anna? Something going on there?
Anna drew her neck into her shoulders to escape the woman behind her. I havent had my phone call. Im entitled to a lawyer.
Not if we have good reason to believe youll tip off your accomplices, Vincent said.
He turned the other photograph over. Wyatt was still indistinct but clearly holding her shoulders on the South Bank on that Sunday afternoon a week ago. Stolle, Anna thought. Who else apart from the police had the know-how to run a surveillance like that? He saw what we were up to and got curious and greedy.
Is he good, Anna? Clyne breathed, reaching over to tap Wyatts face. Give you a good time, does he?
Vincent leaned back, folded his arms. Hold onto your memories, sweetheart. Hes the last bit of dick youll have for a long, long time.
Attractive woman like you, Clyne said, all that lovely hair, unmarked skin, good education, nice manners, proper way of speakingyou know how long someone like you will last in here?
Anna said nothing. Shed been wondering exactly that but she said nothing.
Dont talk, dont trust, dont feel, thats what its going to be like from now on. But that wont save you. Theres an element in here that hates what you represent. The merest hint that youre waving your tits or arse around, theyll shaft you.
Or maybe theyll pussy-tame you. You might even get to like it, Vincent said.
Shed be better off not flaunting it, though, dont you think?
Oh, absolutely.
Anna tried to let the words run off her back and sink into the hard floor. It was cruelty and gutter talk from a couple of people who looked like adherents to a fundamentalist church and she would not let it get to her. She closed her mouth in a thin line and did not speak again.
Clyne said, Come on, Anna. Who is he?
Are you scared? Maybe we could arrange something, some protection, Vincent said. What do you think, Lesley?
The woman at the door wore the nastiest suit Anna had ever seen. It was electric blue, a vampish 1950s film star outfit in polyester. She came and sat near Anna and smiled a smile of hard falsity at her.
Vincent stood up, stashing the photographs in a vinyl briefcase. DC Clyne and I are going now. Youll be seeing us again.
They left the room. After a while, Anna forced herself to look at the woman in the blue suit. The name on the ID pinned to her lapel was Lesley Van Fleet. She wasnt government: she was employed by the corporation that ran the prison. What happens now?
You and I have a little talk.
Why should I talk to you? Youre not a cop.
Dont make it hard on yourself, Van Fleet said. Talk to me. She leaned close. Start with the money.
Thirty-nine
Anna didnt talk. Finally Van Fleet said, Youll be sorry you didnt, and went out the door.
A custodial officer took Anna down long corridors, past a methadone dispensary, a television lounge, a library, a room for table tennis and chess. It was recreation time for the inmates and she got assessing looks, a cool challenge, one or two grins. They knew all about her and what had happened. What a bringdown, someone called.
She passed cells on the long walk. They looked bright and lived-in, books and candles on shelves, posters and cuttings on the walls, tie-dyed scarves over lampshades, the intimate indentations of the owners body on bedclothes and pillows. The cell she was shown to was small and bare.
The custodial officer shoved sheets, blankets and a pillowcase into her hands and began to walk away. Anna said, What happens now?
The officer stopped. Evie will show you the ropes. Evie, come here.
An Aboriginal woman emerged from the next cell along. Young, large-framed, intensely shy, she stared at the floor until the custodial officer had left.
Pleased to meet you, Anna said. She held out her hand. Evie touched her fingers briefly, then snatched her hand away. She kept her eyes averted, smiling a little.
So, Anna said. She shifted the bedding from one arm to the other.
Evie looked up, unable to hide her curiosity. You done that bank?
Thats what they say.
Your feller got away?
I hope so.
Evie nodded.
They stood there like that for a while. Anna sat on her mattress, foam, the cover new-looking. She pointed to a plastic chair in the corner. Have a seat.
Evie sat and looked around at the walls. Ill have to start decorating tomorrow, Anna said.
I got some pictures. Till you get your own stuff.
Thanks.
Evie came back with a slippery bundle of magazine clippings: Madonna in a bra and jeans, grinding a microphone; Demi Moore naked and pregnant; a woman with windswept hair on a wild stretch of coastline; a sleeping Labrador bitch with a tortoiseshell kitten curled against her teats.
Thanks.
Evie was wearing a tracksuit top and fished in the pockets. Sticky tape.
Thanks. Thats great.
Anna smoomed Madonna over her knee. What are you in for? Is it all right to ask?
Killed me old man.
