KATERINA DIAMOND
The Teacher

Copyright

Published by Avon

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

The News Building

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2016

Copyright © Katerina Diamond 2016

Katerina Diamond asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008168155

Ebook Edition © March 2016 ISBN: 9780008171339

Version: 2017-05-15

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Keep Reading …

About the Author

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

The Headmaster

Jeffrey Stone looked over the sea of despondent young faces as he gave assembly, occasionally glancing up at the steel frame of the atrium. At this time he had no idea that come the morning he would be discovered hanging from it by his neck.

The crisp white shirt collars and fresh faces stared forwards, past Jeffrey and into the space beyond; waiting for that bell. Everyone loved the idea of assembly until they were actually in it and were painfully reminded of the tedium. This ceremony was a strange limbo between work and rest; the calm before the storm. Jeffrey felt as though the clock was louder than his voice. With every tick and pause he expected the bell to ring, to rescue him from the apathetic gaze of both students and teachers. All feigning interest and failing; trying not to excavate their twitching noses. Jeffrey was always as relieved as they were when the end finally came, no longer forced to regurgitate anecdotes that no one wanted to hear, least of all himself.

The first clue to his forthcoming demise came when Jeffrey returned to his office and found the parcel on his desk. Tentatively he tore open the brown paper, as though something about the size and weight of the gift was familiar to him, from a time that he had tried to put out of his mind. Jeffrey’s face paled as he stared at the contents of the package. It was an old German book. Of course he knew what it meant. It’s not as if this was a bolt out of the blue but it had been twenty years since he had seen this book, twenty years since he had given it as a gift to someone; a ghost. The book was a surprise, but not the unspoken message its very arrival conveyed. It meant the end.

He put the book in the desk drawer, he would deal with it later. He picked up the wrapper and scanned it for information, he saw the handwriting, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as it occurred to him the package had been hand-delivered. Why now? What was different about today? Not that today wasn’t as good a day as any to die but over the years Jeffrey had presumed he had been forgotten. Got away with it, maybe. But now he knew that he had not.

He walked through the intricate wainscoted corridors for what he assumed would be the last time, running his fingers along the grain of the oak panels, the arabesque carvings almost worn down completely. Churchill School for Boys had been his home for so long. He wondered who would take his place. This building was centuries old, important to the history of the city of Exeter, one of a handful of gems that survived the Baedecker raids in 1942, Hitler’s retaliation on Britain for bombing the towns of Lubeck and Rostock in Germany. It was a calculated attack by the Luftwaffe on the five most beautiful cities from a tourist-information book. During the raids a selection of the population hid in the underground tunnels built originally to bring fresh water into the medieval city. Now the city centre was a mish-mash of handsome old buildings either side of the road that ran straight through from east to west with large, ugly, square brick consolation structures squeezed in between them to hide the gaping holes where the shells had hit. Exeter was still littered with history but was an unforgettable testament to the atrocities that had befallen the country. But not this building, the school stood proud and alone, nestled among trees, a remnant of another time. The rich emerald ivy, always so thick and strong in the summer term, clung to the deep terracotta-red brick structure as though it were trying to pull it back into the ground, to reclaim it. This was one of the reasons he had so much love for the place. The traditional and exquisite among the ugly; the truth laid bare for all to see. This was his school, from the moment he had stepped through the gates as a student he was overwhelmed with a sense of belonging. Yes, Jeffrey could not imagine himself anywhere else.

‘Mr Stone?’

Jeffrey turned around to see Avery Phillips walking towards him. Avery was the head boy. His gait displayed a confidence seldom found in the young academics at this school. Avery presented Jeffrey with an envelope.

‘What’s this?’

‘It’s the money from the fun run at the weekend, sir. We raised over five hundred pounds.’

‘Marvellous, could you take it to the school secretary, though?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Avery turned about face and headed back down the hall.

‘Actually, Avery, would you mind coming to my office for a moment, I have an errand for you.’ Jeffrey stood to one side as Avery turned back and manoeuvred past him to take the pole position.

They walked briskly, Jeffrey trying to maintain focus on the back of Avery’s head and not those beautiful broad shoulders, or further down. Many a wet Friday afternoon was spent watching Avery and his cohorts scrumming in the mud, wading through the thick gravy in their black shorts, clawing at each other with a carnal rage that plagued Jeffrey’s dreams at night; he thought of these sixth formers and his chest would tighten with desire, and other parts besides.

Avery stood in front of the office door so that Jeffrey would have to lean in close to open the door before he could step inside, a wry smile on his face. Jeffrey often felt that Avery was a game player. As he lounged in the chair opposite Jeffrey’s desk he sat in what seemed to be the most provocative position, slumped right back with his knees apart, his thighs pulling hard on the seams of his uniform. His head was tipped down and his eyes burrowed into Jeffrey’s soul.

‘I’ll write you a pass, Avery. I need you to go off campus and deliver this note for me.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Avery’s eyes were dancing and the curve of his mouth was somehow conspiratorial, like he knew this was to be their secret.

‘It’s of the utmost importance that no one knows about this, Avery, no matter what happens.’

‘Of course, sir.’ He leaned forwards, never breaking eye contact once.

Jeffrey scribbled HE HAS RETURNED on to a piece of paper and stuffed it inside an envelope, writing the name STEPHEN on the front. On a separate piece of paper he scribbled an address and handed both to Avery.

‘Take it there, tell no one.’ Jeffrey paused, waiting for Avery to leave but Avery held his gaze. ‘Oh!’ said Jeffrey, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of notes. He handed them all over and the boy smiled. ‘I can trust in your discretion?’

‘Absolutely, sir.’

Jeffrey knew he could trust Avery because there was nothing he liked better than keeping secrets, Jeffrey had heard the tales of blackmail in the dorms, with compromising photos, exam cheats and even as much as him having dirt on the teachers – who was sleeping with who – to use as possible bribery material for better grades. Yes, Avery was a grade A student. If this hadn’t been the end then Jeffrey would never have given the note to the boy, but it was and so no matter the consequences, he had done his part.

Jeffrey peered outside and watched from his office window as Avery left the school; leaving the sanctuary of the grounds. As Avery closed the gate behind him Jeffrey surveyed the area, looking across the empty courtyard at the more modest structure of the boarders’ residence. He wondered for a fleeting moment how much time he had left. He should probably call his wife, but what would he say? He picked up the phone and stared at the keypad for a few seconds before dialling zero.

‘Hold all my calls for the rest of the day, please, Elaine, I have some important paperwork to get through.’ Jeffrey sat in his chair and looked out of the window at the boys running through the grounds; nothing had changed much over his employment at this school, the world outside was different now but here inside the walls of this tribute to a past long since forgotten there was still a gratifying feeling of tradition and ritual that had stood the test of time.

The school day progressed with the usual tedium – he worked through his papers, tied up as many loose ends as possible – but occasionally Jeffrey’s mind wandered back to the curious book in his drawer. Jeffrey had always been so careful that no one knew about his proclivities, aware that it would be a career ender for him and he really did love his job, if people only knew how these boys made him feel. For almost thirty years Jeff had worked here, thirty years and no trouble as yet.

The wish to escape the grounds as soon as possible became evident about an hour before the final bell rang. The classrooms got noisier and during the final break of the day the corridors buzzed with the noise of the children who would ordinarily obey the stringent rules about the noise levels around the establishment. When the time finally came, silence overtook the main building as the boarders made their way back to the halls and the day students got on their buses and went home.

He pulled out the book and felt the outside; even the touch of it brought back memories like an old familiar friend. His heart thumped as he traced his fingers across the title of the book: Das Geschenk, The Gift. He opened the book and started to read, his German wasn’t what it used to be but he knew this book well anyway. A firm believer in the old ways, Jeffrey had acquired this book for its historical relevance, for its insights into his ‘condition’ and how to change it. The book itself was out of print, rare and hard to find. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to get this, and he knew who. It had been a companion to him when he had been searching for answers about himself, about why he was the way he was, why he needed to surround himself with pubescent boys, why even the smell of a woman left him feeling cold.

The half-light of the summer night pulled in and Jeffrey opened out his laptop, sure that he was now alone in the building; even the cleaners would be gone. He plugged in his mobile device, not wanting to use the school’s network, and logged into a secure online photo storage website, furtively listening out for any noise in the school before entering his password. Folders and folders, each titled with a different year group, and within that a different name in alphabetical order: Jason, Marcus, Robert and so on. Jeffrey’s favourites. He wasn’t one of these idiots who kept the evidence on his hard drive, he was smarter than that, and he paid good money for his security on the dark net. He clicked the first folder titled ‘Daniel’ but it would not open, asking for a secondary password – this was not supposed to happen. Panicking, Jeffrey tried to open the other files, but he couldn’t. He wanted them gone, deleted, but he couldn’t access them. No one knew about these photos, not even the boys themselves. Who could have found out, and how?

He found himself humming an old tune, he stopped but the music continued from somewhere else in the building, faint and familiar. His heart sank, his time had come. Mahler, dark at the best of times, rang out like a toll bell, the all too familiar melody signalling an end that had been written in the stars for decades now.

Jeffrey opened his office door and looked down the corridor, listening. The music was coming from the main assembly hall. He started walking and the music grew louder and more distorted with every step. He remembered the symphony well, today had been full of nostalgia for a time that maybe he shouldn’t yearn to return to, a time when he caused so much pain.

This particular piece had the appropriate amount of thrill and dread for Jeffrey’s purposes at that time, deliberately ironic that it should be the last thing he ever heard.

He opened the double glass doors and screwed his eyes shut at the volume of the music, the distortion cutting through him. On the elevated platform at the front of the vast room was a chair, hanging above it was a noose. To the left was a table, covered in a red velvet cloth, almost ceremonial in its appearance. On top of the table was a beautiful black wooden box. The music stopped but his ears continued to ring as they adjusted to the silence.

‘Hello, old friend.’ A man’s voice, he didn’t recognise it, but it had been so long.

‘What do you want?’

‘This is not about what I want. This is what must be done.’

‘Why today, after all this time?’ Jeffrey was afraid to turn around and look at his downfall.

‘You don’t know what today is? It’s been eighteen years. Eighteen years since I saw exactly what kind of monster you are.’ The voice was so slow, so completely resolute; it was not as he expected.

‘If you think I’m going to hang myself, you’ve got another think coming.’ Jeff looked up at the noose.

‘I don’t think, I know,’ the man whispered with such resolve that Jeffrey understood he was not making a request.

‘You’ll have to force me and there will be evidence, they’ll know it wasn’t suicide,’ Jeffrey’s voice was panicked as he searched for a way out of this; feeling more pathetic with every word he uttered.

‘One way or another, you die today. It just works out better for me if it looks like suicide, but I’m happy to do it the fun way.’

‘You wouldn’t!’

‘I would! Make no mistake. I was there, remember? I saw what’s inside you. I saw the sickness.’

‘You wouldn’t tell anyone. Who would believe you over me?’

‘The pictures you took speak for themselves. The pictures you took of me back then, not to mention all the other boys since. I see you got rid of the hidden cameras in the changing rooms. Worried someone would figure out how much you like young boys?’

‘How did you know about those?’

‘I have been watching you. I put a key logger on your computer. That means I’ve been able to see every key stroke entered, every website, every password, every message you ever sent anywhere. I also put a VPN in. A private network so I have had access to your computer for several weeks now, not just access, but control.’

Jeffrey moved slowly towards the table, aware that the contents of the box could be almost anything, almost certain that it wouldn’t be anything as merciful as a gun. He could feel the man was standing close behind him, almost close enough to touch, he thought about reaching forward to pick up the box and swinging it round hard, smashing the bastard’s face in. But what if he was wrong? What if he wasn’t that close? What would he do to him then? Jeffrey couldn’t risk it.

‘I never touched any of them!’ Jeffrey whispered, aware of how disgustingly feeble he sounded.

‘But it’s only ever a matter of time when it comes to people like you, Jeffrey. You’ll do it again, you won’t be able to stop yourself. But even if you don’t, you could have a heart attack right here at your desk and when they go through your drawers they’ll find that flash drive. I have seen those pictures on those files. I’ve seen how you watch the boys. How long before you aren’t just looking any more? People find those files and they draw their own conclusions.’ The voice was so cold, so completely emotionless, not even mocking, nothing. ‘Don’t forget I saw first-hand how much you like to watch.’

Jeffrey drew in his breath as he felt a hand on the small of his back, slowly travelling upwards, gently sliding between the protruding bones of his shoulders. He imagined the hand on his bare skin as it reached the back of his neck, stroking tenderly, brushing through the sweaty tendrils of his dishevelled hair. His body stirred at the welcome touch of masculine fingers.

‘Stop it!’

‘I bet you imagined this a hundred times when I was younger, back when I was your type. You wouldn’t have told me to stop then,’ the man whispered in his ear. ‘That’s how you like them, isn’t it, Mr Stone? Well I’m sorry I’m not that boy any more. I’m a man now.’

‘What’s in the box?’ Jeffrey finally asked as he exhaled.

‘Go on and have a look. I know how you like choices, so I’m giving you a choice.’

Jeffrey’s hand hovered over the lid of the box. It was hand-carved and valuable, made from black ebony with an undecipherable image etched into the surface. His mouth dried as he opened it to reveal what was inside. It took every muscle he had to hold himself upright as he stared at the contents, feeling the blood drain from his face as the room began to spin.

‘Do you know what that is?’

‘Yes,’ Jeffrey said, although he could no longer hear his own voice over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. He looked down at the pear-shaped metal device.

‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Look how delicate the embossing is, the level of detail on those leaves,’ the voice said, so close to his ear now he could feel the warm breath on his skin. ‘Why don’t you pick it up?’

‘No.’

He felt the man’s hand grip the back of his neck, he was strong. The man’s body pressed against him in a way that both aroused and terrified Jeffrey. He caught the first glimpse of the man as his hand reached for the instrument in the box. It was big and strong, unfamiliar and yet there was something like déjà vu coursing through Jeffrey’s memory.

‘There really is something for everyone. I thought this was particularly appropriate for you. The Pear of Anguish. You know, back when these were invented, they believed the sentence had to fit the crime and the punishment should be carried out on the part of your body that had sinned.’ He moved even closer to Jeffrey, his grip tightening and his voice lowering to a deep whisper. ‘You’re a liar and a sodomite … Where do you think I should put this?’

‘Please …’ Jeffrey offered futilely.

‘Do you remember how these work?’ He released Jeffrey and took a step away, taking the pear with him, beginning to pace. ‘If I turn this screw at the end then the sides start to expand out, eventually making the circumference three times larger. Let’s say, for example, I put it in your mouth. Of course, first I would have to get it past your teeth – that’s likely to knock a couple of the front ones out. As it’s expanding, of course, it will force most of the rest of them out of their sockets. Without anaesthetic I am sure you can imagine how painful that will be.’

‘Stop …’

‘Then your jaw will dislocate, which will most likely cause swelling in the back of your throat, not to mention how old this is, it’s probably rife with bacteria. By the time your airway closes over you will be in so much pain I doubt you will even notice the lack of oxygen. It will be a slow death, hypoxia most likely, as one by one your major organs shut down. The flow of oxygen will be pitiful, but still enough to keep you alive and in agony for a good few minutes. In terms of pain, a minute may as well be for ever.’

‘Enough!’ Jeffrey shouted, his voice reverberating. He stared down at his clenched fists. They were white with fear.

‘Of course, that’s only if I put it in your mouth … You’re not likely to die the other way, although I suspect you’ll wish you had.’

‘You’ll get rid of the photos if I do this?’ Jeffrey’s heart was in his throat as he looked up at the noose, understanding that he had no choice, that this had always been the only possible end for him.

‘You are getting the easy way out, Jeffrey, trust me. I promise I will destroy any evidence if you do this one thing for me. I would rather not draw too much attention to your death. You owe me this much.’

Jeffrey stood up on the chair, the feet sliding against the highly polished wooden floor. Once his neck was inside the noose all he needed was two seconds of insane courage and the decision would be out of his hands.

‘I can’t.’ Jeffrey’s voice broke and his eyes prickled with tears, warm, wet fluids ran down his leg on to the chair and floor.

‘This will all be over in a few seconds, you can do it, I believe in you.’ A little warmth from the cold voice? ‘Isn’t that what you used to say to me?’

Jeffrey filled his lungs with as much air as possible, as though that might help in some way. The chair wobbled a little and he grabbed hold of the rope; he just couldn’t keep his balance. The man finally walked out from behind him and they stood face to face. The man pulled the black hood from his head and looked Jeffrey proudly in the eyes, this was the last thing Jeffrey would ever see. Jeffrey kicked the chair and his feet dropped, for a second he thought he might be able to touch the ground but his feet danced around desperately searching for some leverage and found just more air. The rope burned with each tug but he felt like he had no choice but to struggle, his body still grasping for life whether he wanted it to or not. Then came the darkness, and as his eyes blurred to a sliver, the smile.

Chapter 2

The Father

Adrian Miles’ cheeks burned red under the heat of the sun. The sheets stuck to him as he turned over in his bed away from the open blinds. He remembered why he hadn’t shut them as he saw the girl stirring next to him. She opened her eyes.

‘Good morning.’ She smiled. He was glad the sun was in her eyes and she couldn’t see him searching his memory for her name. ‘I had a great time last night.’

‘Me too,’ he lied. It was not that he didn’t have a great time, he well might have, but the facts were a little blurry.

The phone rang and Adrian was grateful for the interruption.

‘I’ll just get dressed,’ the woman said.

‘Hello?’ he said into the receiver, his eyes fixed on Hannah? Anna? As she got out of bed she walked across the room naked, sweeping her clothes up off the floor as she went. He couldn’t entirely remember at what point over the course of last night he had managed to seal that particular deal. The situation was all too familiar to him. The absence of memory, the nameless semi-clad woman and the realisation that next time maybe he should just go to their place so that he wouldn’t have to make nice in the morning. He could just disappear. Not the first time these thoughts had occurred to him, but at the time he was always too drunk to apply any kind of rationale.

‘Adrian, I need you to take Tom today,’ Andrea said on the other end of the line, her voice as cold and to the point as ever, she never called unless she absolutely had to.

‘Hasn’t he got school?’

‘The school’s shut, something’s happened over there, sorry this isn’t much notice but I need you to take him.’

‘Can’t he stay home on his own?’ Adrian paused before continuing, unwilling to divulge any specific information about his personal life to his ex. He hated having to jump to her commands but ultimately knew he had no choice; not if he wanted to spend time with his son. ‘I have to work later.’

‘No, he can’t, he’s thirteen, Adrian, he can’t be alone all day, just take him in with you and sit him in the corner, step up to the bloody plate, would you?’

‘Hey, you are the one who made the rules and I’m just the one who follows them. I thought you understood how important today is for me …’ He tried not to sound resentful – it didn’t take much to make Andrea angry enough to refuse him access of any kind.

‘Don’t do it for me, do it for him.’

‘Can I use your toothbrush?’ the girl called from the bathroom doorway. Adrian cringed before nodding and waving her away, he could hear Andrea’s scorn through the receiver. Even though she didn’t want Adrian any more, and hadn’t done for quite some time, she still managed to make him feel like he was betraying her in some way.

‘Is someone there with you?’

‘I’ll be there in ten minutes.’ Adrian hung up and sighed. He walked to the bathroom, the girl stood in her underwear brushing her teeth with his toothbrush. She shot him a foamy smile in the reflection of the mirror. He ignored the pangs of lust as his eyes travelled up and down her body. She spat into the sink and he sighed before saying, ‘I have to go, let yourself out!’

Adrian scanned the floor for the cleanest pair of trousers he could find. He caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror. He had scratch marks across his chest and as he ran his fingers over his tired chin he noticed that his stubble was dangerously approaching beard territory. He should probably smarten up before returning to work, but it wasn’t going to happen. These small acts of defiance made him feel like a little bit less of a bitch. He pulled yesterday’s shirt over his head and grabbed his keys off the bedside table.

Adrian kept the car running and beeped the horn, he saw the neighbours’ curtains twitching and decided to beep again, making sure Andrea’s neighbours knew that she hadn’t always been the princess she was now, she had slummed it once at least. A ten-minute drive and yet it was like being in another world, just three digits on the postcode felt like entering another country, a cleaner, happier country. Not that the lower end of the city was a ghetto or anything. This regency-period neighbourhood stood high above Exeter city centre, past the prison and the red light district, near the University. All the front gardens were vibrant and blooming. The front doors all freshly painted and the lawns mown. Each house had a clear vista of the little people down below. It even seemed sunnier here. The light bounced off the grand white house. The sun was not diffused by the endless grey terraces that surrounded the tiny plot his modest home occupied on the wrong side of town. Tom walked towards the car with his shoulders hunched over, still uncomfortable in his ever-growing frame. He was just a kid, and yet he was only three years younger than Adrian was when he got Andrea pregnant, and now that Tom was an adolescent, Adrian couldn’t help but compare himself to him. He reminded Adrian of himself, except Tom didn’t have the same hang-ups. At least Adrian hoped he didn’t. They say the first-born child always looks most like the father in order to help the bonding process but it hadn’t helped much in Adrian’s case, if anything it just made him a little sad.

Andrea was standing in the doorway scowling at Adrian, dressed in her power suit, anyone would think she was a lawyer or something, but no, she worked as a personal shopper in a high-end department store, hardly the end of the world if she took the day off. Adrian had fought long and hard for access to Tom and he could not say no to having him, because he knew she would use it against him, that’s just who she was. She looked good though, she always had looked good and she probably always would. He reluctantly settled his eyes on the curves of her finely toned body. It was as though she had been sewn into her outfit. There wasn’t a wrinkle or a pull in the perfectly tailored ensemble. Her thick black hair was pulled back into a silky bun and the brightness of the diamond studs in her ears flashed against her milk-chocolate skin. People often thought Andrea was Indian or Latin American due to her exotic skin tone but she was in fact half English and half Irish. Adrian looked at her full red lips and looked away before she caught him.

‘I’ll pick him up later on,’ she said before switching tones. ‘Love you, baby.’

‘Bye, Mum.’

Tom got in and Adrian pulled away. The familiar awkward silence filled the car. Adrian would have liked to attribute this phenomenon to Tom being a teenager, but the truth was it had always been this way between them, every other weekend for the last seven years. Andrea had tried to shut him out completely, underestimating how motivated Adrian would be about this particular subject. He had fallen in love with Tom from the moment he had first seen him, he had tried his hardest to provide for Andrea but nothing he ever did was enough. Before Tom even turned two Andrea had remarried and she and her new partner had tried to block any kind of access for Adrian. He had finally managed to get regular visitation when Tom was six but by then the damage was already done. Tom and Adrian’s relationship had been strained ever since.

‘So how come your school’s shut? Do you know?’

‘Yeah, my mate Alex texted me,’ Tom said excitedly. ‘His dad’s a teacher there. They found Mr Stone hanging in the atrium, killed himself, like right in the middle of it.’

‘Is that a surprise?’ Adrian didn’t know much about the school Tom attended, Andrea had always maintained it was the best school in the area and so Tom would go there and that was that. She’d made a point of telling Adrian that his input on this matter wouldn’t be needed and so he left all the school stuff to Andrea.

‘Shyeah!’ Tom looked at his dad like he was crazy. ‘Apparently there’s going to be some kind of inquiry.’

‘No, I mean, did he seem depressed or suicidal or anything?’

‘He was pretty miserable but then most of the teachers at that place are, they’re all uptight, you know?’

‘Still don’t like it?’

‘It’s OK, bit poncey.’

‘Well a lot of kids out there wouldn’t mind going to that poncey school, Tom.’ Even though Adrian himself felt exactly the same way about the school, and there was no way Tom would be going there if it weren’t for his stepfather’s money.

‘I know,’ Tom mumbled before slumping back in his seat.

Silence resumed and Adrian kicked himself for pulling out one of those parental lines, he didn’t know how to deal with Tom really. His only reference was his own childhood and he knew that was not the norm, so he resorted to using variations on lines he had heard on cheesy sitcoms. To diffuse the silence he turned the radio on, he could feel Tom’s disapproval at the folk jingle so he turned to another station. After a few minutes of fiddling with the buttons he gave up and turned it off as they pulled up outside his house.

The one thing Adrian did have right was his lounge. Tom would play it cool but he looked forward to spending time with his father’s gaming set-up, if nothing else. Adrian spent most of his money on what most adults referred to as toys. Andrea had never asked for child support because after they broke up she fell into a relationship almost immediately with a much older, much wealthier entrepreneur. Every month since Tom had been born Adrian had used some of his wage to buy a toy for him, but not just any toy, collectable toys. Star Wars, Star Trek, DC or Marvel, anything that was highly sought after, it would all belong to Tom one day, when he was old enough to appreciate its worth. Every year Adrian would have to insure it all with detailed photographs and lists of everything he owned in case of a house fire, most of it was completely irreplaceable, but it was also incredibly valuable. His whole lounge was shelved from wall to ceiling with pristine boxes on every possible surface. Try explaining to a six-year-old that they aren’t allowed to play with any of the cool stuff.

Tom sat in front of the large LED screen and turned it on, the surround-sound kicked in and the whole room came alive. Adrian knew the TV was too big for the room, but he also knew it would win him brownie points so he bought it anyway.

‘Have you got “Zombie Flesh Hunters 2”?’

‘That’s an eighteen.’

‘All my friends play it, they’ll probably all be online today, I won’t tell Mum, I promise.’

‘Well, you’ve only got two hours before I have to go to work,’ Adrian said.

‘For fuck’s sake!’

‘Tom!’ Adrian shouted, the loudness of his voice rang through him and he took a deep breath, his son stared at him wide eyed. He felt the ghost of his father standing behind him. He shook it off. ‘Just watch your language, please, mate.’

‘I’m not your mate,’ Tom hissed.

Adrian opened the cupboard and tossed the game to Tom, seeing the hint of victory in Tom’s hidden smile. Adrian left the room, he hated raising his voice, but even more than that he hated being played.

All traces of Adrian’s house guest had gone from the bedroom, the only evidence she had been there was that the bed was made and Adrian’s clothes were in the basket instead of on the floor. Even this small deed made him feel trapped. Fear of commitment was an understatement. In Adrian’s case, it was a phobia. When Andrea had left him and taken his son he promised himself he would never put himself in that situation again, it was as though his heart had been ripped out. Whoever said it’s better to have loved and lost clearly had no fucking idea what they were talking about. In the bathroom Adrian looked in the mirror again. He checked his eyes weren’t still bloodshot. As it had been six months since he had been allowed on the premises he probably shouldn’t go back to work looking like a drunk, not after the way he had left – or been asked to leave. Last night he had needed the Dutch courage though and so he drank, he met a woman. It was the same old story, just a different night. He got in the shower; he could hear the blood-curdling screams and shotgun blasts through the floor as he washed away his hangover and whatever remained of his interlude.

Adrian stood outside the police station wishing he had never given up smoking. Taking a deep breath he walked through the glass doors with Tom in tow.

‘Hey, Tommy.’ Denise Ferguson beamed from behind the desk, obviously trying to avoid eye contact with Adrian. He suspected this would not be the last awkward encounter he would have today.

As Adrian pushed the second set of doors open he noticed the volume of the discussion change, along with the pace, everyone slowed down. He felt eyes on him so he kept his eyes on the floor and walked over to his desk.

‘Detective Miles?’ Adrian looked up. DCI Morris was standing in the doorway to his office. ‘Come here, would you?’

Adrian motioned to Tom to wait there before walking into the DCI’s office. Tom pulled out his phone and started messing around, headphones in to avoid being patronised by any of his dad’s colleagues. Morris closed the door behind Adrian, who was glad to be out of that room for a moment. Morris had a warm smile on his face which made Adrian feel ill at ease.

‘DCI Morris,’ Adrian said.

‘Take a seat, please, Adrian.’

Adrian sat in what felt like the naughty chair, you didn’t get invited in here for just anything, a serious chat was at hand. DCI Morris didn’t look a day older than the first time Adrian had met him almost twenty years ago. Of course, when Adrian met him he looked about sixty. It was the bald head; it’s hard to age a man without any hair at all. Adrian realised this after taking a few witness statements in the early days – if there was a bald man involved you could pretty much forget a reliable description, witness accounts would span teenagers, pensioners and everything in between, depending on the visual capabilities of the witnesses themselves.

‘Sir.’

‘It’s good to have you back, you’ve been missed.’

‘Look, sir, about what happened—’

‘As far as I am concerned, Adrian, it’s over and done with now, things happen, they shouldn’t but they do. The inquiry is over and I think six months is quite enough time to get yourself sorted. A “No further action” order is better than nothing. At least next time you will know to take a little more care when logging evidence.’

‘There won’t be a next time, sir.’ Adrian cringed. ‘And thank you for speaking to the commission on my behalf.’

‘You did your time, we all make mistakes, I have had a few mishaps myself over the years.’ Morris looked up as there was a gentle tap on the glass door. ‘Ah, speaking of mistakes.’ He took a deep breath and signalled to the woman standing outside the office. ‘Come in!’

‘DCI Morris? I’m Imogen Grey.’

‘Yes, I know who you are. Perfect timing, come in and sit down, please, DS Grey.’

The scruffy brunette sat down next to Adrian and immediately started picking her thumbnails anxiously and biting her lip. She was wearing a shapeless sweatshirt and baggy combat trousers. She crossed her legs away from Adrian without looking at him once.

‘Sorry I’m late.’

‘DS Grey, I would like you to meet DS Miles, you will be working together for the foreseeable.’

‘Guv?’ Adrian interrupted. Was she here to make sure he didn’t mess up again?

‘I know it’s not ideal but Grey’s just transferred up from Plymouth and I need someone I can trust to show her the ropes.’

‘Babysit, you mean?’ Grey scowled. Adrian realised he wasn’t the one who was being monitored here; she was defensive and hostile about something. She was in the doghouse, too.

‘Oh good, a couple of sulky teenagers, you two should get on like a house on fire.’ Morris walked towards the door. ‘I’ll leave you alone to make your introductions.’

She didn’t turn to look at Adrian. Instead she feigned interest in the standard-issue police posters. He knew what she was waiting for, she was waiting for him to speak first. It was a game, a manipulation. It was childish. He respected that.

‘Well, you must have done something really fucked up to get stuck with me,’ Adrian laughed and stood up. ‘Come on, let’s go and get your access codes sorted out.’

‘Why? What did you do?’ For the first time since she had entered the room she looked at him and he saw her face properly. Her freckled skin was peeling across her nose and cheeks, she spent a lot of time outside. Her hazel eyes were framed by the longest blackest eyelashes he had ever seen. Not a trace of make-up and he had no idea how old she was, her clothes suggested she was a fifteen-year-old boy.

‘Lost some evidence, let a major local dealer walk. You know, a real career-defining moment.’

‘Are you always this forthcoming?’ Grey’s face softened to reveal a cheeky smile. Adrian suspected that she was relieved that he was out of favour too.

‘Definitely not. But if we’re stuck together I would rather you heard it from me, Grey.’

‘I guess that makes sense.’ She smiled begrudgingly.

‘So what did you do?’ Adrian held the door open, instantly realising his mistake as she grabbed the door and signalled him out first.

‘None of your business.’ She winked, he almost thought she was going to slap his backside and, unless he was mistaken, the thought had crossed her mind too.

Chapter 3

The Taxidermist

She stared into the beady eyes of the dead cat, its lustrous fur still soft to the touch. As her finger brushed against the side of its hardened stomach she saw the dust erupting in tiny clouds. She put a yellow sticker on the animal, yellow means ‘restore’, this animal needed to be returned to its former glory, or as close an approximation as anything dead can have to something that was once alive. Abbey Lucas had worked in the Eden House Memorial Museum for five years now, she never ventured out on to any of the four main exhibition rooms, hardly spoke to any of the other staff and never dealt with the public, she just stayed here in the archive rooms. For the last five years she had been working her way through the thousands of stuffed animals, from kangaroo to platypus, from a common goat to this stunning example of evolution, the cheetah. She wondered why no one ever bothered to stuff cows or sheep, maybe they were too boring to part with your money over. Although, Abbey had always thought cows were rather beautiful, with their big sad brown eyes.

Abbey walked down to the lobby, the porters were bustling. They were just reassembling the lobby after a week’s closure in order to redecorate it. The whole building was undergoing refurbishment after a large sum of money was bequeathed to the museum when the former director died just a few months ago. They had been trying for the last fifteen years to get the funding to put the place back together. Only fourteen of the possible thirty-two exhibition rooms had been open to the public for quite some time, with most of the smaller ones on the second floor closed. The museum had been ravaged by an electrical fire around twenty years ago, bad wiring and a faulty circuit breaker had caused damage to at least a quarter of the building. As the owners had been unable to fix the place straight away, some of the rooms had been cordoned off or used as storage until they had enough money to go ahead with the refurb. The Neo-Gothic museum, built in the eighteenth century, housed various Celtic and Roman artefacts that had been discovered in the local area. It was also home to a huge menagerie of various animals, costumes and fossils. Fortunately the damage was predominantly cosmetic. The new colour on the walls was vermillion red, almost a bright orange. Abbey didn’t think it belonged in a place like this, it was garish and distasteful. The red was a far cry from the drab Georgian grey that had been the colour in every single exhibit room since she had started here. Now each room had an accent colour, as per the interior designer’s remit. Of course the most striking had to be the entrance. It was less of an accent colour and more of a full assault on the senses.

‘Abbey!’ Mr Lowestoft, the director, exclaimed with a winning smile. He was a gentle old man. Like a grandfather, with his round glasses, ruddy cheeks and novelty dickie bow, he always brought a warm feeling to her. It had been that way from the start. He had not only welcomed her but made her feel like this was her home. Every time he said hello it was as though he were greeting a beloved family member. Mr Lowestoft was one of the few people in the world who put her at ease.

‘Mr Lowestoft, hello.’ She smiled, a real smile full of genuine warmth, truly glad to see the old man. His presence in the museum had decreased since he had received the cancer diagnosis. A finished, fully functioning museum was to be his parting legacy.

‘Ah, Abbey, I was hoping you would be here. What do you think? Do you like it?’ He beamed, glowing with pride.

‘It looks amazing.’ She didn’t have the heart to tell him anything different.

‘I’ve been asked by the University if we would accommodate one of their PhD students for the foreseeable future while he writes his thesis on historic preservation, or something to that effect. I thought you would be the best person to deal with him.’

‘Me?’ She didn’t know what else to say to that. She was used to working alone, she liked it that way.

‘Oh, and I’ve got another surprise for you! Come and see!’ He walked over to something large covered in a sheet, reluctantly she followed. She hated surprises. He pulled at the sheet and she was confronted with the grimacing mask of a samurai looking down on her from his lofty frame. His rigid leather body armour was polished to the point where she could see her reflection. ‘I never understood why we keep this hidden upstairs. It’s one of my favourite pieces.’

An evil grin was spread across the surface of the mask and a gaping black hole where the eyes should be. The demonic red horns that protruded from the helmet and towered above the face were razor sharp, menacing. She had forgotten just how vile the warrior’s face was. It had been years since she had seen him, always walking the long way around to avoid ever walking in his path. The face had always seemed so inhuman and she could feel the black nothing staring into her. Involuntarily she found herself stepping backwards. She didn’t want to have a panic attack; she had to get away from him.

‘It looks perfect here.’ She stepped back further, flustered, off balance.

‘Are you all right, Abbey?’

‘Yes, I’m fine. I just need to use the bathroom.’

Abbey rushed into the toilets reserved for the public and dabbed her face with cold water, trying to normalise the temperature of her skin. She could feel it burning. She really didn’t like surprises.

Abbey emerged from the bathroom into the empty hallway. The silence of the museum magnified her solitude, the faint whisper of the atmospheric music in a distant corner of the museum at the edge of her hearing. She turned the corner and bumped straight into the security guard.

‘Busy day?’ Shane Corden was standing in her way. His bleached-blonde hair stuck to his glistening forehead.

‘Yes.’ She tried to manoeuvre around him but he side-stepped into her path again. He would play these games purely because he knew it disturbed her. ‘Excuse me, I have to help get ready for the reopening. We’ve only got a couple of months. Don’t you have somewhere to be?’

‘Doesn’t it bother you? Touching dead stuff all day?’ He sucked on his bottom lip slowly and stared at her mouth.

‘Not really.’ She tried again to move around him but this time he just moved closer. She could smell cigarettes and alcohol on his breath as he stood almost toe to toe with her. It’s just a game, he doesn’t know anything, she repeated to herself over and over. She had to decide between looking him in the eyes or shifting her gaze and staring down at her feet. She wanted to do the latter but that’s what he wanted too. So she would stare him down, hoping to God he couldn’t see the darkness behind her eyes. She knew all he wanted was to make her feel uncomfortable. To exercise the tiny bit of power he had in this world over someone he knew he could get a reaction from. He liked to play this game with someone who was easily flustered.

His eyes dropped to her chest, hidden beneath the olive green blouse. She tried not to breathe hard as she didn’t want to give him any more food for thought. She could feel her lungs tightening and her mouth desperate to suck in more air. She would rather pass out than give him the satisfaction. Instead he backed away, eyes still fixed on her body.

‘Have a good one then.’ He smiled, his hand firmly on his baton, finger circling the tip. She slowly exhaled as invisibly as possible. He was such a creep, but at least he was honest about it. Before she had fully filled her lungs again he was gone. She scuttled back to her darkened corner of the museum. That was enough social interaction for one morning.

Abbey went to the museum canteen at noon, as always, to pick up her lunch, which she ate at the same table every day. Routine was everything, right down to the brown corduroy skirt she wore at the end of every week. It didn’t take much to bring on her anxieties. Luckily this was not a popular or busy museum, if people were curious about anything these days they would just look it up on the internet, this suited Abbey just fine. Today she had a tuna sandwich; Friday was fish day at the museum, Mr Lowestoft insisted on this throwback to a more religious time, when people had values.

Abbey genuinely loved her job, she could not imagine doing anything else. She liked the familiarity of working with the same people every day, good people, and aside from Shane they were mostly sensible people. Abbey also liked that she got to spend most of her days alone, with only the dead for company.

‘Is this seat taken?’

Abbey looked up at the stranger, her mouth full of food, she chewed quickly to reply. The canteen was empty and she couldn’t say it was taken. Did he just want the chair? Was he going to sit with her?

‘No,’ she finally managed.

He put his tray down opposite her and sat down, smiling. He took his coat off and hung it on the back of the chair, making himself comfortable. He was a young, slender man with black floppy hair. Although definitely older than her, she couldn’t quite place his age. He looked eccentric, different. The most remarkable thing about him though were his eyes, they were cold and grey like cut glass, Abbey had to force herself not to stare.

‘I’m Parker, Parker West.’ He held his hand out to her over the table. She rubbed her palm on her skirt to remove any traces of tuna mayonnaise and then shook his hand.

‘Hello.’

‘You’re Abigail Lucas?’ He smiled again, she could not hide her surprise – how did he know her name?

‘Who—’

‘Oh, they didn’t tell you? I’m going to be helping you with the archives. I have a masters in zoological archaeology and I’m working towards my PhD,’ he said, almost embarrassed.

‘Oh, yes, Mr Lowestoft did mention it. I didn’t realise it would be today.’

She had already worked her way through Australasia and Southern America on her own, cataloguing every single animal, noting down its region and its place on the food chain. Up till now she alone had the power to decide the fate of these creatures. She could mark the animal for restoration or for destruction. Where possible she was to save the animals, although it felt so futile – so far she had condemned over two hundred animals to the incinerator, their final resting place. The worst cases were in the northeast corner of the building where there had been a leak in the roof that had gone unnoticed for far too long. She hadn’t been able to save any of those, the mould and rot had set in so much that their deterioration had sealed the deal. She wasn’t sure if she trusted a stranger with this responsibility.

‘He just said you could probably do with a hand. This museum has a particularly quantitative supply of species and sub-species; it’s a lot for one person to get through … in two months, is it?’

‘I can manage it,’ she said apologetically, internally scolding herself for apologising at the same time.

‘Oh, no one said you can’t. To be honest with you, I volunteered, no one is paying me. I’m writing a paper for my PhD, you see, well I won’t bore you with the details of it but you would be doing me a huge favour if you would allow me to tag along, I might even be able to offer you my expertise with the identifications at least; you would obviously have to handle the actual restorations.’

‘If you think …’

‘The final decision is yours, my fate is in your hands.’ He had a soft, pleading but mischievous look in his eyes, she wanted to smile at him, she wouldn’t because that’s not who she was. People, she knew, are rarely who they show themselves to be. There is always a lie, always a mask.

‘Hello, Parker, you can call me Abbey,’ she said after a pause. She would just have to deal with it.

‘Nice to meet you, Abbey.’ He half smiled. His anticipation was evident as he ploughed his way through his lunch, raring to go, eager to meet her dead little friends.

She thought of all the animals she had already worked through alone and decided maybe this wasn’t the end of the world, it didn’t mean that Mr Lowestoft didn’t trust her, it just meant she could take her time and not worry so much about the self-imposed deadlines she had assigned. The hardest decision she had made on her own so far was on a small creature whose identification numbers had been ruined by water and damp, she did not recognise the animal and could not find it in any of the encyclopaedias. Maybe it was stored in the wrong part of the world, but there was no saving her – she knew the creature was a female, her teats were still enlarged from recent motherhood. Abbey wondered what had happened to this little beast. Her cheeks had been ravaged by termites but her black eyes were so calm. As Abbey had fingered the tiny bullet hole in the animal’s chest, a spider had crawled out and she dropped the animal in shock, smashing what was left of her face. Abbey could not stop the tears as she placed the red sticker on the small animal, wondering if her children had befallen the same fate or if they had made it, at least for a little while. She wondered if they had got the chance to have children of their own; she liked to think they had.

When she took Parker through to the floor where all of the Asian cadavers were kept she saw how exhilarated he was, his eyes transfixed and wide, like a child on their first trip to a toy shop, not knowing where to start, unsure what to break first.

‘Follow me.’ She led him to the far end of the room, her voice echoed as did her footsteps when her shoes thumped against the polished wooden floors. The room itself was lit from a double row of green glass bricks slotted in above where the original windows had been, long since boarded up to accommodate the large metal shelving units that had been put in after the fire; metal didn’t burn like wood. Everything in the room had taken on a hint of pale green as though it had been dipped in Chartreuse, a warm honey-green liquor. They could hear the music from the next room seeping in through the metal ventilation grates that sat above the oak skirting. It was the same music that had played every day since she had started. She didn’t know what it was called but it was classical, sometimes the melody would run through her mind as she tried to sleep at night. She looked over at Parker, noticing him trying to take it all in, looking up and down, occasionally uttering an exclamation at something he had seen.

‘So incredible,’ he muttered. She got the impression he didn’t mean to say that out loud. Usually when people learned what Abbey did they pulled a face and said something like ‘Oh, that’s nice’ in the worst impression of a sincere voice they could muster, the idea of stuffing dead animals was completely repulsive to them, although they were entirely missing the point. Parker’s response was a refreshing change, she was proud of her occupation; it was all she had.

‘We basically operate on something similar to the Dewey decimal system, so the first two numbers correspond to a continent, then the next three numbers the species, followed by—’

‘Yes, I know how it works.’

‘OK, sorry.’

‘No, I didn’t mean to be rude, please, just ignore my … personality, sometimes I can be a bit … I’m sorry. Thanks for taking the time to explain it to me. Carry on.’ He fumbled for words, this time she couldn’t help but smile a little.

‘You need to mark the animals down against the numbers on this register and then you need to mark whether they are to be kept or not. Anything that can be restored needs a yellow sticker and put a red one on the ones that are beyond saving.’ She handed him the stickers.

‘Nothing is beyond saving,’ he said thoughtfully as he stared at the coloured sheets in his hand, his eyes looking through the paper and beyond. She studied his face for a moment, unable to look away. His skin was so pale and his hair so black against it. The gentle curls undermining his angular bone structure. He looked up quickly, drawing in his breath, as though for a moment he forgot he was not alone.

Abbey watched Parker working. Once he had begun to work he had not uttered a single word to her. She occasionally heard him mumbling to himself but essentially it was no different than working alone. The silence was not strained or awkward, it was just silence, something they were obviously both comfortable with. From time to time he would pull out a well-worn leather pocket book and scrawl something inside it, then put it back in his inside pocket. She wondered what he was writing, what was his paper about?

The day was drawing to a close, the natural light from the high-set windows changing to an orange glow as the sunset drew closer.

‘Parker!’ Abbey called for the fourth time, trying to snatch his attention as he scribbled furiously in his notepad, engrossed. He looked up, startled, almost scared, then his face softened into a smile as if he’d just awoken from a nightmare and pulled back into reality.

‘What time is it?’ He looked up at the windows, almost surprised at the warm dusk light that had crept up on them.

‘It’s seven p.m. now, I don’t normally work this late but we did make a lot of progress, you have been a great help.’

‘Yikes! Seven! I should get home.’

‘Sorry, I should have thought, your wife must be worried.’

‘Yes, Sally will be worried … and she will probably want feeding and some exercise.’ He smirked at Abbey’s confused and slightly embarrassed face. ‘She’s my dog.’

Abbey blushed, hoping to God he didn’t think she was fishing for information, she wasn’t, she wouldn’t. Somehow she knew the thought never crossed his mind.

After Parker’s departure, the museum was desolate. Abbey was just leaving when she walked past the front desk. The samurai was standing ever poised in his glass case by the entrance. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up on end as she allowed herself to properly look at him in this light. He was still, he couldn’t hurt her or anybody else, but still she felt him staring, his hand on his katana.

‘Still here?’

She spun round to see Shane right behind her, he was just wearing a white vest, the anthology of his life exposed in the form of tattoos. The ink consisted of tribal markings and thorny roses, a clichéd assortment. He flexed his muscles as he pulled his shirt on, she was unsure what he was trying to achieve, was he trying to frighten her? Even though she was alone she didn’t feel scared of him.

‘I’m just leaving now.’ She moved towards the door.

‘I saw you with that weird guy, the new one.’ Shane smiled and moved in closer as he did up the buttons on his shirt. ‘He’s too good for you. You know that, don’t you?’

Abbey put her hand on her bag; it wouldn’t take much to just glide her fingers inside it. Her tools were in there along with her trusty scalpel. He wouldn’t even feel the blade sink into his skin, the steel was so sharp it would only occur to him when he saw the blood and clutched at his throat, desperate to stop his life from ebbing away. She knew where to cut him so it would be quick, she knew her way around a scalpel. She wondered if the arterial spray would even show up on these hideous red walls. She moved her hand away and placed it on the handle to the external door.

‘Don’t forget to lock up,’ she said as she slipped outside, her heart thumping. She looked down the museum steps to see Parker standing there, waiting. ‘I thought you went home?’

‘It occurred to me you were on your own in the museum with Shane, and I can see you don’t care for him much.’

‘How do you know that?’ Abbey said as she walked down the steps towards him. She didn’t like the idea that anyone knew what she might be thinking or feeling, that those things might be obvious in any way made her feel exposed.

‘I just notice things like that,’ he said quietly, before taking a deep breath. ‘I thought maybe I could walk you home, it’s almost dark.’ He shuffled uncomfortably.

‘What about your dog?’ Abbey looked back up at the museum and saw Shane coming outside hurriedly, she saw his eyes searching until they met hers and brightened a little, before his gaze shifted a little and he saw Parker standing next to her. Shane’s disappointment was evident as his lopsided sneer turned into a scowl.

‘She will get over it, we have an understanding.’ He smiled and followed Abbey, she turned to see Shane walk in the other direction as Parker remained oblivious to his presence.

For the next few weeks Abbey and Parker worked in silence. His enthusiasm for the task was unrelenting, every day he would be there early, ready and raring to go, working through lunch and at the end of the day he would wait for her outside and walk her home. He never bothered her with silly questions or idle small talk, for most of the time Parker was lost in his own world. At work he would often pull out his little black pocket book. Sometimes she would watch him and smile as he struggled to get the words on to the page fast enough in his excitement.

‘So, why here? There are plenty of other museums that have big archives like this one, bigger even,’ she finally broke the silence one day during what was supposed to be the lunch hour. She had taken to bringing her sandwiches into the dusty old store room, feeling guilty that he would be sitting in there alone if she went to the cafeteria.

‘When I was a boy my parents brought me to this museum. I spent a lot of time in this place. I loved all the reconstructions of the Roman occupation and the artefacts and relics that were found in the local area, but they don’t make you think like the animals do. I would sit and stare at the dioramas and feel completely lost in them. There used to be a bench opposite the African desert display where a lion had sunk its teeth into a buffalo. I would just imagine I was either the hunter or the prey, how it would feel to be one or the other, if it was even possible to understand being both.’ He swallowed and closed his eyes, a thought he couldn’t shake. He took a deep breath before starting again, a forced smile on his face. ‘This is where it all started for me, this is where I decided what I wanted to do with my life, it was a bit of a eureka moment, so this place has always held a special place in my heart.’ He spoke with a wistful tone to his voice. She could almost see his memories and his pleasure in revisiting them, then something else, fleeting sadness, a less pleasant memory, perhaps.

‘I always wanted to be a vet, but I dropped out of uni and here I am.’ She took a bite of her sandwich, unwilling to continue talking in case she said something she regretted.

His simplicity was magnetic to her, it had been years since anyone had fascinated her so much, he was almost like a child in his animated way of moving and speaking and yet, just like at that moment, occasionally she would see a melancholy about him, something she couldn’t identify but something so precious that she just wanted to tell him it would all be OK. A lie, for sure, but she knew he needed comfort from something, she just didn’t know what. He put her at ease and she trusted him, despite not knowing him for long. He was nothing like anyone she had ever met, although it had been a long time since she had met anyone new.

‘What is it?’ he asked, she realised she had been staring at him, she blushed and looked away.

‘I’m sorry, I’m not used to working with people, I’m usually up here alone, and I didn’t mean to stare.’

He didn’t say anything, just smiled, a consoling smile. He didn’t push the issue but it was too late, she felt her cheeks burning red.

The rest of the day passed without any conversation, without any incident, and Parker walked out at five o’clock exactly. She wondered if she offended him with her question, if his past was somewhere he didn’t want to revisit. She really wasn’t used to dealing with people, or, in particular, men. When she finally came to leave, Parker was there, leaning against the street lamp, brows furrowed, concentrating on the notebook in his hands. When he looked up and saw her, the tension left his face, melted away and was replaced with the most genuine smile. She felt special for a moment. It had been a long time since she felt that way. If she had to put a number on it she would say it had been five years. It was five years since she had left college, five years since she had to restart her life all over again.

Chapter 4

The Fresher

Then

The radio hummed softly, barely audible but just loud enough to quash any fear Abbey might have of being alone.

The street light shone through the window and lit up the room making it impossible to relax. Abbey wasn’t much of a sleeper anyway, which was a shame because she had no social life.

She looked across the room at her roommate Dani’s bed, it was empty and made; the curse of the pretty girl. Dani’s bed was a deep purple and gold with saris draped from the ceiling. Even Danielle’s vibrant posters were framed and hung in a precise manner, not like the dogeared gig posters that hung on Abbey’s side of the room.

Dani swung open the door and flopped on the bed, a grin plastered across her face as she kicked off her heels.

‘I’ve met the man I’m going to marry.’

Abbey sat up. When Abbey had first laid eyes on Danielle she had subconsciously tugged at her sweater, making sure it covered as much of her as possible. It was at that point that Abbey realised her role for the rest of the academic year – the weird one who bunked with the hot girl. What made things even worse was that Dani was just about the nicest person Abbey had ever met, probably because she had no insecurities and no reason to feel threatened by anyone really. They became good friends in no time.

‘His name’s Christian, he’s just such a babe, I just met him over at Bar 42.’

‘Christian Taylor?’ Abbey knew who he was, of course she did, every girl on campus knew who he was.

‘Mhm, he gave me his number, we’re going out this week sometime,’ Danielle squealed.

Christian was the boy at uni, THE boy, the one they all wanted, the trophy, the prize. He was the reason to wear a short skirt and the incentive to wear your hair up all pretty. He got in free to all the cool bars, the waitresses would slide him free drinks and the managers would turn a blind eye, knowing that where he went, the rest followed. Abbey was almost certain that Danielle had positioned herself in such a way that Christian could not help but notice her, she made sure they accidentally bumped into each other. Dani had just climbed up a few rungs on the social-status ladder.

When Abbey awoke the next morning Danielle was in the shower. Abbey looked at the clock, she was late. She jumped out of bed and threw yesterday’s clothes on, still in a pile at her bedside. Abbey was scrambling around the room that she shared with Danielle frantically searching for her left army boot.

‘Hello.’ Abbey spun around to see Christian in the doorway. She froze, and her heart was thumping. She had never seen a man quite as handsome as him before, he was twenty years old and his dark blond curls fell to his shoulders like a frame for his perfect face, he invoked a feeling of sexuality in Abbey that she hadn’t felt before – pure desire. Her mouth watered just looking at him. His friend Jamie hovered behind him nervously, well aware that he paled in comparison, obviously torn between jealousy and hero worship.

‘Hi,’ Abbey finally managed to utter. ‘Dani’s in the shower.’

‘And you must be Abbey.’ He leaned forward and shook her hand, beaming a smile that made her knees weak. Even the people she considered her closest friends struggled to remember Abbey’s name.

At that moment, Dani walked in with her perfectly tanned skin still glistening from the hot shower, her hair wet.

‘Oh, hi, I didn’t expect to see you so soon,’ she giggled. Abbey was unfamiliar with this side of Danielle, she usually liked to dominate a situation but this time she was letting him be the man while she played at the ditsy blonde.

Jamie completely refused to even acknowledge Abbey’s existence. Instead he stared at Danielle as though she were an untouchable goddess. Abbey was all too familiar with the type of boy Jamie was, he was ordinary looking, not ugly, but no one ever looked twice at him and he seemed crippled with insecurity and anger. He wanted the Danielles of this world not the Abbeys and he resented the idea that he was doomed to spend the rest of his life settling for, well, himself. To him the girl you had on your arm was a statement about who you were as a person, it didn’t matter what they thought or did, it mattered what they looked like. He wanted other men to be jealous like he was jealous of Christian. It’s a hard life being the best friend of an Adonis. Abbey knew this all too well, she was the Jamie in her friendship with Dani and she wanted nothing to do with him. She didn’t want to be told that she couldn’t have the Danis and the Christians if that’s what she wanted.

The summer term was upon them and exam fever had hit hard. House parties were everywhere, it was the only way to get through the stress for the people who took their subjects seriously, for the slackers it was a perfect excuse to get wasted, everyone’s a winner. Summer was a time of unity at the University – ‘we are all in this together’ – everyone sympathetic to everyone else’s pressures and self-imposed expectations. It was a short semester and the campus was often deserted during that time. Abbey was dressed ridiculously inappropriately for such a warm day, stonewashed skinny jeans and a white crochet jumper, not a pretty white either, a white that’s gone slightly grey in the wash. Her outfit did nothing for her rosy cheeks or her mousy hair, under all the clothes she had a better-than-average body, but you would never know it to look at her, her attire was more suited to a WI meeting.

‘Abbey, wait up.’ Christian was rushing towards her as she walked away from her room and she became aware of how ridiculous she must have looked, she wished there was a phone booth nearby so she could run in and out like a superhero, so that when he reached her she would be standing there in something pretty, something fashionable or attractive, but it wasn’t going to happen.

‘Hi,’ she muttered, unsure what else to say, I think I love you seemed a little extreme given the circumstances.

‘There’s a party tonight at my place, Dani’s coming, you should come too.’ A personal invitation, she couldn’t say no, she wanted to but she knew she wouldn’t allow herself to, so better just to accept it now.

‘Cool.’ She struggled to get out anything meaningful, one-word sentences were as much as she could muster.

Abbey stared at herself in the mirror, she could be dressed in nothing but a bikini, her presence would still be dwarfed by the supernova that is Danielle. She hated herself for being jealous but just once she wanted to know how it felt to be desired, to be special.

‘Wear this.’ Dani flung a purple dress at Abbey. ‘Trust me, it’s my lucky dress.’ Abbey felt the fine silk between her fingers and wondered how it would feel against her chunky thighs. She was the same dress size as Danielle but there is something about confidence that makes everything fit better. The purple dress was backless and shorter than anything Abbey would usually dare to wear.

‘You don’t think it will make me look like …’

‘Like what?’ Dani looked at her. Abbey was aware she should choose her next words carefully.

‘I don’t know, like I’m trying to be you? Single white female and all that.’

‘Do you honestly give a shit what any of those people think?’ Abbey loved how Dani referred to her friends as ‘those people’, it was part of what made Dani friends with everyone, she knew how to make you feel like you mattered, even if you really didn’t. Abbey first saw Dani as one of those seemingly transparent people who were exactly the same on the inside as the outside, but the more time they spent together the more she realised Dani was a shrewd politician who liked to keep her options open, never upsetting anyone, never taking sides. It was probably a characteristic Abbey should pay attention to as she was always tipping her hand, showing all her cards and leaving herself open to attack.

Abbey slid the dress over her head conscious of the fact that this particular style of dress didn’t allow for a bra, she felt her nipples press against the fabric, aware that with movement and friction she would not only be buoyant and full but leaving very little to the imagination.

‘Jamie is totally going to lose his shit over you.’ Dani beamed.

Jamie. Great. There’s one thing Abbey knew for sure and that was that Jamie would never see her as anything more than a consolation prize. She was trying to ignore the hypocrisy of the fact that she wasn’t interested in Jamie because he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t Christian. Abbey still felt pangs of guilt as his name popped into her head. She wondered if Dani would still lend her the dress if she knew what Abbey was thinking, and she reckoned she would. Dani didn’t worry about anyone stealing her man, least of all Abbey.

Chapter 5

The Businessman

Ian looked on nervously at the auditing team huddled together in the glass conference room, they were pointing out numbers to each other with puzzled faces as they clearly struggled to make sense of the accounts, this was their second week in the building and it wouldn’t be long before they found the root of the problem, before they realised how bent Ian really was. Ian was good with numbers, really good, maybe a little too good as he believed in formulas, in a mathematical loophole for every situation, which is how he got into this mess in the first place. He was actually surprised how much he had gotten away with for so long. He had pushed the boundaries so many times and when no one noticed, he pushed more, until he was out of control.

He tried to read their lips, to see how close they were to pinpointing the exact accounts that were faked. One of the men looked up and over to him, he nodded at Ian and then huddled protectively over his pile of papers. Ian’s property business had been on the brink of failure for several years now. Ian spotted an opportunity and he took it. Although he was the owner of the company he still had shareholders to answer to and they weren’t too fond of the company money being used to take risks, small or big. He took out loans against the business and gambled the money away on pretty much anything. Believing he had worked out a system with which to triple his investment and put it back before anyone noticed it was gone. He had a couple of successes but infinitely more failures, and so he borrowed money from friends and associates to make the loan repayments. If it had stopped there he might have been able to make his way out of this somehow, but of course he hadn’t, because Ian was too clever for his own good.

‘Mr Markham?’ His six-months-pregnant secretary was standing next to him, resting a document box on her bump. He looked down at it, feeling the blood drain from his face.

‘What is it, Emma?’

‘I found this one in the back of Don’s old office, he must have left it there by accident; do you want me to take it through to them?’ Ian grabbed the box with a big smile.

‘No, you go for your break now, you’ve done enough heavy lifting for one day. I’ll take it.’

‘Brilliant, thanks.’ He watched her waddle off back to her station to get her nutrition shake. He could feel the panic rising in his throat as he walked towards the conference room. Instead of walking in, he entered the stairwell and made a break for the car park.

He clutched the box full of incriminating evidence and went down the stairs as fast as he could without falling. A year ago he had started a build in Malta, beach-front holiday properties, luxurious apartments with a place to dock your boat at the marina thrown in for good measure. A bargain at half the price, which is a ridiculous saying that he had never really understood, but it seemed to do the trick when he told people about it, he would show them the plans, the papers and the official artistic impressions of the stunning complex. He sold the apartments off plan and then the proceeds would go towards paying for the completion of the project, or that was the idea. The trouble was not only did Ian sell the apartments, he had already sold the land along with the planning permission, so he was basically selling something he didn’t own any longer. Even with all the demands for answers, by the time they had waded through all the bureaucratic nonsense overseas it would be months before anyone would know what happened. Ian had funnelled that money through a ghost company and then used it to buy stock options, several bad decisions later and he was back to square minus twenty, owing a lot of people a hell of a lot of money.

He looked at the poster in the dingy car park. ‘Say no to drugs’ it said. It had been put up after a stint of muggings by crack addicts had taken place in the area. Ian would be a damn sight better off if he had a drug addiction – with Ian’s problem he had lost a lot more money in a lot less time. A hundred on the dogs, then a grand on the horses, followed by ten thousand pounds worth of useless high-risk shares. It escalated quickly and beyond anything he had imagined. That’s the problem when you can’t admit you have a problem, you stop controlling it, it starts controlling you.

‘Shit,’ he muttered as he struggled with the box, trying to reach inside his jacket for the keys to his Aston. He dropped the box on the floor, its contents spilling out into a puddle, and he scooped it all back in again and unlocked the car door. Wedging the box in the passenger foot well and throwing his jacket on top to obscure it, he started the car and pulled away, checking constantly in the rear view mirror, making sure no one had seen him. It was lunch time, they wouldn’t realise for a while and by then it would be too late. He drove out of the city to the safety of his converted barn house nestled in the bosom of the rolling Devonshire hills.

He felt a pang of regret as he drove towards the house – not for the money, he had taken it and he had spent it, he didn’t regret that; part of him was a little relieved that it was all coming to an end, too. The regret he felt was for his wife, Debbie, they had lovingly restored the barn together, before all the money, before the job even, before everything. Debbie had been out shopping when her card for their joint account was declined, so she rang the bank to check why only to find the account was not only empty but in arrears. She had spoken to Ian about it and he had lied to her face, saying there must have been some mistake. The next day he put the money back, not his money, someone else’s money. It had satisfied Debbie enough to not look into the matter any further, until a few months later when she accidentally opened some of Ian’s post, talking about the re-mortgage agreement and how he was behind on the repayments and the house would be forfeit if he did not stump up the cash. She called the bank to find that he had borrowed everything against the house, their house, their home. A little more delving saw that their holiday home in the south of France was also gone, sold.

He pulled into the drive and saw the dining room furniture piled up in a bonfire heap on the lawn where Debbie had left it. She had taken everything else but left the table, the table that had been with them through thick and thin, the large piece of reclaimed oak that had been crafted to their specifications, now axed into pieces on their lawn, just kindling.

He looked behind him, feeling eyes on him, even though he knew that no one had followed him he felt his paranoia taking on a new extreme. He had been looking over his shoulder for a very long time now, his adrenaline was really pumping. He wondered what would happen to him when they eventually caught up to him. Now that Debbie was gone he was pretty sure no one would give a shit what happened to him, or maybe they would all line up to stick the knife in when they realised he had lost everything. He looked up at the magnificent house that he still adored and wondered how he had managed to screw everything up so royally. He was clever, right? Looking round at the land he owned, he realised that that would be taken too. The plantation would go, as would the small manmade forest that backed on to the field behind their property, which he and Debbie had bought for their dogs, dogs that she also took. If he hadn’t lost everything she would be getting half of the house, half of the land. She could have it all for all he cared, it didn’t mean anything without her. He hated to go inside the house now, even to sleep; it was cold and lonely, not just empty but hollow. Plus Debbie had taken all the beds.

He unloaded the box from the car and walked over to the large pile of hand-finished wood on his lawn that felt to him like a symbol of what he had become, once respected, now worthless. He looked at the dishevelled garden and thought of Debbie again as he poured liquid paraffin on to the debris. He would damage the lawn, the lawn that was a shadow of its former self, when she had left so had all the care, so had all the love. He tossed a match and watched the fire sweep through the years of memories that the table held. He remembered sitting at the table when they had no other furniture, discussing the house, how they were going to make it a home and the life they hoped to lead together. The flames licked higher and higher against the backdrop of the pale blue sky, the blue seeming dull in comparison to the intense orange flame of the bonfire, waves of heat pulsed from it into the ether.

Ian opened the box he’d brought with him and thumbed through the paperwork briefly, checking he had all the correct files. When he was sure, he threw the whole box on top of the flames, watching the fire engulf the box and its contents, immediately feeling his anxiety disappear. Even shredded documents could be reconstructed these days and with the amount of money he owed he was sure they would go to the effort of doing just that, yes, they would be thorough in their investigations. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the backup flash drive – his financial advisor had recommended he never keep anything ‘hot’ on his work hard drive, better to keep it separate. He never explained what he meant by ‘hot’ but considering his line of work Ian thought it was safe to assume that he was talking about financial irregularities and not hardcore pornography, although those rules can apply to both scenarios.

‘Hello.’

Ian turned around to see a tall man leaning on the front gate. He was all in black with a hood pulled over his head, obscuring his face a little. He wasn’t an auditor, that was for sure.

‘What do you want?’

‘You’ve got two minutes.’ The man stood up straight and checked his watch. ‘A hundred and eighteen seconds.’

‘Two minutes until what? Who the fuck are you?’

‘A hundred and twelve, a hundred and eleven.’

Ian was confused, then he looked down at the man’s right hand and saw the crossbow.

‘Are you fucking crazy?’

‘A hundred and seven.’ The man raised the crossbow and pointed it squarely at Ian’s head, Ian’s face dropped when he saw the weapon in a little more detail – there was a five-pointed tip on the arrows – he had seen this before; for the first time he really looked at the man’s face.

‘You?’

‘A hundred and one.’

Ian didn’t need to be told again, he ran, he wasn’t a slim man, but he did go to the gym regularly and he was fitter than most men his age, so he was confident he could run fast enough, at least fast enough to make it to the woods where the trees might provide him with some kind of cover. He didn’t want to look back, didn’t want to see how close his pursuer was.

He climbed over the stocks into the densely wooded area, he knew the advantage was his inside the plantation, he knew all the potholes and burrows, all the nooks and crannies. Daring to check behind him, he saw the black figure walking through the field, in no hurry, just a solid march. Ian smiled to himself as he ran forward; he had enough time to use the path for a while before ducking into the more rough terrain. He made it about a hundred yards when he heard a snap, then a pain unlike anything he had ever known tore through him, he fell hard on the ground and screamed in agony. He looked at his legs and saw the large iron hunting trap clamped around his calf. Blood pouring from the wound, bone and sinew protruding, he sat up and tugged at the device, the silhouette of the man climbing the wooden stocks to get over the locked gate in his peripheral vision. He opened the trap just enough to slide his leg out, shrieking as the teeth dragged on his flesh, tearing it open.

Ian pulled himself to his feet again, tears streaming down his face as he tried to run, putting everything he had into moving forward, knowing in his heart of hearts that he was done, but still trying. He heard the unmistakable sound of a crossbow being discharged, he knew that sound well and in the millisecond before it hit Ian sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes, everything moving in slow motion as he waited for his life to end; instead he just felt his body jolt forward as the bolt entered his shoulder. The leaves rustled behind him and the last thing he saw before he passed out was a pair of black boots steadily approaching.

Ian woke with a start as ice cold water hit his face. The first thing that struck him was that his wrists hurt, he regained enough focus to see that he was strung up between two trees, off the manmade path that ran through the forest, way off.

‘What do you want with me?’

‘Really? You need me to explain this to you?’

‘I’m not that person any more, I’ve changed,’ Ian pleaded, words sticking in his throat – he was so thirsty.

‘But I still am that person; you made me who I am, Ian … sorry … Mr Markham, sir.’ Venom spitting as he said the name.

‘Don’t call me that.’

‘Why not? You taught me so much, it’s only fair I show the respect you’re due.’

‘What about the others?’ Ian’s head dropped and he saw that his shirt was ripped open, he looked further down still and saw the blood dripping swiftly from his injured leg. ‘Why can’t I feel my leg?’

‘Time to be quiet now.’ The man walked towards Ian quickly and thrust a knife into the base of his stomach, Ian screamed as the knife was pulled across, but not from pain, he could feel everything but there was no pain. He watched the blood pumping out, then he felt the man’s hand as it reached inside him, fingers moving, searching for something, he could feel it all, but still no pain.

‘What the fuck have you done to me?!’

‘I gave you an anaesthetic to help with the pain, a spinal injection. I don’t want you passing out; you have to watch the show.’ He pulled out a thin bloody tube from Ian’s stomach, the lower intestine. ‘Congratulations, it’s a boy.’

That’s when Ian saw the crank, he watched as the man attached his lower intestine to a hook and then walked over to a long metal pole that ran vertical parallel to him. He turned a wheel that was attached to the pole, which began to rotate slowly on some kind of mechanism, gathering up the line attached to the hook and wrapping it around the pole, followed by Ian’s insides, covering the large metal stick like a candy floss. He stopped and picked up his crossbow, and started to walk away.

‘You can’t leave me here, the foxes will have me.’

‘You better pray they finish you in less than eight hours, that’s how long you have until the drugs wear off!’

‘You’re sick!’ Ian shouted, but then emotion took him over and he began to cry, aware that the darkness was almost upon him. Suddenly a white-collar prison wasn’t looking so bad. He knew if they came looking for him at the house they would find his reservations for the plane to go to South America and just assume that he had done a bunk, which was in fact precisely what he was planning on doing. No one would look for him and people rarely ventured into these woods, so the chance of someone happening by within the next hour or so was next to impossible. He watched as his only hope of survival disappeared into the forest. He was alone, all hope was gone.

Chapter 6

The Widow

‘Come on, then, we’re up.’ Grey slammed a lukewarm cup of coffee on the desk in front of Adrian. She groaned and drank the contents of her own mug with a contorted grimace on her face. ‘Some woman keeps calling about her husband, said he’s gone missing and cleared out all her accounts.’

‘And that’s the reason I’m never getting married.’

‘Sure it is.’ Grey pulled Adrian’s chair backwards so his feet slid off the desk on to the floor. ‘Come on, I’ll get you some real coffee on the way.’

‘OK fine, goddamnit.’ Adrian pulled himself out of his chair, his head still throbbing after the many shots he had downed the night before. ‘You should probably drive.’

‘I should definitely drive.’ She snatched the keys from his hand.

Despite Adrian’s first impression of DS Grey she was surprisingly motivated – scratch that, annoyingly motivated. Any case, regardless of whether it was some illegal fly-tipping or a serious violent assault, was awarded the exact same amount of professionalism and attention. They had worked together for three weeks now, settled into their respective roles within the relationship. Adrian let her boss him around and she let him be the butt of all her jokes, everyone was happy. This was the first female partner Adrian had ever had, he had worked with both DS Mike Daniels and DS Jonathan Fraser in the past, and he had never really been much of a team player. He knew that this time he had to play the game. He was under the microscope and he couldn’t afford to make any more enemies. Besides, Grey was easy to work with, somehow they just fit.

In the unmarked police car Adrian put his shades on and rested his head against the window, a position he would soon regret. Grey drove as if she were in hot pursuit of a bank robber, pedal to the metal. You could get away with that kind of driving in the city but in this part of the Devonshire countryside you may as well just cut out the middle man and drive straight into a ditch.

‘Jesus, don’t they have country lanes in Plymouth?’ Adrian felt something twang in his neck. ‘You are giving me whiplash.’

‘Quit being such a baby, Miley, you are fine.’

‘What’s your hurry? The only other case we have on at the moment is the lawnmower theft.’

‘I want to clock off early today, I’ve got a date.’

‘Seriously? I thought you were a … what’s the word for a female with no privates, not a eunuch?’

‘Please stop thinking about my junk, Miley.’ She swerved into the driveway and they were confronted with a large art deco house.

‘What a dump!’ Adrian muttered.

‘How the other half lives.’

On the luxurious cream velvet sofa the lady sniffed into her tissue, her eyes puffy and red.

‘He calls me every day, well, he used to.’

‘And he just stopped?’ Adrian asked as Grey wandered around the room, fingers hovering above every surface. It was so clean and shiny, it looked like a show home, every item carefully placed and the only personal effects an alarming array of cat ornaments.

‘Yes, he stopped. I haven’t heard from him in well over a week.’

‘But you’re separated?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Do you know anyone who would want to harm your husband?’

‘Besides me, you mean?’

‘It was a bad break-up?’

‘It was and there’s a long list of people who want to hurt Ian, he stole money, a lot of money from a lot of people. The auditors are still neck deep in the mess he left behind.’

‘How much money are we talking?’

‘Thousands? Millions? Who knows?’

Grey finally sat down next to Adrian and leaned back into the deep sofa until she was almost horizontal. He half expected her to put her feet on the coffee table, but instead she folded her arms and stared at Deborah Markham.

‘You have to appreciate what this looks like,’ Grey said.

‘I know what it looks like, I’m not an imbecile, Officer.’

‘So what is it you want us to do exactly?’ Grey remained in her relaxed pose, looking more like a sullen adolescent than a police officer. She seemed to be unnerving the lady and Adrian could see the anger emerging from behind the tears.

‘I want you to find the bastard! He’s buggered off to bloody Rio or wherever and I am left to deal with the shit storm!’

‘You don’t think he’s hurt then? This is purely about the money?’ Adrian asked, he saw Grey smiling out of the corner of his eye.

‘This is purely about nothing! I’ve lost everything! Why does he get to go away and pretend like nothing’s wrong? I’ve had threatening phone calls and hate mail!’ The tears had gone and Deborah Markham’s face was alight with anger. ‘He took so much from so many people. They see me here like this and think I’ve got their money or something!’

Grey sat forward and rested her elbows on her knees, she picked up a crystal cat, part of a set that was arranged carefully on the olive wood coffee table.

‘Have you got their money?’ Grey smiled as she ran her fingers across the prism-like cat ears.

‘This house belongs to my aunt, she’s letting me live here while I get back on my feet to save my dignity, it’s the only thing he left me with.’ She choked back the tears again.

‘OK, Mrs Markham, we’ll look into it.’ Adrian interrupted before Grey could open her mouth again. He stood up but she remained seated, eyes fixed on Mrs Markham.

‘Where’s he been living?’ she asked. Deborah Markham pulled out a set of keys from the handbag at her side.

‘There’s a converted barn on the road that leads to the estuary, the address is on the fob.’

Adrian took the fob and Grey put the cat down. He felt like he had just witnessed a hostage negotiation. The air was thick between them as they walked out to the car.

‘What the hell was that?’

‘She was full of it.’ Grey smiled.

‘She was distraught.’

‘Distraught my eye, she’s still got money, and plenty of it. Did you see the way she was groomed? Those are this season’s clothes, new shoes – really expensive shoes – and you can’t get that bag for less than a grand. I wouldn’t be surprised if this disappearance isn’t some kind of scam.’ Adrian looked at her with surprise.

‘How do you know about the clothes and stuff?’

‘You think I don’t know about fashion? What are you saying, Miley?’ she said incredulously, a fake look of indignation on her face.

‘Nothing, you just don’t strike me as that kind of woman.’

‘And what kind of woman do I strike you as?’

‘I don’t know, you dress like Tony Hawks,’ he said, before adding, ‘the multi-millionaire skateboarder, not the comedian.’

‘What the hell does that mean?’

‘Just drop it, it doesn’t matter.’

‘OK, let me ask you a question.’ She sat forward.

‘OK, shoot.’ Adrian sighed, what had he done?

‘What car do you drive?’

‘You know what car I drive, I drive a Granada.’

‘A Granada? Right, Jesus, Miley, they stopped making them like fifteen years ago.’

‘She has sentimental value!’

‘Whatever, I bet you know what a Mustang is, or a Ferrari, I bet you watch the lame car programmes on TV. I bet you think you know a lot about cars.’

‘That’s different.’

‘I know a lot about clothes, specifically high-end, expensive clothing. You can tell a lot about a person by the way they dress.’

Adrian couldn’t help but look her up and down, instantly regretting this decision as he saw that smile on her face again. He was beginning to understand that she only smiled like that when she had won some imaginary battle in her mind. Every time he saw that smile he would be reminded that she wasn’t the scruffy slacker that she presented herself to be.

‘The way I dress is a choice, calculated, Miley. I know what I’m doing.’

‘You want everyone to think you’re a dyke?’

‘Maybe I am a dyke.’

‘Pfft, please … I know you’re not, I have seen you checking me out.’

‘In your dreams!’ She smiled and thumped him on the arm, a little flushed in the cheeks. ‘Mostly I don’t want people to think I am too competent. I don’t want people to put their faith in me. I want them to think I am a washout and I want to prove them wrong.’

‘It’s very complicated in your head, isn’t it, Grey?’

‘I like it when people think they are superior to me, people let their guard down more when they don’t feel threatened, they are easier to confuse.’

‘That explains your amazing display of passive aggression back there.’

‘Whatever gets the job done!’

‘Is that why you got transferred out of Plymouth?’ Adrian asked. It was a genuine question although the look her face assumed put paid to any notion Adrian may have had about them being comfortable with each other. She put her hands in the ten to two position and focused on the road ahead. The connection was lost. The conversation was over.

The barn was large and impressive. They walked up the gravelled driveway and knocked on the door, noting the incredible framing of pink sky around the house; it felt so completely secluded out there.

‘Mr Markham?’ Adrian called out.

Grey walked around the side of the house and disappeared from Adrian’s view. Adrian tried every key on the bunch Deborah Markham had given them until he found the one that corresponded with the lock. He could tell from the absolute silence that they were alone here.

‘Mr Markham? Ian Markham?’ he called out again, just in case. The house was bare, stripped of furniture, a few lopsided pictures hung on the walls and a rug or two lay here and there.

‘Looks like he’s had some kind of bonfire out back.’ Grey was standing in the doorway holding a document box. ‘Left in a hurry, too, by the looks of it.’

Adrian took the box from Grey, a handful of papers remained in the bottom. Some tickets from various bookmakers, some shredded paper they could get the lab to reassemble, a couple of invitations to local fundraising functions but nothing massively incriminating.

‘Bag it all and we’ll take it back to the station.’

‘Check this out.’ Grey pulled out a Visa bill, one of the recipients was listed as LHRBOOKINGS. ‘LHR is the abbreviation for Heathrow, as in long-distance destinations, as in anywhere in the world non-extradition kind of thing. He’s in the wind.’

‘We’ll take it back anyway, fuck it, you have anything better to do?’

They walked out of the barn house and looked again at the beautiful surroundings. No doubt the house would be repossessed and resold. The sun had muted in the afternoon sky and a cool breeze drifted through the air making the surrounding trees pulse as if they had their own heartbeat. The forest in the near distance looked like an underline for the beautiful orange sun.

Adrian breathed it all in before heading back into the city to deal with the Saturday-night binge drinking shift, part of his penance for messing his colleagues around before he got suspended. He wasn’t proud of the fact that he had got people to lie for him, about his whereabouts, about how sober he was or wasn’t, about a lot of things. He had so much to make up for and a lot of people to apologise to. He had promised to help Denise deal with the drunks on the desk on Saturday nights. He owed her a lot more than that but it was a start. Grey beeped the horn impatiently and he got in.

Chapter 7

The Outsider

Sally waited at the door wagging her tail, knowing her master was approaching; she knew him by his walk, by the sound of his breathing, by his smell. Parker walked in and was greeted with an extremely happy Labrador Retriever. Sally was his life companion, his best friend, the one who would never forsake him. Parker and Sally had met almost seven years earlier and it was love at first sight, they needed each other and they knew it.

His house was a true reflection of his character, books on every surface, a stack of black leather notepads teeming with words, a small brown sofa which was obviously Sally’s favourite place to sit, judging by the layer of golden fluff on it. He fed Sally immediately, and as soon as she had finished her food he took her for a walk, walking past the museum that he had returned to this town for. He saw Abbey leaving work and walked over to her.

‘Abbey, this is my Sally.’ Abbey turned and smiled at the dog, a big full smile, Parker had not seen that smile before, he felt just by looking at it that he was invading her privacy; it was not intended for him. Abbey knelt down and rubbed the dog’s ears affectionately.

‘She’s lovely … Parker, I hope I didn’t offend you earlier. I was worried when you rushed off.’ She looked at him seriously while he racked his mind for what she could be referring to.

‘Oh no, you didn’t, I had to dash. I’m sorry but she barely forgave me for coming home late last night, I wouldn’t want to be in trouble two nights on the trot. I thought I could make it home and back before you left.’ He wasn’t lying. He had explained earlier how Sally had been so unimpressed with his late arrival the night before she had left a present for him on the living room floor. ‘I um … I wanted you to meet Sally.’

‘I see. Well, then, I understand completely.’ She beamed at him, the same smile she had used just moments before, he hoped she couldn’t notice his cheeks flushing in this light.

‘Can we walk you home?’ Parker asked. Abbey took Sally’s lead from him, her warm fingers brushing against his hands. He smiled back and put his hands in his pockets, walking behind them.

Parker wasn’t good with people, he knew it, they knew it; unless you were two hundred years old and furry then there was little chance of him being able to connect with you on any level. Parker was deliberately aloof. He didn’t like people to get too close, he didn’t like the idea of anyone seeing beneath the veneer, the thin layer of personality that was between his mind and the rest of the world. This had been true for almost everyone he had ever met, but this girl, Abbey, was different.

Parker watched as Abbey kept her distance from him, head turned firmly away, he knew she didn’t want to get close to him, she was just as happy as he was with prolonged silences – normally people feel the need to fill them with idle talk about God knows what. In some ways Parker was a little offended by her lack of interest in him, he was used to people wanting to understand him, which was funny because they never could, he made sure of that. Maybe there was something about dealing with the dead that made people like them bond, a kind of salute to a fellow enthusiast. But no, that wasn’t it, she was different. He recognised the signs of a broken spirit immediately; the way she held herself told him more than any amount of words could. He didn’t want to put her off, she had a sweetness about her. She wasn’t like most of the girls he met, she was quiet, insular and guarded. He knew it wouldn’t take much to push her away but he liked her for her shyness and he liked her instinct to be wary of people – he understood that feeling all too well.

Parker felt strange walking with Abbey. Again they did not talk, just walked, with her holding on to Sally’s lead and Sally happily accepting her new controller as she bounded towards the river with her usual zeal. They crossed the Iron Bridge and headed towards the town, past the smattering of old pubs and tattoo shops that were long overdue for some cosmetic attention. This time it was Parker who felt the need to fill the silence as he searched his mind for a topic.

‘Have you worked at the museum long?’ Best to stick to talking about work.

‘Five years,’ she said, and that seemed to be the end of the conversation as she crossed the busy road and headed down South Street. He increased his pace to catch up with her.

‘And you have no professional qualifications?’ She looked at him with a raised eyebrow then turned and carried on walking. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound rude, you really have done a great job, not that you need my approval or anything.’ He should probably shut up now.

‘Well it’s not a well-funded museum, a friend of a friend got me the interview and I just convinced the director, Mr Lowestoft, that I knew what I was doing, they get to pay me a lot less than the going rate and I get to do the job I love. I know taxidermy isn’t very fashionable any more but …’ She turned back and smiled at him. He could tell she really did love the job, he had looked over the work she had done so far and been impressed.

Abbey stopped outside a dusty weather-beaten black door, she handed the leash back to Parker.

‘Say thank you, Sally,’ he said to his dog, who was still panting vigorously at Abbey.

‘I would invite you in but I’m not allowed animals in the building.’

‘I wouldn’t call myself an animal!’ Parker displayed his best mischievous smile in an effort to get her to reciprocate. She didn’t. She just looked at her feet uncomfortably. She took her keys out and entered the building as he stood and watched.

‘See you tomorrow,’ he heard through the door, and breathed a sigh of relief. He looked down at Sally who was panting far too much considering they had barely walked three miles.

‘Yeah, I like her too,’ he said to Sally as he tugged at her lead, prompting her to carry on walking.

The next morning he found himself walking past Abbey’s door on the way to work, it was not on his route but something compelled him to make it part of his course. He arrived at work before her and had to wait for her to arrive before he could get into the rooms they needed to work on today. Gemma, the girl on the front counter, was just settling into her seat for the day. ‘Hey!’ she proclaimed, a little louder than she needed to. He walked over.

‘I’m Parker, I work in the archives.’ He offered his hand. Gemma was one of those people who were friendly to everyone, an overabundance of chirpy goodwill seemed to flow from her every pore. He guessed that’s why she was on the front desk.

‘I wondered when you were finally going to introduce yourself to me. How are you getting on? Those rooms creep me out, all those dead things, ew.’

‘At least they don’t talk back.’ He smiled awkwardly and she laughed louder and harder than his quip deserved. He noticed Shane watching him from across the room. When they thought no one was looking, he knew Gemma and Shane would sneak into the back rooms for some privacy. He could feel Shane’s jealous eyes ablaze with anger.

‘You getting on OK with Abbey?’ she finally said when she calmed down, and he could tell she was asking even though she already knew the answer, and there was a hint of mocking in the way she said Abbey’s name. He realised for once he wasn’t the strangest person in the building.

The women who worked in the canteen could be heard gossiping almost non-stop when you were at their end of the building. Sometimes he caught the words but mostly it was the sound of inane exchanges, last night’s soap operas, who was leaving ‘the jungle’, anything to make the time go by. Shane and Gemma would huddle together no matter what they were doing, either fighting or flirting, always in a whisper. Mr Lowestoft was occasionally seen roaming the halls looking at the progress and talking to the decorators who had somehow become invisible. Between the lady who gave the tours on the days they had school visits and the porters who moved the artefacts around silently when no one was looking, Parker realised he had never really seen anyone else talking to Abbey. The reason he got on so well with Abbey, if you could call it that, was because they were both the outcasts. In fact, for once, he thought it was possible he was the normal one.

‘Yes, speak of the devil.’ They both looked up as Abbey ambled through the large double doors. Parker smiled, more comfortable with Abbey’s awkward stare than he had been with Gemma’s overfamiliarity, he could sense Gemma sneering as he walked over and took Abbey’s heavy bag before following her in silence through the unlit passageway to the area they needed to be in for today. As he walked beside her he watched her face. She was focused.

‘If you start in that corner then I can get on with these guys today,’ she said, he felt like she was fobbing him off.

‘Can I ask you for a small favour?’

‘OK.’ She turned and faced him with a no-nonsense stance. Abbey was a no-nonsense girl, he wondered what she considered fun.

‘It’s a strange request, considering we’ve not known each other very long, but I need to ask you if you could look after Sally next weekend. I have a family thing to take care of and I don’t like putting her in kennels. The address is on the key fob, you may as well take it now while I remember.’ He handed her a key to his place. She just stared at his hand but he continued to hold the key out, unwavering. ‘Just put some food in her bowl and take her for a walk, if you don’t mind.’

‘Oh …’

‘I wouldn’t ask but I don’t know anyone else around here any more, and Sally really likes you … I like you … I mean, I trust you with Sally.’ He felt stupid saying it, knowing also that now was not the right time to attempt one of his disingenuous smiles, he knew she could see through all of that. Abbey blushed again and took the key from him. Her hand brushed against his and he was surprised at how warm her skin was. She snatched it away self-consciously as he kept his eyes on her. Parker didn’t feel the same need to be normal with her as he did with everyone else, he didn’t feel the need for fake smiles and he didn’t feel the need to speak when she was silent. He had noticed it more and more since they had first met; his ever decreasing need to be false with her. In fact, anything other than honesty was becoming hard. In all the scenarios he had imagined when he returned to this city, a genuine connection wasn’t in one of them. He hadn’t planned for this.

‘We had better get on with it, they want this room cleared in a couple of weeks ready to redecorate it for the centenary celebrations,’ she interrupted his thoughts.

She scuttled off to her corner of the room, stuffing his keys into her back pocket. He took that to mean she accepted his request.

Parker could make women fall for him, it was possibly because he was clever, women like that, but he was also good-looking in an awkward way. He had no interest in relationships. He was often more comfortable spending time with women because he was not the average man. Comfortable was maybe the wrong word, a little strong for the way anyone made him feel. The only time Parker couldn’t get a woman to fall for him was when he actually liked the girl in question, not a situation that arose often. He had the gift of manipulation, something he had watched people around him possess as he had grown up. He had made a promise to himself, though, that he would only use it when he absolutely had to, he didn’t want to become like the people who had influenced him the most. He had seen those people lie and lie again to get what they wanted, no matter who they hurt. No, he wouldn’t indulge the part of him that wanted to deceive, manipulate and corrupt; he wanted to be better than that, he wanted to be good. He seemed to repel the women that fascinated him, maybe because he was trying to flirt, not something he was good at. He knew his ham-fisted attempts at light humour were never received in the spirit he intended them to be. The girls he had known before had all wanted to fix him and so he pushed them away, knowing full well that he was unfixable. Also he noticed something all the girls he liked had in common: they were good, too good for him. He always thought too much of them to inflict himself on them. That was his ‘type’, a girl he could never allow himself to be with. He put it down to his innate desperation to sabotage any chance for happiness he might be able to grab on to in the future. His past had been so dark, so unthinkably bleak that sometimes he thought he felt more comfortable in situations where there was absolutely no hope.

Chapter 8

The Host

Then

The door was already open when their cab pulled up to the house. A girl Abbey recognised was puking in the shrubbery of the house next door and she could see a couple of other people from her course fumbling with each other in the side alley, so undignified. Abbey imagined herself and Christian locked in the same embrace and suddenly it took on a whole new appeal.

She could feel the pit of her stomach humming with excitement as they walked in. The vibrations of the music thumped through her lower body and added to the rising anticipation. She scanned every corner of every room as they walked through. Everyone greeting Dani as they went by and she got sucked into conversation with some other girls, and Abbey continued through alone. For the first time she noticed eyes on her, not mocking or derisive but hungry and lustful. So this is what it feels like. It wasn’t long before a drink was planted in Abbey’s hand. She drank it with the confidence of someone who could handle alcohol far better than she could. Tonight was not the night to be Abbey, where was the fun in that? Tonight she was going to be better. Stop holding yourself back and enjoy it! She had always been well aware that her self-esteem issues were of her own creation. Being raised by a single father, she was never quite sure of the social etiquettes a girl should adhere to, just mostly guessing and copying had got her through this far.

She walked out into the garden to the sound of Katy Perry’s ‘Firework’, fairy lights hung from the trees and willow fences, twinkling, magical. Her butterflies were worse than ever and as a small crowd parted she caught sight of Christian. She felt like she was in a movie. She took a deep breath and made her way towards him, praying he would see her before he saw Danielle. Jamie actually saw her first and whispered something to Christian who turned around. She could feel his eyes moving up and down her body as she pretended not to have seen them yet.

‘Glad you could make it’ He smiled as she approached and she saw something she hadn’t ever seen before, excitement, lust. He had finally noticed her as a woman, she felt his gaze lingering on her breasts as she smiled at Jamie who seemed to be smiling back. It occurred to Abbey that she had never seen Jamie smile before and she was glad for that fact because it wasn’t a comfortable smile, it was awkward and forced. She shook off the creepy feeling he gave her and turned her attention back to Christian, who was still trying to look like he wasn’t checking her out. He was waiting for her to turn her back to him, she could feel it, he must have seen Dani in this dress before so he knew what to expect. Who knew a plunging backline could cause as much trouble as a low-cut top? She wickedly bit her lip as she walked to the punch bowl, feeling his eyes on her for the duration, her skin prickled and tingled at the idea of what he might be thinking about her right now. She thought about his lips on the small of her back and blushed to herself as she quickly necked another drink.

Four glasses of punch later and she was laughing freely. Why had she hidden in the background for all those years? The attention she was getting felt deserved. Tonight she was pretty. She could almost smell the hunger on the boys who were chatting to her, flattery in spades. Tonight everyone wanted what she had. Before long she was sitting on the sofa huddled between three boys from the cricket team, downing shots of tequila, she didn’t much care for it but she was enjoying the party too much to suddenly be the sensible one again. Dani sat across from her, clearly happy with the reception her protégée was receiving.

‘Come on, Abs, let’s do it another way,’ Dani called as she saw Abbey screw her face up at the offer of another tequila. The boys watched eagerly as Dani swept her hair to one side exposing her neck, she licked the palm of her hand and dragged it down leaving it glistening wet, and then she poured the salt on to herself. She was poised as though she were ready to be taken by a vampire. Abbey leaned over the table, only slightly concerned that her dress was far too short for this position and glad that she hadn’t taken Dani’s advice of wearing a thong. With one knee on the coffee table Abbey pressed her tongue against Dani’s neck sweeping the salt away slowly. Dani poured the tequila straight into Abbey’s mouth then grinned at her, exposing a lemon between her teeth, Abbey could feel the camera phones pointed at her as she placed her lips around the lemon in Dani’s mouth, she sucked the juice and they continued to kiss over the table for the titillation of the hormonal boys. As Abbey pulled away she saw Christian watching them and suddenly felt a huge wave of betrayal, like she had somehow been unfaithful to him, even though he had Dani. Maybe she was mistaking his look, maybe it was intended for Dani but no, it was for her. The whoops and cheers only added to the cloud in her mind as the tequila mixed with the punch in her stomach. She had to get out of the room, away from all the noise.

Abbey staggered up the stairs, clinging to the railings and dragging her increasingly heavy legs to the bathroom, not entirely sure she would make it. She stumbled through the door and fell at the feet of the toilet, firmly gripping the basin as the contents of her stomach erupted from her mouth. Tequila tasted just as unpleasant on the way out as it did going in, only without the benefit of a citrus chaser it burned her throat. She felt a hand brushing the back of her neck as someone pulled her hair out of the firing line.

‘It’s OK. I’ve got you.’ She was too queasy to be surprised to hear Christian’s voice, but was grateful for the intervention. Well aware that this was probably the end of any future between them, she figured he was more concerned for his bathroom than he was about her. He helped her to her feet and passed her a towel.

‘Thanks,’ she barely managed to mutter through her embarrassment.

‘Hey, it happens! Here, you can use my toothbrush if you want, I have another one anyway.’

There’s something strangely intimate about letting someone watch you brush your teeth. She couldn’t help feeling vulnerable and exposed, like this meant something. Abbey had never been good at reading signals but this felt so definite, the way he watched her, it wasn’t the concerned look of a friend, it was something else, something far more significant.

Abbey lay down on Christian’s bed, he had pointed her in the direction of his bedroom while he fetched her some water and paracetamol to relieve her throbbing head. He had no posters and a sparse minimalistic room, there was very little to indicate that anyone other than a methodical and organised person lived here. Abbey was surprised at the lack of personality the room displayed, she didn’t know what she had imagined but it wasn’t this impersonal and cold space. She must have dozed off. She awoke to find Christian sitting on the side of the bed holding a glass of water and pills, and she sat up and drank thirstily, washing down the tablets.

‘Feel better?’ Christian brushed the hair out of her eyes and smiled warmly at her, resting his hand on her shoulder.

‘Sorry, I don’t usually drink tequila.’

‘It’s good to see you let go … and you look amazing tonight.’ His hand trailed down her back, fingers barely touching her skin. ‘You’re actually quite pretty.’ He leaned forward and kissed her, mouth slightly parted, just enough for her to feel his hot, wet breath against her lips. What about Dani? she thought as she kissed him back. Was she still asleep? Was this a dream? Was he really kissing her? She held her eyes closed tight for fear that if she opened them his mistake would be realised and he would pull away, disgusted.

His hand was on her knee now, her instinct was to clamp her legs shut so that it could go no further but something inside her stopped that gut reaction, and as his hand travelled up past her thighs she just allowed it, despite every fibre of her being telling her to stop him. Dani would get over it, wouldn’t she? Would she hate her? Blame her? Would she even find out?

Chapter 9

The Trick

Kevin Hart stared down at his wedding ring as he pulled at it, it was dull and scratched. The faded gold band had sunk between the swollen ridges of his fingers. He was much heavier now than when he had got married, years of wining and dining had taken their toll on his body, a fact he was able to ignore until he tried to remove the ring. It caught the hair between his knuckles as he dragged it over them and slipped it in his pocket. He reached for the whisky as the pink lights thumped against the back of his brain and washed down some of his migraine pills.

Kevin was a familiar old face among the fresh meat on offer. He would sit in his private booth at the end of the bar and peruse the drunken young men as they danced together on the floor in front of him, scanning the crowd for the stragglers, the ones who struck out and were feeling down on their luck. Don the barman was accustomed to Kevin’s playbook, aware of Kevin’s type. Occasionally, when a young desperado would slump against the bar, Don would glance over at Kevin and wait for the green light. Kevin didn’t have what these young men had, he didn’t have youth on his side, or even looks, but he had money and he had power; both far more valuable in this game.

Kevin watched as a shiny peacock dominated the floor, turning heads, each pose he struck designed to attract maximum attention and it worked as some of the men turned away from the less interesting ones, trying to catch his eye. A sweaty young buck wrestled his way out of the horde, defeated after losing his companion to the show; he shoved his way to the bar and ordered himself a drink. Don looked over to Kevin who was staring at the new prey eagerly, Kevin raised his little finger off the glass as he took a swig, and Don knew the score.

‘Paid for by the gentleman in the VIP section,’ Don said as he placed the drink on the bar, motioning towards Kevin. The young man instantly straightened up and puffed his chest out, knowing full well the booths were only ever occupied by the men with the moola. Kevin signalled to the empty seat beside him and his new friend wandered over.

‘Martin,’ the man held his hand out. Kevin ignored it; he didn’t like to put them at ease. Martin was still curious enough to sit down even with a little bit of wind knocked out of his sails, the smile wiped from his face. Kevin wanted Martin to know he had no upper hand here; his youth and beauty were not enough to hold Kevin to ransom. Kevin wanted Martin to hang on his every word and he knew that in order for that to happen he would have to use those words sparingly.

‘Would you like to earn some money?’ Kevin eventually said.

‘Oh, I’m not a pro … I mean, I’m not … I don’t …’ Martin sputtered.

‘Relax.’

Kevin knew that everyone had a price, for everything. Years of business negotiations had taught him that you could get a person to sell you their first-born child if you knew what they really wanted. Martin was well dressed but the frays on the seams of his designer jeans and the bobbling on his high-end T-shirt had betrayed him. Martin yearned for a sugar daddy, that’s why he had sat down in the first place, and at least temporarily, Kevin could be that person. Martin would be easily pleased.

‘I’ll pay you two thousand pounds to spend the weekend with me.’ Kevin reached for the bottle of scotch and poured himself another, he could feel Martin’s quandary as he held the bottle out to him, their eyes fixed on each other, searching for a clue about who the other man was. That was part of the fun for Kevin, part of the game; the mystery, anticipation and fear of the unknown. When Martin finally took the bottle from Kevin they both knew it wasn’t the scotch he was accepting.

The key clicked in the door and Kevin pushed it open, allowing Martin to step inside the apartment first, it was dark but Kevin saw how Martin smiled to himself as his eyes adjusted to the light. The room was illuminated by the lights that bounced off of the imposingly decorated Gothic cathedral that directly faced it. The men he brought here always admired the sleek lines of the masculine furniture, the bay window overlooking the cathedral square and the smell, the smell of Egyptian cotton and stainless steel. Kevin knew that Martin would be impressed, this was a sought-after location and added to the image that he wanted to portray – that he had money, that he had power. This was Kevin’s sanctuary, his home away from home, a place for him to be himself, to do the things he needed to do to feel sane. Kevin’s wife, Mary, was used to his weekend absences, she liked the finer things in life and Kevin knew he was safe from her prying as long as the money kept coming in. They would not be disturbed.

‘I’ll pay you now.’ Kevin threw a wad of fifties on the table in front of Martin, who looked up nervously before snatching up the notes and stuffing them into his back pocket.

‘Nice place, real nice,’ Martin said in his brash country accent as he stared at the family portrait that hung on Kevin’s wall. The jovial face of the man in the portrait didn’t match the man in front of Martin, he was younger and slimmer. In the picture were two teenagers, a lean, tall boy with an uncomfortable smile and a slightly younger girl in a pristine white dress. Kevin kept the picture there so that when his wife visited it just seemed like a home away from home, that way they could both keep up the pretence that nothing untoward was going on.

Open handed, Kevin slapped Martin across the face. Martin shot up and raised his hand to hit back. Kevin grabbed it and looked Martin in the eyes. In the instances when they reacted like that he wondered if they were genuinely surprised or if they were actually just play acting for him, he didn’t really care either way. Some part of them must have guessed what he was paying for, or were they really that naive? He loved that look, the shock, the surprise, the indignation. Tears started to form in Martin’s eyes as Kevin stared into him.

‘I can always take the money back and you can just go,’ he whispered. ‘Or you can do what you’re told and keep the money.’

It’s one thing to refuse a lot of money; it’s another thing to give it back after you have held it in your hands. This was a huge part of the turn on for Kevin, the part when they accepted, the part when they knew what was going to happen and still said yes, he lived for that very moment; acquiescence.

‘What do you want me to do?’ Martin pushed back the tears and lowered his hand.

‘Take your clothes off.’ Kevin took a step back and watched as Martin resentfully stripped down to just his underpants, he guessed this was Martin’s lucky pair or something, bright and garish, labelled and fitted, probably expensive. ‘All of them.’

As Martin stood there Kevin revelled in his discomfort, his firm golden silhouette framed by the backlight of the cathedral. Martin crossed his hands across his front, trying to keep a little of his modesty at least. This made Kevin smile to himself. By the time Kevin was done with Martin his modesty would be the least of his worries.

The bedroom was darker than the lounge, just a bed sitting solemnly in the centre of the room. Martin stumbled forward and Kevin pushed him face first into the mattress. The floor felt strange to Kevin, something wasn’t right about it but he dismissed the feeling as a side effect of the excitement. With one hand he undid his belt and ripped it from its position with ease before forming it into a loop and hooking it around Martin’s neck as though he were a wayward dog, no chit chat, no foreplay. He spat into his hand and forced his fingers inside Martin, who stopped writhing when he realised the more he resisted the tighter the belt got. It had been months since Kevin had got to play this game, always too busy with work or family, mind-numbingly dull conference calls or his daughter’s theatrical performances. Kevin savoured the image of Martin’s body, its tiny contortions as he pushed harder, deeper.

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