Look Closer E-Book

Rachel Amphlett

• Herausgeber: Rachel Amphlett
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

How far would you go to protect a secret?

How far would you go to expose a lie?

Will Fletcher seems to have it all – perfect job, perfect life. Then in one act of extreme violence, his world turns upside down.

A bungled assassination attempt on a London street uncovers a disturbing conspiracy fuelled by organised crime and political ambition.

Then Will finds himself on the run, pursued by a dangerous enemy who will stop at nothing to protect his employer’s past.

With the killer closing in on him, Will is running out of time to deliver his own version of vigilante justice and expose the corruption.

As the web of lies and deceit unravels, Will knows the answer’s out there. All he has to do is look closer.

Everyone has secrets. Everyone lies.

Look Closer: A gripping fast paced thriller from the author of the bestselling Detective Kay Hunter series.

Praise for Look Closer

“A thrill ride from start to finish... full of many unexpected twists that will keep you guessing to the very end” San Francisco Book Review “

The plot of Look Closer is much like something the late fan-favourite Vince Flynn might have conjured up... a first-rate political thriller that moves at a blistering pace” Best Thrillers

“Look Closer is an energetic, intriguing, terrifying ride, with a twist that will smack you from here to next Friday. Put it on your ‘to read” list. Now.” Goodreads

Leseprobe

Look Closer

Rachel Amphlett

Contents

Untitled

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

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

From the Author

Untitled

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

© Copyright Rachel Amphlett2015

The copyright of this book belongs to Rachel Amphlett

No reproduction without permission

The names, characters and events in this book are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:

Amphlett, Rachel – author

Look Closer

ISBN: 978-0-9922685-4-1 (paperback)

Amphlett, Rachel, author

Look Closer

A823.4

One

London,April

Will Fletcher rested his head against the door pillar of the taxi and let the washed-out cityscape pass by the window as he wiped tears from his eyes, trying to calm his adrenalin-spiked heartbeat.

The taxi driver was doing his best not to stare at him in the rear-view mirror but failing spectacularly. Instead, he steered the vehicle around back streets and one way systems in an attempt to get his passenger to the hospital as fast as possible.

Will sniffled.

After their argument last night, he and Amy hadn’t spoken this morning. Instead, she’d left before he’d had a chance to apologise, and now he wished he hadn’t been so stupid.

He reached over and pulled his backpack across the seat towards him, patting the outer pocket to make sure he still had Amy’s mobile. She’d forgotten it in her haste to leave the apartment before he could speak to her, and in an attempt to make peace, he’d been planning to phone her and hand it over during their lunch breaks, maybe buy her dinner afterwork.

He pushed the bag away, his hands shaking.

He’d been out when he heard about the accident. He and Russell Harper had escaped the confines of their offices at the museum in search of a caffeine fix. He’d been running late as usual, his flight from his desk interrupted by his manager.

Twisting his back to ease the cricks in his muscles, he’d turned to see Jack watching him from his office.

The older man had raised an eyebrow. ‘If you’re getting coffee, you’d better buy me one,’ he growled.

‘White, no sugar – ’cause you’re sweet enough already, right?’

Jack had held up his middle finger in Will’s direction and turned back to his room, closing thedoor.

Will had laughed and made his way down to the lobby. As the elevator doors opened, the cacophony of hundreds of languages had assaulted hisears.

Tourists swarmed around the entranceway into the museum, pointing out exhibits to each other, calling out to wayward children as harassed tour guides led their charges through the building, hand-held signs wavering above people’s heads.

Will had nodded to a uniformed security guard as he passed through one of the exit turnstiles, and then hurried across to the front doors where Russell was waiting for him, tapping the face of his watch.

‘You’d be late for your own funeral,’ he’d grumbled, then grabbed Will’s arm and propelled him through the doors.

‘Remind me to get a coffee for Jack,’ said Will. ‘Otherwise you’ll be top of that invitationlist.’

‘And how is the old bugger?’

‘About normal for a Monday.’

‘That good, eh?’

‘Uh-huh.’

They had followed the wrought iron boundary fence that encircled the museum and then turned left, passing Georgian houses on a tree-lined avenue. Stationary cars parked into impossibly small spaces lined each side of the street, while the road itself flanked the side of the museum’s grounds before veering right.

‘What’s Amy working on thesedays?’

Will shrugged. ‘This and that,’ he said. ‘It’s all very hush-hush – she wouldn’t even give me any details.’

Russell had laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. ‘It’s okay – I won’t ask. Guess we’ll just have to both read about it on the front page, huh?’

Will had checked over his shoulder for traffic before both men hurried through a small park, jogged across a zebra crossing and into an Italian restaurant. The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans teased his senses as the door swung shut behindhim.

‘Good morning, gentlemen!’ A beaming man, black hair speckled with grey and silver streaks, appeared at a doorway. He’d checked over his shoulder into a noisy kitchen before wiping his hands on a tea towel slung over his shoulder and moved towards the coffee machine. ‘Usual?’

‘Please, Luigi.’ Will had turned at a light punch on his arm. ‘Oh yeah, and one for Jack. Better make it a double shot – given the mood he’s in, I don’t think his funding came through.’

Luigi made apologetic noises and busied himself with the coffee-making machine. ‘It’s not good, Will. I have seen all the hard work he puts into those exhibitions.’

‘Well, maybe we’ll hear something this week,’ Will said, then turned and joined Russell, who had pulled out two stools next to a counter set against the window overlooking the street. For a moment, he had sat and watched people as they dashed backwards and forwards in front of him, then looked down as Russell grunted.

‘What?’

‘Just reading this newspaper article. About that prick they reckon will be Prime Minister one day, heaven help us. Did you know he used to work in construction?’

‘No.’

Russell had flicked the page, a snort of derision on his lips. ‘My old man reckons the guy’s a crook – lots of dirty deals, youknow?’

Will had grinned, not wishing to be drawn into a debate. He knew if Russell started, the man wouldn’t shut up until they’d returned to the museum. He sneaked a glance at the photograph which accompanied the newspaper story and realised it was the same man Amy was meeting with that morning. He checked his watch.

‘Here you go.’ Luigi had interrupted his thoughts and set three Styrofoam cups on the counter in front of them. He tapped the lid of the one nearest to Will. ‘That’s Jack’s,’ he instructed, then winked. ‘With doubleshot.’

Will had slid off the stool, picked up his and Jack’s coffees and stepped towards the door. ‘Cheers, Luigi. See you tomorrow.’

He had his elbow against the door handle before he realised Russell wasn’t behind him. ‘Russ?’

His jaw slack, he had turned to see Russell staring at the small television above the bar. Will followed his gaze to see a news bulletin splayed across the screen.

A red Breaking News banner screamed a headline across the lower half of the display, its white, bold text jolting Will out of his goodmood.

Opposition leader ambushed by gunmen. Several casualties.

‘Luigi, turn the soundup!’

Russell took the remote control from the restaurant owner and aimed it at the television, the newscaster’s voice bellowing from the speakers. They all jumped at the sudden blast of noise, before Russell adjusted the volume.

The newscaster had his finger to his earpiece, reciting updates as the newsroom relayed them tohim.

‘We’re told that emergency services are at the scene, and the road has been blocked to all traffic while police deal with this serious incident,’ he said excitedly, then dropped his hand and returned to the autocue in front of him. ‘For those who may be just tuning in, we’re receiving reports that Ian Rossiter, the current favourite to win next month’s election, has been involved in an incident in Marylebone. There are reports that he has been shot, alongside the people that were in his car withhim.’

Will had squashed the sides of the coffee cups in his hands, his knuckles white. His heartbeat had rushed through his ears, punching him between the ribs, the reporter’s urgent voice washing overhim.

‘Will? Are youokay?’

‘I think Amy was withhim.’

‘What? What do youmean?’

Will had pointed at the television with one of the cups. ‘Amy. She told me she was going to interview Ian Rossiter this morning. Some sort of exclusive.’ He blinked, fighting down the panic. ‘I – I just know something’s happened toher.’

Russell had glanced at Luigi, then back at Will. He snatched the coffee cups away, thrust them at the bewildered restaurant owner, and then frog-marched Will through the frontdoor.

‘I’ll call you later, Luigi,’ he’d yelled over his shoulder as the doors slammedshut.

Will had allowed Russell to lead him back to the museum, the passing pedestrians and traffic a blur. Somewhere in his subconscious, he heard car horns, exclamations from people who didn’t get out of Russell’s way fast enough, a vehicle skidding to a stop to their right, and a man’s voice swearing from an open car window.

Then they were at the security turnstiles. Will had felt like he was walking underwater. He could hear people, but he struggled to understand what they were saying. Russell leaned across in front of him, reached down, and tugged at the security pass clipped to his belt. Ignoring the curious glance from the guard, Will had pushed through the gate, and then Russell’s palm shoved him in the back, pushing him towards the elevators.

Will’s hearing only returned to normal once the doors slid shut. ‘Sorry – pardon?’

‘Oh thank god, he’s back to earth,’ muttered Russell. ‘I said, we’ll make some calls. Her mobile phone might be out of range – or flat, right?’

‘No – she forgot her phone this morning. It’s in my backpack.’

‘Where’s yours?’

‘On mydesk.’

‘Well, phone her editor – find out if she’s back at the office.’ Russell slapped him on the arm as the elevator doors opened. ‘Come on buddy, hang in there.’

Will’s composure had started to slip as Jack barrelled through the open-plan office towards them, heads turning to stare as he approached.

‘You need to get to Prince George Hospital as soon as possible,’ he blurted out. ‘We’ve been trying to call you for the past twenty minutes.’

Will had frowned and noticed the man’s eyes were red-rimmed. ‘Prince George Hospital?’

‘It’s all over the news – someone’s attacked Ian Rossiter and everyone in his motorcade,’ said Jack and lowered his voice. ‘Amy’s beenshot.’

Will had felt his legs buckle, and Jack reached out to steady him. Sweat broke out on his forehead and blood rushed in his ears, blocking out the conversation.

‘Have you got enough money on you for a taxi?’ his boss asked. He looked over his shoulder. ‘Rosalind! Get a taxi ordered for Will. Have them pick him up outside the loading bay round the back, okay?’

Will watched, helpless, as the young intern had launched herself at her phone, speed-dialling the local taxi number, her eyes wide, staring at him. Somehow in the last thirty seconds he’d become rooted to thespot.

Then Russell was at his side, thrusting his backpack at him. ‘Go, Will. I’ve put your mobile in there. Get going. Phone us when you can, all right?’ He nodded at Jack, and then pushed Will towards the elevators. As they waited for the doors to open, he’d lowered his voice.

‘Jesus, Will, of all the people for this to happen to. I mean, god – I hope she’ll be okay. If there’s anything I can do, you’ll let me know, right?’

Will had raised his head at the sound of a low ping as the doors opened. He stepped inside the elevator car, then turned to face his friend, tears at the corner of his eyes, and nodded.

‘Yeah, of course.’

Now, he was stuck in traffic and still two miles away from the hospital.

When he’d wondered why Amy hadn’t been taken to one closer to the scene of the shooting, a remnant of information in his subconscious reminded him that the newly opened Prince George complex boasted one of the best neurosurgery teams in the country.

He rubbed his hand over his face and tried to ignore the sickness in the pit of his stomach, and then the taxi lurched forwards once more, and they were moving.

Please let her beokay.

Two

Will rubbed his eyes and tried to ignore the pervading aromas of disinfectant, sweat, and fear that permeated the corridor. He shifted on the chair, its metal back support cool against his shirt.

He felt a bead of sweat pool between his shoulder blades and pushed back into the chair to stop it from running down his spine, then leaned forward and put his head in his hands, his mind racing.

What the hell happened?

Last night, as they’d sat at the small dining table in the apartment, their plates pushed to one side, Amy had asked him to collect her laptop from their computer expert on his way home from work the nextday.

‘Has he finished the upgrade?’

‘Yes, said it was good to go. Faster processor, the works. Shame I haven’t got it for the morning – I’ll have to hot-desk when I get into work to type up my interview.’

‘Did you pick up spare batteries for your voice recorder?’

‘Yeah.’

She’d collected the plates together and walked the few paces into the open plan kitchen. After shoving the dirty dishes in the sink of hot water, she’d returned to the dining table.

‘So, when are you going to tell me who you’re interviewing in the morning?’

She’d sat down and pinched the stem of her wine glass between her fingers. ‘I wasn’t planning on telling you until afterwards.’ Her eyes met his. ‘I know what you can belike.’

‘What do youmean?’

She’d exhaled and leaned back in her chair, before taking a sip of herwine.

‘Stop stalling, and tellme.’

Amy had put the glass down, and then toldhim.

‘Ian Rossiter? Are you out of your mind?’ Will had pushed back his chair and paced the living area. ‘What were you thinking?’

‘It’s the story of my life, Will. This could be such a career boost forme.’

He’d spun around, his hands on his hips. ‘And what has Kirby said aboutthis?’

‘I guess he reckons it’s time I got a break,’ she’d said. ‘After all, I’ve been there two years. I’ve proved myself to him. And,’ she said, as Will had snatched his own wine glass from the table, ‘it was myidea.’

‘You’re crazy.’

‘And you’re just pissed off I’m doing this my way, not yours.’

He’d stormed off then, slammed the door to the bedroom to lie in the darkness, alone, fuming, eventually falling asleep.

When he’d woken up, Amy had already left forwork.

Will raised his head at the sound of footsteps. A man in his late fifties with a shock of white hair hurried towardshim.

‘Will Fletcher?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m Mr Hathaway – the surgeon who will be operating on Amy.’ Hathaway shifted his grip on a clipboard and extended his hand. ‘Let’s talk in the privacy of my office.’

‘Isn’t she in surgery? Why aren’t you there?’

‘They’re prepping her now. As you can appreciate, it’s a very delicate balancing act, so we need to be careful.’

Hathaway led Will down the corridor, then abruptly turned left, pushed open a door and ushered Will inside. He pulled out a chair for Will at a paper-littered desk, and thensat.

‘Are there any relatives nearby we can contact to be withyou?’

Will shook his head. ‘No.’

The surgeon nodded. ‘All right.’ He flipped over the pages on the clipboard, and appeared to be lost in thought.

Will’s foot tapped against the worn carpet, until he could bear the silence no more. He leaned forward.

‘How bad isshe?’

Hathaway sighed. ‘The bullet is lodged in the outer part of her skull. It’s going to be a long procedure – hours – with a very specialised team. After that, we’ll be keeping her in an induced coma to give her body time toheal.’

‘What happened to Rossiter?’

‘I’m sorry, Will. Patient confidentiality...’ The surgeon leaned forward. ‘I’ll need you to sign the paperwork,’ he said, pushing the clipboard towards Will and lifting the pages until a consent form became visible. He pulled out a black soft tip pen from his overcoat and passed it toWill.

As he leaned over the desk, the pen slipped from Will’s grip and rolled across thedesk.

The surgeon stopped its movement with a slap of his hand, and then glanced up. ‘I promise I’ll do my best, Will, but I won’t know how bad it is until I start.’

Will nodded, took the pen from Hathaway, forced his hand to stop shaking, and scrawled his signature across the bottom of theform.

‘You’re not going to want to hear this,’ said Hathaway, ‘but go home and wait for me to call you. It’d be better than sitting in one of the waiting areas here – that’s not going to do you anygood.’

Will closed his eyes. ‘Can I see her now?’ His voice shook, and he felt tears pricking his eyelids. ‘Would that be possible?’

‘She’s in a very sterile environment while we’re prepping for surgery, but you can see her through a window.’

Will nodded, opened his eyes, sniffled, and then looked at Hathaway. ‘Just do everything you can for her, okay?’ he croaked.

The older man nodded. ‘We will. Comeon.’

He stood and led Will through a network of corridors until they were side by side at a window, its curtains closed. Hathaway peered between a crack in the material, then partially openedthem.

Will put his hand over his mouth.

Amy lay on a hospital gurney, swathed in blue sheets, her fair hair shaved on one side, her left cheek purple and bruised, congealed blood covering her face. Tubes and machines surrounded her while nurses worked, inserting needles, checking displays on screens and quietly talking, sharing information.

He groaned. She looked so helpless, so utterly vulnerable, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do aboutit.

He jumped as Hathaway gently put a hand on his shoulder. ‘She’s not in pain. She’s medicated at the moment.’

Will nodded, unable to speak.

Hathaway turned to look down the corridor. ‘The police will probably want to talk to you in a bit.’ He lowered his voice. ‘They’re going to put an armed guard outside the operating area and on the room we’ll put Amy in for her recovery.’

Will’s brow creased. ‘Armed guard? Why?’

Hathaway shrugged and let the curtain fall back into place, and gestured towards the waiting area. ‘I don’t know. They haven’t told me. Sorry, Will – I have to get ready for her surgery.’ He pointed towards a row of chairs placed under a television set, its volume a low hum under the noise of the ward. ‘You can wait here for the police. They’ve set up a room elsewhere in the hospital. I’ll phone you as soon as I’m out of surgery to let you know how itwent.’

Will nodded dumbly, shook the surgeon’s hand, and traipsed towards the row of chairs. As he sat facing the television placed on the opposite wall, the twenty-four hour news channel replayed the footage he and Russell had seen earlier that morning.

The reporter’s conjecture became increasingly excitable as he reiterated the scant facts the news channel been able to glean from the police and various experts in counter-terrorism.

Will pushed the palms of his hands down on to his thighs to stop them from shaking. The man’s retelling of the events seemed oddly cold, with little humanity entering the man’s voice as he described the situation as if it were mere entertainment.

‘Mr Fletcher?’

He jerked his head in the direction of the female voice.

A young female police officer stood at the end of the row of chairs, a look of genuine concern on herface.

‘Yes?’

‘Please come with me, sir. The detective in charge of the investigation would be grateful if you could speak with himnow.’

Will followed the policewoman as she led the way to an elevator. At the third floor, she waited until Will joined her in the corridor, and then led him through a series of offices and into a conference room. Knocking twice, she opened the door, stood to one side, and gestured toWill.

‘Inspector Lake, this is Will Fletcher.’

Three

Detective Inspector Trevor Lake stood, extended his hand to Will and indicated that he should take the seat oppositehim.

The desk had been cleared, along with the rest of the room, for the detective’suse.

The man wore a grey suit that accentuated his salt and pepper hair, his pale blue eyes keen as he watched Willsit.

Will guessed he was in his late forties, and a career policeman. An energy emanated from the man, despite his outward attempt at appearing calm, and Will’s senses heightened at the detective’s restraint as he shuffled the paperwork in front ofhim.

‘Thanks for your time,’ Lake began. ‘I can appreciate this must be very difficult for you at the moment.’

Will nodded, mumbled a thanks, and shuffled in his seat, dropping his backpack onto the floor next tohim.

Lake sat facing Will and turned to a clean page in a small notebook. ‘I’m just going to ask a few questions, to get a feel for what Amy’s movements were this morning.’

‘Okay.’

‘Did she say where she was going?’

Will shuffled in his seat. ‘She was really excited,’ he began, and then coughed to clear his throat, realising his voice had started to choke. ‘She’d landed an interview which could have been the career break she’d been after since we left university.’

Lake nodded. ‘Did she tell you who the interview waswith?’

Will nodded. ‘Yes. Ian Rossiter.’

The detective paused to scribble some notes into the notebook.

Will remained silent, transfixed by Lake’s scrawl across the page and wondered how the words would be translated back at the police station. He noted Lake’s accent, tried to figure out where he’d come from, and settled on Wiltshire. Something about the softened consonants. He wondered idly how the detective had ended up joining the Met, and then frowned.

‘Why is there an armed guard outside the operatingroom?’

Lake’s head shot up. ‘Who told youthat?’

Will shrugged. ‘I saw two of them walking towards the room when I was talking to Amy’s surgeon,’ he said, and then wondered why he’d lied so easily.

‘It’s just a precaution, due to the nature of her injuries and how she sustainedthem.’

‘You mean because she was shot when she was with Ian Rossiter.’

‘Exactly.’ Lake lowered his gaze and returned to his notebook. ‘Did Amy say where she was meeting Rossiter this morning?’

Will frowned. ‘No, she didn’t, actually. I’d assumed it was at the newspaper offices. It seems wrong that a politician would willingly walk into a newspaper office, though.’

Lake smiled. ‘Indeed, it would. No, they met at the Three Birches Hotel in Marylebone. According to the staff, Amy had arranged to have a breakfast meeting with Rossiter.’

‘That would make sense. She said she was going to go into the office and type up the interview now I think ofit.’

Lake nodded, wrote something on the notepad. ‘Did you or Amy have a fight this morning?’

‘What are you trying to imply?’

‘It’s okay, calm down. Standard question I have toask.’

‘Well, we didn’t.’

‘Did Amy seem on edge lately, perhaps stressed?’

Will leaned back in the chair and sighed. ‘No more than usual. I mean, her job is really busy, and if she’s chasing a story, I’ll often find her asleep at the kitchen table where she’s been working all night to meet a deadline,’ he said, ‘but she thrives on it – especially the last couple of weeks. I’ve never seen her so excited about a story.’

‘Do you know what the angle of her storyis?’

Will shook his head. ‘No, I don’t ask, because usually, she can’t tell me anyway. I only found out last night that she was going to interview Rossiter.’ He leaned forward in his chair, put his elbows on his knees, and dropped his head into his hands. ‘I can’t believe this is happening.’

‘Hang in there, Will, you’re doing well,’ said Lake. ‘Just a few more questions, and we’ll be donehere.’

‘It appears that your girlfriend, Amy, and Ian Rossiter met as planned for a breakfast meeting at the Three Birches Hotel at nine o’clock. The hotel staff we’ve interviewed told us that at some point during that meeting, the conversation got a little heated – raised voices, a brief argument – before Rossiter stood to leave. Amy appears to have managed to placate him, and they finished their breakfast, although the same hotel staff also told me that it appeared a short-term truce had been struck, because the tone of the conversation afterwards was noticeably strained.’

‘Do you know what they discussed at the hotel?’

‘No. Amy’s notebook and voice recorder were taken from her at the scene of the incident by her attackers.’

‘Why would they dothat?’

‘We don’t know yet. That’s one of the avenues of investigation we’re pursuing.’

Will swallowed. ‘What happened between the hotel and the place where everyone wasshot?’

Lake leaned forward and folded his arms on the table. ‘I’ll only tell you this, because the press is going to have it figured out soon anyway. Around ten thirty, Amy and Rossiter left the hotel. Amy paid the breakfast bill, and then followed Rossiter to a waiting car outside the hotel. Rossiter’s bodyguard took the front passenger seat.’ He paused. ‘We’d naturally assumed that Rossiter offered to drop Amy off at her workplace – it was still raininghard.’

‘What went wrong?’

Lake shifted in his seat. ‘For some reason, the driver decided to take a short cut, rather than a direct route to her offices. As he drove along that street, a van cut in front of the car, two men with guns jumped out from the back, and attacked the occupants of thecar.’

Will paled. ‘Goon.’

‘The driver was shot first – to prevent him from trying to manoeuvre the car out of the way. Then the bodyguard, thenAmy.’

Will frowned. ‘Why shootAmy?’

‘We don’t know, Will – we don’t know who we’re dealing with yet, and we’re still conducting interviews. Maybe because she was a witness.’

‘Where did they go – the people that shother?’

‘Unfortunately, it seems they picked the location of the attack at a point they knew they’d be sheltered from CCTV coverage,’ said the detective. ‘They were professionals, but we’ve got people scouring all the cameras in the vicinity right now, as well as the local underground stations.’

‘What happens next?’ asked Will, lifting his gaze to look directly at the detective. ‘What are you doing to find the people who shother?’

Lake tossed his pen on to the desk, and leaned back into his chair. ‘I’m sorry, Will. I can’t discuss that – it’s still an open investigation.’

Will peered at his fingernails. The one on his right thumb was bleeding. He didn’t even remember biting it down to the quick. ‘What about Rossiter? Why didn’t they killhim?’

‘We don’t know.’ Lake ran a hand over his hair. ‘We think they heard the sirens and panicked – lucky for Rossiter, as he only sustained a flesh wound to his shoulder.’

‘Shame they didn’t panic sooner.’

Lake ignored the remark. ‘My officers are still collating witness statements. I shouldn’t even be discussing this with you,’ he said. ‘I’m just hoping you might remember something which will give us a lead, a reason why this has happened.’

He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a business card, and then slid it across the desk towards Will. ‘I think I’ve got enough for now, but please, if you remember anything Amy’s told you in passing or find anything that might help us catch the people that did this to her, phone me immediately. It doesn’t matter what time of day or night.’

‘What happens if you don’t find them? I mean, after Amy recovers – what happens then? Will she always be in danger? Will they come afterher?’

Lake shrugged, an apologetic expression on his face. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t answer that. Not yet. But we will make sure she’s safe while she’s here. One of those armed police officers is outside the operating theatre right now, and we’ll have someone posted outside her room at all times.’

Will stood up, shouldered his backpack, and slipped Lake’s card into his trouser pocket. ‘Then I guess we’re donehere.’

‘Thanks again, Will,’ said Lake. He stood and opened the door. The smells and sounds of the hospital echoed along the corridor outside. ‘I’ll let you know as soon as I can tell you anything.’

‘That’s all I seem to be hearing this morning,’ saidWill.

Four

Will stood on the pavement outside the hospital, his mindnumb.

Beside him, a toddler chattered away excitedly to her mother who sat on a bench under the bus shelter, half listening to her child while she sent texts and checked messages on her mobile phone, a cigarette hanging from herlips.

Behind the bus shelter, the Accident and Emergency department of the hospital remained busy, its doors opening and closing as regularly as clockwork, ambulances delivering a steady stream of casualties from the busy weekday city. Voices wafted across the breeze to where Will swayed with his thoughts, broken only by the sound of the bus as it braked to a halt, the doors hissingopen.

Will stood to the side, letting the mother and toddler onto the bus before him, and then made his way to the empty rear of the vehicle. He slid onto a seat nearest a window, pulled his backpack onto his lap and rested his head against the glass pane as the bus pulled away into a steady stream of traffic.

He wanted to cry, the tears already forming, his throat raw and ready to let it all out. He beat his fist to a tuneless rhythm on the rubber seal of the window, the scenery passing in ablur.

He rocked as the bus came to an abrupt stop, and then smeared condensation off the glass with the sleeve of his jacket and watched as the bus made its way through thecity.

Forty minutes later, Will climbed off the bus and began walking home. He jumped as his mobile phone began to ring, and reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing the detective’s businesscard.

‘Hello?’

‘Will, it’s Jack. How are you? Anynews?’

‘Not yet – she’s only just gone into the operating room,’ said Will. He could picture his boss pacing his office as he spoke, his dark grey hair pushed this way and that by his hands as he fought with bureaucracy for funding for his beloved archives department.

‘Well,’ said Jack, interrupting his thoughts, ‘take as much time as you need to be with her, Will. Your job will be here waiting for you.’ His voice was brusque, no-nonsense.

Will’s lips pursed. He heard Jack struggling to keep his composure under the circumstances. His boss had first met Amy at the department’s Christmas party two years ago, and with their love of research, the pair had got onwell.

‘I will, thanks, Jack,’ he said, not wishing to prolong the conversation. ‘I’ve got togo.’

He hung up, put the phone back into his pocket, and pushed open the front door to the apartment block. Entering the lobby, he swore as he spied the sign pinned to the elevator doors, and then he altered course and pushed open the heavy fire exit door and began to climb the stairs to the eighth floor.

As he climbed, he began making lists in his head: the friends he’d need to call to stave off any rumours the media may have started about Amy’s condition; her editor who would be concerned for her, but already sending her colleagues to report on the new angle to the story; and clothing and toiletries to take back to the hospital which Amy would need while she recovered.

A heavy grinding sound penetrated his thoughts as he reached the sixth floor, and he cursed, and then leaned against the whitewashed concrete wall, sweat running between his shoulder blades.

The elevator was back in working order.

He eased himself away from the wall and slowly walked up the remaining flight of stairs. Reaching the eighth floor, he pushed open the fire exit door and began walking along the corridor towards the apartment. Reaching into his pocket for his keys, he thumbed through them while he walked until he found the small bronze-coloured one for the frontdoor.

He glanced up to insert the key into the lock and froze, his mouth open in disbelief.

The lock had been broken. Splinters of wood protruded from around the brass lock, paint chips from the door frame scattered across the carpet under his feet. The door itself was closed against the frame – anyone casually passing the apartment would not have seen the damage caused.

Will touched the scrape marks around the lock. A chisel or file had been used, the work thorough but not necessarily professional – a rushjob.

He looked over his shoulder, back along the corridor, but no one appeared from the closed doors of the fire escape. The elevator sign at the end of the corridor blinked the letter “G” once.

He stilled his breathing and listened. A television played loudly from the apartment two doors along, where an old lady lived, but he could hear nothing from within hishome.

He slowly pushed the door open, treading sawdust across the threshold, his heartbeat thudding steadily in hisears.

The sheer devastation to the apartment was evident from the short narrow hallway which led through to the kitchen and living area. Pictures had been pulled from their hooks on the wall and lay broken on the thin carpet, their frames splintered among the shattered glass that crunched under his shoes.

Bile rose in his throat as he entered the living area, his arms limp by his side as he slowly lowered his backpack to the floor, and then carefully walked into the room and circled the damage.

A knife, or the tool used to break the front door lock, had been used to slice through the material of the matching sofa and arm chairs, the stuffing strewn throughout the room while the chairs had been tipped over, the underside linings ripped to shreds. The small coffee table had been turned upside down, scattering magazines and the television remote controls onto the floor. The dining table had been up-ended, the four accompanying chairs fallen onto their sides.

Will raised his eyes to the kitchen area, where cupboard doors had been pulled open and the contents spilled over the tiled floor. Glasses, plates, and coffee mugs had been thrown onto the floor, and Will’s feet kicked against cutlery which had been tipped out of drawers onto the tiles. Even the refrigerator had been emptied, the smell of discarded food already beginning to permeate the air, along with a faint trace of cigarette smoke.

Will blinked, recalled the elevator being out of service, then realised he’d nearly walked in on the intruder.

He retched, and quickly crossed the living area to the floor-to-ceiling windows which opened out onto a small balcony. He pulled aside the curtain and yanked open the glass door, then stepped outside and breathed deeply, filling his lungs and fighting the urge to vomit.

As he concentrated on breathing, he glanced down to the street below and the small park opposite the apartment block. Two toddlers screeched with delight as they were pushed back and forth on swings by their mothers, while a commercial airliner banked high in the sky above them as it took off from the city airport. In the distance, a dog barked as a siren passed its gate, and then fell silent.

Will wrapped his fingers around the guard rail and gripped it hard, his knuckles turning white. Everything seemed so normal, so peaceful. He turned and surveyed the inside of the apartment, realis [...]