Alan gives a happy woof. He likes hearing his name.
Henrik looks beaten. ‘I thought this would be easier.’
‘I’m going to get you a water,’ says Joyce. ‘It will be quite safe, I promise you.’
‘Thank you, Joyce,’ says Henrik. ‘I should have chosen the flower mug. Even as I chose the motorbike mug, I thought, “Oh, come on, that’s so clichéd.”’
‘We’re all programmed,’ says Joyce. ‘Joanna made me watch a YouTube video about it.’
‘I’m going to untie you now,’ says Viktor. ‘I can trust you, yes? Even if I can’t, I have a gun, and I’m assuming Elizabeth has a gun too. Perhaps even Pauline has one.’
Viktor loosens the baling wire around Henrik’s wrists, and he wriggles his hands free. Joyce comes back in with the water and Henrik takes it from her.
‘Thank you, Joyce,’ he says.
‘I can take a sip of it if you’d like?’ says Joyce.
The room falls into a momentary, contented silence. It is broken by Pauline again.
‘Can I make an observation?’
Ron looks at Pauline, who, once again, has the attention of the room. My God, he’s got a hell of a woman on his hands here.
‘I love an observation,’ says Ibrahim. ‘It is grist to my mill. Especially coming from a good friend such as you, Pauline.’
‘OK, here’s how I see things,’ says Pauline. ‘And I’ve only known you a short while. But this is just my take, and who am I to say? But each and every one of you in the room, each and every one of you, in your own different way, is absolutely barking mad.’
Joyce looks at Elizabeth. Elizabeth looks at Ibrahim. Ibrahim looks at Ron. Ron looks at Joyce. Viktor and Alan look at each other.
Stephen surveys the room. ‘She has a point.’
‘I’ve known you for just over two weeks, and I’ve already been in a grave with a KGB colonel, I’ve seen a tiny old woman drug a Viking, and I’ve shared a bed with the most handsome man in Kent. For three or four years in the eighties I did a lot of magic mushrooms. I once did LSD in Bratislava with Iron Maiden. But nothing – nothing I’ve ever done – compares to a couple of days in your company. What else have you got in store?’
‘Well,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Tomorrow we’re digging up a garden with the Chief Constable of Kent, looking for a body and a gun.’
‘Bethany’s body?’ says Pauline. She is suddenly serious.
‘Bethany’s body,’ confirms Elizabeth. ‘Now, Henrik, I wonder if you might stick around here for a day or so? There’s a spare room at Ibrahim’s, if Ibrahim wouldn’t mind?’
‘It would be my pleasure,’ says Ibrahim. ‘Henrik has had a long and traumatic day.’
‘I just want to go home,’ says Henrik.
‘All in good time, Henrik,’ says Elizabeth. ‘There’s a task I think you might be able to help us with first.’
61
Joyce
Inspector Gerry Meadowcroft lit a cigarette, and inhaled deeply. A cloud of smoke drifted across his fierce blue eyes. Eyes that had seen too much killing, too much blood, too many widows. He felt the weight of a gun in his pocket. Would he have to use it?
Gerry could kill. He had killed before, and he would kill again if he was called upon. But not through choice, never through choice. Each time he killed, Gerry Meadowcroft lost a piece of his soul. How many pieces did he have left? Gerry was in no mood to find out.
He thought back to his training at Ashford Police College. Not everyone trained at Hendon, that was a misconception.