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  ‘Dan?’

  Her tone immediately sends me crashing into full alert.

  ‘Tell me you haven’t,’ I say tentatively.

  ‘I got the message too late, Dan, I’m sorry. The boss told me to run with it with or without the press conference. It was out of my hands, there wouldn’t have been anything I could do to stop it…’

  ‘When? How long ago?’

  ‘Evening edition. About 5 p.m.’

  I close my eyes tightly and force back the panic that’s threatening to plough through me like a runaway train.

  ‘Fucking shit!’ I thump the dash. ‘Don’t you check your messages, Touchy?’

  There’s a pause on the line.

  ‘Look Dan, I’m so sorry… if this fucks things up for you, the investigation—’

  I hear the emotion in her voice and feel like a total shitbag.

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ I say wearily, ‘it’s mine.’ And it is, you know, it really is. ‘Do you know if the Evening Standard has run it, The Metro?’

  ‘Well…’

  Her reticence speaks volumes.

  ‘Oh Jesus.’ I’m starting to wish I had never taken the call.

  ‘What does this mean, Dan?’ she asks in a low, cautious voice.

  ‘It means, Touchy, that I’m fucked.’

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  She looks so beautiful as she comes towards me. This is my first thought, swiftly followed by an indescribable sadness at what I’m about to do. I should feel good about this, but I don’t, and the inner conflict makes me feel uncomfortable. Losing your nerve, Detective Riley? She’s smiling, and greets me with a hug, squeezes my torso.

  ‘I’m so happy to see you, Daniel,’ she says emotively into my ear, ‘I thought I would never hear from you again, after, well… you know…’

  My response comes from somewhere genuine inside of me. ‘I had to,’ I say. The conversation with Dr Magnesson is playing over in my mind on loop, her Scandinavian-sounding ‘s’ hissing through my brain like white noise, was she born a psychopath or did circumstance make her that way? I look into her eyes, they’re a bluish-grey colour and I wonder which of the two it is. And I try not to feel anything, I try to remember that she has already killed two innocent people, that she may have even murdered a child, and that this makes her the very worst of her kind.

  ‘Shall we order a drink?’ I ask as I think about putting cuffs around her delicate wrists.

  ‘Yes, we should,’ she grins, ‘the retsina here is lovely.’

  ‘You look lovely.’ The words come from somewhere inside me.

  She looks up at me, eyes shining. ‘Thank you, and so do you. But then you’re a very handsome man, Daniel Riley.’

  I laugh off the compliment, once again reminding myself of what I’m dealing with; she’s a cold-blooded killer, a manipulator in the extreme, a human being void of empathy, a monster really, yet I struggle to reconcile this with the pretty, vivacious and smiling woman sitting opposite me. And I think of the time in the hotel room, how she’d felt in my arms, how she’d made me feel. I want to be angry with her. I want to hate her, to feel disgust and contempt for who she is and what she’s done and for the kindness she showed me that night. For the words she said that had given me such comfort at the time. Consummate liars who can fool the most seasoned professionals….

  We order the retsina and some dolmades and olives. ‘Those big green ones,’ she says to the waiter, ‘the ones that taste of sunshine.’

  She props her elbows on the table, tucks her platinum hair behind her ears. I suspect she may be wearing a wig.

  ‘Do you like the new blonde?’ she asks, catching me staring, obviously. ‘They have more fun, allegedly,’ she laughs that pretty laugh of hers, like bells tinkling, ‘and gentlemen prefer them. And you are a gentleman, Daniel,’ she says.

  The retsina arrives and the waiter pours us both a glass with such dramatic showmanship that I find it borderline irritating.

  ‘What shall we toast to?’ Her eyes are like diamonds and I feel a terrible stab in my solar plexus. I actually feel guilty for what I’m about to do, I feel empathy for a ruthless, cold-blooded killer and I have to remind myself of what she is once more.

  ‘Whatever you like,’ I manage to say.

  ‘How about new beginnings?’

  I nod, touch her glass with my own, but I can’t bring myself to repeat the words.

  ‘So, tell me, what made you decide to contact me again? I really thought that after… well…’ She looks down a little coyly. ‘I must apologise, I realise it was too soon…’ she says and I put my hand up to stop her.

  ‘Please, no need.’ I remember her skin against mine, her soft body wrapped around me, how it fit so well with my own, just like Rach’s. And I try not to think about the connection I’d felt. ‘Everything happens for a reason, Danny.’ That’s what Rachel used to say. So why this, then Rach? Tell me the reason for this!

  ‘Life is to be lived in the moment isn’t it, don’t you think, Daniel?’

  ‘Yes, I think it probably is.’ I don’t know why I say the word ‘probably’ because now, after everything, I believe these words more than ever.

  ‘I think I’m having the lamb cutlets’ she says, changing the subject as she scans the menu. ‘They’re delicious. I highly recommend them.’

  I don’t want to eat, I can’t, but I order anyway, glancing outside the window. I spot Davis’ unmarked car a short distance away.

  ‘So, tell me about your week Florence?’ I lean in closer, my elbows propped to match hers. She looks delighted by my interest and meets my gaze full on. And I’m searching her eyes for something, anything, that will bring my emotions in line with the fact that she’s evil personified. But her eyes are bright and vibrant, and I see no malice in them.

  ‘Aside from tonight you mean? Well, actually I’ve got a new job.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes, as a nanny, looking after a beautiful little baby boy called George. But it was only temporary.’

  I swallow. A baby boy. George. Only temporary. Was.

  ‘Doesn’t that interfere with your studies?’

  She wrinkles her nose and I try not to like the way her face looks as she does this. ‘I’m tired of acting… I’m not even sure if it’s for me anymore.’

  I feign surprise. ‘So… how old is George? And why was it only temporary?’ My heart is thumping against my ribs. Has she killed him? Has she killed him already? Is there a dead baby somewhere right now, lying lifelessly in his cot?

  ‘He’s almost ten months,’ she says and her eyes come alive as she speaks of him, ‘beautiful happy little thing he is, full of… life. I fell in love with him on sight.’ Her smile dissipates suddenly. ‘But he’s not a well little boy, I’ve tried telling his mother, telling her something is very wrong, but she… well, she couldn’t give a fuck, you know, she’s always off pampering herself or at the gym, lunching with friends. I smell alcohol on her breath almost constantly.’

  My guts twist like a pretzel. ‘What’s wrong with him, the baby?’

  She shakes her head as she pops an olive into her mouth.

  ‘Like I said, I’ve tried talking to his mother but she doesn’t want to listen. Stupid, selfish bitch,’ she hisses into her drink, her whole demeanour changing. ‘I mean, if I had a child, a baby, I would treasure it, you know, spend every waking moment with it, make sure no harm came to it like a proper mother should. People like her, like that selfish bitch of a mother of his, they shouldn’t be allowed to have kids. They should take them away before it’s too late.’

  I hear the emotion building in her voice as the lamb cutlets arrive. She’s momentarily distracted by them.

  ‘Too late for what?’ I ask, gently.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, as though coming back to herself, ‘do you want children, Daniel?’ She stabs a lamb cutlet with a fork, tearing at the pink flesh. ‘Do you see them in your future?’

  I push my own cutlet around my plate l
ike a makeshift paper boat on a pond. Davis will be wondering just what the fuck is going on right about now. I don’t know why I’m stalling, why I’m gambling and taking such a huge risk. I’m thinking, hoping, that it’s fairly safe to assume that had ‘Florence’ seen her own mugshot in the evening paper then she wouldn’t be sitting opposite me right now. Just arrest her Dan, the inner voice inside me is shouting, what the fuck are you waiting for?

  ‘Yes, I do. I’ve always wanted to be a father.’

  ‘Did your girlfriend want them, Rachel, did she want children?’

  I go to speak, but a realisation renders me speechless for a split second and it’s swiftly followed by a lightning-bolt icy chill. You’re a very handsome man, Daniel Riley. I’m certain I have never told her my surname.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, ‘actually she was almost three months pregnant when she died.’

  She stops eating then, replaces her knife and fork onto the plate gently and fixes my eyes. ‘Oh Daniel, I’m so sorry.’ Her head is cocked to one side as she’s speaking and it sounds so genuine, so heartfelt, that for the briefest moment I almost forget who I’m talking to. She holds my gaze. ‘Will you excuse me for a moment? I really need to use the bathroom. I’m sorry…’ she says as she rises from the table, ‘ladies stuff.’

  I come back to myself and immediately my eyes flick towards the exit. The bathrooms are to the side of the restaurant. It’s busy, full of couples, young families and groups enjoying their evening meals. The atmosphere is buzzy, punctuated by chatter and the loud clatter of cutlery, waiters coming and going with hissing, steaming plates full of fresh meat and fish. My intention was never to arrest her in full view of the public. I hadn’t planned for a scene. Just a last supper I suppose.

  ‘Of course, no problem.’ I smile in a bid to disguise the panic that’s swelling inside of me, rising like the fresh bread on the table. I top up her glass, watching as she picks up her handbag, the Kate Spade tote.

  ‘You’ll still be here when I get back, won’t you, Daniel? You won’t disappear on me again?’

  I watch her as she makes her way to the bathroom without glancing back at me. Once she’s out of sight I pull my phone from my pocket and immediately it buzzes in my hand.

  ‘Boss? Boss, what the fuck’s going on?’

  ‘Listen to me carefully, Davis,’ my voice is low, almost inaudible, ‘I need you on full alert for the suspect. She may attempt to make a run for it.’

  I can almost see the confusion on Davis’ face as she listens to my instructions.

  ‘The suspect… are you with her now, Boss?’

  I beckon a waiter over.

  ‘She’s just gone to the bathroom. I think she may have rumbled me. Keep that exit covered, you hear me, Davis, keep it covered.’

  ‘Yes Boss… And Boss, something’s just come in from Delaney. Apparently a call was made from a member of the public regarding an incident in a park in Beckenham today. I think it could be related. She claims there was a woman impersonating a baby’s mother and that when challenged the woman became hostile and aggressive. We have a Christian name for the mother – Magenta – but no ID as yet boss.’’

  My guts feel knotted up like an army assault-course net.

  ‘Locate an address for the mother and get a team down there immediately,’ I say. The waiter is hovering nearby, trying to catch my eye. ‘Was the baby’s name George?’

  ‘Yes Boss, it is… how do you know that?’

  ‘There’s every reason to believe that baby might be in danger. Do it now Davis.’

  ‘The team’s on it, Boss.’

  ‘Good. But you stay put Davis, you hear me. Don’t move from where you are. Do you have good visibility of the entrance to the restaurant?’

  ‘Yes Boss, perfect.’

  ‘Keep it that way. Suspect is wearing a purple shift dress and a platinum-blonde wig. Intervene anyone fitting this description who attempts to leave the restaurant. Oh and Davis, do not call for back-up here unless I give you the nod. I’m bringing her in myself.’ I hang up. She’s been in the bathroom a few minutes; it feels like hours.

  ‘Can I get you anything, Sir?’ The waiter looks at me obligingly.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, replacing my phone into my pocket.

  He nods at me and I suspect he’s thinking what a self-important, middle-class wanker I am so I show him my badge – at least then I have an excuse.

  ‘I may need to leave the restaurant quickly,’ I explain, ‘police business.’

  He nods again, unsurprised. This is London after all. I guess he’s probably seen stranger goings on. ‘I understand, Sir.’

  ‘Look, can you tell me if there are any windows in the ladies, any exits or means of…’

  But then I see her coming back from the bathroom. She’s walking towards me, but she is no longer smiling.

  ‘Doesn’t matter where you are in the world, there’s always a queue for the ladies,’ she rolls her eyes, ‘it was three people deep. I mean, a restaurant as big as this and only two cubicles, seriously!’ She seats herself.

  ‘Listen,’ I say quickly, ‘how about we get out of here, finish this off somewhere else, somewhere… more private?’

  She tilts her head to the side and gives me this almost amused look before replying, ‘You know Detective Riley, I thought you’d never ask.’

  Chapter Sixty

  I read her rights and formally arrest her on the suspicion of the murder of Nigel Baxter and Karen Walker. She sits, motionless, as I say the words to her quietly across the dinner table. I ask her if she wishes to say anything and explain that anything she does say may be taken down and used in evidence against her.

  ‘Can I finish my drink?’ she asks and I tell her that she can’t, that we have to leave right now. She tells me she won’t make a scene but her eyes have changed, like the light has slipped from them. ‘Are you going to handcuff me? Because if you are, this isn’t quite the scenario I imagined.’

  ‘Rebecca, can you tell me where George is? Has he come to any harm?’ I ask, leading her from the restaurant.

  ‘Will you hold my hand, Daniel, please?’ she asks as we make our way past the unsuspecting diners, ‘act like we’re a real couple.’

  I ignore her request and yet the maddening – the truly fucking nuts thing – is that actually, I really want to.

  * * *

  Davis cuffs her but I can’t watch as she takes her away. I can feel Rebecca’s eyes on me like lasers as I walk towards my car. And I should feel elated, you know, I should feel triumphant. I should feel something. In that moment I realise that something inside me has changed, that I’m no longer the man I once was. The truth is, I think I haven’t been that man since Rachel died. And I feel lost, my sense of purpose and identity shattered. That rush I’ve always felt when an arrest has been made in a big case like this one is missing this time. I used to think it made a difference, that I made a difference, changing outcomes and controlling situations, preventing the bad guys from doing bad things and putting away the ones that did. It used to give me a buzz. Protect and serve and all of that. I suppose it gave me a sense of power, made me feel good about myself. But I don’t feel good. Not this time. Two people are dead and maybe a third: a baby. And the woman in custody that I knew as Florence, young and beautiful, with a vibrant smile that had made me feel hopeful again, however briefly, is Goldilocks, a pathological liar, a dangerous psychopath, damaged by a childhood so abusive and sickening that I struggle not to feel empathy for her in spite of her heinous crimes.

  Worse still, I sense that Rebecca Harper knows I feel this way too, somehow she seems to have an inherent, almost primeval instinct that allows her to tap right into my psyche, giving her access all areas to parts of me that others have failed to reach in double the time, if at all. The fact that her ability appears to be driven by a force of evil makes it no less impressive, and I can’t help thinking what she might’ve been if she had put such gifts to the greater good, into bettering herself and her l
ife.

  I make the drive back to the nick, my mind occupied by thoughts of dead babies and girlfriends and just how the fuck I’m going to explain all of this to Woods. I turn the radio on as a distraction. Pink Floyd are playing. ‘Dark Side of the Moon’ is one of my all-time favourite albums. We used to fall asleep together to it, me and my girl, our warm bodies spooning.

  Suddenly I hear Rachel’s voice like she’s right here, alongside me in the passenger seat, saying, ‘you do know that there is no dark side of the moon, Danny, that actually it’s all just a myth.’

  Chapter Sixty-One

  She’s in interview room three. The clock’s ticking. The member of the public who called in to voice her suspicions about baby George and the woman in the park fitting Rebecca’s description couldn’t give a surname for the mother, only a Christian name, Magenta, and said that she’s local to the south-eastern suburb of Beckenham. I figure there can’t be too many Magentas in Beckenham, so I’m hoping an address won’t be too long in coming.

  ‘I want everyone on that address,’ I tell Delaney, ‘and when we get it send an enforcement team down there pronto. I want that baby found safe and alive, Martin, do you hear me?’

  ‘Yes, I hear you Dan.’

  His use of my name irks me once again.

  Davis follows me out. She’s hovering, tentative. There’s something she wants to say. ‘How did you know where she was, Boss? How did you know she’d be waiting in the restaurant?’

  I carry on walking. ‘Intuition, Davis,’ I say without looking back at her, ‘intuition.’