The floorboards creaked as I walked along the hall. I doubt Joe heard, but when I turned the door handle it rattled, alerting him to my presence. I walked into the bedroom but he did not look up. He sat in a large chair by the window, staring out with unseeing eyes, keeping guard against unknown assailants. I knew what he would be thinking–the worst thing had happened. He would think that he had failed me, failed to protect me and others that he had deemed needed his protection. The room was in darkness but a shaft of moonlight shone into the room, illuminating his profile, the roman nose that had been broken and inexpertly set on more than one occasion. The faint scars on his high cheekbones, forehead and chin were all badges of honour in Joe’s world. The left hand strapped across his chest was not.

I moved closer, careful not to alarm him.

I laid a hand on his forearm. His skin was cold and clammy; he didn’t turn to look at me. Joe was in shock, the state of being in limbo, suspended from the real world. ‘Come to bed, Joe,’ I whispered. ‘Please come to bed, let me hold you.’ I tugged at his arm but he wouldn’t budge. After five minutes I released my hold, and backed away to the bed. I lay down fully clothed and pulled the covers over me. Although I didn’t expect to, I fell into a deep sleep, a nightmare world inhabited by murder victims. Presiding over the realm of the dead was Kevin Milne or Graham Marshall, a procession of his prey lining up before my eyes in some macabre pageant. It started with Matthew Cook, and in my dream state I saw his last moments–just as Donna must have, every single time she closed her eyes. I included all Donna’s known kills, the death of the farmer, Renee Smith, and the attack on Joe.

I gathered them up and laid them at the feet of Graham Marshall.

Then the truth hit me.

My client was innocent. He was not the killer known as Cupid. These were the charges that held him in Saughton Prison, so by now the governor would have released him. He was free as I slept and his mind would be focused on one thing–revenge. There was no doubt in my mind that he intended to kill me. Marshall was not, and never had been, sane as most people would define the word. His innocence had been proved, albeit in a dramatic and violent way. But all he would be able to see was that I had set him up for Donna.

I woke with a start and threw my feet over the side of the bed.

The first thing I noticed was that Glasgow Joe was gone.

The second thing was he had left me his knife.

Chapter Sixty-Six