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Chapters (109)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Praise for Tim Weaver
  4. Dedication
  5. Part One
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. Joline
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. The Motel
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. Part Two
  21. 13
  22. 14
  23. Caraca
  24. 15
  25. 16
  26. 17
  27. Late-Night Call
  28. 18
  29. 19
  30. 20
  31. Pioneer
  32. Part Three
  33. 21
  34. 22
  35. 23
  36. The Suicide: Part 1
  37. 24
  38. 25
  39. 26
  40. The Suicide: Part 2
  41. 27
  42. 28
  43. 29
  44. Clear: Part 1
  45. 30
  46. 31
  47. Clear: Part 2
  48. Part Four
  49. 32
  50. 33
  51. 34
  52. Monster
  53. 35
  54. 36
  55. 37
  56. Martina: Part 1
  57. Part Five
  58. 38
  59. 39
  60. 40
  61. Martina: Part 2
  62. 41
  63. 42
  64. 43
  65. Dead Ends
  66. 44
  67. Part Six
  68. 45
  69. 46
  70. 47
  71. The Photograph Album
  72. 48
  73. 49
  74. 50
  75. Empty
  76. Part Seven
  77. 51
  78. 52
  79. Retirement: Part 1
  80. 53
  81. 54
  82. 55
  83. 56
  84. Retirement: Part 2
  85. 57
  86. Part Eight
  87. 58
  88. 59
  89. 60
  90. 61
  91. 62
  92. Circle
  93. 63
  94. 64
  95. 65
  96. 66
  97. An Ending
  98. 67
  99. 68
  100. Part Nine
  101. 69
  102. Family
  103. 70
  104. Part Ten
  105. 71
  106. 72
  107. Author’s Note
  108. Acknowledgements
  109. THE BEGINNING

‘Now he really has a problem,’ he said. ‘Klein’s panicky and scared, Pablo’s out cold and is going to totally lose his head as soon as he wakes up. The scene that Vale was hoping to de-escalate, he’s made a hundred times worse. So he finds some old rope and ties Klein to a radiator, gags him, and then drags the Mexican kid into the bathroom, ready to tie him up in there. He needs some thinking time. But then Pablo starts coming round on the bathroom floor. As soon as he does, he’s spitting, so full of rage Vale knows there’s no way he’ll ever keep quiet about what happened. And not only that, but Pablo’s got pals back in their neighbourhood who would look dimly on the idea of Vale having knocked him unconscious.’

I flipped to a new page and Mills waited for me to catch up.

‘Vale knocks Pablo out again, grabs a pillow from the bed, puts it over the Mexican kid’s face and pulls the trigger.’

As he stared at me, a breeze moved through the trees.

‘Just like that?’

Mills shrugged. ‘Vale hadn’t killed anyone else before then, but that didn’t mean being capable wasn’t already in his blood. He was off. A part of him was just broken. He was the best liar I ever met in my life – he could lie to you about anything and make you believe it – and anyone who can lie like that, and be that good at it, isn’t right in the head. He never made friends easily because he never found anyone who could hold his attention – there was never anyone that could compete with him intellectually – and all the shit he probably told you while he was pretending to be Zaid – that he told Patrick Perry in 2015 – all that shit about how everyone on that Politics course just turned on Vale after Beatrix Steards went missing, it was him playing games. His whole life, from the moment he became Robert Zaid, has been a lie, so those games – the lies he told – I think he enjoyed them. He never wanted to expose himself, but it was a thrill for him to carry this secret: how much he could get away with, how much he could gild the truth without anyone noticing.’ Mills closed his eyes for a second, the pain obvious in his face, in the rigidity of his body. ‘So, yeah,’ he said, opening his eyes again, ‘he shot Pablo through the face just like that.’

He looked out into the trees, recalling the rest.