Contents ( 84)
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- SIXTY-EIGHT
- SIXTY-NINE
- SEVENTY
- SEVENTY-ONE
- SEVENTY-TWO
- SEVENTY-THREE
- SEVENTY-FOUR
- SEVENTY-FIVE
- SEVENTY-SIX
- SEVENTY-SEVEN
- SEVENTY-EIGHT
- SEVENTY-NINE
- EIGHTY
- EIGHTY-ONE
- EIGHTY-TWO
- EIGHTY-THREE
- Acknowledgements
Michael scrolled through them as quickly as he could. The earliest were from Sarah the previous evening. Before she had made it home, Michael realised. Most of the others were from Will Duffy. One at 7 p.m. A few later. And three early this morning.
But before he could return the calls, he noticed another. A missed call and voicemail from someone who never left a message. A man who rarely called at all, in fact. And had now done so twice in one day.
After the conversation they’d had yesterday afternoon, Michael knew that Joe Dempsey could not have been calling with good news.
He felt his heart race as he put the phone to his ear and connected to Dempsey’s voicemail. It only increased as he listened to the message.
He stopped walking as it ended, his blood as cold as the snow beneath his feet. He pulled the phone from his ear and checked the time of the call.
Last night. Jesus. Anything could have happened.
He put the phone to his ear again and replayed the voicemail as he began to walk.
. . . my source . . . killed this morning . . .
. . . you’re on their radar . . .
. . . we can get you and Sarah somewhere safe . . .
Michael increased his pace, his eyes everywhere as he moved. Dempsey sounded worried. And Dempsey never sounded worried. Life and death was what he did.
If he was concerned, Michael had to follow suit.
Michael looked across the street as he passed the iconic Chelsea Registry Office. Towards a man in a tan overcoat. Something about him had caught Michael’s attention. Was it paranoia? The effect of Dempsey’s message?
Probably, Michael accepted. But if that’s what keeps me alive . . .
The man was around Michael’s size and build. Michael thought he could make out a black suit beneath the overcoat.
He was also looking the other way. Into a shop window.
Which is what’s off, Michael suddenly realised. Who the hell goes window shopping on the coldest morning of the year?
Michael forced himself to look away. If he had called this right, he did not want the man to know. Instead Michael kept him in his peripheral vision and, where possible, in the reflection of glass shop fronts.
Michael increased his pace again as he drew level and carried on past him. A near power walk.
At first the other man did nothing. He just continued studying the window display. It made Michael doubt himself. To almost accept it as paranoia.
Almost.
He allowed himself a turn of the head as the distance grew between them. Just in time to see him cross the King’s Road – to Michael’s side of the street – and begin to walk fast in the same direction.
It could be nothing, Michael told himself. But he didn’t really believe it.
He turned again. As he did, the man immediately stopped and began to inspect another shop window.