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
‘I . . . I . . . erm . . . well, he confessed, didn’t he? Surely . . .’
‘Does it seem like a terrorist attack?’ Bull interrupted.
‘What else could it be?’
‘Something about this doesn’t add up. Why would he give himself up like this?’
‘Sorry, guv. I don’t . . .’
‘Two and two isn’t always four. That’s all I’m saying.’
‘Again, guv, I . . .’
‘Never mind.’ Bull had overestimated the only other copper in the room. ‘It’s time we asked him for ourselves.’
THIRTEEN
Dempsey switched off the ignition of his Triumph Daytona 675, kicked down the bike’s side stand and climbed off.
The cold air hit his face as he removed his motorcycle helmet. Great Neck Village was only twenty-three miles out of Manhattan, but with one being a heavily populated island of densely packed high-rise buildings and the other a sparsely populated district with wide roads, where even a third storey was a rarity, those few miles were marked by a two-to three-degree difference in temperature.
Dempsey tapped the upper left torso of his black motorcycle leathers, searching for its concealed pocket. The feeling of a small, hardback notebook hit his fingertips.
He pulled it out and turned directly to the only tagged page.
There was a single entry.
Thomas Quilty, Two Town House Place, Apartment 2J.
Dempsey looked up at the white columned porch that served as the entrance to the apartment block.
It was the right place. Dempsey knew that immediately. But he kept the notebook open, as if reading something else in its empty pages. And as he did that, he placed his helmet onto the bike’s seat and pressed the fingertips of his free right hand to his brow.
To an onlooker, he would give the impression of a man unsure and deep in thought. Which was exactly as Dempsey intended.
It was a distraction from his real purpose: the use of the reflective visor of his helmet as a mirror, carefully placed to take in as much of the street as it could. Dempsey was in Great Neck because Elizabeth Kirk was afraid for the safety of an old friend. If she was right – if Thomas Quilty was in danger – then that danger could already be here.
And it could be watching.
Dempsey twisted right and then left, as if unsure of his location. Combined with the uncertain look he kept on his face, it disguised his effort to get a clearer view of the area outside Two Town House Place. A view which, like the helmet’s visor, revealed nothing. If anyone was watching, they were doing so with care.
There was no one to be seen, Dempsey concluded. That did not mean that there was no one there, of course. But if there was, they were good. He picked up his helmet and walked towards the building’s entrance.
The pathway from the pavement to the porch was perhaps thirty yards long, leading towards a wide wood and glass doorway that doubled as a near-mirror. It provided Dempsey with one last chance to survey the area behind him. Still nothing.