Beth lay sprawled on the bed. She was cold. He probed desperately for a pulse, hoping, yet knowing there was no hope. There was foam on her lips, and blood from where she had evidently bitten them. A needle hung from her arm below the latex glove that had been used as a tourniquet. On the bedside table there was a lighter, a spoon coated with residue, a syringe pack, bottles of hydrocodone syrup and promethazine, and an empty foil of oxycodone pills. Some of the powder clung to a small knife, which had been used to chop up the pills. On its side on the bed was a bottle of Streak vodka.

Whoever had done this knew their stuff.

He lifted the pillow beside her. The underside was speckled with blood. They had smothered her to finish the job. Tom thought of closing her eyes but thought again. Then he turned back to the door, pausing only to wipe the handle on the way out.

Chapter 68

68

Washington DC

‘Dean Carter?’

‘Who wants to know?’

Before following him up from the parking lot, Tom had been in and rung the bell to make sure that no one else was home. According to Phoebe, the FBI listed Carter as single, but he had to be sure they’d be alone for their talk. He had also recced the building for security cameras.

Carter stood at the door, his key in the lock, as Tom came towards him. He was in his early forties, balding, but his hair was an unnatural jet black; his fierce little eyes had flabby bags under them. His thin beige raincoat hung off him and his shoulders had the droop of a man who spent a lot of time at a desk, carrying too much around in his head.

Tom pressed the Glock into his right kidney.

‘Hey, what is this?’

‘It’s a gun. Let’s go inside, Dean.’ He gave him a shove so that he stumbled into the room, then quietly closed the door; no need to disturb the neighbours. It was stifling inside. There would be an AC unit but they tended to be noisy.

He indicated the balcony doors.

‘Open them, just a little. Then sit down on the sofa. If you try to make any kind of noise I’ll kill you.’

His flat, quiet tone seemed to get the message across. Carter slid the glass door open, then sat.

‘Okay, if it’s cash, you’re wasting your time, and there’s nothing of value here.’

‘Dean, listen to me. Do I look or sound like I’m interested in your crap? Why don’t you use some of that special-agent intuition and try to work out why I am here?’

Carter turned his palms skywards; he couldn’t work it out.

‘Okay. Just answer a few questions honestly – that means without lying to me – and we’ll get this over with.’