Jamie opens an immense steel refrigerator and takes out a small bottle of Evian. He smiles as he twists the cap and hands the bottle across.

‘Aren’t you having one?’ she asks.

He shakes his head.

‘You didn’t answer my question,’ he says.

Archer’s hand tightens around the plastic bottle.

‘We have a lead on the killer.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes. Oliver Merrick. Has a string of paedophile offences. The team are rounding him up now.’

‘That’s great. And you think he is the culprit?’

Archer’s mouth is dry. She takes a swig of the cold water.

‘No. I don’t.’

Jamie folds his arms. ‘I see. Why is that?’

Archer takes out her phone. ‘One of the killer’s burner phones was activated not long ago. We traced it to this location.’

‘You think Oliver Merrick is here for me?’

Archer swallows and takes out her phone. She still has the number of the burner phone stored on it. She calls it.

Jamie’s eyes flicker to her phone.

Archer dials the number.

Silence as the call connects.

From inside the garage she hears the phone ringing.

Their eyes lock.

His red eyes flare and in that instant, she sees him for what he is.

Her heart jumps. She has been in the lair of a monster before. She knows that she has to do something quickly. But before she can do anything he charges at her and slams her head against the wall. She grunts and stumbles sideways, reaching for the worktop as the glittering kitchen begins to swim. She wants to run like she did from Bernard Morrice all those years ago. But she has no strength, she feels herself falling and then loses consciousness.

Chapter 50

50

DESPITE HIS WEAK, ACHING BODY Jordan forces himself to a sitting position and listens as footsteps move with a purpose across the ceiling. Back and forth, back and forth. He trembles and wonders if it’s the man. It has to be, but perhaps, just perhaps, it’s someone else. Someone good, someone kind.

He tries to call out but his voice is little more than a croak.

He hears music. Classical music. He recalls Ben said something to him in his dream, but his thoughts are jumbled as he tries to remember.

He can’t think what it was.

Moments pass, he isn’t sure how long. It could have been five minutes or an hour. Or a day.

The music is still playing and he can hear faint voices. A man’s voice. A woman’s too.

‘Mum? No, she’s . . .’ He can’t bring himself to say it.