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Chapters (45)
  1. The Man With No Face
  2. Also by
  3. Title
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. Contents
  8. INTRODUCTION
  9. CHAPTER ONE
  10. CHAPTER TWO
  11. CHAPTER THREE
  12. CHAPTER FOUR
  13. CHAPTER FIVE
  14. CHAPTER SIX
  15. CHAPTER SEVEN
  16. CHAPTER EIGHT
  17. CHAPTER NINE
  18. CHAPTER TEN
  19. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  20. CHAPTER TWELVE
  21. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  22. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  23. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  24. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  25. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  26. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  27. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  34. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  35. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  36. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  37. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  43. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  44. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  45. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

The whisky burned his throat this time, and he felt his tears hot on the cool skin of his cheeks.

*

Bannerman could not have said how long he had been dozing, but it felt like forever. His jacket lay in a crumpled heap on the floor and there were only three fingers of gold left in the whisky bottle. He was lying face down on the settee, one arm hanging over the side so that his fingers trailed loosely on the carpet. He did not hear the bell, and it took several minutes before the hammering on the door forced its way through the undulating folds of sleep and alcohol.

Slowly he pulled himself up into a seated position and tried to wipe the sleep from his eyes. He was still drunk and found it difficult to focus on his watch.

‘Christ,’ he groaned. It was after two. A fist hammered again at the door. ‘Just a minute!’ he shouted, and his head felt like it had been split by an axe. He made his way unsteadily through the hall and opened the door. Du Maurier pushed his way in and switched on a light. Bannerman blinked blindly.

‘Get yourself sober,’ the policeman said. ‘We’re going for a drive.’

‘What the fuck . . .’ Bannerman heard his own voice slurring in the half-light.

Du Maurier gripped his arm firmly and pulled him into the bathroom, filled a toothglass with cold water and threw it in Bannerman’s face. Bannerman tried to swing at him, but the policeman caught his fist and held it fast. ‘Take a cold shower. I’ll wait for you downstairs.’

When Bannerman came down ten minutes later the world was still swimming, but he was sober enough to realize that du Maurier must have a damn good reason for dragging him out at two in the morning. He slipped into the passenger seat and du Maurier turned his car away from the kerb.

‘Where are we going?’ The car drifted noiselessly through dark, deserted streets. ‘It’s not Tania . . .?’

‘No, it’s not. We’ll be there soon.’

They stopped outside a dark, anonymous building, with only the odd light burning in windows rising through two storeys. Du Maurier took him by the arm and they climbed steps into a dingy reception hall, before descending to the basement in an elevator. Light shone through the windows of double doors at the end of a long gloomy corridor. Du Maurier propelled him towards the light, and Bannerman screwed up his eyes as they pushed through swing doors into a large, white-tiled room. The stink of formalin filled his nostrils and did more to sober him up than any amount of cold water. A man in a white coat leaned out from an adjoining room and nodded them through.