‘Shit!’ He jumped up, picked his way carefully to the door and switched on the lights. He blinked as they came on, bright and harsh – the light he liked to paint by at night. He felt dirty all over. Filthy. Dirt in every pore of his skin trying, like the guilt, to worm inside him.

‘Get off!’ he shouted, shaking his arms, shaking his whole body.

He hurried down to their bedroom, through into the bathroom and stripped off all his clothes, letting them fall in a heap on the floor – they’d not yet unpacked the laundry basket, wherever it might be. Opening the glass door of the shower, he switched on the rain shower head, which was the size of a dinner plate, adjusted the temperature until it felt right, then went in.

For several minutes he stood still, gratefully feeling the powerful, cleansing needles of water on his skin before stepping back. As the water tumbled in front of him, he rubbed shampoo into his hair and soaped, scrupulously, every part of his body. He stepped back under the water, rinsed it all off, then repeated the process.

All the time thinking.

No one from the police had called him back.

I need to phone them again.

It can wait until tomorrow.

Can it?

It had to.

Phoning them now would change nothing. But if he didn’t deliver the sketch in time for Christmas, that would be a catastrophe, letting someone down and almost certainly losing himself an important client.

No disrespect, Mr Skiver.

Then he shuddered at the image he could not get out of his mind.

The torso dangling from the jaws of the grab bucket. The man’s legs twitching.

The hard hat falling. Bouncing.

The severed head tipping out of it.

Shampoo went into his eyes, stinging them. He closed them tightly and turned his face upwards until it was all washed away. Tentatively, he moved out of the jet and opened his eyes. To his relief, the stinging had lessened. Again, he applied more shower gel and repeated the careful soaping, before going back under the jet.

A second later the water suddenly, without warning, turned glacial. He stepped sharply back, in shock, half opening his eyes, which were hurting like crazy again. He reached forward and pressed the red button on the control panel, holding his hand until he felt the water warming up, then stepped back under the powerful stream of water, raising his face again.

It started getting colder. The temperature plunging. So cold it was hurting.

Shit! He stepped back, rapidly. Opened his eyes.

And saw a woman’s face pressed against the steamed-up door.

The woman in the black suit.

42

Monday 17 December

Startled, Jason stepped back in shock, slipped and fell, bashing the rear of his head against the far wall of the shower.

Numbingly cold water stung his skin as he lay, dazed, for some moments, before crying out in pain and rolling sideways on the slippery shower tray, out of the water jet. He lay there, still very dazed, staring up at the door.