I hung up, then made my way through the passage which ran through the centre of the building, emerging onto the broad walkway next to the Thames. A filthy, ragged pigeon swooped down in front of me, almost touching my head with its wings, so I batted it away and crossed to the river wall to wait.
Melissa called back after six minutes.
“He’s in my apartment,” she said. “Or his phone is, anyway. And he must be in trouble, to have spun me a line I was bound to see through straight away.”
“Agreed,” I said.
“We’ve got to help him. Can we risk the police?”
“No. There’s no time. And it’s too dangerous. Whoever’s behind this clearly has a finger in your pie, and we don’t know how many others. We’ll take care of this another way.”
“How?”
“I’m a hundred yards from your building. Leave it to me.”
“No. Wait. I’m already in a cab. I’ll be there in three minutes. Four at the most. And I have a key.”
“OK. I’ll keep an eye on things till you get here. We don’t want him being carted off anywhere else.”
“Good thinking. And David?”
“Yes?”
“I know how this must look. Thanks for not jumping to conclusions.”
Little did she know I’d jumped to lots of conclusions, recently. And none of them good.
I switched my phone to silent, put it back in my pocket, and then spent the next two minutes surveying the immediate area for anyone else who could be watching the door to Melissa’s building. I couldn’t identify anyone at ground level, but there were plenty of places in the surrounding apartments and offices that would offer excellent cover. There was no way to check them in the time I had available, though. And no way to reach them without taking my own eyes off the entrance. So I contented myself with finding a spot in the shelter of the steps that led up to the higher level of boutiques around the base of the Tower, and remaining as vigilant as possible.
Melissa’s cab arrived after another two minutes. She jumped out, paid the driver, and started to hurry across the twenty yards of cobblestones between the road and her building. Her black wool coat was cinched in tight around her waist, and the heels she was wearing - chosen with a day in the office in mind, I guessed - emphasised the delicately defined muscles in her calves. They did nothing for her ability to move quickly over such a slippery surface, though.
I waited till I was sure no one was following, then stepped out into the open and made my way across to join her. She saw me coming and paused a few feet from the door, her key already in her hand.
A gaggle of teenagers pushed past us in the main lobby, but we made it the rest of the way to Melissa’s corridor without seeing anyone else. The door to her apartment was closed, but before we were within fifteen feet of the place we could tell it wasn’t deserted. Because we could hear voices from inside. Men’s. Two of them. And neither of them were Jones’s.
Melissa held up her hand to stop me outside the apartment, then cupped it to her ear to indicate she was listening to them.
“Here’s some free advice,” a man said. “Don’t try and be a hero. There’s no point. No one’s going to thank you for it. You know why? Cause they’ll be dead.”
“We’re going to find them,” a second man said. “Whether you tell us, or someone else does. The outcome’s going to be the same. The only thing to decide is how much pain you’re going to bring on yourself.”
“We’ll put it out there that we had to torture you for hours, if you want,” the first man said. “Just tell us. Where did Trevellyan go?”
There was silence for a moment, then the sound of a fist crashing into a jawbone.
“The woman will tell us, if you don’t,” the second man said. “She’s next on our list.”
“Right,” the first man said. “Maybe you should just keep quiet. We’d have much more fun working on her. Much more options, with a woman. More than just a punch bag, like you.”
“And we won’t even have to go looking for her,” the second man said. “She’ll just come walking on in here, all on her own.”
“Do you know what we’ll do to her, when she gets here, If you haven’t already told us?” the first man said. “Maybe we should keep you alive, so you can watch.”
“Memories like that should be shared,” the second man said. “They’re too good to keep to yourself. You know we’d have to tape it.”
“And post it on the web,” the first man said.
“All the pain and humiliation she’s going to suffer?” the second man said. “You’ll know you caused that. And you’ll know you could have saved her, just by telling us one thing.”
Melissa switched her keys into her left hand, and drew her Sig. Then she turned to me and mouthed, on five.
“David Trevellyan,” the second man said. “Where is he?”
Four.
There was another moment of silence, and the sound of another blow.
Three. I drew my Beretta.
“Tell us, and we’ll stop this,” the first man said. “We’ll stop hurting you, while you can still see, and you’ve still got some teeth. And we won’t hurt her, either.”
Two.
“What are you waiting for?” the second man said. Tell us now. Stop all this pointless pain. Save yourself. Give us Trevellyan.”
One.
“Do it,” the first man said. “Trevellyan didn’t come back and help you, did he? You owe it to yourself. Give him up. Tell us where he is.”
Melissa nodded to me, then with one fluid move she slipped her key into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door away from her. I stepped through into the apartment and moved to my left, covering the guy standing nearer to Jones, who was tied to a wooden dining chair in the centre of the room. Melissa followed me in, and moved to her right.
“Are you looking for me?” I said. “Because if you are, I’m right here. You can leave my friend alone, now.”
The guy I was covering started to turn towards me, raising a Smith and Wesson. The other spun round the opposite way and lunged at Melissa.
“Stop,” I said. “Drop it.”
My guy froze, half way round, and let his gun clatter harmlessly to the floor. The other one, though, wasn’t so sensible. He was about six two and broad in the shoulder, so maybe he fancied his chances against a woman. Or maybe he had a death wish. But either way, he took two rapid strides towards Melissa. I expected her to shoot him on the spot, but she actually lowered her Sig. She waited till he was four feet away from her. Then she stepped diagonally to her right and unleashed a tremendous forearm smash directly to the guy’s face. Both his feet left the floor and he crashed down backwards, completely poleaxed. But Melissa wasn’t finished. She lifted her leg and drove her foot down towards his head. I thought she was going for his throat, like I’d done to the guy who’d attacked me in that same room, earlier. But when I saw the prolonged spasm rip through this guy’s body, I realised she’d taken a different option. I looked more closely, and saw it wasn’t one that was open to me. She’d driven the heel of her shoe straight through his left eye and, if there was much of one there, into his brain.