The pebble made a flat thud as it hit the taped window. There was a slight indentation at the point of impact but the glass itself remained fixed. He struck another three times while there was still enough noise from the aircraft to mask the sound. As it faded away, he stopped and waited another three minutes for a second plane to pass.
It took two more strikes with the pebble for the glass to slip from its frame, but it remained in one unshattered piece on account of the tape. Joe cautiously removed the glass, before crawling through the opening and gently laying it on the carpet inside. He listened hard for any sound of movement in the house. Nothing.
He needed to make sure this was the right place, so he stepped towards the mantelpiece where he could see the silhouettes of three framed pictures. At random, he selected the middle one. It was too dark to make out the details, so he stepped back to the French windows to take advantage of the moon. Now that he could see the photograph properly he inhaled sharply.
It was of him.
He looked so much younger. No frown lines on his forehead, no scars on his face. His skin looked less leathery, his frame less bulky. In his eyes there shone a quiet enthusiasm that he had not felt for years.
Joe was not alone in this picture. She was standing next to him, looking like she always had done in his mind. The girl next door. His best friend for so many years. Only he could see now what he’d never seen then. The way she had brushed up against him, the way she had leaned her head on his shoulder the way friends seldom did. Joe felt a pang of something like guilt, and the sickening image of Caitlin, bleeding and begging and dying, flashed across his eyes. He returned the picture to its place before creeping towards the door of the sitting room, then along the hallway and up the stairs.
He found her sleeping in a bedroom where the curtains were open a few inches. She stirred the moment he opened the door, rolling in her bed and muttering something under her breath. He recognized the voice. It was definitely her. Definitely Eva. Joe stood in the doorway, waiting for her to settle, but she didn’t. He could hear her teeth grinding, and remembered the way she used to do that whenever she was on edge. Whatever dream was troubling her continued to do so. It gave Joe no pleasure to realize that he now had to drag her into a waking nightmare. He clutched his scalpel once more and walked the few paces from the door to the bedhead.
His eyes were used to the darkness now, and in any case there was a thin shard of moonlight. He could make out the hair streaked sweatily across her face, and could see her lips moving silently.
And he saw her eyes suddenly open wide to stare up at him.
Her mouth opened to scream.
Joe moved like lightning. He slapped his left hand over her open mouth just in time to turn her scream into a mumble. He held the scalpel three inches from her eyes.
‘You see this?’ he whispered.
She nodded frantically, her eyes huge with terror.
‘It’s sharp enough to slit your throat with one cut. And that’s what’s going to happen if you make a sound, and unless you tell me who sent you to visit me in prison. Understood?’
Eva nodded again.
Slowly Joe loosened the grip on her mouth, but he kept his hand two inches above it and the scalpel just where it was. ‘Talk,’ he said.
‘How did you… ’
‘Who sent you?’
Her eyes were brimming with tears. That told Joe nothing. People cry when they’re falsely accused, but they also cry when they’re scared.
‘Nobody sent me. I told you. Joe… how did you get out?’
‘I’m asking the questions, Eva.’
‘I know you’re not going to hurt me, Joe.’ She was whispering. ‘And I know you didn’t hurt Caitlin. Let me sit up. Let me talk to you.’
Joe didn’t move. There was ten seconds of silence. And then: ‘I swear to God, Eva. You make a fucking sound, you’ll regret it.’
She swallowed hard, but nodded. Joe moved his hands back and she shuffled up to a sitting position.
‘Can we turn the light on?’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t know who’s watching.’
‘How did you get out?’ Eva pressed. ‘Did they give you bail?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘But you’re all wet… you smell like… Joe, I’m scared. What’s going on?’
She was scared. He could tell. But was she scared of him, or scared of someone else? And Joe had interrogated enough people to realize that if they didn’t want to tell you the truth, there was only one way to make them. Eva might not be lying to him. But equally, she might.
Moving fast, he put the scalpel on her beside table, grabbed her body and spun her round onto her front. He pressed her, face down, into the pillow and yanked her right arm up behind her back until he could feel the tendons reach straining point. He kept her in that position for a full ten seconds before speaking.
‘Who sent you? You’ve got five seconds to tell me before I break your arm.’
He yanked her head up by her hair and she gasped.
‘One,’ said Joe.
She inhaled again: half breath, half sob.
‘Two.’
‘Oh, God, please…’
‘Three.’
‘Nobody sent me…’
‘Four.’
‘What’s happened to you, Joe?’ Her voice was weak. Almost inaudible. ‘It’s me. It’s me!’
He didn’t reach five. Suddenly he saw himself, as though from outside his own body, torturing his oldest friend. Was this really him?
‘Joe… please…’
Slowly he released the pressure on her arm. She scrambled away from him to the other side of the bed. And the way she looked at him was like a knife twisting inside him. He felt himself screwing up his face as the agony in his mind became acute. Looking away, he caught sight of himself in a full-length mirror on a wardrobe beside the bed. The knife twisted further. He looked fucking demented. No wonder Eva was terrified.
Her breath was coming in short, shaky gasps, like a child unable to stop sobbing.
‘How… how did you get into my house?’
‘We can’t stay here,’ Joe interrupted. ‘They’ll know you visited me. It won’t take them long to come knocking.’
‘Who? Who’s “they”?’
It was a good question. Joe couldn’t answer it.
‘Joe, if you’re in trouble, maybe I can help?’ Her voice was very small.
‘Maybe.’ He stood up and walked to the other side of the room, where he peered out into the back garden between the gap in the curtains. A cat was drinking at the edge of the water feature. Other than that, nothing. He turned to look back at her. A thought had crystallized in his mind. What mattered now wasn’t whether he trusted Eva. It was whether she trusted him.
‘Get dressed,’ he said. ‘Quickly. Is there any money in the house?’
‘Next door… in the cash box on the table… It’s open…’
‘Do you have a weapon?’
She blinked in the darkness. ‘Of course not.’
Joe nodded and quickly left her to get dressed. He found the money – four £50 notes. Next to the box was a copy of The Times; it was the same one the lawyer had showed him in prison, open at the article about him.
Something else caught his attention. Through the thin curtains he could see the headlights of a vehicle parked outside. He pulled the curtains a centimetre apart, just enough to scope it out.
A black van. Registration: KT04 CDE.
“They” were here…