There's a knock on the door. Adine stands up, looking puzzled, and goes over to answer it. She speaks briefly to the person on the other side of the door, but I can't hear what he or she's saying. Then she turns to me.
'I'll be back in a few minutes.'
While she's gone, I pace the room like a caged animal. I think about Alannah and her role in this, but I can't even mention her name to the police without further incriminating myself. And if she is this mysterious contract killer, Alannah won't be her real name, and her address in Kilburn will almost certainly throw up no clues. She will have left no trace of her existence. Just as Leah didn't. She will have simply disappeared into thin air, and without Lucas to help me find her, I'll be clutching uselessly at shadows.
Lucas. My old friend. His death has hit me hard, perhaps even harder than Leah's. It's left me with an empty feeling in my gut. I'm depressed and I'm tired. Worse still, I'm alone.
The door opens, and Adine re-enters the room. I try to read the expression on her face. It's not easy, but I get the feeling it's bad news.
She stops in front of me, sighs audibly and says, 'I can't believe it.'
'What?'
'All the time I've known you, Tyler, you've always managed to land on your feet.'
I think about my current predicament. 'I wouldn't go that far.'
'I would,' she says, an uncertain smile spreading across her rouged lips. 'They're releasing you on bail.' Saturday
38
It's still warm when we walk out of the front entrance of the station, and the sounds of the city feel sharp and clear in my ears after my period of incarceration.
'I don't know how we managed it,' says Adine, and there's an element of disbelief in her voice as well as pride.
'It must be your talents as a lawyer,' I tell her.
'Maybe,' she says, looking at me, 'but I'd watch yourself, Tyler. We need to find out who's behind this, but don't go doing anything stupid like taking the law into your own hands. The important thing for now is just to stay out of trouble.'
I smile. I'm so relieved at leaving custody that I feel light-headed suddenly. 'Don't worry about me, Adine. I'll be on my best behaviour.'
'And don't forget, you have to report back here at nine o'clock Monday morning. It's almost certain that they're going to want to question you again. If that happens, call me and don't say a word until I get here. In the meantime, I'll send you a bill.'
'I don't get it free?' I say, grinning. 'Not even for old times' sake?'
'I'm doing it for old times' sake,' she answers, without smiling, 'but the old times weren't so good that you can avoid paying for my services. I've got a lot better things to do with my life now than spend it bailing out ex-husbands who've got themselves into trouble.' She looks at her watch. 'Well, it's a quarter past twelve, so I don't think there's much point in resurrecting my date. Do you need a lift somewhere?'
'Would you mind driving me home?' The thing I need most is sleep.
Adine's driving an Audi A4 convertible. I ask her what happened to the BMW she received as part of our divorce settlement.
'I fancied a change,' she says as we drive onto the Marylebone Road heading east.
'Removing all traces of me, eh?'
She gives me a sideways look. 'Don't flatter yourself, Tyler. I moved on a long time ago.'
'Thanks,' I say, staring out of the window, caught out by the barbed nature of her words.
'Oh, stop feeling so bloody sorry for yourself,' she snaps. 'You moved on while we were still married. It was like living with a ghost.'
'What the hell's that supposed to mean?'
'You know exactly what it means. Perhaps if you took more notice of what goes on around you, things wouldn't be so bad. The problem with you is you're so damn selfish. You pick people up and you drop them. You fall in love with every girl who walks into your life.'
'That's not true.'
'Yes it is. You fall in love, and then the love just fades because basically you can't handle it. I don't know if it was the army that did it, the fact that you were always moving on from one posting to another, but it turned you into a really, really difficult person to relate to.'
I feel a sense of deja vu. This argument has blown up out of nowhere, just as they used to when we were married. The lights of the city pass intermittently across her face, giving me glimpses of what I see as a hard, triumphant expression, and I feel a surge of bitterness.
'You weren't exactly easy yourself,' I say, my voice loud in the confines of the car. 'All you've ever cared about is your bloody work. Nothing else.'
Immediately, I regret my words. I know I'm being massively unfair on her, particularly given the way she was there for me tonight, but it's too late.
The car stops at traffic lights, and she turns furiously in her seat. 'You bastard. You're so damn holier than thou, aren't you? Why don't you try looking in the mirror for once? Go on, try it. Because if you like what you see, you'll be the only one who does.' She shakes her head with a potent combination of rage and pity. 'You know how much you always talked about all that camaraderie in the army, about how you made those friendships for life? How you'd do anything for your mates? Well, tell me, Tyler, how many times did you visit your so-called brothers in arms when they were in prison? Even though they were only there because they were trying to avenge what happened to you. How many times, eh? In three, four years? None. That's how fucking many.'
She stops as suddenly as she began, and an oppressive silence falls in the car. I never realized how strongly she felt. It's a real surprise.
Unfortunately, it's not as much of a surprise as the revelation that she knows I never visited any of the five men court-martialled for the pub attack.
You see, I never told her this. In fact, quite the reverse. I lied to her when she asked me about it once, saying I'd visited all of them at least once, and in some cases more than once, and the reason I'd lied was to alleviate the guilt I felt for not having done so.
In all the time we were married, I never kept in touch with any of those five men. The last I saw of Harry Foxley was at his acquittal party. I think, in fact, it was the last time I saw any of them.
So, how the hell does she know?
The lights turn green, and Adine pulls away.
'I didn't tell you I never went to visit those guys,' I say eventually, without looking at her.
There's another long pause.
'I know you didn't,' she says quietly. Her earlier anger's evaporated.
'How do you know, Adine? Who told you I never went to see them?'
'Harry Foxley.'
'But you haven't seen Harry-' I begin, but even before I finish the sentence I know I'm almost certainly wrong.
'I'm sorry, Tyler. I didn't want you to find out this way.'
We may have been separated for more than two years, but it's still a body blow to hear those words. For a moment I even forget all my current woes. Instead, I remember that at one time I had honestly loved Adine, and that the real tragedy was that she didn't think I had. Even now, it's hard to think of someone else with her, particularly someone I once knew.
'Were you seeing him when you were seeing me?' I ask.
She shakes her head. 'No, I would never have done that.'
'So, it was afterwards?'
'Yes. He called me up out of the blue. He said he'd heard that we'd split up and he asked me out for dinner. We went out a couple of times and, you know, one thing led to another.'
'Yeah, I know. And not content with sleeping with my wife, the bastard took the time to bad-mouth me for not bringing him flowers and chocolate in the glasshouse.'