Karen shook her head. "Could be a straightforward war between the Turks and the Kurds."
I didn't think she was convinced by what she'd said, but I let it go. "We don't actually know that Sara's responsible for the crime-writer murders. The messages I got were signed Doctor Faustus and, at the start, Flaminio." She looked blank. "The revenger in Webster's play The White Devil."
"You don't seriously believe that someone else sent them?" Karen asked, her eyes wide.
"I'm not sure. There are some anomalies. For a start, Doctor Faustus and Flaminio are male characters."
"Big deal. Maybe she thinks she's her brother reincarnated."
That wasn't beyond the realms of possibility. "Then there's the fact that the last message header was thethirdisaman."
She squinted at me. "So?" "Think about it. The first victim was Mary Malone, the second Sandra Devonish-" "And the third, despite your cleverness, was indeed a man, Josh Hinkley. I still don't see what you're getting at." "Well, the overwhelming likelihood is that Sara murdered Dave." She nodded slowly. "Making Hinkley her fourth victim. Yes, but maybe she sees Dave's killing as separate." "So she has two death lists?" Karen frowned. "The second one consisting of?" "Me, my family and my friends. Probably including you." The last sentence slipped out before I could stop myself. "In fact," she said, with a tight smile, "your name will be on both lists." "On the other hand," I continued, eager to move on, "maybe Sara's only interested in me and my people." "But if it isn't her, who is it going after the crime writers? The officers who found Josh Hinkley's body said they smelled perfume in the air. Could it be another woman?" I looked at her. I should have asked more about Josh. Whatever he'd said about me, he didn't deserve to die the way he had. "Maybe the Satanism angle isn't so weird after all. Maybe some devil-worshipping female psycho has it in for crime writers." "I don't suppose you could suggest a name," she said drily. "You've got me there. But I'm working on it." "Spit it out, Matt. What are you planning?" I shook my head. "Need-to-know basis only, Karen. Remember how tight a rein her brother kept on me. She could nail me at any moment. That's why I'm armed. You might want to think about getting armed protection yourself."
"Why don't we apply for it together?" she said bitterly. "You're not going anywhere after what you've put me through these past days. I thought you loved me, Jesus, I thought I loved you. But at the first sign of danger, you run away and leave me in a shit storm."
I couldn't blame her for feeling that way, even though I hadn't felt able to act any differently. "I do love you, Karen," I said, trying to get her to look at me. "Part of the reason I went underground was that I didn't want you close if Sara got to me."
She glanced at me, then turned her head away. "You have no idea how much crap's been dumped over me because of our relationship. For Christ's sake, there are people in the Met who think you murdered the crime writers."
"Because of the notes fingering me? They smack of the White Devil-remember how he tried to frame me. That could mean Sara is behind the crime-writer murders, even if she isn't actually carrying them out herself."
She sat up. "You're the one who slept with her for a year, Matt. You must have some idea how her mind works. How are we going to catch her?"
I told her about Rog's campaign against Sara's wealth, and about the other properties my ex-lover had bought.
"We'll check them, but how likely is it she'll be there?"
"Someone was living in the Hackney flat and someone left that body in the Oxford house."
"It isn't very likely they'll go back to those places. Though, if you'd bothered to contact me earlier, we could have run surveillance operations. Tosser."
I deserved that for not keeping in touch. I could have texted her, but that would have done her no good if anyone in the Met had found out we were communicating.
I stood up.
"Where are you going?" she said, getting up and trying to block the door.
"Don't, Karen. You have to let me go. There are things you can't do. Ultimately, I'm the one Sara wants. You asked how we can catch her. I'm the answer to that. When she runs out of money, she'll come after me pronto. All I have to do is let her know where I'll be."
"Are you out of your mind?" she said, pounding her hands on my chest. "Can't you understand? I don't want anything to happen to you."
I put my arms around her. She resisted at first, but eventually she acquiesced. "I didn't say anything about letting Sara hurt me," I said. "What do you think I am? Some kind of hero?"
She laughed softly. "No. Some kind of man." She pulled away and looked at me. "A brave but headstrong one. If you get yourself killed, I'll." She let out a frustrated moan. "I'll move into your flat and throw all your CDs into the river."
"That's it then," I said, kissing her on the lips. "It's been nice knowing you." I turned away and headed for the front door.
She caught up with me as I was unfastening the chain. She held me close and kissed me. "Don't do anything that makes me cut you loose," she said softly. It was still a definite order.
I nodded, but didn't make a verbal commitment. Nailing Sara and the people she probably had working for her couldn't be done by observing the law. That way lay death, which wasn't in my diary for this or any other year soon.
I returned her kisses, then slipped into the early morning gloom.
The man in the white mask breathed in the smoke from the paltry offering. He patted the mandrill's head and then turned to the kneeling supplicant.
"Faustus, what else did you take from your victim that we can dedicate to the Lord Beneath the Earth?"
The naked man smiled. "Before I killed him, I made him transfer a million pounds to the account in Venezuela. The money will soon be at your disposal, Mephis- topheles."
"Untraceable?"
"You can be sure of that."
"Very good, Faustus." The masked man leaned closer. "You are doing well. We must consider who will be the next sacrifice."
The supplicant extended a hand toward Mephis- topheles' robes, but withdrew it when Beelzebub bared his fangs then snapped them shut.
"Be careful, my Faustus. You know how protective my familiar is."
"My apologies," the naked man said, lowering his head. "I wished to ask if you would permit me to decide on the identity of the next victim."
The man in the mask stepped back and looked around the large subterranean chamber. "Do you have someone in mind?" He raised his hand. "Don't tell me. Only make sure that the tribute to the Lord Beneath is substantial, Faustus."
It was cold, but the supplicant did not shiver. He was possessed by a fire that burned through his veins and made him more powerful than any man. Twenty-Three The Soul Collector was in position near the rendezvous point. She had been in the hide for four hours. She assumed the former SAS men had returned to their homes from Aberdeen as soon as they had been told about their missing family members. The details did not concern her. She had watched the television news the night before and in the morning. There had been no mention of the story. She knew that was because the men were intending to act themselves. She kept them on tenterhooks till midday.
At that time, the woman had called the man known as Wolfe-the lawyer she'd used to employ the trio had given her the number. She'd disguised herself on the only occasion she met the solicitor and the only address he had for her was in Madagascar, so the targets had no means of tracking her. But now there was no longer any need for self- effacement.
"This is Sara Robbins," she said, when he answered breathlessly. "The White Devil's sister."
"You have the three of them?" Wolfe said after a pause.