‘You sure that’s all?’ said Anni. ‘Anything else you can tell us about her?’
The farmer’s wife stared at the screen, trying to dredge up some memory that would help. Anni had found this a lot with witnesses. They wanted to feel involved, part of the investigation. They wanted to impart some knowledge that would be pivotal, that could crack the case. Something no one else had spotted, something unique. But the woman couldn’t do it.
Probably because there wasn’t anything more there.
‘How did she seem to you?’ asked Mickey.
‘Just like she looks on there,’ said the farmer’s wife. ‘Wanted to pay and get away, as quickly as possible.’
‘Which way was she headed?’ asked Anni. ‘Towards Colchester or towards Braintree?
The woman thought again. Trying hard to be helpful. Eventually shaking her head. ‘Colchester, I think.’
‘Can we see it again, please?’ said Anni.
The farmer’s wife rewound the tape. They watched Marina queue up, tapping one foot in impatience. They saw her look round, anxiety in her face. At one point she stared directly into the camera.
‘Pause it,’ said Mickey.
The woman did as he asked. Mickey and Anni both studied the blurred image.
‘What’s she doing?’ said Anni. ‘Is she … D’you think she knows she’s being watched?’
‘I think she does, yeah,’ he said. ‘She knows she’s on CCTV.’ He turned to the farmer’s wife. ‘Play it forward a few frames.’
She did so. They watched as Marina seemed to stare right into the lens. She looked apologetic, beaten. Then she paid.
‘That’s that, then,’ said Mickey, sitting back.
‘Keep watching,’ said Anni. ‘There’s something … ’
Marina had bought a pack of mints. They watched her take one, then, when the farmer’s wife wasn’t looking, screw the wrapper up and drop it on the floor.
‘Nice,’ said Anni.
Then she was out of the shop and on her way.
They both sat back. Looked at each other.
They fired a few more questions at the farmer’s wife, but it was clear to both of them that the woman had told them everything she could. Mickey left his card with her in case anything else occurred to her. They thanked her for her time, drove off.
‘Well, that was less than helpful,’ said Mickey.
‘What did you expect? She clearly doesn’t want to be found. For whatever reason.’
They drove towards Colchester. Mickey checked his watch.
‘Nearly knocking-off time. We’ve got no more leads, no other jobs we should be doing. I reckon we should head for home.’
‘Reckon you’re right,’ said Anni. ‘We’re about to hit overtime. Franks wouldn’t like that.’
They drove on in silence. Anni eventually spoke. ‘So, you got any plans for tonight?’
‘Me? Nah. Nothing special.’
‘Really?’ There was a playful edge to Anni’s voice. ‘Not rushing off to Ipswich to see your cowgirl DS?’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
From the side, Anni could see that Mickey was reddening. His driving had speeded up too.
‘I told you,’ he said, feeling he ought to explain more, ‘there’s nothing in it. Not on my part, anyway.’
‘Good,’ said Anni. ‘Glad to hear it.’
‘Yeah?’ he said.
‘Yeah.’ Anni smiled. Moved towards him. ‘In that case, if you’ve got nothing special on tonight and you’re not after her, why not come back to mine?’
The expression on Mickey’s face, thought Anni, was priceless.
45
The pain was excruciating. The Golem sank to his knees, clutching his torn arm with his good hand. He wanted to black out. He wanted it to stop.
But he knew he could have neither.
Closing his eyes, focusing on finding a still point, removing the pain from his mind wasn’t an option. If he closed his eyes, even for a second, his quarry might escape. And he couldn’t allow that. So he had to give himself the mental and emotional equivalent of a field dressing. Attempt to block it out as much as possible and keep going.
He struggled to his feet, took a couple of deep breaths. Tried to stop his head from spinning. Concentrate on his task. He was a soldier. He was being paid to deliver a service.
So do it, he told himself.
The Golem resumed his walk towards the house. He saw the figure through the window, panicking, hurrying to disconnect a laptop and other electronic items. He watched as the figure gave up on the wires, bundling everything together and just making for the door, laptop under his arm.
The Golem would be ready for him.
He increased his speed, breathing heavily each time his booted feet thudded on the ground. Reached the door of the house. Tried it. Locked.
Of course.
Clutching his arm, he tried to move quickly round the side of the house, stop his target from leaving that way. He found him exiting by the dog kennels. The man stopped, stared at him. Face illuminated by fear.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘you … you don’t have to do this … ’
The Golem said nothing. Just stood there waiting for the man to make a move.
The man had the laptop under one arm, gripping it hard, clutching it against his body. His other hand was hidden. He looked like he was torn between running and fighting.
Fight or flight. The Golem knew that feeling well. He had lost count of the times he had come up against someone, had to anticipate which way they would go. Had to be ready if they did either.
The Golem said nothing. Usually his silence unnerved opponents; this time it was out of necessity. He didn’t have the energy to speak as well as move. Didn’t trust his mouth not to scream if he opened it.
‘I’m going to have money soon. Lots of money … ’ the man continued. ‘I can give you … half. You want half?’
No response.
‘Whatever, then. Whatever you want. As much as you want. Please … please don’t … ’ The man edged forward slightly, eyes pleading. ‘Don’t kill me … ’
The Golem stood his ground. The man, shoulders hunched, body imploring, moved towards him.
‘Please … ’
The Golem let him come. Made his job easier.
The man drew near. When he reached arm’s length, his left hand appeared from behind his back. He was holding a huge kitchen knife. His eyes glittered and he brought it forward, straight towards the Golem’s chest. He screamed as he lunged.
Last reserves of adrenalin kicking in, the Golem pivoted, moving his torso away from the blade. It struck him in the arm — his right arm — slicing along his bicep, sticking in. More pain.
His assailant quickly pulled it out, jabbed and slashed again. The Golem felt his arm being cut, sliced. His head swirled as the pain increased. He was staggering, about to black out.
His attacker sensed victory. The Golem could see it in his eyes. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Wouldn’t allow it to happen.
The man took another swing with the blade. It connected with the Golem’s right side. He stuck the blade in hard. His eyes blazed. He couldn’t believe he was winning.
The Golem had to do something. He had to turn the situation into an opportunity. He moved in close to his assailant, trying to ignore the feel of razor-sharp metal being pushed further into his body as he did so.
He reached out his right hand. Took his attacker by the throat.
His opponent knew immediately what was happening. What the Golem was doing to him. He tried to wriggle out of the grip, push his body away from the attack. Couldn’t. Even though the Golem’s grip was weaker than usual, it was still stronger than most people’s.