I — we … Self-correction. Gave too much of herself away with the first word. She’s on her own. Her partner — in crime or whatever respect — is gone. Marina had seen the body. But the caller still wanted to give the impression that there was more than one of her. That she wasn’t doing this alone. Was that because she wanted to seem more powerful? Or did she just miss him?
Want you to do the job still. Want you to do the job still … She ran the words in her head. The phrase seemed simple enough on first hearing, but again it was revealing of itself. The phrasing was haphazard, the sentence structure poor. Indicative of a disordered mind.
Marina tried to add everything up. She had a woman who was losing the stomach for her actions but who nevertheless wanted things to be finished the way she had planned. A woman who was missing her partner. A woman who wasn’t stable to begin with and whose mind was now slipping into dangerous territory. Something to work with.
‘Listen,’ said Marina, in her professional, compassionate voice. ‘We can end this now. You can end this now. Just give me Josephina back and that will be that.’
A sigh from the other end of the phone, then silence.
Marina pressed on. ‘Look. I know you’re finding this hard. Very hard. Especially on your own. Especially with what happened to … your partner. That must have been awful for you.’ No response. She weighed something up in her mind. Yes. Kept going. ‘I know what it’s like to lose a partner. Like a part of your heart has been taken away. Part of yourself. And you feel … like you’re never going to be whole again.’ She tried to keep her voice even. Tried not to think of Phil.
She became aware of Sandro beside her, listening intently.
‘But you also feel you have to keep going. Because if you don’t, then … it’s all been for nothing.’ She waited, let the words sink in. ‘It’s a bad time. A hell of a bad time. But I can help you too. If you’d let me.’
‘How?’ The voice dead, monotone.
‘Because that’s what I do. That’s my job.’
Silence returned to the other end of the line. In the background, Marina could make out a girl’s voice.
‘Is that Josephina? Is she there?’
‘Yes,’ said the woman, in a tone Marina couldn’t read.
‘Put her on. Let me talk to her.’
More silence.
‘Please. I’m her mother. If you want this to end well, if you want me to help, put her on.’
There were sounds from the other end that Marina couldn’t read. Scraping, movement. Then a small voice on the phone.
‘Hello.’
Marina felt her defences begin to crumble. She tried to hold herself together. ‘Hello, darling. It’s Mummy. Are you OK?’
‘Home … Home … ’
‘I’m coming to get you very soon, darling.’ Marina forced back the sudden tears that sprang into her eyes. ‘Very soon. It won’t be long now.’
‘Want Mummy. Daddy. Home.’
‘I know, baby. Are you OK? They haven’t … haven’t hurt you?’
‘Want Lady.’
Marina felt her heart break. ‘You’ll get Lady. Don’t worry. I’ve got her.’
‘When—’
The phone was snatched away from her.
‘Josie? Josie?’
‘You’ve said enough.’ The woman was back. Her voice more together now. Less penetrable. ‘You know I’ve still got her. And you know what you have to do to get her back.’
‘And I’ll do it. Then I’ll get my daughter back and it’ll all be over. OK?’
‘Yes.’
Marina was about to speak again. She felt Sandro tugging at her sleeve. Her first instinct was to ignore him, but he was insistent. She turned. He was thrusting a piece of paper at her. She took it. Looked at it.
‘Where the bout’s on,’ he said, keeping his voice low. ‘Tonight. Arrange to meet her there.’
Marina was about to dismiss the idea out of hand, but stopped herself. It wasn’t a bad idea. There would be plenty of people, the woman wouldn’t be tempted to do anything rash in such a crowd, and Marina would have Sandro as backup. Not perfect, but the best that she could hope for.
‘We’ll meet tonight,’ she said, voice as strong as she could make it. ‘I’ve got a location.’
‘I’ll choose the location,’ said the woman.
‘Yeah. You haven’t got a very good track record of this, have you? I’ll choose. There won’t be any police there, I promise.’
‘How do I know?’
‘Because when I tell you what it is and where it’s at, you’ll understand. There’s a bare-knuckle boxing match going on tonight.’ She read from the paper Sandro had given her. ‘Leeson’s Farm. Near Manningtree. On the Roman Road. I’ve got directions if you need them.’
‘I’ll find it.’
‘Good.’
‘This is your last chance. You got that? You try to mess me about, do anything other than what you’ve said you’ll do, try to get out of what you’ve agreed, and you’ll never see your daughter again. Got it?’
‘Got it. And by the way,’ said Marina. She felt the anger rising in her once more, but this time made no attempt to stop it. ‘You do anything to my daughter, and I will kill you with my bare hands. As slowly as possible.’
The phone went dead.
Marina sat back. Drained. Sandro came and sat next to her. Smiled at her.
‘Well done, girl,’ he said. ‘We’ll make an Esposito out of you yet.’
71
Tyrell looked at Amy. She had changed since the phone call. And he didn’t know if it was for the better.
She was standing on her own, looking down at the ground, the phone hanging loose in one hand, the gun in the other. Her mouth was moving, talking to someone who wasn’t there. She began to move around, taking small steps as she spoke, completely unaware that the other two were there.
Tyrell thought this was his chance. He could run for it. Take Josephina and go. Leave Amy to whatever was in her head. He gathered the little girl next to him. Looked round for a way out. There was forest on all sides. He could just pick her up and run. Any direction, didn’t matter. The woman was probably too far gone inside her own head to notice.
‘Mummy … ’ Josephina was looking upset again. He hated to see her looking upset.
‘Yes, Josephina. I’ll take you to see your mummy.’
And he was ready to go.
But something stopped him. Something nagged at him about Amy. She had looked familiar when she got close up to him. He still didn’t know who she was or how he knew her, but there was definitely something familiar about her.
The eyes. That was what did it. The eyes.
He knew them but he didn’t. Couldn’t explain why. Or how. Her eyes. And something else. When she had got mad with him before, got angry. That was familiar too.
He couldn’t place it. The memory was just out of reach in his mind. When he tried to grab it, it slipped away like smoke.
He watched her some more. Tried to see her eyes, but her head was down.
It was like watching a ghost. He remembered a comic he used to read when he was little. An American comic that he wasn’t supposed to have because it belonged to the boy he’d been told to call brother. Deadman. That was the name of the character. Deadman. He had a bald head, a white face, black eyes and a red acrobat’s costume, and there was something about him that Tyrell had loved. Deadman was, as his name suggested, dead. But he could make his spirit live by putting it into other people’s bodies. And then he would have adventures. When Tyrell looked at Amy now, that was what he saw. Deadman. A spirit living in someone else’s body.
He just didn’t know whose spirit it was.