“Sit down,” Alex said. “Catch your breath. Cup of tea? Or a glass of wine?” She turned down the volume on the television, assuming this visit wouldn’t last long and she could get back to her program. TV helped her forget her problems for a while, and she felt exhausted with worry about Michael since DI Cabbot’s visit. She also felt apprehensive about Meadows calling by so late. Had something happened to Michael? Had he done something wrong?
“Just some water, thanks,” Meadows said, patting his chest. “I’ll be fine in a minute.”
Alex brought him some water, poured herself a small glass of white wine and perched at the edge of her chair. “What is it?” she asked. “Have you found out something?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We were wondering if Mr. Lane has been in touch with you at all.”
“Mr. Lane? Do you mean Frank Lane?”
“Michael Lane.”
“Michael. I see. No, he hasn’t. I was hoping you’d be able to tell me something about him.”
“Well, we don’t know anything yet, you see, love. That’s the problem.”
“Problem?”
“Yes.” He scratched his scalp. “It’s rather delicate. We’d like to talk to him—urgently, as it happens—and we thought that if he went anywhere, it would be to you, or if he got in touch with anyone, it would be you.”
“I’ve been here all day, except when I went to pick Ian up from school, and I haven’t seen or heard a thing from him. I wish I had. I’m still worried sick.”
“I can understand that,” Meadows said. “But you have to see it from our point of view. I mean, people aren’t always, they don’t always come clean with the police.”
“Are you suggesting I’m lying?”
“We wouldn’t blame you for protecting him, love. We understand. We get that a lot. Only natural, after all. People care about one another.”
“Protecting him? From what? I reported him missing. I don’t understand this. I asked you lot to find him.”
“Now hang on a minute, miss—”
“Don’t you ‘miss’ me. And you can knock it off with the ‘love,’ too. Have you found him or haven’t you?”
“Well, obviously we haven’t, or I wouldn’t be here asking you where he was, would I?”
“It’s not obvious to me. For all I know, you could be holding him in a cell and not telling me.”
“Why would we do that?”
“I’ve no idea. I just wouldn’t put it past you, that’s all. It’s the sort of thing the police do.”
“You don’t have a very high opinion of us, do you?”
“What does it matter what opinion I have of you? I want you to find my Michael. What do you want? Why are you here?”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, love—”
Alex jumped to her feet. She spilled some wine on her T-shirt. “What did you say? What did you say? Get out of here. Go on. Get out. If you’ve nothing to tell me about what’s happened to Michael, get the hell out. And before you go, show me that identification card again. I want your details. I’m going to make a complaint against you.”
Meadows stood up and pushed her back down with surprising speed, then he sat down again himself, leaned back in the armchair and smiled. It was a chilling smile, Alex felt, revealing crooked, stained teeth, the incisors just a little larger than normal, like a vampire’s. It was a cynical, arrogant and cruel smile, and it sent a shiver up her spine. The mask was off.
“You’re not a policeman at all, are you?” she said.
“And I was hoping we could deal with this in a civilized manner,” Meadows went on. “It seems not.” He cracked his knuckles. “No matter. What I want to know from you is where Michael Lane is hiding.”
“Hiding? Why should he be hiding?”
“Never you mind. Just tell me what I want to know, and I’ll be on my way.”
“I’ve told you, I don’t know where he is.” Alex’s mind was racing around, trying to think of some way of getting rid of him, or of incapacitating him while she called for help.
He clasped his hands on his lap. Their backs were covered in thick reddish hair. “It seems we’re at an impasse, then.”
Alex remembered that her mobile was in her handbag on the bed. If she could just get to it, make a 999 call . . . “Look,” she said. “I need to go to the toilet. I won’t be a minute.”
He scanned the room, then said, “All right. I’ll wait.”
Everyone knew these flats had only one way in and out.
Alex slipped into her bedroom. If she could only dial 999 before he guessed what she was up to, she would be safe. They could probably trace the call if she just left the line open. Her hands were shaking as she took the mobile out of her handbag in the dark room, then headed toward the toilet. Then she felt his presence looming over her. She hadn’t heard him, but there he was, standing in the hall, leaning against the wall, arms folded. “The toilet’s over there, I think,” he said, pointing.
As she moved toward the door, he said, “What’s that in your hand?”
“What do you mean?” Alex tried to shove the phone in the pocket of her jeans, hoping he wouldn’t notice in the semidarkness. But her jeans were too tight; she missed the pocket, and the phone fell to the carpet.
“Oh, dear,” he said, not moving. “Keep going. I think I’d better stay with you, though. You’re a tricky one, you are.”
Alex went into the toilet, and when he blocked the doorway behind her, following her inside, she realized the full extent of what he meant.
“You can stand outside,” she said.
“I don’t think so. You’ve already shown you can’t be trusted.” He shut the door and leaned back on it. “Go on, then, get your jeans down. Tinkle, tinkle. Chop chop.”
Alex reached deep for the last shreds of defiance. “No,” she said, hoping she sounded firm. “Not with you standing there, you sick bastard.”
An odd smile crossed his face, not like the other one, but just as chilling in its way, then he opened the door for her. “All right,” he said. “Piss yourself, then, if that’s what you want.”
Alex edged out, careful not to brush against him. She thought they were going back into the living room but her blood froze when he opened Ian’s bedroom door. She rushed toward him. “What are you—”
He pushed her aside and blocked the open doorway, turning to look in on the sleeping child. Alex tried to get past him, to stand between him and Ian, but it was no good.
“What a sweet scene,” said Meadows. “It’s all right. Calm down, love. No one’s going to get hurt.”
“You dare lay—”
“Enough melodramatics. You know every bit as well as I do that if I wanted to lay a finger on him there’s nothing you could do to stop me.”
“I’ll scratch your fucking eyes out.” Alex launched herself toward him, arms outstretched, but he dodged aside and pushed her back. She hit the wall with such force that it stunned her, and she slid to the floor. Even then, as she was falling, she saw the dropped mobile phone and tried to reach for it, but Meadows was too quick. Before she could get a grip on it, he trod on it with all his weight and crushed it, then he shifted his foot to the index finger that she had almost managed to hook around it and trod hard on that, too. She screamed in pain. He put a finger to his lips. “Ssshhh,” he said. “The boy’s sleeping. We don’t want to wake him right now, do we? No telling what might happen.”
Ian stirred in bed but he didn’t wake up. Alex bit back her pain and remained silent. She didn’t know what would happen if Ian woke up now and saw Meadows in his doorway, but it wasn’t something she dared contemplate.
Meadows squatted, his knees cracking loudly, and put his face close to hers. His breath smelled of Polo mints. “Look, Miss Preston. We don’t want any trouble. We just want Michael Lane. Your lad looks like a decent kid. It’d be a tragedy if anything happened to him, wouldn’t it? An accident walking by the river or falling out of a tree. Or on the roads. Not safe, these days, the roads. Kids get up to all sorts of dangerous mischief, don’t they. Know what I’m talking about?”