Marianne shivered, remembering the nightmares and the days when she had been too scared to turn around to see Ken following her, stalking her wherever she went. She'd been terrified he'd get hold of her once again; torture her in those insidious ways he had devised. No matter how often she changed her address he had always seemed to find her. I'll sleep like the dead once he's gone for good, she'd told Billy once, and her brother had laughed at the phrase.
Max had killed those two men in Billy's flat, Galbraith and Sandiman. The hit man had shrugged it off, telling her they had been an accident. But his words had chilled her. There had been no tone of remorse whatever, just a matter-of-factness that had made her wonder at the nature of a man like this. What would Doctor Brightman have made of him? she wondered. Did he fit the description of a psychopathic personality? Marianne didn't think so. Her Max Whittaker, Billy's Mick Stevens, was so frighteningly normal, wasn't he? As a companion he'd been able to make her laugh. As a lover he had been able to make her swoon with pleasure. And all the time he had been planning her imprisonment, calculating Billy's response to his threats.
She sighed, hearing her breath tremble as she exhaled. It was crazy, but she still felt something for the man she had met that day by the car park, some remnant of longing. (And of lust, though it shamed her to admit it.) What was it they called it? That odd relationship that a prisoner forged with their captor? Something to do with being in thrall to them, being a hostage, something like that?
Despite the hours of sleep, Marianne felt dog tired, and her brain was unable to summon up words and phrases.
Somewhere she heard the ring of a phone, far away, as if it was coming from the next room. Perhaps it was. Perhaps she could hear the guest next door speaking on his mobile? Perhaps if she made a big enough noise he would hear her and alert the hotel staff…?
But as the door opened and Max walked in, his ear to her own mobile, all thoughts of rescue faded. Over one arm he carried a plastic bag, its contents bulging. The woman's eyes fell on a bottle top. Water! She watched as he threw the bag on to the bed, totally ignoring her as he spoke into the telephone.
'Aye, Brogan. Just you do that,' Stevens was saying, making Marianne's eyes light up with sudden hope.
'You want to speak to her?' He turned to Marianne with a grin across his face. Not sure if she can manage conversation right now, let's see.'
Marianne screamed as he tore the duct tape from her mouth, her head swung roughly to one side.
'That do for you, Brogan? Hear it loud and clear?' Stevens was saying into the phone. 'Well, maybe you'll not hear her voice for much longer if you don't get your arse back here with my money.
Got it?' he tossed the phone onto the bed and pulled a bottle of water from the bag.
Slowly he unscrewed the top, tilting it up to take deep gulps. `Ah,' he sighed. 'That was good.' The watched as she licked her lips, knowing that she was unable to take her eyes off the bottle.
'Thirsty, are you, darlin'?' he asked then laughed softly. 'Want some?'
Marianne nodded, hardly daring to breathe.
He came so close to her that she could smell the familiar mixture of sweat and aftershave lotion.
'If I give you some, you'll have to promise to be a good girl.
Okay?' His voice was soft and low, a lover's murmur in her ear.
'I promise,' she said, meeting his gaze with her own, hoping as much for his lips to brush against hers as for the bottle of water that he held aloft.
Ii orimer moved the telephone from his ear for a moment, covering the mouthpiece with one hand as he turned to the man who sat patiently beside him.
'It's the British Consul in Algiers,' he whispered. 'They've got Brogan with them. He wants to talk to me.'
Solly nodded. 'Perhaps the Ctimewatch programme has spread its…' he fell silent as Lorimer shushed him, waving his words aside.
'Detective Chief Inspector Lorimer,' he said. 'Mr Brogan?'
'Aye, you've been looking for me, Lorimer, haven't you? Well, I jist want to say I had nothin' taste do wi Fraz and Gubby, okay?'
'We know that, Mr Brogan. But I think you also know that we want to talk to you about the death of your former brother-in-law, Mr Kenneth Scott,' Lorimer told him, speaking as calmly as he could to temper the drug dealer's initial belligerence.
There was a pause then Lorimer could hear the man sigh down the line.
'Aye, well, that wasnae me, neither.'
Not directly, perhaps,' Lorimer conceded.
'Look, Mr Lorimer, I huvnae time taste waste wi' all of this, right? Ye c'n charge me wance I'm hame, but meantime… ye huv taste do something fur me.'
'I'm listening,' Lorimer said, hearing the urgency in the man's voice.
Brogan drew a deep breath before continuing. 'There's this man called Mick Stevens. He's the one you're looking for. He's got my sister. And he's going to..
Lorimer frowned at the handset, wondering if the line had suddenly been cut off, but Brogan's voice returned, high-pitched and nervy.
'Mr Lorimer you've got to do something quick. Or Stevens is going to kill her.'
'We have very few choices,' Lorimer told the superintendent.
'Either we allow this man, Stevens, to stay in the City Inn armed with God knows how many weapons, threatening the life of a young woman, or we go in after him.' He paused then gripped the sides of Mitchison's desk, willing the man to agree with him for once. 'We've got one strategic advantage, sir. And that's the hotel's proximity to Anderston police station. We can call on as many of their officers as they have available right now.'
Mitchison nodded. 'You're right. It's a class A situation; public safety must be our primary concern. What do you suggest?'
DCI Lorimer took a deep breath and began to outline his plan.
Omar Fathy fastened on the Kevlar vest, glancing at his fellow officers as they prepared themselves for danger. It was all part of the job, he reminded himself, feeling the buzz of adrenalin shooting through his veins, nothing to get too worked up about. Omar gave a wry smile. It was just this sort of scenario that had caused his parents to have so many misgivings when their son had announced his decision to join the police force. Far too dangerous, his mother had scolded him, but Omar had simply grinned and told her to stop watching so many TV cop shows; it wasn't like that in real life. But now the young man was in a situation that had begun to resemble some of these celluloid adventures. And he found that it was thrilling.
'Ready?' Annie Irvine was not smiling as she came to stand by his side.
'You bet,' Omar replied. For a moment they looked at one another, two colleagues ready to face a dangerous situation. And suddenly Omar wanted it to be more than that; his fingers itching to take Annie's hand in his, to reassure her that everything would be okay. But then a voice commanded them forwards, the moment was gone and she turned towards the police transporter van that was to take them into the city centre, leaving Omar feeling slightly dispirited.
'Got your taser?' Annie asked and Omar nodded, giving it a tap against the belt that contained his equipment. He had never been supplied with a weapon before and had been surprised when Lorimer had insisted that they be issued for their own safety. Still, there was to be a proper firearms unit there as well, men who were trained to shoot on command. These hand-picked officers were already on their way to the scene, the hotel's staff having been alerted to evacuate the premises.
Fathy had been amazed at the speed with which Lorimer had managed to make all of these things happen, though having Anderston so close by was a huge bonus. Now, entering the white van and wedging himself next to his colleagues, he squared his shoulders, returning the nervous smiles and glances that were directed his way.
For the first time since arriving in Glasgow he felt truly part of this team. No matter what happened today or the next day or the week after that, Fathy knew that nothing would stop him being a police officer, not even the malicious notes he was receiving with such painful regularity.