Unless Matt could save her. It seemed ridiculous to hope for salvation from the man she had betrayed and hounded, but she had seen something else in her former lover’s eyes during the drive across East Texas. He still had feelings for her, even if they were compromised by what she had done. He still saw her as a human being, rather than the nameless and faceless killer she had carefully constructed. Yes, Matt would step in before they came for her. Matt would get her out.
Sara let out a sob, even though the pain had been reduced in intensity in the recent minutes. She was remembering what she had been with Matt in London, before she had walked willingly into a life of blood. They had something, but she destroyed it. She would have given anything to have it back.
Thirty
It turned out that Apollyon had done his homework. He stopped me frequently as I went through Sara’s murderous career, asking questions that made it clear he knew plenty about her. Although I hadn’t written a book about the Soul Collector’s activities in the U.K., there had been no shortage of coverage in the media. But I probably learned more than he did from the conversation. Apparently there were grounds to believe that she was responsible for at least forty murders in the U.S., Canada and Mexico over the last two years. Given that some of them involved extreme methods and savage mutilation, I struggled to put her in any worse light.
‘So the bitch and her brother killed people in the ways you used in your novels,’ Apollyon said, looking at me as if I was even lower on the evolutionary scale than he was.
‘They were trying to frame me,’ I said uncomfortably. I could see where this was heading. I’d been given a kicking often enough at book festivals over the levels of violence in my novels…
‘Yeah, but you made that shit up. What kind of twisted fuck are you, man?’
‘What, writing stories about murder is worse than committing it? I never came up with anything as gross as the Hitler’s Hitman killings.’
He looked away. ‘My sister was only following the client’s instructions.’
‘Well, she had one sick client. Any idea who that was?’ I tossed the question in as an afterthought-maybe I’d get lucky.
‘Quit fishing, asshole. I’m asking the questions here.’
There was enough emotion in his voice to suggest he was vulnerable. He’d seen his sister die and he’d narrowly escaped death himself. Even an experienced assassin might get shaky.
‘You realize she’ll kill you,’ I said, keeping the pressure on. ‘Sara doesn’t give up.’
‘From what you say, she’s got you in her sights, too.’
‘True enough. But I don’t give a shit anymore.’
‘What makes you think I do?’
Stalemate-he’d lost his closest relative, too.
‘What are you going to do with Rothmann?’ I asked.
‘You can’t have him, if that’s what you mean. The Antichurch has a commandment about heresy.’
‘Does it involve an upside-down cross, blinding, disembowelment and strangulation?’
‘Why? You want to join him?’
‘Not particularly. I wouldn’t mind watching, though.’
‘That could be arranged. But first you’ve got a date with Hades.’
I felt the hairs rise all over my body. Did he mean Hades, King of the Dead, or his underground realm? There was only one thing to be said for the latter-it was where the shades of Karen and our son had gone.
Apollyon laughed. ‘You look kind of eager. Just what kind of lunatic are you?’
I hoped I’d get the chance to show him in the very near future.
The duty doctor reached the interview room a few minutes after Sebastian sent for her. Confirming that Sir Andrew Frogget was dead didn’t take long. Coming up with a cause was less straightforward.
‘I know I have to wait for the postmortem,’ Sebastian raged. ‘Just give me your opinion, Doctor-’ He stared at her ID tag. ‘Parslow. You are a doctor of medicine, not philosophy, right?’
Ellen Parslow glanced past him and caught the gaze of his assistant, who looked embarrassed. ‘I have medical qualifications from Yale, Johns Hopkins and the Navy,’ she said, brushing back a lock of blond hair.
‘So diagnose,’ Sebastian ordered.
‘How was he beforehand? Had he been under strain?’
‘We were questioning him,’ the senior Bureau man said, glancing at Arthur Bimsdale. ‘It’s on film if you want to take a look. He was under pressure, sure, but he seemed to be bearing up.’
Parslow looked at the younger man, who nodded his agreement. ‘No shortness of breath, excessive sweating, redness of face?’
‘No,’ the agents said in unison.
‘Do we have access to his medical records?’
‘We can get that,’ Sebastian said. ‘He’s a Brit.’
‘Right. The pathologist will need to be copied.’
Sebastian raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Obviously. Do I have to get on my knees, Doctor? Give us some help here.’
Ellen Parslow beckoned to Bimsdale and together they lifted the dead man’s upper body from the table.
‘Hold him there, please,’ she said.
Arthur Bimsdale grimaced, but carried out the instruction.
After she’d examined the face, neck and chest, Parslow straightened up. ‘I take it he’d just drunk coffee from that cup,’ she said, pointing to the empty paper container.
‘I…I brought him it,’ the younger agent said. ‘Along with something to eat.’ He looked at the still wrapped sandwich that had been knocked to the floor. ‘He didn’t have time to…’
‘I smelled coffee on his lips.’ The doctor made notes on a clipboard.
‘Good for you,’ Sebastian said. ‘So what happened?’
‘The obvious candidate is heart failure. He’s in good physical condition for his age, but there may have been an underlying problem-we need those records. The sudden nature of this death is interesting. You say he showed no signs of difficulty or discomfort in the period immediately before he collapsed. I would expect there to have been some signs, even minor ones. Same with other potential causes-stroke, anaphylactic shock and so on.’
‘He was alone for about ten minutes before I came back with the coffee and food,’ Bimsdale said. ‘We checked the film before you got here. He didn’t seem to have done anything to himself.’
Parslow nodded. ‘That corresponds with what I’m looking at here-no signs of him having taken anything toxic. Besides, you were both in here with him for-how long?’
‘At least five minutes,’ Sebastian said. ‘The film will show the exact time.’
‘So you would have seen if he was struggling for breath or the like.’
There was a knock at the door and a pair of crime scene technicians swathed in white appeared.
‘All right,’ Sebastian said. ‘We need to clear the area.’
‘The medical examiner’s on his way, sir,’ one of the CSIs said.
Peter Sebastian stalked away, followed by Bimsdale.
Ellen Parslow watched them go. She’d done a course on stress management in the Navy. It looked to her that the Director of Violent Crime was in urgent need of advice in that area, not that she was going to tell the overbearing cocksucker so.
I was left alone in the cell for some time. My watch had been taken, along with my shoes and belt, and I guessed it was at least an hour. I was tired after the long, violent day, but there was no chance of me sleeping. Apollyon had obviously mentioned Hades to put the shits up me. It didn’t have that effect literally, which was just as well considering the lack of facilities. My mind was working overtime. I made myself take deep breaths and tried to get into a self-protective zone. I had no doubt that I was going to have to use my combat skills if I was to get out of the camp in one piece. I tried to remember what Dave Cummings had taught me about mental preparation. That made me think of Quincy-he had reiterated much of that during our sessions. Quincy. He was another victim of Sara’s brutality. I owed her for him, too.