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‘Maybe,’ says Linda. ‘Maybe this thing is nowhere near over yet. Maybe the “two down, two to go” letter was a double bluff too, and wearegoing to receive another diary with more names and more dates. We literally have no idea, do we? And that’s what makes all this so frustrating, and so bloody terrifying. I’ve never felt so helpless in my life.’
As she’s speaking, Bryn is leaning to his left, conversing with someone out of sight of his camera. Moments later he’s back in vision, leaning forwards with an anguished look on his face.
‘Shit. SHIT,’ he says. Then, immediately, ‘Sorry. Bad news though. One of the Davids we advised to get out of the city has heard about David Howell’s murder and put two and two together. It’s David Evans, son of Alwyn Evans. Alwyn’s been the main crime reporter for BBC Cymru Wales for donkey’s years. We asked all of them,beggedthem, to keep this quiet; we even implied that if they didn’t they could jeopardise a major police investigation. But David Evans has told his father, apparently, and now Alwyn’s making noise with the press office. This could be all over the six o’clock news tonight, guys.’
‘Christ,’says Linda Lake. ‘This is literally the last thing we need. What do we do now?’
There’s silence for a few seconds.
Then Steph clears her throat, her expression sombre.
‘I think we need to brace ourselves, guys. This could get ugly,’ she says.
