AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The two of them were sitting on Romilly’s sofa, Countryfile on the television in the background.
Jamie shook his head. “He wants to mess with you. Fuck with your mind.”
“Then so be it,” Adam replied. “I’ll go on the off chance he says something. Anything. It’s worth it, surely?”
Jamie let it go, knowing there was no point in arguing with his stubborn boss. He’s moved in to Romilly’s, along with Adam, and she’s said he’s welcome to stay as long as he wants. But Jamie knows that it won’t be long before they’ll need their space. And then what? He has no wish to go home. To sleep under that roof, in that room, in that bed. He’ll sell it all. Start again, slowly, painfully, without Pippa.
So, for the moment, he’ll stay with Adam. Look out for each other, although neither will admit that’s what they’re doing, male pride as it is. And Romilly is good company too. Jamie’s glad they’re back together; they always had a symmetry about them, a connection that can’t be explained. He heard them in the night, laughing, the quiet murmur of their voices. He felt it as a physical pain in his gut, knowing he had that with someone, and she’s gone.
But for now, back to this. He picks up the second page of the visitor’s log and starts highlighting names again for Cara to check. And he pauses on one. It feels familiar.
He types it into Google and a well-known face pops up. She’s got the same name as a celebrity, that’s all, he tells himself, highlighting it and moving on to the next. But something niggles. He puts his pen down again and stares at it frowning. Where does he know it from? A case file? It’ll come; he’ll remember. He’ll return to it later.
His phone beeps. It’s Adam, from the prison. Jamie imagines him pausing outside the high brick wall, readying himself to face Elijah Cole. The serial killer. His father-in-law. Who wanted him bleeding and tortured and in pain.
I’m going in now, Adam writes.
CHAPTER
76
COLE IS ALREADY seated at the table, his back to the door, as Adam is shown into the cold, bare room. Two guards stand in opposite corners, watching him carefully. Different guards; ones Adam hasn’t seen before.
Adam sensed the difference the moment he entered the prison. All procedures were carried out exactly, no stages or processes missed. Complaints have been made; strongly worded recommendations passed down from on high. Cole won’t have any privileges now: police officers have been killed, senior detectives among them. Jobs have been lost, letters written.
Cole looks up as Adam enters. He is handcuffed, his hands out in front of him, metal scratching against the Formica as he turns. He meets Adam’s eyes. He smiles.
“I’m glad to see you, DCI Bishop,” he says. “It’s been quiet around here.”
Adam sits down slowly. Cole looks like he’s aged ten years since Adam saw him only three days ago. How can it be that short a time? Cole looks tired, his skin sagging. A day-old bruise sits around his eye, red and swollen, but Adam fails to conjure up any sympathy for how it got there. He’s wearing prison issue uniform: oversized gray joggers, a gray sweatshirt. He looks withered and spent, hardly the ferocious killer Adam spent a sleepless night worrying about.
He hadn’t known how he’d react to this moment. Face to face again with the man who masterminded this whole horrific plan. The blood and murder and manipulation. But now he just feels calm. He wants answers, then to get the fuck out of here.
“Why did you do it, Elijah?” he says.
Cole smiles. “Do what?”
Adam sighs theatrically, then puts his hands flat on the table, as if pushing himself up to leave.
“Okay, okay,” Cole says quickly. “You want to talk, let’s talk.”
“Why did you do it?”
“Boredom. Sadism. Because I could? You want a neat little reason tied up in a bow, DCI Bishop, but the truth is a lot more dull. I don’t know. Maggie was always there, ready and waiting, so I took advantage to see what would happen.”
“How?”
Cole turns around and looks at the guard. The guard stares back, unblinking. “Can we get some drinks? A nice coffee?” he asks. The guard looks at Adam.
“Fine, yes,” Adam replies wearily.
Elijah smiles. “Excellent. Now we can talk properly. Civilized. And in a proper mug,” he shouts after him. “None of this plastic crap.”
“Talk, Elijah.”
“Maggie. She was …” He looks up to the ceiling, thinking. “She was always susceptible. Horribly abused after her own mother abandoned her—did you know about that?”
Elijah pauses for a response; Adam looks at him impassively, waiting.
