‘I… don’t. I saw it… on the text,’ Jessica stuttered. ‘The address, I—’
Right, and she’d just reeled it straight off. Bullshit! ‘How long have you been in contact with him, Jessica?’ he asked her, barely controlling his temper. ‘How long have you been feeding information to the man who raped your sister?’
‘I haven’t!’ Jessica denied vehemently. ‘I would never do that. I—’
‘You’re full of shit, do you know that, Jessica?’
‘He’s an old friend,’ Jessica said. ‘I could hardly lie to him if he asked me something outright.’
Justin laughed, astounded that she was trying to justify what she’d done. ‘No, you couldn’t lie to save your life, could you, Jess?’
‘Justin, this isn’t about me.’ Jessica tried a new tack. ‘What do you want me to do? Should I call the police?’
‘I think you’ve done enough, Jessica,’ Justin pointed out contemptuously. ‘Stay out of it. As in, stay away from my family, full stop.’
Attempting to regulate his breathing as he ended the call, Justin tried to think with the mind of an animal intent on its prey. Radley had dangled the bait: a photo of a lost daughter sent to her mother. Bastard! Justin clamped his jaw hard. Would he have Sophie with him, knowing there was even a chance Alicia might call the police? Possibly, but wasn’t it more likely he would be holding her somewhere else? That he would want to get Alicia in that apartment alone?
That thought slicing through him like a knife, Justin made his decision. The police might do something; they might do nothing. Either way, they were unlikely to turn up here and arrest the bastard. They might ask Radley some questions, might even ask him to go to the station. Would he admit to having Sophie though? To his perverse fucking intentions, which Justin had no doubt he had? Would he tell them where she was?
Not likely. At least not immediately.
And that, as far as Justin was concerned, was the critical factor. Assuming the police would even take any action, did Sophie have time on her side?
Justin checked his watch, calculating how long it might take Alicia to get here. It was the tail end of rush hour. Luck on his side, it might take her a while. He was already in situ. He needed to move. He needed to move now. Get to the bastard before Alicia arrived.
Sixty-Seven
PAUL RADLEY
Listening to Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2, which he preferred to the more popular third, Paul popped an olive into his mouth, rolling it around on his tongue and washing it down with a sip of cabernet sauvignon. He hadn’t enjoyed what he’d just had to do to Sophie – it wasn’t what he’d planned for her – but she’d left him with no choice.
He had been a touch disappointed with young Sophie, he had to admit. Their relationship had started so promisingly. He’d hoped she’d love him as readily as her mother had, but that didn’t look like it would ever happen. Paul could see that now. He traced a drip of wine from the side of his glass with his finger, sucked it off and then scowled as he noticed another drop bleeding onto his natural wood worktop. Tugging a leaf from the kitchen roll, he moistened it at the tap and rubbed at the wine, and then, immensely irritated when he realised he would possibly have to have the surface stripped and resealed, banged his wine down, separating stem from glass, which made the situation ten times worse.
Temper, Paul, he cautioned himself. She would be here soon. Focussing on the calming music, he reached into his pocket, retrieving the lock of caramel-coloured hair he carried there, the smell of which – a woman’s scent, with undertones of vanilla and innocence – he found soothed him.
Pressing it close to his face, he inhaled the sweet fragrance of her, and then glanced over at his ringing phone. Alicia. He’d guessed it might be. Paul breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction – and rejected the call. Good things come to those who wait, my sweetest.
He would bide his time. Soon she would be desperate enough to see him.
He’d been furious with her at first, but his anger had abated a little. He realised why she’d resisted his efforts to stay in touch, of course. She’d needed a father for her child, and who better than Justin Cole, who’d clearly been emotionally dependent on her, but also earned enough money to be someone she could depend on financially.
Yes, Paul could understand it, to a degree. It was clear she didn’t want to hurt her husband now either; he was possibly still mentally unstable. That was admirable. A good quality in a woman. She shouldn’t have deceived him though. He was Sophie’s natural father. That was no way to treat a man she’d shared such intimacy with, was it?
Sixty-Eight
JUSTIN
Taking another dose of fentanyl to take the edge off the nagging pain in his chest, Justin surveyed the apartment block from the opposite side of the road. He had no idea how he was going to get past the security guard. Ringing buzzers at random wasn’t going to do it. The block was a new build, largely uninhabited. Fuck. Dragging his hand over his neck, he debated whether to try to bribe the guy. No. Too risky. He had no idea where this was going to end, but he definitely didn’t want the man remembering he’d been here.
He’d considered the underground car park and had gone down there to take a look. He’d noticed there were two four-by-fours parked amongst a few other cars. Justin had tried not to let his mind go back to the day his son had been taken away, but it had anyway. Instantly transported back there, he’d felt the impact all over again, like a low blow to his stomach, and heard the cacophony of noise: horns blaring; people shouting; petrol spilling; sirens plaintively wailing.
Alicia. Screaming.
Sophie, her voice high-pitched, hysterical.
Luke… silent.
Not the car park, Justin had decided, his jaw tightening, his heart rate escalating, his mind refocussing. He had no chance of getting in without the security code.
Deciding his only real option was to go through the front entrance, he googled several local pizza parlours. Calling each of them, he ordered, prayed and waited. He needed to be in and out of there before Alicia turned up. He didn’t want her involved in any of what he was about to do. And he would do whatever was necessary to get his daughter back. Once he’d established where she was, his inclination wasn’t to leave the bastard capable of walking away.
Grabbing his overcoat from the boot, Justin fed his arms into it, pulled the collar high and then blew out a sigh of relief as two pizza delivery guys arrived in close succession, followed two minutes later by a third. It was now or never. There was no other way. He had no elaborate plan – he just needed to get to the lift, hopefully without providing a facial image on the CCTV. Pulling in a breath, he offered up another prayer as he sailed through the doors, the security guard being somewhat distracted.
‘I’ve told you, there’s no one here by any of those names.’ The guy splayed his arms in despair as he addressed the disgruntled deliverymen. ‘You must have the wrong building.’
Shaking his head as one of the men insisted he hadn’t, the guy sighed, picked up his phone, then cried, ‘Oh, for…!’ He banged the phone down again as another pizza bearer appeared.
‘Radley, fifteenth floor.’ Keeping his head down, Justin grabbed his chance, pointing his thumb towards the lift as he passed by behind them.
‘Yeah, yeah.’ The guy waved Justin on, now looking considerably frustrated, as he picked up his phone again.
Sixty-Nine
PAUL RADLEY