The Lair
December 4, 1.35 p.m.
Within the dark cell, Harper ’s neck strained under Sebastian’s heavy arm. He gritted his teeth and his neck muscles started to shake. Sebastian pricked Harper’s throat with his knife. A small line of blood ran down Tom’s neck.
He stared up into Denise’s eyes. They were closed. He saw her eyeballs move under the lids. It was enough. Denise was thinking. What? Harper pulled his head round so he could see Sebastian.
‘I’m going to let her watch you die,’ Sebastian said as he looked at Denise. She was trying to draw spit into her mouth. She let the saliva gather and roll around her tongue.
‘Look at him, Dr Levene.’ The knife tensed in Sebastian’s fist.
‘You’re no one!’ Denise shouted. She drew a breath and spat hard into Sebastian’s face. His eyes shut and his face turned away automatically, covered in her saliva. His arm rose to wipe his eyes. So that’s what she was thinking. A distraction. It was enough.
Harper had less than a second to react. He twisted away from the knife, let himself drop away from Sebastian and spread himself flat against the ground. In one fast movement, he looped one foot round Sebastian’s heel and rammed his other foot hard into the knee, trying to bust it right open. The killer ’s body kiltered backwards and fell to the floor.
Harper had no idea what he was doing in the semi-darkness, but hearing Sebastian’s body hit the floor had given him the impetus he needed. He pounced across the floor and climbed on top of him and raised his fists. His knuckles felt no pain as they ripped into flesh and bone with pent-up ferocity.
Sebastian felt the blows rain down on his face. He was just letting the pain reach him. Pain was a curious phenomenon. People tended to overreact to it. He smiled. His jaw broke and hung loose. His teeth cracked in his mouth. Then he lifted his shoulder and out of nowhere plunged a short-bladed knife into Harper ’s arm. The punching ceased. Harper stifled a cry. Sebastian threw him aside and laughed through his bloody teeth.
‘Detective Harper!’ said the voice of the killer. ‘Angry, aren’t you, Tom? Were you angry when you killed my little Mo? You fucking asshole.’
Harper stared around the room looking for his options. ‘Why don’t you run?’ he said. ‘The cops’ll be crawling round here any minute.’
‘Oh, I don’t think they’ll get me.’
‘They’ll kill you. They want you dead. You understand?’
Sebastian moved to Denise. ‘She wants to taste your blood, but if she has to die, so be it.’
Her hands were tied behind her back and she trembled on the old stool. Her head was pulled at an angle, the rope biting into the soft skin of her neck. The stool moved from side to side as she shifted her weight.
Denise was badly damaged, but her spirit had not been broken. She was still ready to fight.
The monster smiled. Harper looked at him, struck by Sebastian’s normality. He looked like everyone and no one.
Sebastian’s foot was on the stool. He kept pushing it and letting it fall back.
‘Tom, my old friend.’
‘I don’t know you.’
‘But I know you, Tom. I know you all too well.’
‘No, you don’t. You don’t know anyone.’
‘You took my brother away.’
‘Mo?’
‘Love of my life, Tom.’
‘I didn’t take anyone. You killed him.’ Harper kept his eyes fixed on Denise. They didn’t know the way out of this one.
‘You took him and left me with nothing.’
‘You killed him, Sebastian.’
‘You were investigating his case, Harper. Chasing the poor guy. You knew he was simple. He was the victim, Harper, and you killed him — frightened him to death and let him die. He never killed a soul. That was all me.’
‘Leave Denise. Let her go. If it’s between us, then let her go …’
‘Very well,’ he said.
The killer kicked the stool away. Denise’s body dropped a foot and the noose gripped her neck with a sudden jolt.