'I want you,' he told her.

'Yes,' she said. Of course he did. It had been in hisevery word from the beginning, but she hadn't had thewit to comprehend it. Every love story was - at the last- a story of death; this was what the poets insisted. Whyshould it be any less true the other way about?

They could not go back to his house; the officerswould be there too, he told her, for they must knowof the romance between them. Nor, of course, couldthey return to her flat. So they found a small hotel inthe vicinity and took a room there. Even in the dingylift he took the liberty of stroking her hair, and then,finding her compliant, put his hand upon her breast.

The room was sparsely furnished, but was lent somemeasure of charm by a splash of coloured lights from aChristmas tree in the street below. Her lover didn't takehis eyes off her for a single moment, as if even now heexpected her to turn tail and run at the merest flaw inhis behaviour. He needn't have concerned himself; histreatment of her left little cause for complaint. His kisseswere insistent but not overpowering; his undressing ofher - except for the fumbling (a nice human touch, shethought) - was a model of finesse and sweet solemnity.

She was surprised that he had not known about herscar, only because she had become to believe thisintimacy had begun on the operating table, when twiceshe had gone into his arms, and twice been deniedthem by the surgeon's bullying. But perhaps, beingno sentimentalist, he had forgotten that first meeting.Whatever the reason, he looked to be upset when heslipped off her dress, and there was a trembling intervalwhen she thought he would reject her. But the momentpassed, and now he reached down to her abdomen andran his fingers along the scar.

'It's beautiful,' he said.

She was happy.

'I almost died under the anaesthetic,' she told him.

That would have been a waste,' he said, reaching upher body and working at her breast. It seemed to arousehim, for his voice was more guttural when next he spoke.'What did they tell you?' he asked her, moving his handsup the soft channel behind her clavicle, and stroking herthere. She had not been touched in months, except bydisinfected hands; his delicacy woke shivers in her. Shewas so engrossed in pleasure that she failed to reply tohis question. He asked again as he moved between herlegs.

'What did they tell you?'

Through a haze of anticipation she said: 'They left anumber for me to ring. So that I could be helped ...'

'But you didn't want help?'

'No,' she breathed. 'Why should I?'

She half-saw his smile, though her eyes wanted toflicker closed entirely. His appearance failed to stirany passion in her; indeed there was much abouthis disguise (that absurd bow-tie, for one) which shethought ridiculous. With her eyes closed, however, shecould forget such petty details; she could strip the hoodoff and imagine him pure. When she thought of him thatway her mind pirouetted.

He took his hands from her; she opened her eyes.He was fumbling with his belt. As he did so somebodyshouted in the street outside. His head jerked in thedirection of the window; his body tensed. She wassurprised at his sudden concern.

'It's all right,' she said.

He leaned forward and put his hand to her throat.

'Be quiet,' he instructed.

She looked up into his face. He had begun to sweat.The exchanges in the street went on for a few minuteslonger; it was simply two late-night gamblers parting.He realized his error now.

'I thought I heard -'

'What?'

'- I thought I heard them calling my name.'

'Who would do that?' she inquired fondly. 'Nobodyknows we're here.'

He looked away from the window. All purposefulnesshad abruptly drained from him; after the instant of fearhis features had slackened. He looked almost stupid.

They came close,' he said. 'But they never foundme.'

'Close?'

'Coming to you.' He laid his head on her breasts. 'Sovery close,' he murmured. She could hear her pulse inher head. 'But I'm swift,' he said, 'and invisible.'

His hand strayed back down to her scar, and further.

'And always neat,' he added.

She sighed as he stroked her.

They admire me for that, I'm sure. Don't you thinkthey must admire me? For being so neat?'

She remembered the chaos of the crypt; its indignities,its disorders.

'Not always ..." she said.

He stopped stroking her.

'Oh yes,' he said. 'Oh yes. I never spill blood. That'sa rule of mine. Never spill blood.'

She smiled at his boasts. She would tell him now -though surely he already knew - about her visit to AllSaints, and the handiwork of his that she'd seen there.

'Sometimes you can't help blood being spilt,' she said,'I don't hold it against you.'

At these words, he began to tremble.

'What did they tell you about me? What lies'?'

'Nothing,' she said, mystified by his response. 'Whatcould they know?'

'I'm a professional,' he said to her, his hand movingback up to her face. She felt intentionality in him again.A seriousness in his weight as he pressed closer uponher.

'I won't have them lie about me,' he said. 'I won'thave it.'

He lifted his head from her chest and looked at her.

'All I do is stop the drummer,' he said.

The drummer?'

'I have to stop him cleanly. In his tracks.'

The wash of colours from the lights below painted hisface one moment red, the next green, the next yellow;unadulterated hues, as in a child's paint-box.

'I won't have them tell lies about me,' he said again.'To say I spill blood.'

'They told me nothing,' she assured him. He hadgiven up his pillow entirely, and now moved to straddleher. His hands were done with tender touches.

'Shall I show you how clean I am?' he said: 'Howeasily I stop the drummer?'

Before she could reply, his hands closed around herneck. She had no time even to gasp, let alone shout.His thumbs were expert; they found her windpipe andpressed. She heard the drummer quicken its rhythmin her ears. 'It's quick; and clean,' he was telling her,the colours still coming in predictable sequence. Red,yellow, green; red, yellow, green.

There was an error here, she knew; a terriblemisunderstanding which she couldn't quite fathom.She struggled to make some sense of it.

'I don't understand,' she tried to tell him, but herbruised larynx could produce no more than a garglingsound.

Too late for excuses,' he said, shaking his head.'You came to me, remember? You want the drummerstopped. Why else did you come?' His grip tightenedyet further. She had the sensation of her face swelling;of the blood throbbing to jump from her eyes.

'Don't you see that they came to warn you about me?'frowning as he laboured. 'They came to seduce you awayfrom me by telling you I spilt blood.'

'No,' she squeezed the syllable out on her lastbreath, but he only pressed harder to cancel herdenial.

The drummer was deafeningly loud now; thoughKavanagh's mouth still opened and closed she couldno longer hear what he was telling her. It matteredlittle. She realised now that he was not Death; not theclean-boned guardian she'd waited for. In her eagerness,she had given herself into the hands of a common killer,a street-corner Cain. She wanted to spit contempt athim, but her consciousness was slipping, the room, thelights, the face all throbbing to the drummer's beat. Andthen it all stopped.

She looked down on the bed. Her body lay sprawledacross it. One desperate hand had clutched at the sheet,and clutched still, though there was no life left in it. Hertongue protruded, there was spittle on her blue lips. But(as he had promised) there was no blood.

She hovered, her presence failing even to bring abreeze to the cobwebs in this corner of the ceiling,and watched while Kavanagh observed the rituals ofhi« crime. He was bending over the body, whisperingin its ear as he rearranged it on the tangled sheets. Thenhe unbuttoned himself and unveiled that bone whoseinflammation was the sincerest form of flattery. Whatfollowed was comical in its gracelessness; as her bodywas comical, with its scars and its places where agepuckered and plucked at it. She watched his ungainlyattempts at congress quite remotely. His buttocks werepale, and imprinted with the marks his underwear hadleft; their motion put her in mind of a mechanicaltoy.