By the time the police had arrived at the scene her assailant, of course, had disappeared. The cops followed up a number of leads, but they were unable to trace him. It had been at this point that Kate had been called in to work with Cassie on a facial reconstruction of her attacker. The resulting image – taken from a three-dimensional clay sculpture – was released to the media. Three days later, Bobby Gleason was pulled over by a cop, who spotted him driving erratically on the Pasadena freeway. The officer, Dale Hoban, recognised him immediately and, after radioing for help, cuffed and arrested him. Bobby Gleason’s killing spree was over.

Or was it?

Kate swallowed another glassful of water, her mouth suddenly dry and parched.

She had been wanting to get pregnant for the last couple of years. She couldn’t imagine anything more precious to her than a baby.

Then she discovers a dead child in the sea.

For Cassie – a blind woman – her sense of touch was probably her most valuable asset, the sense she prized above all.

Then she gets sent a package containing three human fingertips.

The message was clear, thought Kate, clear and deadly. Each woman was being sent a sign, an omen almost. A warning that said: be prepared to lose what you love.

She needed to talk to Josh. She would have to tell him the truth. Now she had no choice.

8

He leant forward through the cloud of smoke and reached out to take the joint.

‘It’s good, yeah?’ said the man opposite, running his hand through his long, black hair.

‘Yeah, real good,’ he said, pretending to inhale. Drugs were for the weak of will, the inadequates of this world.

‘But what’s with the gloves, man?’

‘What a drag,’ he said. ‘Doctor says I’ve got eczema. Got to keep these goddamn things on. It’s been getting me down. The gloves, creams, medication, you know. Another reason why tonight I really want to go for it, if you know what I mean. Try something a bit more far out.’

‘I’m sure that can be arranged,’ said the man, smiling. ‘If you got the dough, I can get you whatever you want. They don’t call me Friendly Phil for nothing, man.’

He had been watching Phil for the best part of four months, tracking his every move, his every drop-off. He’d got his number from one of the punks on the street. He’d made contact by ringing his cell. He’d paid him for some grass, a few lines of coke, buying more and more over the course of the last few weeks. He’d always been careful to do business often at night and in out of the way locations like under the freeway interchanges or in the dark shadows of Elysian Park. Finally, after gaining his trust, Phil had invited him to his house in the hills on the wrong side of Silver Lake. Earlier that night he had followed Phil in his car, off Riverside Drive, by the dry Los Angeles River, on to Allesandro Street, and sharp left onto Sunflower. The road snaked up the hill until it finally turned into a dirt track, at the end of which lay Phil’s old, wooden house. As he had got out of his car he could hear the constant thrum of the Golden State Freeway below. He didn’t expect Phil to cry out, but if he did the noise of the traffic would probably drown out the sounds.

‘You’re turning into one of my best customers, do you know that, Jim?’

He had quite enjoyed pretending to be Jim, but he realised it couldn’t go on forever. He would have to finish him off just as he was going to kill Phil.

‘Yeah, and I’m pleased to do business with you too, man,’ he said. ‘Times must be booming for you, right?’

‘I can’t complain,’ said Phil. ‘But I can’t keep in this line of work forever. Got to move on. Find something else.’

‘Getting bored?’

‘No, far from it, man,’ said Phil. ‘Just that sooner or later the cops get onto you. That or the gangs. I give it another six months, a year, and I’m out of it. By that time I should have enough dough to go straight. Set up my own business selling reconditioned guitars down in Santa Monica. Got it all planned.’

Should he give him a chance to get out? Clean himself up so he could go straight?

No way. How many times had he heard that before? Dealers were always promising themselves that they were going to go legit. But, in reality, they were just as addicted to making money as their clients were to the drugs.

But he would give him the opportunity anyway. One question. How he answered it would determine his fate. It was only right, after all.

‘Does it ever get to you?’ he asked. ‘What you do?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know, dealing to kids, like.’

‘What, do you mean do I ever feel guilty?’

‘Yeah.’

‘No way, man. As I see it I’m just a provider. There’s a demand out there that needs to be met, whatever. If I didn’t do it, sure as hell somebody would.’

‘So you don’t look back and think – I don’t know – if only –‘

‘Fuck that, man. Never look back, that’s my philosophy. Got to live in the present. The here and now.’

‘So there’s nobody that you wish you –‘

‘That I’d not dealt to?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Fuck off, man. Haven’t got time to think of that shit.’

So now he had his answer.

‘What’s with the questions, man? Sounds like you need – hey, I got just the thing.’

Phil got up from his chair and walked across the room. He stopped by the top of the range sound system and put on another CD, something that sounded like an electronic reworking of dolphins singing.

‘Just make yourself comfortable,’ he said, shouting through the music and going into the kitchen.

The guy, he thought, was a walking cliché. A tall, skinny, ageing hippy with a pony tail and a penchant for ambient music. One individual the world would not miss. As he waited for Phil to return, he got himself ready. He was sure he was doing the right thing, so he didn’t have to worry about battling with his conscience. That had all been settled. And, after all, he had even given him one last chance. All he had to do now was check he had everything he needed to do the job smoothly, cleanly, with the minimum amount of fuss.