He took hold of Phil’s head with the delicacy of a top-dollar dentist and moved him back in the chair. He opened his mouth and slowly poured in the contents of one of the packets of cocaine he had found in the kitchen.

‘You found that a little dry? Sorry to hear that sir. Let me give you a glass of water.’

He moved closer over Phil’s mouth, coughed and then spat a ball of phlegm into the hole.

‘I hope that helps a little,’ he said. ‘Yes? Well, just perfect. Now, for the next course. What do we have here?’

He fished out a few of the different coloured pills – most probably different combinations of amphetamine, ketamine, Viagra, speed, ecstasy and LSD – and dropped them into Phil’s mouth. He placed his hand over his face to make sure he swallowed all the tablets.

‘Mmm, tasty right?’ he said. ‘You haven’t any room for desert? Shame on you. After I’ve gone to all this trouble. What would your momma say, Phil. Have you forgotten your manners? You can squeeze in a little? That’s just perfect. Now comes the piece de la resistance.’

He took hold of the blue pills Phil had offered him earlier, the ones he had warned him about. No more than two, he had said. He tipped six into the palm of his hand and then fed them to Phil one by one.

He watched as Phil’s thin limbs started to twitch, the jut of his elbow meeting the join of his knee in an ungainly dance. His lips seemed to disappear into his skull, his gums and teeth an awful death mask. His chest rose and fell like that of a starved dog left to die in the desert heat.

He gathered together his things slowly and efficiently, checking not to leave anything behind. It would only be a matter of minutes before Phil died, most probably, he thought, from multiple organ failure and respiratory arrest. It would not be a particularly pleasant death, but neither were those of Yelena and Duane and a hundred other kids like them. At the door he turned and saw Phil for the last time.

‘There are things that the Lord hates,’ he said to himself. ‘A proud look, a lying tongue and hands that shed innocent blood.’

9

Kate had once felt at home here, but now it seemed like the house of a stranger. She watched Josh fixing drinks in the large, open-plan kitchen, remembering how she had often stood at the stove making risotto, the feel of his arms around her, the musky smell of him mixing with the aroma of the olive oil, onions, garlic and white wine. The possessions that she had once scattered around the loft had disappeared, all traces of her – shoes, clothes, scarves, books, sketch pads, camera film – gone.

Soon after that awful meal when he had first told her about Jules she had driven downtown with a couple of plastic crates and had proceeded to pack up her life. Josh had wanted her to stop, to talk, but what had been the point. On that glorious summer day she had had driven away up Grand Street, past the blindingly bright Disney Concert Hall, with tears smarting in her eyes.

And now – now it was clear that another woman shared Josh’s home. In the bathroom there was a collection of expensive beauty products, and she had noticed that, in the kitchen, there was a selection of upscale foodstuffs: truffle-scented oil, marinated sunblush tomatoes, dried shitake mushrooms, raspberry-infused vinegar. She imagined Jules creating something exquisite for Josh – a slice of yellow fin tuna on a bed of steamed greens or red and white peppercorn-encrusted steak with blackcurrant jus – and felt the nausea rise inside her. It wasn’t as if she still loved him, she said to herself, it was probably just the first signs of the pregnancy. That’s why she was here. She had to tell him, but how?

‘Are you sure you don’t want a dash of vodka with it?’ shouted Josh from the kitchen.

‘No, tonic, straight up, is just fine,’ said Kate.

‘It’s not like you,’ said Josh, coming over with the drinks. ‘Are you feeling alright?’

‘Yeah, fine.’

‘Heavy night?’

‘No – well – I haven’t been sleeping that great, to be honest.’

‘What since –‘

‘Yeah, and also –‘

‘I know what you mean,’ he said, swigging beer from a bottle and sitting down. ‘I’ve only had two hours all this week. First of all the discovery of the Gable kid. Then the murder of Cutler. And last night –‘

‘Josh –‘

‘We got a call from –‘

Now was the time. She couldn’t hesitate any longer. ‘Josh. Listen. I’ve got something I need to tell you.’

‘What?’

Then she found she couldn’t say it.

‘What is it? Kate?’

She took a deep breath.

‘I’m pregnant.’

Josh looked at her with incomprehension, as if she had suddenly started speaking in a foreign language.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m pregnant, Josh.’

‘How? When?’

‘From that last session. At the clinic. So I guess, I’m around –‘

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course, I’m sure. I did a test as soon as I suspected and then had Dr Cruger at the clinic confirm it.’

‘When did you find out?’

‘I did the test that morning. Soon after I found the baby.’

‘What?’

He stood up and walked around the loft, a creature confined in a cage.

‘I know, I know, and I’m sorry, but –‘

She watched him as he tried to process the information.

‘I just don’t get it,’ he said, his face reddening.

She braced herself for his angry words, his accusations. After all, didn’t he have just the same right to know as her?

‘Gleason,’ he spat out, punching the table with his fist. ‘It’s the only thing that connects you and Cassie Veringer together.’

‘I see,’ said Kate, shocked and disappointed that his anger was not directed towards her. Did he really feel so little for her?

‘But you said Gleason was dead.’

‘He is.’

‘It could be just some freak, some weirdo, who has read about the Gleason case.’