She felt the muscles around her mouth tighten. For a moment she could not speak.

‘Look, Kate. If you want me to refer you to somebody, I know a couple of doctors who are at the top of the field. There’s one in particular I think –‘

‘No, I don’t think that’s necessary,’ said Kate, rising from her chair. ‘But if anything else happens, you will let me know, won’t you? If anybody else gets sent anything suspicious or -’

‘Yes, of course. Of course I will.’

He walked her across his office to a back door that led out onto a side exit. Cruger was proud of his design, a system which meant that clients arriving for their appointments never had to see the ones leaving.

‘And if there is anything else you’d like to talk about just give me a call,’ he said. ‘Besides, I’ll be seeing you in – is it three weeks - for a check-up. Frances will be in touch to schedule the appointment.’

‘Yes, thank you,’ she said, her mouth dry and bitter-tasting.

‘I’m sure you’ll find that there is a perfectly reasonable explanation,’ he said, pausing by the door. ‘Don’t’ worry, Kate. I’m confident that your pregnancy will be a happy and stress-free one. It’s my job to make sure that’s the case. Try to take it easy. Okay?’

She nodded, smiled and said goodbye. As she stepped out into the sunlight she knew that she would not be going back to the clinic. She would find another gynaecologist and ask for all her records to be transferred.

There was probably nothing sinister about Cruger. She understood his point of view, his position made perfect sense. Indeed, if she had been the doctor and a patient had walked into her office with the same story she too would most likely have reacted in the same way. It was his capacity for emotional manipulation that she objected to – that and the way he had implied she was somehow vaguely hysterical.

She walked down a gravel path back towards the front of the clinic, from where she could see Cassie, still sitting in the same position under the jacaranda tree.

But there was somebody sitting next to her. A woman with blonde hair.

‘Excuse me? What you are doing?’ asked Kate, as she approached.

‘Oh, hi, Kate,’ said Cassie, looking up. ‘It’s okay. We were just having a nice chat –‘

‘Can you tell me who you are?’

‘I’m Cynthia Ross from the Times,’ said the blonde, smartly-dressed woman, standing up.

‘What?’ said Cassie, looking confused, distressed. ‘You didn’t say –‘

‘Yeah, I bet she didn’t,’ said Kate.

‘And you must be Dr Cramer, am I right?’ said the reporter, extending her hand.

‘Come on Cassie, we’re leaving,’ she said, turning her back.

‘Listen, hold on a second. I know you must be upset, and I’m sorry to disturb you, but do you have any idea who might be behind all of this?’

‘No comment,’ snapped Kate, leading Cassie by the hand towards the car.

‘The baby in the water? The fingertips? And now the human tongue?’

‘I said no comment.’

‘If Gleason is dead, who do you think could be doing it? If you give me your stories, we can work together, help track them down. We’ve got resources, connections, sometimes more than the police. And you might need all the help you can get now that you’re preg-‘

The reporter never got the chance to finish her sentence.

‘What did you say?’ asked Kate, staring into a pair of cold blue eyes.

‘Your friend here was just telling me that she was waiting for you to come out of the clinic. And that you were expecting.’

Kate couldn’t be angry with Cassie.

‘You solicited that information without identifying yourself as a journalist.’

‘So?’

‘You took advantage of a blind woman and gained her confidence – for what? Some juicy titbit about my private life? Have you ever thought you’re working for the wrong newspaper, Ms Ross?’

‘I’m just doing my job, give me a break here.’

At that moment, Kate wanted to punch her in the face. But she resisted. Only just.

Perhaps there was another way forwards.

‘What’s your number?’ she said.

‘Excuse me?’

‘I said, give me your cell phone number.’

‘Okay,’ she said, looking puzzled. ‘Does that mean you’re going to talk to me?’

‘Look, Ms Ross. Frankly, I don’t like you. But I’m prepared to put that to one side. If – and at this moment it is still a big if – I agree to ‘talk’ as you put it, I will do so not to help you out, but to try and find the fucker playing these sick games. But let’s get this straight. If I see any mention of my pregnancy in the paper then the deal – the “story” – is off. No argument. Do you understand?’

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Great.’

‘I’ll call you,’ said Kate, helping Cassie into the car. ‘And remember? I don’t want to see you hanging around either Cassie or me until I’ve decided. I’ll give you my answer in 24 hours.’

16

Harper slammed his foot down hard on the accelerator and overtook a truck on the 110. He’d just been sent the first address of the men on his hit list and wanted to question Charles Garrison in person. He asked Jennifer Curtis to accompany him to see if she could pick up any signs of psychopathology beyond what one would normally expect from a brutal wife beater.

‘It’s the next exit,’ said Jennifer. ‘Here.’

He quickly swerved into the right lane and took the exit that led into South Central; nobody he knew called it by its new name of South LA. He drove down East Slauson Avenue and then took a left onto South Main Street, past a row of fast food outlets, a pawn shop, and a run-down liquor store. The area was famous for the violence of its rival Latino and black gangs, but although they were brutal at least their objective was clear – race hatred and territorial protection. What he was looking for was much more unnerving – a murderer with a motive yet unknown, someone whose crimes linked him to a dead serial killer.

‘Nice neighbourhood,’ he said. ‘Quite a come down for Garrison. He was living in Inglewood before his arrest. Worked as a high end information technologist at Ernst and Cable. Earnt in the high two hundreds. Must be hard for him.’