She scanned the menu as she waited in the West Hollywood diner. She couldn’t decide between the Canadian bacon, with grits, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms and wholegrain toast or the organic granola with mixed wild berries and yoghurt. She checked her cell. Josh had sent her a text. Traffic was bad on the 101. He was going to be fifteen minutes late.

Since the day he had rescued her from Gideon Walsh, just over four months ago, they had developed a more civilized relationship. She had agreed to him having access to the child. He had stopped mentioning Jules in every sentence. At times she kidded herself that Jules did not exist, that they were just taking a break from one another, that there was the possibility that in the future they might get back together. She tried to convince herself that what she felt for him was overwhelming gratefulness at having saved her life. But, deep down, she knew it was something else entirely.

‘How are you today?’ asked the ridiculously handsome waiter. Tall, blonde, turquoise eyes. She could tell he had a toned, athletic body. Too young for her. Not the right type. Another out of work wannabe actor. Insecure, vain, a narcissist. What was she even thinking? ‘Can I get you anything?’

‘I’m just waiting for a friend, but I’ll take one of your mixed fruit smoothies,’ she said, looking down at the menu to hide her embarrassment. Her body was playing tricks on her. It was the hormones. Recently, she had felt so – sensual – that one day she was scared she might try it on with the overweight Puerto Rican who came to tidy her mother’s garden.

Determined to regain her composure – and calm her thoughts - she took out her agenda from her purse. Tonight she was seeing Cassie. She’d invited her over to have supper with her and her mother. Since Gideon Walsh had been locked up more or less everything had got back to normal. Cassie had returned to her apartment - and her cat - in Venice Beach and she had gone back to work at her charity. As a result they hadn’t seen each other on more than a couple of occasions in a few months. She was looking forward to catching up with her.

Kate turned the pages of her journal, noting that she had a meeting with her gallery tomorrow to discuss her show. Although she had started work again within a few days of her ordeal she was still behind schedule and she still had something like fifteen photographs to take. The first time she had gone back down to the sea she had found that her hands had shaken so badly that it was impossible to take a decent shot. Each time she had lifted up her camera and looked through the viewfinder she would see that blurred image of the child floating in the water. But over time she had trained herself to relax, to breathe deeply, to clear her head. And, if anything, the photographs she had taken were even better than before. It was as if she had invested the waves with something altogether more unsettling.

‘Hi, there.’ It was Josh.

‘Hi, sorry I was miles away,’ said Kate, suddenly realising that this was a phrase her mother was using more and more these days. At times, a vagueness seemed to steal over her, and her eyes would cloud over. But then a few minutes later she would be okay again. Maybe she was still missing Saul. Whatever it was she made a note to talk to her about it. She’d try and persuade her to go and see her physician, Dr Harrison, and maybe have some tests.

‘Have you ordered?’

‘No, I was waiting for you.’ She passed the menu to him. ‘What you gonna have?’

She watched him as he looked at the menu. If the child was a boy would it look like him?

He was silent.

‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

He stared down at the menu. ‘Walsh has had some kind of mental collapse.’

‘What?’

‘I got a call at five this morning. Apparently, last night he started to whisper to himself and then it got louder and louder until he was shouting, screaming. He kept repeating, “I am Bobby Gleason,” over and over again. Guards said that by the early hours it sounded like an animal being tortured, as if he was being torn apart from inside.’

‘Oh my God. How is he now?’ She wasn’t so much worried about his welfare as about whether he was fit to stand trial.

‘By the time I got there he had been sedated.’

‘And what do the doctors think?’

‘They said it was some kind of psychotic attack brought on by a matrix of identity issues.’

‘Yeah, right,’ said Kate. ‘So what happens now?’

‘He’ll be out for eight hours or so. They’re going to keep him under observation, but the psychiatrist said that there is a possibility that he may never fully come back. That his mind’s too fucked.’

‘You mean that –‘

‘Yeah, that he may be declared unfit to stand trial.’

‘Shit.’

‘My sentiments exactly.’

‘When will they know?’

‘Next couple of days. Later this week. Maybe next. It could be a temporary brain fuck or something more permanent.’

Kate’s hand dropped to her stomach. She felt the blood drain out of her face.

‘But don’t worry, even if he’s not fit to stand trial, what this guy’s done means he’s going to be locked up for the rest of his life.’

‘You sure?’

‘Completely.’

The waiter was standing by them. ‘Are you guys ready?’

She looked down at the menu once more. ‘You know what, I think I’ll give it a miss.’

‘You’ve got to eat for two now, you know,’ said the waiter, suddenly a little too friendly.

She forced a smile, something she always hated to do. ‘I guess the little guy’s just not hungry.’

38

Cassie stroked her cat and listened to it purr. If she could make the same noise she would, she thought; a pure expression of contentment emanating from deep inside. She realised she hadn’t felt this happy since – well, since before Gleason attempted to rob her of her life. Sure, after his arrest and death she had felt a sense of overwhelming relief, and a degree of safety. Maybe, at the back of her mind, she had always believed that there was someone else out there. And now? The albino, while he had confessed to the gruesome array of presents – the dead baby, the tongue, the eyes, and my God, those fingertips – he denied the fact that he had ever worked with Gleason. What did that mean? Could they even trust the word of someone so fucked up? She refused to worry about it. The main thing was that the psycho was locked up. He couldn’t harm her now.