Table of Contents
Cover
About the Author
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Part 1. Severn Beach
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Part 2. South Downs
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Part 3. London
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the author
Fergus McNeill has been creating computer games since the early eighties, writing his first interactive fiction titles while still at school. Over the years he has designed, directed and illustrated games for all sorts of systems, including the BBC Micro, the Apple iPad, and almost everything in between. Now running an app development studio, Fergus lives in Hampshire with his wife and teenage son. Eye Contact is his first novel.
EYE CONTACT
Fergus McNeill
www.hodder.co.uk
First published in Great Britain in 2012 by Hodder & Stoughton An Hachette UK company Copyright © Fergus McNeill 2012
The right of Fergus McNeill to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library Ebook ISBN 978 1 444 73963 3
Hardback ISBN 978 1 444 73961 9
Hodder & Stoughton Ltd
338 Euston Road
London NW1 3BH
www.hodder.co.uk
For Anna & Cameron
Always & Completely
He realised very early on that he’d have to set rules. Otherwise, there would be no structure, no real challenge . . . and what would be the point if there was no challenge? He wondered how many others might have walked this road before him, moving unseen through society, their actions sending out little ripples over the surface of the news, while they remained quietly anonymous, hidden in plain sight.
Little ripples.
He smiled at the thought. It was certainly harder to do now, so much more challenging than it would have been even twenty years ago – tougher surveillance, tougher forensics – but in many ways that was the appeal of it.
Little ripples.
He watched them spreading away into the twilight, glittering with reflected street lamps from across the otherwise calm water. He watched them fading as they expanded outwards, silent rings around the face-down figure, now so still after moments of such struggle. And then, like the last of the ripples, he was gone.
part 1
SEVERN BEACH
1
Wednesday, 2 May
Robert Naysmith peered thoughtfully at the typewritten menu in the window, then pushed open the door with his forearm, the sleeve of his jacket preventing any direct contact with the glass.
Old habits.
A little bell clinked above the doorway as he stepped inside, his polished shoes tapping quietly across the scrubbed wooden floor. Eight tables, neatly squeezed in, with linen tablecloths and flowers in slender vases, artistic photographs on the walls. But only one customer – an owlish old man lost in his newspaper, a half-empty mug at his elbow.
Naysmith walked over to the counter, his eyes on the woman with her back to him, studying the shape of her – those narrow shoulders, the straight brown hair – then calmly switched his gaze to the menu board as she started to turn round.
‘Can I help you?’
She had a soft voice, warm, with a slight West Country lilt. He allowed his eyes to drift back from the menu, as though he hadn’t been watching her before, his smile mirroring hers.
‘Are you still serving breakfast?’ he asked.
She glanced up at the wall clock, then looked back to him with a slight shake of her head.
‘We’re only supposed to do that till ten thirty . . .’
‘I understand,’ Naysmith sympathised. ‘I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble . . .’
He held her gaze, a hint of mischief in his unblinking eyes, until she smiled again and looked away.
‘Well,’ she admitted, pushing an errant strand of hair away from her face, ‘it’s not as though we’re busy. What was it you wanted?’
Naysmith turned to the menu board.
‘Eggs Benedict?’
‘I think we can do that for you.’ She called the order through to the kitchen.
‘Anything to drink?’
‘Black coffee, thanks.’
She turned and picked up an empty mug, while Naysmith reached for his wallet. She was wearing a blue sweater – plain, but just tight enough to show that she had a pleasing figure. Very little make-up, but that sort of sleepy beauty he’d always found rather appealing.
‘So is this your place?’ he asked. ‘Or are you a rebel employee who serves breakfast whenever the mood takes you?’
The woman laughed as she placed the mug under the coffee machine.
‘A bit of both,’ she replied. ‘I run it with my sister, so I suppose I can do whatever I like.’
‘Must be nice to be your own boss.’
She placed his coffee on the counter and took the money he offered.
‘Sometimes,’ she nodded as she turned to the till. ‘You get to meet some nice people.’
Naysmith smiled at her as she handed him his change.
‘Thanks.’ He remained at the counter, inhaling the steam rising from his coffee.
‘And you?’ the woman asked him after a moment. She had a wonderfully shy expression.
‘I’m just one of those nice people,’ he lied.
Naysmith had always liked Clifton. It was quite beautiful in parts, especially up near the suspension bridge. Leafy streets with grand old houses, narrow lanes that fell away down steep inclines, boutiques and cafés and the well-dressed people who frequented them. So different from the rest of Bristol – a little island of calm, looking out across the hazy urban sea below.
He stopped by a second-hand bookshop, smiling as he studied the sign taped to the door: Back in 10 mins. The ink was faded and some of the tape looked older – the shopkeeper was obviously out a lot – but somehow that made the place even more charming. Yellowing paperbacks were stacked high in the window, larger volumes propped up against them in a precariously balanced display. He thought about coming back to browse and checked his watch – quarter to twelve. The Merentha Group meeting wasn’t until three. Plenty of time if he did decide to return this way.