On the basement floor, just a few feet in front of a workshop table, lay an almost headless body. Fresh, steaming blood was still pouring out of the recent wound.

Hunter was also on the floor, his hands shackled by a metal chain speckled with blood, but there was no blood on the floor around him.

‘Are you OK?’ Garcia asked, quickly moving to him. ‘Are you shot?’

‘No, I’m OK,’ Hunter replied, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

Garcia helped him.

‘I heard two shots,’ he said.

‘He aimed the first one at the chain,’ Hunter explained, looking up at the metal pipes. A piece of chain still hung from one of them.

‘If you were alive, why the fuck didn’t you answer when I called your name?’ Garcia asked. ‘I thought you were dead.’

‘My ears were still ringing from the shots. They sounded loud as fuck down here.’

Garcia laughed for almost a full minute.

‘I think we better call this thing in. This is going to be one long report.’

Hunter nodded. What he never told Garcia was that, just before pulling the trigger, Squirm had looked deep into his eyes and mouthed the words ‘thank you’.

Ninety-One

Two days later.

Police Administration Building

‘So he was copying everything, to be just like his captor all those years ago?’ Captain Blake asked. She was still completely stunned by Hunter’s report.

‘Pretty much,’ Hunter replied. His wrists were still bandaged. ‘Everything except taking a boy captive.’

‘And if nobody had stopped him, you think that he would’ve claimed thirty-three victims?’ Chief Bracco asked. He had been the one who had called for this particular meeting inside Captain Blake’s office.

‘Maybe more,’ Garcia replied. ‘What he wanted was for someone to stop him. To end his nightmare.’

Chief Bracco frowned at Garcia.

‘It never ended for him when he escaped all those years ago,’ Garcia explained. ‘All that happened was the second part of his nightmare began.’ He looked at Hunter, who agreed with a subtle nod. ‘If no one had stopped him, he would’ve just carried on going. Reaching thirty-three victims wouldn’t have brought it to an end.’

‘Forensics is still running tests inside that house of horrors,’ Captain Blake said. ‘They found all the video footage, together with a list of victims’ names. There were exactly thirty-three names on it but I think Carlos is right. If no one had stopped him, he would’ve carried on way past thirty-three.’

‘Nobody,’ Hunter added, ‘no matter how mentally stable they think they are, could go through six years of such torment and come out the other side unscathed, never mind a boy who was eleven at the beginning of it all. So the trauma was always there. Troy Sanders did manage to keep it under control for a hell of a long time. But finding out that the reason why he’d had to suffer so much for so long had been negligence, a series of mistakes made by the police and the FBI, tipped him over the edge. In a way, he had put his trust in those law enforcement agencies to keep him safe and to right him when he’d been wronged. Everybody does. And they –’ Hunter paused and corrected himself – ‘we failed him.’

No one said anything for a long while.

‘How did you find that godforsaken place?’ Captain Blake asked Hunter. ‘It’s not registered to anyone. It practically doesn’t exist.’

‘Sanders’ car,’ Hunter replied. ‘All LAPD vehicles are equipped with trackers. Once I found out that he was Squirm, I placed a call to Operations before calling Carlos and asked them to give me Sanders’ car location. I had to manually enter the coordinates into the navigation system.’

‘Well.’ Chief Bracco got to his feet. ‘All I can say is congratulations on a fantastic job.’ He shook Garcia’s hand, but Hunter just lifted both of his, showing the bandages.

‘Sorry, sir.’

‘No need,’ he said, approaching the door. ‘Now, back to work, or do you think Troy Sanders was the only psychopath in this town?’

Ninety-Two

Marlon Sloan was shaking a little as he began walking.

The detective that had come to his house that day had intrigued him. He had told him to disregard the advice of his therapist. He had told him that he could do this himself, all he needed to do was to walk about a block outside his comfort zone and take it from there. Marlon had decided to try it.

He carried on walking past the end of his road, his comfort zone. About a block and a half later, he reached a small park at the top of a hill. His breathing was labored, but not because he was tired.

The detective had told him that that would happen.

Marlon found a bench, which faced a small green area, and had a seat. He concentrated on his breathing and on how much he was shaking. He was scared, no doubt about that. He wanted to run back but he forced himself not to.

‘You can do this,’ he told himself, focusing his attention on a cluster of trees. ‘You can do this.’

A few minutes later, the shaking had subsided and he was breathing just as if he were sitting inside his own bedroom.

Marlon could barely believe it.

He sat on that bench for about half an hour until he had mustered enough courage for the second part of his task.

As an elderly gentleman walked past the bench Marlon was sitting on, the boy turned and faced him.

‘Excuse me, sir.’ His voice was a little unsteady.

The older man stopped and looked at the boy.

‘Do you have the time, pl . . . please?’

‘Certainly.’ The man consulted his timepiece. ‘It’s ten past two.’

‘Thank you.’ Marlon breathed out, relieved, his hands still shaking.

The man went on his way.

As Marlon got to his feet and began walking back home, an enormous smile filled his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled like that.

Acknowledgements

I am tremendously grateful to a number of people without whom this novel would’ve never been possible.

My agent, Darley Anderson, who’s not only the best agent an author could ever hope for, but also a true friend. Everyone at the Darley Anderson Literary Agency for their never-ending strive to promote my work anywhere and everywhere possible.

Jo Dickinson, my fantastic editor at Simon & Schuster, for being so amazing at what she does, and for all her guidance and support. Jamie Groves for his incredible promotional ideas, and for creating the most ‘glute-kicking’ task force there is. Everyone at Simon & Schuster for always working their socks off on every aspect of the publishing process.

My unconditional love goes to Kara Irvine, for all her patience and understanding, but most of all for her companionship, for keeping me sane, and for making me smile again – I love you.