The physical stuff was scary enough - the changes that would occur in her body as the baby grew and demanded life from her, the actual pain of childbirth itself and then how ravaged her body would be afterwards. And then there were the years as a mother to come.

Her first response to the pregnancy was to get rid of it. Get it out of her, don’t let it grow, take her over, like some hideous invasion-of-the-bodysnatchers-type creature. And with her starting up in private practice it was the wrong time, if nothing else.

Tony said he would be fine with whatever she wanted to do. It was her body, after all. So she decided on a termination. But when the time came, she couldn’t go through with it.

Marina had swallowed her fear, tried to live with it. Prenatal yoga, relaxation and meditation, eating the right things, not drinking. Luckily she wasn’t one of those women who were sick all the time and couldn’t eat anything. Or at least not yet. Feeling the baby grow inside her was bad enough. That would have been intolerable. She also thought that being with other pregnant women would help. Take away the fear, the uncertainty. And it had, for a while. But now that she was alone again she felt the old doubts coming back.

She wondered how she had looked to the other women in the class. Long, dark hair, mercifully free of grey. Or rather chemically assisted to be free of grey. A pretty face for a thirty-six-year-old, she thought, just spoiled by worry. She had good bone structure due to her Italian parentage; the worry she had added herself. Her eyes looked sunken, hollow, like a ghost waiting to be brought back to life. Once she had resigned herself to the baby she had hoped it would do that. Four months in and it hadn’t. She was beginning to doubt that it ever would. She needed something else.

She checked her watch, stamped her feet. The cab driver had said goodbye to his tip.

From within her bag, her mobile rang.

Sighing, she extracted her hand from her coat, went to answer it. ‘Yes.’

‘Marina? Marina Esposito?’

She knew that voice. It took her a few seconds to place, but she did it. And gave an involuntary gasp. DCI Ben Fenwick. She exhaled slowly.

‘Ben Fenwick?’

‘Yes, Marina, hi. Sorry to bother you. I need to talk to you.’

‘Oh.’ She looked round. And there in front of her was Martin Fletcher. Advancing on her, features twisted by hate.

She screwed her eyes up tight, opened them again. Nothing but the cold car park, the missing cab. The faint sounds of screaming children in the background. Martin Fletcher had gone. But Ben Fenwick’s voice was still on the phone.

‘Marina? You still there?’

‘Yes . . . yes, Ben. I’m still here.’

‘Look, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.’

That was all she needed to hear and immediately the barrier was back up. ‘Look, I’m . . . I’m busy. Can we do this another time?’

‘I’m afraid not. We’ve got a problem.’

‘What kind?’

He sighed. ‘The worst kind.’

She wanted to push the button, end the call. Get into her cab - if it ever arrived - and forget Ben Fenwick had phoned. Instead she said, ‘What kind of problem?’

‘A new case has come up and we need help.Your help.’ He paused as if thinking over what to say next. ‘Look, I realise this may be difficult for you . . .’

She saw Martin Fletcher advancing towards her out of the corner of her eye again, felt blind, trapped panic rise in her chest. She blinked him away, breathed deeply.

She kept her voice low, contained. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s . . . it’s not really the kind of thing we can discuss over the phone. Best if we talk in person.’

She felt a shiver run through her. Say no. Say no. Say no. ‘Okay. Where . . .’

‘I’ll get a car sent to pick you up.’

‘When?’

‘No time like the present.’

‘But I’m . . . busy. Clients ...’The words sounded weak, even to her ears.

Fenwick sighed, evidently thinking again. ‘Please don’t take this the wrong way, but with all due respect, Marina, I think when you hear what I’ve got to say, you may find it takes precedence.’

She said nothing, thought. He took her silence as a need for more explanation, reassurance.

‘Look, I’m sorry about what happened before. We all are. It was horrific, unacceptable. Totally. If there was . . . if we could have done things differently . . .’

‘Not your fault,’ she said, her voice small and unconvincing.

He sounded relieved. ‘It won’t be like that this time. I promise. I give you my word.’

Despite everything she felt a slight thrill at Fenwick’s words. Perhaps enough time had passed to want to get away from the office. Like childbirth, she thought with a grim smile, the memory of the pain dissipates so you can go through it again.

‘Okay, send the car. Give me a couple of hours.’

‘Can you come quicker? It really is urgent.’

‘Right away then. I’m standing outside Leisure World. Tell the driver to hurry. It’s freezing here.’

‘Thank you, Marina. He’ll find you.’

She put the phone away while he was still thanking her. Smiled to herself. Didn’t even attempt to suppress the thrill that ran through her. Whatever they wanted her for must be bad, she thought. Psychosexual deviance was what she specialised in.

Another shudder went through her. Phil. She would be working with Phil.

She had tried to put him out of her mind. Concentrate on her life with Tony, the impending baby. But there he was again, Fenwick’s phone call summoning him up. He didn’t dress like any of the other coppers, but his clothes always showed off his broad shoulders and slim waist. She had thought he played rugby when she first met him but she soon found out that wasn’t him. He wore his childhood on his face; the nose that had been broken and reset, the small scars he still carried from fights that only showed up when he was angry. But it was the eyes she remembered most. The eyes that had drawn her in. His melancholic, poet’s eyes. Because when she talked to him, he listened. Actually looked her in the eye and listened. He would remind her a few days later of something she had said, proving it. And it wasn’t a trick, an affectation, it was the way he was. She imagined how this could make him a good policeman, but it had done something more to her. Made her feel wanted, special.

No wonder she fell for him. And now she would be working with him again. Well, things were going to be different this time. They would have to be. Because she might have told Fenwick that what happened with Martin Fletcher wasn’t his fault. But with Phil it was a different story.

Her cab chose that moment to arrive. She waved him off, told him he’d taken too long. The driver got out, started to argue, but the arrival of a police car behind him and the presence of a policeman seemed to shut him up.

Marina got in the passenger door of the police car.

Hoped this would be just the displacement activity she needed to take her mind off her own troubles.

9

H e watched them go in and he watched them come out.They didn’t see him, didn’t even know he was there. Not a clue. So sure were they of their place in the world, their importance in it. Safely inside their own protective little bubble.They would soon find out how unsafe they were.

Or at least one of them would.

He knew they wouldn’t see him. He was too good for that. Prided himself on it. Sitting in the car park of Colchester’s Leisure World, a clear view of the front entrance, just far enough back not to attract any attention. But he could see them. Talking and laughing as they emerged from their yoga session, their full, distended bellies sticking out in front of them.

Surrogates. All of them. If he wanted them to be.

He had the list, knew which one would come next. Knew the order.