The noises in his head receded. They always did when it was time, as if they didn’t want to put him off. He had to be perfect. The timing of the grab, the threat. All he could hear was the stillness of the night, and like always, it seemed like sound had been magnified, so that her footsteps were loud slaps on the tarmac. He could hear her clothes rubbing together as she walked, the suck of her lips on the cigarette. Traffic sounds were distant. It had to be now.

She was there, crossing his side street, her head still down, the grey-blue cigarette smoke curling behind her. Why had she chosen that route? Choices again. She had made that choice, put herself in danger.

He set off walking, falling into step behind her. He was wearing soft soles, so that he could get close before she heard him. He tried to keep to the left, to keep out of the shadow of the street lights.

And then he was within grabbing distance.

He reached behind, for the cuffs that were attached to his belt. He took a deep breath through his nose. It made her turn around. She looked startled and was about to scream, when his arm snapped forward, his hand went around her throat, squeezing hard, his free hand snapping the cuff around one wrist, his legs moving quickly, pushing her towards an alleyway he could see ahead.

Chapter Thirty

Jack had finished the article for Dolby and was drinking another beer when Laura burst into the house. She was limping, panting hard, her cheeks streaked with tears. When he looked round, she went to her knees, her face in her hands.

Jack ran to the door and looked along the road, tried to see what had frightened her. There was nothing there. ‘What’s wrong?’ he said, kneeling down, his arms going round her. Her back was sodden with sweat and she was sucking in huge lungfuls of air.

‘Someone in a van just tried to run me over,’ she said.

‘Shit! Are you okay?’ He pulled away and looked for injuries.

She shook her head, and then gave a small sob. ‘No, I’m not. I’ve hurt my leg.’

He saw a rip in her running gear and a graze on her leg.

‘You shouldn’t run on these country roads at night,’ he said. ‘They’re dangerous.’

‘Don’t make it my fault!’ she shouted, a hand wiping tears from her cheeks. ‘He was doing it on purpose.’

‘What do you mean, on purpose? Are you sure? I mean, how do you know?’

‘I just know, because I saw how it happened.’

‘But why you?’

Laura got to her feet, grimacing in pain. ‘I don’t know. I’m a police officer. I’ve made enemies.’

‘But why now?’

She was leaning forward, her hands on her knees, still out of breath. ‘That’s what worries me.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Come on, Jack, think about it. Someone gets in touch with you who might be a killer, and then this,’ and she gestured to the blood on her knee.

‘He threatened this,’ Jack said quietly. ‘If you tell the police, I’ll know. That’s what he said.’

Laura straightened and looked over at Jack’s computer. He saw the look in her eyes and knew what it meant: that this was Jack’s fault.

She pointed upstairs. ‘We need to get Bobby away from here. This person must know where we live, and so Bobby cannot be in the house if he comes back.’

Jack nodded. He understood. He went to put his arms round her again, but she brushed him away.

‘I’ve got to go in,’ Laura said, but as she moved, her knee gave way, making her take all her weight on one leg. She looked at Jack, angry now. ‘Bobby needs to go somewhere tonight.’

Jack agreed and watched as Laura hobbled upstairs.

He didn’t do anything at first, except look towards the window and wonder what danger his article had brought to them as he listened to the sound of drawers opening, of her showering quickly, and then the sound of chatter as she spoke to Bobby, cajoling him, making out like it was an adventure, not wanting to frighten him.

Jack went to the window again and looked out. There was nothing but darkness. Was someone else looking in?

He turned around at the shuffle of feet. Laura was in a suit, Bobby in pyjamas and a dressing gown. Laura was holding a small suitcase.

‘He’s staying at Martha’s tonight,’ Laura said, and Jack nodded his approval. She was an old family friend. Laura ruffled Bobby’s hair, making him smile. ‘And your daddy is going to collect you from school. Isn’t that exciting?’

Bobby’s smile faltered, and Jack could tell that Bobby sensed that something was wrong. His father didn’t often travel all the way north to collect him. The handover normally took place at a motorway service station on the M6.

Jack went to Bobby and wrapped him up in his arms. ‘Have fun with Martha,’ he said. ‘Remember she’s an old lady. Don’t be a rascal.’

Bobby giggled at that, and as Jack straightened himself Laura grabbed Bobby’s hand.

‘I’ll be back later,’ she said, and then she was gone. The peace of the night was broken by her car engine, the dark fields briefly illuminated, and he watched as her car disappeared out of sight. Then it was quiet again.

He stepped back inside and closed the door, checking the locks. It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Thirty-One

Jack looked out of the window. He was standing a few feet away from the glass, hoping to sink into the shadows.

It was nearly eleven now and Laura had been gone for a couple of hours. All the lights were off in the house. He wanted to see out without anyone else seeing in. He didn’t know what to expect, but if whoever was in the van was going to come calling, he was going to be the one with the surprise.

What if they had got it wrong though? Perhaps it was just a bad driver, or someone who wanted to scare Laura for kicks.

The answer came sooner than he expected.

The only source of brightness in the room was Jack’s laptop. It displayed a screensaver of family pictures. He went to it and idly tapped a key. When the screen returned to normal he saw that he had a new email from the same sender as before. The message title was just one word: Why?

Jack clicked on the message.

Why the fuck didn’t you speak to Emma? If you want to know the full story, that’s where you need to go. Find her. Go there. I know you can. Or is it because you’re too busy with the police? I told you not to go to them, and now Laura has had a little accident, but it could have been so much worse.

It’s not part of the story, just a random frustration, but someone else took the brunt.

Jack sat down to read it again.

There were no doubts now, or else how would the sender know that Laura had almost been run over by a van, and that he had been to the police? Was he watching?

He looked at the screen again, and the words seemed to swim in front of him. He had to calm down though. Just because it had been the person who sent the emails, it didn’t mean that he was a killer. Carson might be right, that it was just a leak, someone in the force spilling secrets, and that he was just trying to frighten Laura, to let Jack realise that he knew the messages had been passed on to the police. After all, if he had wanted to run her over, he could have done.

Jack typed quickly. Have you been watching? And what do you mean that it could have been worse for Laura? Who are you?

His eyes didn’t leave the screen as he waited for a response, his head filled with thoughts of Laura alone on a country lane, an anonymous van stalking her.

When the message came through, its title was: Just a hint, Jack. A little present.

There was an attachment. A photograph.

It seemed to take an age to load, the image slowly unfurling itself along the screen, every pause revealing another tantalising glimpse. Except that when it had finished loading, Jack felt his heart pound. Laura needed to see this.