Alaysha was thoughtful, the shadows back in her eyes, though from concern for him and Durrant this time rather than herself. ‘But what if you find something that convinces you he was innocent afterthe six days, when it’s too late — you’d never forgive yourself for giving up at the last moment. Especially with all you’ve been through.’

‘I know what you’re saying, Alaysha. But I’m tired, and I don’t know what else there is to find out. And there’s the real worry that I’ve been doing all this to try and free a guilty man.’ As Jac exhaled, it felt as if that breath was taking his last strength with it. ‘Every time I get up off from the canvas hoping that with the next punch I’ll hit something to convince me that Larry wasn’t there that night and didn’t do it — another blow comes to tell me that he was, knocks me back down again. And this time, Alaysha, I don’t know if I’ve got the strength to get back up.’

She reached out and gripped his arm then, lightly shaking, as if she might be able to inject some extra energy from herself into him. ‘But it’s only six days, Jac, and then you’ll know for sure. And if you still haven’t found anything and it looks as if Larry wasthere that night — at least then you’ll be able to tell yourself that you tried everything. Did all that you could.’

Jac nodded and closed his eyes for a second in acceptance. He could see the sense in what Alaysha was saying, but the sudden turnaround made him question, ‘What makes now so different to before — when you were urging me to give-up, throw in the towel? Or is it just one of those perverse women-things: alwaystake up an opposite stance?’

Alaysha could tell from Jac’s sly smile that he was ribbing, but the effort of making it bore out what he was telling her: he was tired, defeated, had no strength left. ‘Because beforeJac, you still had a long way to go — now you don’t. Now there’s only six days left to hang on.’

Six days. Said that like, it didn’t sound long, but with the way Jac felt at that moment, it seemed like a lifetime. He’d felt tired and worn-down before the nightmare with Gerry and the gun. But running like a rabbit from the police and the role play with Ayliss, worried that at any minute, a few words wrong or bumping into someone who’d known Ayliss, the game would be up — the BOP hearing and walking back into Libreville had been particularly nerve-racking, draining — all of that had sapped his last reserves, so that now he felt he had nothing left to give.

Alaysha watched Jac crumble before her, saw his painfully conflicting emotions, wanting desperately to continue, but not sure any more how to, or whether he had an ounce of energy or resolve left to be able to… and that vulnerability, as before, made her realize how deeply she cared for him, lovedhim, made her suddenly want to soothe him, comfort him, protect him.

She leant in close then, putting one arm around him and gently rocking, ‘Oh, Jac… Jac,’ starting to plant light kisses on his forehead and one cheek.

The softness and closeness of her made Jac melt. Jac, without knowing her thoughts, thinking how vulnerable shelooked, still in her underwear, cross-legged before him, more concerned about his welfare than her own — even though a threat to her life might hang just around the corner for her. And in that moment, he didn’t think he’d seen anyone so beautiful; not just outside, but inside too. Body and soul.

A couple of tentative kisses by his lips, and then their tongues were touching, teasing; then suddenly the kisses became deeper, more passionate, and they were tearing the remaining clothes off each other.

Jac remembered reading somewhere that in times of war, people made love more frequently and fervently. While the bombs dropped around them, in air-raid shelters or ditches or bedrooms that shook with nearby explosions, they fucked. Soldiers visited whores the night before they went to the front line, or lonely women took them in for the night because they seemed exciting or different or had a packet of cigarettes or some nylons to give them. And much of that desperate love-making was not only because it might be their last chance, but because in those few moments they were reaffirming that they were still alive, still vital; while so much around them was being robbed of life by bullets and bombs, they were indulging in the one act that represented continuance of life.

What was happening now was probably little different, Jac thought — though too urgent and feverish to be termed love-making. They fucked. They fucked on the floor, on the bed, up against the wall at one point — Alaysha’s gasps and screams so loud that Jac thought the people in the next room would start banging and complaining.

They fucked with a heat and abandon they’d never known before, as if it might be their very last time; and perhaps, like the countless war-torn souls before them, that was because it might be. A bullet around the next corner for Alaysha, and a long-term jail cell awaiting Jac.

They fucked until all those dark shadows and worries finally lifted from them, and there was nothing left in this world that was important except the two of them staring breathlessly at each other only inches apart. Them. This moment.

‘Okay…. okay. You’re there now, Larry… you’re there.’ Ormdern’s voice calming, yet with a nervous edge to it, as if he was afraid of losing the delicate thread of thought that had finally been established. ‘Tell me what you see?’

It had taken Ormdern longer to get Larry under than last time, and longer still to get his thoughts focused back again on that vital pool game at the Bayou Brew twelve years ago.

Jac was more conscious now of time fast ticking away against them and started to look anxiously at the clock as Ormdern struggled in those opening moments: only four days left now, and the heat and pressure now far higher with the events of the last few days. Jac took the first sips of the coffee that had been brought in for him and Pete Folley in paper cups a minute ago.

‘Bill… Bill Saunders is there. They’re all there that night.’

As Ormdern realized that Larry was linking back to what he’d covered last time, he gently moved Larry on. ‘Okay, Larry… they’re all there. But I wondered if you could tell me what any of them are doing, apart from playing pool… anythingthat might tell you what day it is?’ As Larry’s brow knitted, Ormdern added, ‘Reading a newspaper, for instance… something with a headline or date on it?’

Larry’s head gently shook after a second. ‘No… not that I recall.’

‘Or maybe even talking about the shooting of Jessica Roche… because that would then definitely place that pool game aftershe was killed.’

Longer pause this time, Larry’s eyelids pulsing heavily. ‘No… nobody’s talking about anything like that.’

The news had come through at midday from Governor Candaret’s office that Larry Durrant’s plea for clemency had been refused.

Jac had phoned Candaret’s office an hour later, and, laying on the smooth Southern Ayliss charm, had tried his utmost to sway Candaret, but he was adamant, immovable: ‘I hear what you’re saying loud and clear, Mr Ayliss, about Larry Durrant’s state of mind and memory at the time, andabout his good character and development since. But balanced against that, we’ve got the fact that he did finally admit that he committed the crime that night — and even if there were doubts raised about that recall, we have the irrefutable DNA evidence that puts him there at the time of Jessica Roche’s murder. I appreciate the call, though, I really do… though I’m sure you can equally appreciate that this remains a particularly brutal and heinous crime that I cannot look upon lightly.’

With Aaron Harvey re-offending, the odds had always been against Candaret offering clemency, but now it was official. Now Jac knew with all certainty that this session — whatever Ormdern was able to drag out of Larry’s fractured, shadowy memory from twelve years ago — was probably his very last chance.