Fifty Fifty (Detective Harriet Blue #2)(81)

Sam hadn’t known that Doctor Howes had died. Sam hadn’t known that his phone call had got Regan arrested. He hadn’t known that Regan went to jail just three months later. That year after year he’d thought of nothing but Sam.

He’d thought only of coming back and finding Sam there in his perfect life. Oh, his beautiful plans, spinning around and around like a fine spider’s web, surrounding Sam long before the man knew the invisible strands were there. Regan followed and waited until Sam breezed by one of his pretty-picture girls, and then he snatched them up. Sometimes he was so close, he was sure Sam would turn and see him. Hear the girl scream. The last one, Rosetta. He’d grabbed her out of the mouth of a side street just seconds after Sam passed. He’d been able to smell Sam’s cologne as the man moved behind him.

Linny was supposed to have been the last one. He’d decided to make this one different. Take her and set her up at the hotel, splay her out, ready for Sam. Ready for him to see her, so glorious in herself, and yet so incredible as a part of his plan. This is what I did for you, Regan had wanted to tell Sam as they stood there before the dying girl. This is what you made me.

But Linny had slipped away from him. He’d got Caitlyn instead. No matter. She’d do. And then the terrible news that Sam had escaped him, too.

It was OK. If Regan was anything, he was adaptive. He kind of liked it when things became chaotic, went awry. The little jerk of his heart as the rug slipped out from beneath him.

Now he’d discovered Harry. And his plans for her would put his former work to shame.

Regan was shaken out of his daydreams by the pain. He hugged an arm into his side and re-gripped the wheel, waiting for the spasms to pass. He needed to get off the road soon. It wasn’t finished yet. He turned onto the highway heading west and followed the ramp down to the deserted road, picking up speed.





Chapter 131


I DRAGGED MY suitcase along the walkway between the plane and the airport terminal, listening to it clunk over the rubber seams in the grey carpet. I knew people were staring. I hadn’t showered, changed, fixed my hair or so much as washed my face since the previous morning. There was grey duct-tape glue adhered to the burned skin of my neck. Blood spatter on my shirt. I’d ignored the number on my ticket and gone straight to the back row of the plane, sat there staring out the window and saying nothing until we landed. The flight attendants did not approach me, nor did anyone sit near me. They might have known who I was. Or they might simply have been terrified by my appearance. I didn’t know. I was counting the seconds until I got home, and that was all I had the mental strength for.

My phone bleeped as I turned the corner. My mother. I opened the text as I walked.

They just told me about Sam. I’m sorry but I have to keep the money.

I stared at the text, trying to understand what it meant. It didn’t matter. I didn’t have time for her. My Day Zero was mere minutes away.

As I walked into the terminal, a hand reached out and touched me. I turned and saw Edward Whittacker standing there.

It was all I could do not to cry. He looked as bad as I did. Strangely damp. Blood-soaked. He was steadily working on two black eyes, a blow to the head, it seemed. This was not how I was used to him looking. His shirt was torn. He grabbed my arms before I could throw myself at his chest and held me achingly away from him. His eyes were filled with tears. I didn’t get to ask him how he knew what flight I was coming in on. Why he was there. Why he wouldn’t let me touch him.

‘I need to talk to you before you hear it somewhere else,’ Whitt said. He glanced at the people around us, many of whom were staring, pretending to stop and adjust their bags. ‘Tox … Tox found the killer. He fought him. He got injured. He’s stable at the moment but it’s … it’s complicated. He’s … not well. He’s on the edge. Last night I cornered the killer. Regan Banks. He told me that he set your brother up. He told me Sam is innocent.’

I grabbed onto Whitt’s shirt. I held on, partly so I didn’t fall. Partly so that I could shake him if I needed to. My whole body was afire. He wiped at the tears running down his cheeks.

‘He got away,’ he said. ‘I let him get away.’

‘We’ve got to find him,’ I said. ‘We … Where was he last seen? Have there been sightings since? Where’s Tox? What hospital is he in?’

‘ Harry.’ Whitt held on as I tried to twist away. His grip was hard. Painful. ‘Word came through from the prison a couple of hours ago. There was an incident early this morning. A fight broke out in Sam’s cell block. Harry, your brother’s dead.’





Chapter 132


I STARED UP at Whitt’s eyes. The airport around me had been reduced to nothing. No light. No sound. Just a hollow in which this man and I stood. The words tumbled out of him, even as I willed them to stop. Whitt ran a hand through his filthy hair.

‘Sam’s dead,’ he said again.

The words rang in my mind, vibrating, the echo of a bell struck hard. I held onto Whitt’s shirt. He pulled me into his chest, wrapped an arm around my head, trying to shield me from the onlookers I could still see over his shoulder. Whitt didn’t know what to do. He rubbed my back hard, tried to squeeze the pain out of me even as it began to creep into my blood. I shook my head against his chest. My eyes were wide. I was terrified of closing them, of losing my fragile grip on the room around me. If I could just stay here in this moment, in the airport terminal, if I could just hold on, maybe it wouldn’t be real.