Target

'So, it wasn't a hoax?'

'I don't know yet. I'll keep you posted.' She rang off and stubbed out her cigarette, wide awake suddenly.

Straight away, she did what Mike Bolt had suggested when she'd talked to him earlier that afternoon. She logged on to the PNC database and fed in the details of the man most likely to have doctored the CCTV footage.

Forty-seven-year-old John Lionel Gentleman, the doorman at Je

The question that was really interesting Tina now was, if Gentleman was bought, who had done the buying?

Sixteen

I wasn't sure how long I was unconscious for. It could have been a few minutes, more likely it was an hour or two. It was impossible to tell because when I did finally open my eyes and clamber slowly to my knees, I was still quite drunk. My head felt like lead, and when I touched my forehead there was a big painful lump there. I looked round, waiting patiently while the room came into focus. There was no sign of Ramon. Nor any sign that he'd even been there.

I got to my feet and staggered into the bathroom and over to the toilet, experiencing a wave of nausea. I fell to my knees and threw the whisky up into the bowl in violent spasms, staying in that position for a long time, head bowed, taking deep, painful breaths.

Finally, I staggered back into the bedroom, trying hard not to picture Ramon sitting there lifeless, and lay down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, knowing that I was incredibly lucky to be alive. Twice now I'd come within a hair's breadth of death, and twice I'd been given another chance to carry on. I knew that I should simply accept that this was a battle I'd lost and do what that callous saucer-eyed bastard had told me to do, because it was clear that he wouldn't hesitate to kill me if it came to it, not to mention my family.

I'm the type of person who avoids confrontation. I've always preferred the quiet life. Maybe that's why I gave up the frenetic pace of the City and tried my luck as a writer. But I also have a strong sense of justice. I know that it's essential that people do the right thing, because if we neglect that basic tenet, then society collapses. Some people say that in the UK we've started doing it already: crossing the street to avoid the kids hanging around outside the shop, refusing to intervene to stop rowdy behaviour. I've done it myself. I once saw a school kid about twelve years old being mugged by a group of older kids. They were making him empty out his pockets and one of them looked like he had a knife. The kid seemed terrified. He looked over towards me, trying to get my attention, but I turned away and kept walking. I did phone the police, but only once I'd got round the corner where the muggers couldn't see me.

I'd hated myself for that. Truly hated myself. I remember Yvo

For some reason, Je

Things were different now, though. The people who'd snatched Je

I drank a glass of water, then called him on the mobile. I had to make sure he was safe, and the only way I could do that was if I stopped him worrying about Je

He was out at di

At first, Dom was furious with me, not only for causing him a night of needless worry but also for getting drunk when I was on prescribed drugs. Eventually, though, he became more sympathetic, asking me how long I'd been depressed for and whether I was getting counselling. Keen to get him off the phone, I answered his questions as best I could, and he told me that we'd get together when he got back and try to sort out my problems. 'You've got to put the past behind you, Rob. Yvo

But at least he'd bought the story.

Now that I'd got rid of the only person who'd actually believed me, I was effectively on my own, and as I was an investment analyst turned writer, not a detective, this meant I needed some expert help.

I was still thinking what I was going to do about this when the landline started ringing. I sat up suddenly and my vision blacked out temporarily, taking several seconds to return. Still feeling pretty awful, I looked at my watch for the first time since Ramon had been killed, surprised to see that it was almost half past midnight. I reached for the receiver.

'Mr Fallon,' said Tina Boyd. 'Have you sobered up yet?'

I almost laughed at the sound of her voice. Even after everything that had happened, Tina Boyd still gave me confidence. But I was also aware that the man who'd come here tonight was no idiot and might have left behind some kind of bug to record any calls I made. It was time to start thinking like them.

I knew from research I'd done for Conspiracy that it was almost impossible for a private individual to bug a mobile, so right then it was my best bet.

'Can I call you back?' I said. 'Five minutes?'

'I'll be waiting,' she said, and cut the co

Seventeen

Tina was sitting at her desk drinking her third coffee of the night when Fallon called back.

'Where are you speaking from?' she asked him.

'I'm walking down my street.'

'Is it safe at this time of night?'

'A lot safer than my flat. I had a visit tonight.'

'What happened?'

'One of the kidnappers broke in and threatened me with a knife. He knew I'd been speaking to the police and he was the one who made me call you.'

'Which of them was it?'

'The Irish guy. The one who'd had the plastic surgery.'

'Can you give any further description of him? Something you may not have mentioned last night?'

'He had scarring round his chin. It looked a bit like someone had cut him with a bottle, but it wasn't that pronounced. I think the plastic surgery must have got rid of most of it, which makes me think that at one time he must have been hurt pretty badly.'

Tina frowned as she wrote down this information. It all seemed so improbable somehow, yet her initial suspicions that Fallon had indeed been telling the truth were turning out to be correct. 'This man didn't hurt you, did he?'