George laughs ruefully. Nothing more is said and Tom continues to walk until he gets to the door. He immediately smells the petrol; it stops him dead. He should run, hell is inside this cabin. This is death.
‘Tom. I love you. Please don’t go inside.’
‘Quiet, Dani,’ he tells her. Then he draws a big breath into his lungs and steps through the doorway.
It is dark, low-ceilinged with only one small shuttered window. It takes a second or two for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. His lungs are starting to strain so he breathes again.
‘Oh fuck.’ He whispers – the fumes make him queasy. He wants to vomit.
The cabin is pretty bare – a sofa, single chair and table are all he can see, and that is only in outline. Then something moves. He can make out the figure of George, sitting at the table, his rifle propped up against it. Tom walks forward and … ‘Christ!’ The sofa, chair and table are doused in petrol – they are dripping with it. Then George leans forward, into a thin strip of light from the door and Tom sees that he has poured the rest of the can over his own head.
‘Welcome, DI Bevans. You look upset.’
‘That’s just my face, I always look like this. Miserable.’ Tom tries to smile.
George nods. ‘Where is my photograph?’ He reaches out a hand, his sleeve is soaked with petrol that drips over the table. The smell makes Tom retch, luckily there is nothing in there to come out. He reaches his arm out to full stretch, and Larkshead takes On the Road from him. He opens it and removes the picture. He kisses it. ‘Oh, this is yours.’ He flicks something up in the air. Tom catches it – the ban the bomb badge he had stabbed George’s hand with – his good-luck charm. It had saved his life.
‘Thanks. It has sentimental value too.’
‘I gave you that,’ Dani whispers.
Tom slips the badge in his pocket. ‘I spoke to Maarten Meyer.’
‘Huh.’ George does not look up at Tom, instead his eyes are focused on the image of Jennifer Brindley. ‘I thought he’d be dead by now.’
‘He made you a doll.’
‘He made me Jennifer.’ His eyes mist over and he is somewhere else, trapped in the amber of the past – remembering how she felt that first time he kissed her.
‘You showed him the body of a girl you killed?’
George looks up, tears stream down his face. Tom has no idea if they are for the poor girl whose life he ended or for the damn doll.
‘I showed him. She was dead, I begged him to help me. I didn’t want to kill again, didn’t want to hurt anyone but I—’
‘He made you something to love?’
‘Love?’ Dani asks.
‘Exactly, I knew you would understand me. I could see it in your face, in your eyes. That’s why I let you in – you understand, don’t you.’ George asks him hopefully.
Tom tries not to wince at his words.
‘You understand, don’t you, my Sad Man.’ He hears Dani echo through his head.
‘I needed his help, he was a wonderful talent, all of Amsterdam talked of him. All I had to do was show him this photograph. It was in her car, I found it that day.’
‘You went through her things?’
‘She wanted me to. She asked me to love her – and I did. I cut a lock of her hair too. The colour was unique, I had to keep it… and it was lucky that I did. That was how Mr Meyer got the match so perfectly when he made me a new Jennifer.’
Tom hears a sound from outside the cabin. Patterson and the other men are getting as close as they can. He hopes to god they don’t try and rush in. George seems to hear nothing, just stares at the photograph.
‘That was almost twenty years ago.’ Tom says.
‘And I still love her. She is still my friend and partner.’
‘You’re married. You married a woman – a live breathing woman.’
‘Claire, yes. I married Claire eight years ago. A nice woman. She knows nothing about this. She never met Jennifer.’
‘You have two sons.’
‘Six and four. Andrew and Ian. Great boys.’
Tom shakes his head.
‘Tom. I love you. Please don’t go inside.’
‘Quiet, Dani,’ he tells her. Then he draws a big breath into his lungs and steps through the doorway.
It is dark, low-ceilinged with only one small shuttered window. It takes a second or two for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. His lungs are starting to strain so he breathes again.
‘Oh fuck.’ He whispers – the fumes make him queasy. He wants to vomit.
The cabin is pretty bare – a sofa, single chair and table are all he can see, and that is only in outline. Then something moves. He can make out the figure of George, sitting at the table, his rifle propped up against it. Tom walks forward and … ‘Christ!’ The sofa, chair and table are doused in petrol – they are dripping with it. Then George leans forward, into a thin strip of light from the door and Tom sees that he has poured the rest of the can over his own head.
‘Welcome, DI Bevans. You look upset.’
‘That’s just my face, I always look like this. Miserable.’ Tom tries to smile.
George nods. ‘Where is my photograph?’ He reaches out a hand, his sleeve is soaked with petrol that drips over the table. The smell makes Tom retch, luckily there is nothing in there to come out. He reaches his arm out to full stretch, and Larkshead takes On the Road from him. He opens it and removes the picture. He kisses it. ‘Oh, this is yours.’ He flicks something up in the air. Tom catches it – the ban the bomb badge he had stabbed George’s hand with – his good-luck charm. It had saved his life.
‘Thanks. It has sentimental value too.’
‘I gave you that,’ Dani whispers.
Tom slips the badge in his pocket. ‘I spoke to Maarten Meyer.’
‘Huh.’ George does not look up at Tom, instead his eyes are focused on the image of Jennifer Brindley. ‘I thought he’d be dead by now.’
‘He made you a doll.’
‘He made me Jennifer.’ His eyes mist over and he is somewhere else, trapped in the amber of the past – remembering how she felt that first time he kissed her.
‘You showed him the body of a girl you killed?’
George looks up, tears stream down his face. Tom has no idea if they are for the poor girl whose life he ended or for the damn doll.
‘I showed him. She was dead, I begged him to help me. I didn’t want to kill again, didn’t want to hurt anyone but I—’
‘He made you something to love?’
‘Love?’ Dani asks.
‘Exactly, I knew you would understand me. I could see it in your face, in your eyes. That’s why I let you in – you understand, don’t you.’ George asks him hopefully.
Tom tries not to wince at his words.
‘You understand, don’t you, my Sad Man.’ He hears Dani echo through his head.
‘I needed his help, he was a wonderful talent, all of Amsterdam talked of him. All I had to do was show him this photograph. It was in her car, I found it that day.’
‘You went through her things?’
‘She wanted me to. She asked me to love her – and I did. I cut a lock of her hair too. The colour was unique, I had to keep it… and it was lucky that I did. That was how Mr Meyer got the match so perfectly when he made me a new Jennifer.’
Tom hears a sound from outside the cabin. Patterson and the other men are getting as close as they can. He hopes to god they don’t try and rush in. George seems to hear nothing, just stares at the photograph.
‘That was almost twenty years ago.’ Tom says.
‘And I still love her. She is still my friend and partner.’
‘You’re married. You married a woman – a live breathing woman.’
‘Claire, yes. I married Claire eight years ago. A nice woman. She knows nothing about this. She never met Jennifer.’
‘You have two sons.’
‘Six and four. Andrew and Ian. Great boys.’
Tom shakes his head.
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