when he'd walked free, and when he'd picked up the girl, and when he'd broken her fingers, and when he'd locked her in the room, and when he'd lain naked on top of her, plunging his erection inside her.
And then what? What had happened at the moment of penetration? The look in her eyes, the look of fear or hatred or determination which he had always faced in his past, and which had always encouraged him, now disconcerted him, had cut through him. Suddenly he had not wanted to hurt the girl, had not wanted to slam into her. He'd wanted to make love to her.
He had come quickly and he had left immediately, unable to look at her. He had showered, got into the car. Had not driven far, and now he was sitting in a pub drinking cider, eating fish and chips, wondering what he was going to do with the young woman back at his house.
He lifted his eyes from his lunch for the first time since it had been put in front of him. There were not too many people in the bar, and quite possibly Durrant was the youngest one there. There was a group of seven women with one of them doing most of the talking, a long, pointless and irritatingly loud story about an antique vase her husband had found in the loft. Durrant hadn't heard a word and still her shrill voice did not penetrate.
He noticed another old bloke, sitting on his own drinking Theakston's, reading the Sun. He was holding the paper so that the bottom half of it was resting on the table, the top half turned up and facing Durrant, allowing him to see the cover. The headline was hidden from him but he recognised the girl in the picture.
He dropped his knife and fork onto the plate and rose quickly from the table. The knife teetered on the edge for a second, then slipped off the plate, hit the edge of the table and fell onto the floor with a loud clatter. Durrant had already left the bar and did not hear it.
21
There was general chatter from the audience. The panel of four were waiting for the show to start, the large clock to the left counting down to kick-off. Jericho was sitting slightly detached from the others, an obvious gap between them in the desk behind which they all sat, indicating that he was not one of them. Washington, at the far end from Jericho, was leaning across the other two, talking in a low voice. Giving them all the benefit of his opinions, making them listen whether they wanted to or not. He was joined on the panel by a former member of the Sugababes, although not many people could really remember her ever having been in the band, and an actor who had played TV hard man coppers all his working life, and so was naturally in the best position to judge those who aspired to the job. It was not unlike getting Hugh Laurie to give you a triple heart bypass operation, but the actor did play one heck of a tough copper.
Jericho watched the large digital clock, the red number ticking down. Three minutes, twenty-four seconds until the start of the show. He had not been allowed to meet the five remaining contestants. Washington wanted to keep them separate and curious; he wanted the five on edge at the thought of the real and genuine hard-nosed copper; he wanted Jericho wary and expecting the worst. What he hadn't wanted was any of the five realising that Jericho was bored, disinterested and extremely unlikely to get as involved in the proceedings as everyone else in the show.
Haynes had arrived fifteen minutes earlier, just in time to show Jericho the latest card. Again made from the same template, with a few differences. As with the difference between the first and the second, so between the second and the third. Although the picture was almost identical, once again the look on the skeleton's face was a little nastier, a little more mocking in its macabre sense of superiority. It knew something that Jericho didn't. It was laughing at him, and once again it was laughing just a little harder than it had been previously.
Jericho had wanted to still be looking at the card,
And then what? What had happened at the moment of penetration? The look in her eyes, the look of fear or hatred or determination which he had always faced in his past, and which had always encouraged him, now disconcerted him, had cut through him. Suddenly he had not wanted to hurt the girl, had not wanted to slam into her. He'd wanted to make love to her.
He had come quickly and he had left immediately, unable to look at her. He had showered, got into the car. Had not driven far, and now he was sitting in a pub drinking cider, eating fish and chips, wondering what he was going to do with the young woman back at his house.
He lifted his eyes from his lunch for the first time since it had been put in front of him. There were not too many people in the bar, and quite possibly Durrant was the youngest one there. There was a group of seven women with one of them doing most of the talking, a long, pointless and irritatingly loud story about an antique vase her husband had found in the loft. Durrant hadn't heard a word and still her shrill voice did not penetrate.
He noticed another old bloke, sitting on his own drinking Theakston's, reading the Sun. He was holding the paper so that the bottom half of it was resting on the table, the top half turned up and facing Durrant, allowing him to see the cover. The headline was hidden from him but he recognised the girl in the picture.
He dropped his knife and fork onto the plate and rose quickly from the table. The knife teetered on the edge for a second, then slipped off the plate, hit the edge of the table and fell onto the floor with a loud clatter. Durrant had already left the bar and did not hear it.
21
There was general chatter from the audience. The panel of four were waiting for the show to start, the large clock to the left counting down to kick-off. Jericho was sitting slightly detached from the others, an obvious gap between them in the desk behind which they all sat, indicating that he was not one of them. Washington, at the far end from Jericho, was leaning across the other two, talking in a low voice. Giving them all the benefit of his opinions, making them listen whether they wanted to or not. He was joined on the panel by a former member of the Sugababes, although not many people could really remember her ever having been in the band, and an actor who had played TV hard man coppers all his working life, and so was naturally in the best position to judge those who aspired to the job. It was not unlike getting Hugh Laurie to give you a triple heart bypass operation, but the actor did play one heck of a tough copper.
Jericho watched the large digital clock, the red number ticking down. Three minutes, twenty-four seconds until the start of the show. He had not been allowed to meet the five remaining contestants. Washington wanted to keep them separate and curious; he wanted the five on edge at the thought of the real and genuine hard-nosed copper; he wanted Jericho wary and expecting the worst. What he hadn't wanted was any of the five realising that Jericho was bored, disinterested and extremely unlikely to get as involved in the proceedings as everyone else in the show.
Haynes had arrived fifteen minutes earlier, just in time to show Jericho the latest card. Again made from the same template, with a few differences. As with the difference between the first and the second, so between the second and the third. Although the picture was almost identical, once again the look on the skeleton's face was a little nastier, a little more mocking in its macabre sense of superiority. It knew something that Jericho didn't. It was laughing at him, and once again it was laughing just a little harder than it had been previously.
Jericho had wanted to still be looking at the card,
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