those lives.’
He leaves the final words hanging there.
All those lives
. They drip with the terror of promised carnage.
‘What do you mean? What lives?’
The disappointment turns to amusement. He’s proud of his little twist. ‘Oh, didn’t I say? Cindy is merely the first. The first of many. In fact, you may be interested to know
that the second life will be taken tonight.’
Doyle feels his grip tighten on the phone. He had been on the point of hanging up, but now he knows that’s impossible. Refusing information on a past crime is one thing, but how can he
reject the opportunity to save someone’s life?
The caller presses home his advantage. ‘Still there, Cal? Interested now, are we? Perhaps just a little bit? I can help you, Cal. I can help you solve the murder of Cindy Mellish, and I
can help you to prevent another murder that is scheduled to take place tonight. What’s it to be? Do we have a deal?’
Doyle considers it, but not for long. He needs to hear what this man has to offer, but whether it turns out to be bogus or not, he has no intention of sticking to any agreement with this douche
bag.
‘All right. Deal.’
‘So you won’t tell anyone about me, or try to trace my calls?’
‘I said deal, didn’t I?’
There is a slight pause, and when the man comes back on there is an excited energy in his voice. It’s as though he can’t quite believe his luck at getting this far, and is not quite
sure what to say next.
‘Good. Excellent. Then listen carefully, Cal. On the Cindy Mellish case, you need to find her diary. There will be clues in there.’
‘Her diary. Are you sure?’
‘Certain. Find the girl’s diary, and you’ll know what to do next.’
‘Okay. And what about the other victim? The one who’s supposed to die tonight?’
‘That’s up to you, Cal. What actions you take will determine whether the second person dies or just ends up somewhere like Bellevue.’
‘What do you mean, the actions I take? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.’
‘That’s all I can tell you. Take it from here.’
‘That’s it? That’s all you’re giving me? The next one dies or ends up in hospital, and I’m supposed to affect that somehow? What kind of help is that?’
‘Follow my advice, Cal. Think about what you’ve heard. Forget about what your heart tells you to do. It’s the brain that’s important here. You don’t need anything
more than that.’
Doyle is ready to unleash a torrent of abuse, but before the first expletive escapes his lips, there is a click and the phone goes dead.
He stares at the handset. What the fuck was that? Did I just dream that conversation?
He tosses the phone onto the bed as though he’s just noticed that it’s crawling with insects. He continues to stare at it.
Someone is going to get hurt tonight, maybe even killed. And I can make it go one way or the other. I don’t know who the intended victim is. I don’t know their name, where they live,
what they look like, where they work, nothing.
And yet I have the power to save them.
So what do I do now?
What the fuck am I supposed to do now?
FIVE
I should call it in, he thinks.
I should call the station house, let them know I just had this phone conversation. Let them decide what to do about it. Then I’m in the clear. I don’t have to worry about it. I can
go back to thinking about what to do for poor old Mrs Sachs. They can go look for the stupid diary and solve the case and get all the glory.
But on the other hand . . .
What can I tell them? I know nothing about the person who is supposed to get whacked tonight, so telling them that isn’t going to make any difference. I suppose I can mention the diary. If
there
is
a diary. And if it contains any clues. Which it probably won’t, because this guy is probably just a complete flake who gets off by getting cops to dance for him. And anyway
I can check out for myself whether this diary exists.
Shit! Why does my life have
He leaves the final words hanging there.
All those lives
. They drip with the terror of promised carnage.
‘What do you mean? What lives?’
The disappointment turns to amusement. He’s proud of his little twist. ‘Oh, didn’t I say? Cindy is merely the first. The first of many. In fact, you may be interested to know
that the second life will be taken tonight.’
Doyle feels his grip tighten on the phone. He had been on the point of hanging up, but now he knows that’s impossible. Refusing information on a past crime is one thing, but how can he
reject the opportunity to save someone’s life?
The caller presses home his advantage. ‘Still there, Cal? Interested now, are we? Perhaps just a little bit? I can help you, Cal. I can help you solve the murder of Cindy Mellish, and I
can help you to prevent another murder that is scheduled to take place tonight. What’s it to be? Do we have a deal?’
Doyle considers it, but not for long. He needs to hear what this man has to offer, but whether it turns out to be bogus or not, he has no intention of sticking to any agreement with this douche
bag.
‘All right. Deal.’
‘So you won’t tell anyone about me, or try to trace my calls?’
‘I said deal, didn’t I?’
There is a slight pause, and when the man comes back on there is an excited energy in his voice. It’s as though he can’t quite believe his luck at getting this far, and is not quite
sure what to say next.
‘Good. Excellent. Then listen carefully, Cal. On the Cindy Mellish case, you need to find her diary. There will be clues in there.’
‘Her diary. Are you sure?’
‘Certain. Find the girl’s diary, and you’ll know what to do next.’
‘Okay. And what about the other victim? The one who’s supposed to die tonight?’
‘That’s up to you, Cal. What actions you take will determine whether the second person dies or just ends up somewhere like Bellevue.’
‘What do you mean, the actions I take? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.’
‘That’s all I can tell you. Take it from here.’
‘That’s it? That’s all you’re giving me? The next one dies or ends up in hospital, and I’m supposed to affect that somehow? What kind of help is that?’
‘Follow my advice, Cal. Think about what you’ve heard. Forget about what your heart tells you to do. It’s the brain that’s important here. You don’t need anything
more than that.’
Doyle is ready to unleash a torrent of abuse, but before the first expletive escapes his lips, there is a click and the phone goes dead.
He stares at the handset. What the fuck was that? Did I just dream that conversation?
He tosses the phone onto the bed as though he’s just noticed that it’s crawling with insects. He continues to stare at it.
Someone is going to get hurt tonight, maybe even killed. And I can make it go one way or the other. I don’t know who the intended victim is. I don’t know their name, where they live,
what they look like, where they work, nothing.
And yet I have the power to save them.
So what do I do now?
What the fuck am I supposed to do now?
FIVE
I should call it in, he thinks.
I should call the station house, let them know I just had this phone conversation. Let them decide what to do about it. Then I’m in the clear. I don’t have to worry about it. I can
go back to thinking about what to do for poor old Mrs Sachs. They can go look for the stupid diary and solve the case and get all the glory.
But on the other hand . . .
What can I tell them? I know nothing about the person who is supposed to get whacked tonight, so telling them that isn’t going to make any difference. I suppose I can mention the diary. If
there
is
a diary. And if it contains any clues. Which it probably won’t, because this guy is probably just a complete flake who gets off by getting cops to dance for him. And anyway
I can check out for myself whether this diary exists.
Shit! Why does my life have
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