‘Christ, when was the last time anyone used this thing?’ Max whispered to Annie as they opened the concealed door into the spiral staircase that led up to the master bedroom. He was leading the way with a pencil torch, swiping thick cobwebs away as he charged up the stairs. There was a faint smell of rat urine burning their noses, and the ancient stones were green with moss. Even though it was the height of summer, it was bone-chillingly cold in here.
Annie was following, trying to stay calm. As usual under pressure, Max was clearly having fun, but all she could think about was what would happen when they reached the top, and what they would find when they stepped out into the bedroom itself.
Constantine, lying dead on the bed, his throat slashed like Gary’s and Jackie’s?
Or Redmond, looming over him, just about to do the deed?
And if they managed to stop him, what then? Max had his own agenda, and that was dangerous. If he tried to kill Constantine, she had to find a way to stop him. Constantine was no rival to Max. But if Max went ahead with his promise and he succeeded, for certain Alberto would be forced to kill him, and that would destroy her, break her heart – and Layla’s too. She couldn’t let that happen.
They reached the top of the stairs and there was the door. On the other side of it, there would be the fake bookcase, nothing to give them away. So they had the element of surprise on their side. Annie remembered once marvelling at the books in that case right beside the bed, how convincing they appeared; they gave every appearance of real books when they were anything but. She had read to Constantine sometimes in the last year or so, sitting beside his bed; and he had joked sometimes, get another book, that one’s crap, and he would indicate the bookcase. Once she went there and tried to pick a book out from the others; but the book she selected was nothing, just blank pages inside a gold-blocked cover.
Max stopped, breathing hard, looking at his watch.
‘Minute to go,’ he mouthed at her as she stood there on the top step, heart pounding, breath coming in shallow gasps.
Max kept the penlight trained on his Rolex, and slipped the gun out of his pocket. Annie’s eyes met his.
‘No prisoners,’ he said. ‘You stay here.’
‘No fucking way,’ she said.
‘I said, you stay here,’ he repeated.
‘And I said, forget it.’ She looked at the watch. ‘Three minutes are up,’ she said, and that was when they heard the gunshot.