‘How did you get my number?’
‘Good afternoon to you too. Busy day?’ asked Olivier.
‘You could say that. I guess it’s unlikely you’ll tell me where you are?’ Henley’s voice was steady but inside she wanted to scream.
There was no reply from Olivier. Henley waited, listening to Olivier breathing, until he broke the silence.
‘I’ve been catching up on the news. You’ve been busy. How’s the family?’ he asked.
‘Why don’t you hand yourself in?’
‘Why would I do that? I can feel the sun on my face, the wind in my hair.’
‘I wouldn’t get used to it.’
Olivier laughed. A deep, sarcastic, pitying laugh.
‘Why are you hiding?’ Henley asked, her stomach in painful knots.
Olivier whistled softly down the phone, saying nothing.
‘Are you keeping an eye on me? I don’t think I’m the one you should be worried about.’ Henley prayed that Olivier didn’t pick up on the quiver in her voice.
‘Meaning?’ Olivier asked, bored.
‘There’s someone out there pretending to be you, taking credit for your particular… brand of killing. Who would do that? Who have you been talking to?’
‘You keep asking me these questions. All I wanted was to hear your voice. You’ve got me all caught up in my feelings.’
A delivery man came out of the chicken shop, so Henley walked back onto the main street.
‘I thought you would be grateful to hear from me. Life must be pretty lonely for you now that your husband and little girl have left.’
Henley stopped dead in her tracks. The delivery man hit the brakes on his moped, there was the screech of tyres, and a car horn beeped.
‘Oi, you stupid cow!’ shouted the delivery man, swerving around Henley. ‘Watch where you’re going!’
‘How do you know that—’ Henley said, sprinting across the road.
‘Don’t play stupid.’
Henley stopped at the stairs leading up to the police station. She felt her throat tighten and the muscles in her legs weaken. She placed a hand on the rusty railings.
‘You were at my house?’
Silence from Olivier.
‘You were at my house?’ Henley repeated, her voice louder this time.
Olivier laughed. ‘I’ve been in prison, Inspector.’ There was a pause that seemed to last a lifetime. ‘But maybe someone sent me a gift. A little video. Maybe.’
Henley couldn’t breathe.
‘And maybe I saw your lovely house. You opening the door, your husband coming up the path. He’s not how I imagined he would be. You told him not to move, but men. They never listen.’
‘Someone sent you a video?’
Olivier was silent.
‘What do you want?’ Henley was bordering on panic now. ‘What do you want from me?’
Olivier ignored the question. Instead, he said, ‘A word of advice, Anjelica. Be careful crossing the road next time. That moped nearly took you out.’
Henley looked down at the phone, but the call had ended. She looked around wildly and then sat down on the steps heavily. Panic was sweeping over her in waves. When Olivier had stabbed her the fear had been centralised. Now, she was trying to defend herself against something, someone, she couldn’t see. There was a slight chill in the air, but Henley was sweating. And even though she hadn’t eaten since last night, Henley threw up in the middle of the street.