Will replaced the petrol cap on the old four-door sedan and walked across the garage forecourt to the pay point.
An hour earlier, he’d managed to persuade Russell to loan him his car. His friend had handed over the keys reluctantly.
Russell’s eyes had narrowed. ‘How long?’
‘Just for a couple of days.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Russell. ‘I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but your girlfriend’s in an induced coma – and you’re planning to leave town?’
‘I’ve got nowhere else to go,’ said Will. He held up his hand. ‘I’m not staying with you or any other friends. It’s too dangerous.’ He held up the hard drive before slipping it into his backpack. ‘I need to hide, keep my head down for a day or two – give me time to work out what all this means.’
‘Take it to the police.’
‘I can’t. Don’t you see? It could take weeks for them to work this out. I don’t have weeks, Russ. I need to do this now – before these people find out Amy left behind two hard drives.’ He held out his hand. ‘Give me your car keys. Please.’
‘You hate driving.’
‘I can’t rely on public transport at the moment.’
‘You’re a crap driver.’
‘I’ll be okay.’
‘You hate motorways.’
‘Russ – please! I don’t have time for this!’
Will had held his breath as his friend glared at him, eventually pulling his keys from his pocket and tossing them to him.
‘It’s parked at Lewisham station. Watch the gearbox – it’s a bit sticky in third.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Be careful,’ said Russell. ‘I’ve got no idea what you’re getting yourself into, but I know it’s not good.’
Will had pulled the door open, and then turned back to the room. ‘I’ll see you in a couple of days, okay?’
He’d reached Lewisham, collected the car, and on the way out of town, pulled up outside an office supplies store belonging to a large retail chain that sold computers as well as the more mundane stationery.
He’d purchased a cheap laptop and a small desk printer, before hurrying back to the borrowed vehicle.
Now, the futility of what he was hoping to achieve clouded his thoughts.
At Russell’s suggestion, they’d gone into a branch of a bank near to the museum and had withdrawn a large sum of cash from Russell’s account.
‘If they were watching your apartment, they might be monitoring your bank and credit cards too,’ his friend had pointed out.
Will had to admit he had a fair point. The irony of the fact that he was spending his and Amy’s hard-earned house deposit wasn’t lost on him, either.
In the space of mere hours, their lives had been turned upside down.
He frowned. The more he thought about it, the more it appeared that Amy had been preparing for something to happen.
A polite cough jolted him back to the present, and he mumbled an apology to the person standing behind him and shuffled up to the cashier’s window.
‘Pump number four, please.’
He handed over some notes, waited for his change, and then hurried from the service station and across the forecourt to the café.
As soon as he walked through the door, he made his way over to the coffee vending machine. While he waited for the thick viscous liquid to pour, he pulled out his phone, replaced the battery, and noticed two new voicemail messages waiting for him.
He reached over the counter for a napkin and a pen and hastily scribbled down the messages – one from the hospital and the other from DCI Lake.
As soon as he had finished, his paranoia still piqued by the events of the day, he ripped the battery from the phone once more, and then glanced around the café until he saw a sign for a payphone.
The coffee machine whirred, and the last of the brown liquid spluttered into the cardboard cup. Will grabbed a takeaway lid and hurried across to the telephone.
The policeman’s gruff tones answered within seconds.
‘Lake.’
‘It’s Will Fletcher.’
‘We’ve been trying to reach you, Will.’
‘Yeah, sorry – I had to leave town. My mother is ill. Have you found out who shot Amy?’
He heard the policeman cover the phone and talk to someone before he returned to the call.
‘Sorry about that, Will. I just had someone with me,’ he said. ‘We’re still pursuing enquiries at the moment, but I wanted to talk to you about something else. Have you been back to the apartment since we spoke?’
Will crossed his fingers. ‘No – I went back into work to sort some stuff out, then had to leave town.’
‘Ah, I see. Will, there’s no easy way to tell you this, but your apartment was broken into.’
Will remained quiet, letting the silence stretch a while before speaking. ‘What do you mean ‘broken into’? Has anything been taken?’
‘It doesn’t look like it at first glance,’ said the detective. ‘Any valuable goods that might have been seized, such as your television, are still there. Unfortunately, though, the place has been torn apart – as if someone was looking for something.’
‘Wow. When did that happen?’
‘We’ve narrowed down the time between eleven and one o’clock.’
Twelve forty-five actually, thought Will. I nearly walked in on the intruder.
He recalled the out-of-service elevator and the whirring of the machinery as it began its downward descent while he’d climbed the stairs.
‘What happens now?’
‘Well, forensics have finished – I tried to phone you as soon as we found out about it. Took uniform a while to get word to us, and then we put two and two together and realised it was yours and Amy’s apartment. Our team arrived at four o’clock.’
‘Sorry – my phone’s been switched off. Forgot my battery charger.’
Will bit his lip. He couldn’t think of anything to say to the detective that wouldn’t cause him problems.
Such as why he was standing next to a motorway in the middle of Surrey, trying to fathom why his girlfriend had been shot. Or why he was scared of a mystery man who phoned him on a regular basis demanding that he hand over Amy’s investigative notes.
He waited another heartbeat and then spoke. ‘What’s happening now? Is the apartment secure?’
The policeman sighed. ‘Yes, we got a locksmith in while forensics were there. Your neighbour, a Mrs Hegarty, has the keys. She was the one that dialled 999 when she discovered the break-in.’
Before Will wondered whether he should offer any more information, the detective spoke again.
‘Look, Will – the apartment’s secure now. If you’ve got things to sort out with family, I understand – but I do need you to check your messages more often. Where are you, anyway?’
Will swallowed. ‘I’m, um, I’m staying with a distant relative in Surrey at the moment, so I’m only a few hours’ away if you need me. My mother’s ill.’ He coughed. ‘How’s Mr Rossiter getting on?’
The detective lowered his voice. ‘He was discharged an hour ago, Will. At his own request.’
‘Lucky bastard.’ Will ran his hand over his eyes, then pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Was he able to tell you anything about the attack?’
‘I’m sorry. I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you, Will. You know that.’ The detective sighed. ‘I’ll keep you up to date on progress as much as I can, but there’s a lot of information we’re working through at the moment, as you can understand.’
Will cleared his throat. ‘I understand. Sorry, but I have to go.’
‘Right, well, let me know as soon as you’re back in town. I’d prefer it if you came to the station first before going to the apartment, just so I can go through some paperwork with you, all right?’
‘Okay.’
Will disconnected the call, his heart thumping. He chewed his thumbnail and wondered what his next steps were.
First of all, he had to find somewhere to stay. He plucked a booklet from a display next to the payphone, its cover advertising a motel chain prevalent in the area, and hurried back out to the car clutching his coffee.
As he pulled away into the traffic driving north, he looked at the shopping bag on the passenger seat. His next task would be to read through the rest of Amy’s notes on the hard drive.
Some twenty miles farther down the road, he pulled into the car park of one of the motel chain’s premises, switched off the engine, and stared across at the reception area.
The sky was beginning to darken and an earlier weather report had suggested rain.
As he looked towards the reception area, he saw a sign next to the front door.
No cash accepted.
He realised he wouldn’t be able to use his credit card here, either.
‘Shit.’
He rummaged in his backpack, until he found Amy’s phone and switched it on, typing in the familiar phone number.
‘Russ? It’s me. Can you do me a favour?’
Five minutes later, Will climbed out the vehicle, pulled the laptop and his backpack from the seat next to him, and locked the car.
He hurried across the car park as the first drops of rain began to splash on the asphalt at his feet and reached the portico of the motel’s entrance. He took a deep breath and pushed against the glass front door.
A female receptionist looked up from her computer screen as he entered.
‘Good afternoon, sir.’
‘Hi,’ said Will and approached the desk. He lowered his backpack to his feet. ‘I believe my research assistant just phoned through with a reservation for me? My name’s Will Fletcher.’
A smile crossed the woman’s face. ‘He certainly did. Some sort of mix-up with your other hotel, is that right?’
‘Yes. Last time we use them.’ He grinned. ‘I guess we should’ve thought of coming here in the first place.’
The receptionist smiled politely as she typed at her keyboard. ‘You’ll just have to bear us in mind in future,’ she said. ‘Now, your assistant’s paid for the room and has left credit card details as a guarantee for any purchases while you’re here, so all I need from you today is your driver’s licence.’
Will extracted his wallet and handed over his licence. After discussing it with Russell, they’d agreed that it was probably safe to do so, given that Russell’s credit card was being used for the actual room purchase.
He waited while the receptionist disappeared into a back office to photocopy his licence and tried not to let his impatience show before she returned and gave him instructions on where to park his car while he was staying at the motel.
After moving the car to the back of the complex, he hurried across the car park to the smaller guest entrance and followed the signs on the walls to his room.
The passageway meandered through twists and turns, and he had almost convinced himself he was walking in the wrong direction when he spotted the door to his allocated room.
Swiping his card, he entered the room, locked the door behind him, and dumped his backpack on the double bed.
The window faced out onto the front entrance and the main road, a net curtain providing privacy from the gloomy afternoon outside.
He switched on the small plastic kettle, then pulled out the hard drive and new laptop and began to set everything up on the small desk.
Once he could delay no longer, he took some calming breaths before picking up the room phone and dialling the number for the hospital.
‘Hi – it’s Will Fletcher here. I was wondering if I could speak to Mr Hathaway please. I’m returning his call.’
He drummed his fingers on the desk while he waited for the surgeon to come to the phone and was surprised when a female voice carried down the line.
‘Hello, Will. This is Susan Phillips – I’m the charge nurse on the ward tonight. Thanks for calling back.’
‘How is she?’
‘No change at the moment – we just wanted to give you an update and let you know that Mr Hathaway has reviewed the CT scans we ran after the surgery,’ the nurse continued. ‘He’s pleased with how the operation went, but wanted me to impress upon you that it’s still early days.’
Will heard another voice in the background and changed tack. ‘Okay, well, I’ll be checking my messages regularly, so please, as soon as you can tell me anything, let me know.’
‘Of course, Will,’ the nurse said. ‘Just remember that the next forty-eight hours are going to be critical.’
‘They sure are,’ said Will and replaced the phone in its cradle.