Will pulled into the car park of the motel, switched off the engine, and leaned his head on the steering wheel.
He couldn’t recall the drive from London. His movements had been automatic, reacting to road signs and the traffic in a trance, all the while thinking of Amy.
He’d held out his hands for the bag a nurse handed to him while Amy’s surgeon had spoken to him, before he peered inside and realised it was the remainder of Amy’s clothing, minus her blood-stained suit jacket and blouse. Those had been taken by the police.
His throat ached from holding back the tears, afraid that if he started, he wouldn’t stop and would have to pull the car over to the side of the road.
Instead, he needed to run, to go back to the motel and hide from the world, to mourn.
As Hathaway had coaxed him through the forms that had to be signed, the man had spoken of funeral arrangements, counselling services, and solicitors, but the words had washed over Will.
He leaned back and opened his eyes. Soon, he knew he’d have to deal with all of that. For the moment, though, he wanted to stay away from it all, the reality of having to continue without Amy almost too much to bear.
His fingers found the door release, and he stepped out into the cold night air. He slipped his backpack over his shoulder, locked the car, and stalked across the car park, the muted lights from the motel rooms chasing his shadow across the asphalt.
Walking along the corridor towards his room, he fished into his pocket for his key card, then froze, conscious of movement behind the door, a shadow moving in the light that streamed from under the threshold.
Erin tore it open, her face distraught.
‘You’re here,’ she whispered and grabbed his hand, pulling him into the room.
Will let the backpack slide to the floor as she ran her fingers over his cheeks, tracing the tears that now flowed.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’
She pulled him to the small sofa and sat with him, cradling his head on her shoulder as he wept, his whole body shaking with the grief that wracked him.
Somehow, he’d thought Amy would survive. She’d always been the tougher of the two of them, no matter what life threw at her. She’d simply pick herself up, dust herself down, and return stronger. Except this time, Rossiter had well and truly broken her.
‘What am I going to do?’ he whispered.
‘We’ll figure something out,’ soothed Erin, stroking his hair. She pressed her lips to his forehead. ‘We’ll find a way.’
‘He’s too powerful.’
‘We’ll find a way.’
Will sniffled and eased away from Erin. ‘I should check my messages,’ he said. ‘I didn’t get a chance at the hospital.’
He pulled the phone out of his bag, inserted the battery, and a new message icon blinked on the screen. He dialled his voicemail service, and then frowned as the female voice told him the message was from a withheld number.
He nearly dropped the phone when the message began.
‘It’s him.’
‘Put it on speaker.’ Erin drew her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs. ‘I want to hear it.’
Will laid the phone on the dresser and pressed the ‘play’ option on the display.
The voice of the likely heir to the Parliamentary throne filled the room, his haughty tone belying his rough origins.
‘Well, well, well,’ he said. ‘You have been busy, Billy Fletcher, haven’t you? Come a long way since your dad disappeared, eh?’
Will dug his fingernails into his palms as he paced the room.
‘Now, listen to me, Billy.’ Rossiter’s voice lowered to a dangerous pitch. ‘I’m sorry about Amy. I really am, but she was sticking her nose in places she shouldn’t have been. Maybe I can get her some specialist help, depending on how well you assist me.’
He paused, and Will imagined the man shrugging as he delivered his condolences, before continuing.
‘And now I have the same problem with you.’ There was another pause, and the sound of a glass being moved on a table. ‘Except you’ve been smart, Billy. I don’t know where to find you. And you have my niece with you. Lovely piece of skin, isn’t she?’
Erin jumped up from the sofa and covered her mouth with her hand, before moving to the window and stared out into the night.
Will focussed on the phone, and the voice that consumed him.
‘So, what’s a man to do, Billy, eh? I’ll tell you what he does. Listen to this.’
Will heard a scrambling sound on the line, muffled voices, and then Mack’s voice rang out.
‘Don’t pay any attention to him, Will! You get that information to the right people—’ His voice cut into an agonised scream.
Will leapt forward and turned the volume down on the phone, his insides curdling.
Mack’s scream subsided to a sob, and Rossiter returned to the phone.
‘Did you hear that, Billy? Did you hear him scream?’ he said. ‘Want to know something? Your dad screamed louder than that when I got my hands on him.’
‘Yeah, but he kept his mouth shut about his secret!’ Mack shouted in the background. ‘He was a hero, Will!’
There was a grunt, and Mack fell silent again.
‘He wasn’t a hero,’ hissed Rossiter. ‘He was a lying bastard. Same as you, Mack.’
The elderly man screamed in the background, and Erin let out a sob, before running to the bathroom. The sound of her vomiting reached Will’s ears as he picked up the phone.
Rossiter cleared his throat. ‘Now, Billy, this is what you’re going to do. You’re going to bring all the information you’ve got on me, including the hard drive – I’m presuming the bitch had another one – and the photograph. You get it to me before nine o’clock tomorrow morning, or Mack dies. If he dies, it’s because of you,’ he continued. ‘And if he dies, then you and Erin are next. Don’t fuck about, Will. There are no second chances.’
Will switched the phone off and threw it onto the bed, before leaning against the wall and sinking to the floor, his legs shaking.
The bathroom door opened, and Erin appeared, her face pale.
‘He means it, doesn’t he?’
Will nodded, his head tilted back as he stared at the ceiling. ‘I can’t let him torture Mack,’ he said. ‘I can’t. This has to end.’
Erin sank onto the bed and leaned her elbows on her knees. ‘We can’t let him win,’ she said. ‘We have to do something.’
‘You heard him. Nine o’clock tomorrow morning.’ Will checked his watch. ‘It’s ten o’clock now. We’ve got eleven hours to hand everything over.’
‘Surely there’s a way?’ Anguish creased Erin’s brow. ‘Even if you hand over the photograph and all the files, Will, he’ll destroy us both, don’t you see? This will never end.’
Will rubbed his hand across his eyes and got to his feet. He ran his fingers through Erin’s hair, her green eyes red-rimmed, pleading with him.
As Erin’s voice fell silent, Will’s mind began to work.
He wiped his sleeve across his eyes and tried to concentrate, his thoughts jumbled up with his grief.
Then it hit him.
With Amy dead, Rossiter no longer had a way to blackmail him. Maybe it was time to turn the tables.
His heart lurched as another thought began to go round in his head.
Rossiter didn’t know Amy had died. If he had, he’d never have risked leaving such a voicemail message.
Will’s gaze fell to the external hard drive plugged into the laptop, its single green light blinking on the side of its black surface.
What Amy had uncovered was volatile; the hard drive on the desk was a bomb waiting to explode. All he had to do now was set the timer.
He chewed his lip, then reached across and switched his phone back on.
If Rossiter was going to play dirty, then it was time to raise the stakes.
The number he wanted was already in the recent calls list.
‘Kirby? If I drive to your offices right now with an exclusive story about Ian Rossiter, how soon are you able to print it?’