She was older than he imagined, more careworn. Her hair was mousey grey and lines like spider webs spread out from the corners of her eyes.
The young man was bigger and stronger than he thought. He had expected somebody all stretched and gangly, but this young man was broad-shouldered and fit, with the tanned complexion that always signified rude health. So different from the pallor of the citizens of Shanghai.
He would have to be careful with this young man, up the dose next time.
He relaxed back into the leather seat as the woman slept beside him.
The plan had come to fruition; he had the final piece in his game. The piece that would win everything.
His queen.
He wondered if Miss Cavendish was dead. Sometimes, giving people options meant they missed the obvious choice. He hoped Miss Cavendish had chosen correctly.
Perhaps Danilov had managed to work it out in time. He hadn’t particularly wanted her to die. She was just a pawn in the game
It didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered.
The net was closing in around Danilov now, just two more moves for checkmate. The detective would soon realise the danger he was in. The man would choose death and be happy to make the choice.
The thought sent a frisson of pleasure down Thomas Allen’s spine. After all this time, and all the pain, he would see the end of Danilov.