why the back of her head hurt. That was why she couldn’t remember getting into bed. Why was it so dark? Why could she smell exhaust fumes?
The memory strengthened – the Turkish chef trying and failing to rile her; walking the sitter to the bus stop; the three soldiers waiting there; waving the sitter goodbye; the young men harassing her.
The blond man, tall and strong.
He had helped her. He had slapped the man who’d slapped her.
Now there is parity, he’d said.
Lucille gasped, an avalanche of memories assailing her. He’d killed them. The blond man killed all three of the soldiers. She pictured a white face lying in the gutter, eyes open and staring after her as the blond man carried her away to…
Peter.
She cried out and stood, struggling to stay balanced against the swaying and the vibrations. She searched in the darkness, remembering the blond man taking her son and putting him in the back of a white panel van. Then she’d been put inside too. She realised she’d been lying on a mattress in the back of that van. The vibration and fumes were because the van was moving. The blond man had taken them.
Lucille blindly felt along every square inch. She ran her palms over the foam rubber that covered the walls and floor.
No Peter.
She screamed. She banged her fists on the sides and floor and roof, screaming for her son.
The blond man had taken him. The blond man had him.
She screamed and screamed.
Then the van stopped and she was thrown forward. She bounced off the spongy wall and fell onto the floor. She lay on her stomach, crying and screaming.
A noise. Metal. A bolt sliding. Light, as a door opened at the rear of the van. It blinded her. She couldn’t see. A shape emerged through her tears. The blond man. Another shape in his arms.
‘Peter…’
Her son was smiling. ‘I’ve been up in the cab like a big boy.’
She sobbed, relief and fear overwhelming her equally. She pulled herself to her knees.
‘I didn’t want him to get bored,’ the blond man said. ‘And you needed to rest. He’s been having a good time, haven’t you, Peter?’
He ruffled her son’s hair and he grinned. ‘The best time. We’ve been playing red car.’
‘And you’re winning, aren’t you?’ the blond man said.
‘I’ve got nine,’ Peter said, proudly. ‘He’s only got five.’
‘Your son is very observant. You should be proud of him.’
‘Give him back to me. Now.’
The smile fell from Peter’s face at her tone.
The blond man said, ‘There’s no need to be like that, Lucille. You don’t want to upset your son, do you?’
Lucille tried to control her emotions for Peter’s sake. He didn’t understand what was happening. She didn’t want to scare him, but she couldn’t stop the tears spilling down her cheeks. ‘Come with me, Peter.’ She held out her hands.
‘Why don’t we ask Peter what he would like to do?’ the blond man said, then to Peter, ‘Would you prefer to sit with your mother in the dark or ride in the cab like a big boy?’
Peter thrust his hand in the air as if he was answering a question at school. ‘In the cab, please. Please.’
Lucille wiped her eyes with the back of a wrist and tried to smile. ‘Come to your mother, Peter. She misses you.’
Peter didn’t seem to notice. ‘Can we play red car again?’
The blond man nodded. ‘Of course. Go and get back up front.’ He put Peter down. ‘But I’m going to win this time.’
‘No you won’t. No you won’t.’
Peter ran out of Lucille’s sight and more tears wet her cheeks. The blond man smiled at her, but his eyes were dead.
‘Who are you?’ she gasped.
‘I am the devil who wears men’s skin.’
The door swung shut and darkness enveloped Lucille once more.
THIRTY-TWO
Lazio, Italy
Victor had never driven a Rolls-Royce before. He’d never driven a limousine either. People talked about life being about new experiences, but for Victor new experiences were almost exclusively bad. He didn’t know how this one would turn out. He clunked the door shut and adjusted the seat back a notch – the previous driver, Dietrich, was a couple of inches shorter. The driver’s seat wasn’t as large or as luxurious as those in the back of the vehicle, but it was still exceptionally comfortable as far as car seats went. Still, considering the price tag of the Phantom, Victor would have expected nothing less.
The door windows and rear windscreen were tinted with a dark stain but the front windscreen