The Advent Killer by Alastair Gunn Page A

convincing motive for Jessica’s murder, he hadn’t said a word in his defence.
    Suddenly, his important business trip seemed unlikely.
    ‘Go on,’ Hawkins coaxed.
    ‘She turned up at mine the other day,’ De Angelo continued, ‘white as a fucking sheet. When she calmed down enough to talk, she said Charlie had told her he knew. Said he didn’t care about us, but if the story ever got out we’d be sorry.’
    ‘Those were his exact words?’
    ‘Yeah, well, something like that. No threats exactly.’ He looked up at them. ‘But she said there was this look in his eyes, you know?’
    ‘So why did you go to the papers?’
    De Angelo shook his head. ‘I’d already tried to sell the story once before, but they weren’t offering decent money. After she died it was different, though. They called
me
, talking big numbers this time. I thought Anderton wouldbe too caught up in it to worry about me. Anyway, I was booked on a flight to Italy this afternoon.’
    ‘So you thought you’d make a quick ten thousand and disappear?’
    ‘Yeah, couldn’t see anything wrong with that. I stayed at a mate’s house while we did the interviews and stuff. Just went home to pack my gear, but when your geezer turned up and I realized he wasn’t a reporter, I thought Anderton had sent him to do me in. When he reached into his coat I freaked out.’
    Half an hour later, Hawkins watched as De Angelo was escorted downstairs, where he would be cautioned and released. They had a video statement and a guarantee from him that he’d testify against Anderton should the need arise. In return, she’d promised to put in a good word when his assault trial came up.
    She handed De Angelo’s passport to Mike. ‘Can you deal with that?’
    ‘No problem.’
    ‘And you can stop looking smug now.’
    ‘Hey, I can’t take all the credit – you catch on fast.’
    ‘We’re assuming De Angelo isn’t just a very convincing liar.’
    ‘No way.’ Mike was smiling now. ‘Ian was right about that guy. He’s a fuckwit.’
    ‘What makes you so sure?’
    ‘I’ve worked these kiss-and-tell deals before. That story was worth at least thirty thousand.’

16.
     
    The figures lined the perimeter of the room, each silhouette barely visible in the darkness. Some named, others broken; motionless like granite sentinels. His toys.
    Outside, lightning made silhouettes of the branches on the dead oak tree. Light flicked across the room; revealing the effigies. He scanned their features and recoiled.
    Every face was his father’s.
    A rumbling sound began. At first he thought it was thunder, but then he realized it was the collective voice of the pack. Then the mob started to jeer and chant, cajoling him to leave the sanctuary of his bed. To begin the intimidating journey towards the landing.
    He covered his eyes, willing it to end, but their screams grew louder in response. Then, as suddenly as they had begun, the crowd became silent, allowing him to hear a fragile voice.
    ‘Aren’t you going downstairs?’
    He lowered his hands and looked at the little girl standing beside the bed. A diminutive child, no older than he.
    ‘You always do,’ she said, ‘in the end.’
    He stared at the door, weighing his options. Eventually, he slid one foot out from under the covers and hung it over the edge of the mattress. But, as he moved, the wooden pillars at each corner of his bed began to change and stretch. He just had time to withdraw his leg and curl into a ball as a cage grew around him, entwining above his head into a tangled mass of jagged, tapering stems.
    He looked sideways across his knees, out through the latticework to where the girl remained just beyond.
    ‘Well?’ She cocked her head. ‘What are you waiting for?’
    He sat for a moment, too afraid to move. Then his hands reached out and gripped the most delicate part of the structure. He pulled, but the slender limbs resisted, sharp edges digging into his skin. He stood, bending over in the