‘I don’t believe you—’

Irritated, she dropped the vulnerable act and went on the defensive.

‘It doesn’t matter what you think. In the end, it’s Edward Hillstone’s word against mine. And who d’you think people will believe? My family will be so glad to get me back, they won’t ask too many questions—’

‘Maybe not, but the police will.’

‘There’s no proof I colluded with Eddie,’ she went on, her tone confident. ‘I made sure of that. Nothing in writing, nothing anyone saw or could have overheard. We were lovers once, that’s true, but he used my feelings for him and turned them against me.’ She swivelled round in her seat, her dark eyes holding his stare, her voice plaintive again. ‘Eddie Hill-stone used me.’

‘No.’

‘Yes.’

‘It won’t work, Seraphina. No one will believe you. You’ll be jailed. Locked up, just like you should be.’

‘Will I?’ she said, standing.

He saw her rise and took a moment to react. She was very erect, her head high, her back straight. So straight that it made her pregnancy even more obvious, the swelling of a baby growing fast.

‘Of course … Your husband told me you were pregnant.’

‘But it’s not his,’ she said, touching her stomach. ‘It’s Eddie Hillstone’s. You see, he raped me … But I want to keep the baby. That why I did what I did, Mr Bergstrom. I had to do everything he asked to save my child. That’s why I had to go along with him.’ She paused, her tone helpless, faking desperation. ‘You can’t punish me. I’m as much a victim as the other women.’

77

Edward Hillstone was arrested and charged with two counts of murder and one of attempted murder. He was also charged with the mutilation of a corpse, fraud and theft. After the investigations had continued for another three days he was charged with the murders of Hester Greyly and Patrick Dewick. The lawyer for Seraphina Watson – Seraphina di Fattori as she was be known from then onwards – put forward a charge for the rape and abduction of his client.

In all the newspaper articles, and on television, Seraphina di Fattori made a perfect witness. Vulnerable, articulate – and pregnant. With all the power of her family’s name and the help of a respected team of lawyers, she was assured that she would never spend a day in prison. After all, she had done nothing. Had she?

And Eddie Hillstone stayed quiet. He never spoke out against the charges, or offered details or excuses. And he never turned against Seraphina. Instead he allowed her to become the Joan of Arc of all martyrs, watching from his cell, his computer banned, his medication monitored. A social psychopath was the verdict of the psychiatrist. A man without empathy or feelings, but inherently responsible for his crimes; a man knowing the difference between right and wrong. A man capable of planning, and waiting.

All Eddie Hillstone wanted to know was if the Titian had been found. And where, and who now had it. It seemed that, in the end, his murders were secondary to his greed. But to Nino he seemed too composed, oddly admiring of the man who had caught him, even asking Nino to visit him in prison.

Curious, Nino agreed, watching as Edward Hillstone entered, flanked by two guards. After they seated the prisoner, the men stepped back and stood by the wall as Nino faced Hillstone across the table.

‘How are you?’

Surprised, Nino smiled. ‘I think I was supposed to ask you that … You wanted to see me?’

‘Yes,’ he said, leaning slightly forward. ‘What are they saying about me in the papers? The bastards won’t let me see any, or watch television, and the internet’s off limits.’ He smiled – the first time Nino had ever seen him smile. The effect was unexpectedly warming. ‘What are they saying about me?’

‘That you’re a murderer.’

‘Who’s got the most publicity?’

‘What?’

‘Me, or Angelico Vespucci?’

‘I think you win by a short head.’

Hillstone leaned back in his seat, nodding. ‘Liar … I didn’t finish the last murder. I failed.’

‘You killed four people. Equalled his score.’

‘I killed two men, and two women. Vespucci killed four women.’ He shook his head, as though they were talking about the football.

‘What did you do with the skins?’

‘I sent half of one to Jobo Kido in Tokyo,’ Hillstone admitted, then shook his head. ‘The rest … it may be better you don’t know. I’ll tell you something, though – I underestimated you, that was my mistake. I knew I could fool the art world and the police. If I kept the murders in different countries, I knew it would keep them all guessing. Knew I’d have time to finish before they’d even worked out what the hell I was doing … But I never made allowances for you.’ He put the tips of his fingers together, pressing them until the skin was white. ‘They won’t tell me who got the Titian.’

‘The police,’ Nino replied. ‘They got it from your old house when I let them in.’ He paused. ‘It’s been impounded as evidence.

‘Pity,’ Hillstone said simply, sighing.

‘Why didn’t you give her up?’

‘Who?’

‘Seraphina. Why didn’t you turn on her?’ Nino asked. ‘She’s turned on you, letting you take all the blame, saying you forced her into it. Pretending to be a victim. Even saying you raped her.’ Hillstone was listening but said nothing, forcing Nino to continue. ‘Why let her off? She’s guilty – you know that and so do I.’

‘Do I?’

‘Yes, you do,’ Nino replied, frowning. ‘You shouldn’t take all the punishment.’

‘I’m the guilty party.’

‘You’re both guilty.’

Hillstone’s expression shifted momentarily. From resignation to – fleetingly – amusement.

‘Seraphina’s as responsible as you are,’ Nino continued. ‘She worked with you, she organised things for you. She found Rachel Pitt. She picked out victims for you … How can you let her get away with it?’

‘You think she will?’ Hillstone asked. ‘You think she’s that smart?’ Rising to his feet, he shuffled over the guards. ‘I’m done,’ he said simply.

And he didn’t look back.

78

It was 17 January, cold with a wind chill, when Nino called in at The Hamlet Theatre, asking for Rachel Pitt. After a few moments she came out to see him. She was smiling, her hair tied up haphazardly, her nails painted dark red.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi you,’ he said, returning the smile. ‘How goes it?’

‘Good.’

She had thanked him repeatedly, until he was embarrassed and the word was worn thin. A couple of times they had even talked about that last night, Rachel remembering the wig she’d borrowed. The bad wig which had saved her life.

‘But it wasn’t really the wig, was it? It was you.’

It took her ten days to stop flinching when people passed her on the street, eleven days to stop checking behind the bathroom door, and it would probably take more than a lifetime to stop remembering.

‘I finished with Michael,’ she said, smiling and pulling a face. ‘Ouch.’

‘How does it feel?’

‘My heart? Shattered. My self-esteem? Triumphant.’

Smiling, Nino consoled her. ‘Hearts recover.’

‘Do they?’

A moment shimmered between them. It caught them out, unexpected but not unwelcome.

‘Perhaps we could go for a drink sometime?’ Nino asked tentatively.

‘Perhaps we could. But you know what they say, don’t you?’

‘No, what do they say?’

‘Never date a hero.’

‘That’s fine,’ Nino replied, smiling. ‘It was getting to be a burden anyway.’

*

In New York, Triumph Jones heard the news of the Titian being impounded as evidence. It would be held by the Art Squad of the British police until the trial of Edward Hillstone was over. After that, other arrangements would be made. Triumph Jones wasn’t interested, because he never wanted to see the Titian again. It had cost four lives, ruined a dozen others, and his devotion to the noble art of painting seemed suddenly absurd. That any picture could be valued above a life was madness. Even a Titian. Even that Titian.