‘He’s here,’ whispered Harper. He lifted his gun to shoulder height. The beam flickered across the corridor from the ceiling to the floor. Someone was walking towards the room.

The plan was simple. Catch the killer and don’t kill him. If they killed him, it would mean they might never find Lucy and Abby. And if they felt it wasn’t safe to arrest him, they had to wound him.

Inside the room, they couldn’t hear footsteps from the corridor, but the beam of light grew until it stopped at the glass door to the photography lab. The light turned towards them and hovered over the shelves. Harper held his breath. The light moved slowly around the room, then disappeared and the sound of the handle turning seemed to slow time.

The door opened with a low squeak and the light beam returned. Harper stared across at Eddie.

The figure moved towards the counter, paused and scanned his flashlight across the room.

Chapter One Hundred and One

Lock-Up, Bedford-Stuyvesant

March 15, 4.18 a.m.

Abby opened her eyes. She had been in the tiny cell for so long, fighting in her mind, but the starvation was sapping her will. She was feeling so weak that her head felt too heavy to lift, but something had pulled her back from her dreams. The food had stopped altogether, along with the water. Every few hours, she fell into some deep sleep; perhaps it was even unconsciousness. Her dreams raged and tormented her. The silver-blue lines of ocean waves were infested with snakes; her tongue seemed to swell so large in her mouth that she couldn’t breathe or swallow.

‘Abby!’ She heard it again. It was a soft voice. A woman’s voice, but not like a real voice, probably a voice from her dreams, hidden somewhere within her subconscious. But her eyes were open. She scratched her leg and the pain felt real. Her eyes lifted and there on the wall were the marks that she’d made with her restraints. If she was awake, then the voice wasn’t imagined.

‘Abby!’

Abby tried to speak, but her throat was dry. A low croak stretched her mouth and her lips cracked. She tasted blood on the tip of her tongue and started to suck on it. She tried again to speak, but only a low whisper came out. She felt herself start to heave with frustration and cry in dry, waterless sobs.

She heard her voice called out again and turned to her right. Her knee rapped hard against the door. She twisted herself again and again, the sound reverberating. Outside, the voice stopped as she continued to knock against the door with her knee. Then she stopped knocking and waited. It had been days and days since she had communicated with anything or anyone. Only a monster.

‘I can hear you,’ said the voice. ‘Maybe you can’t speak. Maybe he has gagged you. I’m Lucy. I’m in another cell, only a few yards from your door. I hope you’re okay. You’re Abby, aren’t you? The high-school girl? Your mom and dad are still hoping. I saw them on the news. They’re holding up okay.’

Inside the cell, Abby listened, and though they were only words, she felt as if she was being given a long drink. She wanted to speak out, but at first her words came out light and airy like feathers, so at each pause she knocked and when the voice stopped, she knocked and knocked and knocked until the voice started to speak again.

Finally, Abby pushed herself upright. She breathed deeply and called out, ‘I’m here. I’m Abby.’

‘God bless you,’ said Lucy. ‘You okay?’

‘Yes, but need water.’

‘Is there any way we can get out of here?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Abby. ‘I really don’t think so.’

Chapter One Hundred and Two

Photography Labs, Manhattan

March 15, 4.23 a.m.

The figure at the bench stopped and started to turn. There was no time left. Harper was already two paces across the room, his body charging towards the bench. Kasper jumped to his feet from the side. The figure turned to Eddie Kasper and as he did, the full weight of Harper’s charge landed heavily on his side, throwing him to the ground.

Harper fell on top of him and they tumbled twice across the floor. The suspect shouted something, but Harper’s arm was already around his neck pulling hard and Eddie Kasper already had the suspect’s gun.

As Harper’s arm jammed hard into the suspect’s neck, the figure stopped fighting and lay still. Eddie Kasper flicked on the lights.

He looked down at the red face of the man on the ground. ‘Fuck you!’ the man shouted. Eddie looked away. Harper pushed the figure off him and stood up.

‘We fucking cleared this with security,’ said Harper. ‘No one comes this way tonight.’

‘You fucking animals,’ said the guard, standing and brushing himself down. ‘Animals.’

‘What the hell happened?’ demanded Harper. ‘We could’ve killed you.’

‘I got told to come here, do a sweep.’

‘This is bad news,’ said Harper. ‘Who told you?’

‘One of your guys.’

‘What do you mean, one of our guys?’

‘Cop. He had a badge. Said he was on the stake-out.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘Like a cop — big, arrogant, impatient and ugly.’

‘Where?’

‘He came by the security door.’

Harper and Eddie looked at each other.

‘How long ago?’

‘I don’t know, ten minutes?’

Harper looked around. He spoke quietly: ‘The killer knows we’re here now, but he’s still going to want those prints.’

‘How the hell did he know we were on a stake-out?’

‘He’s not just a cop, is he? He’s a fucking smart cop.’

A second later, the lights flickered and then died. Harper pulled Eddie to one side. ‘He’s going to try to take them — get out of the line of fire.’

In the darkness, they heard a key in the door to the room. ‘He’s locking us in,’ shouted Harper. ‘Do you have a key?’

‘Sure,’ said the security guard, but there wasn’t any time. Something smashed the window of the door and a lighted bottle flew in the room. It shattered over the floor and the contents exploded into flame. Harper and Eddie jumped.

‘What the fuck do we do?’

‘Is there a sprinkler system?’ said Harper.

‘Sure, in the corridor, but not in the photography lab.’

Harper ran towards the door as the flames spread and caught the wood of the benches and the books and files.

The security guard moved to the door and tried his key. ‘Shit, he’s broken his key in the lock.’

Harper’s flashlight picked out the jagged edges of the door windows. It was too small to get through. Eddie moved across, holding his mouth as the thick black smoke started to rise and fill the room. He stumbled against the broken glass, his hand sliced across. ‘I’m cut, Harper.’

‘We got to get out of here,’ said Harper. ‘Get you some help.’

The smoke was filling the room. Harper took his Glock and pumped three bullets into the lock mechanism, then kicked the door open. He rolled into the corridor, his gun in one hand, his flashlight in the other. ‘All clear,’ he shouted.

The security guard led them as quickly as they could through the dark corridors. He pressed the alarm on the wall and the sprinkler system kicked in. Somewhere down the corridors, they could hear a door slamming. The killer was ahead, but not far.

‘Is there a quicker way out of here?’ asked Harper.

‘Not unless you just burst out through the windows.’

‘Which windows?’ said Harper.

The security guard moved across to a door and opened it. The room was illuminated by the faint moonlight from outside. ‘Gotcha,’ said Harper. ‘Get an ambulance, Eddie.’

‘I got to come with you,’ said Eddie.

‘You’ll slow me down,’ said Harper, then he ran at the window, shot once and watched the plate-glass shatter and fall. He leaped on to the bench and out of the window.

A figure was moving quickly across the ground, towards a car. Harper sighted him and shot twice. The shots missed and Harper sprinted towards the car. The figure jumped in and the car’s engine rumbled to life. Harper shot again and hit a side window. The car didn’t make a U-turn as expected, it turned to the right and Harper heard the sound of its undercarriage screech and scrape on the concrete edge of the lawn. The headlights rose across the ground and Harper was suddenly illuminated in a wide patch of grass with no hiding place.