‘Bomb alert, sir. I’m afraid we have to evacuate the building. If you’d like to follow me, there’s a car already waiting outside.’
‘Where’s Joanna?’ asked Zoe, as she walked with Art behind Simon.
‘She’s up here, in the bathroom. I’ll see her out,’ called Monica Burrows from the top of the stairs.
‘We should wait for her,’ said Zoe.
Upstairs, Joanna felt cool hard steel press into her back.
‘Tell them to leave,’ the woman whispered.
‘I’ll see you outside, Zoe, okay?’ Joanna called out shakily.
‘Okay!’ she heard Zoe shout, then the front door slammed and the house fell silent.
‘Don’t move. I’m under orders to shoot to kill.’ Monica steered her into Jamie’s bedroom, holding the gun to her lower spine. Simon joined them a few minutes later.
‘Let her go, Monica, I’ve got her covered.’ Simon raised his arm and Joanna saw his gun. The muzzle poking into her back was removed and Joanna sank down onto the bed. She looked at the woman and recognised her from the launch of the memorial fund.
‘Joanna.’
She stared at him. ‘What?’
‘Why couldn’t you leave it alone when you had the chance?’
‘Why did you lie to me?! All that bullshit up in Yorkshire! I . . . you let me believe I was right.’
‘Because I was trying to save your life.’
‘You’re too late, anyway,’ Joanna said, with a bravado she didn’t feel. ‘Alec knows it all. By now, he’s probably sent the story down the line. And if anything happens to me, he’ll know why.’
‘Alec’s dead, Joanna. They found him at his mate’s apartment in the Docklands and stopped him in time. The game’s up, I’m afraid.’
A horrified gasp escaped her. ‘You bastard! But . . . I have the letter and you don’t,’ she added defiantly.
‘Search her, Burrows.’
‘Get off me!’ As Joanna tried to struggle free from the woman’s grasp, the sound of a bullet rang out from Simon’s gun. Joanna and Burrows turned and saw the bullet had shot into the wall and embedded itself in the plaster. Raw fear appeared on Joanna’s face as she saw Simon’s cold, hard eyes. And the gun in his hand pointed straight at her.
‘Rather than putting you through the indignity of a body search, Jo, why don’t you just give us what we want? Then no one will get hurt.’
Joanna nodded brokenly, not trusting herself to speak. She delved into the pocket of her dress, withdrawing a small square of material. She offered it to Simon. ‘There. You’ve finally got what you wanted. How many have you had to kill to retrieve it, Simon?’
Simon ignored her, indicating to Burrows that she should take over covering Joanna with her weapon, and concentrated instead on the square of material in his hand.
Ring a Ring o’ Roses . . .
The words – and their subject matter – were exquisitely embroidered onto the material. Simon turned it over and, despite her gnawing fear, Joanna was mesmerised by the fact that, after all these years, the truth would finally be revealed. She watched as Simon carefully removed the backing, and there, tacked onto the back of the embroidery itself was a piece of thick cream vellum paper, identical to that of the other letter Grace had sent her.
Simon took out a penknife and cut the neat tacking stitches. The paper finally came loose. He read it and nodded to Monica. ‘It’s the one.’
Carefully folding the letter into his inner jacket pocket, he aimed his gun at her once more. ‘So, what are we to do with you? Strikes me you know a bit too much.’
She couldn’t look up any longer into the eyes that had become cold flints of steel. ‘Surely you can’t kill me in cold blood, Simon? Jesus, we’ve known each other for years, been best friends for most of our lives? I . . . Give me a chance to run away. I’ll . . . I’ll disappear. You’ll never see me again.’
Monica Burrows watched Simon waver. ‘I’ll do it,’ she said.
‘No! This is my job.’ Simon took a step forward as Joanna backed away, her heart racing, her head spinning.
