Page 60 of One of Us Is Guilty

Like riding a bike.

‘They’ve gone,’ she said.

The luxury hotel had not held back on décor, furnishings, fittings and trim. She heard the handle on the bedroom door turning like a rifle pin sliding another round into the chamber. There was only the faintest whisper from the door opening. And then the soft brush of leather shoes on the thick carpet.

Vanessa returned to the living area of the suite and folded herself into the couch.

‘You did well,’ said Samantha Voss.

The lawyer stood over Vanessa. It was rare that Voss looked down on anyone, given her size, but when she did Vanessa got the impression that Voss enjoyed it.

There was a lot of trouble in that small woman.

‘You did exactly what you were supposed to do. Just keep talking to me, and listening, and we’ll keep Flynn on your side. Just remember, I’m in charge.’

‘If you’re in charge, why don’t you just represent me?’ asked Vanessa.

‘Because I have all the knowledge, tactics and experience, but I’m not Flynn. Think of it like horse racing. You can train a horse all you want, but some are just faster than others – it’s genetics. There’s no fighting it. Flynn is a thoroughbred. Trust me – there’s very few people in the country who can do what he does. He’s going to build a defense for you, but he can’t use what you’ve told him against Patrick. Remember that. Remember, that when the time comes, Patrick is to be protected at all costs.’

Vanessa didn’t want to be in this position. Voss, Patrick and Julian in one corner, Flynn in the other, and nowhere for her to go in between.

She let Voss out of the room, promised to let her know when she’d heard from Flynn.

Leaning against the hotel room door, she let the cold wood cool her face. Then put on the security chain, went to the bathroom and washed her hands.

Over and over.

Until her skin was raw.

Vanessa closed her eyes again, and let her head fall to her chest.

It was hard to keep so many lies alive. Like spider webs. Threads spreading out and overlapping. And when the wind or a twig or something else broke one single strand, she had to get over there and repair it, lest the whole structure collapse.

The trial threatened everything. She just had to get through it. To do that, she needed to trust in the right people and hope that in the meantime, her web held together.

She needed to keep it strong for a while longer.

She just needed time to catch the right person in that fragile web.

Then, she could devour them.

24

Patrick

There was nothing in this world that made Patrick feel weaker, or smaller, than sitting outside his father’s office waiting to see him.

The townhouse had been finished when Patrick was fourteen, but his father didn’t move in until Patrick was close to sixteen. It had taken some time to furnish it and complete the snagging works. Considering it was really two townhouses converted into a vast mansion, Patrick hadn’t been surprised it had taken five years. On the third floor, the walls were covered in dark oak paneling lined with paintings of hunting scenes with men in red jackets on horseback, surrounded by hounds in woodland. Each picture was illuminated by a lamp above it with a green glass shade. This floor of the house looked like an old English golf club lounge. Patrick sat on a green leather studded couch. His right foot tapped on the oak herringbone floor, giving a beat to his anxiety that echoed down the hallway to the sturdy oak door at the end.

He rubbed his hands together, trying to expel more nervous energy.

The door at the end of the hall opened and Dekker took long strides toward him.

‘Go on in,’ he said.

Patrick got up without a word, met Dekker’s gaze for a moment.The South African was hard to read most days. He had that dead look in his eyes, as if he had seen the worst of humanity and was resigned to being a part of it. Standing half a foot taller than him, and considerably wider in the shoulders, Patrick felt even more like a naughty child summoned to see his father.

He made his way to the open door, stopped, turned back and saw Dekker had been watching him. There was something calculating in that look, the way that butchers look at a side of beef – deciding where the prime cuts would lie.