‘You’re probably right.’ Trask stared hard at him in the dark of the night, disliking everything that he saw and felt; especially the fact that every now and then he’d feel Paxton’s talent tugging on the covers of his mind and trying to turn them back. ‘So I’ll team up with Teale, and you can take Robinson.’
Paxton turned more fully towards him and his eyes were slightly feral in fleeting moonlight. ‘You don’t want us to work together?’
‘Paxton, let me put you right,’ Trask told him. ‘The only reason I wanted to work with you up here in the first place was to keep an eye on you. See, I think you’re full of it, and it’s leaking on your attitude. So you’re right, I don’t want us to work together. In fact, I’d rather work with raw shit!’
Paxton scowled and started to turn away, make tracks back up to the road. But Trask caught him by the arm and turned him around. ‘Oh, and there’s one other thing, Mr Hugely Talented Telepath. I’ve about ninety per cent had it with you trying to read my mind. When I’m a hundred per cent pissed you’ll be the first to know it. Because after that Harry Keogh won’t be the only one who ever tossed you in a river, right?’
Paxton was wise enough to say nothing. They returned to the road in silence, made their way to the old stone bridge over the river, and waited for Teale and Robinson to join them there . . .
Harry and Penny had finished their first coffees half an hour ago. Now they had seconds, which were going cold in their cups. Penny had tried a cream cake, too, from which she’d taken just one bite. She wasn’t sure if it was the cake or her mood, but since nothing tasted right it was probably her mood. Every so often the Necroscope would reach into his inside pocket and take Johnny’s hideous steel-tube weapon into the palm of his hand. Penny was aware each time he did it – aware that he was touching the instrument of her once-death – and she shuddered every time.
Finally, as Harry reached into his pocket yet again, she burst out: ‘What if he doesn’t stop? What if he drives clear down to London?’
Harry shrugged. ‘If it looks like he will, then I’ll let him get as … far … as …’ He came to a jerky halt as his fingers touched the awful knife, and briefly closed his eyes behind their dark lenses. When he opened them again his voice had turned cold and taken on a cutting edge. ‘But it won’t come to that. He has stopped, now!’
‘Do you know where?’ She clutched his hand.
He shook his head. ‘No. The only way to find out is to go there and see.’
‘Oh my God!’ she whispered. ‘I’m going to see the man who murdered me!’
‘More importantly,’ Harry told her, ‘he’s going to see you. And he’s going to wonder about you. If he reads the newspapers he’ll know that Penny, one of the girls he killed, had a look-alike called, by some peculiar coincidence, Penny! But he’ll have a hard time believing he’s actually happened across her. I mean, there are coincidences and coincidences. If he has any brain at all, he’ll find it a damned suspicious thing. It will worry him. That’s what I want to do: worry him. I think Johnny deserves something of a harrowing time before we even-up the score more permanently.’
‘We?’ she repeated him. ‘It… it feels like you’re using me, Harry.’
‘I suppose I am,’ he answered her, allowing her to lead him out of the cafeteria into the night. ‘Though not as hard as he did.’ He quickly went on: ‘And don’t tell me that’s not fair. Fair is like beauty, it lies in the eyes of the beholder. Also, I’m not asking you to do much, just to be there. There’s someone else with a much larger part to play.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ she said, as he folded her in his arms, conjured a door and carried her over the threshold into the Möbius Continuum. About what’s fair and what’s beautiful, I mean. And it’s a fact, I don’t think there was anything of beauty in Johnny.