Sam Bourne 4-Book Thriller Collection. Sam Bourne

chance to talk.

      She gestured him away from the front door towards a living room cluttered with children’s toys.

      ‘Were you related to Howard?’ he began.

      ‘No.’ Letitia smiled. ‘No, I only met that man once.’ That man. Here we go, thought Will. Now we’re going to get the real dirt on this Macrae. ‘But once was enough.’

      Will felt a surge of excitement. Maybe Letitia knows a secret about Macrae dark enough to explain his murder. I’m ahead of the police.

      ‘When was this?’

      ‘Nearly ten years ago. My husband – he’ll be back soon – was in jail.’ She saw Will’s face. ‘No! He hadn’t done anything. He was innocent. But we couldn’t pay the bail to get him out. He was in that prison cell night after night. I couldn’t bear it. I grew desperate.’ She looked up at Will, her eyes hoping that he understood the rest. That she would not have to spell it out.

      ‘Everyone knows there’s only two ways to make quick money round here. You sell drugs or . . .’

      Now Will got it. ‘Or you sell . . . or you go see Howard.’

      ‘Right. I hated myself for even thinking about it. I grew up singing choir in the AME church, Mr Monroe.’

      ‘Will. I understand.’

      ‘I was raised right. But I had to get my husband out of that jail. So I went to . . . Howard’s place.’

      Without looking down, Will scribbled in his notebook. Eyes glittering.

      ‘I was going to sell the one thing I owned.’ Now she was tearing up. ‘I couldn’t even go in, I was sort of hiding in the shadows, hesitating. Howard Macrae spotted me there. I think he had a broom in his hand, sweeping. He asked me what I wanted. Kind of, “Can I help you?” I told him what I wanted. I told him why I needed the money. I didn’t want him to think, you know. And then this man, who I never met before, did the oddest thing.’

      Will leaned forward.

      ‘Right there and then, he marched off to what I guessed was his own room in that . . . place. He unlocked it and, straight away, he starts stripping the bed.’

      ‘Stripping the bed?’

      ‘Uh-huh. I was scared at first, I didn’t know what he was about to do to me. He put these blankets in a pile, and then he gets to work on his bedside table. Starts packing it up. Starts unplugging his CD player, takes off his watch. It all goes in this big pile. And then he begins moving all this stuff, shooing me out of the way. Now this bed is one of those really good ones, big with a deep, strong mattress, like a top-of-the-range bed. So it’s heavy but he’s dragging it and lugging it, till it’s outside. And then he opens up his truck, a real beat-up old thing, and he loads up the bed – pillows and all – into the back. Then all the rest of it. I swear, I had no idea what in God’s name the man was doing. Then he winds down the window and tells me to meet him just around the block, on the corner of Fulton Street. ‘See you there in five,’ he says.

      ‘Well, now I’m mystified. So I walk round the block, just like the man said. And I see his truck, parked outside a pawn shop. And there’s Howard Macrae pointing at all the stuff, and men are coming out the shop and unloading it, and the boss is handing Macrae cash. And next thing I know, Macrae is giving the money to me.’

      ‘To you?’

      ‘Uh-huh. You got it. To me. It was the strangest thing. I wondered why he didn’t just give me some cash, if that’s what he wanted to do, but no, he insists on making this big sacrifice, like he’s selling all his worldly goods or something. And I’ll never forgot what he said to me as he did it. “Here’s some money. Now go bail your husband – and don’t become a whore.” And I listened to what the man said. I bailed my husband and I never did sell my body, not ever. Thanks to that man.’

      There was a sound at the front door. Will looked around. He could hear several voices drifting through: three or four young children and a man.

      ‘Hiya, honey.’

      ‘Will, this is my husband, Martin. And these are my girls, Davinia and Brandi, and this is my boy – Howard.’ Letitia gave Will a firm stare, silencing him. ‘Martin, this man is from the newspaper. I’m just seeing him out.’

      As they reached the front door, Will whispered, ‘Your husband doesn’t know?’

      ‘No, and I don’t plan on telling him now. No man should know such a thing about his wife.’

      Will was about to say he believed the opposite, that most men would be honoured to know their wives were prepared to make such an extreme sacrifice, but he thought better of it.

      ‘And yet his son is called Howard.’

      ‘I told him it was because I always liked the name. But I know the real reason, and that’s good enough. Howard is a name my boy can wear with pride. I’m telling you, Mr Monroe: the man they killed last night may have sinned every day of his God-given life – but he was the most righteous man I have ever known.’

FIVE

       Saturday, 9.50pm, Brooklyn

      That night in the kitchen where they did all their talking, Will followed traditional custom. Beth was cooking pasta, he was tagging along behind her, washing each pan and spoon as she finished with them. This was smart strategy, he reckoned: forward planning, prevent the washing-up mountain after dinner. Will was talking Beth through his day.

      ‘The guy’s a scumbag pimp, but when he sees this woman in distress, he sells his most personal possessions to help her. A woman he doesn’t even know. Isn’t that incredible?’

      Beth was stirring, saying nothing.

      ‘I’m not sure what Glenn will make of it, but this woman, Letitia, felt Macrae had saved her life. That he had saved her. That’s something, isn’t it? I mean, that will make a piece.’

      Beth seemed faraway. Will took that as a sign of success, as if his point had struck home, stunning his wife into contemplative silence.

      ‘Anyway, enough about that. How was your day?’

      Beth looked up, her stirring hand stilled. She held him in a long, cold gaze.

      ‘Oh Christ, I just realized—’ Beth’s note from this morning. Big day today. He had read it and forgotten it. Instantly.

      Beth said nothing, just waited for him to explain himself.

      ‘I went straight to work and then I got stuck into this story. I must have had my phone on silent while I was interviewing that woman. Did you call?’

      ‘“I just realized.” How can you say that? You can’t “just realize” this, Will. That’s not how it works. Not this.’

      She was speaking with that voice of iron calm which almost scared Will. It was reserved for when Beth was truly furious. He imagined she had acquired this kind of steel as part of her psychological training: never lose your cool. He admired it in the abstract, but could not bear to be on the receiving end.

      ‘I’ve been thinking about nothing else for weeks and you “just realized”. You completely forgot!’ Now the volume was rising. ‘You had all day—’

      ‘I was working—’

      ‘You’re always working or thinking about work. You don’t even remember what should be the most important thing in our lives, and I can’t eat or sleep or shower or do anything without thinking about it.’ Her eyes were reddening.

      ‘Tell me what they said.’

      ‘You don’t get off that easy, Will. If you wanted to know what they said, you should have come to the hospital with me. You should