Annalise felt like she'd been hit by a truck. She didn't see the front door open or the two policemen walk in. She was somewhere else, suspended in disbelief, trying to figure out how her crazy world could have possibly become any crazier.
"Miss Mercado?" said a male voice.
Annalise's eyes refocused to find two men standing a few feet away from her.
"Don't say a word," said Jenny from the middle of the room. She had a phone in her hand. "I'm calling a lawyer."
"Miss Mercado?" repeated the taller of the two men, though looking at them both there was little to choose between them—both were tall, thick-set and wearing suits that looked as though they'd been slept in for days.
"What?" she said.
"Annalise Mercado, I'm arresting you in connection with the attempted murder of Adam Sylvestrus . . ."
The preprepared statement droned on. The policeman's voice monotonous and barely punctuated with a breath let alone emotion. In the background, she could hear Jenny remonstrating with a lawyer, telling him to put his dinner in the oven and get the hell over to Ladbroke Road. She'd meet him there.
It all seemed so unreal.
"I didn't do anything," Annalise said to no one in particular.
"I know you didn't," said Jenny, appearing magically at her side and supporting her arm. She turned on the taller of the two men, presumably Dave, and asked him. "Who put you up to this?"
"No one put anyone up to anything," he replied. "This case is as cast iron as they come."
"I've never even met the man," said Annalise.
"We have twenty witnesses who disagree with you, miss."
"That's ridiculous. I've been here all day."
"But not Wednesday. On Wednesday you filled a waste bin with petrol, set light to it, threw it in Mr. Sylvestrus's car and slammed the door shut."
Annalise sat in the back seat of the police car. Numbed. They'd known her name. She hadn't told anyone her name. Not the paper, not the hotel, no one. She was Phoenix, she was Lisa Brown, she was anyone but Annalise Mercado.
Yet the police had both her name and address. An address she'd only moved to a few hours earlier. How? She'd covered her tracks so well.
She groaned when it came to her. She'd given Jenny three names to prove her story—Kevin, Howard and Tamisha. A reporter would have rung ParaDim and asked questions. Even a harmless request for confirmation of employment would have rung alarm bells. Those three names linked together in a single enquiry. A newspaper asking questions before they'd even been declared missing.
She held her head in her hands. How could she have been so stupid!
But how had that led anyone to her flat? Were they tracing all calls made by Sketch reporters? Were they having them followed?
Graham!
Panic! Was her arrest a ploy to isolate Graham? Get her out of the way so they could get to him unhindered? She'd asked Jenny to stay with him and not to open the door to anyone but would that be enough?
Had she now put Jenny at risk?
"You have to put a police guard on the flat," she shouted at the two men in the front of the car.
Neither of them so much as looked round.
"Jenny's in danger," she implored. "If you're a friend, Dave, you'll help her. The least you can do is call and warn her. Tell her not to open the door to anyone. Not to a doctor, not to anyone. Tell her they'll be plausible. Tell her to check the windows . . ."
"Tell her yourself," Dave said, handing her his cell phone. "Just do it quietly."
She grabbed the phone. If ParaDim was scanning the call she'd give them something to think about. She'd make sure they knew that Jenny was a high-profile reporter who'd not only be missed if anything happened to her, but had been warned that same night in front of police witnesses that ParaDim was after her.
And she'd tell Jenny to look in the top drawer of her dresser. She might not be able to mention the gun over the phone but she'd make damn sure Jenny had some protection.
Annalise sat at a battered table in a police interview room. Waiting. Counting the minutes as they ticked relentlessly towards Saturday. A bare light burned into her eyes and glared off the stark white walls. Everything was so quiet. The woman police constable by the door stared into space, not saying a word.
The door opened. A dapper middle-aged man in a suit and what looked like a paisley waistcoat came in, his broad red face showing advanced signs of five o'clock shadow.
"Miss Mercado?" he said, holding out his hand. "Jerry Saddler. I'll be representing you."
He placed his briefcase on the table and released the catches. "I'll have you out of here within the hour."
He took her briefly through the charges and the procedures.
"Let them know you have nothing to say and the interview will proceed the quicker for it. Remember, do not volunteer information. It's up to them to make their case; you don't have to help them."
Advice Annalise ignored within five seconds of the interview starting.
"I'm the victim, not Adam Sylvestrus," she said, stabbing her index finger against the table.
"You threw a burning waste bin into his car," said the younger of the two policemen—a Sergeant Davis? Something like that. Annalise's thoughts had been elsewhere when they'd introduced themselves.
"To stop them pushing Graham into the back of their car!"
Her lawyer leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I really think . . ."
She brushed him away and continued without pausing. "I had to stop them getting Graham into the car. Once he was inside, they'd have killed him. Didn't your witnesses tell you about the guy with the gun stuck in Graham's back?"
She looked from face to face. Didn't they believe her? Hadn't they interviewed the other witnesses?
"Can I have a moment alone with my client?" asked Jerry.
"I don't need a moment alone. I'm innocent and can prove it."
"You're saying that Adam Sylvestrus was attempting to kidnap your friend?" asked Dave.
"That's right."
"Why?"
"Because he's obsessed with him. You ask at the DTI, where Graham works." She paused and leaned over the table, tapping on the piece of paper the sergeant was making notes on. "Graham Smith," she said slowly. "He's a messenger at the DTI in Westminster Street. Sylvestrus wanted him to take medical tests. Wouldn't take no for an answer."
"So, if we talk to this Graham Smith he'll corroborate your story?"
Annalise stopped dead. She hadn't thought of that. The only Graham Smith who could corroborate her story was worlds away. The Graham Smith back at the flat had no recollection of the kidnap, the black car or the men. His Wednesday had been spent having a medical in Knightsbridge.
"Sure," she said, playing for time—nodding her head and smiling as she tried to think of a plausible reason for excusing Graham. "But at the moment he's terrified and doesn't trust anyone. He can barely talk." She looked at Jerry. "I'm sure the paper would want you to look after his interests as well as mine. You'll do that, won't you?"
Jerry agreed and made a note of Graham's name.
Annalise turned to Dave. "Can't you confirm events without his testimony? I can pick out the guys, the car, and there must be camera evidence. I can tell you everything you need."
She told them about Kevin, Howard and Tamisha. The meeting they'd had in May Street. How it had been broken up by men with guns. How she and Graham had barely escaped with their lives.
"Check the attic window at the back of the house on the corner of May Street. It's broken, from the outside. We had to break it to get in. Ask the company there about the fire alarm they had that afternoon. We set it off. Ask them about Graham; they'll recognize him."
She told them about the two fake policemen.
"Ask at the store. They had them arrested. They were working for Sylvestrus. They had fake IDs. Check the store cameras and you'll see them chasing us. Check the cameras outside and you'll see where the guy kidnaps Graham. Ask people about the guy who collapsed in the doorway and the other guy who said he was his doctor."
"Have you checked the CCTV cameras in the area, Chief Inspector?" asked Jerry.
"Not yet," said Dave curtly.
"What about the guy shooting at me? People must have seen that."
"The driver's already admitted to that," said the sergeant.
"For which he will be prosecuted," added Dave. "He says he overreacted when you tried to kill his employer." He paused and steepled his fingers. "His associate claims you also took his gun. Do you still have that gun, Miss Mercado?"
"It's at the flat," she said softly. "I didn't know what else to do with it."
But she hoped Jenny did.