Page 66 of Now Comes the Dark

Roman watched as the three bystanders caught up with him. He lashed out with a fist, but cold, water-logged and injured, there was no strength behind the punch. The men grabbed him by each arm and spun him around.

As they marched him back towards the crowd, Roman heard sirens in the distance. The emergency services were on the way.

The nightmare was over.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“What happens now?”

Mallon was released from hospital on Saturday morning, following several days of treatment for hypothermia, shock, concussion and the knife wound to his chest. Roman, who had only suffered mild hypothermia, had been allowed home earlier in the week. The police had finished with the apartment when Roman was released, and he spent the time cleaning up and getting everything ready for Mallon’s return. After all that had happened, he hadn’t wanted to spend a night in the apartment alone and had gone back to his own place to sleep each night.

Mallon had spoken with his wife and had persuaded her not to come to England. He would visit her when he was well enough to fly, and they would make a decision about their future then. Roman had no idea what Mallon intended to do and was resolved not to influence him in any way. Mallon would have to make up his own mind.

The police had told them little about Will in the days since the incident. They assured them that he was being treated at a different hospital in another city and remained under constant guard. Roman had thought little of Will in the days thatfollowed. The police had him in custody, and that was enough. His concerns lay with Mallon and how close they had come to losing each other.

On Saturday morning, Roman collected him from the hospital at ten-thirty. Mallon had changed a lot in a short space of time. The confidence and swagger Roman was used to had receded. He was less sure of himself and worried about Will and what would happen to him.

“I don’t trust the laws in this country,” he had told Roman during a visit on Thursday. “What if they let him go?”

“He’s going nowhere but jail,” Roman had assured him. Even if Will denied all the charges against him, the police had enough evidence to make sure he was remanded in custody until any trial. His chance of him getting away with any of his crimes appeared slim.

“You’ve lost weight,” Roman said, as he wrapped an arm around Mallon’s waist, walking him to the hospital entrance.

“Is it any surprise? The food in England is bad enough. What they serve in your hospitals is the worst.”

Roman smiled. If Mallon was bitching about English food, it meant some of the old spunkiness was returning. “I’ll find plenty to fatten you up when you get home.”

Mallon hugged him tighter. “The only thing I need is you.”

Roman had visited Mallon’s favourite bakery when it had opened that morning and when they reached the apartment, it smelled of fresh pastries and coffee. Roman had set a pot of his favourite on to brew before leaving for the hospital.

“I wasn’t sure how I would feel returning,” Mallon said.

Roman helped him out his coat and guided him to the sofa. “This is your place. He was only here for an hour at most. He hasn’t left an imprint.”

Mallon stared at the sliding doors, unconvinced. “We’ll have to keep those fucking things locked—or move up to a higher floor.”

Roman set a plate of baked goodies on the table and poured two steaming cups of coffee. “See how you feel in a couple of weeks. It might not be as bad as you think.” He flopped beside Mallon on the sofa and held him close. “He can’t do anything to hurt us now.”

Around midday they received a visitor. Roman was surprised to open the door and find DS Benito Coppola standing there. He’d seen the detective from a distance several times that week, around the hospital and the apartment as the police investigation into Will developed at pace.

“Hi,” Benito said. “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by. I went to the hospital, but they told me the two of you had left already.”

“Is this an official call?” Roman asked. Despite their good work this week, his hostility towards the police had not decreased. The Blyham Strangler had not been apprehended and stopped because of any ingenuity or investigation on their part. He’d been captured by chance and his own carelessness. If he hadn’t come for Mallon, he would still be at large, free to kill again and again.

“It is,” Benito said. “I have news.”

Roman opened the door and stood aside. “You’d better come in.” He led Benito to the living room and ignoring the good manners he’d been raised with—didn’t offer him a drink or one of the delicious pastries. He sat beside Mallon and held his hand. “Well?”

Benito took a seat across from them. “Last night, we charged Will Hadley, whose real name is actually Lewis Braemer, with seven counts of murder.”

Mallon’s sharp intake of breath hissed through his teeth.

“Together with the two counts of attempted murder against yourselves… He appeared at Blyham magistrates court this morning and has been remanded for an appearance at crown court next week. We expect him to plead not guilty, though there is no chance of him going anywhere. He’ll be held in custody until a trial can take place.”

“Then he is the Strangler? There’s no doubt about that?

“Absolutely. It’s him.”

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