Page 112 of The Angel Maker

“I told you I’d burn it if you hurt him,” she said.

“You will damn your soul if you do.”

“I don’t care—it’s just a book. And I want to see Chris.Right now.”

Her words echoed around the entrance hall. There were a few seconds of silence then as the old man gathered himself together. Any trace of friendliness had disappeared following her threat, and he had become what he was. A businessman, laying out the terms of the deal.

“You are younger and faster than me,” he said. “I’m sure you could reach your car before I reach you. But I want you to understand this. If you leave here with that book, your brother will die. And he will never be found. You won’t even be able to bury what’s left of his body.”

She said nothing.

“And this place.” The old man gestured around. “It has no connection to me. I will never be found. And even if I were, I would never be held to account. So you have to bear in mind which of us here has the most to lose.”

Again, she said nothing.

“All that pain and suffering,” he said. “Forjust a book.”

And with that, it was clear the negotiation was over. The silence stretched out. While she didn’t trust him, Katie also understood that everything he had just told her was true. She could still take her chances and run—dart back over that cordon and escape from here—but she would be leaving her brother to his fate.

She racked her brain for options she didn’t have.

And then she walked slowly toward the old man.

He extended his hand, but she wasn’t prepared to get that close to him. Instead, a little way across the entrance hall, she leaned down and placed the book on the floor—then kicked it across to him. It spiraled across the tiles before coming to a stop at his feet.

The man stared at her.

“It’s just a book,” she said.

He crouched down. And then, carefully and reverentially, he picked it up. If her own skin had tingled at the touch of it, it seemed like an actual jolt went through the old man; it was as though he had just made contact with a live wire. He squatted there for a few seconds with his head bowed, his fingers the only part of him moving. They were stroking the cover, as though attempting to read Braille through the polyethylene.

And then he stood up.

“I’m sorry,” he said absently.

“What?”

“Like I told you, I’m a man of my word.”

And then he turned and walked back to the staircase.

Katie hesitated, unsure if she was intended to follow. But then a sudden sinking feeling in her chest told her she was not—and she heard movement behind her. She turned around and saw a man had emerged silently from one of the dark rooms off to the side and was now standing between her and the open door.

She heard footsteps tapping away up the stairs.

The man she had been left with down here was tall and wide, dressed in a black suit, his face hard and implacable.

Someone who enjoyed doing really bad things to people.

She took a step back.

“Help,” she said.

The man took a step toward her. She realized her voice had been too small and quiet. That faced with this man, she might even have whispered the word.

And so, for what it was worth, she repeated it more loudly.

“Help!”

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