‘Come on,’ said Garland, pleased to have finally impressed the determinedly unimpressed Baxter.
A member of staff handed them each a glass of Prosecco and then led them over to one of the leather sofas when Garland told her that they were meeting somebody. If she recognised either of them, she had shown no sign of it.
‘I really enjoyed dinner last night,’ said Garland as he watched the mesmerising jellyfish struggling to escape the pyramid.
‘Yeah, food’s always good,’ said Baxter evasively.
‘I meant the company.’
‘Café Rouge?’
Garland smiled and took the hint to leave the subject for the time being.
‘Where are we going afterwards? You know, after the interview?’ he whispered.
Baxter shook her head and ignored the question.
‘No one can hear us,’ he hissed.
‘Protected Persons already have a house set up from …’
‘The last person you couldn’t save,’ Garland finished bitterly.
Baxter failed to notice Sam walking through the reception area and into the toilets but did register the abrupt change in Garland.
‘They’re here,’ he said nervously.
Andrea was still on the phone to Elijah when she and Rory entered ME London. As the lift doors closed, she lost reception, cutting Elijah off as he listed the questions that she was to ask Garland. He wanted her to gear the interview so that Garland came across as challenging the killer, defiant until the end.
‘No one likes a massacre,’ he had said moments earlier. ‘People want a fight.’
She had not bothered to phone him back after stepping into the magnificent lobby. Rory had gone off to get some filler shots of the giant book and the pyramid, although, they were all confident that the footage was more likely to feature in his next movie. The member of staff who had not recognised Baxter or Garland certainly recognised Andrea and looked excitedly at the group making a show of the introductions. The news of Garland auctioning off his final interview had been widely reported all morning. Andrea caught the woman before she could scuttle off.
‘This is a distinguished hotel,’ said Andrea. ‘We may be having a dry run now but we are under no obligation to return tomorrow for the real thing. As such, I expect nothing less than the utmost discretion from you and your colleagues. Make sure that they are also aware of my expectations.’
‘Of course,’ smiled the woman, as though it had never crossed her mind to take a discreet selfie with the Ragdoll Killer’s next victim. She walked over to reception to reprimand the staff who were watching them avidly.
‘Do you think she bought it?’ asked Andrea.
‘Maybe,’ replied Baxter, looking concerned. ‘Let’s just do the interview and get out of here.’
Edmunds had spent another night on the sofa. By the time he had returned home, just after 10 p.m., Tia was already asleep and had locked him out of their bedroom. He stayed up into the early hours, Googling further murder cases to look into.
He had spent the morning researching background information on Michael Gable-Collins. By leaving the platinum ring on the Ragdoll’s hand, the killer evidently had wanted them to identify him, although it was not clear why. Positive that Khalid was the key to everything, Edmunds had worked tirelessly and eventually found the link between them.
The law firm, Collins and Hunter, had represented Khalid in court; however, Michael Gable-Collins had no other attachment to the case. He had never attended a single day of the trial and, as a partner and a specialist in family law, had no involvement in the preparation work, which appeared to have been supervised by Charlotte Hunter.
Although the law firm took on hundreds of cases each year, he was confident that it was more than just coincidence and arrived at work early to continue his search for a link between them all. He had compiled a full list of names attached to the Khalid trial, from lawyers to witnesses, the staff, to the people who had signed into the public gallery. He would go through each of them one by one if he had to.
Andrea performed her introduction into the camera and was a little unsettled by the thought of the colossal audience soon to critique their scarcely rehearsed theatre piece.
‘… joined this morning by journalist Jarred Garland, the third victim named by the Ragdoll Killer. Good morning, Jarred.’
Rory adjusted position to frame both Andrea and Garland in the shot. They were sitting opposite each other on the white leather sofas.
‘Thank you for speaking to us during what must be an unimaginably difficult time for you. Let’s begin with the most obvious question: why? Why has this person, this serial killer, chosen you?’
Baxter was engrossed in the interview. She could tell that Garland was on edge. He was scared; something was wrong. The door to the men’s toilets creaked open, and Sam stepped out into the lobby unnoticed, dressed all in black with the balaclava covering his face. He was already holding the gun in his right hand.
‘I wish I knew,’ said Garland. ‘As I’m sure you have experienced yourself, Ms Hall, working in journalism doesn’t always make you friends.’
They both forced a nervous laugh.
There was a shriek from one of the women on reception, and Rory spun with the camera to film the approaching gunman. Baxter instinctively rushed at the masked man and did not slow even when she recognised his vaguely familiar voice and it dawned on her what was happening.
‘Goddamn you, Jarred Garland, you son of a bitch!’ he improvised.
Rory ran out of the gunman’s way and turned the camera back on Garland, who looked terrified as he got to his feet. The gunshot was deafening, resonating off the polished surfaces, and Andrea screamed on cue as blood exploded out from the centre of Garland’s chest. Baxter landed heavily on top of Sam as Garland fell back onto the sofa as planned – and then a blinding white light appeared from the wound, spitting sparks across the black floor. He started screaming over the hissing sound, like a firework burning, thrashing about and clawing at the belt around his chest.
Dropping the camera, Rory raced over to help him. He could hear glass shattering and felt the intense heat radiating from the spark as it orbited Garland’s body. In his panic, he reached desperately for the fastening and then realised, in revulsion, that his fingers had disappeared deep within Garland’s chest cavity.
He then tried pulling forcefully on the belt, but most of the rubber lining had already melted into the skin. There was another sound, like glass shattering, and Rory fell back onto the floor as some sort of liquid burned away the skin on his hands.
Baxter ran over in a daze.
‘Don’t!’ shouted Rory in agony. ‘It’s acid!’
‘Call an ambulance!’ Baxter ordered the reception staff.
All of a sudden, having completed its circle, the white spark died out. Only the sound of Garland’s laboured breathing remained. Baxter ran to the sofa and took Garland’s hand.
‘You’re gonna be all right,’ she promised him. ‘Andrea … Andrea!’