Shaun Hutson - Knife Edge

'I'm not talking about giving her to him, I'm talking about using her to tempt him out into the open.'

'You're talking about using her as bait. You can call it what you like but that's what you want to do.'

'A lot of people are going to die if I don't get him soon. All I want is a little help. She wouldn't be in any danger. I'd be there.'

'And that's supposed to make me feel better? Forget it.'

'He's not going to hurt her, is he? Be logical. She's the only thing he wants. He won't harm her.'

'Doyle, she's my daughter too.'

'I'm not going to give her to him.'

'So what are you going to do?'

'Tell him he can have her. When he turns up to get her, I'll kill him.'

Julie swallowed hard.

'Just like that?' she said softly.

Doyle nodded.

'And if something goes wrong? What if he kills you? What happens to Lisa then?'

The sitting-room door opened and Doyle looked up to see WPC Robertson standing there.

'There's a phone call for you, Mr Doyle,' she said. 'It's DI Calloway. He says it's important.'

Doyle nodded and got to his feet, following the policewoman out into the hall and through to the kitchen where she nodded towards the phone.

In the sitting-room, Julie Neville got to her feet and crossed to the TV set. She stood staring blankly at the screen for a moment then switched the set off. She could see her own reflection in the blank eye of the television.

She moved to the sitting-room window and peered out. A number of cars were parked in the street, but only one of them had an occupant.

A uniformed policeman was sitting in an Astra about fifteen yards from the front door of number fifty-nine Mitre Road. He was yawning, she noticed, shuffling uncomfortably in his seat, occasionally glancing around at the few people who passed by.

Julie watched him for a few seconds longer, then made her way out to the hall and up the stairs.

As she climbed she could hear Doyle's voice coming from the kitchen but she took no notice of what he was saying.

She reached the landing and headed for the first door on her left.

Lisa Neville didn't look up as her mother entered, she seemed more concerned with the dolls which were scattered around her. Julie watched as the little girl carefully dressed one in a red swimsuit, using a tiny plastic comb to untangle the knotted synthetic hair.

Julie felt an almost uncontrollable urge to rush across to her daughter and sweep her up in her arms. Anything just to feel the warmth of her body, but instead she knelt down on the floor beside her child and reached out one hand, stroking the little girl's hair.

'Mum, do you think Cindy is beautiful?' Lisa held up the swimsuit-clad doll for inspection.

'Nearly as beautiful as you,' Julie said, smiling.

'I think I like Barbi better but she hasn't got as many clothes,' Lisa observed, reaching for another of the dolls. 'That's a shame, isn't it?'

Julie nodded and manoeuvred herself into a cross-legged position beside her daughter.

'How much longer do we have to stay here, Mum?'

'Not long, darling,' Julie said, none too convincingly.

'Is Daddy coming here to see us?'

I hope not.

'No, darling, he's not,' Julie told her daughter. 'I don't know where Daddy is.'

'When will we see him again?'

Julie could only shake her head.

She reached for one of the dolls and held it before her, smoothing the long hair into place.

'Use this,' Lisa advised, handing her the tiny plastic comb.

Julie did as she was instructed, getting to her feet when she heard voices in the hallway downstairs.

She wandered out onto the landing and saw Doyle standing down there, one hand on the front door handle.

He looked up at her.

'Got to go,' he said.

'What a shame,' Julie answered.

'Think about what I said,' Doyle repeated. 'She wouldn't be harmed. I'd see to that.'

'I'm supposed to trust you?'

'Who else have you got?' He opened the door. 'Well, think about it anyway. Because if that's the only way I can get him, then the next time I come back, I'm not asking. I'm taking your daughter.'

And he was gone.

Calloway was standing in the corridor outside the interview room when Doyle stepped out of the lift.

The counter terrorist headed towards the DI, dropping his cigarette butt on to the polished floor, swiftly grinding it out beneath his boot.

'Well?' Doyle said. 'Has he said much?'

'Nothing worth a toss,' Calloway told him.

'How did he take to being pulled in?'

'How do you think? He's pissed off. He wants to know what's going on.'

As Doyle put his hand on the doorknob, Calloway gripped his arm, holding him back.

'For what it's worth, I think you could be right,' the DI said. 'I think he knows something. I'm fucked if I know what, but he's hiding something.'

'What makes you say that?'

'Copper's instinct?'

Doyle smiled.

As he entered the room both Mason and Baxter looked up.

'Mr Baxter, this is Sean Doyle,' Calloway said. 'He'd like to ask you some questions too.'

'Who's next? The fucking tea lady?' snapped Baxter, turning his back on Doyle, who moved around to sit opposite him, reaching inside his jacket for his ID. He flipped open the wallet and pushed it across the table towards Baxter.

'Counter Terrorist Unit,' he mumbled then leaned back on his chair, a smile hovering on his lips. 'I've heard of your lot.'

'Only good things I hope,' said Doyle mockingly, retrieving the ID.

'The real tough guys. Harder than the SAS.' Baxter chuckled.

'I thought the Paras were the real glory boys,' Doyle prompted.

'We did what we had to do in uniforms. We didn't have to hide.'

'Is that what Neville thought?'

'How the fuck do I know?'

'You were in his unit. You knew him.'

'I've already answered these questions,' Baxter protested.

'Not for me you haven't,' Doyle reminded him sharply.

The two men regarded each other coldly for a moment then Doyle looked up at Calloway. 'I'll speak to Mr Baxter alone if that's all right?'

Calloway hesitated a second then nodded, gesturing to Mason to follow him out of the room.

The DS followed reluctantly, closing the door.

Doyle pulled out his cigarettes, lit one then offered the pack to Baxter who declined.

'Look, I'm not going to bullshit you, Baxter,' Doyle said. 'I know you served with Neville, I know you and he were close, I know you've been in contact with him since you left the army.'

Don't push it too early.

Baxter looked surprised.

'I don't give a fuck about you; Neville's the one I'm interested in and I'm going to find him with or without your help, but I want to know if he got his equipment from you. The equipment he's using now.'

Careful. One step at a time.

'I don't know what you're talking about,' Baxter said dismissively but not too convincingly.

'Neville's got enough weapons and explosives to fight a fucking war, I just want to know if he got them from you.'

Baxter cracked out laughing.

'Did I say something funny?' Doyle hissed.

'The army said I supplied weapons to the IRA and the UVF,' Baxter said, smiling.

'And did you?'

'Maybe I did. Who fucking cares? It's all over now, isn't it? In ten years nobody's even going to remember anything that happened in Ireland. It's history already.'

'Tell me about it, I was there too, you know,' Doyle snapped.

'Yeah, you were there,' Baxter murmured, his tone lower but still venomous. 'Not on the fucking streets you weren't. Not being gobbed at by women and kids. The people we were supposed to be out there helping. No. Not the fucking Counter Terrorist Unit, creeping around undercover somewhere. We were the ones out in the open. Target practice for any cunt with an Armalite. One day they'd talk to you, the next they'd be throwing fucking bricks. None of us knew who was on our side.'