Simon Kernick - Severed

And the rest should have been history, but life, of course, never works that simply. I did leave the army and I did move in with her, and at first things went well, but it wasn't long before they began to go downhill. We were both working long hours – me learning how to run a business from scratch (something the army gives you no preparation for), she trying to establish herself in her profession. We were trying for a baby as well, but that wasn't proving very successful either.

The truth is, by the time we got married – on one of those two-week deals in Barbados, with only a few close family present – our best days were already behind us. I was hoping the honeymoon might turn things round and signal some sort of improvement. After all, it's difficult to have too much of a bad time when the sun's shining and the palm trees are shimmering in a gentle tropical breeze. But somehow we managed it, spending most of the trip arguing. I can't even remember what it was we argued about. It was just niggling little disagreements, the kind couples have when each partner realizes that he or she's with the wrong person.

We limped along for another six months, but the faultlines in our relationship – work pressures and the failure to conceive – kept growing, and one day, after yet another explosive argument that had come out of nowhere and drained both of us, she asked me, very calmly but very firmly, to leave.

For some reason, even then her request came as a shock. You see, a small part of me still hoped that somehow we could make it work, that the stresses would fade with time, that she'd fall pregnant and everything would be OK again.

In the end, when it came to it, I didn't want to go, and I asked her to reconsider. But Adine had made up her mind. 'I don't love you any more,' she said quietly. She'd never said that before, even during our worst arguments, and I knew from the resigned tone in her voice that she meant it.

And that was that. Full of regret for what might have been, and wondering if there was anything I could have done differently, I packed my bags and left the flat that afternoon. I never went back.

We kept in touch, though, and through our break-up and subsequent divorce our relationship remained amicable. I think that, in the long run, parting was the right choice for both of us, because our bond just wasn't strong enough, but occasionally I do regret the fact that in the interim Adine hasn't had the family she wanted so much, and that I haven't either.

I haven't seen her for close to six months, but as soon as I was booked in here, I knew who I was going to put my one phone call through to. She's always been a damn good lawyer, and that's exactly what I need. Well, that's not quite right. I need a miracle, but in the absence of one, she'll have to do.

The cell door's unlocked, and I'm told by a bored-looking uniformed cop with dyed black hair that my brief's arrived. I get up from the bunk and follow the cop and his equally bored-looking colleague through a set of featureless and largely empty corridors that remind me of a hospital. I guess if I worked in surroundings like this, I wouldn't be full of the joys of spring either.

Surprisingly, there doesn't seem to be much in the way of security round here, but then there doesn't really need to be. I'm in the holding area beneath the main part of the station, and there's no way out except through a series of electronically operated doors that eventually take you into the station proper, and straight into the arms of God knows how many other cops. Once you're down here, there really is no way out.

We reach a door, and the cop with the dyed hair knocks twice, opening it at the same time. 'Your client,' he announces curtly, then moves aside to let me through.

Adine stands up from behind a table as the door closes behind me. She's wearing a black cocktail dress with a very light cashmere cardigan of the same colour over it. Her hair's loose and longer than the last time I saw her, reaching down to her shoulders, and she's got her contacts in rather than her glasses, a look that shows off the contrast between her jet-black eyebrows and the pale translucent blue of her eyes. In short, she looks stunning. I find it difficult not to fall in love with her all over again.

'Well, it looks like you've really done it this time, Tyler,' she says with a weary sigh that seems to last for several seconds, immediately shattering the illusion.

'Hello, Adine. Nice to see you again too.'

'I had to leave a meal in the Ivy for this, you know.' She gestures towards the room's only other chair. 'I'm only doing this because I'd feel guilty if I didn't help.'

I sit down, noticing that she's wearing scarlet varnish on her fingernails. It must have been a hot date. She never wore it for me. Amazingly, even after everything else, I feel the vague stirrings of jealousy.

'You're in a lot of trouble,' she states with numbing honesty.

'I know.'

'You'd better tell me what happened.'

So I do, for the third time today, only this time I start from the beginning and I don't leave anything out, except for my theory that Alannah is the Vampire, because, for all that I'm convinced by it, that's all it is, a theory, with nothing to back it up. I don't need to muddy the waters any more than they've been muddied already.

Adine listens in silence, making notes on a pad in front of her, and when I finish she sighs again and looks at me with a combination of pity and incredulity. 'And that's the absolute truth?'

I nod. 'Yeah, it is.'

There's a long pause. I don't know what else to say. I've laid my situation on the line, and hearing the details out loud doesn't make me feel any more optimistic that I'm going to extricate myself from the pit I'm in. By the look on Adine's face, she shares this view. After a long time, during which she makes further notes, she finally speaks.

'It's a particularly lurid story,' she says, her voice laced with tacit disapproval.

'It's not good,' I admit.

'And I'm sorry about Lucas. I always liked him.' She speaks the words in a matter-of-fact manner, but that's always been her way, and I know she does feel sorry about it.

'It's my fault,' I say. 'If I hadn't turned up at his door today, then he and Snowy would still be alive.'

'But you did, and it's done now. Don't beat yourself up about it.'

No-one could ever call Adine sentimental. But she's also right. I've got to think about myself. There'll be time for grieving later.

'And you can't tell the police what you've just told me, either.'

'Why not? It's the truth.'

'It may be the truth, but if that's what you tell them, there's no way they'll release you.'

'You always told me that you have to represent a client on the basis of what he or she tells you. That you can't lie on their behalf.'

'Look, Tyler, you've just incriminated yourself in a total of four murders. And that was before you turned up at a house full of corpses.'

'Three were self-defence,' I protest, 'and one was an accident. If the guy hadn't struggled…'

'While you were holding a gun to his head, remember that.' She sighs. 'The point is, no-one's going to believe that you were totally justified in killing four people. I'm not asking you to lie, it's just important we minimize the details we give the police. Now, cast your mind back to this morning. When you were chased by the police from the house where you picked up the briefcase, did any of them get a good look at you?'

I shake my head. 'I don't think so. I kept my head down and it all happened very quickly. I also wore gloves while I was in the house, so I don't think my fingerprints'll be there.'

'Good. Is there anything that might connect the events there to the rest of the events today?'

'Not as far as I know.'