Michael Morley - Spider

When it started to rain heavily Nancy remembered the beautiful Independence Day cake that was still out in the garden, getting ruined. It would have to go to waste. There was no way she was getting out of bed until the room was filled with daylight and the hotel was once more alive with the sound of voices she trusted.

Downstairs, a key turned quietly in the front-door lock. Recent arrival Terry McLeod was trying as hard as possible to make sure that he didn't wake anyone.

Thursday, 5 July

Hotel Grand Plaza, Rome It was still the dead of night when Jack woke, dripping with sweat and struggling to breathe. The latest nightmare was the most personal and most intense he'd ever experienced.

He'd fallen asleep around midnight and thought he might get a decent rest. How wrong he had been.

Soon his sleep had tricked him back into the basement, where the white-coated ME was moving as mysteriously as usual, but everything else seemed somehow more intense. The blood was running faster from the pipes on the black walls, spilling on to the floor, and there in the puddles forming around his feet were strange shapes, like Rorschach's ink blots. In them, the faces of BRK's victims had appeared, one by one, and slowly morphed into each other, until finally Jack was left staring at the face of Cristina Barbuggiani. She was trying to mouth something to him but he couldn't hear her. For a second, her young fingers stretched out from the blood and implored him to grab her and save her. Then, in the instant that he touched her, her flesh melted and the hand became skeletonized and snapped off.

Jack wiped the sweat from his face and tried to remember what else he'd dreamt. He recalled a mixture of male and female voices shouting: 'IT'S YOUR FAULT!' He had hung on to the gurney for fear that his legs would give way beneath him as his head filled with voices.

'What they say is right. You're a failure, King, a burnout.'

'Think how many girls have died, because you've been unable to save them.'

'Think! Is it five, ten, fifteen, twenty or more?'

Jack had clung to the body on the steel gurney as the ME raised the bone saw. He had to save this one, there must be no more killing.

The blade came closer to the body on the gurney, its teeth seeking more innocent flesh and bone. Jack put his hand out towards the ME, trying to force the blade back, but as he did so, he stumbled. Falling into the pool of blood, he got a clear view of the face of the victim on the steel trolley.

It was that of his wife.

San Quirico D'Orcia, Tuscany Terry McLeod sat on his own at a table for four, his breakfast plate piled high with ham, cheese, croissants, jam and butter. To one side of him was a large map entitled Terre di Siena, and on the other side was a copy of La Nazione. He didn't speak any Italian, but it was a quirk of his that, wherever he went, he always took a national newspaper home with him. He was a magpie, always had been, always would be, and he liked nothing better than international souvenirs.

Paullina, the waitress, arrived with his double cappuccino, something that she'd never been asked for before. She'd taken it to mean a single cappuccino with a double dose of coffee and the guest had laughed and said he was fine with that.

'Which visiting are you planning today?' she asked, noticing his map as she cleaned away a juice glass and cereal bowl. 'Maybe Siena or Pienza?'

'You know,' said McLeod, his mouth open as he chewed a croissant. 'I'm really not sure. I'm still a bit jet-lagged from all the travelling. Maybe I'll go here.' He jabbed a finger at a nearby town. 'What's it called?'

Paullina bent over the map and McLeod savoured the sensation of having her that close to him.

'Chianciano Terme,' she said, in a voice so sweet that he would have paid a premium-rate call charge just to listen to it.

'Or, you know what,' he added, 'I may just go to Montepulciano. Some folks at dinner last night said it was real nice.'

Paullina nodded. 'It is. It is very famous for its views and its churches. It is high up the hill, but worth the climb.'

'Sounds like my kind of place, I love your Italian churches and all that Da Vinci stuff,' said McLeod, wiping crumbs from his mouth. 'You just sold it to me, err… I'm sorry, what's your name?'

'Paullina,' she said. 'I am Paullina Caffagi.'

'Terry McLeod, very pleased to meet you.' He stuck out his hand and she shook it hesitantly. 'Been here a couple of days now and not seen you. Do you only do part-time?'

'Scusi, I don't understand.'

'Part-time – just mornings, just breakfasts?'

'Aaah yes, I only work at the breakfasts.'

'Then maybe, if you're free, you could come with me, act as my guide,' McLeod suggested hopefully.

'Oh no, I don't think I could do that,' said Paullina, wondering exactly what sights he was really interested in seeing.

'Why not? I'll pay you. Whatever you get paid to work breakfasts, I'll pay you to show me around Montepulciano.'

Paullina thought about it for a second. Although he was a bit of a jerk, he seemed harmless enough, and the extra money would really come in handy. 'Then all right, I will be pleased to be showing you Montepulciano.'

'Great!' said McLeod. 'When's good for you?'

'Tomorrow? I will be finished here and could go by twelve o'clock. Is that okay?'

'That's fine,' said McLeod. 'Could you fix a cab, a taxi for us? I'm not big on public transport.'

Paullina smiled. 'I will have one waiting.'

McLeod's interest in Paullina disappeared as soon as Nancy King entered the dining room. The older woman needed only to throw half a glance Paullina's way to send her scuttling off to resume her duties.

His luck was in. She had come into the restaurant to mix with the guests, ask them how they were enjoying their stay, that sort of thing. McLeod played his spoon across the froth on the cappuccino and listened to the small talk. She did all the tables; moving from an old couple at the back to some honeymooners, then a pair of walkers and finally himself.

'Good morning,' she said brightly. 'I'm Nancy King, my husband and I own La Casa Strada, and we hope you're enjoying your stay with us.'

'Terence T. McLeod,' he said, getting to his feet as he shook hands. 'And I'm having a terrific time, Mrs King. You sure have a great little hotel here and great staff.' He nodded towards Paullina as he sat back down.

'That's very kind of you to say so. Thank you, Mr McLeod,' she said. 'We certainly aim to please.'

'I hope you don't mind, but I've asked your waitress over there if she'd show me Montepulciano. I've offered to pay, of course. And if there's a surcharge or some kind of fee to you at the hotel, then that's also okay. I just want a good guide.'

The unusual request threw Nancy and she weighed it up for a moment before agreeing. 'No. No, I don't mind at all. We don't encourage the staff to mix with the guests out of the hotel, but providing this is purely a business arrangement, then I don't have any objections at all.'

'Great, thanks.'

Nancy smiled and started to walk away, to have a quiet word with Paullina while the matter was still fresh in her mind. 'Have a nice day, Mr McLeod.'

'And you,' said McLeod, adding, 'Oh, by the way, did you catch him?'

Nancy spun round. 'I'm sorry?'

'The man last night. Did you catch him? Everyone in the restaurant was talking about it. Some hooded guy running through the place.'

Nancy gathered her wits. 'No, no, we didn't. But let me reassure you, it wasn't anything serious. Nothing was taken and we've called the police. Please don't be worried by it. I can assure you everyone and everything here is perfectly safe.'