Michael Morley - Spider

'I'm sure it is,' said McLeod. 'Was it your husband who chased him off? I think I read somewhere that he's an ex-cop, ex-fed or something?'

Nancy wished the conversation would end. The fright last night had left her irritable, and while she supposed that it was only natural that the guests would ask questions about what had happened, this guy was bugging her. 'No, Mr McLeod. It wasn't my husband. It was my chef and his kitchen boy. He was a lucky man. I hate to think what they'd have done with him if they'd caught him.'

'I guess battered burglar would have been on the menu?' quipped McLeod, feebly.

'And that would be just for starters,' said Nancy King.

She smiled again and this time did manage to walk away from his table. Terry McLeod was delighted. If former FBI man Jack King hadn't been here last night, on Independence Day of all days, and he wasn't here this morning to comfort his wife after her ordeal, then just where the hell was he?

Rome Jack had been unable to shake off the horrors of his latest nightmare until he'd spoken to Nancy on the phone. He'd waited until just after seven, the time when he was sure the bedside alarm would have woken her. He had been soothed by listening to his wife's sleepy voice and imagined how warm she would have felt if he had been lying in bed with her. Nancy hadn't mentioned the burglar, although it had still been very much on her mind.

After the call, Jack felt reassured and energized enough to take a short jog around the centre of Rome, followed by a hot shower and a healthy breakfast on the terrace. By the time he climbed into the chauffeur-driven car to take him to police HQ the streets were almost gridlocked with traffic. The journey took twice as long as it should have done and Jack got out feeling hot enough to need another shower.

He tipped the driver Massimo had sent him, even though the guy insisted that there was no need, and made his way to the meeting room. Massimo had other appointments that day and it had been arranged that Jack would sit with Orsetta, Benito and Roberto to get an update on their enquiries and swap any new thoughts they might have had. The starting time for the meeting was noon and Jack was still finding it hard to become accustomed to the fact that people weren't at their desks by eight a.m. or earlier, as he was used to in New York. The Italians seemed to have the work-life balance thing better sussed than the Americans. They worked to live rather than lived to work. Free time, family time, me time – those were the three things they looked forward to most.

Jack sat in the plain, dull room on his own and was going over a checklist of the subjects he wanted to cover when Orsetta walked in.

'Buon giorno,' she said. 'You are a little early, no?'

'Not by US standards,' he answered. 'The meeting's not until twelve, right?'

'That's right,' said Orsetta, 'I thought I might already find you here, so I came along ahead of the rest.'

'Thought or hoped?' he asked, unable to resist flirting a little.

'I guess both,' she said coolly. 'But it's something professional rather than personal that I have in mind.' Nevertheless, she couldn't stop her eyes sparkling playfully.

'Then shoot,' he said.

They both settled into black plastic chairs across the corner of a long table that faced whiteboards and video screens. She was dressed demurely in matching dark brown jacket and trousers, accompanied by a green striped blouse, her hair tied back in a green 'scrunchy'.

'Okay,' she said, finally deciding how she was going to open the discussion. 'Some years back, I went to England and attended some courses at Scotland Yard and at a place in the country called Brams Hall…'

'Bramshill,' interrupted Jack. 'It's called Bramshill, not Hall, and it's the location of the National Police Staff College run by the Association of Chief Police Officers. I guess you were there as part of your profiling training?'

'Yes, that's right,' said Orsetta, a little irritated at being corrected.

'It was ACPO that launched offender profiling in the UK. They had to nurture it through the regional forces for years. The Bramshill course is probably the best in the world – outside Quantico, of course.'

'Of course,' said Orsetta. 'Well, when I was there, at Bramshill,' she continued, 'apart from the training, I learned a very important English saying.'

'Which is what?' asked Jack, intrigued as to what point she might eventually get round to making.

Orsetta spoke slowly, making sure the strange English expression came out right. 'We are all avoiding talking about the elephant in the room.'

'We're all what?' said Jack, wearing a smile as broad as his shoulders.

'We're avoiding talking about the biggest, most obvious thing. We're pretending it's not there,' explained Orsetta.

'Well, I'm sorry,' said Jack, 'but you've lost me. To be truthful though, most of those Brit sayings are lost on me. There's many a slip twixt cup and lip, pride before a fall, shutting the barn door after the horse has bolted, crying over spilt milk – they talk in damn riddles half the time.' He could see from the look on her face that she was in no mood for levity. 'Apologies. You had a serious point; we're avoiding the obvious, the big thing that's staring us in the face. So what's that? What's the big thing?'

She chewed her lip, and then spat out what was on her mind. 'You, Jack, you're the big thing. You are the elephant.'

'Come again?'

'I've heard you and Massimo talking about how BRK is taunting the police, and how even the FBI reports refer to it. But what if it's more personal than that? What if it's Jack King that BRK is taunting?'

Jack shot her a dismissive look. 'Not worth putting in the frame. I don't see it. Why on earth should he fixate on me?' He paused for a second, searching for possibilities. 'Nope, I really don't see it. Over the years, there were seven senior investigating officers heading that enquiry, I don't think I did anything different from any of them.' He let out a sigh. 'I certainly didn't get any closer to catching him. Have you got something specific in your mind?'

Orsetta hadn't, it was only a feeling, but she'd learned not to ignore her instincts when they kept nagging away as this one was doing. 'I don't know. I can't get away from thinking that you're the only thing linking BRK, Italy and the USA. Maybe you've somehow come to represent the police, or some government authority for him, and he has to destroy you to get revenge for something that was done to him. Perhaps you've come to symbolize an injustice against him, or someone he loved.' The explanation had come out much weaker than she'd intended, but she didn't know how to put it any better, and now she could see that Jack was looking at her as if she were some police academy first-termer who was hopelessly out of her depth. 'Look,' she added quickly, 'he killed when you were in the States, now he's killing while you're in Italy. Is that just a coincidence?'

Jack's sharp stare of disapproval disappeared. Simplicity was something that always appealed to him, and like all detectives, he didn't believe in pure coincidences. As a seasoned profiler, he knew there had to be a good reason to discount anything. 'BRK was killing long before I was drafted into the case. I only worked his files for about five years and PROFILER, the FBI computer system, links murders to him a good twelve years before that. The Kearney case, for example, well, that's now exactly twenty years old, and…' Jack stalled, as pieces of the case paperwork flashed through his mind. 'In fact, unless I'm wrong, it's exactly twenty years ago since Sarah's body was found. Now, that's far more likely to be the trigger for these latest activities; you might have inadvertently hit on something.'