Mo Hayder: The Treatment

"What d'you mean don't fucking touch you? I'm going to arrest you, you little shit."

"No!" His jeans were unzipped, hanging loose as if he'd pulled them on in a hurry. "No no no please please please don't." He took a step back, covering his ears. "I didn't mean it." He sank down suddenly under the sink, his hands over his face. "I didn't mean it."

"You didn't mean it? I don't fucking believe this. You didn't mean it? What did you mean, then? What did you mean, then, eh?" He stepped forward and gave Klare an experimental kick in the side. Klare sighed a little, but didn't try to resist, so he did it again. "I said what did you mean?"

"Leave me alone." His face crumpled in self-pity. He dug his nails into his hair. "Don't '

"What did you mean when you left an eight-year-old to die? Eh? What did you mean?" He kicked him harder, once in the side and once, when Klare turned slightly away, in the kidneys. "I'm talking to you, you piece of shit. What did you mean?"

"Please don't, please don't." He wiped tears from his face and rubbed his eyes. "I didn't mean to. I had to -it's the only way I never meant to '

"You already fucking said that!" He gave him two kicks in quick succession, one in the chest and one in the face. This time when his foot came away blood rushed out of Klare's nose. "You already fucking said you didn't mean it. You stinking piece of shit." He swung himself away, walking up and down the length of the kitchen, pressing his nails into his palms. Klare was blathering blood was running down his chin, splashing on the floor. "What did you mean when you left that poor fucker lying next door in his own shit? Eh?"

"Please no, it's not my fault, I had to for the treat '

"Shut up." Caffery ran back across the kitchen, almost skidding on the blood, and with all his strength booted Klare in the ribs. '7 said shut up!"

"Jack!"

He turned, panting, sweat on his face. Souness was standing in the hallway with two TSG officers in their Kevlar tunics and riot masks. Her face was white. She stared at Klare, basted in blood, and back at Caffery, standing frozen in the centre of the room, twitchy as a circus tiger.

"Jack what the fuck do ye think you're doing?"

The rain clouds by mid-afternoon, were so heavy and low they seemed to be touching the chimneys, electric lights had come on in windows, as if evening had come early to London. Rebecca was lying in Jack's bed, half asleep. She hadn't slept well last night after Caffery's call at 11 p.m. she had walked around with the TV on in the background telling herself not to get worried about him, telling herself he knew how to stay in control, that he wasn't a child, that he could, he really could, keep calm and look after himself. She only had two vodkas and no one had called to say, "Miss Morant, you'd better sit down." So she supposed everything was OK. She had spent the morning home making, a proper little housewife, driving the Beetle down to Sainsbury's and coming back in the rain with bags full of fruit and wine. When she came in the answer phone had been blinking. There was one message. She wasn't in the habit of listening to Caffery's messages she wasn't that obsessive but while she was in the kitchen unpacking the shopping the phone rang again and this time she heard the whole thing: "It's me, again. Just wanted to make sure you got the last message about Monday. Monday at one o'clock."

Rebecca had paused, a bag of tangerines in her hand, and stared down the hallway. That was Tracey's voice. Not now, Tracey, not when it's all starting to work for us. Slowly she put down the fruit, went into the hallway and stared at the machine. Biting her lip, she pressed the button. The first message played back. It started with a silence. Then, as if she'd got her courage, Tracey Lamb said: "It's me, Tracey, right? Uh with what we was talking about, yeah? I'm getting bailed on Monday, so if you want to know some more about, y'know She paused, and Rebecca could hear her drag on a cigarette. "I'll be back at my place at one o'clock you know where it is."

A tiny nibble of anxiety somewhere in Rebecca's stomach horrible because today she was so determined to keep on track. She listened to both messages again then wrote in felt-tip on the back of her hand Tracey/Monday/1.00pm. Then she rewound the tape. Tracey's message would stay there until another call wiped it, but the light wasn't blinking and Caffery would have no reason to play the tape unless she told him to. You could just leave it that way you could bury it for ever he never need know it might all just disappear… now Penderecki's gone he might just forget it all and be safe and… "Oh, shut up, for God's sake."

She looked at the kitchen. Maybe a glass of something to keep you calm? But no. No she wasn't going to backtrack. Instead she had finished unpacking, had cleaned the kitchen, put on a load of washing, eaten a sandwich for lunch and then gone upstairs. In the bedroom she took off her jeans and T-shirt, lay down on Jack's bed and drifted off to sleep.

She was still there drifting in and out of her dreams when his car pulled up later that afternoon. He was much earlier than she'd expected. She jumped up, surprised, and stood in the window, the curtain hooked up on her arm, blinking and rubbing her eyes as he got out of the Jaguar. He stopped for a while at the gate and stared at the front door with an odd, preoccupied look on his face, as if he was trying to work something out as if he was trying to remember a telephone number or recall something someone had said. Then the rain lifted on the wind, driving sideways, making the trees in the front garden hiss and bend and Jack shook off the stasis, came inside and she could hear him in the house, throwing the keys on the hall table and coming up the stairs. Quickly she pulled on one of his shirts over her underwear and went on to the landing. The bathroom door was open and he was bending over the toilet, his hands propped on the cistern, as if he was going to vomit.

"Jack?" He didn't turn. "Jack? Are you OK?"

He shook his head. She put her hand on his back and saw that the rainwater running off his trousers on to the floor was veined with red. There was thinned blood on the tiles.

"Jack?"

He spat into the toilet. "Mmm?"

"There's blood on you, Jack."

He looked down at the floor. "Yes that's blood."

"Are you are you bleeding?"

"No."

"No?" She felt suddenly lightheaded. "Then oh She covered her mouth with her hand. Downstairs someone was ringing the doorbell. "Jack? God, no, Jack what happened? What've you done?"

"It's OK. I stopped '

"What do you mean you st '

"I stopped. Before I could '

"Before you could what}'

"Before I could oh, fuck He dropped his face. The doorbell rang again, longer this time. "Get the door, will you?"

"I warned you."

"Becky '

"The door."

"The door?"

"The front door."

"Oh God yes. OK." She ran down the stairs, heart racing I need that drink, I need that drink -and, Jack, I'm definitely not telling you about Tracey now I'm going to lie She opened the door and found DCI Danniella Souness standing on the doorstep, red in the face, huffing and puffing and stamping her feet.

"Danni '

"Becky Souness stepped inside without waiting to be asked, dripping rain on to the floor. "Where is he?"

"What? Oh She put her hand to her head. "He's up there in the bathroom Danni, what's going on?"

Upstairs Caffery spat into the toilet again and wiped his mouth. He had wanted to kill Klare. When his foot met flesh and gristle it was Penderecki's kidneys he was connecting with. When Klare screamed and tried to protect himself, it was Penderecki's screams, the screams he had never had the pleasure of hearing. He was angry enough to kill and it wasn't going away -it was still there, stretched taut across his stomach like a new muscle.