Shaun Hutson - Warhol's Prophecy

‘So three people had to die because of that?’

‘ I thought so,’ he offered.

‘And how many more will die?’ she wanted to know.

Walker didn’t answer, merely kept his eyes on the road, easing his foot down a little harder on the accelerator.

Hailey allowed her head to flop back. She gazed out of the side window.

‘You’re going to kill me , aren’t you?’

He didn’t answer.

‘You’ll never get away with this, Adam.’

‘I know,’ Walker said flatly. ‘But there’s always a price to pay for fame, isn’t there?’ He looked at her and smiled. ‘People are going to know my name after tonight, Hailey. Just like they know the names of people like Charles Manson, Denis Nilsen, Peter Sutcliffe, Michael Ryan, and Thomas Hamilton. And they all paid a price too. They paid with their freedom, or their lives, but people remember them. They will do for years to come. They’ll be written about and talked about. They’ve become part of our culture, no matter how much people supposedly despise them – the media need them. TV and papers condemn them because they know they have to, but they’re fascinated by them, and I’ll tell you why. They know that those men did things that everyone is capable of. It’s just that not everyone has the courage to do it.’

‘They killed innocent people,’ Hailey said, trying to control her breathing. ‘What’s so courageous about that?’

‘It takes a lot of strength to take another life, Hailey. More than you’d think.’

‘Was that the kind of fame you always wanted?’ Hailey said slowly. It felt as if her entire body had been enveloped by a cold chill that had started at the back of her neck and spread outwards. As if someone had injected iced water into her veins.

‘I always told you I wanted people to know that I’d been here. I wanted to make a mark.’

‘Like Manson? Like Sutcliffe? Like the rest of those killers?’

‘If necessary.’

‘You admire them, don’t you?’

‘Yes. They only thought about themselves. They were single-minded. They didn’t care what people thought of them. They didn’t worry about things like conscience, remorse or morality. And, yes, I do admire that.’

‘People will know your name, but they’ll hate you for what you’ve done.’

‘And you think I care?’ he said sardonically. ‘I’ll be doing the world a favour.’

Hailey looked puzzled. ‘But you said you killed Caroline and the others for me ,’ she said falteringly. ‘What’s that got to do with anyone else?’

‘They were just the beginning,’ he told her sharply. ‘Did you think I expected to be remembered for killing some small-time criminal and a couple of slags? You underestimate me, Hailey. I’ve got more ambition than that.’ He chuckled. ‘But now you’ll see.’

He looked at his watch. ‘And we’re nearly there,’ Walker observed, smiling.

At last Hailey understood.

111

THERE WAS SOMETHING wrong. Rob was convinced of that.

There had to be.

He sat gazing intently towards the main entrance of the ballroom, hoping

( praying? )

that Hailey would walk in at any minute.

How long since she’d waved them off?

He rechecked his watch. An hour? Two hours?

Becky also seemed to have tired of the constant babble of conversation and music, and was now concerned only with seeing her mother again. She sat beside Rob, swinging her feet over the edge of the chair and looking up at her father.

He ruffled her hair a couple of times, sure that even his own daughter must realize how fake this gesture was.

Could the car carrying Hailey to the Pavilion Hotel have crashed?

Was she even now lying by some roadside in need of help?

And where the hell was Caroline Hacket?

Or Adam Walker?

Had they all decided to ride here in the same car?

No, she wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t be that insensitive.

Would she?

He felt a hand on his shoulder and spun round.

James Marsh was standing there.

‘I was looking for your good lady, Rob,’ Marsh said, smiling.

‘That makes two of us,’ Rob told him.

‘Where’s my mum?’ Becky added.

Marsh touched her cheek and winked. ‘She should have been here by now,’ he offered thoughtfully. ‘We’ve got a presentation to make in twenty minutes. I want her here for that.’

Rob got to his feet, lowering his voice and turning his back on Becky, anxious she shouldn’t hear him.

‘Look, no offence, but I couldn’t give a flying fuck about your presentation,’ he rasped. ‘I just want to know where Hailey is. And I’ll tell you something, if she’s not here in ten minutes, I’m going to call the police.’

‘No need, Rob. I’ll do it myself. You’re right, she should have been here by now.’

‘Are all the other guests here?’ Rob wanted to know.

Marsh nodded, glancing around the crowded ballroom.

‘Perhaps the car’s broken down,’ he mused.

‘Then send someone to find her,’ Rob said, glaring at the older man.

‘All right, calm down,’ said Marsh quietly.

‘I’m telling you,’ Rob persisted. ‘Ten minutes and I’m calling the police.’

‘I’m sure there’s a perfectly simple explanation for why she’s not here.’

‘Then tell me what it is,’ Rob hissed.

Somewhere behind them, there was a sound of breaking crockery, followed by a loud cheer.

Both men turned and saw two members of Waterhole gathered around a couple of broken plates lying on the parquet, each pointing an accusatory finger at the other. They were laughing, ignoring the food that had spilled onto the floor.

Rob looked at them with something akin to disgust, then returned his attention to Marsh.

‘I’d better have a word with them,’ said Marsh, moving away.

Rob didn’t speak. Merely watched him make his way across the crowded ballroom towards the two band members, where he was joined by Ray Taylor. The band’s manager was sipping a Bacardi and Coke, looking on silently and grinning.

Becky pulled at Rob’s hand. ‘Dad, I’ve got to go to the loo,’ she told him. ‘Will you come with me?’

He nodded. Together they threaded their way through the maze of party-goers, Rob occasionally nudging people aside in his annoyance.

The toilets were in the main foyer, through a set of white double-doors.

‘I’ll wait here, babe,’ he said, standing outside the door marked LADIES.

Becky entered, almost knocked over by a tall young woman in her mid-twenties who was emerging.

Rob registered the dark make-up, the black-painted nails, the long skirt, slit to the thigh, the laced-up boots beneath.

Trudi, without the ‘e’, gazed blankly at him and wiped her nose with her thumb and forefinger, sniffing loudly.

‘Great party,’ she said, running appraising eyes over him.

He nodded.

A moment later Jenny Kenton appeared, pushing her dark glasses back on her nose. She too sniffed loudly.

‘You missed some,’ said Rob disdainfully, pointing to some fine grains of white powder around one of her nostrils.

The former actress wiped away the residue and strode off in the direction of the ballroom, Trudi in tow.

He could hear them laughing as the double-doors swung shut behind them.

Becky emerged, hurrying across to her father.

Rob put a protective arm around her shoulders and prepared to lead her back into the ballroom. Then he remembered that he’d seen a row of phones in the foyer as they’d entered.

He looked at his watch.

Six minutes, and he’d call the police.

Might as well wait.